#i am always thinking about the Math involved in this

[dailypokemoncrochet]

#At first I thought ''man this person has a lot of disposable income'' and then I saw that they were CROCHETED#CROCHETED????????#YOU CROCHETED 606 DISTINCT CREATURES FROM MAINLY 2D SPRITES#YOU HAVE AN HONORARY DEGREE IN TOPOLOGY WHAT IS THIS#CROCHETED??????#crocheted#Anyway#I'm in awe of you op I am a beginner crocheter and I can only aspire to one day be as good as you and make myself a ceiling full of Boys

lol I love this, this is such an interesting comment to me. I looked up what exactly topology was and do you think that if the whole pattern book series thing doesn't work out, I could make some kind of idk Thesis about crochet&topology and get a for real degree about it? That'd be neat

The two halves of my updated ceiling display, currently at 600/1010 Pokemon

The first half goes from #001 Bulbasaur to #505 Watchog

The second half goes from #506 Lillipup to #1010 Iron Leaves

Currently I have crocheted way more Pokemon in the first half, so that side looks much fuller. I'm not sure when I'll be up to crocheting anything more, probably not anytime soon, I'm still considering this on hiatus, but I thought it would be nice to share the updated display.

[kaeyapilled]

. (tw heterosexuality)

[mxrcurysb1tch]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Astrology 🐉observations pt. IV ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

: ̗̀➛ Gemini moons are super intelligent and generally study maths or engineering. They’re also super good at getting stuff done even though they never seem to ever be actually working? It’s like a talent.

: ̗̀➛ Ever wonder how someone can think a certain way and yet speak in a totally different way? They likely have their moon and mercury in completely different signs. For example, I’m a Capricorn moon with a Leo Mercury and while I am generally very hard on myself and sometimes pessimistic, it sometimes comes out as me appearing overly confident or self obsessed even though I feel anything but that. Another example is, a Gemini moon I know, he is always overthinking in his mind, feels anxious or flighty but his speech is very calm and levelled, since he is a Capricorn Mercury. This can sometimes lead to frustration especially if Mercury is debilitated or retrograde. People with complimentary or the same moon and mercury sign might have a more congruent way of expressing themselves and because they are sure of their convictions, many people may listen to them and respect them.

: ̗̀➛ Mars and Mercury conjunctions make someone very good at insults or even verbal aggression, depending on the sign/house and other placements. Their humour is likely to be playfully making fun of people or even themselves. They may be witty with it too. When it comes to arguments they always know exactly what to say to win.

: ̗̀➛ Virgo placements especially rising, sun and mars have a tendency to be very connected to their bodies, and even hyper aware of the processes going on inside them. They’re not usually the types to forget to eat or rest. Not because they know better (but let’s face it they usually do) but simply because they feel their internal sensations so strongly. It can also sometimes develop into psycho-somatic conditions or health anxiety if it is too pronounced.

: ̗̀➛ Having multiple detriment placements (especially if you also have no domiciles and if Saturn is also involved) can make the native feel like they have to work super hard at everything they do and like nothing comes naturally to them. They might feel like they aren’t talented or gifted in any way or that they weren’t blessed in life like other people are. This usually isn’t true though, what these natives need is a bit of self belief and self love.

: ̗̀➛ Meeting someone with the same moon sign as you is an elite experience. You might just feel connected to them in some way and just intuitively understand each other. Of course it will depend on their other placements too, but usually you guys will feel like the other “just gets it”. This is because you won’t have to explain to them why you feel a certain way or modify your expression in order to relate to them on a deeper level. My childhood best friend has the same moon sign as me and I have always felt like we are platonic soulmates.

: ̗̀➛ Whichever house you have Scorpio in can show where/what in your life you are most secretive about. For example, if you have Scorpio in your 2nd house you might be very secretive about your money, home or possessions. You might not want people to know how you earn money/how much you earn or you might not like having people come over to your house. If you have Scorpio in the 7th house you might be secretive about your relationships, you might engage in a lot of clandestine flings or affairs.

: ̗̀➛ People with the same sun as their rising feel so warm and genuine, what you see is what you get. They’re usually super confident in their own skin. They can’t help but be transparent and bare their souls to you. The degree to which will depend on the sign, of course. However, People with the same moon as their rising might feel overexposed and vulnerable. They usually have a more quiet presence, or always look like they’re sad or far away. They’re usually lost in thought or emotion though as they can’t help but be forced to examine their inner world in excruciating details.

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris spend the night hanging out on his roof after your first day of making sales together.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

dividers by @/kimjiho1

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

The sun sank slowly below the skyline, and the evening turned to nightfall as you and Chris finished up your last deal of the day. You'd been showing him all the stops, introducing him to your customers, and teaching him the way you did everything.

He got into your passenger seat and sighed as his head fell against the headrest, really wishing he had a joint right about now. "Damn, ma. I can't believe how much money we made today," Chris mumbled, slouching down into his seat. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the wad of cash he'd made for the day.

"I know, and we're only a third of the way through the product," you smiled back, doing the math in your head about the potential profit. "I could never work a 9 to 5," Chris sighed, sifting through the $100 bills. "Can't believe I just made in a day what it would take some sucker to make in two weeks at some office job."

You fastened your seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition, admiring Chris, who brought his fingers to his lips and slowly licked them as he separated the crisp hundreds. "What are you thinking about, ma? My tongue or my fingers?" Chris flirted, catching you staring out of the corner of his eye and giving you a seductive smirk as he ran his tongue along the pads of his fingers again, flitting through his money.

You squeezed your thighs together as you bit down on your lip. For a moment, you were thinking about both at the same time. You hated the effect he had on you, the way he knew how to get inside your head, intrude on your thoughts, and invade your sexual fantasies. "You're fucking gross, Chris," you replied, rolling your eyes and trying to hide how turned on you were.

He responded with a chuckle, knowing that he was getting to you even if you wanted to deny it. "So, am I dropping you off at your girlfriend's house?" You asked, reminding him that he had one. "Nah, can you drop me off at my place? I'm staying home tonight," Chris requested. "I can do that. Just tell me where to go," you replied, your eyes darting around between the road in front of you, your side mirrors, and your rearview.

"So, have you told Daisy yet?" You asked, your gaze flickering over at Chris, who was shaking his head. "I'll tell her, ma, when I'm ready," Chris grumbled. He knew you were right. He knew he had some things to work out, like telling his girlfriend the real way he made his money or dealing with the fact that he was finding himself sexually attracted to his new business partner. He stole another glance at you from your passenger seat as the fantasy he'd had the night before flashed through his mind, praying you wouldn't notice the tent forming in his jeans.

When you pulled into Chris' driveway, he thanked you again for the ride. "I can't believe I've been sober for eight hours," Chris mentioned, bouncing his leg as you parked. "No wonder you've been so uptight today," you teased him. "Maybe you should come smoke with me since you're always uptight," Chris smirked, nudging you in the arm with his elbow, but his offer was genuine.

You gave him an annoyed look, but you couldn't hold back the smile that spread across your lips. "I don't smoke weed, Chris. I haven't since I was a teenager," you replied, fidgeting with the material of your black steering wheel cover. "Why not?" Chris wondered, surprised by your admission. "I like being clear-headed. I don't like feeling out of control," you shrugged.

"We're on a floating rock in space, ma. The idea that you have control over anything is an illusion," Chris laughed, reaching for his door handle. "C'mon. Come inside. Do you drink? I've got a beer with your name on it if you wanna hang out with me for a little."

You were quiet for a second. It wasn't often that people invited you to hang out or just do something fun with them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you could use it. "I could stay for one beer," you responded hesitantly, nervously rubbing the back of your neck. "That's what I'm talking about, ma. Let your hair down once in a while," Chris replied, beaming with a smile.

You trailed behind him, staring down at your shoes as you followed the pattern of the stepping stones that led to his front door. "Oh, shit. I forgot my house key at Daisy's place," he sighed, running his finger through his hair. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. "Do you need me to take you to Daisy's place after all?" You huffed, slightly annoyed at the situation.

"Nah, it wouldn't do any good anyways. She's at work. Plus, this won't take long," Chris said, pulling a pin out of his pocket and fiddling with the lock. You nervously looked around, worried someone was going to see him picking his lock and call the cops or something, but in a matter of seconds, you heard a click, and you watched as he turned the knob. His door creaked open, and he glanced back at you with a mischevious smile.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," you replied, raising an eyebrow. "What can I say, ma? I'm good with my hands. Gotta show you my skillset somehow," Chris playfully winked at you. You scoffed, biting back a smile. A part of you liked the way he couldn't keep himself from making sexual innuendos and flirting with you.

"If you need me to pick a lock on a deal, though, you're splitting the money 50/50 with me," Chris told you, stepping into his living room. "What kind of shady shit do you think I'm up to, Chris? I'm just selling coke. Not robbing people," you joked, following him in. "You never know," Chris peeked back at you over his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

"This is it," he announced, raising his arms to present his place to you. It was a dimly-lit, relatively small place, but it had a safe, cozy vibe to it. "I like it," you told him, your eyes scanning them room. You noticed his sprouting marijuana plants in the corner sitting beneath his grow lights and an old shelf beside it that was littered with comic books and novels you'd never heard of.

His house faintly smelled of weed and sandalwood, like how Chris always smelled, and you found the familiar scent comforting as it wafted through the air. He directed you over towards his couch and motioned for you to sit. You sat down, awkwardly perching at the edge of the couch cushion.

