#but that's my own thoughts and a separate (though related) matter

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

So, Canada has decided to stop sending arms to Israel after an NDP motion. The Liberals made major amendments to it so as to firmly condemn Hamas as well. It's kind of a mixed bag. Honestly, it's naive of me but I didn't expect there would still be so much outrage, even if the motion did call for an acknowledgement of Palestine as a state. All the Conservatives voted against it - to be fair, some of them wanted to wait for the motion to be passed because the amendments were super last minute and the Bloc Quebecois were annoyed that because of this there wasn't a French translation.

I guess it's a step in the right direction. I think it's still weak but you can read more on it here.

Source 1, Source 2, Source 3

[lokisgoodgirl]

Clean [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After a difficult mission, your ex Loki has a revelation. (w/c 1.6k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Pining. Feelings. Smuttish. Loki x Fem Reader. A/N: I'm planning some filthy stuff soon - but for now, we're still in angsty romance era. 😇

Loki sat hunched with his back against the bathroom wall, head in his hands. Blood was smeared over the white shirt: his own and not his own. It was ripped in several places, sleeves folded up to the elbows.

“It wasn’t locked,” you said stiffly, fingers tightening around the knob. “Would it have mattered? I expect you’re quite desperate to see me like this.” He tilted his head, voice sharp, eyes tired. “Don’t you wish to capture the scene on your device? Surely Rogers would relish a commemoration of my ineptitude.”

Loki had made a scene as the team exited the Quinjet, throwing his ruined suit jacket off the roof of Stark Tower and kicking a fire bucket for good measure. His voice was choked with anger.

“Let me be,” he’d roared after Steve shouted something about medical in his direction. The Captain had turned to the rest of you with a defeated shrug, but your eyes hadn't left Loki's back as he waged a path though the doors and they slammed behind him in a flash of green.

Loki had taken the worst of the heat from the Hydra agents working undercover in downtown Chicago. He’d been cornered by three of them, and soon a capture order had turned into a triple kill—but not before taking some punishment for his efforts.

‘I tried to subdue them humanely,’ Loki had muttered afterwards, inspecting a deep gash on his forehead in the Quinjet’s sheen. ‘They wouldn’t listen to reason.’ ‘How hard did you try?’ Steve had sniped. ‘We’re in a pickle now, thanks Laufeyson. A real pickle indeed. Typical.’ To that, Loki had said nothing. He’d refused all clean-up on the way home, sitting in a fury-riddled silence that tainted the re-circulated air.

You took a step over the bathroom’s boundary, and then shrank back.

Relations between you had been frosty since you’d gone your separate ways: to this day you weren’t quite sure what had happened. One day, everything was perfect. The next—it was over. You’d chalked it up to the god settling in to life on Earth; him realising you weren’t the only person on the planet who thought the sun shone from his perfectly formed arse…but that had never felt right. Despite snooping, you’d never got a whiff of him shagging anyone else. Based on your experience with Loki, that was especially odd.

You took a deep breath, crossing the floor and extending a hand. To your surprise, he took it and heaved himself up. Fuck, you’d forgotten how heavy he was; how his forearms bulged when they flexed, how his body felt pressing down on yours as he railed you gently on the bed you’d shared.

Ok, maybe not that last one. You cleared your throat, pulling your hand back. Loki sighed, eyes cast to the floor.

“I’m filthy,” he said with an air of disgust, reflexively running a hand across his waist. Pain rippled across his features.

“You’re hurt, you need to go to—” “I’m quite well.” “Loki,” you warned. His lashes fluttered up, nailing his gaze to yours. An eyebrow cocked. Feeling your cheeks heat, you turned and switched on the shower. “Steve shouldn’t have spoken to you like that earlier,” you said, trying to keep the flurry of nerves from your voice. “You did what you had to do—they’d have killed you.” “Please,” Loki snorted. “They would not have killed me. I’m offended that you would even imply it.” You glanced over your shoulder. Even in his dishevelled state, he was giving every inch the haughty, regal snob that you’d fallen desperately in love with. And that was the problem, wasn't it? It was the only version of him you'd ever been granted.

“Then why are you in such a state?” Loki’s brow furrowed. “A what?” “Why are you upset?” “I’m not upset.” “You were literally sitting on the floor with your head in your hands.” “It’s an Asgardian victory custom.” “Loki…”

His jaw clenched as you leant against the sink and his keen eyes darted over your face. “I…tried not to kill them,” he said through gritted teeth. It was the same voice he’d used when the two of you had ‘the conversation’—you hadn’t heard it since. An icy finger trailed down your spine at the bitterness in his voice as he said, “I failed.”

Understanding blossomed through your mind. You remembered a cold winter’s night, Loki curled naked against your back, confessing his deepest secret while he thought you’d slept. I’m afraid I’ll never be good, he’d whispered in the dark; that I’ll always be stained with the curse of my past.

You realised the mask of stoicism had slipped from your face at the exact moment Loki’s expression shifted. His gaze broke, returning to the floor. “You should leave,” he said. “You’re not safe with me.” The echo of the last time you’d been alone together—the same words. Does he remember?

Pushing off the sink, you shuffled towards him, cupping his forearm. The grit of dried blood rubbed beneath your fingertips as you squeezed. “You can’t think that. It’s been years…”

Suddenly Loki’s hands ran up your cheeks, thumbs pressing into your jaw as your back met the wall. He’d pinned you under the shower, speckles of water hitting off his shoulder and splattering your skin. His eyes searched yours: all fire, and destiny.

“I’ll never be free,” he said. His gaze dropped to your lips and back to your eyes. “I’ll never be clean.”

You caressed the well-trodden path his buttons made up the front of his shirt. Still beautifully tailored despite the dirt, and sweat, and blood. “Not with that attitude,” you said, and his brows peaked. “Everyone knows your history, Loki. We need you here. We want you here.” “And you?”

The shower seemed very loud all of a sudden. Especially me. “You really have to ask?” You brushed the sides of his shirt apart and Loki swallowed, his eyes closing a heartbeat too long as your fingers lingered on the bruise forming over the flat of his abdomen. “Loki…” you chided, tracing the blossom of indigo across his alabaster skin. “Steve was right, you should be in medical.” He snorted, hands falling by his sides. “If you’d come five minutes later, it would have been gone.” Fat droplets of water roll over the tips of his cheekbones, streaks of pale skin beneath the dust and dirt of the mission. You’ve never seen him like this. He never let you see anything other than the perfect prince; the unshakeable god. “Doesn’t it hurt?” You circled higher on his chest, appreciating the taut skin firm beneath your own. You'd swear you could see the thrum of his heartbeat.

“Always,” he said sadly, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t talking about the injuries. God, I miss this. I miss him. Now, finally, you could admit it to yourself. The weight of the confession slid from your body, circling the drain as Loki shivered, and the dark pools of his pupils spread wider.

Cautiously, your hands ran up his chest, over his shoulders, peeling the soaking shirt from his back and down his arms. It fell with a slop to the shower floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a faint narrow of his eyes. You licked your lips, unsure of what how to answer. What are you doing? But it was now or never. This kind of vulnerability was a particularly rare ship to dock in Loki’s harbour.

Running your palms up his neck, he groaned softly as they slid up the sharp prow of his jawline, up the bladed cheekbones and into the slick of his sodden hair. He closed his eyes, a low sigh rattling his chest. For a moment, there was only the patter of water against porcelain.

“Showing you how to be clean again,” you whispered before your lips fastened to his. Loki’s eyes shot open, one hand slamming to the tiles behind your shoulder to steady himself as you pulled away. Your heart thumped between your ribs.

Oh god, he doesn’t want it. You’ve fucked it up. Memories of the longing glances you’d seen painted on his face across the room, the brush of his touch on your arm which lasted a second too long, the anger simmering beneath his skin when he thought you’d moved on. It had all been in your head. The thought was almost too much to bear.

“Why did you stop?”

Breath caught in your throat as his words soaked through the rising steam; low and smooth. The response fell from your mouth in breathless stages, hyper-focused on the shirt plastered to his skin. “I didn’t think you wanted it, I’m sorry I—” A soft, disbelieving chuckle rumbled in his throat before he said, “How could I not want you?” Your eyes rose.

The god was fully soaked now; hair plastered to his neck like ink, shirt and trousers moulded to the sinews and meat of his body like a second skin. The last traces of dirt from his skin were gone, and the water around your feet ran clear. You pulled the back of his neck towards you.

Loki’s kiss was an eruption of desire, of pain, of need; his palm slipping on the tile behind your head before switching to your waist. It worked over your hip, your breasts, your ass, never staying in one place, never lingering too long. “Gods, I missed you, I've missed you,” he murmured wet against your cheek. You crossed your arms over your chest, pulling the sodden top over your head. “So soon?” A soft smile curled at his mouth. “We’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?”

In answer, Loki ran a finger from the hollow of your neck between your breasts. A chill skated across your skin as your trousers dissolved— his too. He pressed his body to yours, warm against the sharp sting of the tiles. Water pooled in the crevice where your skin met, Loki’s kisses sliding over your lips—one slipping into the next—pants of devotion wisping down your throat. He lifted your thigh, manoeuvring himself inside with one, liquid movement. You clasped to his shoulders, nails digging in to his flesh like he might vanish. All you could feel was his body, his presence, his faint moan of relief in your ear.

“No more living in the past,” you panted. “Loki, promise me.” He tilted his cheek into your wrist, water droplets falling from the ends of his hair to the curve of your breasts below. “A fresh start,” he said quietly, kissing the delicate skin. You groaned as he thrusted gently inside you. “Clean,” he panted, “New.” “Together,” you said. “Together,” Loki replied.

And then, among plumes of steam and the slide of bodies and wordless promises, there was no more talking.

Tags in comments ❤️

[southern-fried-simpin]

We Belong Dead| Alastor x Dead Wife!Reader

A/n: Hey everyone I know it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written something and I’m sorry it’s not DC related but I finished Hazbin with my fiancée MONTHS AGO and I’ve been wanting to write Alastor soooo bad! With all of that being said, let it be known that I do NOT condone or agree with any of the questionable actions and opinions of Vivienne Medrano, but I DO enjoy this show and a lot of the characters.

Warning(s): Floofy but suggestive, Alastor “using” reader and reader just kind of going along with it, mentions of murder, sad at first, human Alastor and reader mentioned, temporary unrequited love, Demi romantic Alastor, Alastor because he’s…Alastor, mentions of marriage, canon divergence, suicide, death, loooooong introduction and plot h🫠

“Mama, we’re gonna get married!”

Alastor had decided that you were both ready for marriage in the middle of the school yard and decided to announce this as his mother came to pick him up.

His mother feigned shock as she started to playfully chide him.

“You can’t just marry some girl you met on the first day of school!”

Alastor kept his arms around you as you both giggled and showed his mother the ribbon he had tied around your finger.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed.

“Obviously you two are very serious about this! How about we have your fiancée over for dinner after school one day so I can get to know her better, hm?”

Despite Alastor never having that wedding ceremony with you on the playground, you both remained close all the way up until you graduated high school. After that, you went your separate ways.

Several years later, when Alastor bumped into you as you were leaving the corner store one day, you ended up talking to him for hours. After which, you had started getting together more often. Eating out, going to shows, drinking and having fun together.

Somewhere along the way, however, having fun together turned into going on dates together. Going on dates turned into staying up late talking for hours about anything and everything, and lovely gifts.

One such gift being your engagement ring.

Looking back on it now, you don’t know how or why you thought it was normal for a man to propose after 6 months.

On the outside, Alastor was the husband that every woman dreamed of. He helped you clean and cook, he never raised his voice, and he always bragged about you. On the inside however, something felt stiff. Tense. Off.

Alastor rarely ever initiated kisses, he barely touched you, and he disappeared in the middle of the night rather frequently.

After he was killed, it all made sense. You weren’t his wife so much as you were his alibi. Who would have thought the vicious killer that buried his victims on a hunting ground had a wife waiting at home? A wife who, despite what everyone believed, was oblivious to his crimes. It didn’t matter, though. In a matter of days, you lost your job, your friends, and your peace of mind. In the weeks that came to pass, you slowly lost your mind and your will to live as well.

You died in your sleep after taking a cocktail of pills with a glass of brandy. The police found you in bed wearing your most expensive nightgown, your hair neatly styled, and makeup done perfectly.

Just like before, time had gone on, and your time in hell had been quite interesting. Maybe even a bit enjoyable if you were being honest. The old saying rang true: Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. Your arrival in Hell was a testament to that.

Armed with your broken heart and raw, stinging rage, you made a home for yourself and began your own business. Anyone who got in your way was sliced open with the very weapons you sold. You were very aware of Alastor’s presence, but made no effort to contact him. He had no idea you were here, either.

That changed a few days ago.

Who should you see while on an outing in Cannibal Town but your darling husband. He looked different, but you recognized him almost immediately. He offered to walk with you and followed you even after you declined. Every day after that, he miraculously ran into you everywhere you went. He was relentless in trying to get your attention. He would try to talk to you and when you ignored him, he would carry on speaking like it was nothing. Today you finally cracked when he invited you to come to a hotel. The Hazbin Hotel, specifically.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought I might show you this little…business venture…I’ve been working on recently! After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my lovely wi-“

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His smile never faltered, but his eyes held a look of momentary discomfort.

“Ah, and here we are!” Alastor pointed his staff towards the building in front of you. It looked like some place from when you were alive, except old and decrepit.

Ever the gentleman, Alastor held the door for you as you walked in before he followed suit. Not 5 minutes passed before a woman with long silver hair angrily stomped in your direction.

