#he may not be very open but he has his own strong convictions and he is slowly starting to open up but just starting

[zarekthelordofthefries]

BG3 Companion Sexuality Headcanons

Astarion: Pansexual. Has a slight preference for men. Has a complicated relationship with feelings of attraction and connection, so doesn't usually like thinking about his own sexual identity. Thinks Wyll is the hottest other party member.

Lae'zel: Pansexual, kind of. Doesn't really relate to sex and gender in the same way as the Faerunian companions. Githyanki socially de-emphasize romance, and all sex is generally for pleasure since Vlaakith decides who bears eggs. Lae'zel is alloromantic, but romance isn't generally at the front of her mind in a relationship. Neither is gender; ultimately Lae'zel is attracted to conviction and fighting prowess, moreso even than anything physical.

Shadowheart: Bisexual. Very slight preference for men. (EDIT: I've rotated this in my mind after people pointed it out and I think actually Shadowheart has a slight preference for women.) Remained closeted into adulthood, not because the other Sharrans would discriminate against her (they generally don't care about sexuality) but because she wanted to impress everyone with how well she could keep the secret. Also, excessively kinky.

Gale: Bisexual. Has more experience with women than with men, but that has more to do with circumstances than preference. Though physical appearance isn't not a factor, he would probably describe himself as a sapiosexual; he's attracted to knowledge, intellectual curiosity, and strong opinions. Had crushes on several teachers in wizard school.

Wyll: Bisexual. Realized he wasn't just attracted to women at a young age, and his father was very supportive. No preference between genders, but one of his favorite things to do is court gentlemen exactly the same way he courts ladies; he likes being the devoted chivalric prince to men since he knows it's less common for them to be flattered and told they're beautiful.

Karlach: Pansexual. Years of being unable to make genuine connections with anyone have made her horny for affection, kindness, and commitment. Maybe had some gender preference before going to Hell, but her time there has given her lots of time to consider basically any options. Has at least a slight crush on basically every other party member.

Halsin: Pansexual. No gender preference. Halsin has had centuries to explore his sexuality, and his robust understanding of nature gives him a non-binary perspective on gender and sex. Nothing is a casual fling for this dude, though -- if you show the slightest bit of interest in him he will dedicate his whole heart to you. And also anyone else who shows interest in him at the same time.

Minthara: I didn't actually have Minthara in my party, but from what I've seen she seems like a pretty traditional drow, and when I think of drow and sexuality I sort of imagine a reverse of ancient Greek customs; bisexuality is the norm, men are prized for their beauty and for marriagibility, but it's expected that women will also have flings with other women, and those relationships are often considered more meaningful. I imagine Minthara follows those lines, being bisexual and assuming she may one day marry a beautiful man but being more inclined to meaningful, affectionate relationships with women, due to her own prejudices moreso than preference between genders.

Jaheira: Thought she was straight for the first century of her life, but has more recently opened up to other possibilities. Isn't particularly interested in marriage or a deep interpersonal romance at this point in her life, but she has entered a state of questioning her sexuality -- she's just not super interested in experimenting with actual relationships. She's got more important stuff to do. Did have a fling with Ninefingers that neither of them tell anyone about.

Minsc: Doesn't like labels. Minsc isn't interested in finding a partner, doesn't really care about sex, and is enthusiastic about romance mainly when other people do it. He hasn't given a lot of thought to where he might fall on any sexual/romantic spectrum, but he definitely sees beauty in all of his friends. He will give you the most heartfelt and often embarassing compliments on your personality, style, and appearance. Does that mean he's attracted to you? Maybe, maybe not, but there's definitely something queerplatonic going on.

[foreficfandom]

POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (ch. 2 - "Flashbacks")

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader) (AO3)

Alastor was always a man who craved control and attention. Ninety-odd years of being a demon has long since mutated his mortal desires into a festering appetite. While he was alive, it was a very mundane longing for the spotlight. Being the sought-after host of his own radio show was as close as being his own boss he could realistically hope for. The masses could listen and fawn over his charisma and humor while ignorant of his champagne hue.

If he wanted more, he would have to turn to drastic measures.

Young Alastor had made the station affluent, so they could afford to get their hands on any show recording they wished. One autumn, they aired The Witch’s Tale, a trailblazer for being the first horror-themed show on the radio. It garnered controversy from the conservative crowd, but ratings didn’t lie. New Orleans loved the series.

Alastor relayed the local news in his typical rapid-fire speech, a fashionable showman’s chatter made even faster thanks to his Creole blood, and as he speed-read his script in real time, he recited a quick advertisement for Madame Jones’ Hot Comb Oil before running the magnetic carbon ribbons of The Witch’s Tale. Voices of the actors took over the air. He drew a breath from a cigarette and leaned back on his chair. Alastor’s voice was now due for a rest until the current tape ran dry.

This was his first time hearing the show as well. Short horror tales were narrated by a fictional character named Old Nancy, one of the witches from Salem. The first tale was of a Venus statue come to life to slay the son of its sculptor, the second adapted from the real life confessions of the convicted Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, the third clearly ripped off from Stevenson’s The Bottle Imp, and so on. After each tape, Alastor came back on the air for more news, advertisements, and the occasional social commentary. A quick joke about the Nipponese making waves on the West coast, a little update on McKinley’s first year back in office.

If he were to be candid, each episode of The Witch’s Tale was a gamble of hit or miss. Some were near contrived. But a few were quite satisfactory.

Most interesting was the narrator. After each tale, Old Nancy would reveal a bit more of her backstory. She never married. She grew her own food and earned her own money selling poultices. She may or may not have slept with both men and women. Her cat was a demon familiar. Her house was constructed partly from the bones of her victims.

Alastor found himself lost in thought. A young maiden, a pregnant mother, and an old widow swam through his mind. But the fourth woman … standing apart from the others, free from the grasp of a husband’s heavy greedy fist, proudly dangerous. A woman alone, but free. The maiden, matron, and crone, and now the witch.

Suddenly, Alastor saw himself repeated four times in place of the women. He was the scrawny teenage boy, then his current self, then a wizened old man, and in place of the witch was this enchanting visage of his long-lived personal fantasy, chest thrust upwards and smile brazen.

He tapped his fingers against his stomach as a strange thought overtook him. Could one become the witch?

Could Alastor be truly free from the Man’s grasp?

Hidden deep in the winding alleyways of New Orleans, voodoo was still going strong despite the coppers’ efforts. When mother was still alive, she would buy dry goods and miscellaneous wares from a small negro outlet run by Haitian immigrants, and locals knew that the shop’s upstairs hid a small voodoo church, an open secret amongst those uninterested in contacting police for any reason, even if they themselves weren’t practitioners.

Alastor knew nothing of voodoo. Mother was Lutheran, father had apparently been a loose Catholic. Church Sundays had tapered off by the time Alastor was nine, as did house praying aside from Christmas eve, and mother was near illiterate so there was no Bible reading. He never asked her if she was still faithful after dropping the more superfluous habits. Alastor’s heart ached at the thought of mother barred from the gates of Heaven.

He heard the horror stories of this dread voodoo religion. He, himself, has recited many sensational reports of sacrificial rituals and cannibalistic orgies, almost certainly all fear-mongering bullshit, but plenty enough believed that voodoo witches and warlocks used a black magic. Cursing good Christian families to die of plague, using living shadows to ensnare children away, poppets with needles, sigils that glow, that sort of malarkey.

If I could curse people, or control a tangible shadow, it would be a right gasser, he thought to himself.

A steady list of potential victims formed in his mind. Number one, the man who abandoned his wife and child to a stricken life of poverty. Just harmless daydreaming. Maybe.

Alastor used to say to himself, ‘thank God’ that mother was such a genius, otherwise they’d never have survived.

He wonders if he would soon be swearing different oaths.

—

To your nose, virginity didn’t have a strong smell or energy, but innocence did. The first time the two of you met, you had sensed Alastor’s putrid, gore-soaked body roaming the hotel long before he could sense you approaching the front door, although you allowed him to believe he had the upper hand. Murderers, especially those who lusted, were very blatant. A subtle pang told you that Alastor didn’t lust for flesh like many men did. His body smelled virgin, but more telling, his powers would not be affected should that come to change. After all, only someone uncaring of an aspiration would not evolve from achieving it.

Alastor was not innocent. Not like princess Charlie. Not like the children sinner souls.

He may not have a clue what Angel Dust meant by wearing a “special sort of ring ”, but hunger had many forms.

Flesh, blood, and bone were common sacrifices made to manifest power. A human’s physiology cultivated some of its greatest energy from fats and protein, so it made sense why Alastor’s curse would force him to fuel by consuming meat. But if he were in kinder circumstances, he might have instead been encouraged to eat any other sort of matter, or not fuel himself through food at all.

Clearly, Alastor’s debtors wanted to corrupt the man beyond what murder would do to his mind and soul. The more Alastor killed, the more he ate, the more powerful he grew, and the more he’d need to eat. He became a slave to his appetite.

You wondered if it was because they couldn’t affect him through his loins, so they chose the closest alternative.

In any case, Alastor did resent his need for nourishment, just not nearly as much as he resented the actual chains. It helped that he has always found fulfillment in creating, eating, and sharing food, and there was a very good place in Hell for that kind of attitude.

Cannibal Town didn’t become a proper, distinct district until Overlord Rosie’s rise to status. The industrial revolution had created a great epidemic of poverty, and many struggling in the developing American frontier had turned to cannibalizing the dead to survive, from the children to the elderly, only tapering off when a successful ‘20’s economy rose to the rescue. Rosie turned the predominant Edwardian-era population into its current image. Walking through Cannibal Town’s streets of petticoats and boater hats, it was like stepping back into one of your past lifetimes as a New Yorker under Taft, watching Florence Lawrence in picture shows and seeing oreo cookies on the shelves for the first time.

In fact, ‘oreo’ biscuits were sold in Cannibal Town, imitating their original tin box packaging, but they were made with rendered human fat rather than pork tallow. Rosie wanted her people to embrace their partaking, rather than languish in their past sins, or hide their undying appetite. Human flesh wasn’t an addictive substance, but cannibalism certainly was. It was as habit forming as any other ritual gesture, like how Vaggie wakes up in the morning to tie her hair ribbon right-over-left, or how Husk always arranges the bar’s bottle storage just so, or how Alastor uses an old pewter pot to boil his coffee over the stove fire. Many of these antiquated cannibals treat their slaying, butchering, and eating with the same love they used to have for the Eucharist.

Alastor’s affinity for Cannibal Town wasn’t quite because he felt kinship between their cannibalism. Fondness for Rosie aside, it was the best source of properly prepared human meat for sale, trimmed and bled as thoroughly as venison chuck. Passionate cook he may be, but he never had the patience for true butchering. Especially whilst mortal, and in Hell, a victim could easily be ten feet tall with several limbs. Who aside from the butcher had time to set aside eight hours for that?

No, Alastor’s reasons and fondness for partaking wasn’t commonly shared amongst the Cannibal Town locals. Most likened it to a sexual gratification. Many saw it as an alternative way to rape the weak. Some saw it as their only outlet for frustration. Some just wanted to fit in.

And to them, cannibalism was a very social hobby. Proper ladies found great sisterhood in tearing into a corpse like starving wolves, respectable men could now exercise their libido amongst other men by delving deep into flesh as a group. But whilst Alastor, too, socialized through food, eating mortal flesh was his curse, not his indulgence.

You knew for a fact that ever since the inception of his deal, Alastor's clause for cannibalism would quickly morph into an honest taste for it, but Alastor could only hypothesize if that was the case, or he just simply lost his mind sometime after his fourth killing.

Alastor shook himself out of his reverie as he approached the door to his favorite Cannibal Town grocer, you following close behind. He had been finding himself lost in his own thoughts more and more often, lately. No doubt due to your influence.

He could have shut down in complete bewilderment, but he was Alastor, damn it all, so he will garner the bravery to take the next step forward, then the step after that, and so on.

Towards a brighter future, he dared to hope.

He opened the door for you, and the two of you entered the little store. Like all grocers before the ‘50’s, the wares weren’t self-serve. Alastor summoned a paper list, and read off what he wanted to purchase. The mustached shopkeeper brought forward each item onto the counter before ringing them up on the register, using an old exertion scale for the fresh goods. A pound of dried red beans, a rasher of salted belly, a loaf of sugar, three pounds worth of scrap shin bones, and four red capsicums. You noticed that the capsicums - the bell peppers - were the smaller, pointier variety sold during Alastor’s lifetime, before cultivation increased their size and yield. Likewise, the sugar loaf was compressed into an old-fashioned triangular cone, wrapped in paper, not a pure white but a light flaxy yellow from its residue molasses. All the manufacturer’s labels were a parody of their living equivalents. The burlap sack of Camellia-brand kidney beans was of a bloody heart with green, thorny vines named “Carnillia”, instead of the original round flower.