"C'mon, ma. You can relax. Kick your feet up," he told you, heading over towards his fridge to give you that beer he promised you. You exhaled and slowly leaned back into his sofa that was much softer than you imagined it would be. Chris twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to you. The red and white label that read Stella Artois stared back at you, and you hesitantly reached out and took it.

Chris plopped down on the couch beside you, and you watched as he sprinkled a bit of ground weed into his rolling paper. You peered down at his rings and his fingers at the way they skillfully handled the joint, tucking the paper in and folding it in on itself.

His gaze flickered up at you as his tongue darted out, and he licked a long, slow stripe across the edge of the joint. His lips curled into a suggestive smile as he noticed you watching him, but you acted unamused, pulling your eyes away from his. You held the bottle up to your lips, taking a small, refreshing sip, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you relaxed further into the comfy couch.

You peered down the hall to an open door at the end. The room was dark, but you imagined it was probably Chris' bedroom. You found yourself wondering what it looked like, how comfortable his bed was, and how hard it would be for you to keep your hands off of him if you ever found yourself alone with him in there.

"You coming?" Chris asked, pulling you out of your thoughts and standing to his feet as soon as you'd gotten comfortable. "Coming where?" You wondered, giving him a perplexed look. "To the roof. The view's great up there," Chris responded, making his way towards the back door.

You hesitantly followed him back out into the cool air of the backyard where he had a ladder propped up against the side of his house. "C'mon, ma. I'll hold your beer. You start climbing the ladder," Chris told you, extending his arm to take your bottle from you. "Yep. Just smoking and drinking on a roof. What could possibly go wrong?" You muttered under your breath as you wrapped your fingers around the cold, metal rungs.

"Don't worry, ma. I'll be right behind you, so if you fall, I'll catch you," Chris' breath tickled your neck as he pressed his warm body into yours. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. It was the closest you'd ever been to him. You were just glad you were faced away from him, so he couldn't see the unmistakable look of desire written in your expression as heat radiated off his skin.

You cleared your throat and regained your composure. "Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me?" You snarked at him, peering over your shoulder in an attempt to take control of the situation again. Chris chuckled, but he didn't answer you, leaving it up for interpretation. You started to hesitantly climb the ladder, and Chris followed closely behind, keeping his promise to not let you fall as he held your beer in one hand and the unlit joint between his lips.

The two of you made it to the roof, and Chris handed you your beer once the two of you got settled. The star-filled sky hung overhead as you looked out at the horizon. You saw the tops of the other houses, the city lights scattered across the skyline, and the waves crashing on the beach shore off in the far distance. You brought your bottle of Stella Artois up to your lips and took another sip as you took in the view. There was something about this perspective that made your problems feel smaller and less pressing.

"Pretty cool, isn't it, ma?" Chris asked beside you as you heard the flick of his lighter sound as he held the flame up to the end of his joint. You quietly nodded, surprised by how much you could see from Chris' roof. "So, ma. What do you say we get to know each other better and play your favorite game, twenty questions?" Chris smiled over at you with the lit joint pinched between his two fingers.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't have an excuse this time. There was no work to be done, and there was nowhere to go to avoid his questioning, so you took a deep breath and another swig of your drink. "Okay, fine. Hit me," you finally replied after a moment of hesitancy.

"Where do you go to clear your mind?" Chris wondered, his gaze locked on you. "The beach. I like the waves. The sounds of the seagulls. Feeling the sand between my toes. It's peaceful," you shrugged. Even though the question wasn't a very personal one, you felt vulnerable answering.

"What about you, Chris?" You wondered aloud. "You're looking at it," Chris said with his joint tucked between his lips. He didn't need to explain anything further. You could tell why this was the place he went to sort out his thoughts.

"Alright. What kind of music do you listen to?" You blurted out, not sure of what to ask him next. "Anything, really. But I prefer indie over everything else," he told you. "Okay, play me your favorite song," you told him, gesturing towards his phone he had sitting beside him. He picked it up, staring back at you as he thought about it for a moment. "Alright," he responded, scrolling through the saved albums on his phone until he came across AM by Arctic Monkeys. No. 1 Party Anthem started playing through the speaker of his phone, and you nodded in approval as the melody filled the space between you.

"If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would you choose?" Chris asked, turning off his phone screen and letting the song play softly in the background of your conversation. You thought about it for a moment. "See, I wanna say Pablo Escobar or something, but I think I'd want to have dinner with one of those druglords who flew under the radar so well that we don't even know their names," you replied. "Damn, ma. That's a good answer," Chris mumbled with the joint hanging from his lips.

He glanced up at you as if silently reminding you it was your turn to ask a question. "What did you think of me when you first met me?" You wondered aloud. You gave him a look like he should be careful about how answered this question. He cracked a smile, remembering the first time you'd approached him and threatened him for selling his weed on your block and trying to steal your customers. "I thought you were tough. Not the kind of woman you want to mess with. I also thought you were super hot," Chris admitted. You blushed, hoping Chris couldn't tell in the glow of the moon.

"What's one thing you don't leave the house without?" Chris asked you, pulling a long drag from his joint. "My keys," you sharply responded, subtly teasing him for having to break into his own place earlier. He let out a laugh. "And my gun," you told him. You sipped on your bubbly drink, noting that the song had changed.

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High started to play as you glanced back over at the blue-eyed man beside you. "If you could change one thing about yourself, what would you change?" You asked, peeling the label off your beer bottle. "Nothing," Chris smirked over at you. "Nothing?" You reiterated, furrowing your brow. "Nothing," he repeated. "You're a little cocky, aren't you?" You shot back. "I prefer confident," Chris chuckled before he pulled from the joint again.

"What do you think the most important quality in a friend or partner is?" Chris asked after a few seconds of silence. "Honesty and loyalty," you said without hesitation, and Chris nodded in agreement. "You?" You asked. "Probably just someone who isn't going to bail when things get hard," Chris sincerely responded.

"What's your biggest fear?" You asked him, the questions getting deeper and deeper. "Losing the people I love," he answered, staring down at the build-up of ash on the cherry before flicking it off. "How about you, ma?" He returned the question. "Trusting the wrong person and getting hurt," you responded almost immediately. "I get that," Chris answered, his gaze still fixed on you.

"What's your guilty pleasure?" Chris asked you, his luscious lips curling into a smile as he awaited your response. "Probably those dumb reality shows," you admitted, your cheeks growing warm. "Really? Never took you for a girl who likes trash TV," Chris teasingly nudged your arm. "Daisy loves that shit, too."

"What's one of your guilty pleasures?" You asked Chris. He bit down on his lip as he looked you up and down. He knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would be crossing the line of just playful flirting and venturing into uncharted territory, so he came up with something on the spot.

"Watching the trash TV with her. I'm always making fun of her for watching The Bacholorette and shit like that, but then I find myself watching it with her and getting all invested," Chris confessed.

"I totally get it. Like, I started watching it as a joke at first, and then you get to know the people. Then you start wanting them to end up together," you said, glancing up at him, and his eyes met yours. The song changed again, and you listened as the lyrics came through:

🎶 If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot. You call the shots, babe. I just wanna be yours. 🎶

The two of you stared at each other in a comfortable silence for a moment, Chris taking a puff of his weed as you took a swig of beer. "So, what does Daisy think you're out doing all day when you're working?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow at him. "As far as she knows, I work in sales, which isn't totally a lie. She just doesn't know about the drugs," Chris shrugged. "Yeah, she doesn't know about the most important detail," you scoffed, tapping on the glass of your bottle.

"Why are you always judging me for that, ma? I've got my reasons. Why are you so pressed about it?" He asked, sounding a bit defensive. "I had an ex who kept things from me, like how much money he owed certain people. He put me in a lot of dangerous situations. Don't want to watch you do the same shit to Daisy," you murmured, letting Chris in more than you had up until this point. "I didn't know, ma," Chris said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder and relaxing his jaw. "You know, I'd never intentionally hurt her. Or you."

"It doesn't matter, Chris. You can be the most well-intentioned person in the world and still hurt the people around you," you responded. He was quiet for a few minutes, mulling over what you said.

"Your ex? Alex?" Chris wondered, blowing out a cloud of smoke against the night sky as he recalled Joe using that name earlier. "Yeah. My dumb fuck ex. He got himself killed because he owed the wrong people money," you said in a dry tone. "Holy shit. Ma, I'm so sorry," Chris whispered. "Don't be. He deserved it," you muttered under your breath.

"Hey, I have a question. Why do you always call me ma?" You chimed in. "It's just a sign of respect. That's all," he shrugged. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No. It's fine. I don't care what you call me. You gotta stop looking at me like that, though. Looking like you're gonna kiss me or some shit," you accused him, following his gaze that danced between your eyes and your lips as you took another drink of your beer. The song changed again.

🎶 How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep. 🎶

"I'm not looking at you any type of way! Maybe you're projecting because you wanna kiss me," he shot back. The sexual tension between the two of you was thick, and for a moment, you each thought about it. The temptation was there, and it was strong. You wanted to pull him as close as you could, passionately press your lips against his, and tangle your fingers in his soft, brown hair, but you didn't want to ruin your business relationship with him.