“Alastor! Where have y-,” she paused when she noticed you by his side, “who…who the fuck is this?” A blonde was following close behind her.

“I’m glad you asked!” Alastor’s smile broadened. He proceeded to introduce you as his beloved wife to everyone in the room, and then introduced them to you, completely ignoring the looks of shock and awe on their faces. Before anyone else in the room could speak, Alastor hastily took your hand.

“Now, if you excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” With that, you and Alastor promptly dissolved into a shadowy mist.

The lobby was silent then as everyone stared at where Alastor and you once stood.

“Ssso…that was weird for everyone elsse too…right?”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Alastor turned after carefully locking the door to his room.

“Now, I suppose I owe you an explana—“, he was cut off by a resounding smack when your hand connected with his cheek. Alastor’s head turned with a sharp snap. He stood completely still there for a moment, eyes wide and smile looking painfully forced. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve been dead by now, but you? Well…he always liked how feisty you were. Alastor cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Alright…”, he said while turning to face you. “I probably deserved that…”

“You deserve a lot worse than that actually, but go on.”

“I know, and I can’t…” Alastor suddenly felt unsure of what to say. Granted, The Radio Demon was not one for heartfelt apologies (or any apologies for that matter) but if anyone deserved one from him, it was you. Yet, there he stood: the feared Radio Demon, lost for words at your mere presence.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You finally said. “What I suffered because of you?!”

Alastor offered no response.

“What FUCKING-“ you paused as tears began to well in your eyes. Your face red and splotchy and your lips quivering as you started to sob.

“You lied to me-“

“I did.”

“You used me!”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me!”

“I do.”

And that gave you pause. Had he loved you? Really loved you? No. It had to be a lie. He couldn’t possibly-

“I know I can’t make up for everything I did and everything that happened…” Alastor said while walking towards you. When he stopped, just a few inches from you, you had to look up at him. Alastor was taller than you in life, but now he towered over you. He gently took your hand in his. “But I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying…for you.”

You watched as he gently kissed your fingers. With tears in your eyes and an uneven breath, you laid your head on his chest.

You missed him. You tried not to miss him, but you did and there was no use in denying it anymore.

“One chance,” you finally said. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You looked up at Alastor and locked eyes with him briefly. The feared Radio Demon wanted nothing more right now than a chance to have you back. His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes before he dipped you low. To anyone else, it would be an over-the-top gesture, but to you? Oh, how his theatrics made you blush and swoon.

“So…what do you say, darling?” He leaned in closer, almost touching his forehead to yours.

“Do we have a deal?~”

You raised a brow at his words.

He chuckled then.

“Ah, I apologize for my poor choice of words. What I meant was: May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?”

Your eyes softened and you smiled up at him.

“Yes, darling.”

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

ok. masking. let’s go.

[plain text: ok. masking. let’s go]

(specifically masking in autism - there probably other disabilities this can apply to but no guarantees. so only write what know, aka autism)

to simply it a bit, personally see two part to masking:

1. ability to mask

2. whatever struggle/thing, can be masked

1. ability to mask

it a skill that depends on many other skills

think most people will able see it as ability to suppress behavior & instead do something else (to appear more “socially appropriate”). like stop body from stim & instead sit very still. stop self from say something that may be rude or blunt n instead say it in more indirect way or say compliment instead. n it true, that is ability to mask

but ability to mask also depend on many other more basic skills, n because it basic, sometimes people forget they actually skill & others struggle with it, n instead see it as given, as nature, almost take for granted. before can do the thing in previous paragraph, other skills need have:

awareness of self - that you exist, awareness of what you doing

(n if able aware, also the ability control what you doing & impulse)

awareness of others - that they exist, that they have thoughts you not see

awareness of surroundings - that, you not just in own world

n, if have all of that, understand “need” or feel need or pressure for masking. at least some conscious or subconscious idea or feeling about what supposed to do & what not supposed to do. n ability to remember it. ability act on it. (all related but separate skills.) some autistic not able explicitly name it or tell you, but have internal sense of “this feels wrong even though don’t know why,” & that still allow them to mask

n many others am forgetting at moment

2. whatever struggle/thing, can be masked

think people forget about this part often: that even if assume have expert ability to mask (#1), there some things that. just can’t be masked (at all, or cannot mask all of it). because they (for not have better word) so extreme, or simply cannot control

for example. there no way really mask fact am nonverbal (as in, cannot mouth talk at all. all the time). no matter what do, cannot just. mask n suddenly say mouth word (then wouldn’t be nonverbal).

n say this simplify because. real world much more muddy more nuanced than can be say in clear linear bullet points n equations. some times, is mixture of both. not that clear divide.

many level 3 / severe / whatever language they use for self / etc people, move their body all the time, make sounds all the time, grunts screams etc. not really able control it, because very significant sensory needs that come with their level 3 autism. n not able to control it, not know to control it. sometimes both.

or, like awareness of other people - if not able to, then can’t mask it (#2). but it also prerequisite skill to masking to appear more “socially appropriate”, so cannot mask if don’t have skill (#1).

*

so, get annoyed when level 1 (& sometimes 2) high masking autistics say difference between them n someone like me (cannot mask & level 2/3 nonverbal), just masking. that if they unmask,

masking often really negatively affect mental health. make you stressed, on edge, confused about who you are (it actually me or just my mask?). n sometimes it become so a part of you you cannot drop it. yes. and same time true:

B1. masking is protective. is coping mechanism. is for safety. or else wouldn’t start do it first place. you mask n spend that energy n put up with its cost because feel like on some level, would not be treat as well or with as much dignity & autonomy, will be bullied n hurt even more than already is. n for some (especially BIPOC), masking literal one of reason they alive, not wrongly convicted or suspected of crime because suspicious behavior, etc. something can be both protective & harm. it up to you decide if it worth it.

B2. high masking not always mean other people not able tell. high masking not mean you treated well all time or not get treated badly at all or not go through anything said in above paragraph. it just mean that. you would probably be treated even worse if not masking.

B3. ability choose to unmask (yes, even if hard), not same as not able mask at all (involuntary not a choice) in first place. able switch between mask n unmask, even more so. you at advantage some of us not have.

B4. like in B1, not everyone can afford unmask. n for every person like that, imagine there someone in similar situation, except they cannot mask (reason #1 or #2 or both). what will happen to them? what happens to them? what happened to them?

no, you wouldn’t be like us (who unable mask in first place because level 2/3 autism, high support needs, severe autism, whatever language we use) if you unmasked.

there also difference between unmasking & finding your authentic self & how you naturally act. n pretend to be like us, copying us, someone you not, by choosing to do stereotypically visibly autistic things because it make you feel more validated. that no different than mocking n faking. we not your cosplay. (yes this actually happens.)

n no, don’t mean anytime you hand flap you’re copying mocking visibly autistic people, or you picking up AAC device “even if you can speak” (but you struggle) is copying nonverbal people. understand this is process, that sometimes when mask so long not know what feel natural anymore who you are or aren’t anymore, so you pick up n experiment different things.

fundamentally, is it helping you? that should stay. is it make you become another person you aren’t, going in opposite extreme direction? that shouldn’t.

*

anyway.

a lot time you see people who not able mask, we level 2/3 / moderate & severe autism / higher support needs (etc language we choose for self), which make us not able do both #1 & 2 (both not have ability to mask, n have struggles that cannot be masked fully or at all). struggling with more “basic” stuff needed for masking like awareness of self others n surrounding, often happen together with other symptoms n struggles that too big or significant or severe to mask.

this why you rarely if ever see anyone like listed above who also appear high masking — even if we can mask, our struggles often too significant to be fully masked over. n many of us can’t mask, we not have prerequisite skills to mask

but, not all people who not able mask are higher level higher support needs higher severity.

sometimes some people may have some masking abilities (have some #1), but have struggles that cannot be fully masked (#2).

sometimes, they have struggles that many other high masking autistics can mask (have #2), but they have low or no masking abilities themselves (don’t have #1).

AKA—

not able mask =/= not always mean higher level higher support needs higher severity autism

lower support needs level 1 autistics =/= not always equal high masking

there lower support needs autistics level 1 autistics who low or no masking!

masking ability not always correlate with levels & support needs & severity!

wow that long winded. glad we got back to where started.

[do not debate severe autism & autism levels etc language we choosing for ourselves - if you don’t like it for yourself cool then am not talking about you]

[nightxcreature]

Hurt so good.

Summary: After the reader makes a comment about missing Dean’s leather jacket and the old days, he takes matters into his own hands and takes her on the hunt of her life.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, dark romance, hunting, p n v, all the things.

This is not the way I thought this fic would go, but here we are.

My first entry for #Jackelsversebingo2024! 🥳 This one is based on the prompt ‘Camping’ and I have no idea how I came up with this based on that. It’s smutty, it’s a little dark, and it’s got a brief appearance of early season’s leather jacket. 🤗 I loved writing this one, and I hope you enjoy reading it! I guess this could also be classified as Kinktober, but I’m not involved in one of those. 🤣

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fluorescent lights flicker above my head as I rifle through the dryer, separating my clothes from Deans and folding as I go. He’s never separated clothes, not that he didn’t know how, he just didn’t care to; so it was always up to me or Sam to go through them and make sure nothing was ruined. I slide my arm back in and grimace as I feel the rough leather of one of his new jackets. Slowly pulling it out I can already tell that it’s about two sizes too small at this point; I toss it, along with the rest of the clothes, into the basket and grab a few extra hangers before heading up to our room to finish putting everything away.

“Dean!” I call as I ascend the stairs to the library, “I’ve got some bad news.”

I hear him rattling around in the kitchen, ‘Small Town’ by John Mellencamp softly playing through the little speaker above the door, “Bad news?” He roughly replies, “What do you mean?”

His head peeks around the door of the fridge as I set down the basket and wrinkle my nose, holding up his jacket, “You put this in the dryer.”

He runs a hand across his face and sighs, “Shit.”

“To be honest though,” I start, a slight smile playing at the corners of my lips, “This one isn’t nearly as nice as the one you had when we first met. That one was always my favorite.”

He raises an eyebrow and grins as he shuts the fridge door, “The brown one? That was my dad’s, I don’t even remember the last time I wore that.”

“The day Sammy came back from hell and we met your grandpa.” I blurt out, eyes widening and a blush creeping up my neck as his eyes snap to mine.

“Excuse me?” He gasps, a chuckle escaping him, “Did you just recount, in detail, the last time you saw me wear that jacket?” He takes a few steps toward me and I back slowly out the door. His normal baritone drops what feels like an octave as he whispers, “Did that jacket do something for ya, Darlin’?”

“I-I just-I liked it, and sometimes I miss the days when-when it was just you, me, and Sammy on the road, ya know?” I stutter out and snatch the basket of clothes out of the floor, “It’s-it’s not like I think about the jacket…or-or you in the jacket…”

He shakes his head, rubbing his face again and grins, “Sure, Sweetheart. I miss those days sometimes, too.”

“I’m gonna, uh, finish this.” I nod toward the basket and book it down the hallway, leaving Dean to his thoughts and me to hide in my embarrassment.

A few days later, I’m laid up on the bed with a new book, relaxing during an unusually slow day at the bunker when my phone lights up with Deans name.

‘Meet me in the garage, pack a bag. Got a case.’

‘Didn’t think we had any leads at the moment?’ I send back and grab my duffle from under the bed, stuffing it full with extra clothes and supplies. I sling the bag over my shoulder and grab my phone as another message comes through.

‘Not Chuck related.’

Weird, but not unusual. We could use a run of the mill hunt after everything Chuck’s been throwing at us lately. I shove my phone into my pocket and follow the rumble of the Impala into the garage.

“What did you two get tired of—.” I’m stopped dead in my tracks as Dean turns to face me from the drivers side of the Impala, leather jacket and black tee layered on his torso, Metallica’s greatest hits blasting through the speakers, and the box of his cassettes and 8-tracks sitting beside him. His face is clean shaven and his hair spiked up a little on his head, the only difference is the little aging in his face. If I didn’t know any better I would assume we had spun back in time to 2005.

“Dad’s on a hunt, and I need help looking for a Wendigo,” He nods at the seat next to him and I slowly set my duffle down in the floorboard, “You coming or not?”

Nodding, I sit down beside him and shut the door, trying to stay in character, “Couldn’t get Sammy to help out on this one?”

He snorts and shakes his head, “You know he’s too busy getting a fancy education so he can get me out of trouble.”

I laugh and nod again, “He’s got a lot of learning to do then.” pointing toward his jacket I smile and break for a moment, “Where did you find that?”

“Find what?” He asks, wrapping an arm around the seat and backing out of the bunker, “My jacket? I’ve had this thing for years, Sweetheart, I’d never lose it.” He winks and peels off into the afternoon.

A slight chuckle leaves me and I look out the window, “Where are we headed? Did you bring the map?”

He swaps the tape out, setting the box in the floor before pulling me closer as the intro to ‘Whole lotta Love’ fills the cabin, “Don’t need a map, I know exactly where we’re going. You just sit back and relax.” He places his right arm around my shoulders and I lean into him, the smell of the leather overwhelming my senses, “You gonna sleep? It might be while. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to rest up before we get there.”

I nod and doze off for a while not even feeling the car roll to a stop several hours later. Sunlight warms my cheeks and I stretch, opening my eyes I burst into laughter at the scene in front of me.

“Did you recreate the Wendigo hunt we went on back when we were looking for your dad?!” I exclaim, hopping out of Baby and staring at the tents set up around me, “You’ve really outdone yourself, Dean Winchester.”

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and sweetly smiles, “I was thinking about it after you mentioned liking the jacket so much and I’ve been missing the ‘monster of the week’ hunts. I thought it’d be fun to pretend for a little while.”