The shopkeeper wrapped the raw meats into their own smaller bag. It went unsaid, but they were obviously human remains. You reached forwards to carry the groceries whilst Alastor was occupied with paying, but then said to you, “Nonsense, dear,” and reclaimed the load in a gentlemanly manner. A polite, but largely useless gesture, as it’d take monolithic mass to truly test your physical prowess, and Alastor had his own increased strength as an Overlord.

In fact, the last time you struggled to carry an object with all your true power, it had created a black hole where it fell.

Part of Alastor’s original deal for power was certainly to improve his meager physical ability, as he was like many young men who pictured their ideal self boasting some petal to the metal. His lean muscles did not swell, and he couldn’t bench-press an automobile, but he did find a great force behind his punches, and his running speed, and even when he twisted open a pickle jar. It had been a relatively mundane boon compared to his showier magic, but the knowledge that you couldn’t be physically overtaken was intoxicatingly empowering. Alastor finally understood why burly brutes acted so brazen, even if his silhouette didn’t display it.

Yes, his original deal was as righteous as any young person’s plea for bravery. But whilst some may only ask for a sword, he had asked for a legion.

And by mother’s grave, he got it.

Father had been his original sacrifice. He tracked down the drunkard squatting in a Chalmette hobo jungle, and knifed him in the belly until the wretch’s blood flow slowed to a crawl. He spent all night dragging the corpse across town and to the lake, right where the most notorious of voodoo orgies were said to take place, and mimicked the manbo’s ceremony, finger painting vèvè before shouting - begging, screaming, really - for anybody or anything to answer him.

He always tries to avoid remembering what came next.

Mother hadn’t passed, yet, but she was on her deathbed. She had been fighting scarlet fever for weeks, and pneumonia had developed. Alastor himself had a brief sick spell due to contamination, but he refused to move out of the house. If his mother was about to leave this world, he wanted to be there.

Mother’s pauper’s burial was baptized in Alastor’s second killing. A eugenic small-time politician one neighborhood over, who would have never achieved his meager position if it wasn’t for connections, thanks to the scandal of marrying his fourteen-year-old niece. For this attack, Alastor let his new powers bloom freely, but his inexperience left the corpse a complete mangled mess. Indeed, the shocking state of the body was what first sparked rumors of the Butcher Of New Orleans. Named so because of the man’s conspicuously missing flesh and organs, leading the police to rightly profile the suspect as a cannibal.

Life went on. Alastor’s mind and mood matured, and he hit his stride. He grew from radio host to radio star. He made plenty of honest friendships. He found innocent fun, and also learned to refine his not-so-innocent ones. By age 37, Alastor had a celebrity career, a Cadillac automobile, a sparkling reputation, and a total body count of twenty-eight men.

A month before he would turn 38, he found himself in hell. He remembered that his first action was to look around, expecting to see his father as if the man would, by chance, be standing on the nearby street corner. He looked up, and saw the glowing celestial body that must be heaven, high above and unreachable.

He wondered if mother was simultaneously looking down. Or was she still waiting for her dutiful son to show up and join her? Alastor had made great effort to ensure that mother never knew of how much of a monster her son really was.

Slowly coming back to the present, Alastor found himself wistfully looking at the morning sky as the two of you waited for traffic to halt. The haloed planisphere was partially hidden by daytime cloud cover, but one could spot the ever present gateway to heaven just about visible.

You followed Alastor’s gaze to the skies above. As remote as heaven may seem to the eye, you knew that it wasn’t a matter of distance. After all, heaven and hell weren’t places. They were states of being. You told him so last night, since he was under the impression that with just enough power, he could track down his debtor.

Unfortunately, if a suitably powerful being didn’t want to be found, no amount of searching would work.

He had bristled at that, fur on his ears standing, and paced away.

Then spun around with renewed, fake bravado, and said he would lure them here.

“How?” you asked.

He had no idea, but just twirled his cane into both hands with a closed eye grin. Apparently, he’d think of something.

Before the night concluded, he told you that all these earth-shattering revelations would have to be mulled over a hefty serving of his favorite comfort food, so you and him would dine privately a stew of baked beans. An especially fatty and. Well. Cannibalistic recipe of his.

So it came to be that the two of you left the hotel early next morning for some shopping, which of course caught the eye of nearby Niffty, who would most certainly be relaying the latest gossip to everyone else.

Let them talk. Alastor loved being the hottest gossip topic, and the friendships you choose to keep are yours alone.

Of course, most of them suspected that there was more than friendship involved. Not the wording you’d choose, but perhaps it wasn’t inaccurate.

There was divinity between the two of you, now. Every time you’ve muddled in mortal affairs, great cosmic connections formed between your souls. Inevitable, considering who you were, but they often had great repercussions. You considered every one of them worth the trouble.

That afternoon, the two of you entered the kitchen once more, but this time you stood by and watched as Alastor prepared a kettle to hang over his fireplace. Per his request (demands), you arrived to his room at eight on the dot to his little table set with sliced bread and a decanter of whiskey. The pocket swamp beyond was darkened and dotted with lazy fireflies. A radio station played, but not from the two sat on his bookshelf, nor emitting from Alastor himself, just directionless in the air as if the room itself breathed radio.

“Please, come on in,” he bowed, just a tad overweening. Say what you will about the man, he bounces back from existential despair pretty gracefully.

One of the seats slid out on its own accord. You sat obligingly to the tantalizing smell of spice, partially masking your ability to detect the human remains in the stew. As Alastor sat across from you, the disembodied radio chatter in the air twitched frequencies to instead play a wordless ballad.

“I took the liberty of choosing tonight’s choice of drink,” he said, pouring whiskey for the both of you. “I know it’s a bit early in the evening for the mule, but indulge this pitiful sinner.”

“It’s your meal, after all.” And true enough, Alastor stood no ceremony in digging a spoon deep into his bowl. Alcohol had its particular effects on you, so you reversed the fermentation of your whiskey into a poof of evaporated ethanol and a wet pile of sugar, mostly to amuse yourself, also to sneak a pinch of malt into your bow to cut some of the fat. Alastor had made the stew so rich, you could probably alchemize a toddler from the lipids.

You watched as Alastor relished deeply in his first spoonful. Fats, you remembered, was sometimes a more affordable grocery than sugar or flour, depending on the slaughter season. A poor Alastor would have grown up being treated to cheap, streaky bacon more often than beignets or hot cocoa.

“Just as mother made it,” he sighed wistfully, as if reading your mind. Far from the first time he’s mentioned his mother aloud, but before it had always been a set up for a jape, his comedian nature never at rest, and not unfiltered sentimentality. He must know that it was useless to hide secrets from you.

You forwent the malt sugar to taste the dish as it was intended. Surprisingly, it was shockingly laced with pure intentions that caressed your tongue and made tears well up behind your eyes. You didn’t think Alastor was capable of it.

It tasted like love.

Maybe he had more of a chance than you first thought.

—

Supper continued throughout the night. Alastor downed one, two, and was working on his third bowl before the conversation turned to the elephant in the room.

“- and when I kill the wretches souls who’ve clipped me like a duckling, I’ll -”

“Cool the jets, Alastor. We’d have to find them, first.” You stepped in before he could wind himself up.

“See, I’ve been thinking,” he took a hearty swig from his third glass of whiskey, "take it from a man with a couple of his own eggs in the basket. You know what makes a debtor knock on the front door faster than a twinkle?”

“What?”

He grinned angrily. “If he thinks there’s more debt to be had. You spot a way to keep your favorite minion closer to your chest for longer, you take it before someone else can.”

With a twist of his wrist, he downed his glass and slammed it none too quietly on the table. His eyes no longer meeting yours and burning holes into the wall over your elbow. “So! You help me advertise my devilish self as desperate for another deal, or perhaps just a clever amendment clause or two, and I promise you, they’ll show up.”

“And then what’ll we do?”

“End their wretched lives! What else?”

“Life began millions of years ago, and it hasn’t stopped since. Your jailer has long since learned to take advantage of that.” You calmly lounged with loosely crossed legs and arms, while Alastor was beginning to hover over the table like an angry ape. “There’s no way to ‘end their life’ in a manner you’d care about.”

With his face so close, you could smell the whiskey on his tongue along with an unfortunate whiff of antiquated dental hygiene standards. He wasn’t quite yet drunk, but was certainly not sober.

Your words gave him pause, but a radio star never let dead air stagnate. “Well, perhaps it was never a matter of killing them. No proper creditor makes their debtor more powerful than he.”

You said, “Your leash has its share of loopholes and weakness, like all contracts do. There’s never a way to fully avoid them, so most make additions that forbid them.”

Green stitches all along his maw. In one blink, you saw Alastor in his full pitiful glory, glowing neon-bright inverted hues, rotted body held together haphazardly with unforgiving threads. In another blink, Alastor was his normal outward self.

Back and forth you flipped your vision, trying to find any clues or conclusions. Snipping the threads would just make him fall apart. There must be a gentler conclusion.

Suddenly, you remembered what he said. “Alastor, how many debtors do you own?”

“Oh, I can’t remember the exact number. Ninety years is a long time. The answer’s somewhere in my ledger, I’m sure,” he waved a hand.

“Lend me a look. Please,” you added when Alastor’s glare turned vicious, “it’s important. You can trust me.”

“Now, how in the world would my own roster matter to my predicament?”

You leaned forward, meeting Alastor’s couched posture in the middle. “I made a promise, didn’t I? I promised you true liberty. If you want my help, then let me help.” You kept your voice low as if whispering a secret, even though no one was around to overhear. No one Alastor could see, anyways.

A heartbeat passed, then another. Then, with a great crackling of old vertebrae like he had suddenly aged decades, Alastor reigned in his defenses.

Has he ever yielded so completely since granted his powers? No wonder it felt so dreadful, like shaking off a carpet of cobwebs.

Never let it be known that Alastor was a chap who couldn’t learn something new, you heard him think bitterly. A dry exhale aired throughout the room as elongated shadows retreated, electric bulbs shone brighter, and the fireplace changed from eye-searing blacklight back to its natural warm glow.

Nonchalant smile back on his face, Alastor wiped his hands with a napkin and stood.

“Ah well. No time like the present, then?”

[moni-logues]

Oooh, your requests are open! Any rules or prompt list? If there are none, please may I request the following?

You, as BTS Jungkook's Noona. You have a loving sibling relationship, the kind where parents would love for their children to have with each other. The only complaint you have is that he sometimes acts like the older brother, which can be a little claustrophobic when it happens (e.g. chaperoning you on your date when you were teenagers, having a word with your boss when you were overlooked for a well-deserved promotion, etc). Especially when you were a strong (emotionally and mentally, at least) woman, and totally able to f9ght your own battles. Aside from his BTS members, he's good friends with Bang Chan and Minho from SKZ. Given his overprotective tendency, how does he react when he find out that some of his members + Chan and Minho have feelings for you?

Thank you, and please let me know if you have any questions or concerns?

ok so this is like, the very lite version of what you've asked for lmao because I wanted to keep it brief and it could so easily have got out of hand

I don't even really know what to categorise this as.

It's Jungkook's older sister x (potentially) Chan or Minho. It's three men being idiots. It has the tiniest bit of cheek. It is... what it is lol

Word count: 640

Content: none to warn for

Three Men and a Lady

“Hold on,” Jungkook said firmly, his hands up in front of him. “You both like her?” 

“Yes,” Chan and Minho answered.  

“And I’m supposed to decide which one of you gets to ask her out?” 

“No,” Chan replied emphatically. “You have to tell us which one of us she likes more.” 

“I don’t think she likes either of you.” 

Chan and Minho exchanged a confused look.  

“Neither of us?” 

“Why would she like you?”  

They looked at each other again, somewhat at a loss for words. They hung out all the time with Jungkook, and that meant, a lot of the time, with his sister, too; they all had fun together. She must like them at least a little. Surely? 

“Why wouldn’t she?” Minho asked.  

Jungkook stared at the two of them. Yes, they were his friends. He liked them. They were good guys. Good enough for his sister? That was where his conviction wobbled. No one was good enough for his sister.  

