#we have too much around here may end up doing a sale

[winslowat3am]

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST, DID YOU GET THE ✨ FLOCKED 🎄 ✨ YET 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

1. Hi. No. Wanted to but minds were changed (as in wife didn't want to). We did redecorate, though, cause like I said, I low-key disliked the previous decorations.

2. Excuse my lazy photography. I'll probably update this after other rooms are finished & show more.

Left: General function area, all family events take place in this area. We gather & watch TV, have sleepovers, parties etc here. Switched out the pillows for holiday themed ones. & moved the manger set to the mantle, put out our stockings & nutcrackers. Right: connected wet bar.

We moved the Christmas village to the kitchen countertops & put more nutcrackers in their previous place. Edit: Deleted the cats' photobombing, I can't ever do anything in peace, lol. 🙊

[prolix-yuy]

A Gift of Light and Joy

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader "Conejita" (Plus Sized Reader)

Summary: Javi wants to spoil you, but his good intentions put you in a difficult position.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), cumming on someone, minor cum play, negative body image, toxic shopping culture, some angst, Javi is clueless about women's clothes shopping but he makes up for it.

Notes: Happiest of happy birthdays to my darling, my sweet friend, the indescribable @ezrasbirdie! I was planning to post this around November but I couldn't pass up a chance to give you a fun little Javi present. I am so lucky to know you and get to yell about stories together!

While in the two previous stories Conejita wasn't described as plus sized, I always headcanoned that she was from the start. There are a couple references to the previous stories, but you can also dive in right here! Like most stories this is me working through a few bad experiences of my own, and while Javi may be a little thick in the beginning he will get to make up for it.

Cross-posted on AO3

Continued from On the Right Flight and A Bearable Weight

“I have a surprise for today.”

Javi’s gleeful face ramps up your own excitement as he ushers you into his car. 

“I thought we were going to have a picnic?” you ask as he flops into the drivers seat, curls bouncing almost as much as he is.

“That was my distraction,” he says, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it. Your heart still flutters, even months after that first one at the stroke of midnight. 

Dating Javi had, of course, been just as much of a step off the deep end as you thought. Even being close by now that you’re back in LA for work and he’s hobnobbing with the Hollywood elites, some days getting dinner feels like making a doctor’s appointment. Matching schedules down to the half hour, groaning when something comes up. But it’s all worth it when the stars align and he’s on your doorstep with all-encompassing hugs and breathless kisses. 

At first Javi’s dates were low-key and low-stress - a day at the beach, movie nights of course - but as you got closer and closer he started to take you places that had dress codes and extravagant names. He always beamed like you were the only one in the room, but you’d been in enough spaces you didn’t belong to feel eyes and judgements skitter across your back. 

You could be poised, and knowledgeable, conversational and charming, but nothing changed how you looked. Javi was always dripping in Armani, Burberry, Brioni. Your paltry wardrobe didn’t stand a chance. Every new art show or movie premiere sent you running to a department store to find a new dress (pretty girls on their rich boyfriend’s arm didn’t reuse eveningwear) and inevitably you’d be pinched or poked or squeezed into something not made for you. Long minutes spent in the bathroom wondering if Javi would notice the bra strap divot in your shoulder, or the dark lines of seams pressed along your skin. Pretending you enjoyed slipping into a silk robe every time you spent the night was more palatable than the embarrassment of wriggling out of shapewear in front of him, or refusing to let him undress you in case a zipper pulled too tightly. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t hide your discomfort as well as you imagined. Sometimes you caught Javi’s concerned look when the built-in corset made you squirm in your seat, or when you winced at the chafe of your heels. 

So when he parks his car on Rodeo Drive he’s the picture of pride and sunshine. You, on the other hand, leave your stomach on the sidewalk behind you.

“I wanted to do something special,” he’s saying, muffled words bubbling up as your feet trudge to a gleaming glass door. There’s security inside, sales people scattered around holding hangers up to discerning buyers. “And before you say anything about money, I don’t want you to look at a single price tag.” Javi turns your face to him with a gentle nudge, breaking your doom stare through the glass. “I want to spoil you a little. You never let me spoil you.” His pout brings a little smile to your face, dipping in to kiss him. 

“We can do anything Javi. I don’t need things,” you try to deflect, hoping you can convince him away from the inevitable rejection you’ll receive inside. 

“Just one time?” he asks again, soft brown eyes imploring you. How could you say no? 

“Okay,” you breathe out, steeling yourself for the worst as Javi beams back at you.

“I thought this place would match what you like,” he says as two suited doormen guide you inside. It flutters your heart. He’s right, you’ve always liked this designer’s silhouettes and styles. It’s exactly what you’d choose…if you were several sizes smaller.

“Hi, do you have an appointment?” a small-framed woman with black plastic glasses and a bouncy ponytail asks. She’s dressed head to toe in the designer’s current collection, sleek black throughout with stylish red earrings that dangle down her neck. Her smile isn’t as cold as you might expect. You’d heard horror stories of snide sales people practically insulting clients to get them to spend more. 

“Yes, Gutierrez,” Javi offers smoothly, placing a grounding hand on your lower back. “For my girlfriend.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He doesn’t get the chance to say it often, but when he does you love the way girlfriend rolls off his supple lips.

“Ah, yes, miss…” the sales woman begins, letting you offer your name. You catch a fleeting look of concern cross her face. Her cheek sucks in like she’s chewing on it, smile still bright but eyes more cautious.

“My name is Melanie, if you’d like to follow me to your consultation space,” she says, leading you and Javi to a curtained-off partition with several chairs, a changing room and a pedestal that makes your stomach flip. 

“So what are you here to find today?” Melanie asks. Javi settles in a chair, spreading his knees and leaning back so sexily you can almost forgive him for the anxiety pumping through your veins. 

“Whatever my Conejita desires,” he says, and you’re torn between smacking or straddling him. Melanie turns her attention to you and you wrack your brain.

“I guess…a dress would be nice?” you say. Javi reaches out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, adoration so clear in his eyes. He truly has no idea it’s the most likely to have ease in the sizing. You might make it out with one and blame it on not wanting to overspend. Javi would get his wish, and you would make it out with most of your ego unscathed. Win-win.

Melanie leads you out of the space and into the clothing racks. The choices are sparse, a few items hung per rack in an exclusivity motif. As soon as you’re out of earshot she starts chatting.

“Your boyfriend is very sweet to be treating you today.”

You hum and nod, chewing the inside of your lip. Some of the pieces are very pretty, flattering cuts and classic shapes, but none of the silhouettes look large enough for you. 

“Does he…do this often?” Melanie asks carefully, and when you look at her you see an understanding that soothes you ever so slightly.

“First time.”

“A surprise.”

“Yeah, pretty big one.”

Melanie smiles at that, arms wrapped around an iPad. Her nails are very pretty tapping against the device.

“Let’s take a look back here,” she says, leading you off the main floor and further into the store. The racks are fuller back here, but not nearly enough to make you think success is within reach. Your chest tightens, but you put on a cheery smile when Melanie turns back to you.

“Men are just…so thick sometimes,” she sighs, and the sharp change makes you bleat out a laugh. “I’m sure Mr. Gutierrez has the best intentions in mind…”

You nod and finish her sentence.

“...but you don’t have anything here for me.” Her hands clutch at the tablet again, going white around the knuckles.

“We might have a few things, but they’ll be simpler. Not like the current collection.”

“Simple is fine,” you rush to say, her smile making your own come to the surface. 

“Okay, let me go digging. I think we can make it work. I’m…” She pauses to clear her throat, lowering her voice. “I’m sorry this isn’t fun. I hate it. I just want everyone to feel happy in their clothes, not…left out.”

You turn your comfort to her, squeezing her shoulder.

“I appreciate you trying to help.”

Melanie scurries off to the backroom, leaving you on the bustling floor with ten other women who could slip into anything off the rack no problem. Weaving aimlessly, you peruse the dresses. Each one holds promise, which only makes it more disappointing when the tag numbers run too small. But you’re keeping positive, searching for Melanie’s bouncing ponytail returning with anything. You’d gush over a mumu. 

“Excuse me,” comes over your shoulder, and you turn to another sales woman hovering expectantly behind you. Her brow is lifted high, barely waiting for you to shift before tugging a garment off the rack. She turns quickly, but in the split second before you see it. That stomach-dropping look that screams good luck slathered in sarcasm. Your throat clenches, hands coming to your middle and you wish you could just collapse into yourself like a dying star. 

“Fuck this,” you whisper, tears shining in your eyes as you hurry back to the consultation space. You’ll tell Javi you have a headache, that you’re too hungry to shop right now, anything to convince him to get the hell out of here. 

“Cone…” he says as you burst in, snatching up your purse and steeling your voice. The sunshiney excitement trades quickly for concern. “What is wrong? I promise the cost…” 

“Actually, I don’t really…I don’t…” You try to get out your white lies with an even tone but when Javi cups your face in his large hands your composure crumples. A fat tear breaks rank and rolls down your face, Javi’s eyes widening with shock.

“Conejita, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” His eyes darken a fraction. “Did someone say something to you?”

Your heart skips a beat, which you blearily file for later introspection. Resting your head on his shoulder, he envelops you in his arms. Orange peel and musk surrounds you, Javi’s soothing hands traveling up and down your spine. When your breaths stop warbling you pull back, wiping your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, but Javi moves you to sit. He drops to a kneel, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No, Conejita, you are not apologizing for one second. What has upset you? Was it someone out there?” When you shake your head, his eyes soften. “Was it me?”

“Oh Javi,” you sign, squeezing his hands. Your lashes are still wet with tears, but you can see his dread so clearly. “I really appreciate this, all of it. I’m sure it’s flattered lots of people before. But I’m…me.” You release a big breath, the pain of keeping all your anxieties in finally easing. “I can’t shop at places like this, Javi, I don’t…they don’t make clothes like this for people my size.” 

