#but I estimate at least 2k

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Commission for @zeleneagle

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Stages under the cut :3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hypothetically if the merguru fic went over 20k would. literally anyone read it 😭😭 pls be honest

[carryonlikewedidbefore]

I hate shipping prices.

One CD and a mug, the shipping cost to Australia is slightly more than the 2 items combined. So I think, of what the hell you like that shirt why not get a backup?

Somehow a $26 tshirt ups the shipping by $14

[deadhands69]

Online Girlfriend

MDNI loser!Shigaraki x Reader

Request from anon Contains: gn/afab reader, mostly smut: face sitting, sex (m behind), lots of cum. [wc: 2k]

“Why’d you put the work in, no one’s gonna show up.” Dabi laughed across the room at Shigaraki who put in some low-level effort to be presentable (showered.)  “You’re being catfished.”

“Hey, don’t listen to him. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” assured Spinner, who remains skeptical but supportive. He’d like to think there’s at least some hope for one of them to actually get a date.

Tomura’s phone dings.

running late, sorry! still otw!

Rushing, you try to make up the time you lost when a traffic jam caused all transportation to be rerouted. It’s not a great start, for the first time you’re meeting your online boyfriend but it is what it is. 

The two of you hit it off in a discord chat for your favorite game and haven’t stopped talking since. The past few months of chatting have been great so you finally asked to meet in person. It felt like the next step. Admittedly, you’ve also been really horny lately and are hoping to do something about that.

Typically, you’d be worried about meeting someone from the internet but he seems real enough. The photos he sent you were cute. Not perfect in a conventional way, like something you’d expect from someone pretending to be someone else. These were real. They were dark and grainy, taken by someone who isn’t used to taking selfies. Even with the low-quality images and hair covering most of his face, you could tell he’s attractive. He has nice collarbones and a cute smile. On top of that, he’s smart. Having a weird amount of information about nearly everything. He’s funny too, in a dark way. You feel like you could talk to him about anything.

Finally, you made it!

Shoving through the door into the bar he’d sent you the address of earlier, you see that it’s pretty empty. You’d recognize his silvery-blue hair anywhere though. 

“Hi, Tomura!” you take a seat next to him, “I’m [y/n], it’s so good to finally meet you!”

Spinner and Dabi stare in amazement, you’re a lot prettier than they expected. Tomura notices this too. For all the flirting and suggestive messages he’d sent you online, he completely freezes the moment he lays eyes on you. Staring like a deer in the headlights.

Okay, so he’s a little awkward. That’s fine.

The two of you make some conversation. Bumbling through small talk until you start talking about games and he loosens up a bit. After an hour, he still can’t look directly at you without stuttering, but he’s rambling excitedly about the newest patch.

“I just downloaded it, if you want to play. Come on,” he gestures, “I live upstairs.”

As if he only just realized he asked you to be alone in his bedroom with him, his jaw drops and he begins to stammer again. 

“I… I didn’t mean to, like...uh. If you’re uncomfortable -” 

You grab his arm, pulling him from the stool. “Lead the way,” you smile.

The two in the corner, who you’ve since learned are his friends, look shocked as you walk past them to the exit.

Tomura Shigaraki’s room isn’t clean per say, but at least he remembered to take the bags of trash out this morning. He’s glad for that since he definitely didn’t think he’d be bringing you back to his place. You watch as he wiggles the mouse to wake his computer up, middle finger hovering. He has nice hands, you decide.

“Uhm,” he starts uncomfortably, “it’s a pretty big patch. So it’s not done downloading yet.”

The estimated time remaining jumps between two hours and three days as the internet speed flickers.

“That’s okay, we can find other ways to kill the time,” you run your fingers softly over his shoulder. It’s nice to touch him for the first time, feel that he’s real. 

tomura.exe is no longer responding

His body stiffens at the closeness. This is what he wanted, right? Why else would he bring you up to his room?

“If that’s okay with you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he manages to choke out, letting you pull him to his bed. He lays flat out while you climb over him, straddling his hips. He whimpers slightly and you can feel that he’s already hard. Awkwardly, his hands hover at your thighs. You didn’t expect your discord boyfriend to have a ton of experience, but seeing just how nervous you make him is… hot.

“Okay, is there anything I should know? Places you like to be touched?” your fingers graze his collarbone before running down his chest. Feeling the warmth of his body through the thin shirt. “Or anywhere you don’t like being touched?”

“No,” he breathes huskily, before sighing “...y-yes.”

“Don’t… y-you can’t touch all five of my fingers at the same time,” he gulps, “it’s my quirk.” Without being able to find the right words to explain, he grabs an empty energy drink can that’s in reach. It crumbles to dust instantly. 

You’re fucking kidding, you think. This bumbling mess underneath you has that strong of a quirk? How has that never come up? It only turns you on more, knowing he has the strength to take out half the world but melts into a puddle when you so much as breathe in his direction. 

He makes eye contact with you for the first time before biting his lip and looking away. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to say nevermind. To get up and leave. There’s something so sweetly pathetic in all of it.

“Cute,” you say, pressing his hands back into the bed by his wrists. Fingers snaking up his palms. He looks confused. No one has ever called him ‘cute’ before. It’s also the closest he’s ever been to holding hands with someone and he nearly cums from that alone.

He groans as your lips lightly move over his. Careful not to kiss him too hard, he’s already excited and you still want to fuck him later. With the way his breath hitches at a small kiss on the neck, you decide to move faster.

Standing up, you begin taking off your clothes and tell him to do the same. 

You planned for this. While you didn’t absolutely expect him to fuck on the first date, you certainly dressed for it. It’s not full-on lingerie or anything but you put on the nicer underwear for the occasion. Judging by the look on his face he notices and appreciates this. Too flustered to manage the button on his black skinny jeans.

“Here,” you climb back over him, “let me.”

They’re tight so it takes a bit of effort to pull them over his ever-growing bulge. When you finally manage to pull his pants over his feet, you pause to admire the sight. 

He’s beautiful.

More toned than you would have expected under all of his clothes. Pale skin contrasting with the black of his underwear, his lightly pink tip poking out from under the elastic.

“Have you ever touched anyone before?” you ask, already knowing the answer. He shakes his head. 

“Okay,” you move closer, “let's start there.”

You pull his trembling hands to your sides. Two fingers hover above your hips.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles staring up at you.

“Take my underwear off,” you instruct.

Of course, he does exactly what you asked him to. He’s slightly clumsy at it, but you expect that. He’s never done this before and he’s being overly cautious. His jaw drops at the sight of you.

“Bra,” once more, he does as you say. Already panting underneath you.

You crawl over his body, careful to brush the hard length of him as you go. He whines at the contact.

“I take it you’ve never eaten anyone out before either, huh?” you ask rhetorically. 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, strands of baby blue falling in his face.

“You’ll learn fast,” you whisper while brushing his hair back to the bed. 

Placing your hands on his headboard, you move your knees to each side of his head. His eyes widen as you sink onto him. You rock your hips forward, bringing his nose to brush your clit. He moans before licking where he can. 

“Just like that,” you exclaim when he hits a sensitive spot. 

He takes instruction well, slowly improving as you go. His movements are still a bit sloppy, but the friction of his skin against you is enough. You’re at the edge -

“Oh fuck,” he groans under you. His body tenses and he shoves his face further into you. Turns out it’s all you needed too. Reaching down, you grip his hair while you ride out your orgasm.

You pull away, leaving his face slick. He catches his breath as you assess the situation. As you assumed, you weren’t the only one who just came. His stomach and chest are covered in ropes of his own doing. Of course you didn’t mean to make him cum so fast, you didn’t even touch him. You were looking forward to fucking him too.

He grabs a shirt from the floor, wiping himself off.

“Do you always cum that fast?” you tease. 

“Uh, sorry. C-can we keep going?” he chews the skin of his bottom lip nervously.

“You want to keep going?”

“Yeah,” he says more confidently than you’ve heard him speak all afternoon, “I can last longer if you give me a chance. I promise.”

You look him over. He looks pretty fucked out but he’s already hard again.

“Just tell me what to do,” he stares up at you with his beautiful red eyes and you can’t help but give in.

A minute later, he’s behind you. Lining himself up at your instruction.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Okay, now slide up and in. Slowly,” he does as you say, poking around slightly before you feel his tip press in. You look over your shoulder at him, his jaw slack as he stares down at himself disappearing into you. His eyes closing as he wills himself not to cum again so quickly, he did promise.

“You’re doing great!” his breath catches at the compliment, “now, you’ll press in and out. In. Out.” You set the pace you want him at, he listens. 

“This okay?” he asks breathily. You’re amazed at how good he feels already. The way he fits perfectly inside you. He has no idea that he makes every nerve in your body feel like it's on fire.

“Yeah, exactly. That’s perfect,” you gasp.

Without needing to be asked, his hands carefully grip your hips. This time with more confidence. Pulling you back into him with force. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you moan. Feeling yourself tense around him, you grip the sheets calling out his name. Arching your back to press harder into him, he gets the hint and picks up the pace.

With the quivers of you around him, he can’t hold back any longer. 

“Fuck, sorry, fuck,” he groans, pulling out just as the trembling in your gut subsided. You feel him plaster your back in warm cum before he falls back on the bed to recover.

“Uhm,” you hum moments later, eyes flicking over your shoulder.

“Shit,” he mutters breathlessly, jumping up to grab another semi-clean shirt to wipe your back off with.

He lays down again, this time you move to the bed with him. You wrap your arms around him, head resting against his neck.

“Sorry it wasn’t very long,” he mumbles.

“You did great,” you say, wondering how long he actually expected himself to last, “and I’m sure next time you’ll make it even longer.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “next time.”

Extra headcanons for fun:

Kurogiri googled you before you arrived.

Tomura googled "how to talk to attractive person."

Dabi and Spinner placed bets on if you'd actually show up. Spinner didn't know if you would but wanted to be supportive of his friend.

The traffic jam was caused by Twice and Magne. No reason, they just thought it would be fun.

After this, you and Tomura agree to meet up once a week. Once turns to Twice and before you know it, you're moving closer to see each other every day. Eventually, he learns what you like and you don't have to give him instructions.

masterlist

[takes1]

heyy I must tell you all those tsukishima fics were so good😭 i used to literally log on to tumblr everyday just becausd of yoy😭 can I request a mattsun x oblivious reader?? Where he has tried multiple times to tell her thwt he likes her but something or the other happens and he can't and also thr reader has absolutely no idea that he likes her. Maybe in thr end he can be like do you not like me and stuff snd then she is so confused becsue she did not think thwt he'd like her back snd lmao they go out later

mattsun x oblivious!reader

the sheer quantity of tsukki lovers was a shock when i first started posting that old series lemme tell you. i rlly appreciate that!!

warnings. sfw, fluff

details. libero!reader / girls team!reader / mattsun fluff / aoba johsai fluff / oblivious!reader / platonic?cuddling / mattsun is always warm / giving you his jacket trope / rbf!mattsun / thinking he hates you trope / pda / 2k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests OPEN

There was only so much to be done about the bitter cold tonight. The Aoba Johsai teams had their joint biyearly dinner, but thanks to a last-minute close for renovation at your usual spot, you and at least fifteen others were stuck waiting for a reservation outside on the town square.