I return his smile and nod toward the bag beside the tent in the back, “Are we really hunting a Wendigo or do you have something more fun than a flamethrower packed in that bag?”

“Is there anything more fun than a flamethrower?” He questions with a shit-eating grin, “I have a lot of things planned for this weekend…and hunting a Wendigo is not one of them.” He stalks toward me slowly and reaches a hand into his jacket, pulling a rope and a black bandana out of the pocket, “But I do plan on hunting you.”

My jaw slightly drops and I take a step backwards, “This is not where I thought this was going.”

He sends me another sweet smile, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I do keep track of the books you read…and this does seem like a theme they follow. If it’s not the kind of hunt you had in mind though, I’m sure I can find something else.”

He shrugs coyly and begins to turn away before I jump and grab his arm, “No!” I can see the smile on his face as he turns back to face me, “I-I mean, no. This is fine. This is…great, actually. I am more than willing to do...this.” My feet shuffle beneath me and I can feel the anticipation in the air as he stares at my face, checking for any sign of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He says as he shrugs off the jacket, his black tee stretching deliciously across his chest as he reaches up to tie the bandana around his face, “Run.”

My heart leaps into my throat and I freeze, “Now? The suns still out, that’s too easy…”

“Run.” He says again, picking up a knife I didn’t even know was sitting on the small cooler beside us.

“Dean, this feels like something we should do at….”

“Run!” He yells, stepping quickly toward me and I take off into the trees.

In my race to hide I realize that I have nothing but my cellphone with me, no food or water, and nothing to signal to Dean that I need help if I end up in a complicated situation. As if this isn’t a complicated situation already. The first place my mind goes to hide is higher ground, but Dean knows my mind just as well as I do, so I scan for somewhere lower and spot a small hole in a tree trunk just big enough for me to fit through. Sliding in, I shimmy my way up and into the trunk, listening intently for any sound that Dean was close by.

My phone begins to buzz in my pocket and as I dig it out I try not to laugh as I notice Dean must’ve taken my phone while I slept because his contact photo has been changed to Ghostface.

I quickly swipe right and put the phone to my ear, “Oh, please don’t kill me Mister Ghostface. I want to be in the sequel.”

A dark chuckle comes from the other end of the line and I hear him suck in a breath, “Tell me where you are and I won’t have to.”

“No way.” I breathe out, “You’ve gotta catch me.”

The snap of a twig comes from outside of the tree and I feel my heart plummet, “I don’t think you picked a very good spot.” He whispers, knocking softly on the tree trunk, “Do you?”

A hand suddenly slides through the opening of the trunk and wraps around my ankle, pulling hard enough to make me lose my balance landing me on my ass, “Got’cha.”

I pull on my foot and panic sets in as I realize he isn’t letting up. His other hand wraps around my other leg and one hard pull has me out in the open air.

Dean wags a finger at me, his green eyes sparkling, “I know you can hide better than that. I taught you better.”

My brows furrow and I set my jaw, “Speaking of which, how hard are we playing?”

He raises a brow and I see the bandana twitch as he smirks, “No holds barred, Darlin’. Do what you need to get away, it’ll make it more fun when I catch you….again.”

“Good.” I raise a leg and stomp on the hand still holding my ankle in place. He yanks his arm back, cursing, and I scramble away back in the direction of camp, “Catch me if ya can!”

I find another tree with branches low enough that I can swing onto and pull myself up high enough that I can see below me and for a few feet surrounding the tree. My phone rings again and I put it to my ear, hearing Dean’s gruff voice before I can answer.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He spits out, “Are you hiding better this time?”

“You didn’t say I had to play nice.” I whisper, “I think I’m hiding quite well, thank you.”

I sit on the branch with my back toward the trunk of the tree, keeping my knees to my chest in case they dangle and he sees me, “Are you coming to get me?”

“Maybe I already found you.” He whispers back, “Maybe I’m looking at you right now.”

“What are you gonna do when you catch me?”

“When?” He replies, and I can hear the smirk on his face, “Giving up so easily?”

“No, just curious.”

“You’ll find out soon.” The line suddenly goes dead, and I quiet my breathing, as if he could hear it from the ground. The birds and the sound of the creek below are the only noise surrounding me and I chance leaning over to see if he’s anywhere close by, slamming myself back quickly when I see his bandana clad face in the tree next to me. After a moment I realize he must’ve missed me and I chance leaning around again, when a hand wraps around my throat from behind.

“How do we keep meeting like this?” He grunts cockily into my ear, “It’s like you want to be caught.”

My heart is in my throat as he pulls me to him, “I’m going to help you down,” He whispers, one hand on my throat, his thumb and forefinger on either side of my jaw, the other hand on my ass, “Are you going to run?”

I shake my head dumbly and blink, “No.”

“Are you going to hit me?”

Another shake of my head, and he slowly helps me to the forest floor, “Now what am I gonna do with you?” He wraps a hand in my hair and pulls me to my feet, “You did try your best, didn’t you?”

“Uh huh.” I nod, frantically looking for someway to get out of his hold this time as he drops his hand to my jaw again.

Leaning down and he pulls my face up to his, “Your best just wasn’t good enough, was it?”

I smile sweetly and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer and then abruptly shoving him away. Losing his balance, he curses again as I take off running. He scrambles to his feet and lunges to tackle me to the floor, we roll for a few feet before I pin his arms above his head, my knee on his chest.

“Who’s catching whom?” I smirk as I stare down at him, “This isn’t going the way you thought, is it?”

The bandana moves again, the hint of a smile in his eyes, “Sweetheart, this is exactly what I had planned.” His knee finds its way underneath mine and we’re suddenly rolling once more, him pinning me and straddling my hips, “Now, are you going to stay still?”

I nod, my heart in my throat once more, as his hands make their way slowly down my body to the hem of my shirt.

••••••••••••••smut below the cut•••••••••••••••

He lifts the fabric above my head, throwing it to the side, and pulls the rope from his belt loop, wrapping it loosely around my wrists, “Tighter.” I whisper, watching his eyebrows raise before he pulls the knot tight against my skin.

His hands slide down my torso and he slowly slides my jeans down my legs, “Should’ve had you run around like this instead.” He whispers, biting his lip, “Would’ve caught you the first time.”

I blush and bite my own lip, as he rakes his eyes over my body, “Jesus, you’re so beautiful.”

He grips my jaw tightly, dropping the bandana to his neck and pulls me into a searing kiss, his tongue dancing over mine. I strain against the ropes on my wrists, lifting my arms to place my hands in his hair, “No.” he gruffly says before pinning my arms down again, “Don’t touch me.”

I groan, but his lips are on mine again before I can complain and any arguments fly out the door as he lays his body across mine and pushes his hips into me.

“Dean.” I moan, raising my hips to meet his, “Please.”

“Please what?” He asks, and I can feel the smirk on his lips as he runs them down my throat, “What do you need, Baby?”

My legs wrap around his waist and pull him roughly into me again, and he grunts as I sink my teeth into his throat, “Please, Dean.”

He moans again and slides a hand down my waist, “I love it when you beg.” He sinks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slides them down my legs before unhooking my bra and helping me stand.

“Now you.” I bat my lashes and he flashes a smile my way before reaching behind me.

“Got something else for ya, first.” He pulls a duffle bag over and takes the old brown jacket out, laying it out on the forest floor, “Lay down. Put your head on it, not above it.”

I do as he instructs as he takes his own clothes off and finds his way in between my thighs again, and slowly runs his hand over himself. I blush as he stares at me again, one hand around himself, the other around my throat as he brings me up to him in another kiss.

“I love you.” He whispers against my lips and pushes me down onto the leather again, before reaching below and feeling the wetness building between my legs, “All that because I chased you through the woods like a maniac?”

“All that because I know you’d never really hurt me.” I reply with a moan as he sinks a single finger into me.

“Oh, I’m gonna hurt you, Baby.” He grins as he adds another finger and runs his other hand across my breast, tugging and pinching at my nipples, “Hurt you so good.”

He slides his fingers out of me and shoved them between my lips with a groan before grabbing the rope above me and flipping me to my stomach. Lifting my hips, he lines up with my entrance and slams his hips into mine, pulling moan after moan from my lips as he rocks into me.

“Good girl,” He groans out, “Yell as loud as you want, no one’s coming to help you.”

His hand wraps around my throat and pull me flush against his chest as his other hand slides across my stomach to rub circles on my clit, “Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Uh huh. Yeah.” I whisper, breathily, “Gonna cum for you.”

“Then do it.” He grunts out as he runs faster, “Wanna feel you squeeze the life outta my cock. Wanna cum with you.”

The mix of his words and the sensations overwhelming my body send me directly over the edge, my eyes roll back and I go limp in his arms, feeling his hips stutter to a stop shortly after. He pulls himself out of me and spins me slowly to face him as he cradled my face, placing a sweet kiss to my lips.

“That was awesome.” He breathes out with a grin, “We should do that once a month.”

I laugh as he places the jacket around my naked shoulders and pulls his pants up around his waist, “Yeah, next time you can keep the jacket on.”

He winks and pulls me toward our camp, “We’ll see. You wanna rest, eat a s’more, and then maybe I’ll let you chase me through the dark.”

“Didn’t you tell a cop one time that you don’t get trapped in the woods with people, people get trapped in the woods with you?”

“I’d make an exception for you.” He says with a grin, tugging me close to him and kissing my temple, “I love you, Pretty Girl.”

I smile against him, “I love you, too.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: I was not sure how to end this so I hope that’s satisfying enough. My first time writing smut e v e r. I enjoyed this one, I hope you did, too! 🫶🏼

Tag list: @lmhf1

[november-rising]

This was supposed to be an ask for @thoughtfulchaos773 but it became something else…

I’m slowly going back through The Bear as I try to make sense of season three and my initial notes. The rawness and vulnerability and bare bones (season one) is what got me. Watching two people trust without trusting was foreign and needed in my TV watching landscape.

Season two was powerful but I didn’t understand why until season three. In hindsight it’s so obvious. As a Black female from the US, having a white male reorganize around your shared dream/goal is fantasy. To have this white male with all the accolades see and want you for your talent and who you are - for your fire…

That’s rarity.

And then you both endeavor upon a shared dream that is sidetracked by a white woman from his past - a safety blanket. A means to “heal” without trying. He’s searching and broken. And he had the privilege to hide and to be lost.

Sydney tried. She tried as all us Black women do. We shut it down. We shut it off. We cut it all away and deny ourselves in the necessity that is called preservation. Success. Some semblance of security.

Season two gave me hope. It gave Sydney hope. Even though this man with mental health and family trauma/trauma-response obligations, she had his acknowledged devotion.

And then the fridge. It was the summation of Carmy using anything (Claire) as a way to stay on the outside. Because, even though Syd and Carmy worked to grow, Carmy and Claire worked because of past hypotheticals.

They just work in the sense that Claire is easy. She is woven into a family he’s wanted but felt afraid to open up to - for valid reasons. This man has seen his older brother protect only to be sacrifice for the family. He found a way to survive and Carmy is living in his example - to survive and provide.

To me, this is the shift of season two and the dissonance I felt watching season three. It’s the progression of Syd and Carmy from togetherness to separation.

Syd was finding her footing and security in knowing that the most excellent CDC trusted her. She felt a sense of purpose in The Beef no matter the shenanigans. This Black woman was given some sense of control of the kitchen. Again, she was trusted. Season two, Carmy is out there processing his grief through Claire (a woman or feeling he attempted to avoid via fake phone number). Season Two, Sydney is out here, facing her fears and supposed failures, starting up another catering/restaurant venture with someone she thought she might be able to rely upon.

Season three ended with her trusting in this man who failed.

And he keeps failing.

Carmy is atoning through self-flagellation. Sydney is turning away to an apology that’s too late and too hollow. Too hollow because the last time someone attempted to apologize in this industry, it was performative. May it be the bank. May it be anyone at CIA. May it be clients prior to The Beef/The Bear. It was something people did for no reason but to assuage their own…whatever.

Carmy, at face value, was different to Sydney. Though an acclaimed white male, she felt heard. She was seen. But Carmy failed like all the others…and this time it hurts because she shared. She cared. Not with some idol but with a colleague and maybe more.

Season three breaks my heart. It’s two people in relation with each other, crying out but not knowing the radio station to dial into for each other.

[veritas-scribblings]

own - @bartylusmicrofic - words: 455

‘Reg,’ Barty sighs. ‘Reggie. Regulus. Rejulus. Regimas.’ He shuffles up the bed so he can tuck his head onto Regulus’s lap, staring up at Regulus with his best pathetically doe-eyed expression. ‘Babe. Baby. Darling. Light of my life. Fire in my loins…’

‘What!’ Regulus looks away from his textbook and down at Barty. Just half an hour ago, Barty had returned from the common room with an armful of sweets and a handful of galleons, his winnings from absolutely thrashing their housemates at Blackjack.

Barty cheats, Regulus knows, and has roped Evan into helping him. Well, not so much cheats as counts cards, because Barty and Evan will never pass up an opportunity to swindle their housemates. No one has picked up on it yet, though it is just a matter of time as Dorcas is already suspicious.

Barty dramatically sighs again and whines, ‘Pay attention to me, I’m bored.’

Across the bed, wrestling with a packet of pepper imps, Evan snickers and gives Regulus a look. It’s a look-look, a silent knowing communication understood only by them. One that Barty notices and immediately feels left out about. Barty shuffles closer to Regulus and prods him, all scowly and sulking and needy and demanding.

‘Evan…’ Regulus says slowly, raising an eyebrow to communicate: you are going to help me with this, arsehole.