Javi’s concern smashes into confusion.

“But they must have seamstresses in the back. They take your measurements, no? Find an acceptable piece and tailor it?”

The laugh you bark out is watery but it does raise the corners of your lips.

“Men have it so easy,” you bemoan. “I think the closest size I saw was still in the single digits. And even then, the numbers rarely mean anything.” Javi’s confusion only deepens.

“But how do you know what to buy? Surely the measurements are the same. Inseam, waist, sleeve length, how can it be so different?”

“Javi, I’m rarely the same size at the same store.”

Javi sputters. “That’s madness. How does anyone put up with that?” 

You giggle lightly, the tears finally receding. “I just go to the department stores. More variety, more sizes. No pushy sales people. Though Melanie is really nice.”

“But you are still uncomfortable,” he says, stroking his thick thumbs along the back of your hands. “I did not want to say anything, but I noticed. You do not seem to feel good in the nice things you wear.” 

You shrug. “It’s not perfect, it’s just…easier.”

His eyes implore up at you. “I wanted you to feel good with me.” Your heart patters, Javi’s face falling. “But I have made it worse. Please forgive me, Conejita, I truly did not know this would be so painful.”

You pat Javi’s cheek and give him a quick kiss. “I know, Javi. I know you didn’t mean for it to be.” A tap on his nose makes him smile. “But next time, when the lady doth protest too much, maybe listen?” Javi’s cheeks pink as he nods.

“Shakespeare has always been wiser than me,” he jokes as he helps you back to your feet. He leads you back to the front of the store with one hand on your back, and for a few seconds you do feel like the most beautiful person in the room. Women looking at you in awe, Javi’s fingers pressing in a way that’s subtly possessive. You could be lady Godiva riding a Shetland pony and not feel a lick of shame when he looks at you like that.

“Mr Gutierrez!” Melanie calls as she hurries up to the front to intercept. Her hands are empty, which is a relief.

“Thank you for your help, I just don’t think there’s anything for me here,” you say in a practiced tone that makes Javi pull you closer and Melanie’s eyebrows knit in the middle. She nods, extending a folded piece of paper to Javi. 

“I’m sorry they didn’t have something for you today,” she says, and Javi takes the proffered paper. He leads you out of the store and into the fresh sunlight of the street. Unfolding it, he raises an eyebrow then secrets it away in his jacket pocket.

“What was that about?” you ask, tucking your arm into his elbow. He shakes his head.

“Nothing important. What is important is going to get some lunch, then we are going driving with the top down and dinner at my place after.” 

“Javi…” you say with a little warning, but he tuts at you as his long stride pulls you down Rodeo drive.

“I know, I know what you will say, but bear with me because I am learning how to love you the right way. Today was not so good, but I would like to try and make it better.” He slows down when he catches your wide eyes and dazed smile. “What? What have I said now?”

“That you love…” the last words disappear on the wind as Javi’s smile crinkles his eyes.

“Of course, Conejita. Dios mio, of course I love…I love you,” he rushes out, barely able to finish before crashing his lips into yours. Wide palm cupping your head, you couldn’t care less that you’re making pedestrians part around you. Javi loves you, even if he’s a little clumsy about it. But when someone wants to learn to love you the right way…how can you not love every atom of them back?

The following weekend finds you in one of the lesser-used rooms in Javi’s house, sitting on a chair by the window. He deposited you there with a cappuccino and a promise to wait, so now you’re doing just that. Javi does love surprises, but you never expected Melanie to walk in the door.

“Oh my god, hi,” you manage to get out, standing up to shake her hand but are treated to a tight hug instead. She looks brighter, lighter than the last time you saw her, black ensemble traded for a pale blue button-up and floral patterned pants. 

“Javi told me it was a surprise, and I want it on the record that after this one he’s not allowed any more!” You sit across the little cafe table from her with visible confusion.

“I am a bit…lost…as to the surprise,” you giggle out nervously, which has Melanie opening a smart black bag and taking out folios and fabric swatches.

“I’ve been trying to get my stylist business off the ground and…” She pauses for a moment before making genuine eye contact. “And if there’s anything I was meant to do, it’s find people clothes that make them happy. So I offered him my services and he’s…well, he’s been very generous.”

Pride swells in your chest. So Javi.

“So what we’re going to do today is figure out what you like, don’t like, colors, styles, and then I’ll start building your wardrobe. Sound good?” Melanie’s smile is contagious.

“Sounds amazing.”

You don’t quite understand every step of the process. At one point she drapes color swatches on your chest like a bib and you can’t help but giggle. But it’s fun, maybe for the first time you can remember. She writes down that you hate side-seam zippers and skirts cut above the knee. That you love color but not too garish. And when you catch Javi pacing outside the glass door to the patio, peeking in anxiously every five minutes, your smile softens. She probably doesn’t write that part down. That’s written on your face. 

You can’t stop twirling in the mirror, inspecting from every angle. You try to scrutinize, but you can’t find a single thing wrong.

It’s perfect.

After the wardrobe cleanout, the basics overhaul, and the lengthy plan Melanie made, she asked a thrilling question. 

“What’s the first piece you’d like me to find?”

“I’ve always wanted a little black dress,” you replied, and her smile almost eclipsed her face.

“I have the perfect one in mind.”

She wasn’t kidding. It’s full and flouncy, smoothing in all the places you normally criticize and accentuates your figure in the best ways. The fabric is sumptuous under your fingers, just the right weight without dreaded sheerness. You can imagine yourself with hair done up, your favorite lipstick, Javi’s hand on your lower back, that possessive glint in his eyes. All of the excitement makes you spin three more times, the room tilting briefly before you catch Javi standing in the doorway.

“Hey!” you call out breathlessly, smoothing the skirt again. “It’s the first thing Melanie’s sent over. I…oh my god, I love it so much.” You turn to look in the mirror again, and in the reflection you see Javi’s mouth parted, eyes dragging over you. His fingers are rubbing together at his sides and…is he clenching them?

“She took everything I said and just found the most perfect dress.” Your thumb catches in the fabric and you spin back around to gasp, “And it has pockets!”

You’ve barely taken your hands out of them when Javi is on you, all greedy mouth and firm hand on the back of your head. His tongue demands on your lips, slipping inside when you gasp for him. Arm banding around your back, he steadily walks you backwards towards the bed. 

“Conejita, mi amor, eres tan hermosa,” he pants, his wandering hand settling on your ass and squeezing. It crackles between your thighs, white-hot arousal at how he holds you. Javi has always been generous in bed, and highly competent, but this is a side of him you haven’t seen. Maybe briefly when he asked you if someone bothered you at that awful boutique store. 

Before you can rationalize anything further he guides your hips down to the bed, teetering on the edge. He quickly drops to his knees and dives his hands under the skirt, sliding one knuckle along the seam of your pussy. 

“Javi…” you squeak out, but his touch leaves to curl around your underwear and yank them down your legs. The rip of a seam makes arousal gush between your legs, spreading them instinctually. He licks his lips before fisting your skirt above your waist and ducking down to taste you for too brief a moment. Your hips buck, teeth nipping at your inner thigh before he lifts up to kneel between your legs. 

“Javi, the dress,” you caution, and with a sweeter smile he shifts his knees to make sure the fabric isn’t trapped between. When his eyes meet yours again he plants a hand by your head and laps between your lips, slow and sensual. The clink of his buckle coming undone aches deep in your core, fisting his button-up across his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, Conejita, I just…cannot control myself when you look so beautiful,” he confesses as his fingers tease at your entrance. A choked whimper ekes out as he opens you up on two, pumping mercilessly into your clenching heat. He swears in Spanish into your neck, and your quiet whines grow to moans when his thick cock begins thrusting into the crease of your hip. His panted breaths start to take on a rumble, then a growl as his fingers match his shallow thrusts. Overwhelmed, you grasp at what words will make him give in.

“Javi, please, oh my god, please fuck me,” you finally manage, rocking your hips with his frantic pace. 

“You’re ready for me?” he husks, your vociferous affirmations drawing his fingers out to leave you achingly empty. He slicks his cock with you, lining up and pressing just the head in before he plants his hands by your head and just…looks at you.

“Dios mio, eres una diosa,” he breathes, all of the sweet man you love. Grabbing around his wrists, you roll your hips down to sink more of him inside. He stretches you so deliciously, filling your cunt and lungs.

“Take it, Javi,” you rasp, head tossed back. “Show me I’m yours.”

Javi bites his lower lip and looks at you with a depth you crave. Infatuation and devotion and a desire so hungry you want to sate him for hours. In a dizzying flick of his wrists he now presses yours into the bed. 

“Mine,” he purrs, and the snap of his hips as he buries himself flush draws a lusty cry from your lips. “My beautiful Conejita,” he grits out, grinding his hips deep to press punishingly into your g-spot. You writhe under him, legs clamped around his waist as he slides out just enough to punch back in. “You are mine, aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck, Javi, yes, I’m yours,” you beg, and it’s exactly what he needs to begin fucking you earnestly, scooping his hips to drive deeper and deeper. The friction of his grind strums your clit just right to tremble around him. Pinning you with a rumble, he fucks you into the mattress until his wandering hands can’t stop from palming your breast, rolling your nipple through the fabric. The spike of pleasure urges you to meet him stroke for stroke, riding him just as hard back. He grabs your chin just firmly enough to coax more slick to coat his cock, guiding you back to his demanding mouth. He steals your breath, sucking your lower lip between his teeth and groaning when you shudder around him.

“Not going to last, mi amor,” he whispers, lacing your fingers together as his thrusts lose rhythm. 