Chris thought the same, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, but he didn't want to screw up what he had with Daisy, and he didn't want to give you the wrong impression. He diverted his eyes, glancing down at his joint that had burned down to the roach, and he put it out. "Get enough of the view, ma? I'm getting kind of tired," Chris chimed in as you admired his profile in the moonlight.

For a moment, you forgot he was talking about the scape of the city from the roof. "Oh, right. Yeah, of course. I should probably go," you said, fiddling with the empty bottle in your hand. "You can stay the night if you need to," Chris motioned towards the alcoholic beverage you'd finished off, but he knew he was playing with fire the moment the words left his mouth, inviting you to stay the night.

🎶 Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sort of hoping that you'd stay. 🎶

The two of you exchanged a look like you both knew it wouldn't be a good idea. Even with you both sleeping in separate rooms, you each knew deep down that a closed door wouldn't be enough to deter you two from the temptation. "It's cool, Chris. It was just one beer. I'll just grab a glass of water, sit on your couch for twenty minutes, and I'll be fine to drive," you told him. Chris picked up his phone and paused the song. "I got you, ma. I'll help you down."

You felt elated once you were finally sitting back down on Chris' couch, sobering up. You weren't sure if it was a buzz from the alcohol, an adrenaline rush from being on the roof, or just the way you were starting to feel around Chris.

Chris gave you some crackers to help "absorb the alcohol," because he had "heard somewhere that it does," and even though you'd only had one beer, it was sweet that he cared enough. You also both just knew that you had to sober up, because staying the night wasn't an option unless you were both prepared to give into the force that was pulling the two of you together and end up doing something that could hurt Daisy or hurt your business relationship.

So you were munching away on Ritz crackers on Chris' couch after your single beer, and once you felt like the effects of the alcohol had worn off, you made a comment about how late it was getting and about how you should probably get going.

You left, following the same stepping stones you'd used when you walked up. When you approached your car, you reached into your empty pocket for your keys just to remember you'd left them on Chris' coffee table. "Shit," you whispered, realizing you were going to have to do a walk of shame back up to his front door after giving him shit for forgetting his keys earlier.

Chris had already started to get ready for bed, shedding his layers and slipping into a pair of flannel pajama pants when a soft knock sounded at his front door. He peeked through the peephole to make sure it was you, his heart racing and secretly wondering if you'd come back to kiss him or confess your feelings for him, his mind swirling with half a dozen possibilities.

He turned the doorknob, and when you saw him, your eyes were immediately drawn to the fact that he was shirtless. "Uh, sorry. I forgot my keys," you told him, unable to conceal your smile at the irony of the situation. "Oh, you mean, the keys you don't go anywhere without?" Chris asked, leaning against the door frame and indulging in the fact that you were doing nothing to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"Yeah. Those ones," you smirked, biting down on your lip. "I'll go get 'em, ma," Chris chuckled at you as he turned to retrieve your keys. You found yourself holding your breath as your gaze danced over the definition of his back muscles in the soft lighting of his living room.

He handed them to you, and as you took them from him, his hand brushed against yours. You both exchanged a look that was heavy with the words unspoken between you, but you also both silently agreed it was for the best. "Okay, goodnight," you said, unconsciously batting your eyelashes at him. "Goodnight," Chris smirked, eyeing you up and down as you turned to walk away before closing his door again.

As soon as you made it to your car, you reflected on the way you acted and how stupid you must have sounded, silently kicking yourself. You didn't harp on it for long, though. Your embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the intoxication and bliss you felt from being around such an attractive man who was beginning to make you smile more than he made you roll your eyes.

click to read chapter 6 ✨️

taglist: @skye-44 @faiyaz555 @idrk2292 @chrisclean @drewswife @trevorsgodmother @sofisturns @milo-the-dog @rockstarchr1s @bluetalia @xaristhings @nomusic-nodreams @birkinbratsworld @wastelandzella @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @drewstarkeys @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00

[locusfandomtime]

Doing the maths: Grian's failure at getting a mending book

lots of talk about maths and probabilities below the cut! but there's a graph and simple explanation at the end if you want to get the gist of it and are bad at maths.

(I am still young and learning maths, critique/advice always welcomed)

What are the odds of getting a mending book in Minecraft?

(I am assuming Grian has been doing all his fishing with Luck of the Sea 3)

The probability of a mending book is actually a bit annoying to estimate. The Minecraft Wiki lists fishing up an enchanted book as 1.9% chance. This is for ANY enchanted book. The Minecraft wiki talks about how the chance of an enchantment being selected is calculated. Mending has a weight of 2. Using the table, mending has a probability of 2/135.

However, Grian is looking for any book with mending, not just a pure mending book. Additional enchantments are calculated in a different way, involving RNG, which means it won't be as easy to model. Due to this reason, I'll just be using the odds for a pure mending book throughout.

TLDR: a mending book has a 0.028..% chance (2/135*0.019*100)

Grian's Data

According to this screenshot, Grian has used a fishing rod 5679 times. This number may not be fully accurate, as it includes the times he's fished other players, rather than just fished for items, but it is a good estimate.

To help visualise this data, with a median waiting time between catches of 17.5 seconds, Grian has spent over 20 hours fishing so far! He may have a problem.

Is this statistically significant?

Hypothesis testing (p-value approach):

H0: p = 19/67500 (the null hypothesis - he has no mending books because of chance)

H1: p < 19/67500 (the alternate hypothesis - he has no mending books due to different odds)

5679 trials, 0 mending books

X ~ B(5679, 19/67500) (binomial distribution, 5679 tries with a probability of a mending book being 19/67500, where X is the number of mending books)

p(X=0) (what is the probability the number of mending books being 0)

p = 0.2021473392

Now, the point at which data becomes significant is subjective. For instance, you *could* get a million heads in a row flipping a coin, it's not impossible, but at a certain point, you can begin to say "okay there's something not normal about this". For this approach, the closer the p-value is to 0, the more evidence there is against the null hypothesis . The p-value here is far above a significance level of 0.01, or 0.05, or 0.1. There isn't a clear line between significant/non-significant, but this is answer is quite a bit far from 0

With this, I cannot reject the null hypothesis.

Personal conclusion: this is not statistically significant, Grian is just unlucky.

Are other values statistically significant?

Gem's proposed 9000: results in a p-value of 0.079... more significant than Grian's number but I don't imagine Mojang would be too concerned. As said though, it's all subjective.

I am bad at maths, what does all this mean?

Here is a graph, showing what number of mending books you might have after 5679 tries. The height of the bar represents the probability of getting that amount. The numbers at the top are the (rounded) numbers I used in my calculation

The pink column is 0 mending books - like what Grian has! As you can see, it is less likely than getting 1 or 2 books, but not too uncommon to happen.

End conclusion: Grian has bad luck. Like, not as hilariously bad as he thinks, but still bad. If he keeps going, chances are he will get a mending book, but I think he should probably stop fishing because at this point he has a problem.

[bookished]

( a collection of jock x nerd dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"You think you're so smart, huh?" "Well, statistically speaking, my GPA says I am."

"Okay, so you're good at math. But can you explain why my heart races whenever you walk into the room?" "Biologically, I suppose adrenaline might— Wait, are you flirting?"

"This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t be lifting me like that!" "Hey, you’re light as a feather! Besides, I just wanted to show you what strength feels like."

"You know, you’d make a great quarterback with how fast you solve problems." "And you’d make a great nerd if you applied that logic to your studies."

"Let me guess, you failed another test?" "Nah, just looking for an excuse to talk to the smartest person in the room."

"You might be a brainiac, but I could definitely teach you a thing or two about confidence." "Confidence? Or arrogance?"

"I don’t understand why you keep sitting next to me in class. You don't even take notes!" "Maybe I’m here for the view… or maybe I trust your brain to get us both through."

"For someone who’s supposed to be so smart, you’re missing something really obvious." "And what’s that?" leans closer "How bad I want to kiss you right now."

"You’re like a puzzle I can’t solve." "That’s because you’re not thinking hard enough." "Maybe I’m just distracted by how cute the puzzle is."

"You’re too focused. Ever thought about focusing on something… or someone… else?" "And who would that be?" smirks "Maybe you should figure that out."

"Bet I can make you blush before you can solve that equation." "Highly unlikely—" blushes "Told you."

"You're not my type." "And yet, here I am, making you smile like I am."

"You look like you could use a break. How about we grab some coffee? My treat." "You sure you’re not just trying to steal my notes?" "Nah, just trying to steal your attention for a little while."

"If you keep looking this cute when you're annoyed, I might just have to irritate you more often." "You’re infuriating." "But I’m charming, too, right?"

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" "I’m serious about getting you to go out with me. That counts, right?"

"You’ve got those smarts, but I’ve got… other talents." "Like what, being a distraction?" "If that's what it takes to get your attention."

"Why are you always bothering me during study time?" "Because watching you concentrate is kinda… hot."

"You know, you’ve got a lot of facts in that head of yours. Think any of them could explain why I keep thinking about you?" "That’s probably an overproduction of dopamine and— wait, are you hitting on me?"

"You're in my space." "Maybe your space is where I want to be."

"I think I just figured out the formula for attraction." "Attraction isn't a formula." "It is when you're involved."

"You know, if I ever wanted to impress you, I’d have to learn some big words, huh?" "It’s not the words you use that impress me… it’s what you do with them."