He sat back against the sofa and considered it. She could certainly do worse. She had, in fact, already done worse. If she dated one of his best friends, he could probably far more easily keep an eye on things than if it were some other random guy. Chan and Minho were giving him a choice, too. He got to make the decision. He liked that because his sister quite clearly couldn’t make a good decision on her own. But he would have to approach it carefully; both men were competitive and he didn’t want this to ruin their friendship. 

On the other hand, both men were competitive, and that could be a lot of fun. 

“Ok.,” he said, sitting forward again, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do it like this. A competition.” 

Both suitors pulled a face.  

“JK, that sounds weird.”  

“What is this, like 1700 or something? We’re not competing. We’re not trying to impress you.” 

“You should be if you want me to pick you!” 

“You’re not picking us! SHE is. We’re just asking if you know what HER pick is!” 

“And you clearly don’t,” Minho accused, with a roll of his eyes. 

“Woah woah woah...” JK’s hands were up in defence once more. “Let’s just calm down-” 

“Why are we calming down?”  

All three male heads turned to see the woman in question exit from her bedroom. They froze, like deer in headlights.  

“Uh,” Chan began, not sure where he was going after that.  

“Well, it’s-... Uh,” Jungkook stammered.  

“Jungkook is wilfully misunderstanding us,” Minho explained without really explaining.  

“Sounds about right,” she scoffed affectionately.  

“Oi!” 

“You know it’s true.” 

She continued on into the kitchen area of the living space, very much still within earshot, so the guys stayed quiet, trying to make non-awkward conversation with her as she prepared a sandwich and made a coffee.  

None of them had realised she was in. She was supposed to be out—at a gym session or class or something—that was why the conversation was taking place there. Jungkook was supposed to have made sure she was out.  

They were figuratively holding their breath, unsure what she might have heard. Chan and Minho knew she would be furious. She was frequently furious with Jungkook and his over-protectiveness. His possessiveness. She was his sister. His older sister, at that, and took great exception to the way Jungkook acted as her keeper and protector. If she found out Chan and Minho had gone to him first, well, neither of them would ever get to date her. Or probably even speak to her ever again.  

“It’s Chan, by the way,” she said as she took her plate and mug back to her bedroom. 

“What?” 

She paused in the doorway. 

“Chan. He’s the one I like. Sorry, Minho.” 

Then she winked and shut the door behind her.  

[the-world-of-nai]

birth chart analysis: harry styles

today we are analyzing our air king, harry styles. i have noticed i've only been analyzing women so i wanted to switch it up. harry's chart kinda scares me, at least his big 6. anyways, let's get to it!

DISCLAIMER: this is just my interpretation of and opinion on his chart. it is not absolute truth, nor do you have to agree with it, but i'd like to hear your thoughts in the comments :) every sign has its shadow traits. i have aquarius and libra in my chart, but i will be pointing out the shadow traits of these signs. astrology is just for fun, not that deep. i feel the need to make this disclaimer as people are seemingly offended by some of my astro notes...

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sun in ♒︎, 11°

ah yes, the aqua sun. what is there not to love? the pickmeisha behaviour? the emotional unavailability? the know it all syndrome? LOL ANYWAYSSSS BEFORE ALL THE BUTTHURT PEOPLE COMMENT I WAS JUST KIDDINGGGGGGG (i am an aqua myself, okay? i'm allowed to make these jokes💅). so this placement makes harry a mercury influenced aqua (if u are dumb that just means he is an aqua with some gemini vibes sprinkled onto him). off the bat, we can say that harry is a humanitarian at heart. he wants to change the world and be known for some big innovation. he has a way with words. he likes to learn new things, but he is quite set in his own convictions. harry believes that he is smarter than most people, and he is probably right. developed aquarians are open-minded, but they are hardly wrong about things so their beliefs/convictions don't change much. the shadow side to this is (drumroll plz) KNOW IT ALL SYNDROME!!! with all that aqua in his chart, harry believes himself to be a genius but he is also above the school and education system. 2 cool for skool. did i mention how rebellious he is? harry is a stubborn person in general. he is either super traditional, or super liberal in his beliefs. he does not like to follow the crowd. he likes to come to his own conclusions on things and he has a dislike of sorts for those who cannot think for themselves. harry is eccentric, social, friendly, accepting of others, and a bit flighty if anything. he has some special snowflake syndrome for sure. he likes getting attention for his innovative ideas. he wants to be a pioneer of sorts. he likes to stand out for his uniqueness, so to speak. he wants to help the world and make it a better place. i mean, just look at his merch LOL. he wants to encourage people to be their most authentic selves, because he cannot imagine not living that way.

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moon in ♎︎, 11°

bro idk what it is with these celebs and libra moons! 3/4 of my analysis now have libra moons. it does add up though because libra moons value social status and luxury. harry is charming, emotionally aloof, attractive, and likeable. he is someone who does not like conflict. he values peace, harmony, and manners. MANNERSSSS. he is polite and sweet to people. he may be fake sometimes and pretend to like people who he doesn't like lol. he knows how to make others like/trust him and he can easily use this to his advantage (read: take advantage of other ppl after making them feel special and showering them with compliments!!). overall, he is very concerned with what is right. he will stand up to bullies, esp with that aqua influence. he likes fashion, luxury, status. he cares a good deal about his looks. he can be quite experimental/unique in his fashion tastes. he is not a very emotionally reactive person. it is rare to see him yell or get very angry. he is calm, cool, collected. a people pleaser at heart. he may have a strong conscience/gets guilty easily. he is indecisive on his feelings. he is a romantic and he longs to be in a partnership. he is very social and always wants to be around people because it energizes him, gives him meaning. the approval of others is important for his self esteem. without it, he may feel empty inside.

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asc in ♎︎, 28°

again, it is all about the MANNERSS with this man. he is so polite and charming. all smiles and compliments. a 'gentleman' so to speak. he is medium tall, beautiful smile, pretty boy. always well kempt and effortless beauty. quite aloof and detached when you meet him (and lowkey always cuz like he's all air). he is the type of person that u meet and u swear he was flirting with you, but then u see that he flirts with everyone LOLLLLLLLLL. he may be a hugger. makes people feel quite special. again, cares a good deal about his looks. to harry, meeting new people is like a game: how fast can i make this person like me???

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mercury in ♒︎

okay harry, we get it. you are not like other girls!! with mercury in aqua, harry likes to learn. he likes to write. he may be good at learning languages. he has a way with words, albeit a bit of a unique way. he is curious. he is fun to speak to. he may be interested in weird niche things like the occult, anime, poetry, etc. he likes to know about the world. could also be into debating and/or politics, esp with that libra in his chart.

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venus in ♒︎

more aqua, are we shocked?? taylor swift also has a venus in aqua,,, soulmates? so basically this means many things. harry treats his lover like his best friend. this can make his lover wonder if they're even special at all lol. to his loved ones, harry is generous, caring, friendly, accepting, understanding, and quirky. though he is non-committal and flighty as well. he values mental connection above all else. he wants someone who he can have good conversations with; someone who stimulates him mentally. he may be the type who is open to poly relationships LOLLLLLLLLLL or like sexual experimentation?? with all this aqua lmao. he has a very unique/eccentric sense of style.

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mars in ♒︎

harry does NOT CAREEEEEEE. he does not get mad or vengeful, he is a just a go with a flow dude who wants to have a good time. harry does not hold grudges either lol. again, he is rebellious and marches to the beat of his own drum. he does not like to be told what to do. he honestly could not give less of a fck what other people r sayin. he has his own methods when it comes to getting his projects done. his work ethic is: i will work when i feel like it! and if u tell him to work, he is less likely to do it because it triggers his aqua rebellion instincts.

anyways it's kinda hard to elaborate further cuz this man is just an aquarius through and through LOL.

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thank you all for reading! lmk your thoughts below. who should i do next??

[electricbluebutterflies]

Hiii! Can you write about Jessica and Leto consummating the binding? Preferably touching what they’re both thinking with a bit more focus on Jessica.

I tried to write more deliberate nsfw than usual and... almost 2.5k of feelings happened. Also on ao3 / prompt-comp 5 let's go!

This is what she was made for.

This is what Jessica reminds herself as she hears the soft click of the door. Her entire life so far has built up to this moment; there is a good chance that the entire rest of her life will hinge on how well it goes, and-

All she has to do is be compliant and keep her eyes open. Two things she very much does not want right now.

She has not been given time to process the details of her placement – an important part of how these things work is how quickly a Sister must adapt to unexpected conditions, and from what little she’s pieced together she is in a better situation than most. There is no wife to avoid here, and the man they gave her to is still young, and-

Still young. That means this placement will last longer. That means more pressure. That means-

He stands out of reach, in a cold room she knows does not belong to either of them. She is unsure what her own living arrangements will be here, but she heard something about the importance of the consummation happening in a neutral space and she isn’t sure why and-

She does not yet know this man’s specific reactions – they have been bound to each other for three hours, even she is not that good – but she knows general emotional signals and she tries to read his. Hesitant and guarded and displeased but not-

“We don’t have to do this right now.”

His voice is low and calm and she senses restraint in it. If he felt safer he would be more concerned, she thinks, but he is… she knows nothing of him specifically, but the bloodline is prominent enough and he must be one of the rare ones who isn’t completely-

“We do,” she counters. “To complete the binding. It is not considered… proper until you have touched me.”

He glances away for a moment and she notes the deep breaths. If he were not strange to her, she would offer her fingertips on pressure points to calm him; she suspects she will do that often in time, once he trusts her enough, but right now they are so new and-

“We could lie. No one here would counter me.”

“You will find that I am a terrible liar. If you do not want me, you do not have to do this again, but-“

“And if I do not know whether I want you?”

Her understanding of the world does not give space for such uncertainty, but that too may have to be an adaptation, at least for a time, at least-

“Pretend. Just for a few minutes. Close your eyes and think of whatever you must, just-“

“I would not dishonor you in that way.”

Prone to strong convictions, she senses. She will have to alter that, first towards her and perhaps as a more prominent flaw later, she will not make her plans right now but her goal is to find every weakness and-

“It would not be dishonor if I suggest it. If you are unsure of me…”

“Unknown,” he corrects. “And in a better world I would have been given time to court you before asking you to be alone with me in this way.”

“But that is not the world we live in.”

“I barely had time… I’ll show you your rooms in the morning, no one’s done anything to them in a century but-“

“I do not require much.”

“So they said, but you are still… part of the household now, and you will be treated accordingly. Whatever deprivations you expected…”

“I expect nothing. I was not told my specific fate until transport. I was prepared in a general way, but-“

He mutters an expletive she barely catches, and it is becoming apparent that his frustration isn’t her specifically but she will still be the easiest thing to take it out on and-

“Forgive me. I did not know. All the more reason to be cautious with you.”

“Will you at least come closer? Or would that too be too close to violation?”

He complies, and she will learn the way he moves later but for now she glances for signs of weakness and finds none. There is a presence to him once he is within her reach, and if she hears talk in the coming days of how charismatic he is she will not be surprised, and-

“I will not hurt you. I do not expect you to believe me, but-“

“I will try. You are already more gentle than I expected.”

“We are in an impossible situation. It would be cruel to assume you are any more delighted by it than I am.”

“What I feel has never mattered. Do not concern yourself with it now.”

He takes her in and she wonders how she must look through outsider eyes. Hair up and completely covered, a black lace dress more formal than anything she’s worn before, the slightest hints of what she might look like beneath it and-

“Do you want this?”

“Do I need to repeat myself? I am yours. Treat me like it."

He tilts his head and takes a kiss, softer than she expects. He has done this before and well, she suspects, and will know what he prefers to do with a lover, and it will be easier to learn existent preferences than to create them, and-

“Tell me if anything is unpleasant for you. I would not want-“

“I am meant to be cooperative.”

“Outright painful? Will you at least speak of that?”

Jessica is unsure to what extent her body can process pain, especially right now, and she could easily turn her senses lower to ignore, but… that does not seem to be what this man wants from her, and-

“I will try. I will endure, but-“

“You have never done this, I assume?”

“I have not.”

“More reason for caution. I am unsure… what you know, but-“

“I do understand the theory of what is expected of us, but not-“

He makes a low noise, almost displeased but again not-

“I will not have you fear me.”