“Cum on my pussy,” you plead, and with a strung-out moan he pulls out just quick enough to cover your mound with his hot spend. It drips lewdly, sliding to gather in the crease of your thighs. His eyes are fixated on it, the brand of his lust sticky on you. Your orgasm tips over as he slides his thumb through his cum to press firmly on your clit. His name is all you can manage as pleasure laps over your skin, his touch grounding as he praises you over and over.

In the afterglow, Javi folds the length of your skirt well above the mess he made. 

“I will be sure to send this to drycleaning before you want to wear it,” he says, pulling a juddery giggle from your chest. He stands oh shaky legs and you glimpse his wet cock in the vee of his open pants, realizing you just fucked like college kids so horny for each other they couldn’t even undress properly. It makes you giddy as he brings over tissues to clean up, careful not to leave any of his spend where it could stain. When he’s finally satisfied he drops down on the bed, opening his arms for you to snuggle into. Once fitted together, eyes heavy, he murmurs in your ear.

“It wasn’t the dress.”

You hum sleepily, sitting up to look into his sated face.

“You are most beautiful when you are happy,” he says, the earnestness earning him another sweet kiss.

“I am very, very happy Javi.”

He doesn’t need to tell you that he is. It’s written on his face, and in his heart. 

END

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

summary: meeting the handsome guy from the shop next door doesn't go quite as you expect it to

pairing: tattoo artist! kazuha x florist gn! reader

warnings: none except for kazuha himself, just pure fluff

modern au series || genshin impact masterlist

The breeze gently swayed the wind chimes decorating your humble flower shop as you rearranged some of the bigger plants. Despite the warm spring weather and bright sun, it was a tranquil day at the shop. With no holiday around the corner, people weren’t exactly barging down your door at this time of day.

As you were about to repot some of the flowers which had grown too big for their respective pots, your doorbell signalled a customer entering. Quickly, you made your way over into your sales area. In the middle of your shop stood a white-haired man, his mask pulled down and hair tied into a ponytail. When he turned to you, a red streak among the white caught your attention, as well as a few piercings. You couldn’t recall seeing him here before but he seemed somewhat familiar anyway.

“Hi there, how may I help you?” you greeted cheerfully.

“Hello,” he replied warmly, crimson eyes forming crescents as he smiled. In the back of your mind, you noted how beautiful he was. “I was looking for a bouquet or maybe a small potted plant, I’m not quite sure yet. It’s supposed to be a gift. Do you have anything you’d recommend?”

“Sure, please take a look over here.” You walked him over to a small area of potted plants sitting in aesthetically decorated pots. “Personally, I prefer gifting plants like these over cut flowers. Not only do they last a lot longer, they’re also easy to care for. In the end, the choice is yours though, and I’d be happy to show you the already arranged bouquets or bind a unique one for you.”

“Thank you very much, these are perfect though. My mother has a thing for house plants,” he chuckled. Ah, so it was a present for his mother. “Oh, is that a maple leaf over there?”

Stepping aside to let him take a closer look, you nodded. “It is, nicely spotted. I think they make for great decorative elements, given their striking colour.”

“It happens that I’m quite fond of them, too.” The man rolled up the left sleeve of his white jacket to reveal an intricate tattoo sleeve of what appeared to be maple leafs swirling in the wind. “They remind me of home.”

“Wow,” you said, in awe at the artwork, “that is amazing. Whoever drew this must be seriously talented.”

“Yeah, Xiao put his all into this. I drew the actual piece though, so I’m giving myself some credit here,” he sheepishly confessed and scratched his neck. “Ah, Xiao is my colleague. We actually work at the studio next door.”

“So that’s why I thought I had seen you before. It’s nice to meet you, neighbour,” you laughed before giving him your name.

“What a beautiful name, it suits you well.” The melodic lilt of his smooth voice made heat creep up your neck. “My name is Kazuha.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything and it seemed as though the world had stopped as you watched the sunlight break in his crimson eyes. Then with a snap, you remembered where you were and why you were there. You quickly cleared your throat and held up the small plant to him.

“Is this going to be your choice then or would you rather look around a little longer?”

“As much as I’d love to have an excuse to stay, I do think she’d like this one very much,” he said. As you walked over to the register and checked out the plant, you tried not to think about his words too much, otherwise you might not have been able to do much else. When all was said and done, Kazuha pulled his mask up again, yet you could still see his smile beam from his eyes. “Well then, it was nice getting to know you. I hope we’ll see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so too. Have a nice day and feel free to stop by whenever you’d like.”

The doorbell chimed again as Kazuha left with a small wave, which you returned shakily before you buried your face in your hands. Did this really just happen? Did this beautiful man say he wanted to see you again? Was he actually flirting or just being polite? You thought it best not to interpret too much into it, lest you get your hopes up, but your heart was beating out of your chest anyway.

You calmed down over the next few days, although the first couple of times a customer came in, your heart -the traitor- skipped a beat and you mentally kicked yourself for acting like a lovesick fool over a guy you had met once. Slowly but surely though, it was business as usual again and your encounter with him didn’t occupy the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until one afternoon, on which you were faced with striking crimson eyes, that was. You blinked a few times before your brain rebooted and you scrambled for something to say.

“K-Kazuha! Nice to see you again,” you greeted, not very professionally, might you add. “Here for another potted plant?”

Fortunately he chuckled about your clumsy attempt at a joke before gently shaking his head. “No, not today. My mother was quite delighted though, so thank you very much for the recommendation.”

“Not at all, you’re the one who picked after all.” Hiding your fidgeting hands behind your back, you tried your best to hold eye contact. “What brings you here then?”

“Ah you see, I'm here to ask a small favour.” At the curious tilt of your head, he continued. “I was wondering if I could stay here for a while to sketch. Last time I was here, I couldn’t help but feel inspired by all the beautiful flowers. I understand if you say no though.”

“No,” you said immediately before catching yourself. “I mean, no, I don’t mind. I’m very flattered actually. Just make yourself comfortable.”

With a warm ‘thank you’, Kazuha settled in a sunny corner of your shop and pulled pencil and paper from his bag. At first you were a little nervous with him there, hyper-aware of your every movement, but it wasn’t long before you found comfort in his presence. 

This became a regular occurrence afterwards. Kazuha would come over to draw whenever he didn’t have any clients booked as you went about your business, every now and then insisting to help you move a heavy pot to make himself useful. Somewhen down the line, he started bringing you coffee or take-out after learning your preferences and vehemently resisted having you pay him back. At one point, you started to wonder whether his coworkers missed him at all.

“They’ll live without me,” he laughed. “And even if, it’s not like I’m far away.”

Another major plus of having Kazuha around was getting a glimpse of his newest pieces, either through a peek over his shoulder or just straight-up asking him. There was something so vivid about his sketches, as if he transferred the vitality of the flowers directly onto the page and you were blown away every time.

One evening, you were sitting in your shop well after closing time. The two of you hadn’t planned to spend the night in, but as fate would have it, it started to heavily pour down as Kazuha was about to leave. So you, without any selfish ulterior motives, offered him to stay until the rain let up.

That was how you found yourself eating some of the pastries he had brought you earlier while Kazuha was drawing vines and flowers onto your arm after you asked him what kind of tattoo he thought would suit you. As he worked, it gave you a great opportunity to study him. 

His light brows were slightly furrowed as he concentrated, his eyes firmly fixed on your skin and his teeth biting down on his plush bottom lip every other minute. The touch of his left hand, holding and angling your arm as he needed it, sent chills up your spine and the pressure from the pen felt more intimate than it should have. Your body was set ablaze with nerves almost as if you got a real tattoo.

All too soon, Kazuha withdrew the pen from your skin, kept his other hand, however, on your arm, sliding it down a little further so it rested almost over yours. His thumb traced some of the lines almost absentmindedly. If he kept this up, you were afraid you’d melt into a puddle right on the spot, not that that would be such a bad way to go out. Then, he slowly lifted his gaze to meet yours through his long lashes and your breath hitched. You were actually sitting across from some kind of ethereal being, you were sure of it.

“So,” he started, voice low in the dimly lit shop, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful,” you replied without hesitation.

“I’m flattered, but perhaps,” he gave you a sly smile, “you should take a look at the tattoo first?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks as you averted your eyes. “All your art is gorgeous though, it’s not like I’d have to look to know it’s true,” you mumbled.

Kazuha wore his faint blush a lot more gracefully than you did as he too looked down to take in the lines on your skin in their entirety. The motive he’d chosen was a branch of flowers wrapping around your underarm, detailed and fine, despite the less than ideal equipment to work with. Between the petals, there was one or the other maple leaf peeking through, causing you to smile. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if it was actually inked onto your skin.

“It makes me happy to hear you have so much trust in me,” he genuinely said.

“Looks like I seriously have to think about getting a tattoo now,” you laughed, although there was actual seriousness bleeding into it. “Perhaps I should make an appointment with… what was his name? Xiao?”

“Come on, gorgeous, you can’t tease me like this,” he gasped in faux offence. ��You wouldn’t rob me of the honour of being the one to tattoo you, right?”

“I could never,” you breathed, goosebumps rising all over your arm from where he continued to touch you. And Kazuha seemed to notice it too.

“Are you cold? Here, have my jacket.” Before you could refuse, he’d already stepped around the table and draped the garment over your shoulders. You could feel his body heat still emanating from it, the pleasant scent of his cologne surrounding you. “We wouldn’t want you catching a cold, would we?”

You hummed as a response, brain not procuring anything more profound at the newfound proximity. Just like the first time you met, you lost yourself in his swirling pools of maple but this time nothing was there to yank you back to stop you from drowning in them. 

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” Kazuha quietly asked, almost as if talking more to himself. “I truly can’t recall anything which could compare.”