[ilovecatilinclark]

You Were Right

Caitlin Clark x Reader

You and Caitlin were friends and would always argue about things never agreeing with each other. Soon high school started and you would always tease. Rumors spread about you and caitlin dating because of how close you two were. As you would joke around about how she had a crush on you. As the more you teased her the more her feelings grew. Soon college started as you both drafted apart not talking much. Soon after some years you run into each other again as she scared of losing you she finally tells you, you were right.

AN: Also sorry I still am on vacation rn so sorry for not writing much! After this I'll be starting on the two request.

"No cats are so much better" you said to caitlin as she argued back "No dogs are better they can stay with you forever" she said. "But cats can do the same" you replied back to her. You guys were having another playdate at your house. Your parents were both college friends mostly hanging out.

Till soon both your moms came in "Caitlin Sweet heart we have to go now" her mom said to her. "But mom me and Y/n are talking about what is better cats or dog" she said whining. "Come on sweetie you guys can talk about this another time" her mom saidAs caitlin got up your mom and you followed them behind and walked them to the door. "Bye caitlin I'll miss" you said clinging to your mom as she waved bye back to you.

As you guys both grew up you guys both started having more disagreements with each other constantly arguing about who's right and who's wrong. "No math is blue" you stated as you guys were walking back to Caitlin car. "No math is red" she replied back you guys would constantly bicker about small topics like this. As this started continuing you would always start involving people into the conversation.

As you were bickering in the hallway again you dragged your friend into the conversation. "you guys sound like a couple arguing" as people over heard they started thinking of it wrong starting to believe you two were dating. Soon rumors spread about it and you would always get asked if you two were a couple when you guys were walking together.

Soon some following days you decided to play with it after another person ask. "You probably have a crush on me don't you Caitlin" you asked her as you smiled. She couldn't help but chuckle and laugh it off. As the year continued you continuously teased her starting her to actually develop feelings for you slowly. As soon your senior year ended and you both graduated you both went your separate ways.

As you guys were both at college Caitlins tarted realizing how she regretted losing and not confessing to you. Mostly staying up at night and thinking about you many times. As she would always go to her friends to talk about you. As her friends couldn't help but feel bad because they knew she missed you. As she also the rarest chance to text you as you were either busy studying for test for college or at college both being a in a different time zone.

As years passed by and her going into the Wnba you decided to move to Phoenix. As the Wnba started gaining more popularity your friend invites you to go to a game with her as she got some tickets but the people she asked were to busy. You soon agreed as you weren't busy, as the days came by it was soon time to go the game.

As you and your friend walked in the court you took you seat not knowing it was court side. As you sat down and watched the teams start there starting line up you made eye contact with someone familiar. It was Caitlin, as you guys made eye contact you soon looked away. As the game started you couldn't stop watching her, she was dominating the court.

As she soon hit a triple double, as the game ended you and your friend started packing up to had out. You felt a hand on you arm "hey" caitlin said as you turned around looking at her. "Oh hey great game" you said to her smiling. "Before you go I just wanna tell you I have loved you for years and you don't need to like me back but I just need to get it off my chest" she says.

As you stand there in shock you hug her quickly and kiss her, as she lifts you up. As you guys pulled away she quickly said "You were right" she smiled at you. As you soon pulled her back into the kiss this was gonna be a new beginning for you two as you were glad to have each other back.

[downrightbooks]

Okay so I have a theory/assumption

First off I will state the fact that I have always hated Tobias Hawthorne for what he did to his grandsons (absolutely messing up their psyche), but I have been wondering for a while what happened to make him change the way he “parented/raised” his grandsons. Like he treated/raised his own children (even Nash for that matter) differently than he did Grayson, Jameson, and Xander. For example, he said in his letter from The Hawthorne Legacy that he would raise the next generation differently than how he raised Zara, Skye, and Toby.

But… if you see in the letter he also said that he came close to finding Toby once but found something else instead.🤔

I THINK IT WAS ALICE!!!

So my theory is that whatever happened when he found Alice or whatever she asked of him ultimately changed the way he raised his grandsons. I think he realized that whatever Alice was up to, or whatever she was involved with was very dangerous (that was why he pushed his grandsons to be better and stronger willed).

In the Exclusive Edition of The Inheritance Games Tobias says “In this life, to be what I am, to do what I have done, to have all that we have…Sacrifices have to be made. Things get broken.” But then he goes on to say “Never forget the broken things, the ones you leave behind. Clean up the shards, because when you don’t….People get hurt.”

(I believe he must be again talking about Alice and whatever she’s mixed up in)

Furthermore, while I was rereading The Grandest Game Odette says that Alice randomly revealed to Tobias that she was alive around 15 years ago. So I was doing the math and Grayson (who is either 21 or 22 in the Grandest Game) would have been about 6 or 7 when Alice came to see Tobias.

So I did a little bit more digging and in one of the chapters in The Brothers Hawthorne there is a flashback “Eleven years and 10 months ago” (which is about 12 years ago) in the flash back Jameson is turning 8 the next day and Grayson will be turning 9 the day after that. They both had to show their completed challenges to Tobias, and they were going to show him their skill that they had cultivated. In this chapter Jameson says that the old man would make him and Grayson fight each other to show off what they had learned.

The highlighted part also says that they had been practicing martial arts for the past 3 years which means that Tobias started the whole “Invest, Cultivate, Create” thing around this time, which also would mean that Grayson would be around 6 years old and Jameson would be around 5.

THIS IS AROUND THE EXACT SAME TIME THAT ALICE SHOWED UP!!

We know that something shifted around the time Grayson and Jameson were young kids because it said in the first few books that when Nash was a little kid he wasn’t really raised the same way compared to the way his younger brothers were. So he would have been around 12 years old when Tobias started the whole “invest, cultivate, create” thing which I don’t think he ever really cared for.

Basically what I’m saying is that as much as I absolutely hate Tobias Hawthorne, I think I hate Alice more. I think that Tobias was trying to help make sure that his grandsons would be taught how to protect each other and be pushed to the extremes to see the world differently to prepare them in case they got caught up in whatever Alice is involved with. But he did it in a very awful way and ruined his grandsons psyche, which I absolutely despise him for.

Hope this makes sense 😊

[max1461]

I don't typically feel at home with "nerds" (in the sense of "programmer type guys"), because I feel there is something important about the world that very often they cannot see, and I am going to try to articulate what it is.

First, a digression.

My extended family is... well, most of them are not really evangelicals (insofar as they're Christian at all, they're not very good Christians and they mostly don't seem to care), but culturally they're part of the vulgar evangelical milieu; the sort of people to whom prosperity gospel megachurch pastors appeal. Years ago when I was about to start college, my uncle came to visit, and I told my him that I was going to study math. He's a smart guy, and started telling me about how he was always good at math in school, and telling me stories about the various times he'd used math (meaning, basically, elementary algebra) to great effect in his various business ventures. That's what he understands: business, making money... to put it less charitably (though I say this with considerable affection): scheming. So he tried to speak the language of making money to me about it. When he asked me what I wanted to do with my math degree (by implication: what sort of scheming was I looking to get involved in) I said something to the effect of "there are all kinds of job opportunities you have with a math degree, but that's not really why I'm studying it—I really just want to understand math at a deeper level". I remember the look on his face when I said that very clearly. It was utter bafflement. Not because he hated math or something, but because I genuinely don't think the concept of "wanting to understand something at a deeper level for its own sake" had ever occurred to him. The inherent appeal of understanding the world is, I think, not something which exists (or exists very strongly) in his emotional landscape. He is blind to that part of the human experience which drives scientists to be scientists.

Well, that's alright. He's a schemer and not a scientist by nature. Some people are that way. I like my uncle well enough, and I enjoyed talking to him on that visit. But he's not someone I would try to share my love of math or linguistics with; on both accounts I don't think there is anything I could say to make him get it.

Why do I bring all this up? Well, one way in which I relate to programmer type guys is that we both like math, and I think we like for basically the same reason. And I think most programmer type guys will have met someone like my uncle, someone who seems like they fundamentally cannot see the appeal in this thing which drives you so strongly, this thing which is so great a part of your emotional landscape. I'm sure a lot of you will know the exact feeling I had during the above interaction. You are so fascinated by these questions about how the world works, and how it can be rationally understood, and this other guy basically seems like he just... can't even comprehend what it's like to be motivated by that. It's so completely foreign to him, and his perspective is thus completely foreign to you.

We are all, sometimes, this uncle.

Part of why I am interested in linguistics is because I have this deep urge to explore the world (by this I mean principally: the human world). I have this desire to travel, to talk to people, to see and experience different places and different ways of doing things. I want to go to various places and see what they look like, and meet the people there and hear what they have to say, and so on and so forth. There is an "openness to experience" element to this, but that is very insufficient to characterize the thing I am trying to articulate; for instance, I have little interest in psychedelics or other prototypical "high openness to experience" type activities. To me, there is an ineffable vibe that every place seems to have (a "place" in this sense could be as large as a country or a small as a particular bar), and the vibes of nested places are like layers on top of one another that make being in the world feel like an extremely rich experience. Learning languages and learning about languages gives me this window into other places, which is extremely appealing, and furthermore I can access it to some degree from my own home, which is nice. Of course doing this from my bedroom is not enough, I want to actually go, to wander around, and in those times when I've gotten the chance to do so I have felt that it was very much everything I had imagined it to be.