"Fuck-k!" Oikawa shuddered loudly, teeth chattering as he stepped out from the restaurant you were all barred from.

Somebody whined, "I just wanna sit down!"

Iwa trailed close behind, steam practically coming off of his head as he stared down at his phone. He kept his foot in the door for an older couple, sparing a passive-aggressive look at how easily they were seated.

"It'll be another 20 minutes at least," You overheard him, quiet but frothing with frustration, to your own team captain.

Only a few were properly dressed for the weather outside. It was getting darker fast, and the wind was picking up.

You were able to catch a glimpse of his phone screen. He had the estimated wait time from the restaurant's website; 5 groups were before you, but they were nowhere to be seen.

A harsh wind howled through the street and inspired you to jump behind the nearest body. You and the other liberos were lucky to have your faces protected by the gathered group of shoulders and chests, but that's where your blessings ended. Your cardigan could've been made of tissue paper, how thin it was.

The wind settled and you glanced to see who you had nestled up to- you jumped back with a muffled yelp. It went ignored because of the symphony of complaints, curses to the weather.

Matsukawa was glowering down at you. God, was he warm, but he was so mean.

He was the most unsettling member of the guys' team by far. You got along fine with everyone else, but there was some unspoken hatred in his eyes every time you had to interact with him.

He often tried to speak with you after practice, about receiving of all things, quizzing you about your methods from the games he watched or practices he caught. You didn't like how his questions were made to make you feel stupid, so you tended to keep it short with him and run away as soon as you could.

His stare was harsh and judgmental, his frown deep and unforgiving. It gave the impression that he was tearing you apart in his mind.

"Awww, (Y/n)," Your captain, whom you had backed into, put her arms around you at once.

She didn't offer as much heat as him, but it helped to make you feel safer, and wanted. You turned and pressed your face against her chest as she pulled her jacket around the both of you.

Most of the girls were huddled similarly, choice of attire more of an issue than the heavy-coated guys.

Matsukawa wore a thick, black work hoodie, nice thick pants, boots, and a utility jacket over that. You squinted, jealous and bitter, at how he wasn't shivering at all.

"Tw- t-twenty- minutes?" You shuddered against her, sniffling.

She hummed, her cold, dead fingers no help against your sides.

The wind was so strong that it stole your breath with every gust. Your ears were throbbing, your nose numb, even when another teammate joined the huddle.

Not only had you not dressed for the cold, but you didn't expect to be standing so much, so your heels were killing your feet. Another twenty minutes wasn't doable.

"Hey! There's some benches over here!" Somebody called from down the sidewalk and around the corner.

Those that knew it would take longer, especially in uncomfortable shoes, instantly started to migrate away from the door of the restaurant.

The benches were a little wet from the light drizzle earlier. It made most of your teammates hesitate to sit down, including you. You gave a dismal sniffle, completely exhausted from shivering, unable to get any colder or more glum. You peeled off your cardigan.

"Hey, wait wait-!"

"Noo!"

Your teammates gasped, grabbing at you, as you used it to wipe the bench dry.

You turned, offering them a seat, your ferocious shaking in direct contrast to the point you were trying to make.

"It- was-wasn't keeping me warm-- anyway," You struggled to declare.

The three of you sat down on the freezing metal. At least it was dry now. You stared, twitching hard, at the soggy ball in your numb fingers and tried to zone out.

Your eyes had been closed when someone big squeezed in next to you, at the end of the bench. It was too much energy to open them to see who it was.

But a heavy, warm, and cozy presence over you shocked you to open your eyes again.

"Put this on before you pass out," Matsukawa muttered, hands grabbing at the back of his own hoodie, too.

Your face would've felt warm if not for the conditions. It was already stinging, but it stung some more.

"Thank you," You shivered.

His lowered, studied stare at you as you struggled to put on his hoodie with numbed limbs made you feel like a dumbass. He probably thought you were an idiot.

His arm was so solid as he took his outer jacket back, to put it on over his long sleeve shirt. You quickly put up the plush hood and pulled the drawstrings, ears pounding at the relief of some heat.

Then his arm was back, around your shoulders, rubbing firm to get you warmed up faster.

"Thank you," You repeated, better now, and all you could possibly think to say.

When you glanced at him, you found him looking around. There was a protective air to him, like he was busy watching for something while he took care of you. He wore it well.

His hoodie smelled distinctly like him and you found that you did not mind it in the slightest. You were subtle, pulling it over your nose -breathing deep now that you weren't struggling to filter this icy cold air-, letting your body get wracked by his strong rubbing, your head steadied a little on the inside of his big shoulder. It slowly fell, heavier, on him as you learned to trust that he was being helpful.

The wind picked up again- this time you felt invulnerable to its brutality, but he squeezed his working arm into your waist and pulled you, shockingly easy, into his side with no space left between your bodies.

At this point, you were feeling guilty for enjoying it so much. There was no ounce of softness in his angry face to indicate he wanted to hold you. His nose crunched more at the wind, now that he had less layers to protect him. You could only assume he was just being chivalrous.

It made the remainder of the wait harder, in a different way.

"Oh," Iwa raised his brow at you as you passed him to go inside.

He didn't look at you for long, because he referred his gaze to Matsukawa and exchanged a smirk you couldn't see.

When you were all seated, nobody went to sit right next to you. The table was full except for the one seat while everyone filed in. At first, Watari pulled the chair out, but took one look at you and also said, "Ooh," before sitting elsewhere.

Matsukawa sat down without so much as a look at you.

Every guy at the table was looking at him, so you knew you were right about something. You just didn't know what, yet.

The whole evening, he was quiet and only spoke a few times when directly referred to. Otherwise, you felt the weight of his subtle, unwavering gaze anytime you mustered up the courage to contribute to the conversation at the table.

Surely he just wanted his hoodie back. He wore it so often, so it must have been how pitiful you looked outside to make him give it up like that.

Bellies full, bill paid, and a little more relaxed after a fun dinner out with friends despite his presence, you were all starting to leave to go home.

You stood still outside for a moment, sniffling but content, pulling up a route on your phone to walk back to the bus stop. It was a subtle way to wait for him to come out, so you could give him back his hoodie and brave the freezing journey back.

"You got somebody to walk you back?"

He leaned down to speak quietly, just to you. You watched his hand close the distance and rest on your shoulder. It made you stutter.

"Not- not officially."

Then he was walking you back to the bus stop, making a silent trek more difficult than it had to be if you had just gone by yourself. When you spared some meager glances at him, he had that same vibe about him- like he was preoccupied, displeased, and would be unpleasant if you tried to say anything.

It would be another five minutes for the bus.

He stood close to you, his arm against yours, because this bench was wet and you weren't going to repeat that mistake.

"Do you- uh," He rocked a little on his heels when you looked at him, "Do you not... like me?"

It was a staggering question. You held yourself, painfully aware that you were only standing because of his hoodie around you.

"Sure, I like you," You said in a stilted tone.

It wasn't enough and you knew it as it rolled off your tongue.

You cleared your throat. He looked away.

"I mean- I thought you hated me before today, so," You gave an empty laugh to help ease the tension.

"Hate you?" He turned towards you, hands in his pockets. It was the most emotion you had ever seen on his face.

Clearly, something was off. You squinted at him but only could hold it for a second, "Well, yeah, you're kinda... mean-,"

The shock on his face made you stumble over your words.

"But- uh, today you were so nice! Thank you, for your hoodie, that was very sweet-," You glanced around his face, confused, trailing off, "-of, you..."

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, eyes closed, pained at your words. You felt astoundingly guilty, more cold than ever, in a way.

"I gave you my hoodie because I like you."

He put the hand back in his pocket, turning to face the street, watching the lamp posts with a forlorn air about him, "I've been tryin' to ask you out for months."

Your mouth hung open. You covered it, after a few seconds, with your hand.

Was that what all the looks meant? Was that seriously what he was getting at every time he spoke to you? Your face warmed- a welcome sensation.

"I... didn't know," You said simply, pressing up to his side.

It worked, thank god, and though it took him a second, he put a hefty arm around you.

"You were really that clueless?" He muttered, rubbing his warm face with his other hand.

The truth did feel pretty obvious in hindsight, but you reminded him, "You're more intimidating than you think."

In the quiet, the bus sighed around the corner.

"So... I can keep the hoodie?"

You looked up at him, excited at what you could see now as his nervousness. He pressed a hasty kiss to the top of your head as the bus rolled to a stop in front of you.

"Hell, yeah."

VIP

@integers @yuchacco

my masterlist. my request box.

[always-just-red]

Hey, a fluff scenario for cuddling with Rafayel? Thank you 🐡✨

This one really got away from me ahaha, whoops. There's also a moment where my fine art degree really leaps out, so look forward to that, everyone. My first time writing for Raf - thank you anon!!

Perspective

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Genre: fluff fluff FLUFF!

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, cuddling, kisses, lots of intimacy tbh (soft, not spicy!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Thirty minutes. You and Thomas had spent thirty minutes on the phone trying to figure out where your boyfriend actually was. Half an hour of he’s not with you? and no, I thought he was with you!— back and forth, like a metronome, and it wasn’t exactly the first time, either.

You’re seasoned investigators at this point: called constantly out of retirement for one last job you swear you’re too old for, and yet you know is never going to really be the last. You’ve already got matching t-shirts printed for the tortured agent’s next birthday: ‘Special Unit: Find Rafayel.’ (He won’t find it half as funny as you do.)

Neither of you had heard from the artist since Tuesday, and— it being Friday— he was either in his studio, painting, or definitely dead. It fell within your jurisdiction to find out, so you’d driven here two hours ago, texting Thomas upon arriving:

He's alive!! 🥳🥳🥳

You’re less excited about it now.

Stood at Rafayel’s kitchen island, you lay out the last of the buffet you’ve prepared to try to entice him away from his art. It’s worked in the past: has seen him sniff the air and follow his stomach to whatever you were cooking, like a stubborn stray cat.

“C’mon, Raf,” you call out, because he’s not taking the bait. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Not hungry!”

Your fists ball around the cutlery you’re setting down on the marble; he’s not eaten for three days. You glance up at him across the open space of his home, taking a deep breath through your nose as you watch him scrawl away at his painting. Somewhere in your mind, Thomas is speaking. This is what you signed up for, remember?

Reluctantly, you cross between the rooms, folding your arms as you come up behind Rafayel. “Raf,” you insist again, “come and sit down. Please? You need to eat something.”

“I’m fiiiiiine.” His paintbrush drags viridian over the lower third of his piece.

“You’re not fine,” you huff, and he doesn’t respond. “Rafayel.”

“Rafayel?” he mimics with a chuckle. “You’re mad.”

He’s ‘Rafayel’ in only two types of circumstance: when he’s making you really, really happy, or he’s making you consider the career-leap between bodyguard and assassin. It’s an extraordinarily thin line, and he just loves walking the tightrope.

“I’m not mad, just worried. Can’t you come eat with me? Your painting isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, smoothing out a stroke of paint, “but what about my inspiration?”

“That’ll be waiting for you, too.”

“You think?” His lips curve as he pensively pokes at them with the wooden end of his brush. “I guess you did spend a lot of time cooking, huh? And if you’re really that worried, then…” He spins around with wide eyes. An epiphany. “Feed it to me?”