“I can,” you countered. When he raised a brow, you continued. “He’s standing right in front of me, actually.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said fondly. One of the hands previously resting on your shoulders trailed over your skin, light as a feather, before cupping your cheek as if you were a delicate flower. “Hopefully this is not too forward, but… May I kiss you?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

Guided by his hand, you rose from your seat to meet Kazuha halfway before closing your eyes. When your lips met, your first thought was how his lips were as pillowy soft as you imagined. Yours moved seamlessly against them, as if you had done this a hundred times already, yet it was still excitingly new at the same time. Threading your hand into the base of his snowy hair, you carefully tested the waters but were immediately rewarded with a blissful sigh and an arm wrapping around your waist, Kazuha’s fingers splaying over the small of your back and pressing you impossible closer to his chest. 

Only pulling back far enough to speak against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazed into yours as his thumb brushed your cheekbone like the wind caressed the leaves on a tree. “I almost don’t want to stop.”

“Then don’t”, you whispered.

“You have no idea what you do to me, love,” Kazuha groaned before diving back in, this time deepening the kiss almost immediately. Neither of you noticed, nor cared, that the rain had stopped a while ago, too lost in one another to think about much else.

But, quite unfortunately, both of you needed air to live, so you had to reluctantly part eventually. While you breathed heavily, trying to force oxygen back into your lungs, Kazuha peppered a myriad of playful kisses along your jaw and the side of your neck, your giggles reverberating around the shop at the tickling sensation. When he resurfaced, there was a bright spark in his eyes as he mirrored your smile. 

“Even if this might not be the proper order in which to do this, I’d love to take you out on a date one of these days,” he said, seeking out your hand with his and intertwining them. “And hopefully a second one after that.”

“A date, huh?” Running the hand still slung over his shoulder through his hair, you mused lightheartedly. “Sounds like an awful lot of effort to get a new client to tattoo, don’t you think?”

“What can I say,” he played along, “I’m very devoted to the things I hold dear.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you said sincerely, catching on to the double meaning behind his words. “Seems as if I have fallen for your scheme then. 

“A date sounds lovely.”

[nonuify]

hiii <3 can u write something about pegging hoshi 🤭🤭

ᝰ.ᐟ 🏹 — K.SY ; ! boss’s secret

nsfw is included ! minors do not interact 18+. marriage au! [ smut ] ꩜. | wc ; 1.3k

“ the big bad boss infront of everyone gets down on his knees for his wife & begs her to fuck him behind close doors. “

you were at a celebration party for your husbands company because their stocks & sales went up by a lot or at least you thought like that.

but you didn’t give a fuck, you were pissed off scratch that, you were furious, why you may ask?

well your loveliest husband was with that shit of a secretary he had, you hated her from the start, she was too touchy & friendly for your liking & now she’s crossed the line by touching his biceps telling him how strong he is & being all giggly.

now normally soonyoung was a bit of a cocky boss, not liking anything or yelling out wrong doings of his employees he was… you could say bitchy. he would push her off always but tonight he was making you jealous & you knew why.

three hours ago ᯓᡣ𐭩

“soonyoung darling can you zip my dress?” you yelled out from your well decorated bedroom, hearing hoshi’s footsteps coming up to assist you, “you ready ba-, wow you look really… hot, love” you giggled, kissing his cheek then turning your back “thank you baby but we really should be going wouldn’t wanna be late do we now?” you looking at your handsome lover through the mirror, expecting him to zip you up, he didn’t.

expect he snaked his arms around your waist, head on your shoulder “orr we could be late & do something more fun” he cheekily smiled “soonyoung, as much as I want to, we need to attend early, it’s your company’s party after all” replying touching his hand that was resting on your waist “but you said it, it’s my company I can do whatever I want whenever” he kissed your neck “and you be my good boy & listen to me” he spoke up once again “but y/-“.

“no soonyoung you need to patient” you warned, he zipped up your dress defeated & sulked, who would’ve guessed that the big bad boss would be sulking after being denied by his wife?

present time ᯓᡣ𐭩

now here you are, almost breaking the fizzy champagne glass in your hand, while observing your husbands doings.

oh you’ll have him at his knees back home, “just you wait soonyoungie” you thought, having enough of that bitch who was clinging to your husband, you clicked away with your louboutin heels, “hello ms.song” faking a smile to the secretary “hi mrs.kwan” she bowed a little “if you don’t mind I need to take my husband for a bit” you emphasized at husband a little too bit, intertwining your hands with him.”

“what’s up baby?” he acted innocent asking while tilting his head “we’re going back home, since you’ve decided to act like a whore all night.” you snapped at him, sending shiver to his spine, he was excited but you weren’t gonna give his satisfaction so easily.

dragging him out the huge venue, he excused himself throwing a quick excuse saying you weren’t feeling well.

the ride home was dead silent, his cock was throbbing he found it so fucking hot how you were angry at him, your dress that made you look ethereal like a goddess he wanted to worship you like you’d deserved but he knew back home you’d punish him till you’re satisfied & he’s willing to give you that satisfaction.

finally.. you guys arrived at your home as soon as your closed the doors you spoke “ you go wait on the end naked till I’m done” he never went so fast to bedroom till now.

you took your time taking off your make-up, wanting to leave him all naked & needing more meanwhile soonyoung was naked waiting on the bed, he was desperated he wanted you, needing you to plunge into him so bad.

after all he was all worked up with all the planning & work, just needed his pretty wife to fuck him, he knew he fucked up but he didn’t expect you to be this mad, sooner or later you came into the room with only your white matching undergarments, “please please fuck me y/nnie” he whined “you know you have a lot of confidence thinking I would do it so easily” mocking him “play with yourself till you cum then I’ll think about it” you then added, huffing he didn’t like your suggestion but obliged.

his back facing the wooden headboard of your bed, hands beginning to stroke his angry shaft squeezing the tip then stroking up & down, his breathe sounding heavy, throwing his head slightly back then letting out a breathy moan.

looking at you with sultry eyes, you can’t lie you are dripping wet, sitting on the velvet couch you’ve had infront of him, hands sliding from your chest then back, finally you slid your hand in your panties rubbing your clit.

soonyoung widen his eyes at such a view, pouting while still giving himself a handjob “you’re such a meanie” he whined “if you want to fucked, then make yourself come & show me how your my good boy, slut.” you said cursing after words loving the feeling of your fingers, you soon enough slid your fingers in your cunt, then moaned “f-fuck baby soonie like what you see?” you giggled as you’re submissive lover fasten his pace then jerked upwards, you found it cute how you drove him crazy.

you know he’s close by his actions & you were close too, your cute soonyoung came all over his chest, by the sight of him you came almost instantly.

“please please fuck me” he begged & chanted you walked to him to where he was sat “aww your so cute like this” you put your hands around his neck “how about you get the strap baby hmm?” you whispered, kissing his forehead that was covered with his black locks.

getting the strap, you wore it then spoke up saying “cmon baby ass up, face down” he obeyed happily, because he was finally getting what he wanted, the sight of his ass infront of you made you drool, how was he so perfect? “y/n need you now” your poor baby boy needed you to fuck him badly & who are you refusing, god you’d loved him so much to do so.

you got the lube that was in the drawer of your nightstand, squirting it on your fingers “darling this might hurt a bit” you said slipping the digits into his pink hole, grubbing the sheets he let out a bunch of moans & words you couldn’t understand, but he definitely liked it.

scissoring his hole to stretch it out, but also teasing him by pulling out your fingers then letting them in once again “you like it baby?” you asked having a cocky smile & he just squirmed.

pushing his head more into the mattress, finally you pulled out your fingers out of him then replacing it with the big lengthy strap inserting it little by little so your darling boy could adjust to it, “l-love please move” he spoke out “of course doll” you replied fastening your speed to his request.

“m-mm f-fuck !!” he almost screamed out, slapping his ass marking it red, oh how you adore marking him “yeah you like when I ruin you don’t you doll hm?” spanking his ass once again “y-yes b-baby only love from you” “yeah you do, you only belong to me soonyoungie?” he just screaming yes !.

one of his hands moving to his red angry cock stroking it roughly & fast trying to match up your speed, he was in an euphoric state by the way you were, banging his ass, loved the way you stretched him out.

he knew how matter how he riled you up, he knows he’ll only be loyal to you & only to you his lovely dominant wife.

after more thrusting into his tiny little hole, he broke down “mphhh!! y/nnie gonna cum” he barley said it with how he was overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure he felt “oh my baby soonie cmon baby do it let it out for me”.

he came, orgasm splatting all over the bed sheets, he layed down on the bed now facing you face to face after you pulled out of him, taking the strap off you layed next to him cuddling him.

“like that doll?” you asked caressing his cheek “mhmm” he replied “you’ve learned your lesson right?” asking once again “i did my love” he kissed you “now let me eat you out as a special thank you” he continued smirking devilishly going down on you almost instantly.

oh how you were lucky with such a lover the one & only soonyoung.

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ thank you for reading >ᴗ< !! i really hope you enjoy this, this is so bad 😭

[ghosthunterbuck]

sofa, so good

(buddie) (1k words) (6x01 spoilers) of course I can't resist a coda for the first ep of the season who do you think I am

Buck lasts five minutes in the damn armchair before he’s up and pacing again. 

Because it’s stupid right? He gets it. It’s a metaphor. Whoop-de-doo. But it’s also an actual literal fucking couch, and he’s been without one for months now. 

Which is – yeah, Chris was right, it’s weird. 

But also, he’s kind of barely noticed. It’s not like he spends much time at his place. He’s at the firehouse, or Eddie’s, or Maddie’s, and they’ve all got couches. So maybe he doesn’t even really need one. 

Maybe he should just get more chairs. Or a chaise. Beanbag chairs! Chris would probably get a kick out of those. Hell, maybe he could find some of that inflatable furniture he begged his parents for in the nineties. 