‘Don’t look at me. I told you.’ Evan snorts. He shakes his head. ‘He’s your boyfriend.’

And Evan had told Regulus. Right after Regulus and Barty had first slept together and their dynamic had taken a very, very slight shift in a different (adjacent) direction, and Regulus and Barty had separately run off to Evan to talk about what had happened between them, Evan had ‘told’ Regulus. That Barty was Regulus’s ‘problem’. That most things Barty-related will now be handled by Regulus as Barty’s ’significant other’. Regulus had naturally thought this is all terribly unfair as they’ve shared the responsibility for the last five-or-so-years, but Evan disagrees. They’re growing up. It’s part and parcel, he had said, of the whole ‘shagging Barty’ nonsense.

‘He’s your friend,’ Regulus snaps.

Evan grins triumphantly when he manages to get the pepper imp packet open. He throws a couple at Regulus and Barty. ‘He was your friend first.’

‘First for all of five minutes. You’re meant to be my friend. What happened to loyalty?’

Evan has popped a pepper imp into his mouth. There’s smoke furling from his ears and nose and Regulus just can’t take him seriously like this. When he speaks, licks of fire escape between his lips. ‘You chose to shag him,’ Evan says. ‘He’s your problem now. I did warn you. Barty’s like a baby bird. He’s imprinted. There’s no getting rid of him.’

Barty sits up, scowling at both of them. ‘Well now I just feel fucking unloved. You’re all arseholes.’

[desafinado]

Hello! I really love your writings, they're lighthearted and interesting to read. I also love your characterization for the characters! Would it also be alright for me to request some fluffy domestic headcanons for Alhaitham or Kamisato Ayato with their s/o as their wife? Thank you and have a nice day! <3 <3 <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 happily ever afters (?)

°｡⋆ alhaitham, ayato x reader (separately)

°｡⋆ sickening fluff, nicknames/pet names galore, suggestive (omg)

note: hi hi! thank you so much for your support and feedback !!! as for your request, why not both! hope this satisfies your domestic/fluffy desires !! also… i like framing marriages as happy endings with a question mark, because i think that pretty much encapsulates my perspective on it. you hope it is a happy one and you’ll strive to make it such, but you’re never gonna be certain of it.

(alhaitham, ayato) | (zhongli, diluc, kazuha)

alhaitham ♡

i’m desperately thinking malewife, and i will bc these are my hcs so damn it.

he didn’t completely quit his job, but if you work as well… expect him to be babying you just the tiniest bit.

he made a promise to take care of you so he very much will.

cooking breakfast/dinner when he notices you coming home a bit more tired.

buying groceries (most importantly, your favorite snacks) while he's out.

leaving little notes around the house whenever he has to leave for work (whether it be a few hours or days).

you can also expect him to rant more nonchalantly, aka welcome the inner sanctum of his thoughts he must repress in front of higher ups in order to be “polite”.

“i mean what kind of buffoonery must you partake in to even have that idea? the mental gymnastics you must do in order to get from point a to point b is-” “dear, breathe and drink this tea for a second.”

in turn, you’re also often the one to keep him in and check and remind him of his own needs (whether it be emotional or purely basic like eating and sleeping).

in relation to this, you’ve implemented cuddle breaks where if you feel he’s going too far and in too deep, you can drag him into a cuddle session for an hour.

he’s usually silent the whole time, but you can see the clear progression from him grumbling about it to melting into your arms.

also they rarely ever last for just an hour and sometimes it might even escalate (suggestive yes) if he's feeling particularly clingy.

lets address the elephant in the room, alhaitham has been touch-starved for most of his life, so you coming in and giving him all the affection (with no question or judgment whatsoever) is the best thing that has happened to him.

his little smile when you hug him from behind or leave a kiss on his forehead.

anyways, back on track, most people don’t even realize you two are married but you both don’t really care either. it's just funny to hear/see their reactions.

“dinner with someone you're calling your beloved? yeah sure, that’ll be interesting” “you can disrespect me, but i will [redacted] if you so much as think about disrespecting them.”

living individual lives doesn’t stop either of you from being particularly clingy though… whether it be you storming into alhaitham’s office demanding for him to just hold you tight or alhaitham skipping work to have you kiss all his stress away.

you’re both pretty upfront about your emotions, because you don’t want to lose anything to miscommunication… (even if sometimes, it might be a bit embarrassing)

at the end of the day, you two are married… and he couldn’t have asked for a better partner to lay himself vulnerable to.

how can you say no when his eyes are practically speaking for his heart; a vision of longing and yearning so crystal clear. you’re running a hand through his hair, and as every second passes he only leans in to your touch. he looks up at you for a second, debating whether or not he interrupt the comfortable silence; he eventually looks back down, but you’re not one to ignore that and brush it off.

“my love, what is the matter?”

another moment passes before he finally gathers the courage to say the words trapped in his throat.

“i know we’ve been over it, but i can’t believe i’m yours… and you’re mine. i’m just thankful, is all. i hope i can always be the one you can rely on, as you are to me.”

a minor blush dusts his cheeks as you giggle softly at his flustered state. it wasn’t unusual, but it certainly made you feel happy, being able to fluster the stoic and pragmatic alhaitham.

“and you are, my love. celestia could send rains of fire and stampedes of thunder, and i would only ever run to you. i’ve entrusted my soul to yours, whether you know it or not, and you’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

ayato ♡

lord kamisato, this. lord kamisato, that. he does not care, he will take time out of schedule specifically for you and only you.

because no one could compare to the way you call his name, when you wake up first thing in the morning, your voice still groggy, or while you’re both walking in the garden and you spot a beautiful flower.

you specifically request him not to make you any food though, because there's a 20% it will be inedible (the chances are low, but never zero)

instead, he’ll order your favorite pastries and have them delivered every morning in time for breakfast.

once he leaves for work, you both are very reluctant to let go… as if you’re not gonna sneak into his office every hour or so.

having you sat on his lap, arms around your waist while he’s going over documents.

if he has some plans that require him to be out and about, he takes every chance to sneak away and have a secret little moment or two with you.

this only escalates during festivals when his stress levels reach new heights. you steal him away, so you both can actually enjoy the festival the way everyone else is.

hearing him quietly chuckling feels as though you’ve been welcomed into an eternal paradise that only you two know of.

on the rare occasion that you don’t see him the entire day, you change or do things around the house to it feel more like a home for the both of you

ayato’s been complaining about back pain? you spend the day searching for a pillow that fixes that (worse comes to worse, there’ll be a new mattress when he comes home…)

the walls feel a bit bare and drab? you’ll just frame and hang up some of your favorite memories together.

you’ll also often find yourself experimenting with new boba recipes and having him try them all when he comes home; because of this pastime of yours, his favorite milk tea flavor has gone through a variety of changes.

anyways, when he does come home from work, you very much try to leave it outside (unless he truly needs to get things off his chest by venting).

he just wants to spend an evening with you watching a movie, having homemade dinner, or simply cuddling in bed.

the rest of the world fades into obscurity whenever you’re holding him close, face snuggled into his chest.

you’re just whispering compliments and words of comfort, because archons know he doesn’t hear it enough (/srs i feel like he gets used to the courteous praises coming from his colleagues and such for doing a good job, but you telling him how pretty his face is, is simply unmatched)

to hell it be damned, he fought for his marriage to you and he will fight everyday to protect the home you’ve both built together.

“in the kitchen!”

your voice makes itself known as ayato is quick to rush to the kitchen to see what you’re up to. there’s some flour scattered on the counter and floor as well as some unwashed dishes in the sink, and you’re in the middle of it all, giving him an awkward smile.

“i was just trying a new recipe and tried making pearls, i’m sorry about the mess…”

you laugh awkwardly as he only moves faster towards you. the moment he reaches you, he takes both your hands, soft and still covered in flour.

“i’m sure it turned out great. your hard work clearly shows.” he chuckles, bringing a hand up to your face stroking your cheeks. “i think… it’s missing a personal touch though. would you mind?” he closes the gap between you both, his lips barely grazing yours, waiting for your confirmation.

“indeed it does. i’ve missed you… a lot.”

your lips eventually find his and you can’t help the smile that creeps on to your face. its moments like these that you cherish and keep in your heart; these memories of him that belong to you forever more.

requests are open!! please do not repost on other sites.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 2] Visiting

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Pairing: Baseball Player!Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“He asked you to what?!” Shoko is absolutely bewildered when she hears the news that you have. She isn’t all that surprised about the fact that you had sex, she expected as much. However, she didn’t expect the man to ask for you to get married. She’s heard a lot about Toji, nothing was related to commitment and how loyal he is. They’re all rumors of course, but they all stem from somewhere. “Please tell me you rejected him.”

After your night with Toji, you find yourself in your best friend’s house. She’s in the kitchen, preparing herself a tea, and you’re with her, telling her about your date with the famous baseball player.

“I’m not in the plane with him, or am I?” You respond, a chuckle leaving your lips. Shoko squints her eyes before she tilts her head to the side. She doesn’t fully trust you. Her nails tap the granite counter that separates you two.

“What did you answer?” She has a serious tone of voice, and it almost sends a chill down your spine. It’s rare to hear her so serious. You take a moment to answer, and she repeats the question, even more serious than before, “What did you answer? Oh my god, please–”

“I told him I’d think about it.” You finally respond, and she slaps her palm on her forehead. She’s always viewed you as a smart woman, so why did the words that come out of your mouth sound like the most ridiculous thing you could possibly say? You’re not dumb enough to think about marrying an absolute stranger… Yet your response entertains that idea.

“No. Your answer should’ve been no because you two don’t know each other.”  Shoko tells you, and you click your tongue. Where’s the fun in that? You aren’t going to share your thoughts though, knowing it’ll lead to getting berated by the woman that’s in front of you. “I can’t believe you… What happened after that?”

“Well… We had sex again, we talked a bit, getting to know each other then we had sex again. After that we fell asleep and when I woke up, he was gone.” You say, and she sighs. She can’t say she’s disappointed, it’s your life and you do whatever the hell you want. She’s just in disbelief that this is happening. “Can you believe that he has a flip phone?”

“Don’t change the topic!” She raises her voice, but she thinks that maybe changing the topic is the best option. She doesn’t want to overstep. It’s your choice after all, if you want to fuck up your life, she can’t yell at you for it. She takes a deep breath to calm down, “You do what you think is best, baby. Marrying him isn’t a smart choice but I’ll support you no matter what.”

“I’m not marrying him.” You assure her, even though you don’t believe your own words. You just feel so drawn to him, and you’re enamored with him even if you just met. Maybe you’re confusing your feelings of attraction with something else. 

“I don’t trust you.” She answers. She hears the kettle whistle and she rushes to focus on that. At the end of the day, you make your own choices so she shouldn’t push the subject. You clear your throat before asking,

“Didn’t you have to tell me something?” You watch her pause as she tries to recall what she was going to tell you. You really caught her off guard with your news. Her eyes light up as she remembers, and a soft smile comes to her lips as you watch her cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink.

“I met the woman of my dreams last night, and best of all, she spent the night.” She tells you, and your brows raise. You should make a snarky remark but you bite your tongue, instead, you opt to listen. “She’s so perfect– I was so shocked she showed any interest in me but when I tell you I was over the moon when she approached me.”

“Do you have a picture of her? I want to see her.” You say, and she shakes her head in response. You watch as she pours the boiling water into a cup before she grabs a tea bag and dunks it in the water. “You got her number though, right?”

She stays silent. That’s your response. 

You’re about to reassure her, gathering the right words to say but it’s hard. You suck at comforting people. Just as you’re about to speak pathetic words, your phone begins to ring. You see a very familiar name which makes the biggest smile appear on your lips. You excuse yourself, walking away to answer the phone. You go to Shoko’s room and shut the door behind you.

“Hey, Toji.” You speak lowly so Shoko doesn’t hear that it’s him, even when she has an idea of who it is. You love hearing your name as he greets you, it sounds flawless when it rolls off his tongue. “Not that I mind but… Why are you calling? I don’t have a solid answer yet.”

“Just want to inform my pretty lady that I’ll be in her town next week.” Toji tells you, and a foolish smile comes to your lips at the thought of seeing him again. You smile even more stupidly when you realize that he calls you his pretty lady. It’s all so sudden, but you like it. You like him. Maybe not enough to marry him, not yet at least.

“Are you coming to visit me?” You ask him, and you’re nearly over the moon when he says yes. “Then I’ll wait for you here, we can do whatever you want when you’re here. You have my number, and I’m always available for you.”

“I’ll see you then–” Toji is about to say something else, but Shoko calls out your name and you hang up without a second thought. You act as if you’ve almost been caught doing something bad. You try to play it off as if you’re not doing anything, but Shoko doesn’t care enough. 

“Do you have any plans tomorrow night? Someone invited me to a birthday party and I don’t want to go alone.” Shoko asks, and you shake your head. You awkwardly smile.

“Let’s go out, that sounds like fun.”

You offered Toji to pick him up from the airport, and now you look around, searching for a tall strong man that’s nearly twice your size. You keep looking at the time, wondering if he’s off the plane yet. You check on your phone the time his flight is supposed to arrive, and you watch as luggage comes out from the conveyor belt, luggage from his flight. Maybe you should try to call him but his stupid flip phone is probably still on airplane mode.

“Where the hell are you?” You mutter, eyes hunting for the man. You’re being impatient, you just got here. You need to give him some time, he probably got off the plane and had to use the bathroom. You know that you’d feel self conscious shitting in an airplane bathroom.