He takes another kiss, and his hands slip up beneath her veil, finding and removing the pins that keep it attached to her body. There is something reverent in the way he touches her, and he takes her lower lip between his teeth and she feels something warm spike inside her and she makes a shrill sound and-

He recoils immediately, wide-eyed. “Was that displeasing?”

“Quite the opposite. I would like… if you could continue doing that…”

He resumes his attentions, eventually getting her veil off and to the ground and then moving to undo her hair. This too takes time, and she ignores the pain of a hairpin going the wrong direction for a heartbeat as he figures out their placement, and-

“You could touch me too, if you want.”

“How would you like-“

“Hands on my shoulders. It might be easier if I remove my jacket first, if you don’t mind-“

She takes half a step back and watches him do so, assesses what she learns about his body from the removal of an outer layer. Solid build, not quite yet what he will become but the structure is there and-

She will not mind the sight of him above her, she thinks, and this too makes her warm.

He pulls her in again and she places her hands as she was told and she decides that she likes being kissed with his hands tangled in her hair and-

“How do I remove your dress?”

“Let me. It’s not… most of what I have is far less complicated, I promise-“

“I don’t mind complicated.”

“I’m supposed to be accessible, so-“

He gives her a look like that will be a conversation for later, and then he is distracted by her. The dress has some difficult closures at the neck and wrists – keeping it on her, she thinks, which should be a negative given what she has worn it for – and it takes her longer than expected to undo them, but she manages to get them loose and the dress over her head and she stands there so cold in just a black slip and-

“May I hold you?”

“I would like to get this over with, but-“

“It’ll be more difficult if you’re an icicle.”

He does have a point, she thinks as he wraps his arms around her. She supposes private spaces will be warmer and this issue will not continue, but-

His fingertips find the hem of her slip and bring it over her head, and she is completely exposed and aware of her flaws. Not much of a figure, not unpleasant to look at but certainly not-

“Stay with me,” he murmurs as his hands wander. “Please. Give me that.”

She learns his hands in the movement of them, as he maps her skin. He is not looking for weakness, she notes, merely for where she is soft and where she is responsive and-

Two fingertips slip between her folds, and she focuses her senses on the space between her thighs, and-

“Am I… adequate?”

“Much more than that,” he murmurs. “I am unsure how much you will hear, but-“

“Talk to me. Whatever you’re thinking right now-“

“I will be more certain when you are under me, but-“

“As long as you are pleased.”

He detaches from her long enough to remove the rest of his clothing, and she knows she ought to focus more on what she sees but anticipation is starting to consume her, and-

There is an easy confidence to him, she thinks. It is perhaps unnecessary for him to completely undress, but it will be easier for her and she sees the mindfulness of that, words said earlier repeating over and over in her head, I will not have you fear me and she believes him now, she-

“It will be easier if you lie down and make yourself comfortable first.”

She is unsure about her own comfort at the moment, but she can at least position herself on the bed, on her back with her legs parted and she repeats every mantra she knows in her mind and she is unsure it is enough and-

“This may not be the most… a slight discomfort, if it is more than that please-“

“I had heard it was expected that I bleed.”

“No one here will ask to see a sheet for proof, if that’s what you-“

“Not for anyone else, but that you might… want that confirmation that I have not-“

“You have given more than enough confirmation, and I am not particularly concerned with such things. Not as you were told. It would be unfair to hold you to standards I do not meet, and-“

“So you have had lovers.”

“Have had, yes, but do not keep. You need not fear that. This… you change everything. I would like to think that I am loyal, and-“

“I would not expect it.”

“Your low expectations may be the worst thing about you,” he murmurs, and he does not sound as disappointed as such a statement might imply and-

He straddles her thighs and returns his fingers to her slit. She does not know why he takes such time with her, but a fingertip rests on her pleasure nerves and she can’t help but flinch and-

“Focus,” he murmurs. “I can at least…”

He takes a deep kiss, puts more pressure on her pleasure nerves, and sheathes himself inside her. There is too much going on at once and she feels herself overwhelm, feels her breathing catch and-

“Could you stay like this for a moment? Let me adjust? Please-“

He complies, and she processes new information. The weight of him above her is warm and she could melt into it, and the space of their collision… he had warned about discomfort and been correct, but the stretch is not completely unpleasant, and-

The rest of his body is near-perfectly still, but his fingertips move against her pleasure nerves, making her ache, making her-

“If you must do that, move in me.”

He rolls his hips against hers, and she feels what is not said, that he would prefer her to at least be warmed by their intimacies, that he would-

Jessica feels her body tense and then just as suddenly release, and there is nothing but this, but her and the man above her and-

“Was that-“

“Yes,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

He continues his movements until he spills inside her, and the tension of his back under her fingertips is pleasant, and… if this is to be such a part of her life, she will not mind, and-

He moves off of her almost immediately but not far, lies beside her and entwines their hands, bringing hers to his mouth, and-

“I hope that was not-“

“I am unsure,” she murmurs. “But you are not… you did not do harm, and I-“

“Would it trouble you to allow such affection sometimes?”

“I will allow whatever you want. I am made for-“

“Ignore what you are for a heartbeat. If you had control, if you knew I would hear you-“

“I don’t know that yet.”

She suspects this will become a recurrent fight between them, and something in her likes the idea of feeling that safe, and she could, and-

She is still overwhelmed, even after their bodies still, even after she rests her back against the man she is now bound to and tries to stay calm as he plays with her hair. She is still unsure what she has been pushed into, and-

She will endure. She knows that much. Maybe, she thinks, maybe in time she will do more.

[ms-taurusvenus]

What Mason is Like IRL/Behind the Camera's

He exudes such confidence that it occasionally borders on arrogance/cockiness. He is bold and open to experimenting. fights for what he stands up for when his convictions are questioned. He is prepared to do whatever it takes to achieve his objectives, desires, and success. He needs to be careful when doing this or else he'll get caught due to him at times being sneaky, strategic, and cunning in terms of his career. However, he could also be slothful. He is finished once a cycle and an endeavour have been completed. With his loved ones, especially his family, he is fiercely devoted to and protective of them. He also nurtures and cares for them as well and wants to be able to take care of them.

Not always the best at taking criticism for things he's arrogant or self-assured about, which prevents him from getting him to his his fullest potential and constantly. This could explain why he performs well in some games but poorly in others, etc. (Or it could just be Potter being kinda shit IIBH). He might not be excellent at taking criticism, but it doesn't mean he won't try to improve. Good luck with that unless it's about something he's arrogant and confident about.  In general, quite open-minded. He is open to learning and improving himself. In general, fairly open-minded. He is open to learning and improving himself. He is conscious of his own errors and is prepared to correct them if he believes and realizes that they were made. He appreciates his own sense of independence as well as being busy and having things to do. He might also be very energetic, which would enable him to do his tasks more quickly. He like having a list of things to do but is also a free spirit who doesn't mind if they don't go as planned. Although, this could be due to him being indecisive. He is highly devout and upholds fairly traditional beliefs for his future family. Maybe he has a little spiritual?  Even though/if he doesn't put it into practise, he firmly believes in it. Has a very good intuition and believes in it. He is also fairly intelligent and frequently utilizes his intuition. Quite adept at concealing information (keeping secrets). He is very devoted to the causes he supports, loves, and believes in. Which makes sense considering how passionate he has always been to Chelsea.

He has the ability to get away with things and is quite cunning and clever. He may sometimes sneak up on individuals to acquire what he wants if necessary and get away with it because of his strong desires. If he is discovered, he can claim a justification to escape punishment. He might benefit from his insight in this. This relates to what I said previously about him doing whatever he needs to if the time comes sooner. In essence, he tends to seize opportunities and is kinda a opportunist. He might also be a competent liar. However, he won't harm or practice the behaviours mentioned to individuals he cares about, and he would only act in such a way if absolutely necessary. He maintains close bonds with the women in his life and  is connected to his feminine energy and doesn't hold a lot of toxic masculinity. He's a double Libra, so it's not surprising that he has some sense of fashion and beauty of his own. also appreciates finer things in life, such as high-end items and luxury goods. He loves a comfortable lifestyle and hopes to be able to preserve it for himself, his family, and his future family he may have. 

[a-tale-of-legends]

It's hard to define what exactly counts as the "old" and "new" protags since they're constantly growing, but here's a run down of how I see the older protag ocs when they were kids....as in actually protagonist.

Jin- Angry, has daddy issues. Wanting to prove themself despite no one asking them to. Petty rivalry with Amber that turned into a big crush. Calms down around Wally, only cause they don't want to scare him. Actively questioning why they- the 12 year old- is fighting eco-terrorist.

Amber/Kohaku - Energetic yet awkward gal, very athletic. Started on the wrong foot with Jin, starting their rivalry....which turned into a big crush ( but that happened a tiny bit later for her). Loves pokemon and wants to know as much as she can about them. Amazing battler but that isn't her priority. Wants to get closer to her dad via studying pokemon ( so she too has daddy issues)

Kenji- Another energetic kid, dreams of being a hero like the famous Red. Very excitable, occasionally loses focus and tends to be reckless. Likes helping in any way he can, even if he finds it boring. "I'm gonna be the very best >:D". Wants everyone, both people and pokemon, to be happy and hate seeing people hurt.

Aiko- Just as excitable as Kenji, though wasn't that interested in battling til Silver called her weak. Not sure what she wanted to do with her life, not sure if she wanted to take up her dad's mantle as a pokemon professor. Stubborn with a strong sense of justice, is not afraid to throw hands.

Beryl- Only planned to be a professor's assistant to Professor Elm. Was not expecting to be the babysitter to two energetic 10 year olds. She takes it the best she can, aiming to fill the Pokedex. They want to prove her older brother wrong, in that being a professor's assistant is worth something. Level headed and honestly very chill, keeps Aiko and Kenji on a leash, while also being the first person Silver properly opens up too.

Danica- Very quiet, borderline creepy girl. Doesn't emote much, no thanks to her scarf covering her mouth and her bangs over her eyebrows. Only friend is Barry, who isn't put off by her at all. Always had an interest in battling and pokemon, and had the goal to be a champion for a while. No one knows what she's thinking, and has an eerieness around her. But she has a good heart, willingly putting herself in danger even at her own risk ( reminder that this girl is 11). May or may not be a bit battle hungry. People think she's the brains for Barry's brawn but honestly they tend to share the same braincell.

Kiran- Son of a problem professors aid, Kiran is Rowans professors assistant that is honestly rather lazy. Rowan forces them to go out with him one day and all of a sudden he's now taking a journey all over Sinnoh, something he was not planning to do whatsoever. But Rowan is insistent that he accompany Danica and Barry so here he is. He's trying ( key word: trying) to fill up the Pokedex for professor Rowan, all while getting wrapped up in Team Galactic which again, he did not plan for. Wants nothing more than to go home and crawl back in his bed....but he would be lying if the situation didn't urk him. Often it is the one raining Danica and Barry in so they can think of a proper plan. May or may not also be trying to stick it to his little sister who somehow has gotten more academic awards than him.

Alexis: A shy kid with big dreams of being champion. Cautious to a fault, Alexis tends to worry about what his journey might bring. He had a right to worry; he is a nuzlocke protagonist. His anxiety and depression grows worse over the course of the journey, but also his ideals and conviction to stop Team Plasma and help N. His friendships with Cheren, Bianca and his twin sister Elliot keeps him together, as well as the surviving members of his team. He's still not in a good mental state by the end of it all.

Elliot: Alexis' rebellious and loud twin sister. She's younger, don't believe her lies. Ready to take on the world and become champion, she wasn't exactly prepared to face Team Plasma and N. However she saw the way they affected her brother and those she cares about and saw red. She has a fighting spirit, and is stubborn to a fault. She hates seeing the ones she loves hurt, and vows to use all the power she has to give those who caused such pain a severe ass kicking.

I think B2W2 and XY are the transition point of the old era to the new, so I won't be going over them here.

Here's the ages of my ocs in their respective game

Jin- 12

Amber - 12

Kenji- 10

Aiko- 10

Beryl- 13

Danica- 11

Kiran- 12

Alexis - 14

Elliot - 14

This is from Emerald/ORAS to BW, if that wasn't clear before.

[offsidekineticist]

16 for Theoven?

Oooh, that's a tough one.

16. What do they look for in a friend? A love interest?

Theo wants to be everyone's friend, and he often is, but I'll focus on what he looks for in a close friend.