You stare back, unmoved by the puppy-like expression. He looks cute, yeah, but you’re not falling for it again. This is exactly how he looked earlier, when you’d convinced him to at least accept a glass of water. You’d almost drowned him in your subsequent efforts to actually get it down his throat.

Rafayel mixes three colours on his palette as you relive the ordeal. Like the once-white of his shirt, it’s awash with vibrant greens and blues, some fresh, some days-old. He pauses when he’s done, but you can tell he’s itching to get back to the canvas. “Give me, like… half an hour?” he estimates. The number’s been plucked from thin air. “The food’s gonna be delicious, even if it’s cold. You made it!”

“Raf, I—”

“And how can I even enjoy it if I’m racing to get back here? I wanna savour it, y’know? And anyway…” he trails off, his attention drawn by something above.

“Yeah?” you prompt, glancing upwards. There’s nothing there.

His gaze snaps back. “Sorry, the ceiling was doing something weird. But yeah, anyway, it’s not like you have to— I mean, it’s not like I’m going to— wait. What were we talking about again?”

Not much surprises you these days, but your mouth is still agape. Enough is enough. “Put the paintbrush down. You’re done.”

He nonchalantly returns to the painting. “I’m really not, though.”

You narrow your eyes. Reassess. “You were right about the ceiling.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

You snatch the paintbrush. “Ha!”

He blinks blankly at you and your eagerly-clutched trophy, unfazed by the moment of triumph. “Cute trick,” he shrugs. He runs a finger across the palette and applies the new colour to the painting with a quick sweep. “What’s next, Miss Bodyguard? You gonna cut off my ha— ow, ow, ow! Hey! Take it easy!”

You’re pinching his ear, dragging him wordlessly to the kitchen, because you're out of things to say.

“Fine. Fine!” he groans as he tries to keep up with you. You release him and he straightens, his face pink, but not as pink as his ear. “You win! Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stop dead in your tracks, then turn with a look so cold he couldn’t melt it with all of his fire.

“I mean— ahaha,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing, cutie. You’re amazing. I can’t wait.”

…

Rafayel sits back on his stool, still staring at his painting. The mood is different from earlier. There’s no more restlessness or impatience; he isn’t in a rush. He’s humming a soft song you’re almost certain you’ve heard before, but you can’t quite place the melody. It’s pretty, though: the sort of tune one might recall from a childhood music box, or maybe even a dream.

There’s a clink as you stack two finished plates. Then another. And another.

“Don’t,” Rafayel says quietly, catching your hand before you can collect the plate nearest to him. “I’ll do it later— promise. Sit with me?”

You were never going to say no, but his hands are on your hips before you can say yes, and he’s turning you gently— pulling you up onto his lap. You smile as his arms wrap around you, keeping you from slipping, and he’s warm as you relax back against him.

“What do you think?” he asks, staring out over your shoulder.

Your gaze follows his to the painting, still waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

“Oh yeah?” You can feel him chuckle before it reaches your ears.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a smile, shifting to face him as much as you can. “Kinda pales in comparison to my favourite masterpiece. This one,” you poke two fingers to his chest. “Right… about—” they walk higher, “—here!”

You boop his nose and he immediately scoffs, his face going red. “Sheesh,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eyes. “That was lame.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

He squirms as you laugh and try to touch his cheeks; they’re going to feel hot, and he’s a sore loser. His hands don’t manage to capture yours, so they settle for finding your hips again, swivelling you around until you’re trapped by his embrace. You’re both one misjudged move away from toppling to the floor, so you let him keep his victory. What’s left of his dignity, too.  

Your laughter rescinds like a tide, but the quiet is far from empty.

“C’mon,” Rafayel tries again. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nudging your head, urging you to look forward. His hair is feather-soft on your skin, and he peppers chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. “Tell me. What do you see?”  

You hum contentedly. “A painting.” You’re not thinking about it at all; your eyes are closed.

“And?”

“A plant. A sofa. Some curtains,” you recall.

“You know what I meant,” he grins against you.

You lean back with a sigh, no longer supporting your own weight, but sinking into him with trust and begrudging compliance. It’s not bad, as surrenders go. He gives you a squeeze of encouragement and your head rolls back, stopping at his shoulder. His breath is skirting over your cheek, just barely.

You open your eyes and really look at the painting.

“It’s beautiful, Raf,” you murmur. It is; it was always going to be. “Everything you do is beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, “I know.” But he wants more. “Does it make you think of something, maybe? Anything?”

There’s no right or specific answer. This isn’t remotely your field of expertise, and you’re oceans apart sometimes, so he has to outstretch a hand. Two viewpoints. Two sides of a coin; you never should have seen each-other.

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood.  

Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. Does it make you think of something? Though the marks are fixed, they’re somehow fluid. The emerald tones are marred by shadows, as though something’s lurking beneath the surface, but there are traces of white, too. Light: shimmering.

“Reflections,” you finally answer. “Scattered to anonymity by a now turbulent lake. They belonged to something else, once, but they’ve taken a new shape— a restless and ever-changing identity— and no-one knows what it is, let alone what it was.”

With a satisfied smile, you close your eyes. That ought to keep him quiet for a minute.

Sure enough, Rafayel is silent. You don’t have to see his crystalline eyes to know they’re set on the painting, soaking it in with a new perspective. His favourite perspective: yours.

You have never been strangers to each-other. Two sides of a coin are still the same coin.

With a light laugh of surprise, he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” He’s nuzzling into you again. “I know I can be—”

“A pain in the ass?”

He laughs louder. “I was gonna say eccentric.”

“Oh…” You draw air through your teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Your voice is humourless, your face plain. It lasts all of two seconds, and then the charade is falling to pieces; he’s nibbling at your ear, your neck, and it tickles mercilessly. You giggle, but you don’t try to escape. The punishment fits the crime, and who are you to deny him his justice?

You’re quickly running out of breath, so Rafayel ceases his assault, letting you get it back. “Can I look at you now?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll allow it.”

You shift and he lifts you a little— helping you twist around to face him. He smiles fondly as he links his hands behind you, stopping you from falling as you lean back to enjoy the view. It’s the best kind of smile: one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle, like the water in the painting, but infinitely more pretty.

You want to feel that smile on your lips, so you lean in and kiss him.

It’s tender and perfect and when you’re done, you snuggle closer, wrapping your arms around him and nestling like you’ll be staying there for a while. You can hear his heart, and though a part of it is in his painting, the rest is with you. Always with you.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your work?” you ask as you think of it, smiling into his shirt. He won’t— not tonight.

“Nah,” he says, running his fingers through your hair. “It can wait.”

[frownyalfred]

today’s fun writing fact: did you know that most writing coaches estimate that it takes around one hour for the average writer to write 1000 words?

I know what you’re thinking — that’s really slow! I can write that in 20 minutes. Right, but that assumes that when you started typing, you knew exactly what you were going to write — every line of dialogue your characters were about to say, every description perfectly pre-planned, etc.

And then you have to go back and edit it. And tag it. And cut out parts that don’t work and add new bits. So by the time you’ve got that “short” fic all ready to go, you’ve probably spent at least two hours on it, maybe more.

So yeah, as an author, I cringe seeing the “this was so short!!” comments on fics, even when they’re well-intentioned. Because someone just took 2+ hours out of their day for something you could read in less than five minutes and be done with.

The next time you see that author put out a 1-2k chapter, remember to do the math! And leave a comment 💜 that’s how you keep those updates coming.

[shayberri789]

I saw a post that said Jeremy and Andrew would have to financially support their boyfriends and Kevin after graduation because of the mafia deal, and I thought, that can't be right? I distinctly remember a large numbers in tkm

Well I did the math

TLDR: The boys are earning bank even after deductions. They're Fine.

Neil estimates that IN COLLEGE, Kevin was earning in the MILLIONS, and projected him to earn 15–20 MILLION dollars EVERY YEAR after graduating. Keep in mind, this was 2k-fucking-6, neil has been obsessively keeping track of Kevin's career, is obsessed with exy including on a logistical standpoint, and a maths major who is good at statistics. I trust his projections here.

The past tense here is also up for debate. This was also before he started playing lefthanded again, before the foxes beat the ravens, and while Kevin was still recovering. I know nothing about the sports-world and how they'd react to the shit Kevin has gone through and recovered from, but I fully believe he can get his earning potential back up into the double digit millions again. Plus, he's more popular than ever with fans.

Now, Jean is one of the top exy players in collegiate exy atm. Probably The Best backliner in the NCAA in general. He is FAR better than an "average" exy player and I would bet my book collection he WILL make it to court. If he can manage to play a season without being grievously injured and endear himself to the public, I bet he could earn AT LEAST double the average exy income.

Neil is harder to gauge. As I've said, I don't know how the sports world works, or wider america tbh, so this is just logical guessing on my part. Neil has a lot of things going against him - his poor attitude/personality, zero tolerance for press and presumably little patience for fans (or at least: poor people skills), a shit ton of scandal surrounding him and ties to TWO mob families (that the public knows of), and by the time he graduates, would have been playing striker for only 6 years. On the other hand, drama drives attention, he is at the root of the Foxes winning streak, he went toe to toe against RIKO with only 2 years striker experience (and a little bit of backliner), was captain, and is undeniably talented. He stands to earn more than the average professional player, but I can't say by how much

So by these numbers (estimated early 2007), lets say they'll earn the following after a year or two after graduating:

Kevin: 15–17,000,000 USD

Jean: 5–8,000,000 USD

Neil: 3–5,000,000 USD

So if they pay 80% of these earnings to the Moriyamas, they will be left with:

Kevin:

Pays:

15,000,000–17,000,00 x 80% = 12,000,000–13,600,000 USD per year (12-13.6 million)

Leaving him with:

15–million subtract 12–13.6 million = 3,000,000–3,400,000 USD remainder per year

Jean:

Pays:

5,000,000–8,000,000 x 80% = 4,000,000–6,400,000 USD per year (4–6.4 million)

Remainder:

5–8 mill subtract 4–6.4 mill = 1,000,000–1,600,000 USD remainder per year

Neil:

Pays:

3,000,000–5,000,000 x 80% = 2,400,000–4,000,000 USD per year (2.4–4 million)

Remainder:

3-5 mill subtract 2.4-4 mill = 600,000-1,000,000 USD remainder per year

These are big numbers. Let's convert them for inflation to 2024¹:

Kevin: He gets to keep $4.2–4.7 million out of $20.9–23.7 million dollars

Jean gets keep $1.4–2.2 million out of $7–11.1 million

Neil gets to keep $840,000–$1.4 million out of $4.1–7 million

All of these guys have the potential to earn over A MILLION DOLLARS PER YEAR even after they pay tribute to the Moriyamas (no idea if this would be before or after taxes. I will not attempt to calculate that. That's for people who understand how US taxes work to do.)

Neil made these projections/reported these numbers in 2006/early 2007, based on previous years salaries. Kevin and Jean would have graduated in 2010, and Neil in 2011.

based on this US census article I found [x], the average median income in 2010-2011 in the USA was between $37k–70k. This means, Neil at his lowest, is earning 8.6–16 times more than the average US income PER YEAR.