When I try to talk to programmer type nerds about this aspect of myself, I often feel much the same as when I was trying to talk to my uncle about wanting to study math. They just don't seem to have any sort of reference for what I'm talking about, these emotions have never occurred to them in any significant way, and they can't figure out how to relate. I believe this is, in essence, the source of my frequent abrasions with rattumb, and why I have basically bounced off of coding for cultural reasons time and time again in my life, even though conceptually it's exactly the sort of thing that interests me. For reasons of nature or nurture, programmer guy personality traits rarely co-occur with wanderluster personality traits, they just don't seem to go together. And so in spaces like, well, this one, I'm just left feeling like nobody can quite relate to what I am getting at a good chunk of the time, and the consequence of this is that I feel emotionally impoverished. That's not anybody's fault for being a different sort of guy than me, and I'm sure there's stuff about which I'm the confused uncle (in fact, I know there is: the appeal of psychedelics, meditation, and other "transcendence" based activities is one of these things for me). Idk, just thought that was something worth expressing.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

ASKBOX IS OPEN REQUESTS ARE OPEN HERE ARE THE RULES

ground rules:

1) Funny- the request needs to be humorous, memes usually the most popular but dnd in jokes and other shitpostery is welcome. i abide by the MBMBAM NO BUMMERS rule - there are plenty of sad/deep/beautiful calligraphers out there who’d be happy to work with yall, but this isn’t that sort of channel

2) Length - aim for no more than 75 characters a request, my cue cards are only so big so I can only fit so much on each one and still not look like garbage. There is a little leeway but if you send me smth with like 120 characters it aint getting written

3) Amount of Requests - I am trying to be fair but i am one person running almost the ENTIRE thing, logistics, tech, etc, I have twitch mods and a roommate for retrieving things and that's it. In order to be fair, please restrict yourselves to 3 requests per person to let everyone have a shot, if you send in more i will ctrl-f your username and pick my favourites

4) Content - I will not do anything I consider under the umbrella of general assholery - this includes racial slurs, edgelord bullshit, exclusionist jackassery etc. Please be kind to each other. Please let me know if I’ve taken a request that is some incredibly obscure piece of assholery, someone once tried to slip a really obscure antisemetic piece of slang by me once

5) Repeats - I keyword tag EVERY SINGLE piece i’ve ever done on this blog, if you think I might have written smth already but aren’t sure, the /search/[keyword] is your friend, check if i’ve done your request before

the askbox is theshitpostcalligrapher.tumblr.com/ask , not a dm or submission to the blog. I’ll close submissions too so people don’t get the boxes confused. DM me for any actual clarifications, kind words, etc so they don’t get swallowed up by the behemoth of my askbox for months, and if you want to give me live encouragement the twitch link is right there, and is the ideal way to inquire more about any of the day's rules.

If you want to jump the ENTIRE queue and get your card done immediately, there are ways to donate on the twitch stream to get your request done with an ink of your choice. You can still submit 3 free requests in addition to what you pay for.

I’ll be streaming the entire time the askbox is open on twitch @ theshitpostcalligrapher, trying to get as many of these done today as possible live. Once 10PM EST hits, the askbox will close but if you get your request into the askbox by then, it will be done eventually as I always have 4 cards up per day.

Here’s the link to my twitch, we’ll start a little after 3 o’clock.

Here is a direct donation link to my streamlabs, it works like a ko-fi but I’ve got it set to give me alerts on my twitch so I can see and thank you straightaway for supporting my takeout order

I've planned on a few donation goals this time! They help pay for all the hours I put in and the material costs. Every time we hit a goal, I'll refresh it to 0 and math out whatever overlap to add to the new goal

$20 > Time For Tea! I make a sparkly, food safe glittery tea that looks like ink to enjoy with yall on stream

$30 > Jackbox Break! My Discord VC and potentially chat plays a few games

$40 > Takeout O'clock: It is time to order a food, Mia! Polls will probably be involved for food options

$200 (I am fairly sure we won't get this one) > I bought all the requisite items to bleach my hair to prep for a dye. Let's do this shit LIVE ON AIR BAYBEE

Also of Note: I will be moving house sometime in the next week and a half, which means I will be RECYCLING ALL OF THE CARDS I'VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST TWO AND A HALF YEARS (save for the ones folks pay for on stream, those are earmarked to be mailed out anyways) so if you've gotten something written by me from september 2021 to january 2024 or so, please remember that there is an an etsy shop where you can snag any card from the blog for a few dollars. dm the shop if you'd like to buy a bundle of randoms, I WILL give you a sale about it

[reality-witch]

Genuine question. When is a dream not a dream? Or in a community of people who shift their conscious to alternate realities that’s a bit too much..?

I’m speaking from a repeated experience I go through when I intent to shift, do a method and don’t shift or minishift. I’ve grown to call these experiences ‘training wheel realities’ because truly I do not know what else to call them.

Primarily I’m asking to see if I’m just crazy or are other people going through the same experiences I am. If you do what do you think about it?

When reality checks fail is a dream still a dream?

To start off with a bit a background to my line of thinking… before shifting I used to be really into lucid dreaming because I’ve always loved being able to utilize the night and have enjoyable experiences through controlling where my consciousness goes after my body is asleep. So I know quite a bit about many methods to induce a lucid dream (which are very similar to some shifting methods, that’s a different conversation for a different time).

One of the MAIN things that is universally taught is called “Reality Checks” for the select few in the back of the classroom unaware of what I am talking about. Reality checks are a few different actions you take during the waking day to instill habits that can possibly help you gain consciousness within a dream making it a lucid dream.

Let’s talk about the basics of each reality check.

Reading / writing / comprehending language. The “Broca's and Wernicke” areas of the left side of the brain are mostly if not completely inactive during dreams states. This is why reading, writing, language/word comprehension is unavailable during dreams. So a reality check is to seek out reading things or anything involved with of that nature. Or they will recall ‘talking to someone’ is really just telepathic communication for no words were verbally spoken but understanding was shared as if there had been a conversation taken place.

Clocks / math / numbers / time. we know most of the left side of the brain is inactive during sleep, that’s why another reality check is to seek out clocks in the dream setting. One second you look at a clock it might say some random numbers and then you blink and you get completely different numbers. Any Numbers will get jumbled like this. Time does not pass normally, in dreams one second you could be in the kitchen then you blink and you’re on the moon having a tea party. There’s no established logic because those parts of the brain is inactive.

Physical body. You will not have a sense of anatomy. One of the reality checks is putting one hand through the other.. in dreams one hand will going through the other as if you were a ghost. Another reality check is to count your fingers and toes. In dreams, you’ll have 11 fingers on one hand and 4 on the other. (This also kinda is roped into the numbers and math type of reality check)

These reality checks we understand mostly why they work in inducing a lucid dream. Is because traditionally those functions of the brain are unavailable to us / asleep / “inactive” during dreaming states. Reality checks are aimed to point out the abnormality in the dream to make the person realize something is not right, or align with what we know and experience in our waking life, causing a spark of lucidity.

Now with a brief recap of lucid dreams and reality checks this is bringing me to my main point and question…

As I have mentioned before, I have minishifted on multiple occasion. I know very well what it means to shift somewhere and the difference between the dream hazy vs actually shifting somewhere. So when I intent to shift and either don’t do anything or do a method and don’t minishift I will have ‘dream’ experiences. Where what I am experiencing has the dream haze(or sometimes doesn’t but more of a lucid dream haze).. but in these experiences I either have fully lucidity over two or more of my senses and with recall of two or more+ reality checks failing. My hands have five fingers on each hand, they cannot go into each other. Time passes coherently within the dream. Can read and verbally communicate with ‘dream characters’ and recall words that were spoken back and forth. And clocks are normal and I can recall doing correct math (why can’t I do it when I’m awake lmao). I can also experience my body coherently when feeling physically. Like if someone smacks me I will feel the burning sting on my face etc.

Why do I correlate this either shifting?

Let me answer that with another question I’d like to propose. If shifting, dreams and lucid dreaming weren’t positively correlated and entangled with one another… why can we shift through a lucid dreams?

If they weren’t closely related, shifting through the lucid dream method would not be applicable and wouldn’t work for anyone.

More or less I’m trying to open up an theoretical discussion on this topic. I want to know what other people think and have experienced. Has this happened to you? Have reality checks failed for you after a ‘failed’ shifting attempt? Do we experience other realities more than we think we do? Or do you think I’m crazy with this whole rant and completely just am pulling things out of air and claiming oxygen is tangible. Please enlighten me if you have a better understanding of this topics and know something I don’t. I think it’s a fascinating correlation.

I know shifters aim to distance themselves from this whole idea that these things are correlated because the small minded side of the internet uses lucid dreaming and dreams by weaponizing them in attempts to belittle this phenomenon we all experience as shifting realities. But what if these three things shifting, lucid dreaming and regular dreams just go to prove and further validate shifting and it’s existence. I mean there’s still MUCH we don’t know about just dreaming, something almost everyone has experienced nearly every night.. they don’t know how or why it happens. That’s just dreaming.. what if dreaming is something more than we think it is?

I don’t know. I might just be crazy. Let me know thoughts and opinions on my rant. Just be respectful and nice❤️. You’re allowed to disagree with me if you have a valid reason for it. This is just a fun line of theoretical “what if” thinking I find super duper interesting. I want to know if anyone else have thought along these same lines or if they agree or disagree and why they disagree.