So one of Theo's big issues is he has trouble grasping his own agency in a lot of situations, and relationships are kind of ground zero for that. When he and Seelah become close friends, it's not because he cultivated a friendship or consciously decided she would be a good and trustworthy friend. It's because she snuck past his walls (or barreled through them, as the case may be) - he doesn't really let people in, so the only ones that can get close are the ones who can find their way in anyway.

In timelines where he's able to grow and heal, he does start opening up to people and deliberately cultivating friendships, and in those cases the common denominator seems to be strong convictions and a passion for bringing about justice (not necessarily legally...)

As for love interests...at the time he becomes KC, his self-esteem is such that if he has a crush (and he forms crushes easily), and they return his interest on any level, he's pursuing that relationship to the ends of the earth, probably by ignoring his own emotional needs. Once he's matured, though, he looks for the same things he looks for in a friend, plus empathy, respect for boundaries, and ability to compromise - he's ace (sex neutral or repulsed depending on the day), so he needs a partner who's willing to accept that sex will never be something Theo enjoys for its own sake, and on some days it will be a complete non-starter.

He also doesn't consciously look for it, but...he likes guys with a harder edge. Something about someone being very bad at love and kindness but still trying just makes him melt.

[fistfullofmilkcaps]

CHAPTER 3: EINE KLEINE

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

      Chance sets his backpack down on a cement slab at the park. This is the same park where he battled Leo yesterday. The same place he got wrapped up into this whole “pog apprenticeship” nonsense. Shout is already laying down, doing stretches in the grass.

      “Well, Mr. Otsuka? Do you care to join me?”

      “I suppose, uh, Teach.” He sits down and mirrors her, doing toe touches. “Like this?”

      “Very good, Mr. Otsuka. Stretches are important to limber up, yes, but more importantly, to unfog the mind,” Shout lectures as if she’s 30 years her own senior.

      After a few more exercises, the pair get up. Shout moves from her standard stretching clogs to her pogging clogs. The 30 cm tall, reinforced foam soles make her taller than Chance.

      “Now then. Mr. Otsuka, before we begin our first lesson, I’d like to ask you a few questions about your IMAGE. It’s important to understand what I’m working with, so we can develop it properly.”

      The corners of her lips crawl up into an iota of a smirk. 

      “And to be quite honest, I just really wanna know what’s going on in your head! I want to cut into it with a surgical saw, y’know?”

      Chance blinks. Should he run about this?

      “Sorrysorrysorry! Not literally cut open! Sorry for not clarifying.”

      “No, I got that part.”

      “Oh, okay. Are you uncomfortable or may we move on to my interrogation? Interrogation figurative. Kinda. To clarify.”

      When going to bed last night, the high of getting sucked up into this pog whirlwind had started to subside and Chance had a chance to actually take inventory of what had happened that day. Ever since, he has been in a state of panic begging him to run from the people with the mind ghosts. The schoolday not easy to sit through, and he could pay less attention then he was usually able to muster. However, his sense of obligation to his task to become the best at pogging is keeping him rooted to the ground right now. He cannot tell if this strange girl is helping or hurting this prospect.

      “Yeah, ask away, I guess,” he mumbled.

      “Okay! Great.” Shout does a series of tiny claps like a seal with her hands joint at the wrists. “I find it interesting that you were able to summon an IMAGE so soon, especially at the level of an Avatar. An Aura would still be quite impressive, but being able to fully form an Avatar takes some level of conviction and a solid image of oneself. Meaning that Benkei… you have a strong tie to this character.”

      “First of all!” Chance slings back, “Benkei was a historical figure. The exaggeration of his famous acts is up to debate, but he was at least real.”

      “So quite the connection?’

      “...Yes.” Chance sighed.

      Shout glides over to a box and takes out a folding table and various milk cap game pieces. She continues the conversation without looking at Chance but maintains the same level of interest in her voice.

      “Would you be willing to tell me why you have such a connection to Benkei? From the information I’ve been able to gather about you, it seems you model much of your activities after the chara— excuse me, Mr. Otsuka — historical figure. The Godhand Middle-Schooler schtick you have going. Defeating strong warriors and such.”

      Chance twists his heel into the dirt. His leg jitters up and down without a sound.

      “‘No’ is an acceptable answer. We don’t know each other yet. I would hate to make you uncomfortable. You can tell me more once we become friends.”

      “Once we become friends?”

      “You do want to become friends, yes?” Shout asks as she looks at Chance for the first time since setting up the pogging materials. Her voice doesn’t hint it, but her eyes have a sad tinge to them.

      “Yeah! Yeah of course!” Chance assures her. He knows he’s a bit of a jerk, but he’s not mean. “I’m just surprised you’re thinking that far ahead. And being so forward about it…?”

      “As your teacher and future friend, I have too!” Shout hoots. “If we are to make it to the Slammer Summit, I have to make sure you are ready. And to be honest, you are our only hope for a third main team member at the moment, so I cannot lose any time. I do this in both of our best interests.”

      Shout pats her set-up pog table.

      “Well then! In those best interests, I’m going to start you on the basics, Mr. Otsuka! Your fundamentals are quite good, but—”

      “Fundamentals?” Chance asks with an eyebrow cocked.

      “Yes, fundamentals! This is a competitive sport, of course, there are fundamentals. Don’t be a dummy.”

      Chance hadn’t considered it before. He nods his head in a careful way to not disrespect his teacher’s craft.

      “Okay!” She claps twice in quick succession. “Let’s begin.”

***

      The clock nears 5:00 and the sun is well into its descent beyond the horizon. Chance plops down exhausted into the grass. 

      Throughout the afternoon, Chance was led through a series of drills where Shout could access and correct his form. Being overly familiar with learning new skills, he was quick to transpose what he already knew from other sports. The first drill trained his angling and accuracy, the key to properly dislodging a pog from the stack and making it flip over. After he mastered flipping over one pog consistently, he was trained in power, the key to dislodging multiple pogs from the stack. Due to pogs being made out of a special cardboard composite, they have the ability to cling to each other unless a significant jolt disrupts their attractive force. Balancing power and accuracy is the key to the game.

      Shout was able to get Chance to be able to consistently hit a stack of four pogs with enough power to unbind all of them from the stack while also maintaining enough control to hit the stack in the right spot that they would all flip over and be counted for points. Most of their time was spent on the third drill: speed training. If a shot is not made within 10 seconds of a player’s hands entering the play area after resetting the stack, it is considered “slow play” competitively. After an hour, Shout was able to get Chance to be able to flip all four pogs over semi-consistently in a limit of seven seconds, imposed by herself. It was tedious, but she was working with serious talent in her eyes.

      Regardless, the exercise left Chance pooped. He stretches out on the grass like a tired cat.

      “Good work Mr. Otsuka! I’m proud of the progress we made in only one session.” She pops down next to him.

      Chance sits up on his side. “So you mentioned getting me ready for the Slammer Summit. That’s like a world champs type thing, yeah? Shouldn’t you be teaching me some more advanced stuff then, like that Atmosphere thing? Not that I don’t appreciate your lessons.”

      Shout chuckles. “Oh heavens, no! I’m not going to teach you to backflip before you can crawl. That’d be mean. But I will get to the Atmosphere training soon enough. You’ll have one before the pro exams.”

      “What are the pro exams like?”

      “Tough. There’s a lot of people taking them and a lot of people watching.” Shout croaks.

      “Well you must have been good to pass them!” Chance laughs.

      “I haven’t.” Shout says as the reflection of the sunset on her glasses obscures her eyes.

      The nearby river running by and distant traffic are the only sounds for a long time. Finally, Chance throws a human voice back into the mix.

      “Well, you will this time.”

      “Yeah?” she sniffles.

      “A student has to have faith in his teacher, right?”

      He holds his fist out to Shout.

      “Yeah! You better!”

      She shakes his fist like it’s an open palm.

      They both look into the darkening sky. Stars are beginning to poke through the veil and twinkle.

      “Welp! We should probably be getting back home by now. It’s dinnertime,” Chance yawns.

      “Mr. Otsuka,” Shout lingers, “Do you think… um… are we friends yet?”

      Chance breaks into a laughing fit.

      “Hey! No fair! You can’t laugh! I’m your teacher! Don’t laugh at that!”

      “Sorry! Sorry!” Chance collects himself.

      “You can say ‘no!’ You’re allowed to say ‘no.’”

      “Yes, Shout. We’re friends.”

      Shout waits a moment and stands up. Only a sliver of sunlight is left peaking.

      Without looking at him, she says, “I’m glad, Mr. Chance.”

***

      Two weeks have passed since their first training session. It’s a Friday, and the first day of March. The tournament that makes up the pro exams happens at the end of the month, during summer break. Time is ticking away.

      Even so, Shout has chipped away a sizable chunk of her lesson plans! Chiseling fundamentals and basic strategic theory into Chance’s head was not much of a challenge. She thought the next stage may have been more of a rocky cliff to climb, but to her relief, Chance fared well in the apprentice play groups at the Menko Association. At least performance-wise. As Chance had never officially played in a competitive event for any game, his etiquette was lacking. Hard to gain a sense of sportsmanship when his M.O. is usually to upstage someone! Rei dropped in occasionally between her duties as a pro to stomp Chance into the ground in a sparring match. To the boy’s credit, he would have won a number of those games if he had the approved score handicap appropriate for the difference between their ranks.

      Shout also spars with Chance, although they’re more of teaching games. By intention, they always lead him to a new discovery about his form, IMAGE abilities, or planning to play around opponent’s IMAGEs. Shout’s IMAGE is very versatile, so it was useful for this. In a lot of ways, Chance finds Shout a much more difficult opponent than Rei. It could be that Rei just doesn’t play to her nines with Chance, but neither does Shout. His teacher very purposefully holds back in her teaching games, navigating him to a win of her own design. He feels that the firm hand on his shoulder shepherding him in his training could easily snap and crunch him to dust if she so chooses.

      That’s why after their daily match, Chance asked her this, ignoring the voice in his gut that told him it was going to come off as rude:

      “How are you not a pro already?”

      “Pardon?” Shout asks in a tone that squeaks and pops like a balloon rolling over shattered glass.

      “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re really strong,” Chance carefully chose his words, “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to make it as a pro if you haven’t.”

      “Chance, you’ll do just fine at your current pace,” Shout tuts, “You’re making good use of Leo’s slammer. It’s weight distribution is… odd to say the least, but you’ve managed to make it your own. Your skills are above standard. You’re a good learner. You’ll do. Just. Fine.”

      “Okay. I’ll do fine.”

      Chance hasn’t had any close friends other than Rei. Heart-to-hearts aren’t his wheelhouse, but he feels the need to press on. He has another friend now, one willing to spend so much time to help him. I should help her? Right?

      “Will you be fine?”

      Shout stays put where she is. She’s been packing up her bag since the conversation began. A few long moments into the pause in the conversation, she starts running the edge of slammer along the floor tracing the grooves of its woven texture, sometimes plucking perpendicular to it to end a stroke.

      “Shout, you don’t have to answer. It was a rude question.”

      “No, it wasn’t,” she exhales, “You’re in your right as a student to ask that about their teacher. You have to have faith that I can instruct you properly. I have to be transparent.”

      “I’m asking this as a friend, actually,” Chance murmurs.

      Shout blinks.

      “Oh. Well then.”

      She stands up.

      “It’s more important now that I answer your question,” she smiles, “I just get nervous sometimes. I’ll be fine this go around. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

      “Good! We’ll be pros together.” Chance flashes a thumbs up.

      They both sit down together as Chance packs his pogs and slammer into his school bag. They make idle chit-chat. Then Shout pokes him on his shoulder.

      “Hey Chance, can I ask you a question?”

      “You already have,” he says.

      “Oh?”

      “Sorry, that was a joke,” Chance apologizes, “Ask away.”

      “Do you have a lot of friends? I don’t mean this to be mean,” Shout explains, very embarrassed.

      “It’s okay! Um… hmm.” Chance thinks to himself. Since it’s Shout, he knows there’s no ill intent to the question. “I guess not. I have Rei and a few acquaintances, but I rub a lot of people the wrong way and I have poor grades. I’m not popular. I don’t do clubs, in a traditional way at least.”

      “Oh, okay,” Shout replies. “I guess I’m the same. I don’t make conversation well.”

      “I think you make conversation just fine.”

      “Thank you. I’m not enemies with anyone though! I’m just not really close to anyone. Except for my siblings and Rei.”

      “Well, Shout, uh. Add me to the list! If you want.” Chance reassures after stumbling awkwardly through the sentence.

      “I will!”

      Shout taps the ground.

      “Can I ask you more questions, Chance?”