Based on the comments in this reddit thread from 2012² (OP provides figures of 24-42k for annual cost of living in San Jose, Cali), even Neil at his lowest can live a very comfortable life on his own, even if we increase that cost of living to 100k per year and consider his lowest income of 600k. He still has plenty left over he can spend or save for retirement³, and that's excluding what he will continue to earn from merch etc and what Blood Money he still has after graduation.

TLDR: Neil was right⁴. Even without their boyfriend's support, I think Neil, Jean and Kevin can live very comfortable lives for a long time. Hell, Kevin has the potential to earn so much he probably support all three of them by himself⁵, or live one hell of a bachelors lifestyle after retirement⁶.

They Will be Fine.

Endnotes & Disclaimers

Disclaimer:

I am not american, and know only as much about your country as media and socmed shove down my throat, and as much as I need to know to be Very Worried For My Friends.

Everything I know about sports is against my will and even that could fill a teacup. I know more about exy than I do any other sport combined, nevermind professional, american sports

I was once good at maths, but have not taken a maths class since 2021, and even then it was statistics which I Hated and promptly forgot all I could about it.

Take pity on me, I am a non-american english lit (and linguistics) major. this kind of analysis is NOT in my skillset.

So please, someone who understands American Economy, maths and sports better than me, PLEASE chime in and correct or add to this.

Endnotes:

Because the 2025 US economy seems to be in shambles rn. I used this calculator and just converted the values I gave earlier. I did not redo the math because it seemed irrelevant and because I Do Not Care That Much. All numbers given here are rounded to the second digit. Obviously.

Why is it so hard to find a concise article talking about the cost of living in the USA in 2011? I do not care enough to fish it or calculate the amount from small details hidden within 6 dense paragraphs. Please. Also only a few cities were mentioned, which is why I raised the possible CoL so fucking much. Cover my bases.

Average Rugby (the closest phsyically demanding sport I am familiar with) career length is around 13 years [x], Average American Football career is 3-5 years [x], and the average Ice Hockey career seems to be 5 years according to this article [x], though if you take care of your body they say you can even reach 10 years (ha. Not happening to the Raven Trained Babes).

"The average professional Exy player makes three million dollars a year. I don't need that kind of money for myself" (ch 14, TKM).

I strongly hc him as aroace but he is a chronic third wheeler. He won't live an isolated life his whole life.

If we average their careers to 5 years, they'll graduate in their late 20s with probably chronic pain. Andrew and Jeremy and their friends likely could go longer, but the main trio still have like 70 years of their life left. I can't see them sitting idle - they'd find some other career (probably exy related, though Kevin may go the history route) to keep themselves busy, which would still earn them plenty money

[thatdeadaquarius]

Harry Potter/Genshin Impact Crossover Fun🎉

for @kiraisastay my beta reader for the big fat Eldritch AU awhile back! :)

“…a genshin/Harry Potter crossover where reader (still fem) comes from genshin (so she has a vision) and tries to fit in at Hogwarts (would love for it to be set around the Goblet Of Fire so the hp characters in that age start maturing and actually understand what happens around them and aren't little kids , plus, y'know, YULE BALL), would also like for the reader to have a more stoic/emotionless personality with tragic past (so like having scars y'knowww) cuz it makes character building a lot more juicy ahah, but you can write it however you want tho!! (this can be funnier to write if you're feeling a lot creative)”

UGH sorry i took forever! im rlly bad at estimating time...

I hope this is a fun read at least, and thanks for much for taking on that eldritch monster fic awhile back lol

☆

Orbit: Long Headcanon/fic-thing (~2k words) - Harry Potter x Genshin Impact Crossover (4th Year)

Sun: Feminine Reader (she/her), Slytherin Reader, Reader is 15-16 year old.

Stars: Harry, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, Viktor Krum, mentions of others.

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Reader has rough past, & Trigger Warnings: vague mentions of scars, Reader has bad relationship with parents.

☆

You’re so fucking happy your Cryo Vision came with you.

You knew you were in a different country, one you definitely had never been to before, but you couldn’t figure out for the life of you where it was at first

Your first guess was Fontaine, but the robes and strange overuse of catalyst weapons (actually, only catalyst weapons??) began to convince you otherwise real quick,

Fontaine was just the closest country you could compare it to

yeah so obviously by the time u realized you shouldn't be waving a sword around, it was too late lmao, u scared the shit out of the potions shopkeeper and had to make a hasty exit

bc for some reason any other weapon than a catalyst is shamed here?? which makes no sense to you, as it seems like their “magic” here could just as easily be channeled into different weapons/items??

u guess not having monsters to randomly fight everytime u just wanna take a walk outside makes for a pretty peaceful world, and specifically this country ”England” or the “United Kingdom”

u had taken a week or so to re-orient yourself to this new world, how only a certain society knew about their magic, how there were no gods here, at least not any u could easily interact with, and that most people your age would be in school still???

while u could choose to pursue higher education or specialize in Sumeru’s Akademiya, basic schooling was still provided in every country in Teyvat up until about 15 years old

but at this point u were willing to do what it took to blend into this world, and u didnt want anyone to be asking how old u were/why u werent in school when you wandered around, so u went to Hogwarts

It also proved to be a good way to acquaint urself with the world/its magic and give u a place to better excuse any social or magical mistakes

But needless to say, u struggled, u had to constantly find some workaround for “magic” from the wands/catalysts in classes

and luckily they took u being a transfer student pretty smoothly, as u were just in time for the “Triwizard Tournament” to be announced and other schools were coming to participate, u easily got accepted in

and the only one who batted an eye at it was the weird old Headmaster, who u already suspected knew more abt u than he was letting on (Dumbledore seemed to have eyes everywhere the more u learned, which made u more suspicious of him too)

you'd been sorted into Slytherin, along with the Russian magical students, (Durmstrang?)

of which you had absolutely no frame of reference for how bad that was, other than being accused of literally being from the Abyss 💀

while the rest of the student body treated u with the basic contempt u learned all Slytherins just seemed to kind of get all the time, ur own house was a little more confusing when it came to you

some were curious abt all the scars, the strange glowing snowflake gem that u concealed on ur hip, what ur country was like and what the magic school over there was like (thank fuck for ur poker face and insane lying skills that made it believable)

(there was absolutely a rumor abt u pulling a sword on Filch at some point, u neither denied nor supported it)

the other half of the slytherins were all uptight about u possibly being a “Muggleborn” and sneered at u every chance they got (some weird blond kid a year or 2 below you??)

or they outright ignored u

tbh u didn't really get much genuine favor between Slytherins just being Slytherins and ur own reputation/cold disposition until Professor Snape saw how good u were at potions a month into this insanity

(it was just basic alchemy? nearly everyone, especially Vision-users, knew how to do it back home? why was it so special here?? u had this kind of question a lot in this world over most things, like the “muggles dont know abt magic” thing, it seem like more trouble than its worth.)

U both got along in the same way a cold-demeanor father bonds with his carbon copy cold-demeanor daughter lol

in which he invited u for tea sometimes out of polite extra teaching for “ur future plans of being a potion master, like myself”

which okay?? u were better than most ur age at potions bc of alchemy (which u learned is taught at higher levels of potion mastery) and its not like you've figured out how to get back to ur world anytime soon

so u just roll with that being ur “future career” for now, it makes the old emo professor happy so u figure why not

And its the first scrap of favor you’ve found here so it works

Tho u did complain at Snape for picking on Gryffindors, saying “ur rlly not helping that Slytherin reputation for tall dark and evil here”

He proceeded to make u clean and reorganize his potion stores for that lol

(Tho he did start to lighten up the more u picked on him abt it, the poor kid with huge round glasses followed you with his huge green eyes for weeks, he seems to be the only one who's really realized ur the one convincing Snape to mellow out)

U begin researching information (thanks to Snape) in the forbidden part of the library abt different worlds/time travel, anything thatd put u close to possibly getting back home

Or, to be honest, a portal would be better, bc youd like to come back here sometimes,

Its not like u have family back home (not any who you'd want to visit), mostly just a few good friends who'd be worried abt u (Childe misses his sparring partner for sure)

Which then leads u to noticing that boy with the black hair and big round glasses (was it smth like,,, harold sculptor? Atp that seems like a feasible name to you bc in this world parents rlly were cruel abt naming their kid “feathery” or smth wild)

Harold and two others, one with fluffy long hair, and the other a redhead,

Were attempting to “spy” on u from behind bookshelves or at tables seated near the forbidden section

U saw them learn the times u came there and how they made sure to match them (tho it seems the redhead got bored easily and begged to eat instead)

You'd actually managed to make friends with some Durmstrang friends in the meantime too

And by that u mean Viktor Krum mostly

Ppl were constantly obsessed with him and he'd managed to escape up the astronomy tower to get some peace and quiet,

Only to run into u reading away, and he'd heard abt ur reputation, and wanted to befriend u

U two got along rlly well, lots of peaceful silences, and chill convos, esp since u guys had some stuff in common

Mostly how ur both foreign to Hogwarts/this country and adjusting still

Anyway that is to say, Viktor teased u abt the ducklings following u around everywhere thinking they were sneaky

And this was a routine u got used to, until it was time for the tournament

You hadnt bothered to put ur name in, u didnt feel like risking ur life for no reason afterall

So needless to say u were pissed when rumors went around abt u putting Harol- Harry's name in the goblet

(u finally learned his name, apparently he's famous for not dying? As a baby?? A powerful tyrant evil wizard wanted to kill him as a baby??? Just,, why)

Not only that but then he was obligated to be in the tournament???

U knew there was smth insane abt this school, bringing back this crazy tournament in the first place, somehow getting Harry's name in the goblet,

but u didn't think they were batshit crazy.

(Dumbledore is not helping his case in your eyes, esp as u suspect he’s got Snape involved in his BS too somehow…)

So needless to say you were going to fix this mess since these seasoned “wizard adults” weren't 😒

You snuck into the Great Hall using a high level alchemy invisibility amulet, and used ur Cryo vision to extinguish the Goblet of Fire 💀

It reset the game, and luckily they were able to resubmit the champions to the Triwizard Tournament and hide away the Goblet before it got tampered with again

Lol u got Harry out of it, and it wasnt until later in the library that u get cornered by the Gryffindor fourth year himself

He admits to seeing u under his invisibilty cloak that night and thanks you for getting him out of that hell, poor kid looks so grateful 😭

But regardless of that, he insists u tell him abt the ice spell u used, how u used it wandless, with no incantation, etc.