[illusionremember]

Title: Building Something on the Side of the Road in Heaven

Teaser: "There’s something incredibly fulfilling about knowing he has someone to come home to, that he gets to build something with. That he gets to build that with Cas."

~*~*~

I am late to the party lol but I had such a good time putting this story together! A thousand thank yous to @alkalidumpling for your invaluable midnight feedback!

This is my submission for the @destielvalentineszine2025! There are so many fantastic pieces of art and writing coming out of this project. Please go check out everyone else's work! And thank you so much to @disabled-dean and @butch--dean for putting this all together! <3

I'll be posting this to my Ao3 later today and will update this with a link then. Maybe a pretty header too.

Read here on Ao3, or, you can hit the keep reading button below! ;D

~*~*~

Dean is driving home in Heaven.

Right now, the road cuts through a forest, one of those big Pacific coast ones, with the giant redwoods. He’s got the window down, but the radio is off for now, because he’s listening to the trees singing. Their deep woodwind tones resonate in the air as the Impala rolls by underneath. Maybe he’ll bring Cas back here sometime. They can sit under the trees and feel the notes in their bones. He doesn’t know whose patch of Paradise he’s passing through, but he likes their style. He might have stopped to listen, but he has somewhere to be soon.

He doesn’t actually need to drive, of course. He could just wish himself home — close his eyes and concentrate and let Heaven shift around him. Less than a moment, and he’d be right in his cozy living room, in the little lakeside farmhouse that he and Cas have made into home. Instead, he’s got miles of road ahead to go.

It’s tempting to rush, given what today is, but Dean’s been working on learning to savor anticipation. It helps that now the things on the horizon tend to be good things, instead of apocalyptic horrors that he is somehow meant to counter.

Dean casts a glance at the now-empty passenger’s side of Baby’s bench seat. He recalls Cas sitting there, a lifetime ago now, the scent of sunflowers clinging to his coat. They’d stopped on the side of the road so Cas could take a closer look at the wall of sunflowers bordering a farmer’s field. Dean remembers the way the stalks had wavered in the prairie wind that day, their golden crowns all turned in the same direction. Cas had followed their gaze to look up at the sun. “You’ll go blind looking at the sun like that you know,” Dean had told him, but Cas had only smiled.

Sunflowers would be nice, probably. Cas would like them. Dean blinks, and three sunflowers lie next to him on the seat, neatly bundled with a blue ribbon.

It’s four years today since their wedding, according to Cas. He has to help Dean keep track of milestone dates now. Not that Dean doesn’t make an effort, but as an angel, Cas is just better at tracking the strange way that time passes here, compared to on Earth.

Upstairs, an hour can stretch into innumerable days, or compress into an instant. Cas tried to explain it to him once, but the celestial math involved is way more complex than Dean is capable of following, even without the limitations of physical form.

Atoms and time and mass don’t really exist here, but humans live by the laws of physics — solid, three-dimensional, linear. Even when a soul has been in Heaven far longer than it had lived, perceiving Paradise usually means translating abstraction into something readable.

Dean does not find celestial time readable at all.

Celestial space, however — that is something that Dean’s oddly good at navigating, for a human. There’s an art to understanding Heaven’s landscape that most human souls struggle with, on account of the abstraction. Traversing unpredictable space that can and will spontaneously change can be difficult. Cas thinks it helps that Dean had a lifetime of practice at rolling with the punches, always forging a way forward despite all odds. Dean thinks it’s because he’s always been good with maps.

Today, the soul he’d ferried across Heaven had been chatty. Dean likes getting the opportunity to talk, to learn people’s names. Her name was Tara, and she’d treated Baby like a lady, which won her Dean’s immediate approval.

“So, Heaven’s Uber driver,” she’d said, with humor. “How’d you land that job?”

“My husband suggested it,” Dean had told her.

It still surprises him how easy that feels to say — my husband. Not that Dean was in the closet, exactly. He just figured it wasn’t anyone’s business but his. No point or purpose in drawing attention to it. By the time he’d even realized that love was fully on the table instead of tucked out of reach on the shelf, it had been too late to live it. Now, just thinking the word makes a warm glow fill his chest.

When Dean dropped his passenger off, she’d kissed his cheek before she jumped out of the car. Tara’s first love wore a pink dress, and was waiting by the road with roses in hand. Always a smart idea, he’d figured, the flowers.

Dean guides the Impala around a curve in the road, and Cas’s flowers slide across the seat. He slaps a hand against the stems to keep them from falling, cusses when his hand hits a thorn. There’s a deep red rose in with the sunflowers. Dean moves the flowers closer to the backrest and sticks his finger in his mouth, but the sting is already gone, with no trace of broken skin.

Dean likes driving, is the thing. That hasn’t changed since dying. He could just wish himself home, but he’s got all of eternity spread out before him. Might as well make use of it. Taking the long way around is a much better way for him to go about his afterlife than skipping through.

When he was alive, and they weren’t rushing to a job, Dean would take the paper maps out of the glove compartment while Sam checked them out of their motel. Sam and Cas would chat over diner coffee and eggs, and Dean would trace his finger down the squiggles of highways and backroads. He’d look for out-of-the-way towns and strange, rural landmarks they’d never passed by before. It was fun, getting to explore. Getting to take their time.

You’d think in Heaven they’d have nothing but time. Which, they did, but that also meant finding ways to make use of that time was important.

At first, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling like he was still hunting, chasing that goalpost of peace and fulfillment ever in the distance. He was tired of chasing. He wanted to slow down, to build something.

When Dean had first arrived, Cas and Jack’s reconstruction project was still fresh enough you could taste the drywall dust. They’d been busy knocking down the walls that divided up Heaven. Freedom of choice and movement would be the lay of the land, rather than keeping souls complacent with familiar trappings and fond memories. Less hallways and closed doors, Cas had said.

Human souls simply do not handle isolation all that well. People wanted their loved ones back — the real deal, not eternal reruns of their greatest hits. Even favorite memories wear thin after a while. They want to create things. They want more time, new time, with family, with old loves and childhood friends.

The current model of Heaven is far less structured. As it turns out, allowing human creativity to affect the way souls perceive and experience their afterlife is a lot more effective, if chaotic, as a means towards happiness. Most souls tend to self-manage their corners of Paradise without the rigid constraints of memory just fine. Traversing Heaven to find each other is where things get tricky, which is where Dean comes in.

The singing redwoods are far behind now. Dean is finally reaching his neck of the woods, as it were, the bleed of other people’s Heavens falling away. He passes the Roadhouse and smiles. For their wedding, they’d kept things simple. Ellen had let them drag all the tables outside, which Charlie and Jo had decorated with flowers in refurbished beer bottles. Mary and Bobby had strung lights up all around. Someone (Sam, probably) had gotten Cas out of his trench coat and into jeans and a blazer, to match Dean’s. Jack led the ceremony. Dean remembered some kind of flower in Cas’s buttonhole as they’d said their vows in front of their family. Everything else had faded away but Castiel’s voice, and the raw sincerity in his eyes.

They’d considered coming to the Roadhouse tonight, to commemorate the occasion. But since Cas is home for the first time in a while, and Dean had this last-minute job today, they’ve decided they’ll stay in, just the two of them. Dean wants every minute with his husband he can get. He’d have postponed this trip, but who was he to deny someone else their own Valentine’s reunion? Dean understood. What is the point of Paradise if you can’t be with those you love?

The first year or so (as far as Dean could tell) after they’d gotten hitched had been a long and well-deserved honeymoon.

They finally had the time to relax into each other. Dean continued his crusade to introduce Cas to culture. Cas taught him how to manipulate Heaven so they could create their home together. Dean finally learned what fifth base was. There was laundry, and stargazing, and pancakes, and so many kisses. They intertwined themselves in ways that wouldn’t have been possible were Dean still in his earthly body, threading the fingers of Cas’s grace through his soul.

Dean has had a lot of daydreams over the years about what retirement might look like for him. He’d never quite dared to imagine what his ideal afterlife might look like. Hell, he counts himself lucky he got any of this at all.

It doesn’t stop it from being hard when Cas keeps having to leave him, even now.

While Dean might be dead and retired, Cas is still an angel. In the beginning of their marriage, Jack had given them as much time together as he could spare.

But there’s still a lot of work to do Upstairs, and Cas is nothing if not diligent in his sense of duty.

Jack doesn’t want to make the same mistakes Chuck had, with his control-freak author crap. This is the new Heaven — one where everyone shares the role of creator, to a degree. If any angel understands what it means to make choices — as well as what the Heavenly host had been like when choices weren’t allowed — it was Castiel.

Sometimes, Dean wants to be mad at Jack about it. Hasn’t Cas been strung along by the other angels for millennia already? If Dean deserves a break after mere decades of apocalypses and torture and curses that threatened the integrity of his very soul, then doesn’t Cas?

Of course, Cas doesn’t see it that way. Cas wants to help fix things. It’s who he is — the cracked angel, always trying to put things back together again. Over time, he’d spent longer and longer times away from home; they’d fought about it more than once.

“What am I, your housewife?” Dean had snapped. “You’re off all the time doing literally God knows what. Meanwhile I’m stuck waiting here all ‘When will my husband return from the war?’”

“Dean, we’re not at war, for once.” Cas had laid a hand on his shoulder; it was downright stupid how much that calmed him. “You deserve to be at peace now, Dean. You’ve done your part.”