You don’t like airports– At least not when you’re picking up someone else. Someone else that’s not all that easy to communicate with; you can still send him a text even if he has a flip phone, he’ll just take a little longer to respond. You decide to send him a text, asking if he’s off the plane yet. 

“Hey!” You hear his voice and your head darts his way. He’s comfortable, wearing a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, yet he manages to look as hot as ever. You smile at him, and you walk towards him, rushing to him after taking a couple of steps. You wrap your arms around him, and it takes him by surprise but he hugs you back.

“It’s so nice to see you again.” You say, and it comes out muffled since your face is pressed against his chest. You let go, and Toji weakly smiles at you.

“It’s so nice to see you again too.” He answers, and he walks to the conveyor belt to get his luggage, and once it’s in his hands, you two begin to walk to the elevator that’ll take you to the parking lot. When you enter the elevator, his hand goes into his pocket and he waves the brand new device in front of your face, “Look what I got.”

“You finally got a normal phone.” You grab the phone from his hands, and you inspect it. It’s the newest model, the old man doesn’t know what to do with all of that. “Did you change your number too?”

“Nope. Still got the same one.” He answers as you open the phone’s camera. You extend your arm out and lean towards Toji, pursing your lips together and putting up a peace sign. Toji leans down so he makes sure he’s on camera, and you snap the picture. You hand the phone back to him.

“I look pretty in that picture, you should make it your home screen.” You tell him, and he furrows his brows as he unlocks his phone.

“How do you do that?” He responds, making you chuckle. You take the phone from his hand and change the generic wallpaper to the picture you took. You hand it back to him, a smirk on your lips. The elevator doors open, and he clears his throat, “So do you have anything special planned for us?”

“Not yet, but there’s a couple fun things we can do.” You reply, and he wonders what you have in mind, but he’ll allow you to surprise him. Even if he doesn’t like surprises. You get to the car and open the trunk so he can put his luggage inside. It feels awkward for him to get into the passenger seat of your car, but he has no option but to since he doesn’t know his way to your apartment nor around the city. You get into the car and you ask, “What do you want for dinner tonight? I can cook or we can go out to eat.”

“Hmm… Are you a good cook?” Toji asks, and you hum in response. At least you like to think that you are. You turn on the car and get out of the parking lot, starting the trip to your apartment. “I want to taste your cooking.”

“You can’t blame me if you get food poisoning though.” You joke, making him chuckle. He thinks you’re joking. He prays it’s a joke. You don’t want the car ride to be silent, you can’t let thirty seconds of silence go by before you ask, “How are your games going?”

“You haven’t been watching?” He replies. You haven’t. You’re sure he knows that you aren’t a fan of the game, and as much as you’d adore to watch as the man that sits next to you hits some balls and does whatever the fuck the game consists of, you really don’t get to see much of him on the TV. He’s the only reason you’d tune in to watch a game. 

“I’d rather do other things.” You don’t tell him what you’d rather do, he has an idea. Anything but watch the game. “Aren’t you going to answer the question?”

“The games are great. The team is doing great.” Toji keeps it vague, not wanting to bore you to death with something that you’re clearly not interested in. It makes you clear your throat and ask more about the topic, and he answers with more details. He’s clearly passionate about his job, so you’re entertained while you hear him talk. 

You smile at him when you’re at a red light, and he smiles back at you. You won’t get to spend too much time together, but you know you’re going to have fun. Maybe not enough to get you to marry him, but enough to almost convince you to say yes. Almost.

Toji settles into your apartment, and he makes himself comfortable immediately. It’s nice that he’s comfortable enough with you to do so. Toji likes the apartment, although it’s way smaller than the one he lives in– This place doesn’t compete with his home but it’s cozy. And at least you’re here.

“I’ll go take a shower, then we can talk about dinner.” Toji says, and you watch as he opens his suitcase to pull out some underwear. He walks away and opens some doors to figure out where the bathroom is, and when he figures it out, he locks himself inside. You close the suitcase and bring it to your room so it doesn’t take up the space in the living room. He isn’t staying for long, but the suitcase is filled to the brim, almost too heavy for you to carry. 

You almost find yourself in disbelief that he’s staying here, you thought that he’d never contact you again when you didn’t jump into his arms and squeal yes when he proposed. You did leave him uncertain though, leaving him with a bit of hope. You’re sure you’ll reject him again if he asks again.

“I need to see what I’ll cook tonight.” You talk to yourself, grabbing your phone to look up recipes. You try to think of what Toji ate when you went out together, and maybe you’ll look up something similar to make for him– But you also want to know what other food he likes. 

You decide to toss your phone to the side, you’ll be asking him what he wants for dinner when he gets out of the shower. You focus on your bed, smoothing out the comforter. Your usual unorganized room looks like one of a magazine since it’s where Toji will be sleeping for the time he stays at your apartment. You’re sure it won’t take long for the room to become disorganized again since Toji doesn’t seem like the type of person to be neat, even when he’s staying at someone else’s place.

You proceed to lay down on the bed, grabbing your phone. You become so engrossed in the small screen that you’re startled when Toji walks into the room. “So do you have an idea of what you want for dinner? I’m getting hungry.”

You look away from the phone and at him. Water droplets going down his half-naked body. From his chest to his abs all the way to his briefs. His stupid fucking briefs. You’ve never been more mad at a piece of clothing before.

“Did I forget to put out a towel in the bathroom? I’m sorry.” You apologize, trying to focus your eyes on his face rather than his body. But your eyes keep lingering on his well-toned torso– Damn him, he looks like a god. He notices, and he chuckles.

“My eyes are up here.” He tells you, and you mumble an apology. He smirks as he walks to his suitcase to grab clean clothes. “Not that I mind.”

“What do you want for dinner? I’m not sure what you like.” You ask, watching as he puts on another pair of sweatpants and another compression shirt– It’s fair to say that he’s not the man with the most creative fashion style but he still looks hot.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, and you laugh. You guess you’ll stick with something simple: white rice, steak, and a salad. If anything else pops up, you’ll make it but that’s what you’ll be sticking with right now. 

“Okay, but you can’t complain if you don’t like it.” You respond, standing up and walking out of the room and heading to the kitchen. You open the freezer to take the meat out to thaw, and then proceed to check what you have in the fridge. You call out his name, “Toji! Come here, you’re helping me!”

“I’m a bad cook.” He claims when he walks out of your bedroom. That’s not enough to convince you though.

“You can chop up some vegetables, you don’t have to be a great cook for that.” You respond and he exaggerates a sigh that almost makes you laugh. “You know what, you can do it later. Wait for the meat to thaw.”

“What protein are you cooking?” He asks, and you tell him. “I can help you with that.”

“Aren’t you a bad cook though? Wouldn’t want you to burn the steak.” You reply.

“I can do that. That’s as much as I can do.” He answers, and you decide to not answer. You’ll make him chop up the vegetables later. Now you’ll focus on putting the rice on the stove. You put a pot of water, salt and a bit of oil on the stove before you wash two cups of rice. Toji sits on your couch and grabs the remote to turn on the TV. “Do you have any baseball channels?”

“I think you can go through the channel guide to find something.” You answer. You almost ask him why he wants to watch baseball, if he isn’t tired of the game considering that’s his job. But it seems like he’s super passionate about it, so you won’t make a comment about it.

Once the rice is on low, you walk over to him and take a seat next to him. You watch the game that he has on and you try to act interested, but you find yourself yawning at the game. You rest your head on his shoulder while he focuses on the game, and he throws his arm over you. You act like you’re dating– It’s not something too crazy since he proposed on your third meeting.

“You still need to cut up the vegetables.” You tell him, and he hums in response. You look up at him, his eyes glued to the television. You sit in complete silence for a moment, trying to focus your attention on the boring game. His stomach growls, and for some reason that gives you the idea of what you’re going to be doing the next day. “Let’s have a picnic tomorrow.”

“A picnic?” He raises his brows, and you nod in response. He purses his lips together, thinking about it before he shrugs, focusing his attention back to the television. Why not? The weather is nice outside, you might as well. “Sounds good.”

“Were you thinking of something else?” You ask, standing up from the couch to go to the kitchen. Instead of leaving the salad to him, you begin to chop the vegetables since it’s more entertaining than what he has on TV. 

You and Toji end up cuddling for the night, Toji too tired to really do anything apart from a light makeout session. He wakes you up early, claiming he’s made breakfast even though the previous night he claimed he was a bad cook– He wasn’t exactly wrong since you wake up to the smell of overcooked/almost burnt eggs. You appreciate the toast, almost burnt scrambled eggs, and the pieces of fruit that are cooked too big nonetheless. 

It’s a sweet act, even though he leaves the kitchen a mess and you have to clean it up. Toji makes a couple of phone calls while you clean up, and he’s still on the phone when you’re finished. You assume he’s calling his son and whoever else, so you leave him alone to get ready for your date. You excitedly get ready, thinking about the cute date that you’ll have. You’ll stop by the convenience store and buy some snacks before stopping at the park. The weather is perfect for this sort of date. 

“You look beautiful.” Toji comments when you’re ready. You wear a strapless floral sundress and wear some light makeup that matches your outfit. You smile at him, going to your closet to grab the wedges that you’ll be putting on. You try not to focus on Toji as he undresses in front of you to get into the shower. It tempts you to ruin your makeup and get undressed to join him; you keep telling yourself that you can do that later. 

When you’re both ready, you leave with a tote bag that has a blanket, some snacks, and some necessary utensils. Toji follows you blindly, unsure where the park you’re going is headed. It’s clearly nearby since you opted out from driving. You stop at the convenience store to get some snacks that you’re sure he likes, and then you head to the park.

You put down the blue blanket on the grass, and you both take off your shoes before taking a seat on the cover. You begin to eat the snacks that you have, and you ask, “Who were you talking to?”

“Megumi.” He answers, making you tilt your head to the side and raise your brows. “My son.”

“Oh…” You reply, and for some reason you sound disappointed. Until a chuckle leaves your lips. His brows furrow, confused at the response, and you bite down your lip before you answer, “You asked me to marry you and I don’t even know your son’s name… It’s just funny to me.”

“Yeah… The proposal was just a spur of the moment thing.” He responds, and you feel your face get warm of embarrassment. You replied that you would think about it only to hear that it was a spur of the moment thing… You try to remind yourself that you were going to reject the proposal. He watches your reaction closely before he says, “The feelings still stand though, and if you want to get married right now, I’m willing to do it. Even though we have to learn a lot about each other.”

“Let’s get to know each other first before we even think about marriage.” You respond. You’ve been talking with each other on the phone whenever you’re available, and slowly getting to know each other from a distance. Not enough to actually get married though, since this is the first time you hear his son’s name. “If we make it to marriage.”

“Do you see yourself getting married?” He asks a question he probably should’ve asked before proposing. You nod your head in response.

“I always have. I’m just not in a rush.” You answer. Toji munches on some chips, and he extends his hand, offering you some. You take a handful. “You shouldn’t be in a rush either.”

“You’re right. If I rush it, it’ll end up as a third divorce.” He makes you laugh with his response, even though it wasn’t a joke. It’s odd to think that he’s gotten married twice before. Maybe you’ve talked to a divorced man once or twice, but not one that had gotten divorced twice, and certainly not one that’s semi-famous. His eyes fall on a father and son that play catch, and it brings him a weak smile. It probably reminds him of him and his own son. He comments, “The dad has a weak throw, that poor kid is not going to learn how to throw that ball properly.”

“Go help them out.” You’re joking but Toji takes it seriously. He stands up, and you open and close your mouth as you’re about to tell him that you weren’t being serious but he’s already approaching the duo. The little kid looks excited, a grin on his face as he notices Toji, and you can safely assume he’s a fan of the player.

It’s sweet to watch Toji grab the ball from the dad, and throw it back to the father a couple of times before Toji teaches the tricks he can to the boy. You wonder if he’s like that with his son. You know Toji doesn’t see his son all that often, and Toji calls him a deadbeat, but you want to believe he’s a great dad when he’s with his son. You wonder how their dynamic is and how often Toji sees him.

You watch as the kid runs to search for a marker, and you find yourself laughing. The father begins to talk to Toji, and Toji entertains the conversation. Toji signs the ball when the kid comes back with a marker, and the father ends up taking a photo of the two. Toji walks back and sits on the blanket, and you comment, “That was so sweet.”

“What can I say? I’m a sweet man.” He responds, and you both chuckle because you know it’s not true. You reach into the bag to hand him some more food, and as he takes it from your hands. You clear your throat, making his attention go to you, “What’s up?”

“What are your thoughts on having more kids?” You ask simply because you’re curious. Does he want more? Or does he not want to go through that journey once again.

“Hmm… Kids aren’t a dealbreaker for me. Either I have one more, or I don’t. But I do hope you know that if you want kids, I’m not going to be very present. My job keeps me busy.” Toji answers. You have some questions about it; whether that's the reason he and the mother of his son separated due to his absence. But you won’t dwell on it, it’s not the right time to ask. “Why do you ask? Do you want kids and it’s a dealbreaker?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering. You were just so lovely with that kid that I wondered if you wanted more or not.” You reply. You try to change the topic to something more playful since you feel like such serious matters kill the mood. “Have you gotten used to the phone? It looks like too much for you to handle.”

“What are you trying to say? That I’m too old for that kind of technology?” His brows are furrowed, and you laugh. You hum in response.

“You’re an old fart.” You affirm. “Well, more because you had a flip phone… Speaking of, did you change your phone because of me? Or am I giving myself too much credit?”

“No you’re right. I was insulted after you insulted my phone so I decided to get a new one. Apparently this is the latest model, that’s what I was told anyway.” Toji says, and he hands you the phone. “You can check any features that your phone doesn’t have. The password is 1222.”