Buck stares at the armchair. 

He really needs a fucking couch. 

Eddie shows up at 9 AM on Saturday, and Buck tries to convince himself this isn’t a bad idea. Not Eddie showing up – as far as Buck’s concerned, any idea involving Eddie is an automatic plus five on the good idea scale. No, the issue is the couch/girlfriend/getting-his-shit-together metaphor has sunk its claws in deep, and now Buck’s pretty sure he’s going to take one step into the furniture store and spin around and walk back out. 

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Buck isn’t even sure he wants a couch. He says as much to Eddie. 

“Then why am I driving you to the furniture store?” Eddie raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s not—it’s what the couch represents, man,” Buck says. 

“Mm.”

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Eddie holds his hands up. “I’m not looking at you like anything,” he placates, although the grin tugging at the corners of his lips begs to differ.

Buck can’t help but laugh. “Come on, aren’t you supposed to tell me to, I don’t know, suck it up and get a new couch?”

Eddie smiles, ducks his head, and looks up at Buck. “Is that what you want?”

“Therapy made you way too smart, Diaz.”

That makes Eddie laugh, and that in turn makes Buck feel warm. It wasn’t so long ago that it felt like he might never hear that sound again. 

“Get in the damn truck, Buckley,” Eddie snorts. “We’re getting you a couch.”

...

Buck’s never been to a furniture store. 

It’s absurd, actually, because he’s a thirty-something-year-old man, but he’s never had cause to. Like, Ali furnished most of the loft, and every piece of furniture he owned before he got off Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace. 

It’s absurd, and it means that he’s entirely unprepared when Candace, the Senior Sales Associate with a shark-like grin and sensible shoes, clocks them both as soon as they’re through the door. 

“How can I help you today?” She asks. “What are you looking for? May I take you around our showroom? We’ve got several new pieces in that I’m sure you’ll love.”

“I—uh,” Buck stammers. 

“We’ve also got an extensive sale inventory I can walk you through, if you’re looking to score a bargain! The same excellent quality we’re known for, with prices we’re sure will fit any budget.”

Yep, Buck’s going to leave. He’s going to turn around and leave, and he’s never going to get a new couch, because this place is huge and anxiety inducing and he’s pretty sure he saw Candace on a true crime documentary once and—

Eddie takes a smooth step forward. He matches Candace’s overly wide smile with one of his own and tells her, “No thank you, we’re just browsing for now. We’ll come find you if we have any questions.”

It’s like he knows the magic words, because no sooner than he’s said them, Candace disappears into the mattress section. 

Buck turns to him, wide-eyed. “How did you do that?”

Eddie laughs. “You’ve just got to speak the language, Buckley.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Buck mumbles. 

Eddie claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s find you a couch.”

...

In the end, after Buck’s sat on so many different pieces of furniture his butt is sore, they find one. It’s a dark buttery leather that Eddie says will complement his hardwood floors, and that Buck is pretty sure he could fall asleep on, if necessary. 

Eddie, somehow, manages to knock twenty percent off the asking with a flash of his teeth and a slow blink at Candace, which Buck mostly appreciates but is also kind of afraid of. He also insists that they throw in a couple of accent pillows, which Buck supposes is probably nice. 

With the help of a few associates, they load the couch into Eddie’s truck and strap it down with more bungee cords than Buck thought any one person had the right to own. 

Eddie catches his raised eyebrow and grins. “You remember that accident on the one-oh-one?” he asks. 

The image of a four-poster bed sticking out of the windshield of a Corolla flashes across Buck’s mind, and he shudders. “Good call,” he says with a tight nod. 

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, then motions to the truck. “Come on, I have to pick Chris up at three. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Buck deposits himself in the passenger seat and watches as Eddie starts up the truck and puts it in gear. 

Eddie looks up and catches his eye. “What?”

Buck shakes his head. “Nothing, just—thanks. I’m pretty sure Candace would’ve eaten me alive if it weren’t for you.”

“Women and couches,” Eddie says with a shrug, “maybe they’re just not for you.”

Buck snorts. “Who needs ‘em,” he says. “That’s what I’ve got you for, right?”

Eddie’s thumb brushes against his forearm. “Yeah,” he says. 

...

Buck sits on his new couch. 

It’s soft, and comfortable, and the color complements the room’s existing palette, just like Eddie said it would. It’s long enough that Buck can lay down, and deep enough that he won’t accidentally roll off if he falls asleep. It’s exactly what he needs in a couch. 

He lasts all of five minutes before he’s up and pacing again. 

The color is too dark. Leather is the wrong material. All three of the couch cushions are plump and firm, without a single weird divot from being slept on too many nights in a row. 

The couch fits perfectly in his apartment, Buck thinks, and at the end of the day, maybe that’s the problem. 

Buck doesn’t want a new couch. 

He wants one that’s familiar. 

He texts Eddie. 

Dinner at yours tonight?

[klonoa-at-blog]

From: Klonoa 2: Lunatea’s Veil Official Guide Book (Published by Famitsu/Enterbrain - 2001) (Pg. 207)  

~Messages from the Klonoa 2 Staff~ Lastly, we would like to show you messages from those who were involved in the development of Klonoa 2 to the public. You'll find hard work, inside stories, and a few positive ones(?!) here and there! ......So, thank you all for your hard work!

Tomomitsu Kaneko Profile: ● Age: 24 years old ● Blood Type: O ● Responsibilities: Sound Effects ● Comments: Sound effects...... sound effects? Ugh, too much light. ● Favorite character: Likuri

Minako Matsuda Profile: ● Age: 33 years old ● Blood Type: A ● Responsibilities: Package Design ● Comments: Every time we make a package, we go to the chief to see what the next one will be like, but this time, we don’t have to do that anymore, Mr. Kobayashi just comes in and talks like a madman and leaves. I could go on and on about this and that, so to sum it up, this is a package that says, “Let’s go on an exciting adventure!” What I really like is the part where the ears are moving. I think that’s what makes Klonoa so great. ● Favorite character: Moo

Shinichi Tsuruya Profile: ● Age: 25 forever ● Blood Type: Typical B ● Responsibilities: Quality control and programmer snoozing ● Comments: I am Tsuruya, in charge of quality control. I have always heard users say, “Klonoa makes me cry!” I agree with you completely. It really made me cry, yes. Both 1 and 2. I can’t stop crying. The first ocean is our incapacitation. It was only those who played Klonoa that stopped the tears. Thank you for playing! ● Favorite character: Large Dream Stone with wings x5

Ryo Sakamoto Profile: ● Age: 28 years old ● Blood Type: O ● Responsibilities: Quality control (Debugging) ● Comments: Hello, my name is Sakamoto of Quality Control. I hope you all are enjoying the scaled-up Klonoa 2 in all aspects. My favorite song is from Mts. of Mira-Mira. When I was tired, that BGM cheered me up. You may also feel more energetic if you listen to it when you are tired. Last but not least, the entire staff will continue to do our best based on your support, so please continue to support Klonoa for a long time to come. See you soon! ● Favorite character: Moo (I like the way he walks)

Noriko Kobayashi Profile: ● Age: Unknown! ● Blood Type: A ● Responsibilities: Sales Promotion (Public Relations - mainly magazine publicity) ● Comments: We held game tournaments (Jungle Slider Relay Race!) with users at event sites across the country. We also danced the “Klonoa-kun Dance” to the background music of the Mts. of Mira-Mira stage. We were blessed with the opportunity to actually talk with many Klonoa fans, making this year’s sales promotion activity a very memorable one. I hope that everyone who played the game will become a word-of-mouth promotion captain and spread the fun of Klonoa to the people around them.  ● Favorite character: Erbil is so nice~

Hideo Yoshizawa Profile: ● Age: Age? I forgot. ● Blood Type: Once a B, now an A ● Responsibilities: Scenario (Screenplay, Supervisor) ● Comments: I had a lot of trouble with this story. I even had to reject one entire story. In the end, I rewrote the story up to about the seventh draft. I wanted to make a fresh and a little sad ending this time, since I made a very sad ending last time. But I wanted it to be directly connected to the hearts of the players, who are the alter egos of Klonoa, and that’s how I set up this world. Think about what sorrow means to you. ● Favorite character: Leorina

[canmom]

i wish i had some kind of convincing theory of political change, especially on the like 'world scale'.

my country 'the UK' is implicated in what is happening in Gaza. both historically for its role in overseeing Mandatory Palestine that led to the creation of the state of Israel, and presently for our economic integration (especially arms sales) and diplomatic positioning as a geopolitical ally. for that reason, it feels like actions here ought to be able to do something to push the direction of what happens out in Palestine - more so than if I lived in another country.

turnout at London's pro-Palestine marches is broadly declining from the looks of things. from the peak around 800k a month ago, now the organisers report around 150k - still sizable but a decline of about 80%. and like, I kind of get why: we marched, the politicians held a vote which came down decisively against calling for a ceasefire, they made some mouth noises about humanitarian this and that, Suella Braverman got booted for stirring the pot too much, fucking David Cameron of all people crawled out of the woodwork to get sent over there for some reason, and meanwhile as you know there was a ceasefire for about a week (to which the UK was at best irrelevant and at worst an obstacle) and then the massacre picked right up where it left off.

newsworthy events that provoke this kind of protest response have a kind of half-life - when the news is 'more of the same', and there doesn't seem to be much avenue to do anything about it, people will gradually resign themselves to the situation. other things will come up in their life, going on apparently ineffectual marches feels like less of a priority. the government's strategy with this, like most large protests, was essentially 'they can't do anything to us, let it blow over' and it seems to be working out for them.

what may yet come about is increased membership in groups like Palestine Action who are using sacrificial tactics, mostly aiming to make Israeli weapons manufacturer Elbit Systems unable to operate in the UK through actions that intentionally end in arrest and sometimes imprisonment. they've had some success there.