“And you haven’t?” Dean had protested. “They’ve had you for-frigging-ever. Literally. It’s my turn.”

“Dean,” Cas had said, his voice gentle, “I already have more than I deserve. I should be sleeping in the Empty right now. By all rights, I never should have escaped there the first time.”

“Don’t say that, Cas.”

“And instead,” Cas had bulldozed ahead, “I get to spend as much of the rest of eternity as I can with the man that I love. I’m making reparations to Heaven. If we can make things different here, replace all these broken foundations… then we can stop anything like the Apocalypse, or the Leviathans, or Chuck, from ever happening again. For everyone, in Heaven and on Earth.”

He’d stepped in close, cradling Dean’s face in his hands. “We have eternity, my love. You can spare me for a little while, just now and then.”

“Well, maybe I wanna help too,” Dean had grumbled, kissing Castiel’s palm. “You ever think of that?”

And suddenly it had all clicked, why he was upset. It’s not just that Cas is gone half the time, but that Dean is restless in a place where he is meant to be at rest.

No monsters to fight, and having a quiet, sunlit home he shares with the love of his life (and afterlife) is amazing, don’t get him wrong. But part of what makes Dean feel at peace has always been taking care of people. He needs something more to do than just hang out. He likes having a job, something that makes a difference, that makes people happy.

The Impala’s tires kick up dust as Dean finally reaches the familiar drive around the lake. He turns the radio up now, belting out classic love songs and thinking of Cas.

There are lilies in the bouquet now, and peonies, and a dozen other kinds of flowers that Dean’s not sure he knows the names of. He amuses himself for a while, making up new flowers that only exist in his imagination, their petals a familiar ombré of blue.

The sun is still not-quite-high in the sky, same as it was when he left hours ago this morning. He holds his hand out the open window, catching the air pressure against his fingers. It’s going to be a beautiful day, and he’s almost home. This time, his husband is the one waiting for him.

It had been Cas’s idea for Dean to put some of his skill with forging pathways through Heaven to work. Reuniting souls isn’t instantaneous. In theory, Jack is certainly capable of it, but Dean isn’t the only one who chafes a little under eternal peace. Apparently, it’s just good for human souls to have goals to strive for, but learning to navigate Paradise in order to pursue them doesn’t come easily.

Most souls are accustomed to the confinement of their personal Heavens. The familiar parameters of Earth physics linger. Freedom of movement notwithstanding, trying to locate a particular soul in the whole of Heaven is difficult when you don’t understand how the metaphysics work.

A large part of it, Dean has realized, is about will. About faith. “What is it they say?” Dean had joked, Cas already squinting at the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face, “Where there’s a will there’s a way?”

That had earned Dean an eye-roll so hard he could feel Cas shifting against his shoulder, even as Cas admitted, “In simplest terms, yes, I suppose that’s true.”

He’d raised a hand then, and turned it in the air, winding the sun backwards across the sky like the hands of a clock. Out across the lake, the sky visible from their back porch had gone from sunset to sunrise in an instant. “All this is, is perception,” Cas had said. “You make your world what you want of it.”

Dean had looked down at Cas, curled up with him on their porch swing, comfortable and open. “I’ve got everything I want right here,” he’d said, leaning in to claim a kiss.

In practice, will and faith means they can put another soul in Dean’s passenger seat, tell them that he’ll get them where they need to go, and that surety builds the road right under the Impala’s wheels.

Right now, that road is leading Dean home.

Dean likes having something he can do to contribute, while Cas is off helping Jack parent the new angels or renovating Heaven. He finds that he likes, on occasion, getting to be the one that comes home to find his husband waiting. There’s something incredibly fulfilling about knowing he has someone to come home to, that he gets to build something with. That he gets to build that with Cas. It’s the biggest, most precious thing Dean has ever wanted for himself. He gets to have that now.

Dean pulls up in front of the house and turns off the engine. He gathers up the flowers (piled two feet high now) off the passenger side and carries them into the house, trying not to crush them all.

“Cas?” he calls out. “I’m home, sweetheart.” He pauses, listens, but there’s only the sound of birdsong from outside. He can smell pie — blueberry, he thinks, and peach. The house is too quiet.

Maybe Cas got called away. The thought pings at him like an alarm, but Dean shakes it off. He carries the flowers through to the kitchen, lays them out on the table. Jack knows what day this is. He wouldn’t pull Cas away, unless there was some kind of unforeseen disaster. More likely, Cas is just outside somewhere. He likes to wander.

There’s an enormous basket of strawberries on the counter. Dean’s pretty sure those are for later, but he steals one, relishing the punch of sweetness on his tongue. A peach-and-blueberry pie is cooling on the windowsill. Mixing bowls and measuring spoons and the rolling pin are waiting in the sink to be washed. Through the kitchen window, out by the edge of the lake, Dean can see the silhouette of his husband.

Dean leaves the flowers in a pile to mess with later; he kind of likes the idea of Cas coming in only to find the house drowning in flowers. At the thought, the flowers multiply, blossoms piled on every open surface in the living room, even growing out of the floor like carpeting. That… wasn’t part of the plan, but that’ll make Cas laugh, so he leaves it. He selects a single sunflower from the table and pushes open the back door.

Holding the flower behind his back, Dean comes up behind his husband, already smiling. Cas doesn’t turn around, but when Dean winds an arm around his waist, he leans into him. Dean kisses his shoulder, the side of his neck, his ear. With the sun shining gold on his face, Cas closes his eyes and smiles.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Sunshine.”

[elentarial]

Miscalculation

Dear Morifinwe,

I recently had the privilege of reading your treatise on Dwarven tariffs and found it fascinating reading indeed. I don’t suppose you hear that often. However, I was wondering if you could perhaps clarify the situation on the 36th page, just under the table of tares of standard shipping containers. I was under the impression when one converted between ounces and gallons (which, why aren’t you using liters as a standard unit of liquid measurement??), the multiplier is 0.0078126, but you have it listed as 0.0078125. Does the Naugrim measure alcoholic liquids differently? As you have only two sentences describing the conversion of Dwarvish mead, I can not determine whether it is a typographical error or if I have been misinformed. If the latter is the case, any more explicit suggestion or direction would be appreciated since (as I have pointed out) your explanation in the paper is relatively brief.

Sincerely yours,

Turukano

Dear Turukano,

I am delighted that you enjoyed my protocols for trade in East Beleriand! In regards to your question about whether dwarves measure alcohol differently than other liquids, no Turno, an ounce is an ounce. You have been misinformed. The conversion factor is indeed 0.0078125.

Thank you,

Carnistir Morifinwe,

Dear Moryo,

Thank you for the quick and brief reply. However, I digress, the conversion multiplier is 0.0078126. It was that in Tirion, and it is that now. Please explain your computations. 

Looking forward to your reply,

Turukano

Dear Turno,

I am the one who devised that conversion. I don’t need to prove my work to you because I came up with it in the first place. Any possible discrepancies are due to rounding errors. The conversion is valid.

Carnistir

Dear Moryo,

I am well aware that you first calculated the conversion between ounces and gallons. I sat on the council that granted you the defense of such a claim, and if you will recall, I questioned your math then. You were wrong in Tirion, and you are wrong now.

Awaiting your reply,

Turgon

Turgon,

How delightful to know you remember our time together at the Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences. I have no recollection of your involvement in my defense, but I really try to avoid thinking of you. Were you there? I thought you were too busy being henpecked by the campus gulls to accomplish anything, research or otherwise.

Carnistir

Moryo,

I generally thought you were one of the better brothers; don’t be an ass. Just admit you are wrong. 

Sincerely,

Turgon Turukano,

 Lord of Nevarast,

 High Prince of the Noldor

My dearest Turukano,

What a lovely title that is. Quite fitting for your already overinflated ego, but I genuinely hate to remind you that you are a second son and not, in fact, the High Prince of anything. Unless, of course, condolences are in order, then I also do not care because I find your brother infuriatingly obnoxious. I would feel for Nelyo, though. 

Yours,

Moryo

Dear Carnistir,

Nelyo…remind me, is that your eldest brother or our grandfather? I can never remember who was born first, him or my father. Regardless, he’s ancient and an inappropriate match for my brother. 

But I beseech you, dearest cousin. Please take a look at your defense from Tirion. I believe there is a note regarding the conversion on the final copy. I don’t have a copy with me, but I am sure you must have kept one for yourself. 

Yours,

Turgon

My darling Turno,

At least we agree on one thing. Fingon and my brother are terrible for one another. 

I do happen to have a copy in my archives. I will check for this mythical correction and have my scribe translate a copy for you. I will enclose it in my next reply, as it’s rather embarrassing to doubt the work of scholars. 

With love,

Moryo

Turukano,

Fuck you. There was no correction; the rate has always been 0.0078125. This exchange has been a complete waste of my time, and I will implore Himring to approve an additional one point five percent tax on all limestone coming from and all other goods going to Vinyamar. 

Sincerely,

Morifinwe

Despite all of Caranthir’s immense irritation, the final letter to Nevarast is returned some months later by an exhausted raven. Shortly thereafter, he receives word from Hithlum that Turgon and one-third of the Noldor forces in West Beleriand have disappeared. 

@silmarillionepistolary

For @cilil (who suggested Caranthir and Tax Day as a prompt) and @dalliansss (who originally did the heavy lifting on building Caranthir’s taxation empire).