“What are you trying to say? I’m too broke to get a phone like this?” You ask as you put in the easy passcode. It’s like he has nothing to hide which is nice.

“I am.” And it makes you roll your eyes. It really doesn’t have anything that’s much different from your phone other than the better camera. You toss the phone back to him, and while he is a great catcher, his life nearly flashes before his eyes. “Careful with the phone.”

“Sorry.” You don’t sound sorry though, but he’ll make you sorry later. 

You continue talking until your eyes grow heavy, and you both lay down for a moment. It’s supposed to be for a few minutes, but he brings you into his embrace, and the few minutes turn into a few hours.

You wake up to soft snoring, the weather outside much colder than earlier– The sun is no longer out, and you panic immediately. You sit up and check to see if everything is still there, and after verifying that you haven’t been robbed, you poke Toji. You poke him until he finally opens his eyes. 

“What?” He groggily wakes up, and the first thing he sees are the stars in the night sky. He sits up and asks, “We fell asleep for a little too long.”

“We did.” You respond, and you’re about to stand up, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back down onto the blanket.

“We’re already here. Might as well stargaze.” He tells you. You lay your head back down on his chest, and look up at the sky since you have no option but to. He’s holding you down.

“Aren’t you hungry?” You ask him. The sky is clear tonight, and you can luckily view many stars in the sky. You would admire it if you weren’t a little confused after waking up outside. Luckily Toji forces you to admire it.

“We can go get something quick in an hour or so. We’re okay.” He assures you. Your ear is pressed against his chest, and you listen to his heartbeat which soothes you. You slowly calm down and admire the night sky. “I’m leaving tomorrow night.”

“Don’t remind me.” He’s no longer forcing you down so you sit up. You love spending time with him, you wish your time with him wasn’t so short lived. You wish at the very least you could meet up for coffee twice a week, and go on a fancy date on a random Saturday. You pout your lips, and he sits up as well.

“I’ll come to visit again.” He cups your face and presses his lips on yours momentarily. Your hands go over his, forcing him to keep his warm palms on your cold face. His lips fall on yours again, but this kiss is more passionate. His tongue enters your mouth and presses against yours. You let go of his hands and they move down from your face to your waist. 

You get on top of him, knee on either side of him as the kiss deepens. He’s feeding your hunger, and you have no idea why you’re so touch deprived. Maybe it’s because he was teasing you the previous night and the entire week you were working yourself up at the mere thought of him. This man does the unbelievable to you. 

“Toji…” You feel a soft breeze spread goosebumps on your skin, and it reminds you of where you’re at. You’re not fucking in a park– He shouldn’t even think about that, he’s somewhat famous. People know him. People would know you if anyone recognizes him and takes pictures. He pecks your lips a handful of times when you pull away, and you have to say, “Not here.”

“Huh? Why not?” He asks as you get off him. You stand up, and lend your hand so he can get up more easily. It hits him a little late, when the blood rushes from his dick back to his brain. You can’t risk getting caught. The rush is fun, but a few minutes of pleasure isn’t worth the risk of the consequences. Plus, you have a bed back home where you can do whatever you want. “Bad idea. You’re right.”

“Acting like a horny teenager for me, don’t forget I have an apartment and live alone.” You point out, making you both laugh. He laughs more in embarrassment than anything. You begin to pack everything in the tote bag. When your shoes are back on, you begin the walk to the convenience store again, ready to get something quick for dinner. 

“You know, I can fly you out. You can watch my next game and then we can spend a whole week together.” Toji offers, and a smile comes to your lips at the idea. You can ask for a week off since you have a lot of vacation days leftover. Your arm intertwines with his, and you lean on him as you walk to the store.

“I like that idea. It sounds like a lot of fun.” You respond. You think to yourself how if he were to propose right now, you’d gladly accept. But luckily, Toji isn’t as stupid as he was that night. You find yourself weak for him when you hear a low laugh from him and he kisses the top of your head, assuring you,

“It’s a date then.”

[stiltonbasket]

stilton I love all the sv fics you've been posting lately 🥺 will you be posting more in the future?

I have two multichapter SVSSS WIPs (A Wife by Any Other Name and my ongoing LOTR-inspired Bingqiu fic), and I plan to post around six more oneshots for the SVSSS Gotcha for Gaza. After that, though, my SVSSS writing days will likely come to an end! :')

I do have a Qijiu age gap AU in the works; but my (countless, at this point) MDZS projects take priority, so this one might not ever see the light of day. I've attached a few scenes below the cut, in case anyone is interested. <3

Short background: in this AU, Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu met when they were fifteen and five years old respectively, when YQY (then a kitchen slave) took little Shen Jiu off the streets and hid him in an abandoned wing of his master's manor. They were separated when SJ was discovered, and Yue Qingyuan was badly beaten and thrown out of the estate while Shen Jiu managed to escape and ended up being sold to the Qius a few years later. When they reunited at the Immortal Alliance Conference, YQY had been Qiong Ding's head disciple for nearly a decade and had just earned the right to accept disciples of his own, so SJ became YQY's disciple and went back to Cang Qiong with him.

Shen Jiu later realizes that he and SY!SQQ (head disciple/future peak lord of Qing Jing) are brothers; the following scenes mostly concern his relationship with Shen Yuan.

scene 1, set shortly after Shen Jiu comes to Cang Qiong and discovers that he and Shen Qingqiu are related:

This soft-eyed, fair-faced fool—he could never have lived through the trials Shen Jiu and his Qi-ge had endured, no matter how strong his cultivation, or how fine his calligraphy, or how well he swayed the hearts of men to bow to his every whim—

“Oh,” Shen Qingqiu murmurs, his voice full of such pain that Qi-ge makes a sound of distress behind him. “Of course. They must have had another child after they sold me away.”

Shen Jiu stares. “What? You were…”

“There was a drought in the second-to-last dog year, before you were born,” Shen Qingqiu says distantly, unfolding his fan and placing it over his mouth. “I was the third son, and born sickly—so when the slavers came to Jinan, they told Father that I was quick-witted and handsome enough to serve a lordling in a great house, and that I would have all the food I wanted and medicine to treat my infirmity as long as I did not make too much of a nuisance of myself. So I was sold and taken away.”

He casts a thoughtful glance at Shen Jiu’s sharp nose and smooth jaw, and then at the mole behind his left ear. “The sixth year after that was a bad year, too. You must have been sold then.”

Shen Jiu wants to tell this cheap brother of his that he had not even been sold, for the slavers had wanted nothing to do with a three-year-old infant scarcely out of babyhood. His mother was long-dead by then, and his father and the two kept brothers had resented her for bearing Shen Jiu and hated Shen Jiu for not having died before he was weaned: so there was no one to protest when his father carried him out of their shack while he slept and abandoned him in an alley a few miles away. If this heretofore-unknown third elder brother, Shen Yuan, had not been pretty enough to catch the eyes of the Jinan slavers, perhaps their father would have done the same to him.

scene 2, set about a year later, after Shen Jiu finds out that Yue Qingyuan's personal name Yue Qi is not written with the character for "seven" in CQM's sect records:

“Qi was good enough for Qi-ge.”

“Yue Qi’s name was changed when he entered the sect,” Shen Qingqiu tells him. “The Qi that Shixiong uses now comes from qi xi, for a bird resting on a perch.”

Shen Jiu turns around to stare accusingly at Yue Qinguan. “You never told me that you’d changed your name. Why did I have to find out from—from Senior Shen?”

“Ah, well,” Yue Qingyuan says awkwardly, “Shizun was the one who decided that the Qi for seven wasn’t worthy of a Qiong Ding Peak disciple, and then I became the head disciple, and my name was changed again, to Qingyuan. I haven’t signed my name with the new Qi in years. But, A-Jiu, I do think that Shidi is right; it’ll be years before you can become a head disciple, and in that time…”

“Should I use the jiu for ‘a long while,’ then?” Shen Jiu quips. “Or jiu zhi?”

Shen Qingqiu snaps his fan closed. “No. How practiced are you in the scholarly arts?”

“I do well enough,” Shen Jiu bristles. Reading, writing, and the reciting of poetry were the three subjects that came to him easily after he entered the sect; and though he had been near the bottom of the class when he first arrived, his weekly reports placed him at the top by the beginning of the second month. “Ask Qi-ge.”

“Then why not use the name Jiu’ge, after the second volume of the Chuci?” Shen Qingqiu asks. “What do you think, shixiong?”

“I think Jiu'ge is a fine name. But it’s no good if Xiao-Jiu doesn’t like it.”

Shen Jiu thinks for a moment. In truth, he had wanted Yue Qi to bestow a new name upon him, if it so happened that he needed one. He gave Shen Jiu the very first name he remembers, Xiao Lizi, after the plums that Yue Qi used to smuggle to him when he was a child in the Huang manor; but he does not entirely detest the thought of this strange elder brother, thrown away just as he was, choosing the name Shen Jiu will be known by in the future.

“It’s not bad,” he admits at last. “Very well, then. Let it be Jiu’ge.”

[freckliedan]

PHANNIE TAROT STATS

a lovely group of phannies has been reading tarot about what may be coming next for dnp, and a lot of cards have been repeating between readings. i've been compiling stats, & i'm moving that to its own post! up to date as of 10:50ish pm PST.

DATA

so far, there have been 72 cards pulled by myself, @yonpote, @dnphobe, @thetrashthatsmilesback, @tarotphil, @whipcracknumber5, @emojackolantern, @queerdnp, @slitsfordan, @ghoulish-art-tendencies, and @thighguys. of those 71 cards:

28 are major arcana (38.8%)

14 are wands (19.4)

11 are pentacles (15.2%)

11 are swords (15.2%)

8 are cups (11.1%)

and 43 (59.7%) of those are duplicate cards:

the fool (2)

the high priestess (2)

the empress (5)

the hierophant (2)

strength (4)

the devil (2)

judgement (2)

the ace of swords (2)

the two of pentacles (2)

the three of wands (2)

the six of wands (2)

the seven of pentacles (3)

the eight of wands (2)

the nine of swords (2)

knight of wands (3)

knight of swords (2)

king of wands (2)

king of pentacles (2)

so the most pulled cards are the empress, strength, the seven of pentacles and the knight of wands.

ANALYSIS

major arcana cards show up for major/impactful life events or important moments in time. pentacles (earth) shows up for everything tangible and material, wands (fire) shows up for action, passion, creative spark. swords (air) shows up for matters of the mind/grief & pain/clarity/ideas/communication. and cups (water) is less present, but is tied to matters of the heart/intuition/connection with others.

when looking at the suit composition of this reading, it's clear that something big is coming. and it's not internal; this is communicative action driven by passion enacted in the "real world", likely in the context of community. fire + air can be a dangerous duo, spreading extremely rapidly, but this is anchored by the steady & deliberate nature of earth.

the increase in air cards makes sense to me with dan and phil both being triplicate air signs & the increasing amount of thought and anticipation being directed at the situation by phannies.

looking at the most repeated cards, the empress + strength + the seven of pentacles? that's generative energy. something is being created. and whatever it is will begin from a place of balanced power without a need for control. and this new thing is being made real by a grounded and fair assessment of where past efforts have landed dnp.

and the knight of wands is now one of the most common cards, too. in this situation that's dan.

my takeaway from all this is so firmly that they're hard launching—the new thing entering the world is an extremely significant communicative action with material impacts driven by passion. (convenient time to mention they both have venuses—the relational planet—in fire signs).

i can't see anything but a hard launch and a wedding (to be legally bound to another person is SO material) fitting those parameters, and i think that once again this is following dan's pace. though, this time i think due to the need he had to self-actualize with creative endeavors separately from phil—those pursuits are now drawing to a close.

HOUSEKEEPING:

you can look at past stats and analysis of specific readings in my tarot tag.

i'm going to put the standard composition of a tarot deck below the cut for comparison, and if i make any future updates to this post i will put a copy of the stats before the change there as well.

a standard tarot deck has 78 cards:

22 major arcana (28.2% of the deck)

14 cards of each suit (17.9% of the deck)

and none of these cards are duplicates.

VERSION 1: 05/01/2024 9:53 PM

so far, there have been 57 cards pulled by myself, @yonpote, @dnphobe, @thetrashthatsmilesback, @tarotphil, @whipcracknumber5, @emojackolantern, @queerdnp, and @slitsfordan. of those 57 cards:

25 are major arcana (43.8%)

10 are pentacles (17.5%)

9 are wands (15.7%)

7 are swords (12.2%)

6 are cups (10.5%)

and 29 (50.8%) of those are duplicate cards:

the fool (2)

the empress (5)

the hierophant (2)

strength (3)

the devil (2)

judgement (2)

the ace of swords (2)

the two of pentacles (2)

the six of wands (2)

the seven of pentacles (3)

knight of wands (2)

king of pentacles (2)

so the empress has been in 62.5% of readings, strength and the seven of pentacles have been in 37.5% of readings, and the rest have been in 25% of readings.

ANALYSIS

major arcana cards show up for major/impactful life events or important moments in time. pentacles (earth) shows up for everything tangible and material, wands (fire) shows up for action, passion, creative spark. swords (air) and cups (water) are less present, though swords are gaining ground.

when looking at the suit composition of this reading, it's clear that something big is coming. and it's not internal; this is action driven by passion enacted in the "real world", likely in the context of community.

the increase in air cards makes sense to me with dan and phil both being triplicate air signs & the increasing amount of thought and anticipation being directed at the situation by phannies.

looking at the most repeated cards, the empress + strength + the seven of pentacles? that's generative energy. something is being created. and whatever it is will begin from a place of balanced power without a need for control. and this new thing is being made real by a grounded and fair assessment of where past efforts have landed dnp.

my takeaway from all this is so firmly that they're hard launching—the new thing entering the world is an extremely significant action with material impacts driven by passion. (convenient time to mention they both have venuses—the relational sign—in fire signs).

i can't see anything but a hard launch and a wedding (to be legally bound to another person is SO material) fitting those parameters. possibly a new creative project,but that just isn't coming across vibes wise?