still. supposing they continue to find success, and eventually Elbit fully shuts down its remaining 10 sites in the UK. would that alone meaningfully reduce the military capacity of the occupation? maybe not much, but we could hope that if similar successes were found in other countries, and it came with a broader shift towards divestment, it might become significantly less viable to operate as an aggressive ethnostate or suppress insurgencies and so on. perhaps even 'end of apartheid' style dramatic change to the structure of the state(s) in the Levant might end up being possible, eventually.

what's the timescale on that? i have no fucking idea, but it's surely at least a lot longer than the time it will take for the situation in Gaza to resolve to either a semi-permanent ceasefire, full-on annexation, or escalation into a bigger, messier war.

which brings me back round to the question of like, what can be meaningfully done from here, in the role of some bitch in the critical industry of "making videogames", to try to stop the massacre that's playing out right now? what dominoes can i push that will result in net fewer deaths from bombing and starvation?

i've ended up writing fairly often to my politician, who's (in the justifying narrative of representative democracy) supposed to be my vector for political action, with the most persuasive rhetoric I can muster. today she writes back a boilerplate response to say what she's been doing about arms sales to Israel - speaking up briefly in a debate about arms exports seemingly the most concrete thing. so far as i can tell nothing much changed as a result: lots of politicians made speeches, the government spokesperson gave a fairly predictable reply. this is pretty much what I expected, I don't really expect results from a liberal politician, but it's not a lot of effort to spend on maintaining the pressure.

obviously, if it was so easy to stop this conflict that a 31-year-old game developer in London could do it, it wouldn't still be happening. maybe there isn't an answer. at the same time like - the logic is pretty clear: genocide is up there as one of the worst possible things. the Gaza genocide certainly isn't the only one happening right now, but it is the one which my country is most actively supporting. it seems indisputable that if there is an action that would help to curtail a genocide, I am obliged to find it.

i've seen articles say that Israel is 'losing the war', which is in some senses true in that their ostensible objective is essentially impossible, diplomatic sentiment has shifted pretty hard against them around the world, dropping all those bombs is really expensive, and Hamas seem to have stayed pretty well hidden from them. this could totally end in another embarassing failure for their image of safety and military strength, which will probably make the money really sad for a while. their 'victory' - in terms of annexation or depopulation of Gaza - would still be a big mess they're not well equipped to handle, and it might be a step towards state failure.

but the bulk of palestinians in gaza are also 'losing the war' in the very concrete sense they've had their houses blown up and they're sitting in a freezing refugee camp about the size of a postage stamp, hoping the Americans get cold feet and Israel runs out of bombs before they find out if they'll die of cholera or shrapnel. 'the insurgency wins as long as they do not lose' may be true - Israel fails to achieve their objective as long as Hamas, or some inevitable successor insurgency, can fight another day and delay Israel's 'normalisation' in diplomacy - but goddamn is that a pyrrhic 'victory'. if I was a palestinian in Gaza, maybe I'd accept the logic of that tradeoff and put my faith in the only people who seem to be able to stand up to the ones bombing me, I don't fucking know. regardless it's a catastrophic (and repeated) failure of this world system that anyone is left choosing between slow annihilation or a strategic hecatomb.

so what's left to do, fucken... post through it? "what did you do to resist the gaza genocide of 2023" "oh i made some real angry posts on my tumblr blog and walked with a cardboard sign in London, England, 2200 miles away from Palestine" lol get real! that's pathetic!

basically i feel very powerless here. there's a lot of exhortation to do something about this, but I am not sure what the something that should be done is. I guess that's the reality of like... trying to go against the gradient of power, the enemy lays out the field and you do what little you can to find some fault line to exploit. but there's this persistent nagging feeling that like, there must be something I'm missing here, that this is somehow 'on me', and if I was smarter or braver - or more willing to burn my life down as a sacrifice and abandon the people who depend on me - I'd have more capacity to save peoples' lives in Palestine. that's a delusion of grandeur. but 'there is nothing I can really do that matters, I just have to witness the horror or turn away' is the easy cop-out, and I don't trust it either.

the left in this country is really weak. because it's so weak, whenever shit like this happens, it is not in a position to do fuck all about it. even recognising that problem, I also know I'm not much of a movement-builder. I'm trying to get involved in shit again - in my own capacity, not as a satellite of my ex - but my perpetually-exhausted adhd ass is not someone you want trying to run an org, it would be a disaster. but there must be some optimal niche I can fill right? some duty that is mine to fulfil in the great project of bringing about the good future? I can't seem to let go of this feeling, that I'm being derelict in my responsibility to use the tools and talents I've been given by chance, but I can't figure out what exactly that responsibility is and how to know when I've finally met it.

[belethlegwen]

The Rescue - Chp 54 - That Dark Old Friend [+ Life Update]

Hey there everyone!

So sorry about the delay in updates since the Christmas season, there's a lot of shit to blame for it and I'll get into it in more detail, but in short this was a wildly busy Christmas season where I had 0 time to write between work and family stuff from like, November-end of December, and then a whole lot of house shit started happening and I've been unbelievably stressed since just before New Years.

Longer details and stuff below the cut for people who are interested, but in short the important details are:

Updates to works on AO3 may be at random times with long delays between for the coming year. Can't be sure, but for now that's how things are looking while I have way too much shit going on IRL.

Please enjoy this little chapter for now, and if you're up for a long winding journey about why it felt like all of my hair has been falling out for two weeks, meet me below <3

So the Christmas season at my job was wildly busy, on top of that there's some issues going on there between the business owner I rent space from and the person who owns the building. It's a mess, for a while it looked like/still kinda looks like we're going to have some major issues with the lot clearing what with winter being a major issue where I live in the Frozen Nor'Atlantic. That was all bad enough.

I had been told back in the fall by my landlord, who I've been renting from for 10 years now, that her mortgage was up for renewal in January and that it looked like it was going to go up a hot amount. Rates are super fucking high in Canada right now, shit's bad, the mortgage specialist at the bank I was talking to yesterday said that it's bad enough they legitimately expect the government to be stepping in soon to do something about it before it's a crisis (or more of a crisis because personally, it's already a fucking crisis and has been, but I digress). She warned me the rent was going to have to go up, I told her I expected it, I knew it was going to happen, she's been amazing to me for 10 years, if it's gotta go up it's gotta go up, I get it.

This past fall is when my partner Zip came to visit for 6 weeks and we got engaged, and when we started to plan to move them up here so we could start immigration and the like, which we were aiming to do for the beginning of this summer.

So as we're gearing up to New Year's and everything, I am expecting to deal with the start of immigration application readying, and expecting rent to increase. December 27th, I got a message from the landlord that uh, someone wants to buy the house (as an investment property and keep the renters) and despite her best efforts to try and bounce around and get a lower mortgage rate, it didn't work out and she's going to have to sell either way. So we suddenly had to get the house ready to be listed and viewed.

Viewings were fucking hell, by the way. While priority for accepting the offer was going to someone who wanted to take the property over and keep the renters in place, Real Estate agents just want the fucking sale, so being in my home while people are wandering around it scaring my cats and talking about how my bedroom was going to be the kid's room and my office was going to be turned into something else? Shit time, don't recommend. Not to mention the agents that were showing up half-hour not just away of their own scheduled appointment but a half hour outside of when viewings were actually permitted to happen.

I'm glad we have such high paying careers available for people who are, apparently, fucking illiterate, but I was getting extremely rude to agents and their desperation for a sale by the end of it. Someone tried to show up yesterday after a offer was accepted literally the night before and we sent them packing fine enough, but now anytime the rain hits the gutters too hard I think someone is walking into my home so that's fun.

We have signs all over the house about keeping doors closed to keep the cats inside, including one on the back door (where it isn't an enclosed porch) that says in extremely large lettering Access To Patio From Outside ONLY, and there were still at least two agents that opened the back door, so. Nightmares all around.

An offering has been accepted, the person who is hopefully going to buy wants to keep us as tenants, and I'm locked in a lease until later this year anyway. Things are at least, as of yesterday when I got the confirmation that an offer was in that stage, stable now that I didn't throw up this morning. Hooray! It's been hell. I can not stress enough that this has been hell.

It still leaves the later part of the year up in the air a lot, because new landlord may still want us out at the end of the lease of whathaveyou, and between now and then I am flying down to America to drive across that wild country with a car full of stuff to move my fiancee here, then we gonna get immigration rolling and the employment switchover and everything else. My Dad has been a massive rock for me during this time in terms of trying to keep me level, and as he says: "this is all just one-step-at-a-time things. You're just keeping ducks in a row".

And as I keep saying: "Yeah but I've got a lot of fuckin' ducks, man."

So that's the kind of thing that's in the air right now for me. Lots and lots of stuff going on. I'm still picking away at writing but to make things easier on myself, I'm going to not stress about any kind of schedule or the like right now and just play with whatever flows come when I have them and have the time/ability to focus on them in the few quiet moments I have between all of the other stuff.

Much love to all of you, thank you all again as always for the wonderful comments you've all left, the kudos, the people who reached out, all of it. You're wonderful <3

Take care of yourselves out there,

~ Belle

[imogenkol]

— WIP PRETEND IT’S WEDNESDAY

tagged by mine lovelies @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @corvosattano @adelaidedrubman @simonxriley

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @florbelles @marivenah @shegetsburned @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @v0idbuggy @aceghosts @jillvalentinesday @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree

Slowly chipping away at this whumptober thing I’m working on. Who knows if it’ll actually be ready for October, but hey! It’s angsty af and I’m having some fun with the pain. Here’s a snippet that could be considered a crossover, but these two characters share something in common

Bix never would have imagined herself at a dusty saloon in the Outer Rim with such dire circumstances hanging over her head. Loud music reverberated through the floor and into the soles of her boots. Its low, lively beat reminded her of Cavo’s back home and she wished she could go to the bar and simply drown her worries in a few strong drinks. But that empty radio signal echoed in her mind, pounding inside her skull with more vibrato than the speakers, so she pushed the nostalgia and longing aside.