You just gave him a small smile (his big green eyes look even more shocked behind the glasses, what, was that old professor right? do u rlly not smile that much?) and tell him he owes u one

He agrees and u go on ur way to the forbidden section

(U dont explain the ice, afterall, who would believe him? You werent even that much older, and only “master wizards” could do what u did)

After that, Harry starts to follow u around a lot more,

much to the annoyance of his redhead friend (Rodrick? Rocky? smth with a R-) and the absolute admiration of the younger girl with big hair

the champions start the first trial, and u help Viktor out with a plan to defeat the dragon and get the egg in one piece (u had lots of experience with monsters after all, and Viktor and Snape, who couldn't keep his big nose out of your business, were simultaneously disturbed and yet not surprised by this information)

it works flawlessly, and that's when you notice the new DA teacher acting suspicious

as the champions gear up for the 2nd trial, u help Viktor try to figure out the egg’s secrets,

Both Harry and Hermione have taken to interrupting ur library research time (u finally learned her name, but not the redhead, he seemed a bit rude tbh so u don't care to know)

after brainstorming (well more like talking at the brick wall that was Snape) with the old potions professor over tea gossip time again, u finally figure out how to get the egg open without screaming, and tell Viktor

Who thanks u by taking u to the Yule Ball, but u only manage the first dance before u get absorbed in the food and the cool decor, and u also convince him to gossip with u in the corner too

(u do appreciate having a reason to dress up at least, as you attempt to imitate the Tsaritsa herself with this dress)

U notice further on into the night that Hermione ran out looking upset, and ur “girl’s girl” instinct kicks in, (regardless of ur neutrality for her, u lie to urself) and follow her outside to comfort her

u talk, and tho ur cold demanour did intimidate her a little, after she realized u were genuinely trying to help her, she took u up on the offer, and asked if u two could be friends since she’s “surrounded by stupid Gryffindor boys all the time”

u agreed amused, and convinced her to join Viktor and u in ur gossip session, which Harry (after humiliating himself on the dance floor), joined in later as well

(You may or may not have iced the floor secretly under the redhead’s and the equally annoying prissy Slytherin blonde’s feet, sending them sprawling on top of each other, so neither would come bother u four)

Over the next week you hear from Hermione’s researching/studying sessions with you that Ron did apologize to her, of which u advised her to get revenge on him anyway lmao

Harry at one point came groaning and complaining to you abt Cedric bothering him abt the egg problem, and u went ahead and gave it to him

Finally the next task was here, something abt rescuing smth underwater that mattered to each of the champions

u were immediately on ur guard when Dumbledore called u and 3 other seemingly random ppl to ur office (but u began to connect the dots after realizing one of them was the little sister of the Fontai- French Champion)

only to deflect the spell that would've knocked u out, and instead pretend to be knocked out

u obv kept ur Vision on u at all times, as always, and realized what was happening as the teachers levitated u all out to the lake

Snape snapped about being the one in charge of you, (and lowkey told u he knew u were awake, did he sound a little,, proud?? no, not Snape surely of all ppl)

Viktor did end up fishing you out, which he said u “looked like a very unhappy drenched old tom cat” while swimming to shore, (u awkwardly pat him on the back for thinking ur the best part of Hogwarts, and then smacked him for getting u kidnapped to go into a freezing lake)

and u also ended up helping Viktor rescue the other girl left behind, and froze some of the mermaids’ tails in the water for their trouble

Fleur was so grateful that she came to hunt you (and Viktor too at the time) for helping her and her sister that she came to thank u two again while at the library

which then led to her sometimes hanging around ur table at the library (everyone avoids it like the plague initially bc of you, but now youve got a gaggle of wizards rotating out all the time, like the younger years Harry/Hermione/Ron, Viktor, and now Fleur)

by the time the third trial rolls around, youve taken to bullying the prissy blonde brat a year below you to keep him from not only bothering Harry and Hermione, but also ur own peace and quiet

The other Slytherins are beginning to warm up to you, or at least not actively ignore you, since you’ve been hanging around Viktor Krum, along with gaining favor from Snape more obviously (he’d plopped a singular towel in ur lap after getting out of the lake, and u might as well have “Snape’s Favorite” written across ur forehead for all that means)

(also some of them may or may not find u roasting the annoying blonde bully kid amusing too)

it isn't until u see the creepy retired Aura (or whatever they call their knights) DA professor milling about the castle more, nearer the Gryffindor tower, that you begin to warn Harry to spread the word among his little lion club to not travel alone, esp in the evenings

(u don't like how his weird rolling blue eye looks thru you, it reminds u of Dumbledore)

by the time the third trial is finally announced, you have ur sights set on that weird old man, and end up following him to his classroom at one point,

in which he cracks open a rattling trunk, tosses some food in, and seems to have definitely stolen what you assume to be the Triwizard trophy

he casts a spell on it, and you put on that same invisibiltiy amulet from alchemy to better follow him, and watch him sneak into Dumbledore’s office to return the trophy

(You break the “portkey” spell you find on it)

(you also leave a note behind on the headmaster’s desk to look into a trunk in the new DA professor’s classroom storage, and to be more careful hiring the next one.)

Harry somehow gets sucked into the maze you find out, and you end up sneaking in to save him, using your sword and Cryo Vision to battle him out

(finally, Archons, you didnt realize how much you'd miss fighting monsters)

Aurors descend upon Hogwarts, only just after the trial ends, and Viktor wins (you trained him too well for him to not, and may or may not have viciously sparred with him a little too much for him to not be a little afraid of the consequences of losing after you helped him so much lol)

Just as Harry is taken in by Dumbledore for questioning of how he got trapped in the maze, he runs back to nearly squeeze the life out of you in a hug, he tells you thanks for helping him again (and forced u to promise to teach him sword fighting or “ice magic”)

Then, surprisingly, the entirety of Durmstrang (and some Slytherins??) haul you up into the air with Viktor to celebrate his victory

(You can see Snape snickering at ur misery in the air)

Viktor and Fleur stay penpals, and the “golden trio” (more like “gryffindor triplets”) sticks around your library table

and you think you could start to get used to this, and Harry, Hermione, and Snape had gotten you a Yule/winter gift

(what’s Christmas. and why is everyone obsessed with decorating trees??)

…that is until Hermione looks over your shoulder one day at your usual reading table, and points to a book you’ve chosen for research,

saying “if you need to make a portal somewhere, that’s the book you should be looking in.”

☆

i hope you liked it!! and that it wasn't too much of a clusterfuck/chaos that was barely readable 😅

again, thanks for being patient with me, and here's finally ur payment for dealing with my ass lmao

Happy late new year!!

Safe Travels Kirarisastay,

💀♒

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(Tumblr is against tagging/DMing side blogs, only main blogs usually can)

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

A side effect of taking one's gym-sessions seriously again (also called "no loner haunted by the deadline") that I once again did not expect is the all-consuming hunger. Never before have I related to the Nids so much like the times when I actively go back to 3+ training sessions a week. CALORIES FOR THE CALORIE GOD, CARBS FOR THE CARB THRONE!

But it also got me thinking - just how do Space Marines handle it? Not only do those big bodies need a bunch of fuel, they also have a whole company of new recruits at all times, and those go completly beyond "kids currently hitting a growth spurt" in terms of dietary needs.

For reference, a Space Marine without armor weights about ~400kg more or less dependant on personal genetics and specific geneseed. This is mostly due to muscle mass being considerably more dense than fat as well as a number of skeletal enhancements.

If I would take myself as a starting point here with ~70kg, that would mean to become a Space Marine I would have to more than QUINTUPLE my weight over the course of five or so years with most of that frontloaded into the first years. So let's assume three years. A quick googling says that it takes about 6000+ of EXCESS kcal to build 1kg of muscle, of which 1800 will be contained in the actual muscle and the rest of blown on the actual construction process - and denser stuff like bones will at least take just as much if not more.

So let's just make a short calculation: 6000kcal x 330kg to gain = 1,980.000 EXCESS calories that you need IN ADDITION to the ones you need to keep your body functional. On that note: the average human body burns roughly 2.000 a day, more or less depending on sex, size, and so on, but generally that is a good middle ground to work with. So if we take that big number and divide it through that, we get 990 days worth of regular people food. So you need as much food as a regular person eats in 3 years - just as extra bits, for the weight gain! So these 2k a day come on top of what is already needed!

But how many calories DOES a Space Marine need? A regular human's 2k is definetly not cutting it, and the number goes up depending on how much muscle and other active bits you have. All those extra bones they have won't burn much, but the muscles surely will - and they also do training and stuff! So you can take a Strongman athlete as a baseline, and you reach a point where your body requires 7000kcal or even more a day to function during intense training, perhaps more. If we add the 2k from before, that's 9000kcal of food PER DAY EVERY DAY for several years, and that's on the lower end of things when it comes to rough estimations.

JUST WHAT DO THEY FEED THOSE KIDS?!

[sherbet-shivers]

Catch a Break

Series: T//he W//ire (my favorite series of all time, I cannot encourage watching this enough!)

Characters: J//immy M//cNulty (-centric) and B//unk M//oreland

Part 1/? (This was gonna be a one-shot but who knows)

Blurb: Self-indulgent fic where McNulty is overworked with a cold. Nobody asked for this but I love sassy, self-destructive fictional men.

Length: ~2k words

TW: cursing, contagion and alcoholism mentioned, light mess, cops (no spoilers)

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! <3**

“Jimmy…Jimmy…JIMMY!”

McNulty startles half-awake, his office swaying like a damn boat while he blinks away the noir fuzz bordering his peripherals. He felt like shit. Cement had replaced his bones, making every step heavy from labor. Menial aches and pains had exploded into full on torture wounds by morning. It didn’t help that he had a headache and a ringing in one ear. Not to mention the fever that’d been creeping up on him since noon.

Fuck. If there was anything McNulty resented more than red tape, it was being sick. It made him a lousy detective, a lousy sport, made him feel lousy. It was too bad his nap hadn’t killed him, really; that or at least slipped him into a coma long enough to ride out this misery. He straightens in his seat and loosens his tie. The hellfire torching up his throat and sinuses had moved on to cooking up his insides. Ironic, given that he was shivering and shaking so bad.

“Jesus,” huffs an admonishing tone. McNulty doesn’t have to look up to recognize who it is. He knows that voice — or rather that tone — anywhere. “Who shit you out and left me on janitor’s duty?”

“Fuck off, Bunk,” McNulty grumbles. He’s congested when he speaks, drowning his consonants. A chesty cough escapes him as he snuggles back in his chair.  “What time is it?”

“Well it ain’t Happy Hour, but you smell like it.” It’s an unnecessary jab (although not entirely undeserved).

“I’m not drunk,” he slurs back uselessly.

“But you’ve been drinking, right?”

McNulty hesitates, then rolls his eyes to meet his partner’s stare, both judgmental and vigilant as ever. His silence speaks for itself.

“Thought so,” Bunk mutters. The detective saunters over to his own desk where he takes a seat on a twice handed-down office chair. The vinyl cushioning squeaks under his weight, deflating an inch or so. “Not that I’m one to judge; what with the state you’re in, a shot’s the last thing that’ll kill ya.”

“Poor choice of words given our business, don’t you think?” McNulty lazily jests. His eyes are already closing on their own again. He was exhausted, and too eager to fit in another cat nap or two.

“Fuck you, smartass; you know what I mean.”

Bunk gives him a bump on the shoulder to keep him roused. Concern, maybe? His touch lingers as he casts his friend a sideways look.

“Fuck; you really do look like shit, though,” Bunk declares upon reinspection of Jimmy’s face. He pulls his hand back slowly and rubs his fingers together like they’ve collected soot. “Motherfucker hot as Hell, too.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, handsome,” McNulty winks. The giggle that escapes him is whimsical, borderline delirious; undoubtedly tipsy on liquor and a fever of at least a hundred and one by Bunk’s estimate.

“How long you been sick for?” Bunk asks. McNulty shrugs, as expected.

“Dunno,” he lies, “does it matter?”