[serpenlupus]

Remember what I said about the Regency AU consuming my thoughts? Well xD

This comic is how I imagine Altavir and Wyll's first meeting would go, like a regency version of the tiefling party. Of course Altavir would have heard about captain Ravengard and such, but not actually met him (and obviously he dislikes him on principle from the beginning. REASONS)

In here, it took me some time to decide what shape Altavir's story could take in this AU, because his key is that he has a secret that shapes his identity and is related to his body. In bg3 he is a Tiefling but his father made him look and live as a human, I thought here he could be an intersex person and his father makes him portray two different people to advance his own goals (what those are I'm not sure yet), in this case he protrays himself as Altavir and also his cousin (insert name here), who conveniently lives in the country side

Of course part of the fun is that Altavir tries to avoid Wyll but they keep coinciding until a friendship starts and then, whoops falling in love with my best friend? Unexpected, appalling, I'm never saying anything but oh whoops he starts a courtship with my Lady persona? Well I'll have to keep up with it even though I'm deeply, painfully aware that there are numerous expectations from a lady that I physically cannot fulfil

We'll have so much fun

I thought of some details and Altavir is pretty good at keeping the personas separate and behaving very differently in accordance to the social norms of the time, but sometimes he gets too comfortable and lets his guard down just a bit...

Also of course I had to add Shadowheart to the mix, she and Altavir will always be besties no matter the universe, but they need a frenemies phase XDDDD

(and Nocturne, I think she'd have a bigger role in the Au opposite to the game)

[bloodblanks]

the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — chapter i.

As the daughter of a moderately wealthy businessman, you lived a comfortable but solitary life. You never thought to leave your peaceful refuge, not until one of your father’s associates—who was also your only friend—made an unexpectedly tempting offer.

co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

Power presents itself in many different forms. Most often, those with power are thought to possess strength, intelligence, wealth, or status. However, you were not exceptionally talented in any of the above. Instead, you found yourself gifted with something much less conventional—charisma.

—

“Pantalone!” You opened the door, beaming at the raven haired man who stood before you. “Lovely seeing you here today.” You stepped back and held the door for him.

“Y/N,” Pantalone returned the smile, thick eyelashes fluttering as his eyes crinkled with joy. “The pleasure is all mine.”

He walked inside before pausing, waiting for you to push the dense mahogany door into place, making sure it locked shut. Your home was in a rather secluded location where few people passed by—much less dare intrude. Secrecy was invaluable to all of your father’s guests.

“Unfortunately,” you began, “my father is running late today, which I apologize for. But please do come in and make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

Your father was a busy man with a full schedule, one he went out of his way to readjust for the impromptu meeting request. It would have been unreasonable to expect perfect punctuality, and the apology wasn’t necessary.

Still, you had one job, and it was to be nice.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Pantalone replied. “Your generous hospitality more than compensates for it.”

While being cordial was more of a chore with the often unpleasant and impatient businessmen your father associated with, you found Pantalone’s company an effortless task.

You weren’t sure of the exact reasons behind it, but your home was often used as a place for meetings and negotiations relating to your father’s work. You weren’t present for the discussions themselves, but you did greet and welcome every guest—something your dad was not fond of doing himself.

For someone who worked a job where conversation was important, talking was not one of your father’s strengths. Though he managed just fine when it came to business, small talk and pleasantries were burdensome activities for him, which is why you handled them instead.

It wasn’t like you particularly enjoyed talking about the weather which never deviated from cold, or listening to middle aged men complain about joint pain, but you disliked it significantly less than your dad did. If anything, you had a tendency to avoid matters of actual significance, preferring your meaningless exchanges over accountability.

Pantalone was just another one of your father’s many associates, but he visibly stood out from the rest. You didn’t know much about them, but you were confident that everyone you’ve greeted was in some way or another, a powerful dignitary.

But they were no Harbinger.

That fact alone was enough to separate Pantalone from every other person you’ve ever interacted with throughout your approximately two decades of lifespan. You didn’t know for sure, but you knew well enough that his wealth and power surpassed that of all your father’s clientele combined.

But that wasn’t what truly made him different.

Pantalone was a striking contrast to your father’s other associate; not just because he was a Harbinger, but rather he was the sole person you could consider a friend.

You hadn’t bothered making new friends after moving to Snezhnaya. There wasn’t any particular reason for it. Although confidentiality could qualify, you found yourself either occupied with your own hobbies or keeping your father company when he was actually home and not busy with work. Anything you desired was delivered directly to your residence, so you had no need to venture into the city and make small talk with the shopkeepers.

This meant your interactions were limited to your father and his associates, all of whom were as pruned and grey as him. The only exception was Pantalone, and though you didn’t know exactly how old he was—it would be rude to ask—he didn’t seem significantly older than you, both in appearance and mannerisms. At the very least, he didn’t possess the wrinkles and bitterness the others did.

At some point, you began looking forward to your interactions, which both preceded and succeeded Pantalone’s business meetings with your dad. While you still maintained an air of professionalism with you, your amity went beyond mere pleasantries.

As you led him down the wide hallways and cavernous rooms, you couldn’t help but ask the question that had been nagging at you since yesterday.

“Pantalone,” you broke the silence, “may I ask a question?”

“Of course, dear,” he replied.

“Today’s a Monday,” you stated, “and you were just here last Tuesday.” For as long as you remembered, Pantalone had a very specific schedule. Once every other week, every Tuesday, he’d visit. As far as you knew, never had he strayed from that schedule—not until now.

“Ah, as observant as ever, Y/N,” Pantalone remarked.

“And on such short notice too...” you continued, letting your words trail off before asking him directly, “Is something the matter?”

You stopped in front of your father’s study, turning the doorknob and allowing Pantalone in, before you let the door leisurely shut on its own behind you both.

“Oh, no, not at all. It’s just that business can be unpredictable at times—I’m sure you understand.” His tone was as carefree and relaxed as ever, but you were certain this was no trivial matter. However, it wasn’t your business, so you set aside your curiosity and didn’t push any further.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “I was just a bit worried that something was up. I’m glad to hear that everything’s fine.”

‘Worried’ was an exaggeration. While you did care about Pantalone, you had no reason to fret over his well being. It was unlikely that anyone or anything could pose a serious threat to him, ever—he was a Harbinger. Perhaps it was disingenuous for you to feign concern, but you thought it was a polite sentiment regardless.

All of your dad’s meetings, with all of his associates, were held in this room. It was furnished with this intent in mind; a well-lit room with a coffee table flanked by two sofas near the centre, encircled by a desk, a few china cabinets, and most importantly, a kitchenette.

“I didn’t know you cared so much, Y/N.” A teasing remark, as you should have expected. You watched as Pantalone sat down on the sofa with a smirk.

“Do I seem that heartless to you?” you prodded back.

“Quite the opposite. If anything, you have too much heart.” Your eyes widened ever so slightly, Pantalone’s reply catching you off guard—you didn’t expect him to answer so sincerely.

Despite your familiarity with conversation and flattery, you were usually the one to give compliments, not receive them.

“You’re flattering me. I’m not doing anything special,” you brushed it off awkwardly. You quickly turned towards the kitchenette to escape the topic. “Earl grey tea with cream and two sugar cubes?”

“Why, I’m flattered that you remember how I take my tea,” Pantalone said. You filled the kettle, waiting for the water to boil as you took out a teacup and saucer from the cabinet above you, along with tea leaves and an infuser. You opened the refrigerator beside you, retrieving a glass bottle of cream.

You weren’t sure how or when exactly it started, but you always had a fondness for tea. The shrubs themselves, the processing of the leaves, the plethora of varieties and tastes, the simple act of brewing tea—you adored it all. When you still lived in Fontaine, where the weather was warmer and vegetation was abundant, you would often tend to your imported Chenyu shrubs and curate the leaves yourself; something Snezhnaya���s harsh, frigid climate didn’t allow for.

Though you missed the extensiveness of your tea hobby in Fontaine, you found other ways to keep yourself occupied. The time you would have otherwise spent on picking leaves was now dedicated to baking. It was something your mother taught you from an early age, a craft you now spent time perfecting. After all, freshly baked goods were a perfect accompaniment to tea, and your father’s clients appreciated the assortment of delicacies.

It was an excuse to bake batches of pastries that you otherwise wouldn’t be able to finish if anything, but it was something everyone was happy with. The guests enjoyed your confectioneries, your father evaded vapid chit chat, and you baked to your heart’s content.

“I’ve made you tea every other week, ever since we’ve moved here,” you pointed out. “So about two and a half years. It’d be awfully rude if I didn’t remember your preferences by now.”

You earned a soft chuckle from Pantalone.

“Well, now I’m curious. What else do you remember about me?” he asked, the question making you gulp.

You did not have a good memory, and you were especially uncomfortable with being put on the spot, your brain oftentimes turning blank, forcing you to blurt out any nonsense to try and salvage whatever situation you were being put in. You tried to think of something to say so it wouldn’t be obvious that you couldn’t recall; that would be rude.

“Only your darkest secrets.” You fumbled with placing the dried leaves in the infuser.

“So you know her name then?” he interrogated, and of course you didn’t.

“Of course,” you declared with utmost confidence. “Full name, date of birth, medical records, everything.” You knew you were just digging yourself a deeper pit, but you had just poured the water and the tea wasn’t done steeping yet.

“And what about her death certificate?” he continued. You stirred the tea rapidly, pouring in just the right amount of cream alongside two sugar cubes, before picking it up and serving it with the plate of madeleines you had baked earlier.

“That’s included in the medical records.” You placed the tea down on the coffee table a bit too hard. You made sure to place the plate down more gently, as if to absolve yourself of embarrassment. “Here’s your tea. And of course, some madeleines I baked this morning.”

You sat down on the sofa across from him, awaiting his expression as he brought the teacup to his lips, sipping the beverage with elegance.

“It appears you really are as observant as ever,” he smiled with visible satisfaction.

“I’m observant when people are interesting,” you noted, relieved that the conversation had finally shifted.

“Is that so?” Pantalone put down the teacup. “Y/N, what about me do you find interesting?”

There were a plethora of things you found interesting about him, and you wondered if some of them would be too intrusive or direct to point out given his status, but promptly discarded the consideration.

“Well, for starters,” you said, “you’re a Harbinger.”

“Oh my,” Pantalone spoke with feigned surprise. “I nearly forgot!” He reached towards the plate, picking up one of your madeleines and taking a bite. You watched his face hungrily for validation, awaiting his judgement of your madeleines. Even though your confectioneries were never worse than satisfactory, you often liked to try new variations or entirely different recipes, taking note of any feedback from guests to further improve your skills.

“Wonderful baking as always, Y/N.” Pantalone’s words seemed to align with the pleased expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling proud of yourself.

“You know,” Pantalone started, bringing your attention back to the conversation, “such status can be quite cumbersome. People behave rather differently around you. It becomes hard to tell when such pleasantries and favours are coming from a place of genuine kindness, or somewhere else.”

The atmosphere suddenly dropped to a more solemn tone, startling you.

“Be that as it may, I’ve always felt at ease in your company. Contrary to popular opinion... us Harbingers aren’t all that different from everyone else, and I feel refreshingly ordinary in your presence.”

You listened to him attentively, musing over his sentences in your head to carefully formulate a response.

“Refreshingly ordinary...” you muttered. “I didn’t expect to hear that. If anything, you’re quite special to me. Regardless, I’m happy to hear that I’ve been pleasant company for you. The feeling is mutual.”

You finished speaking, a wistful smile on your face as you glanced downwards, the focus slipping from your gaze. While you and Pantalone had many conversations over the years, they primarily consisted of playful banter and idle chatter. Rarely would you be as pensive as you were now, and while sentimentality usually made you uncomfortable, you found yourself not minding it right now. Perhaps you were more lonely than you had originally considered, but you realized your words held more truth than expected.

Pantalone was someone special to you. There used to be others, too. When you still lived in Fontaine, you had close friends; people you deeply valued and cared for. But distance does not make the heart grow fonder. Distance simply meant the space between, and the space from Snezhnaya to Fontaine would parallel the growing disconnect between you and the ones you used to hold dear.

Everything in Teyvat had a limit to its elasticity, tangible or not. Things can only be stretched so far before the tension eventually causes it to sever. Emotional connection was no exception to that. Despite your agreements to continue writing one another and keep in contact, eventually the letters became fewer and longer between. The last time you had received a letter was about seven months ago.

People separate. People move on. It was only natural, and you had come to accept it. You had no idea what your former friends were doing now, but you were probably nothing more than a passing thought in their heads every once in a blue moon.

You didn’t often reminisce about them, either. But when you did, you would naturally ponder the idea of making new friends. Even though it would be wise to make an effort, you didn’t want to. Meeting new people, getting to know them, becoming as close to them as you were with your former friends—it was exhausting just to think about. You didn’t want to bother yourself with something so tedious.

But since Pantalone had been routinely visiting for the past few years, your attachment to him inevitably grew without you even realizing it.

Your rumination was interrupted by the sound of heavy, pounding footsteps rapidly approaching.