The mechanic scanned the crowd of colorful travelers and soon realized she had practically nothing to go on when it came to finding the Jedi Imogen mentioned only a few brief times. The former Inquisitor hadn’t really bothered to describe him outside of his so-called meager abilities. Bix only came here because of the subtle fondness she picked up on in Imogen’s voice during her recollection. Cal was Bix’s only chance, of that, she was certain.

Deciding on a more direct approach, she went to the bar and waved down the bartender droid. It smoothly zoomed over to her end and animated excitedly. 

“Welcome to Pyloon’s Saloon! The name’s M-6NK, but my friend’s call me Monk,” the droid introduced in a peppy tone. His optic winked — or, rather, blinked since there was only one — and the tank of alcohol behind his head sloshed as he whirled his mechanical arms with a flourish. “What can I do ya for?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Bix did a quick check around the saloon for eavesdroppers before she leaned in with a hushed tone. “I think he’s a Jedi?”

“Haven’t seen any Jedi ‘round here in a couple centuries or so,” Monk said, his extra dispenser arms filling up a couple of glasses. 

The possibility that she may have come all this way for nothing and wasted precious time doing it felt like a heavy blow to the chest. Bix would not give up so easily, though. Imogen never gave up on her. “Look, it’s really important. His name is Cal.”

“Sorry, doesn't ring a bell!” Something in the droid’s voice sounded a little too eager to dismiss her questions. “I can whip you up something to drink, though! And we have a full menu!”

Bix shook her head, getting increasingly desperate. “I’m not trying to cause trouble, I just need his help. Badly.”

“If you don’t want to drink and you don’t want to eat, I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do,” the droid said with a shrug.

“That’s fine, I’ll… ask around, I guess,” Bix replied dejectedly. Her fist tapped the surface of the bar as she pushed away from it with a frustrated sigh and faced the other patrons. There had to be dozens. If she had to bet, none of them had loose lips. 

Back on Ferrix, Bix learned how to make hard sales with all kinds of business people and travelers. She knew what to say and how to put her foot down. Here… Well, the hardened explorers of the Outer Rim barely paid her a second glance once she started to prod them for information on a Jedi of all things. The mechanic might attract the wrong kind of attention if she persisted, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She might as well be chasing a fairytale. 

Bix eventually found herself back at the bar, taking a generous swig of something bitter and strong. She let the liquid burn on her tongue before it scorched its way down her throat and settled in her stomach with a heavy warmth. It started to look like she would have to infiltrate the Empire herself. Whatever it took, she decided. 

“Why are you looking for a Jedi?” a male voice asked. 

Bix turned to see a man with reddish-brown hair and a close cropped beard sat in the stool right beside her. He studied her closely, but his demeanor was calm and non-threatening. She threw up her hand. “I don’t know. It feels like a fool’s errand, but I don’t have a lot of options.”

He shrugged. “Who knows? I might be able to point you in the right direction.”

The mechanic carefully regarded the stranger who appeared to be a lot more forthcoming than any of the others. A small spark of hope ignited in her chest. “Do you know the Jedi?”

“I’d like to know who’s asking, first.”

“Honestly, if I tell you, he might want absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Try me,” the stranger urged with a friendly grin. 

“He knows my girlfriend. Imogen.” At the sound of her name, the man’s body suddenly tensed and his eyes widened just a fraction. Bix knew the name drop might cause issues given Imogen’s past, but she continued to make her case and silently prayed that hadn’t ruined her chances. “They have a… history. I need his help to find her.”

A flicker of recognition came across the stranger’s features as if he finally saw the woman in front of him. “You’re Bix.”

“I –” Bix stopped her sentence short and blinked in confusion as she struggled to put the pieces together. Then it clicked. She finally saw the man – the Jedi – too. “You’re Cal.”

He rose from his seat and motioned for her to follow. “We should talk in private.”

Bix hopped to her feet and noticed a small, two-legged explorer droid scurry from the surface of the bar up Cal’s arm to perch on his shoulder. It beeped low into his ear and Bix picked up on the concern the droid expressed about her presence in binary. Cal quietly assured the BD unit as he walked on. 

“How did you know my name?” Bix asked while she tagged along.

“Imogen talked about you,” he said, glancing back at her. “She didn’t say much, but more than a few sentences and a name told me how much you really mean to her.”

Bix let out an amused breath, but her warm smile was genuine. “I could say the same about you.”

“I mean about as much to her as one of her bounties.” 

“Well, you’re still alive and not imprisoned. Knowing her, that’s holding you in pretty high regard.” 

“I guess,” he chuckled. 

They walked through a door that led to the back of the bar. Bix smelled the line of cooked meals before she saw it. She didn’t realize how appetizing the food would be until they passed by the plates of steaming meats and vegetables. She’d barely eaten the entire journey to Koboh and pictured all the times Imogen had urged her to eat when she was too deep in her own head. As they descended a curved flight of stairs, Bix made a mental note to refuel after their conversation.

The music upstairs faded as Cal led her into a quaint basement room. The small space was impressively outfitted. She saw a comfortable bed, a workbench, even a terrarium. Bix wished her home back on Ferrix had been this cozy. She could have at least had a plant.

“So, what’s going on?” Cal asked, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. 

“Imogen had some business on Coruscant. She went radio silent. It’s been too long, I –” Bix nearly choked on her next words. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms before she could voice her theory. Saying it out loud made the probable fear all the more horrifying. “I think the Empire might have her.”

Cal remained silent for a long time, his thoughts thoroughly shielded behind the unreadable expression on his face. He placed his hands on his hips and his gaze dropped with a long sigh. “I’m sorry. Really, I am,” he said sincerely as he looked back up at her. Remorse shone in his eyes. “But if they have her… she’s either dead or turned.”

“She isn’t dead,” Bix insisted confidently.

“You can’t know that for certain.”

“I do know,” she snapped. “She told me I’d feel it if she was gone.”

He didn’t argue against that point despite how crazy it might have sounded to anyone else. Instead, he said something far more offensive. “Then she’s probably an Inquisitor again.”

The mechanic stared the Jedi down. Bix couldn’t blame him for this assumption after everything Imogen had done just to him alone, but she absolutely hated the lack of hesitation in his response. “She wouldn’t.”

“Do you know how most of the Inquisitors were made?” Cal asked patiently, his expression shifting from remorse to pity. “They tortured Jedi to corrupt them and turn them to the Dark Side. Imogen didn’t need that kind of convincing the first time around. How do you think the second will go?” 

The revelation made Bix’s stomach flip and her hands shake. She crossed her arms tighter around herself to hide it. “She’s stronger than you give her credit for.” 

“She’s strong in a very dangerous way.” 

Bix stepped closer to him, her fear and desperation palpable enough for him to sense in the air around them. “I need to find her and I don’t know if I can do it without your help. Please. At least tell me where to start looking.”

“If they have her, then…. I know exactly where she is,” Cal admitted. He held up a hand as Bix brightened with conviction to keep her expectations in check. “It is the last place in the entire galaxy you want to be, Bix. I don’t think Imogen would want you to be in the same system, much less in the stronghold itself.”

“I want her back, Cal,” Bix said with fierce intensity while she still held his gaze. “Tell me.”

“The Fortress Inquisitorius on Nur,” he answered grimly as if that all but confirmed her death sentence.

[mamoonde]

ha ha imagine modern cultivation reincarnation au where wei ying's reincarnation gets reborn in mundane society, later owning a pawn shop, and he sometimes posts about his cool finds/authentic items for sale.

one day someone drops the long lost stygian tiger seal in his shop. and look, wei ying may not be part of the super exclusive cultivator society, but he's not dumb, he knows a few things. he knows all about the history of the sect wars, the story of the dreaded yiling laozu, the massacre at nightless city, the siege of burial mounds. he was never a good student, but he did like to read.

he also knows how many counterfeits and replicas there are of cultivation artifacts. in fact he owns a pretty damn good one of zidian, and wen ruohan's authentic poison dagger. he knows better now how to tell when a guy doesn't actually know whether they're selling something of worth, or when a deal is too good to be true.

so when some rando drops in from out of town, a *little* too desperate to get rid of some "old family heirloom rock" he knows something's up.

"so you're telling me, your family's had this thing sitting around in your basement for generations, and you're just selling this to me, just like that?" wei ying looks up from the faded talismans clinging haphazardly to the sides of the dusty puzzle box.

the young man grins sharply.

"if my folks can cut me off for not having a shitty dumbfuck cultivator's core, why can't i sell their shit after they're dead and gone?" he jerks his thumb to the door. "'sides, ain't ya the one whose sign says, 'cursed items are fine'?"

wei ying raises a brow. "if you really believe it's cursed, why sell it here of all places?"

"well, can't give all the fun to them prissy ass cultivator pricks, can we?" the young man smirks, flicking at one of the frayed talismans. "'sides, i need easy cash. so how 'bout it?"

"well, it doesn't look pretty well-kept, that's for sure," wei ying spins the box, tugs at the little brass fixtures and lock keeping it shut. nothing seems to come off except from dust. "for all i know, this could just be something you got off etsy. how much do you want for it?"

the young man rolls his eyes. "well since you're so ecstatic to receive it, i want 500 bucks for it."

wei ying snorts. "kid, no one's gonna buy this thing off me for 450, let alone 500. i'll give you 300 for it."

"that's it?"