Miscalculation (on AO3)

[onehundredthousandflies]

First off, let me say that I DO NOT hate the prison arc. I'm a whump girly (gn) and if my blorbo is suffering, I am giggling and kicking my feet, I can't help it. Even aside from that, there are things it actually did well. But there are also things it did... not so well. I'm about to rant about the latter.

*clears throat, taps mic*

Mr. Scratch's suspected involvement in Reid's Mexico setup AND Reid being innocent are two concepts that CANNOT coexist if you think about it for longer than four seconds.

Mr. Scratch first appeared in his title episode of 10x21. He had a targeted victimology and a unique MO. I'm not going to go over it in detail because the only part that's important is this: Scratch used a drug combination that induced suggestability and hallucinations to manipulate his victims into killing. People who had NO VIOLENT PREDISPOSITION brutally murdered LOVED ONES under Scratch's influence.

I'm not going to hunt down the episode and direct quote rn, but Tara acknowledged out loud at one point that Scratch NEVER KILLED DIRECTLY. He used drugs and suggestion to manipulate OTHERS into killing.

Never. Once. Did. Scratch. Kill. With. His. Own. Hands!

Do you see where the Hell I'm steering this thing?

So.

Mexico. (Please read that in the voice of Reid in 1x19 Machismo trying and cringe-failing to say it with the Spanish pronunciation)

We've got a dead woman in a motel room, a missing knife, and a stoned off his ass Dr. Spencer Reid who remembers exactly fuck-all about how he even got here.

And the first suspect is Scratch?

Ok, fair enough, I guess. The slippery little shit had already been terrorizing Hotch and Tara, so it's not a stretch to think he might have been dicking around with Reid.

But even while the team thought Scratch looked good for the murder of Nadi Ramos, they believed that Reid was innocent.

They thought a man who's entire MO was predicated on manipulating OTHER PEOPLE to commit murder (including one that was EVEN A STABBING OF A WOMAN WTF?) and has, as they had very clearly established, never killed directly... they thought he DIDN'T drug and manipulate Reid into killing Nadi Ramos?

The math doesn't math, I'm sorry. Thinking that Reid was 100% innocent and that Scratch held a knife in his own hand and stabbed Ramos instead of doing what he ALWAYS DID and puppeteering Reid to do it makes a negative amount of sense for a team of seasoned profilers to even entertain or for the writers to expect their audience to buy.

Obviously, Scratch was never involved, and it was a lesbian sociopath on behalf of her bisexual psychopath wife who framed Reid for murder. But for the longest time, we had no way of even suspecting Lindsay or Cat. We were meant to hold two beliefs: Scratch did it, and Reid was innocent. Even though those two statements both being true at the same time was completely nonsensical.

TLDR: Reid obviously didn't kill Ramos. That was Lindsay and Cat, and Scratch was never involved. However, if Scratch WOULD have been involved, Reid WOULD have been manipulated into doing so.

[romchat]

I am loving the double but I can't help feel that the main couple's relationship is so transactional, all she does is ask him to do things for her and all he does is do them. I understand the drama is about her revenge but I thought when she said she didn't want to be a burden and that she's be his pawn too she'd actually help him with his schemes she doesn't have any power but she's very smart and could certainly contribute and help. They both have bigger fish to fry and his also involves loosing his parents but he spends so much time helping her because obviously he loves her I would've liked to see her do the same even occasionally.

Anon, have you seen Episode 28 yet? This scene made me squee:

Fangfei: I've been panicking trying to figure out how to pay you back so I tried to find an excuse. I used to think I would pay you back everything I owed you. Now that I've done the math, I don't think I can. Duke Su: Don't pay me back then. Fangfei: You'll suffer losses. Duke Su: I can afford it.

Their love language is digging up dead bodies and hosting exorcisms for each other.

The ledger might be more in her favor but they clearly match each other's freak.

Although your question makes me think what would happen if they were to get married.

A key theme of The Double has been Fangfei learning to express her desires and to step into the chessmaster role she was born to play. In her previous marriage, she shrank herself to make space for her husband's career and appease her in-laws. That self-sacrifice ultimately left her with nothing more than an open grave and a shovel to the head so with the Duke she uses transactionalism to make sure the scales of their complicated relationship never tip more in his favor than hers.

But in encouraging her autonomy and putting his trust in her, Duke Su has also given her room to bloom. It's a completely different relationship than with Shen Yurong, which opens a lot of narrative possibilities around how will Fangfei's story end, especially as she has always avenged those who have helped or sacrificed for her.

Will the big cathartic moment be from her avenging herself? Or will it be from avenging the Duke and his family because his grievances are now hers? Will she ultimately have to make a trade-off between her plans and his? Or will the tradeoff really be between revenge and her own healing?

As another man's wife or companion, will she truly feel equal and at peace?

I can't believe we only have like 10 more episodes to dive into any or all of that 😭

[surly-sara]

I need someone to hear me out quick— alight , hear me out. 👀 So the majority of us are who plays love and deepspace are gen z and we are born between 1995 and 2012, right? The in game timeline takes place around 2048.. so if we do the math, we will all be in our early-mid 40s!! .·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·.

Now, have you heard of this Manhwa: Tears on the Withered Rose? If not that's alr— what if there's will be a timeline where the mc(us) is her early 40s and the LI are basically the same age in game, what do you think the relationship dynamic will be like? If we follow the characters roles in Tears on the Withered Rose, Na Hae-Soo in the Mc and Sylus is Beom Tae-ha. (⚆_⚆)

Y'ALL HEAR ME OUT?? :000

Edit: my friend has just informed me that this emoji means that you're weeping .·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·. (I'm assuming at the idea of eventually being in your early-mid forties?) And I'm not there quite yet, but I can assure you, you will still be you in your mid-forties, in the same fundamental way that you feel like you're you now. Hopefully you'll be a little wiser, a little more knowledgeable about the world, but it's fucking great getting older. I wouldn't go back to being 25 if someone paid me. So if anyone is despairing regarding aging, please don't worry about it, life tends to get better instead of worse as you gain experience.

Anyway.

I haven't read Tears on the Withered Rose, but if it has an older MC then I am definitely interested and will have to check it out. I'm a little older than the typical demographic for LADS and for most mainstream romance protagonists, so I am always interested in stories where MC is a little older, while still retaining the same swoon-worthy tropes that make romance fun in the first place.

I'd like to preface this answer by acknowledging that most cultures still judge men dating younger woman and women dating younger men with a double standard. Which is bullshit. The only metric we should judge relationships by are the ability to give true consent and if the people involved have a healthy power/maturity dynamic. But I'm not here to write a treatise on the ethics of age-gap romances, but the following answer acknowledges the reality that society at large may give the "younger" men and older MC the side-eye upon discovering their romantic relationship.

So for the LADS guys... we have an 800 year old fish-man, an immortal dragon, a cardiac surgeon who was born a curmudgeon and has been an old man ever since he was a kid, and a prince that has lived for at least 200 years. So let's just take a minute to soak in, and then conveniently ignore, the inherent age-gap between these old men in pretty boy bodies + 24 year old MC. But, because of who these men actually are, I think that their and an older MC's dynamic would be similar to what it is now, but MC is likely at Captain Jenna's professional level or above, higher in the administration of the Hunter's Association, has the weight of management/administrative responsibilities, possibly a shitty ex husband and all the baggage that entails, maybe a couple of kids she's doing her best to co-parent with said shitty ex. And yet each of the LIs would be the same- the weight of past lives, of memory, of their love for her. Sylus would still feign smug arrogance, utter self-containment, while doing everything he can to attract and retain MC's interest. Xavier would still share the work connection but possibly be a subordinate under MC, which could complicate their relationship in a different but still similar way to being in a relationship with a coworker as the current MC, but he'd still be the sweet guy next door, always there to have MC's back. Zayne would still be her physician, still end up violating all sorts of medical ethical regulations to develop their relationship, still mature and slow to thaw but warm and incredibly loving as their relationship grows. And I'm so sorry, I like Rafayel, but I have not interacted with him enough in game to describe more than surface level what their dynamic is other than he too would be the same with a 40-something MC.

Only people on the outside looking in would lift an eyebrow, and then the LIs would confuse the fuck out of everyone by joking about how someone's robbing the cradle in their relationship, but it sure as hell isn't her. Except, even with my limited knowledge of Raf I can definitely see him playing up the 'age difference' and pretending that MC just took advantage of his poor little meow meow naive youthful self to bag herself a cute boytoy, and I can see Sylus also driving MC nuts by really leaning into the "She criminally stole my innocence" and "Oh, she's my sugar mama" shticks when people dare to say something when he's the immortal one and it's still his black card in her wallet that's paying for her spas when he insists she needs a break (even though she earns enough to pay for herself, but he insists), and if she has kids, his new adopted kids' expensive sports gear and elite summer camps.

Now that you've sent this ask, I think it would be really, really fun to write this dynamic, actually, especially Sylus since he's my big bias and he'd be so infuriatingly charming for an older, exhausted MC, especially one who has a shitty ex who put her through the wringer and who is skittish at the idea of accepting the lavish, unconditional love of a gorgeous, wealthy, "younger" man who is also a fucking mafia boss. And in return I think a more emotionally experienced MC would more quickly see through his facade, and see the vulnerable dragon underneath, and would be able to care for him in return. Thank you for this fun ask!