      “Yes.”

      “Okay!” she chirps shyly, “Why do you do the Ultimate Godhand Middle-Schooler thing? Doesn't it put a target on your back?”

      “I guess I have something to prove,” Chance states in a snappy monotone before rushing to a friendlier voice asking, “Anything else?”

      “Yes, actually. About your IMAGE. There’s something I want to find out before we begin Atmosphere development. It’s about Benkei.”

      “What about him?”

      “Well, the first time you used him, he had a sword. In every fight since, he’s had those seven different tools. It’s natural for Avatars to change over time since they’re a reflection of your winning image, but why did it change so suddenly?”

      Chance mulls it over in head. With that, he crafts a theory.

      “So Benkei collected the swords of those he defeated, yes? I guess I was doing the same. Then he lost to Yoshitsune and served him. A switch must have flipped in my head since I’m serving a single goal for the time being. Or at least that’s my theory.”

      “Works for me!” Shout grabs her bag. “I have to leave now, but I think our next lesson will be atmosphere development. Okay?”

      “Awesome! Can’t wait.”

      Chance holds out his fist for a fist bump. Shout shakes it like a handshake. They both laugh and go their separate ways.

NEXT CHAPTER

[scarletooyoroi]

Lithe fingers caress fiery golden filaments with loving care, enjoying every bit of how shiny they look under the brilliant sun above and how much golder in color the protector's hair looks. Her heart flutters within the confines of her chest at the beautiful sight of a man honed in thousands of battles and thousands of experience more in the realm of adventure, both in his homeland and outside. But of all interesting and exciting things he's decided to do, he's right here, laying his head on her lap as they enjoy the marvelous view of greenery and aquamarine water intertwined of a sunny day by Sumeru City's outskirts.

Otherwise emotion-filled expressions are calm and tame, a tell-tale of relaxation despite what dangers may be staying this far from the city. It marks a special occasion for her, too. Because in all her hesitance and anxiety to go elsewhere that isn't the main city, she ventured with him to stretch her boundaries a tad more. Truth is, it feels safe being by his side— like even if the earth were to split open right now she would be safe.

These feelings reaffirm that which she has been dragging for a while now, every time they found moments to spend time together. Aquamarine irises peek at his face again, at the even breathing that makes his strong chest rise and fall, encompassed. Could he be sleeping? A smile tugs at the corners of peach lips, a blush dusts to pale cheeks when a thought crosses her mind. Never hold back, is a lesson she has learned in his company. And so she pushes back ruby strands of her hair to not tickle him when she lowers her head to press a daring kiss close to the right corner of his lips.

Throughout this experience, who couldn't imagine that a little sprinkle of dreams and whimsy was dashed onto this day, causing it to be lit with a realm of sensation that feels otherworldly? Somehow its within her hard working hands that such time between them always seems to blossom into unknown spectacles. Their wilder days, simpler days, difficult or the most fun, Thoma's heart couldn't help but gush with such a loving brand of selfishness when it comes to their time being shared. It all began with Nilou's declaration of a new goal, how her curiosity about the realms outside grew, what was it like to hold just a touch of an adventurer's mantle?

Small steps. Thoma found himself being an all too willing guide to be re-introduced to Sumeru's natural beauty alongside the Lotuslight. Even as amidst the thickets and emerald leaves, they once again carved the grounds they could their very own.

Thoma found himself needing a moment to regather his strength despite his content insistence to take advantage of the day. With that dazzling smile and her words of an impulsive made idea, never would he imagine of finding himself like this, his head settled in the sublime sanctity of her lap. Secured by loving hands as they take their time to roam, drawing comfort and soft sighs from his lips as any tension just dissolves within this position. Eyes eased shut, the undeniable upon his lips spoke of a thousand words.

Maybe a touch of that shyness that still persists as well. Tiredness was becoming less of an issue as the scale of this moment is slowly drawn in. "Much.. Better.." He mindlessly adds, her ministrations deriving a tender sort of joy that continues its rhythm of beats in the pace of his heart. Part of it dawns with the passing of these months that managed to soar akin to an eagle's wing beats, so fast, yet each moment never feeling as if it was truly enough.

Thoma wasn't ignorant to what found itself dwelling within the fiery passion of his heart. Blooming with the tenderness and fun they shared, with her imaginative whimsy in tune with the conviction that they shared their passions.

Above all else? She really was just sweet, there was no better way to put it.

Little did he know that within such a moment as the moment itself rocked spirit and heart in the flow of gentle waves, heaven would find the means to descend, saccharine, surprising and emboldened by a heart's courage. An unfamiliar, often pondered warmth would immediately draw a blessing upon his skin, just along the outskirts of his lips that immediately makes that heart pulse in ways it never would've imagined. Once idle consciousness immediately awakens with an infernal term of realization.

Was that her...? The heart beats. Was she...? Faster. Faster.

Butterflies would soar and storm within his body as it dawns exactly what she found herself doing. The act itself ends all too quickly as he could feel the slow, gradual ascent as if to survey the handiwork performed. Within that very moment, a speechless brand of jade eyes would find themselves peering directly up towards her.

To a beautiful face that adorned with her flowing crown's color not just upon her scarlet hair, but framed upon her very face within a serene view. Unspoken questions. Unspoken answers. So much began to melt away all brands of more rational thought as a very true thought resonates deep within his being.

One time was not enough.

More. He truly wishes to close this distance that teased the brief and anxious touches of fingertips.

"Nilou.." There was no question intoned within his voice, only wonder, a certainty that found itself mounting its castle upon boundless courage as the idea aches at the mere possibility of not being acted upon. A gloved hand would reach for, carefully pausing her short as within that moment underneath the call of dusk birds and a buzzing sun above, he'd come to gentle cradle her cheek within his hand, treating her as a pristine miracle settled in his hold.

The distance between them was never fated to remain far apart for long. No longer, a new path found itself intertwined, one that found itself answered in the frantic, anxiously loving energy that delves between them. Thoma would allow himself to close the distance, sampling with a tender graze of their lips being shared, embellished with a delightful little shock that melts into warmth. For another slow moment does he peer upon her, a shorter time, as the next time he follows up the kiss is secured in full, allowing that passionate truth to simmer through.

Balanced between soft and firm. A suggestion of his hand to tug her down just a touch more as he leans up. Amidst the rampant pace of his heart as a dreamy rush comes over this Warrior of Flame..

He decides to speak with the most vulnerable, weakest, yet powerful part of his being.

I cherish you.

@haftkarsvar

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 8 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

Vaguely, I hear Dane and Detective Vasquez exchange greetings but most of my attention is on Detective Rian Halloran.

He's a few inches taller than me and has fashionably cut black hair and sapphire blue eyes.

His skin is smooth and lightly tanned and his face is classically handsome.

He's dressed in a black suit with a black tie and wears a red silk pocket square.

The hand he extends to grasp mine is large, strong and elegant, with clean, manicured nails.

Dane says Wolves don't always recognize other Shifters but they always recognize their own kind.

I've had very little opportunity to put it to the test but as Halloran approaches and flashes us a blindingly handsome grin, I realize that the same may be said of Fae.

Halloran extends his hand towards me and all I can do is stare.

I look at Dane, expecting to see my shock mirrored but his expression is merely one of mild confusion and concern.

"Julian? Do you two, know each other?"

Halloran's perfectly groomed brows lift a fraction and my sudden conviction departs as suddenly as it came.

"N-no," I stammer and manage a smile as I accept Halloran's handshake.

"Sorry. Julian Hart."

He flashes me a wink and my doubt returns.

I don't know what it is but there's something 'Fae' about him, for sure.

"And you must be Dane Hunter," he says, turning.

"Of whom I've heard so many splendid tales."

Dane scowls.

"Dunno what's you've heard but I guarantee most of it's not true."

Halloran glances at Vasquez and smirks.

"So, you didn't break up a bar fight and single-handedly arrest an entire gang or leap from an overpass onto a moving car to stop a chase?"

Dane rubs the back of his neck and gives Vasquez an exasperated look.

"It was half a dozen drunk, middle-aged bikers and it was a low overpass."

Again, I can't hide my surprise as I realize how little Dane has talked about his past.

I'd assumed it was something he didn't enjoy discussing and so I hadn't pressed him but now I wonder just how much I don't know about my mate.

Sensing something of my feelings through that very bond, Dane's expression shows a hint of pain and I see him resist the urge to reach for my hand.

I wish he would.

"That's not the way Monica tells it," Halloran continues.

"In fact..."

"Where are you from?" I blurt, surprising even myself with the blunt question.

I'd caught a hint of an accent as he spoke.

Halloran turns back towards me, brows lifted but still smiling.

When he speaks, his accent is much stronger than before.

"Ah, found me out already, have you? I've been trying to sound as North American as possible... makes things easier, you know but you're right. I'm from Ireland. I'm actually here as part of an exchange program. One of yours trades places with one of ours and we learn how things are done different here and there."

"What part of Ireland?"

Vasquez frowns at my borderline rudeness but Halloran seems unperturbed.

"County Kildare," he says easily.

"Have you been?"

"No, I haven't," I say, and again look at Dane with a question in my eyes.

Unfortunately, he doesn't speak 'eyeball' and only lifts a shoulder in a half shrug.

Soft music begins to play and further up the hill, a small group gathers before an urn on a pedestal surrounded by wreaths and garlands of white flowers.

"Ah, well, we'd best join the proceedings," Halloran says and nods towards the little crowd.

He and Vasquez set off up the hill, while Dane and I trail behind.

"What was that about?" Dane asks under his breath.

"You know that guy?" I lift my brows at him.

"You don't see a... resemblance?"

"Resemblance to what?"

I gesture frantically between Halloran and myself.

Dane shakes his head.

"Should I?"

Ahead, Halloran glances back at us over his shoulder.

"I'll tell you later," I whisper.

We join the mourners gathered around the urn.

The burial plot is open, ready to receive its ashy tenant, and a non-denominational 'priest' recites a long prayer.

The crowd is small, made up of Lagrange's widow, Vicky and his two adult stepdaughters from Vicky's previous marriage.

The handful of others are the rest of the shop-owners from the same burglar-prone block... Stephanie Wong, dressed all in white, as well as Danni Spelling, Daniel and Liza Price and Marta and Sergio Ortiz.

Danni was the first to reach out and ask to hire us, they run a tiny shop across from Lagrange's bike-rental place, selling handmade soaps, essential oils, herbs, teas, incense and witchcraft supplies.

Marta and Sergio own a hardware store and sell everything from garden tools to candles and jewelry, while Daniel and Liza own Danny's, a bakery and café featuring the world's slowest espresso machine.

We ourselves make up the remainder and the sparse attendance tracks with what we'd learned of Lagrange so far.

The four of us hang back a little, not wanting to impose but when the priest concludes his prayers, we move forward to offer condolences and to observe more closely.

At least, that's the plan, Dane and Vasquez stick to it well enough but I keep my eyes on Halloran.

He moves through the crowd with ease, talking with everyone and none seems immune to his charms.

'Fae charms' possibly, though my confidence comes and goes like a tide.

One minute, I'm certain... the next, I'm equally certain I've imagined it.

A flash of his sapphire eyes swings the pendulum back towards 'Fae' again.

Dane notes my distraction and nudges me with raised brows, inviting me to clue him in but I shake my head.

Now's not the time to discuss who might not be human in this crowd.

With the service concluded, the mourners move forward to make their offerings and say their own prayers, each taking a white flower from a vase and tossing it into the grave.

With this ritual concluded, they move away down the long sloping lawn to a small picnic area, where a temporary pavilion and table laden with refreshments awaits. Dane and Detective Vasquez make their perfunctory offerings and follow the others down the hill.

I hang back with Halloran as he selects a white rose from the vase and twirls it between his fingers, gazing down at the pile already lying in the grave.