“Oh,” you said, “it seems like my father’s—”

“—Oh, Lord Pantalone, please forgive the delay!” The door flung wide open, your father rushing into the room. “Such tardiness in the face of a Harbinger is unacceptable and—”

“—Please, it’s all right, F/N,” Pantalone tried to calm your very much frantic father. “I was enjoying a lovely conversation over tea with your daughter just now and—”

“—No, no, no! This will not do!” your father declared. “You must be impossibly busy with work! We should discuss business as soon as possible—Y/N, you may take your leave now while we discuss urgent matters!”

You were halfway through getting up when Pantalone spoke.

“Well, actually, F/N, the reason I requested this meeting was because I wanted to speak with you regarding your daughter.”

What?

Your head snapped towards Pantalone, the rest of your body still frozen in an awkward motion between standing and sitting, your eyes wide with shock and mild horror.

You weren’t sure if you had heard him right or not. But judging by the similarly surprised look on your dad’s face, you likely heard him correctly.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t ever thought of Pantalone as attractive. His elegantly styled black hair was smooth and silky—or at least it appeared so, you never ran your fingers through it—and his skin was radiant, fair as porcelain, his amethyst irises embellished with full sets of ebony lashes, sitting behind intricate silver glasses that framed his gracefully poised face just right.

However, you had never thought of anything beyond that. Not only were you unsure about how old he was—he could be twice your age, for Archons’s sakes—he was also your dad’s business associate, and you weren’t sure how your dad would feel about that, though you supposed you’d find out soon.

“Uh,” your dad stumbled over his own words, “Lord Pantalone... are you sure you want to, uh, discuss such matters with Y/N present?”

“Why, of course, F/N,” Pantalone replied, completely nonchalant. Your eyes darted between him and your father, the two of them wearing completely opposite expressions.

“Uhh,” your dad gibbered awkwardly, “are you sure you want to discuss such matters with me present?” You could see that he, too, was looking back and forth at the both of you in a futile attempt to grasp the situation. He was presumably contemplating the prospect of anything having happened between the two of you. The thought alone was enough to fluster you, and you were just thinking of how to explain that no, you were not and had not been sleeping with his business partner, when Pantalone spoke again.

“Oh, Archons, no, it’s nothing like that, please don’t misunderstand!” he exclaimed, his statement sending you into a brand new state of confusion. “I merely want your daughter to spy on Dottore.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you interjected, evident disbelief in your voice. You didn’t need to look at your dad to know he was even more disturbed than you, considering how he was at a loss for words.

“You see, it has recently come to my attention that Dottore is plotting something rather unfavourable to the Tsaritsa,” Pantalone elaborated, though you weren’t sure whether his explanation was helping or worsening the situation. “As a Harbinger, it is my duty to ensure her safety, and as Dottore’s closest associate, I’m in a most advantageous position to do so. Alas, I am but one man, so some assistance would be incredibly helpful.”

While the initial misconception was already difficult to process, the clarification was even more incomprehensible. You were stunned, unable to formulate any coherent thoughts until your dad managed to snap out of his stupor.

“You want my daughter to spy on Il Dottore? Forgive me, Lord Pantalone, but are you daft? How the hell is she supposed to do that? She is a child!” Despite its irrelevance to the situation, you couldn’t help a spark of irritation rising up at his words. You scowled, but put your annoyance aside for now, for there were more pressing matters at hand. Your father was becoming agitated, so you made an attempt to assuage the tension.

“...It’s fine,” you said, straightening up as you turned towards the Harbinger. “Pantalone, could you please elaborate?”

“Well, you see, I need someone whom I know and trust, that Dottore doesn’t know, but can come to trust,” he asserted. “I need someone new, unassuming, but not entirely unfamiliar. Someone who can keep a secret and find a secret. Who better than the daughter of the magnificent F/N?”

From an outside perspective, it was easy to make the assumption that you were knowingly assisting your father in keeping his clandestine activities concealed. Most people likely thought that, but it’d be incorrect.

Truthfully, your role in your father’s work was limited to greeting associates and serving them tea, along with any freshly baked goods you had made. Of course, you knew that your father wasn’t the most noble of men, considering his clientele—the Harbinger on your sofa being a perfect example—but that was the extent of your knowledge, and you preferred to keep it that way. You knew it made you apathetically recreant, but it was much easier to stay unaware and turn a blind eye to his questionable doings. You would keep yourself uninvolved in his business, hiding under your security blanket of willful ignorance.

The exact shelter that Pantalone was trying to coax you out of.

“Well, okay, sure, but—” your dad tried to protest.

“—And as a token of my gratitude,” Pantalone furthered,

“I would bring M/N back to life.”

next chapter soon... any interactions are appreciated (´･ω･`) thank you very much for supporting my work! ♡

[yuri-is-online]

This might just me being tired and dumb, but I kind of get how Ace having a more supportive family would lead to isolation? Like. People who have no family to rely on form their own, and that kind of bond can be beat by very little else. There's not only possibly shared trauma, but there's probably also a shared understanding that "we all we got". It gives a weird sense of hope to see someone else in your situation, someone who relates to you even a little bit, and you want more anything in the world for them to make it out and thrive, and you can trust that they want the same for you.

So with Ace, who's trauma (that we know about) mainly comes from association and the iverblot fights, it's a bit harder to make that bond. He (assumably) got all the love and support that he was supposed to get from his family. And yeah! Sure! He can still seek it out elsewhere! But it's a thing he already has, he already has somewhere to go at the end if the day for comfort.

This is actually a theme that I'm gonna play with in my 80s fic, Deuce is lower middle class, while Yuu is just a slightly glorified version if homeless. Ace is squarely middle class, if not upper middle, he never has to really want for anything. Not like Deuce and certainly not like Yuu.

Learning how to pinch for pennies and find deals are things that makes Aces life more convenient, but it's something that Deuce and Yuu need. And that's where the divide is.

He wants to take care of his friends (he's still in denial) more than anything, but he also feels like there's this weird line he can't cross, with him on one side and Yuu and Deuce on the other. It honestly doesn't help that Yuu has a separate, small friend group outside of him and Deuce that are all in the same "Shit is completely fucked right now but by God are we gonna make it out" boat. A boat that Ace will probably never be in. Ace loves his family and is grateful, and knows exactly how much he lucked out. But he still wants to have that bond. That "the world feels like it's ending but atleast we'll be going down together" type of bond. Comforting Yuu while they cry about not having heating in the winter will never be the same as having to suffer alongside them and know they were in this together. Trying to find the cheapest possible version of a food products with Deuce and discovering knock off brands that Ace would never imagine existing (who the hell made knock off cheerios?) Will never be the same as actually having to rely on those knock off and part time sales, and feeling a sense pride that they were able to save enough money this month that they could actually buy something nice. Ace probably won't ever be on that side of the invisible line.

He'll bring them to his side though. Ace wants to take care of them more than anything. He wants them in his life more than anything. And he'll have them. No matter what he has to do to make that happen.

Sorry if I missread your post and just dropped a huge angst bomb in your inbox! I just have thoughts and there are a lot of AceYuu and ADeuce moments in chapter three and one or two of them digs into this a little.

You didn't misread my post at all I swear we are sharing custody of a braincell because this is just *chef's kiss* exactly what I was thinking.

Having that solid middle class stability and parent's who genuinely love you and each other is nothing to be ashamed of, not that I think Ace has enough humility for that, but it does mean that he has a gap in his understanding for Deuce and especially Yuu's situation. I keep thinking about how he ended up eating those tarts because he skipped a meal over worrying about Yuu and their circumstances, he cares. He is crass and rude with it but he cares! I love how you say he'll bring them to his side of the line, that's exactly how I see him thinking about it.

Ace's isolation (in my view) seems to come from how much more he values his friendship with Yuu and Deuce over literally anyone else in the school. He'd benefit from talking to Jack and Epel more, they also have solid home lives and Jack at least I think has financially stable parents, but those guys aren't his people. For better or worse, for sickness or health, Yuu and Deuce are who he is sticking it out with. He'll never say it in game, but he really does love you both, in what way is of course up to the interpretation of the player.

but you know which one we both prefer frfr

[nimdreams]

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to write about my gender a bit, or write a full fledged entry for the nonhuman gender zine. For now, here's some thoughts from a shapeshifter.

As a child I never questioned my gender, I just went with what was given to me and that didn't feel so wrong at all. It wasn't until I was in my late 20s/early 30s, while in this community, that I learned about gender. How many genders there are, neopronouns, about gender identity. Quickly I found myself in this gender community too, relating to a lot of it but never considering myself transgender.

At first, I used agender female to describe myself, even if it seemed to confuse some people. I felt like my true self, separate from the vessel, was agender, and that I just happened to live in a female body. After finding out I am a polymorph and my true form is a genderless glittering ball of light and void, I found the term agender even more fitting.

As a shapeshifter though, whatever form I take isn't truly me, and I can take the form of human's binary genders but also the form of any species with genders outside our binary. As I went through different genders feeling right to me, I tried on genderfae and genderfluid labels.

You don't really see my fluidity in gender on the outside, I just wear what I am comfortable in and always present as a woman within this vessel.

Technically you could say I am genderfluid as I can appear as any gender, but to me being agender feels more right as that is what I truly am underneath. No matter the shape I take, my true self is that.

I really love starself pronouns, they make me so happy, but in dreams I use the pronouns of whatever my body is at the time, and irl I use she/her pronouns as that is how my vessel presents. This doesn't give me dysphoria, but it's just that there is much more to me, and most people who see me will never know.

I don't feel dysphoria when I am phantom and mental shifted as something that is male, I just wish I could shapeshift my vessel to fit what I am feeling on the inside. So far, only very few of my shifts consist of masculine genders, female is still the most common, and then there is the many wonderful genders I have glimpsed the comfort of as I take different forms.

It is still a journey for me to accept my own gender feelings more and be more open about them. Especially the freedom in this vessel to share how I am feeling, and maybe the confidence to not always have to present female.

[tyran-the-tyranical]

That one line from Raphael's Second Diary will never cease to get me 🥺 LIKE MIGHT I ADD- these are his private thoughts, separate from his manipulation attempts and so he, with his full chest, admits so much in his second diary, like when he says "never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole." AHH, (my delusions are so real, trust)

BUT WHEN HE SAYS "They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me." look, I get the subtext behind all these quotes, but a girl can just ignore all that media literacy and take it for face value, OK? 💅 but also reading into it, he does admire Tav to a certain extent, and I have to wonder, why? Tav isn't an origin character and Tav's actions and character basically changes with every playthrough (Same with Durge, as they can change too) So I have to wonder if it's because Tav is controlled by the player, since, Raphael does end up breaking the fourth wall in his epilogue speech, so perhaps that's what he sees.

Another way to look at it is, either way, no matter what the playthrough, he sees something in Tav, something that makes them stand out much brighter than their companions (For some reason???)

To further that statement, what is the best of Raphael? I mean, if its an evil playthrough, that would be obvious, but if you're playing a good playthrough, what then? perhaps what he sees is someone he can finally use to get the crown, that's also very likely. Still though that's a very to the point (IMO) not as interesting of a reading since it's literally just his end goal for us, BUT STILL A VALID ONE, because, it is true, that's what he wants from us the most.

Also his third diary where he just straight up admits that he's being so honest with us so he can manipulate us, love that for him, "I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted." Which also makes me wonder, is Raphael actually an honest person? I mean, Korilla thinks he's at least decent, but honest? outside of helping us, if we look at Yurgir, he really fucked him over lol. Obviously, Raphael isn't what he seems, even if he's honest with us, to what extent? he says it himself, he's honest about "...sublimely obvious truths..." but what about when he says he's grown quite fond of us in his own way, HMMMM?

I wish this man got a proper story arc in the game, outside of the whole deal for the hammer and House of Hope, that's all plot related for the hammer, but a storyline about Raphael as a character? I mean yea, maybe that would whisk away some of his mystery, his intrigue, but I'm sorry- you cant just end it with him fucking himself (poorly) and trying to break Hope (making her a metaphorical symbol of hope anyway, I think....) AND LEAVE IT THERE?!?!? at the same time, I do like the ambiguity of his character, you could think of him as a cruel bastard after seeing what he's done in the House Of Hope to his debtors and Hope herself or perhaps just a Pathetic lil guy who's shit in bed lol, or maybe even soft, if you go off Korillas words and what he does for us in game he can come across as quite nice, especially after we've interacted with Mizora who's is the only other Cambion example we can go off of.

I also just think it's interesting that he sees anything in Tav/Durge at all. Ofc he says he sees the best of him (Always gotta relate back to himself lol) but that especially a mortal is what he could see himself, the best of himself, but then again he does see potential and ambition as admirable (?) or just something he appreciates, you can see that with Mol and Gortash to some extent anyway, But what ambitions does Tav have outside of just trying to survive? Like, the obvious answer is he wants us to give him the crown and we're the underdog in the story but then why does he refer to Tav so differently then? I fear this has turned into another rant again, lol.

Just a final thought here, but, if he did ever get a story arc, similar to the companions, would they give you multiple directions to take his character? i mean with Shadowheart for example, you could help her break from shar or have her fully convert into shars chosen, but even then, if you free her from shar theres the point of saving her family or freeing her from Shars (curse?) there's multiple ways for her story to end. Though, Raphael isnt a companion, so would he have something similar to idk a minor companion like Halsin or Minthara, who don't really have that much of a diversion (I think) in their endings, they don't really have the option, only really if the player decides to be evil or not, they kinda just follow them either way, it doesn't really impact their own stories. Obviously, I would prefer something with nuance but also, HE ISN'T A COMPANION 😭 and pressingly some of the companions need more work done than he does atm lol. Maybe that's me just projecting lol, once again, me wanting to have my cake and eat it too, anyway, that's me done... for now lol