“Guess not,” Bunk follows, blasé. “I should know better than to think you’d give a fuck about-“

Suddenly McNulty breaks out in a coughing fit. It’s deep and chesty, only further evidencing his poor condition.

“-self-care,” he finishes.

He falls silent as he waits for McNulty to ride out the rest of his huffing and hacking. The damn fool’s face was turning red from effort, a contrast to its former pallor. Honestly speaking, Bunk would feel worse for the son of a bitch if it weren’t for the fact he willfully came into work bugged the past few days (spreading it four floors in either direction) even though he knew damn well he was getting sick a week in advance, at least. Jimmy was an idiot like that. Stupid fucker was so damn addicted to his job and the game that he often neglected the effects on people closest to him — himself included. No doubt it was his fault Bunk had to come in tonight; the damn office was short staffed and under tight watch after some jackass “accidentally” sneezed on Rawls. It didn’t take a detective to figure out who the fuck that could be.

“hHUH-!…HRRSH’huu!” 

Speaking of the devil.

“SH’ih-!…shit-!” McNulty curses breathlessly. A hiccup of air, another gasp, then- “hHD’ZSHH’hu!”

McNulty spreads his legs and snaps in half just in time to launch a sneeze between his own thighs. The desk  lamp catches mist in its light, repulsing Bunk further and prompting him to inch away. 

“Fuck! That’s sick, Jimmy,” Bunk groans, shielding his line of sight with a newspaper.

Jimmy shrugs and shakes his head.

“D’hHH-…d-don’t watch then-!” he manages before pitching another — “ihH’DSHH’h!” — towards the floor. He can hear Bunk cursing in the background, but since when did he give a fuck about etiquette; least of all in front of Bunk? Besides, he’d been waiting on a fit like this all day. He wanted to indulge in this relief while possible.

He concentrates on the itch; head tipped back, eyes firmly closed, nose wrinkled and nostrils flaring. Broken gasps of air escape the parting of his lips, and his eyebrows tug skyward, drawing attention to the sweat clinging to crows feet. He remains suspended like that for a moment. You see, this was the other issue he had with colds: they made him itch like crazy; but all the extra congestion meant his sneezes had a tendency to get stuck — no matter how badly they were needed.

Not to mention luck was rarely on his side even on a good day, and so maybe this was just another fabulous example of his crude misfortune. As expected, the promise of relief retreats away, leaving McNulty frustrated and teary eyed as he wipes his nose on his tie and suppresses a cough against his sleeve.

“Fuck,” he groans, collpasing back into his seat, head back and arms hugging himself. Beside him, Bunk slowly lowers his paper, grimace fading as he resumes observing his partner.

“Bless you. You uh, take anything for…this?” Bunk asks, gesturing vaguely towards Jimmy.

McNulty chuckles, opening one eye and hesitating to catch his breath. “What's with the third degree?” He’s joking, but Bunk isn’t smiling this time. His stare is oppositely stern and silently chastising. McNulty clears his throat awkwardly. “No, nothing,” he answers more honestly.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you unfamiliar with the drugstore? Or have you forgotten that’s where people traditionally get their drugs?”

McNulty petulantly shrugs, right on cue. “It started off as a headache and the sniffles a few days ago. Thought it was allergies, so I figured I’d just ride it out,” he explains. “Plus, you know I hate that CVS shit. All it does is knock you out; I can’t go around solvin’ cases and questioning witnesses without a clear head.”

“Right, because that’s what you’ve got alright-,” Bunk scoffs, “-a clear head. That’s why you’re passing out at work hungover with the plague; sneezing and hacking your ‘clear head’ all over the motherfucking place.”

McNulty pauses, locking eyes with Bunk in a private game of chicken he can’t win. They stay that way for half a minute, but seeing as how he can’t win, McNulty raises both his hands, wordlessly forfeiting from the argument. Instead, he opts for performatively conceding one hand to dig around his breast pocket, where he frees an aged, aluminum flask that squeaks when he unscrews the cap. With added showmanship he raises his flask in mock cheers to “Rawls’ speedy recovery” and takes a long, indulgent swig. The burn that follows is heavenly and momentarily suspends his chills, like a furnace in his chest.

“Look your concern is appreciated, but I’ve already got the strongest antidote to man’s ailments right here; what more do I need?” McNulty cheekily defends, adding: “Sides, FDA doesn’t recommend mixing antihistamines with alcohol.”

Bunk snorts. “You’re a fucking alcoholic, Jimmy.”

“Takes one to know one. Just be proud of me for choosing not to drive home tonight,” he smirks before swigging the tin back once, twice again. Christ, that hit the spot, and even better than usual. Probably partly in thanks to his mucked up senses, which inadvertently spare him from tasting his own bad decisions.

Bunk rolls his eyes. “Just shut the fuck up and blow your goddamn nose. Can’t understand a fucking word you’re saying.”

Bunk hurls a travel pack of tissues from somewhere off his desk and towards McNulty. The latter catches it (albeit barely) and as a token of appreciation, spares his company a witty retort. Not to mention he needed to blow his nose, badly — stupid thing was so plugged up, he felt like he’d been swimming in his own head.

He takes his opportunity to wipe the liquor from his lip before blowing, then massaging freely at his nose. Knuckling at it all day has made it sore, but it’s the only way he can squash the tickle roosting there, even for a second. While he’s distracted, Bunk rises to his feet again and starts towards the elevator. McNulty only notices once he’s grabbed a second tissue.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

“Break room.”

“Break room?” Blow, sniffle, repeat. “That’s on the second floor.”

“So?”

“So what; you j’huH’st-…!” Oh, fuck off. “hHI’SCHH’hu!! ih’ZSCHH’h!”

McNulty sneezes twice at the ground again, even though he has a tissue in his hands. Thankfully Bunk’s still got his back turned, saving his partner from another lecture.

“Bless you!” Bunk says anyway.

“hh’-!…HH’RRSCHH’u!” He manages to catch that one. Lucky too, since he’s pretty sure his nose is running. “Than’gk-,” he blows his nose, coughs, clears his throat, and tries again. “Thank you baby. So…you really just came up here to sixth to wake me up like a dickhead?”

Bunk pauses and pays McNulty a glance over his shoulder as the elevator doors hiss open and he steps inside.

“Why’s everything gotta be about you, huh?” he asks. He jabs a button with his thumb, then points the butt of a withdrawn cigarrillo back at McNulty. “But yeah; looks like I did.”

Bunk blows McNulty a facetious kiss, then smugly disappears behind metal doors that ding shut. McNulty makes sure to send him off with two middle fingers, and another uncovered sneeze in chorus with his rumbling descent. The further he goes down, the quieter it feels, reminding McNulty he’s alone again. Only once Bunk’s already reached ground does McNulty realize he should have asked him more questions (or at least requested he bring him back something from the vending machine — a pop-tart or something chocolatey).

Not that it was too late to go after him…and he should probably do it, he knows. Christ, when was the last time he’d even eaten anything? Or really slept for that matter? He couldn’t remember, which was probably a bad sign in and of itself. In fact, that nap and the shitty coffee he’d had this morning were the best sleep and “meal” he’d gotten in days, but neither were exactly enough to sustain him — he knew that. He knew he should go home, sleep in a bed, eat an actual warm meal, and really take a few days to recover in private…but where was the entertainment in that? Sure, all that would cure him quicker, but they wouldn’t do anything to directly solve his case, and that was his priority as far as he was concerned.

It was a selfish, obsessive, and short-sighted way of thinking; shamelessly self-destructive at its worst. But really, so were all his other decisions the majority of the time…weren’t they…?

McNulty shakes his head. Why was he even dwelling on this shit anyway? He just wasn’t in the mood for eating, he reasons to himself; not when he couldn’t cook or taste a damn thing. Plus he still had half a flask remaining and plenty of work to get done; a reality evidenced by the mountain of eyewitness testimonies and crime scene photos burying his desk. Getting serious again, he takes another long sip of booze, pockets it, then brushes a few case notes aside to clear a space. Searching among the clutter, he plucks a chubby manilla folder from the most recent pile, grabs a pen, then kicks his feet up on the clearing he’d made.

He’d take a break when Bunk came back, he lies to himself. Until then, it was back to homicide…

“hh’ZSCHH!!”

…and that.

[peaches2217]

Rambles about insurance below!

I'm deep-diving into my insurance and coverage so that I won't walk into my consultation COMPLETELY clueless, and... hhhhhhh maybe I shouldn't have done this, I'm getting my hopes up and I know it's probably just gonna lead to disappointment.

So top surgery is usually put under the CPT code 19303. When I search that code in my insurance company's member portal, it gives me an max-average out-of-pocket cost of... $1,200. Twelve-hundred!! At the ABSOLUTE HIGHEST end of the scale!! I already have that in full!!

But everything I've read says top surgery, even with insurance, is closer to $3-6,000. I've set my estimate between $3-4,000 because, so long as my surgeon is in-network and I get approval, insurance will cover anything past my out-of-pocket max, and that max is a little over $3k.

Do you know what a weight off my shoulders (and chest) it would be if I only had to dish out $2k or less??? But everything I've read regarding mastectomies as a gender-affirming procedure says I've gotta have at LEAST $3k. What's the extra charges? And how much extra can I expect to pay? I can't find estimated costs with for this surgeon on this insurance in this state, and it's driving me nuts.

I think for now I'm gonna tell myself the $1.2k is for insurance-approved cases where the mastectomy is given to cis women for the purpose of cancer prevention/treatment, and I can expect to pay over double that since I'm not predispositioned to breast cancer and because I'm trans and trans people just naturally get charged more. (Alternatively, 19303 refers specifically to removal of ONE breast - bilateral mastectomy, 19303-50, isn't specified by my insurance, so I can probably assume I'll be charged the cost of two 19303s.)

I don't wanna get complacent. I've gotta work hard to make ABSOLUTE CERTAIN I've got the money I need. I can't take any chances.

[from-izzy]

that's him, that's just who he is | tbz choi chanhee | new

"At least between us both,” the camera shutters and you take a shaky inhale, “one of us took the right path.”

​PAIRING » tbz choi chanhee (new) x gn!reader (proofread twice—lmk if i made a mistake!)​ TROPE/AU » ​friends 2 strangers, highschool au!, non-idol au!, idol au! (chanhee towards the end) GENRE​ » angsty angst angst, unread messages, comforting friendship, supporting friendship, you both attend the same music academy, you both are preparing to become celebrities/idols! WORD COUNT » 4168 (no seriously, 2k word limit who?) ESTIMATED READING TIME » 15 mins WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!) » financial difficulties, stress relating to: money, music, balancing friendships-work-school, upwards comparisons, failure at achieving dream job (reader's side), unsupportive teachers

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series introduction 🤍 series masterlist 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

my third story! i take it back when i said that the second is my favourite story because this is my new (no pun intended) favourite story. i had to stop multiple times because it hit me too many times 🥹👍

well...the self insert is really real here 🫂 and this got seriously personal (let's see how many times i say this with this series 👀)

big respect to chanhee for balancing his education, preparing to be an idol and having a part time job 🫂 i respect him so much

thank you for reading honey bee ☘️🐝 @sanaxo-o and happiest birthday to you!! this story isn't much of a gift since you've read it before but there is the other one hehe 💕

Unlike most of your other lessons, this one passed by as quickly as a blink of an eye. It might be because the air conditioner in the room was set to the perfect temperature or the way the tie around your collar didn’t suffocate you too much or maybe, it was the way that you were practically showered with a bunch of compliments as soon as you took a deep breath from your diaphragm, lifted your cheekbones and sung your heart out.