[ailtrahq]

Renowned author Robert Kiyosaki, best known for his personal finance book ‘Rich Dad, Poor Dad,’ has once again underlined his conviction that traditional fiat currencies are on the path to obsolescence, while cryptocurrencies are poised to become the future of money.  Kiyosaki’s outspoken endorsement of cryptocurrencies has been a recurring theme in his public statements, and his recent comments on social media have reignited the debate on the future of money. Robert Kiyosaki took to the social media platform X to share his thoughts while he was coincidentally in Singapore during the TOKEN2049 conference, one of the largest annual gatherings for crypto enthusiasts and experts.  In Singapore at same time massive crypto conference is on. Very exciting. Crypto is the future. Fiat…a.k.a. FAKE money is toast. — Robert Kiyosaki (@theRealKiyosaki) September 17, 2023 Robert Kiyosaki: Unwavering Support For Crypto In his post, he declared, “Crypto is the future,” and went on to characterize fiat currency as “FAKE money” and referred to it as “toast.” This strong language underscores his belief in the impending shift towards cryptocurrencies as the primary medium of exchange. Notably, Kiyosaki has openly admitted to owning Bitcoin (BTC) and views cryptocurrencies as a crucial hedge against the devaluation of traditional currencies due to factors such as inflation and government monetary policies. He points to Bitcoin’s resilience, its ability to bounce back after market downturns, as a testament to its enduring presence in the financial landscape. Total crypto market cap at $1.04 trillion today: TradingView.com State Of The Crypto Market While Kiyosaki’s proclamations on cryptocurrencies may resonate with many, the crypto market is currently facing its own set of challenges. Notably, the market is experiencing pressure stemming from the liquidation of FTX, a major cryptocurrency exchange, which has announced its plans to divest its crypto assets totaling a staggering $3.4 billion by the end of 2023. FTX’s crypto holdings primarily consist of Solana, Bitcoin, and Ether, among others. To mitigate potential negative impacts on crypto prices, FTX has imposed a weekly cap of $100 million on its asset sales. However, the exchange has left the door open for this limit to increase to $200 million, pending approval from two committees representing FTX customers. This development in the crypto market underscores the inherent volatility and uncertainties associated with cryptocurrencies. While enthusiasts like Robert Kiyosaki see them as the future of money, the market’s evolution remains a subject of ongoing debate, shaped by various factors including regulatory changes, market sentiment, and technological advancements. Kiyosaki’s unwavering support for cryptocurrencies as the future of money continues to make waves in the financial world. However, the crypto market’s current challenges highlight the need for a cautious and balanced approach to navigating this rapidly evolving landscape.  Source

[arigatonamuse]

ohoho i'm vibrating! i do have 6 A3! OCs (along with one self insert!) i love my children so much, please allow me to introduce them under the cut (i apologise in advance, this got a little long)

from youngest to eldest:

Yasu Hayashi (林 安) | he/him [Y1] 16 years old Shame plant (mimosa pudica) | #CEE5F3

(picrew)

Yasu is very shy and closed off, to the point he learnt parkour just to avoid having to walk around busy places (no, i'm not kidding, that was his reason). He's a dancer and actor who is extremely bad at emotions and doesn't quite understand people around him. That is, except when it comes to the stage. Dance and theatre are the mediums through which he can understand and process emotions and people around him. At Mankai he is sometimes part of the Summer Troupe ensemble cast. Now, for his relationships (not all of them), he:

gets along well with Massu (if "vibing in the same space without interacting much but enjoying it" counts as getting along)

likes reading with Muku and talking about what they've both read

once he gets into Veludo Arts, he starts trusting Kazu a lot, he likes working around him and knows he can trust him

finds Guy's presence comforting and goes to him whenever there's something he can't understand about people

bonus: he cannot escape Banri, he's his kouhai both at Hana High and at Veludo U

Etsuko Nishimura (西村 悦子) | she/her [Y2] 18 years old Bleeding Heart | #C9A9A6

(picrew)

Etsuko is very sociable and happy-go-lucky, she has a strong caring "big sister" streak along with a very… strong sense of justice. She is a visual arts student at Veludo U who loves art, people, cute things and cute girls, that's all she'll tell you about herself. Whether you believe that that's all she is or not is up to you. She sometimes helps Kazu and Mankai with shows' visuals. For her relationships with Manka, she:

really admires Chikage and Hiso both (and has kinda idealised August from what she's heard about him), she holds Chikage as a role model (it goes as well as you'd imagine)

adores Yuki and consults him about clothes and cute things

likes vibing around Sakuya, even if she can't completely open up to him, she feels safe around him and wants to help him be safe as much as she can

often talks to Taichi about girls and stuff when she needs to de-stress

Castel Medina | they/them [Y1] 18 years old Iris | #B8F2E6

(picrew) (they're supposed to be darker skinned but the picrew didn't have darker skin options available)

Castel is a gremlin, a person who hates being bored and will do anything to stop it, even if it may seem stupid. Still, they're a softie at heart and always ready to help, not that they want you to know that. They are rather secretive about their past with performing arts, but they cannot hide their love for the stage, for acting, dancing and literature, which is what made them motivated to become a stagehand at Mankai. For their relationships, they:

are good friends with Banri, but never leave the two of them on their own (really, they had a couple brushes with the cops during their first year, Sakyo had to get involved)

classmates + study buddies with Tsuzuru, he's the one who connected them with Mankai

Cat lover with Sumi, Hiso and Muku, they often go out to feed strays

oddly enough, enjoys Kazu's presence a lot, they're besties

Eli Grimaldi | he/him [Y2] 24 years old Black-eyed susan vine (thunbergia alata) | #641931

(picrew)

Eli is an ex convict who moved to Japan with his boyfriend to escape some traumatic experiences they had been through and in hopes they'll get a new chance at life. He is a punk and he did ballet. No, really, even after growing out of his teenage rebellion, he remains to be a punk in his ideals and sometimes it shows in his attitude. Despite that, he also loves classic literature and was trained in ballet from a young age. Nowadays he tries his best to be supportive of everyone and has very strong paternal instincts. He works part time at a bookshop and has a side gig as a choreographer, sometimes dabbling in theatre choreography and focusing on fight choreography. He sometimes helps as Mankai's choreographer. For his relationships, he:

ex-delinquent buddies with Omi, he knows Omi's healed more than he has, but he still feels like he has to take care of him and help him

looks up to Sakyo because he thinks he's put together, and he can see how much he cares for everyone at the company (also they share their incapacity to DO SOMETHING TO FURTHER THE RS WITH THE ONE THEY LOVE- ahem)

he actually really likes Homare, and often talks to him about poetry and their fave authors (also sometimes shares what he's written with him)

feels paternalistic towards a lot of the younger actors, but mostly Massu and Tenma

Masami Hayashi (林 成美) | she/her [Y3] 30 years old Forget-me-not | #ADCAD7

(picrew)

Masamu is Yasu's older sister who disappeared when he was 8 years old and is just now gathering the courage to face her past and ask to be let back into his life. She's a huge perfectionist which is the source for a lot of issues from her past, and despite healing and growing up she needs to work through some of those. She's an ex-gymnast and now works as a doctor, specialising in sports medicine in a clinic that's relatively close to Veludo. It was only after some time of her working there that she saw her younger brother going into the Mankai theatre that she became familiar with Mankai, and after going out of curiosity for her baby brother's life, she became a fan of the troupe. For her relationships she:

isn't directly involved with the company (yet), so she doesn't have many relationships

is really really thankful towards Izumi for taking care of Yasu

looks up to Sakyo and hopes one day she can have the guts to face what she gave up on life like he did

lastly

Daiki Akiyama (秋山 大輝) | he/they [Y1] 32 years old Peony | #EE7F33

(picrew)

Daiki is a literature professor at Yosei Uni, specialising in Eurpean literature and theatre. He's a human disaster who knows A LOT about what he's passionate about but when it comes to other things he's rather… well an airhead. They have some Issues with finding moderation, since their life has been all or nothing since they remember, but they're is doing their best to do what they can to bring joy and passion to their life as well as their students'. He has been a fan of Mankai since the first gen, and has followed the Newborn Mankai since RomiJuli. Sometimes he helps Tsuzuru with his scripts, and on rare occasions he is part of the Winter Troupe ensemble cast. And for his relationships he:

is kinda part of Mankai's literature club except he and Homare just ramble a ton and give Tsuzuru a headache

still, he IS Tsuzuru and Juza's professor lmao (and Castel's too)

Azuma's drinking buddy + occasional "client" (not officially a client but does seek him for cuddles and shit a lot bc haha angst)

finds Citron really interesting, too, and loves to hear his stories

aaand that's it for a summary (yes, a summary, i'm working on individual full slide presentation for each of them) of my OCs!

---

aaand i AM also a yumejin! I have a yume self insert who i refuse to develop because otherwise they'll become an OC on their own lol, but they exist! (and i'm very shy when it comes to yume so that's all i'll say on main

Mankai March question 3!

We learned about everyone’s favorite character yesterday, now let’s learn about any characters you might have! Do you have any OCs or yumes for A3! ? Feel free to ramble about them!!

[impalementation]

I find it fascinating that Xander, Buffy's metaphorical heart hates both Angel and Spike, the two love interests Buffy has a deeper connection with, while he seems found of Riley, the love interest Buffy has a more superficial shallow relationship with

Yeah it's quite interesting. Though I think the specifics of what Xander's feelings about Angel, Spike and Riley means depends on context.

In the case of Riley, I'd argue that Buffy does actually think she has a deep relationship with him. As she tells him in "Out of My Mind": “Nobody has ever known me the way you do. Nobody. I've opened up to you in ways that I've never opened up to...” Certainly she's had more opportunity for emotional and physical intimacy with him than she did with Angel. Yet her conviction that they have a deep understanding is at odds with their mutual blindness to each other. Both of them are too overwhelmed by their personal crises to recognize or appreciate the other person’s wants and needs. (Buffy’s crisis may be more sympathetic than Riley’s, given the way he goes about it, but his behavior and perception of her does nonetheless take her completely by surprise.). 

With this in mind, it fits that Xander is so enthusiastic about Riley, because Buffy herself is. Yet the things Xander likes about him tend to be the superficial, normatively masculine things. When Xander sees how big the Initiative is, in all its militaristic, institutional glory, that’s when he says: “Can I have sex with Riley too?” Or the way Xander calls Riley “a big jungle cat” as he does his silly military maneuvers in “Fool for Love”--and then asks "How come I’m not like that?” Or in “The Replacement” he tries to mimic Riley’s good-boyfriend behavior with Buffy, by massaging Anya--but Anya yelps with pain. Multiple times in season five, we see that Xander idolizes Riley and his relationship with Buffy, and then has that idolization disappointed. Say, Xander saying he envies Riley and Buffy’s relationship at the end of “The Replacement”, just before Riley tells him that Buffy doesn’t actually love him. Or Xander’s much-maligned speech to Buffy in “Into the Woods” that crucially leads to Buffy not catching Riley. Riley finishes the episode as blind and deaf to Buffy as ever. Xander has a romantic view of Riley, a view that Riley is who Buffy should want, which arguably matches Buffy’s own perspective. But it’s a view that ultimately leads nowhere real.

In other words, I’d say that Xander’s positivity towards Riley reflects what Buffy thinks she should want. And by contrast, I think Xander's antipathy towards Angel and Spike has to do with Buffy's fear and self-hatred towards her own emotions. (Though notably, Xander does call both Angel and Spike attractive, too. In “Teacher’s Pet” Xander says of Angel: “He’s a very attractive man, how come that never came up?” And in “Intervention” he describes Spike as “strong and mysterious and sort of compact, but well-muscled.” And “Teacher’s Pet” and “Intervention” are both early turning points in Buffy’s relationships with Angel and Spike. “Intervention” is obviously the first episode in which Buffy is shown to be capable of reciprocating Spike’s romantic interest. It might sound weird to call “Teacher’s Pet” a turning point, but similarly it is the first episode in which Angel is explicitly treated as a romantic interest and in which Buffy is clearly shown to be attracted to him, not just irritated by him. "Teacher’s Pet” is also thematically important with regards to Buffy/Angel because makes a very obvious parallel between an older teacher being interested in Xander, and Buffy being interested in an older guy. The show will even return to this female teacher/younger boy parallel with Buffy/Angel again in “I Only Have Eyes For You,” albeit with a different thematic bent.).

In season one, I’d argue that Xander is broadly treated as Buffy’s courage, and Angel is treated as her cowardice. Xander dives into helping Buffy, he “has heart”, whereas Angel keeps himself aloof. And so their antipathy is explained by Buffy’s bravery and engagement being at odds with her fear and detachment. When Xander forces Angel to help Buffy in “Prophecy Girl” you could see it as one of many symbols in the episode of Buffy conquering her fears. In seasons two and three however, Xander’s dislike of Angel seems more related to Buffy’s belief that her emotions are dangerous and destructive. Even before Angel loses his soul, there’s an ominous air surrounding the Buffy and Angel relationship, an association with death and horrible hidden faces. And afterwards this association becomes even more pronounced. Buffy spends the remainder of season two and much of season three, feeling tremendously guilty over the death and destruction that her love for Angel (seemingly) caused--including the death of Angel himself. So when Xander says things like “you wanna forget all about Ms. Calendar's murder so you can get your boyfriend back” I think he’s really the voice of Buffy’s own fears about herself. She’s afraid that to love means to romanticize, and to romanticize means to be selfish and naive. (To be like Spike, you might say).