Swiftly, you smile at the affirming nods that your teacher gave you, writing down her notes to the three-minute performance that you were assigned to for the last month. Across the whole month, you recall the way the tip of the pen scratches the plastic board vigorously, tapping rapidly and furiously throughout the longest three minutes of your life. Usually, you would be assigned a new song every three weeks or have two songs to practice for five weeks. On the times that you didn’t succeed, it would be a hell lot of criticism, tears and punches on the wall as soon as you exited the small studio. Heck, even with the times when the tears made it out in the room, you could tell that even though she toned down her volume, those eyes looked at you no further than disinterest—sometimes she would unmistakably roll her eyes too.

It has always been in short, sickening.

Those were the times that you wanted to just rip out your vocal cords, swear that you would never sing again, not that you even could at that point, and run away from the one thing that gave you life in your tiring days.

“Pick a song.”

The statement made your head slightly crane forward towards your suddenly easygoing teacher. You let out a confusing hum and question to which she responds with an amused smile.

“I can…choose?”

“You can’t truly be a singer if you don’t know what songs fit you best or if you need someone to pick what songs you should sing. You don’t have to choose a challenging song yet. You’ve been singing for the past half year and you’re good at it, but you really only found your style recently and I would rather you focus on further developing it.” She shrugs leisurely after, “It’s up to you though.”

Either way, I’m still going to get paid.

Numerous song titles juggle in your mind, the different lyrics and tunes playing in your head as the memories of your lives flash through their respective melodies. However, it wasn’t easy for your mouth to announce any of the songs, your mind thinking of all the technicalities within each song that would definitely challenge the fragile, insecure side of you.

But art is a special type of hobby.

It’s one of those hobbies that no one would ever be able to ‘perfect’. Somebody would always criticise and pick it apart ruthlessly—and you would always have to pick up their words and carry them deep within your heart.

“Are you sure?” The way that she tilts her head to the side after writing down your choice says everything.

But you stood your ground.

You’ve been in love with this song for so long and all you wanted to do was to learn it properly. Who knows when you’ll be given the chance to pick again? So, with the bravest smile and the most convincing nod that your shaking body could give, she does her final notes on that worn-out notebook of hers. She also recites your homework and expectations for the next lesson before excusing your presence from the room.

You couldn't wait to scream the excitement out of your body, tell your parents and your best friend about what just happened, analyse the song and its technical aspec—

"I just don't think you'll make it."

You halt your steps and your journey. For such a good music academy, these rooms seriously needed thicker walls. You were genuinely surprised that you were still able to focus on your lessons (most of the time) through all the electric guitar, drum kits and unfortunately, other singers who were unable to hit those certain high notes.

It's times like these that you wish the academy could invest in their building more. You were lucky that your lesson room is located at the end of the hallway meaning that your criticism could only be heard by you, the teacher and maybe the two rooms in front and beside yours.

Chanhee wasn't so fortunate, being at the very front, the first door on the left. It left him vulnerable. The voice cracks, the times when he would go off tune or the rare times when he missed his count. It would all mercilessly be heard by anyone who would pass by just to go to the toilet or refill their empty, cold coffee mug.

You stood next to the wall where the glass doors of the lesson door, biting your bottom lip and you noticed how Chanhee wouldn’t even say anything to his teacher’s words. You could imagine how he had his head hung low, nodding occasionally at the words and was forced to repeat the same line over and over and over again until he got it right. You prayed silently in your heart and mind that time would go quicker for him so that he could walk out, breathe in some fresh air and take a break from the suffocating practice room.

When the door clicks open, Chanhee has that tired, sad smile to you that he gives most of the time. Your eyebrows fell a little but you were still able to give him an encouraging one back.

“No?” You asked even though you very much knew the answer.

“No.” He quietly affirms after a short pause.

“I’m still proud of you though.” Just like any other day at school, after lessons or any other time, you lightly punch his shoulder, him chuckling and shoving you back. “I guess…that’s why they’re called ‘lessons’ after all.”

The realisation of your words made Chanhee groan. Lessons that are made throughout a lifetime—one that he has been attending for a year and a half unlike you who only started at the start of the year. He gave up his time with his friends, time to study which most of society thinks is the best way to secure a well-financed job, and gave up his money to buy clothes for himself that he just walked past whenever he knew he would get tempted. All those part-time jobs, ones that would go late into the still busy nights of Seoul or the ones early in the morning before school when most people would still be snoring, were all done with his dream that someday his voice would be heard by the world.

“How did yours go?”

You know that you should just be truthful. You both have been stuck to the hip for the last few years and Chanhee is not an easy person to deceive. Plus, you need to take into consideration as well of lying at this current moment. You didn’t want Chanhee to think that you were trying to make him feel better by potentially pitying him. What good would that bring to anyone right now in this situation? That’s not what friends do.

“I was given a chance to choose a song.” The small genuine, congratulatory smile that Chanhee gives makes you relax your back into the wall further, the tension easing away from your body. “I also managed to get through that vocal run that I’ve been agonising and crying to you about for the past week.” You slump your body against the wall as you recall your homework, “But she gave me more scales to use as runs for practice.”

“Scales really do suck.” Chanhee whispers to you teasingly, once again getting pushed by you.

“Yeah.” You acknowledge shortly after. “But it does help me with my breathing and flexibility which I highly suck at.”

“Hey,” he scolds your words lightly, “at least you have a distinctive sound and know how to put emotions according to the sound. My teacher just said I sound generic.”

Yes. That description for Chanhee—no, just any singer—is weird and you would dare to say, highly misleading.

If we’re talking about musical terms, every single singer has a unique timbre. Even if the note stays the same, every person will have a different tone colour because well, every person is different. Saying that a singer has a generic voice, highly contradicts the definite concept of instrument timbre.

You know how much this troubled Chanhee even though he tries his best to hide it. The comments about his timbre have been repeated so many times that it’s got to him a lot. In the beginning, he would just smile bitterly and indicate that he wouldn’t want to talk about the lesson, kicking the group of stones on the pathway to release his anger. However, as you both grew closer after an assigned duet performance, he was able to open up to you little by little, slowly but surely, keeping the friendship that grew even after you did your ending bow to the audience. He would still hide a little bit of his feelings to himself, embarrassed that he would talk about himself even though you reassured him that it was completely fine.

To him, how others see him is the most important thing for him. From the compliments that would grow the contagious smile on his face, to the heartbreaking crying scenes that he would hide from the rest of the world, all those words he took to heart so that he could improve himself as a person—and in this case, as an artist. In this harsh world, the words that would be spat out by teachers would be so deeply etched in a person’s heart that all of a sudden, giving up everything that they have worked so hard for would be easier done.

It’s during those times that you and Chanhee would lean on each other, reassuring each other not to run away from the weekly lessons and giving comfort after each one. Chanhee is internally grateful for the times that you would hold his shoulders, lightly shaking his frail, tired body before giving him words of encouragement. He would do a similar thing for you when you feel like you didn’t progress, stopping your self-criticism and pushing you to keep going. To you, he would just let you cry on his shoulder as you hug him tight, patting your back calmingly.

The light snowing season greets the both of you as soon as you exit the building. For you, your next destination is home but for Chanhee, ninety-eight percent of the time it would be his job at the barbeque restaurant, the seafood restaurant or even that new Chinese restaurant that he recently just started.

Given the good results of your lesson, you selfishly wanted to have some fun but the words died down in your throat when you slightly turned your head towards your friend. His black hair still peaked out from the beanie that kept both of his ears warm, the scarf that you gifted him hid the slight downturn of his lips and the physical expression of his heavy heart. His eyelashes fluttered away the snowflakes in the cold but still bright night and his rosy cheeks only grew brighter and more evident the slower the journey to your next destination would take.

“Just a little penguin in his somewhat natural habitat?” Your attempt to get a response out from him is successful when you see his cheekbones rise—the same way that they would rise whenever he sings his heart out.

“What a way to start a conversation.”

Your heart lightens at your successful attempt, linking your right arm with his as you continue to walk down the still-shared path that makes the distance between all your worries and yourself further away. However, like all journeys, you finally arrive at that one spot.

The one that split into two different roads, unlike the one you have been walking a few minutes ago.

The right road would take you both to safety, warmth and relaxation.

The left road would force you to unlink Chanhee’s arm, sending him to the busy, loud civilisation where he would put on his apron and raise the pitch of his voice fit for customer service.

“Are you…off to work?” He senses the sadness lingering in your voice and the way your right hand tightens around his forearm even through the thick, winter clothes.

“…yeah.”

“I see.” You managed to muster a stable response tone. “Come on, I’ll drop you there.” You turn your body towards the crowd but can’t go too far due to the other set of feet that stays grounded on the worn-down, cold stone floor, “Chanhee?”

“Maybe…” Suddenly, the sky starts to sprinkle down its pretty shapes of ice. “I’m just not meant to be a singer.”

You gasp quietly, the faint white exhale slowly disappearing behind the dark background. Seeing the tears finally slide down his cheeks made you realise one thing: he’s opening up. He’s doing the thing that he has tried to hide from everyone. In tune with his emotions, your eyes started to build their layer of moisture, the wind making it harder for you to keep your tears in. You couldn’t think straight, your free arm wiping your eyes to rid the hardships from your face while trying to give Chanhee words of encouragement.

“You’re going to get ther—”

“What if you had to give up so much,” He cut you off, gasping and inhaling more air to accommodate his crying, “earn so much money, gave it away and it didn’t give you good results? Whatever it may be…An event, a trip, an investment.” His voice gradually trails off as he lists life occurrences.

You’ve thought about the same thing thousands of times, back and forth, no matter where, when and who you were with. In a world where pursuing art can be a hard, long path, what would happen if nothing good were to come out of it? All your hard work, all your money, all your time…you’ll never be able to get those back.

Is it worth it? Is it worth the gamble?

“I would probably beat myself over it.” You tried to keep your whimpers at bay as you confessed the same answer that would come back every time you went on your downward spiral, “I would most probably always question why I did what I did. If I did the event with someone, and for some reason, they were the ones that made the situation bad, then I would’ve gone back and forth, asking myself if it was worth it. Why didn’t I go alone? Why was I so scared? What was I so scared of?”

Should you move to a different academy? But your teacher is well known. Should you still do it anyway? Knowing that you had to go through many processes and hardships to even get lessons with this teacher. Even if most of the time, you felt like giving up music, surely her experience would lead you to someplace good…right?

“But then…would answering those questions lead to happiness?” Chanhee scoffs at his absurd thoughts. Tilting his head to the sky, he relishes the way the snowflakes land on his pale skin, disappearing when they touch his skin, the side branches melting into his warmth. “Even after answering the question, would you be able to know what to do next? What would it lead to?”

Even though Chanhee was the first one to cry and break down, your wails were louder the more his words resonated within you, touching the parts of your heart that you never wanted to say out loud, scared of where and how your unconscious mind would take you. With everything in him, he untangles his arms to wrap them around your neck, patting the back of your head as you cry on his shoulder. He also lets his tears soak your scarf, resting his cheek on his arm and his chapped wavering lips rubbing against the delicate wool of your scarf, trying his best to soften his cries.

“I just…” One of his hands pats your back, giving you his comfort—even though he probably needed it more than you, “Music and singing used to be happiness that could fit in my pocket. It felt secure and safe. I could just put on my earphones and I’ll feel happy.” You notice the tighter hold after, “But music grew too fast and too big for me that I couldn’t catch up with it anymore.”

You only nod to his words, knowing how much Chanhee sacrificed to pay for his lessons. Some judged him, calling him stuck up and selfish even though they knew that he was independent in his journey to become a singer. It pains you to hear those words come out as scoffs and laughter and soon enough, you hold his hand and cut ties with them all, leaving their flabbergasted faces behind.

The sky starts to cry with you both beautifully in the form of its unique icy shapes. You both watch the snowflakes disappear on the ground, on each other clothing, on your noses. Finding the strength and breath to continue, you slowly push your body away, wiping the last bit of your tears to face your best friend straight into his eyes.

“You’re going to find happiness that you can rely on, Chanhee.” You couldn’t see his lips but you were sure that it was pouting and shivering, “It may be music or it may be something that music brings you. It may be the stage or maybe people who you will come to work with or maybe the people who will cheer you on but I’m sure you’ll find it soon.”

Even with the bustling environment around you both, there was no way that you could have missed his muttering, especially with the white puff of air, “At this rate…”

He feels the weight and pressure of your palms on both his shoulders but he still looks down to the ground where the snow slowly buries the sides of his shoes, “I promise you that if you keep going, I don’t have a single doubt that you’ll find your style. Regardless of what your crappy teacher says, you’re unique and I love your voice.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Wiping the lone tear on his cheek, “The world is going to be amazed when they hear your voice and I'm sure you'll be a good influence to them.”

For the first time in the day, Chanhee finally smiled. You observe the way his eyes disappear into pretty little upside-down moons. His head tilts back slightly, revealing the upturned corner of his lips behind the scarf that kept him warm and his teeth shine brighter with the help of the light from the marketplace behind you. Your hands were able to finally relax and mirrored the same expression back to your now radiant friend.

“Promise me that we’ll stand on the same stage someday.”

But life plays a twisted fate on you both and loves to put more pressure than you can ever carry. Having to move to a different school and a different region is not on your list of expectations. You argued endlessly about the decision to move, feeling unfair that none of your opinions mattered to them as they relentlessly started to look for moving trucks to hire. With the good offer that your dad received and realising that the youngest in the family had no final say, you tried your best to hold back the tears when telling Chanhee the news.

He cries for you and himself, already imagining the loneliness of walking to the music academy after a long day of school and the drags of his feet across the gravel in the night after each lesson. You assured him that you would call often and unlike you, he promised you the same thing. Time told you both that your friendship was still strong despite the physical distance between you both and with time, so did both your musical skills.

The trade-off for talent in your friendship is the less frequent phone calls and text messages. It was decreasing steadily and slowly until eventually, there was no more red dot beside his name on your phone even though you're sure there would be one beside your name on his. When sadness turned into confusion, then morphed into anger, hate and bitterness whenever someone asked you about him, you still found yourself swiping through your many photos with him. Just like how he cries on your last day, you cry from the silence of him.

Thankfully, time did heal your heart even though you couldn’t find a friend like him ever again. Things have changed for you and you were sure that it was the same for Chanhee. You grew taller, changed your hairstyle, hobbies, dreams and aspirations. What time didn’t seem to change however was the delivered sign that never changed with your messages. You let it go and went on with your life.

When you did come back to Seoul, you realised that the city had changed drastically. You wondered if it’s really that or if you were just struggling to remember the city that you once walked around in every day. But unlike your thoughts, maybe Seoul did change drastically. Amid the new but still bustling environment, there was this one cafe that was incredibly packed. Needing to get away from the cold, you entered to be greeted with a well-decorated interior and the gold ‘Happy Birthday New’ balloon shines brightly, especially with the light that is right above it. Many were posing in front of the gold foil fringe backdrop.

You almost didn’t recognise the boy in the picture. You don’t remember when you took your scarf off and picked up a random framed picture in the frame before picking up another one next to it, and another one, and another one. Each showed his growth. You could tell not only from his appearance but also from the bigger stage that he performed along with ten other boys. Suddenly, it clicks and it all makes sense. Hearing everyone else around you talk about him fondly took away the heavy weight that his name brought and a new feeling overtook your heart.

For the first time in a very long time, seeing his face made you smile and it didn’t hurt.

Your phone slides into your shaking hands, swipe open the camera app from the lock screen and point it at the framed picture in your hand, “At least between us both,” the camera shutters and you take a shaky inhale, “one of us took the right path.”

You know from the laughter in the space, the feeling of the radiant energy of those around you and the happiness on people’s faces as they point their cameras to their fanmade goods and the interior of the place, that Choi Chanhee has done it. The stage looked extremely good on him, even if the light was too bright and he looked so pale sometimes.

“I’m glad it was you.”

You whisper somewhat solemnly and with a bit of jealousy. Your clenched fist is a puny attempt in trying to keep your tears from expressing the hurt that suddenly hit you as you recall that moment in your life. The multiple rejections to the companies that you auditioned for, the way people on the streets pass by more frequently as their ears and eyes are focused on other’s performances—the night where you listed all your musical instruments for sale and promised that you would never sing ever again.

“You shy, talented, loveable penguin.” And it would seem that his fans agree with the chosen animal with the pouting blue penguin on top of his head. “That’s just who you are, Chanhee.”

Maybe the fame wasn’t for you. Shortly after moving, you found out that the stage was more of a hobby, especially with how you just wanted to stand on stage but never wanted to practise and study music theory properly. You just wanted to shout out the lyrics and sentimentally sing the lyrics of existing songs instead of having your name in an album or next to the credits and royalty rights to the song. But knowing that it fit Chanhee well, it was more than enough for you. He may not have known it before but you wish with all your being that he knows his capability to make others smile, including you.

Even if your broken smile is within millions that he probably would never see from the podium that rightfully held him high.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 series introduction 🤍 series masterlist 🤍 'especially to you...' tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿@sanaxo-o @astrae4

[meitantei-lavi]

guh. well. I wasn't looking forward to making another commissions post yet here we are.

here's the deal: on Feb 15/16, i had to go to the ER for some serious abdominal pain and other unpleasant issues that i won't go into. while i'm still waiting on the results of their labs (they're assuming it's an infection of. some variety), i'm also waiting on the bill. which i know won't be pretty. i'm estimating at LEAST $2k. that coupled with my other medical expenses from past and future appointments (as well as my cat's medical expenses) puts me in a position where i COULD potentially pay everything off with my savings, but then i would have literally nothing left. which isn't great since i do still have to pay bills and buy groceries and such.

to avoid that, i am once again asking for commissions. i'm putting my rules/price structure under the cut. PLEASE consider commissioning a small trans artist like moi and PLEASE reblog this post to spread the word (but don't tag as s*gnal b**st, thank you!)

pricing and rules:

prices depend on time and medium, but expect the base price for most pieces to be around $170. as always, i am willing to negotiate pricing so long as it’s reasonable HOW I CALCULATE FEES: $170 (rounded up from 168 cos i like numbers that end in 0’s and 5’s)  = $28/hr * 4 (the average amount of time I spend on a fully colored/rendered commission) + the “Starving Artist Fee” (50% of the hourly sum, this pays for gas, groceries, and cat food)

i will only start a piece after i have confirmed payment through p*ypal or v*nmo. please tell me the best email to use for invoicing and i will send you an invoice (through p*ypal) with the price we discuss. dm me for my v*nmo username 

i am also taking commissions for D&D miniatures. my goal is to buy a light box for photography so i can better advertise them. the base price for a standard 28mm mini is $50. if you’re interested, please message me for details

additional info:

stuff I’ll draw: Oc’s (references/descriptions please!) D&D characters (same as above!) Mild blood/gore LGBTQ+ stuff Furry stuff

stuff I won’t draw: R-18 Hate speech (if ur a terf or a nazi or whatever, get the fuck off my page, numbnuts, lol!) Excessive gore/violence Mechs (i have no patience for it) P*dophilia. Fuck off with that i will report u

COMMISSION SLOTS:

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

OPEN

~*~*~*~*~

If my commission prices are a bit out of ur price range BUT you’d still like to support my art, check out this post detailing my ko-fi prices!

[abugsomewhere]

I’ve written 541 words so far, these chapters are gonna be long ones. It’s looking like it’ll be… uhh, maybe 2k words per chapter?? That’s the goal at least. I’m not amazing at estimating, but around 2k is what I usually see in chapters. So, opinions on chapter length?

[nextinline-if]

June 25th, 2023 - Chapter 2 Progress DevBlog

I'm pretty disappointed with my progress this week but I had to work late a lot. I started working at a start-up a couple months ago and I really like it but it's been crazy busy. Anyway...

Progress with writing was pretty slow last week. Because the game was beta tested this past week (thank you to those who assisted!), I spent most of my time fixing a bunch of coding errors since I suck. lol. Here's what I did coding-wise (you'll see these changes when chapter 2 comes out):

fixed a bunch of conditional errors and a couple javascript ones where I accidentally added a period (RIP);

re-did some of the color schemes...again. It should be easier to read and I feel like I got the light/dark themes to a better place;

you can now change the font size and you can now choose OpenDyslexic as a font type.

okay, that doesn't sound like a lot. See screenshots at the end for a glimpse!

I wrote 3,293 words... I'm planning to write every day for at least 2-3 hours this week to catch up. Ideally, I would write 2K words a day.

I think there are about 20,000 more words to finish chapter 2? Just my estimate though.

Here is where things stand for Chapter 2...

Word Count (includes some code):

Current demo word count: 59,479

Current word count for just ch 2: 82,920

Total game word count (including ch2): 142,399 and counting...

Next, here's the scene order and what's written/coded/in progress:

Scene 1 - completely written and coded

Scene 2 - completely written and coded

Scene 3 - completely written and coded

Scene 4 - completely written and coded

Scene 5 - completely written and coded

Scene 6 - completely written and coded

Scene 7 - completely written and coded

Scene 8 - completely written and coded

Scene 9 - completely written and coded

Scene 10 - partially written and partially coded (sorry no percentage, I hate math)

Scene 11 - in progress (4 main branches)

Scene 12 - completely written and coded

Scene 13 - completely written and coded

Additionally, because I was so busy, I forgot to log in to Patreon and pause it. I've had it paused for a couple of months because I don't have time to do extra content and I don't want anyone to pay for no reason! However, I slipped up, so I went ahead and left it open right now and uploaded the current build with the incomplete chapter 2. I don't recommend anyone subscribe just to play it since it's not done but it's there in case someone wants to or is already subscribed. I anticipate adding a couple more scene variations next week.

Below are a few screenshots of what the game looks like. There's even a snippet of a scene from Ch2. It's not super different! But I think it looks better?

Oh, if you want to read a couple beta tester thoughts, keep looking, otherwise, thanks for taking the time to read!

Thank you and I hope you all have a great week <3