In addition, I think the show’s ambivalent relationship to the romantic means that Xander’s negative feelings towards Angel have both a positive and a negative aspect. The positive aspect of Xander disliking Angel is the fact that some part of Buffy’s heart does see through romantic illusions. It’s annoyed and resentful of them. The negative aspect is the resulting shame that Buffy often feels about herself. Which blinds and inhibits her in a different way. But overall, I think the fact that Xander never really expresses a positive attitude towards Angel indicates the show’s overall position that while the romantic ideal that Angel represents is understandably compelling, it is still something that Buffy needs to ultimately let go.

Spike is a weirder case than both Angel and Riley though, because while Xander does express a lot of hatred towards Spike, and in specific cases with more vitriol than he ever does towards Angel, he also doesn’t just express hate. If anything, he can be downright tolerant of Spike, much like Buffy herself. While Xander and Spike regularly bicker, Spike nonetheless lives with Xander on two separate occasions (You might even make a connection between Spike living with Xander in season seven and Buffy telling Angel that Spike “is in [her] heart.”). They hang out in “Triangle.” In “Intervention” Xander expresses sympathy for how "thrashed” Spike looks. Just before Buffy kisses him. In “Him” Xander and Spike save the day together. (And there’s some symbolism for you--Buffy’s heart and her shadow teaming up to undo a spell that makes people see things in an immaturely romantic way).

It’s notable that the season in which Xander hates Spike the most is season six. Which is the season in which Buffy herself repeatedly, and violently, pushes Spike away. It is the season in which Buffy calls Spike dead, and a thing, in a mirror image of her own feelings about herself. Buffy spends the season hating herself and thinking she can’t feel, and thus it makes sense that she would be more alienated from her heart. In contrast to Xander representing bravery in season one, Xander in season six is defined by his cowardice--he is antsy about getting married, and his fears ultimately get the best of him. It is only after Buffy and Xander reconcile towards the end of season six, that Xander is able to return to his role of the heart and save the world by bravely expressing love towards towards the self-hating, shadow-consumed part of Buffy in the form of Willow. (And in parallel, Spike gets his soul and thus begins the process of becoming someone that Buffy doesn’t have to hate).

Then throughout season seven, Xander really doesn’t express much hate towards Spike. He’s very wary of him for a while, much like Buffy herself. But also lets Spike live with him, again like Buffy herself. The part of Buffy that expresses the most hostility towards Spike in season seven is Giles. Which suggests that it’s now Buffy’s reason and sense of tradition that stands in the way of her trusting herself and her emotions, rather than her heart. If anything, Xander and Anya resuming their relationship could be seen as a parallel to the developing romance between Spike and Buffy, given that Anya is also a reformed demon. (Regardless of one’s personal feelings about Spike/Buffy, they were undeniably written as a romantic pairing in season seven, and thus it makes sense to see symbolism echoing their relationship).

So in total, I think the idea is something like: Xander doesn’t like Angel because loving Angel is dangerous to Buffy. And loving Angel is dangerous because Angel is the romantic, and the romantic is something that in the early seasons, Buffy hasn’t yet developed a mature relationship to. Then Xander loves Riley because loving Riley is safe. But as it turns out, viewing someone as the safe option is its own form of romanticization and thus Riley also needs to go. Then Xander has a mixed relationship with Spike, because Buffy has an ongoing ambivalence towards herself, her emotions, and her romantic instincts.

[bthump]

If you were in charge of an adaption of the Black Swordsman, Conviction, and so on arcs and you could make whatever additions or cuts you wanted, what stuff would be added or cut?

Thanks for the ask!

Immediate thought: Cut Moonbaby. Change the fetus into some kind of fucked up puppy looking thing which just exists to symbolize Guts' own pathetic inner darkness as a more objective counterpoint to the Beast of Darkness (which is what I think the fetus' original role was before Miura went ham with the baby shit). During the Conviction arc it doesn't save Casca a bunch of times, rather Casca is endangered less often and escapes from the occasional danger in ways that don't require magic.

No werebaby plot, if the Casca kidnapping turns out to be vital in some way and not something easily changeable into something else then Griffith shows up to kidnap her for other made up reasons, like, say, he needs someone with the brand of sacrifice to do some kind of magic thing, or something. If the Casca kidnapping plot turns out to be little more than an excuse to get Guts to Falconia then Guts just goes to Falconia to try to fight Griffith once Casca turns out to not be a good distraction.

Oh and of course there's no ambiguity wrt Griffith's feelings - we see inside his head at the Hill of Swords, he's going 'oh shit my heart's fluttering again,' and that's the last we get of NGriff's point of view. I feel like that would make his subsequent placidity with occasional hints of emotion even more fun.

I'd adapt the Black Swordsman arc very faithfully otherwise, including opening with the demon sex scene because I don't care, I think it's a fantastic opener, it would set that Verhoeven-esque tone I love perfectly. Guts blows her head off with a quip, cut to credits, cut back to Guts' more somber and haunted glance back at the corpse as he walks away, boom, perfect Berserk opening.

Also with the start of the Millenium Falcon arc I'd reframe Farnese as the point of view character and put Guts at a bit more of a mysterious distance, to mimic how his followers see him, and also to kind of underline his emotional ambiguity. I think canonically he's repressing his complicated feelings, and I think making his feelings kind of unknown but hinting that he's not taking Casca to Elfhelm solely for love would convey that complicated feelings vibe more overtly. Plus Griffith parallels. Make the last time we're in Guts' head for a whole arc like, the scene where he assaults Casca (which I would keep, if we're keeping the Eclipse rape) and we'd leave him on a very dark note and also suggest that he may have a strong emotional reaction to his own actions there, without showing exactly what that reaction is beyond hiring a babysitter lol. It would help fix the impression in canon that Guts just doesn't even have much of a reaction to it.

Oh and if we're centering Farnese more then I think she should have a longer arc of reconciling her religious black and white thinking with her new perspective, rather than a single fucking montage lol. This should be a process throughout the whole Millenium Falcon arc, so I guess I'd add some scenes where she still acts like a spoiled brat, maybe it takes her longer to treat Casca with decency and she has a revelation about protecting her that changes her attitude, still treating Serpico like a servant in an obnoxious way, either denying responsibility or being overly consumed by catholic-y guilt at points, etc. The whole point should be watching her slowly grow, not 180ing her personality.

Also Isidro goes home after the troll shit. Old Village Dude shows him the error of his ways. And consequently Puck is fun again.

Anyway yeah I think that's it. This was fun, ty!

If you're interested I've written a long answer to a similar question that includes the Golden Age here.

[onecopyoneyearinadvance]

Part 2

Every day since the search began has so ''dripped in ambient rumor'' that the country side has been in a wild fever for fresher and more startling facts, and every imaginable distortion seems to have been indulged to keep it up Drinking in from day to day, the current rumor, prompted us to accept an invitation from John S. Doug, and Sam. Thompson to visit the farm and delve for ourselves into the mysterious suspicions and marvelous features of this red hot sensation. We went on Tuesday, and not less than a dozen respectable gentlemen were on the ground at the time, impelled by the same motive which prompted us. We found that a grave-shaped hole had been opened and that its sides seemed to be perfectly and solidly natural, and that the bottom had the appearance of having been much disturbed. The sides were nearly square cut for the first three feet, but after that they were very irregular. The dirt which had been thrown out contained no marked strata, but was evidently a good deal mixed. Pieces of molten glass short pieces of pine board, some charred wood, part of a broken pickle jar, some little pieces of candle, a small piece of tobacco, some pieces of broken crockery and other constituents of surface waste were shown us, which were said to have been dug from a depth of from six to seven and a half feet below the level of the cellar floor Some bones were also found-but in the adjoining cellar-which, in our best judgment, were never part of human anatomy. Such were the facts gained by us, and the reader may attach such weight to them as he or she may see fit. The almost universal sentiment of the neighborhood is that this hole was once a grave, and that there are nine-nine chances in one hundred that the mortal remains of Washington Orr festered and rotted there. The theory of the most earnest of the believers in this state of facts is: That Orr did go home when seen near there on the night of his disappearance. That he got into an altercation with his wife's father, who, by accident or design, in the heat of passion killed him. That his wife must have witnessed the deed. and, to save her father, helped him to secrete the body and shroud in further mystery his remarkable disappearance That when the house was burned, this indention in the cellar bottom which marked like "the sprig of Accusia ' the place of his interment, was known to his widow, and that that was the reason that she preferred to clean out that portion of the cellar herself That after suspicion had been directed to the spot by her peculiar actions, the remains were exhumed and otherwise disposed of, and that the dirt with which the hole was filled embraced much of the debris of the fire So strong is this conviction with Mr. Hunt and many of his neighbors that they will never believe otherwise unless Wash. Orr in his own living person appears to contradict their conclusions. Nine out of every ten who visit the spot adopt the same theory, supported as it is by many rumors bearing upon the circumstances of Orr's disappearance, so that it is no wonder that the excitement increases every day's discussion. Assuming that all that is claimed with regard to the digging is true, it is in order for somebody to rise and explain why it was originally dug. If made after the fire, Mrs. Orr and Mr McWilliams can tell just why. and if they fail to satisfy community in some reasonable way, suspicion is liable to follow them, even if the law does not reach them. The farm was sold in the interest of the children less than a year ago, and they and their mother are out west. as is also Mr. McWilliams, Mrs. Orr's father. Hence it may be some time before the suspicions of community are quieted. Until then Mr. Hunt is only too willing to enlighten those who visit to the place, and give them the benefit of his theory of the mystery on which to form their own conclusions as to the enormity of this "Local Horror."

More on the story of Washington Orr. The full screenshot was unwieldy, but here is the text

A LOCAL HORROR?

Fourteen years ago one Washington Orr owned and occupied a well located farm in Steuben township, this county about one mile south-east of the poor farm. He had a wife and three daughters, and was comfortably fixed on land which brought a fair return for the labor expended Some time in the latter part of the winter of 1867-68 he came over to this city on business --to collect money; it was thought. Three days afterwards he was reported missing. and the woods were searched and the streams dragged in the hope of finding his body. He was never found. Six years ago the house occupied by his widow and children was burned to the ground, and the citizens turned out and assisted the family to build a new one. After it was completed a man was hired to clean the cellar of the debris of the fire, but there was one part which he was forbidden to disturb on account of the fact, as the family said, of that part of the debris being liable to contain articles of value which had fallen through the floor at the time of the fire. With memory freshened by this frivolous embargo, the man cultivated suspicions of something wrong and told the neighbors that he believed that Wash. Orr's body was buried in the cellar of his old home. Then people -near neighbors-began to remember that Orr had last been seen near his home-that his domestic relations were not agreeable, and that his father-in-law, a Mr. McWilliams, frequently quarreled with him. and was withal a very passionate man. But nothing further came of the gossip. Mrs Orr and her family had deported them selves in a manner well calculated to disarm suspicion, and had earned the respect and confidence of the neighborhood. Two weeks ago a piece of sunken ground in the woods gave rise to the supposition that an interment of some kind had once been made there. But only the rotted remains of some animal were unearthed. It was this however, that started anew the old gossip,--the old suspicions, and led the man who had cleaned out the cellar six years ago to request of the present proprietor of the farm the privilege of digging, to verify his convictions or gratify his curiosity. It so happened that at that point in the cellar which he had been forbidden to clean up, there was an indentation of a few inches deep, describing a length of a trifle over six feet and a width of perhaps two feet. Suspicion now took such tangible form that Mr Hunt, the owner of the place, was fairly consumed with it, and himself superintended the investigation. The spot indented in such suggestive shape, was covered with cement from one to two inches thick, and the diggers say lacked from three to four inches at the edge of the indentation of touching the earth below. They dug down, as they say, in soil which was quite loose and which readily separated from sides and ends cut pretty straight, in the solid earth. Every spade full of earth thrown up as the sides cleared themselves so freshened the convictions of the family that the entire neighborhood took on the spirit of investigation.and a number of them volunteered or were impressed into digging out the mystery surrounding the death of Wash Orr.