"300 or you take it to those prissy cultivators."

for a moment the guy just glowers at him and wei ying's sure he's gonna have to bring out his little party trick for troublesome customers. but in the end, the guy backs off. "fine, fine, i'll take the 300."

so wei ying gives him the money, already sure he's gonna be paying hell for it.

"nice doin' business with ya." the guy looks back at him with a smirk. "i don't think you'll have a problem finding people who'll want it. see 'ya around, wei ying."

and then he's gone.

wei ying looks down at the old box on his counter, talismans peeling off the side and sighs.

right off the bat, he can tell the box is neither 'generations old' nor 'cursed.' well, not as much as what's sealed inside it is.

see, wei ying may not have fancy schmancy cultivator education, or a golden core, but he was born sensitive to energies:

he knows the heavy warmth of spiritual energy, the burning cold of resentful energy.

and from the moment the guy had entered his tiny shop, wei ying had felt the box practically ooze dark, resentful energy, seeping through weakening talismans.

"what have we gotten ourselves into this time?" wei ying mutters to himself as he takes out his trusty protective gloves.

over the years of handling occasionally cursed items have taught him the merits of good sturdy cloth stitched with protective talismans – especially in minimizing singed fingers and damaged items.

he attaches a clip on lens to his phone camera, self-modified with tiny energy recording and protection arrays then carefully documents his latest, definitely cursed acquisition. most run-of-the-mill cursed items he encounters in his shop and some antique stores would register a faint smokey aura about them – resentment attached with no specific goal. rarely, some objects would have a darker grey hue – full of resentful spirits that could harm people.

talismans, fueled by spiritual energy would have a glow; its brightness depending on how much of it is left.

the talismans barely holding on to the puzzle box emit a feeble light, like days old glow sticks. and where they come away, the energy that seeps out is a pitch black.

"well fuck, seems we chose death today!" wei ying says, putting his phone down. "what the hell are you hiding inside, little buddy?"

for that matter, why was whatever it is not locked inside some cultivator's vault? for all that the cultivation society strictly keep to their circles,

they've never been silent when it came to dealing with evil spirits and keeping people away from vats of resentful energy (i.e. burial mounds, old yi city). the unguarded existence of an artifact that seems to contain all the resentment of china seems like a huge oversight.

his early bell goes off and wei ying has just enough time to stuff the old box in a heavily sealed pouch under his counter before his next customer comes in.

hopefully the talismans hold on until he can close up.

he's gonna need to call wen qing up before he can play around with it.

[tobiasdrake]

Final farewells. T_T So long to everyone. Until we meet again one day.

And by one day, I mean "On sale now!"

Of course she is. She's the obligatory love interest for a romance arc that didn't even manage to dip its toe in the water before the end credits rolled. She's going to need several more games of development before anything gets started for her.

Poor girl didn't even manage to get a climactic last-minute kiss, either right before Yuma went off into the final confrontation or just before the end-credits rolled. The game was having too much fun shipping Yuma with Fubuki (gross) and Shinigami (SO GROSS) instead. Kodaka owes her at least one date to a coffee shop or something.

Go get him, girl. Maybe next time, you'll be allowed to have a relationship with him that is actually romantic in some way.

That must have been such an awkward conversation. Can you imagine having to talk to your crush's clone to try and get permission to go look for his human counterpart?

I remind everyone that Kurumi was able to navigate a Peacekeeper-infested Dohya District when even Yuma needed timey-wimey powers to pull that off. I have the utmost faith in her abilities.

...all due respect to everyone here but I cannot in good conscience vote for any of them. Halara's too capitalist, Fubuki lacks worldly experience, Vivia's unmotivated, and Desuhiko has a lot of personal growth he needs to do before he'll be ready for any kind of authority.

I hope there are more well-adjusted Master Detectives in the organization who will do a better job of it. But if you twisted my arm... Fubuki, with Desuhiko as running mate.

Halara is far too valuable in the field and would most certainly convert the WDO into a for-profit corporation immediately after assuming control, so that's a hard pass. Vivia, absolutely not. Why would you do that to the poor guy? He just wants to rest.

Fubuki lacks a lot of wordly knowledge but she has a boundless curiosity and love for the act of discovery itself. I have faith in her judgment. I do not have faith in her ability to fully understand context, which is why Desuhiko would make a good partner for her.

Desuhiko's head is too far up his own ass to make sound judgment decisions with authority. He has a lot that he needs to figure out about himself and the way he engages with the world. But he's attentive and follows along with information well.

The two of them could make for an effective tag-team, with Desuhiko laying out the context and Fubuki calling the shots. That could work.

But if there's someone, anyone better, that would be... better.

T_T This is the true reason that Yuma went into hiding.

See you around, Halara. It was awesome knowing you. I have the utmost faith that you're going to excel, no matter where you go or what you do.

Oh, of course! In fact, I have these three friends who I'm sure are just dying to meet you. I can take you to them right now, if you'd like!

I kid. We know now that he's only doing this to try and look cool. Nonetheless, as uncomfortable as I was interacting with him as a boy, I am twice as uncomfortable interacting with him as a girl. But, c'est la vie. This is what every day is like for women.

So long, Desuhiko. I wish you the best of luck in figuring yourself out and finding your way to a place where you can be satisfied with the man you've become. Or woman or person, if you wind up down one of those roads. Whatever the case, may you one day find yourself in a place where you can be happy.

Spinoff game starring Fubuki and Kurumi. I want it now. They can call it Ultra Truth Girls or some shit. I don't care what.

Farewell, bestie. I trust that wherever your adventures take you next, you'll have the awesomeness to weather it. And get the hell away from your shitty family, while you're at it! If you wind up becoming President of the WDO, that's my fault, I'm sorry for that.

Yeah, I'm mad at Desuhiko too. I told him that was his job. Though he might not have skedaddled so quickly if I hadn't threatened to get him eaten by ferals. So I guess that's on me. Sorry, Vivia.

In any case. Vivia? I hope you get to take a nap. A long, long nap. The longest nap of your career. And when you wake up from that, you get to take another nap. You deserve all the rest in the world.

So. That. Means. We have dibs on the submarine, right? Let's take this sucker out of port and get to globetrotting!

Y'know, a sub wouldn't be a bad place for a homunculus to live, in fact. No fear of sunlight in here. None whatsoever. Plus, Yakou's still feral for the time being so it's not like he needs it.

No? Going to leave it here to rot forever? Okay. Fine. What's even the fucking point of having the office in a sub if nobody ever uses its vehicular capabilities for anything. Angry fish noises!

Sure. I guess we can take the train, if we want to be boring about it. Watch out for murderers, Kurumi.

Yuma left Kurumi a note telling her that he left and offering little information as to where. Aww, that was sweet of him.

HE ALSO LEFT HER THE BOOK OF DEATH

OKAY

Kodaka, you realize that this is a promise for Kurumi to be the protagonist of the next game, right? You're clear on that?

I want to be sure because you might think that this means "Kurumi is going to find Yuma at the start of the next game and hand him back the book, so he can connect with Shinigami again."

But that is not what this promise means. This promise means, "Our next adventure will star Kurumi as she makes a pact with Shinigami and they go on adventures while trying to find Yuma together."

I'm gonna be mad if Kurumi isn't the protag for Master Detective Archives 2.

Again. This is promising a Kurumi-centric adventure. Just so we're clear. I expect you to deliver on that.

Post-credits scene showing what Yuma's up to?

The closeup here implies she's going to be important for the next game. Fuck, we're not getting a Kurumi-centric adventure, are we? She's going to show up in the prologue and be like, "Here you go, Yuma. I brought your book!" and then resume the same role she had in the first game.

Fine, but at the very least, I demand a badass scene where she exposes herself unfiltered to the sun and lets herself turn temporarily feral on purpose to fuck up the bad guy.

[134340am]

yuna yuna! congrats on your milestone! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ for your event, may i request kuroo & #13 (asking your not-yet-lover to stay the night because you don’t want to be alone)? giving you smooches and head pats too !!!

kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader, 1.1k words, sfw + cw food part of my 500 frens celebration! + read the bakugou ver. here

13. asking your not-yet-lover to stay the night because you don’t want to be alone 

we’re going to osaka! said kuroo’s text.

you raise an eyebrow at the message, fingers still flying over your keyboard as you tied up the findings of your quarterly sales report. you ignore his text in favour of keeping your concentration—just a few more sentences to go, aaaaaand done.

i said, we’re going to OSAKA!!! came the subsequent text. 

i know, they already told me this morning, you wrote back. then, can we get coffee later?

you set your phone aside to reach for your mouse, but kuroo writes back before you can click on anything.

let’s go now. my treat.

the corner of your lips turn up automatically. today’s gonna be a good day.

osaka turned out to be a short trip with a small team—five days and four nights, seven people. seems like kuroo forgot to finish up the second half of his text, which should’ve read we’re going to osaka to work and not we’re going to osaka to slack off—which was what you would have greatly preferred, after finishing that monster of a report.

five slow days of conferences (boring), networking (gross), presentations (stressful) and rushing from place to place later, you finally find some time to decompress with your work buddy—and by time, you mean at two in the morning in his hotel room, five hours before your scheduled shinkansen takes you back to tokyo. 

you can’t believe you used to think that you’d have your life together by the time you became a working adult, because this—bingeing on junk food and beer in the middle of the night—seemed far from having your life together. if anything, it only reminds you of when you and kuroo would stay up all night in college, just chatting and laughing and dicking around. 

five years later, you’re glad you’re seated on a plush hotel room bed and not the grimey floor of his little dorm room. and instead of spending all your time agonising over exams, you’re gossipping about your colleagues with your best friend, getting distracted by the tv intermittently, and shoving dried potato strips into your mouth while taking turns to tell horror stories. 

“so he told his friend that he’d meet him back in the bedroom, and his friend said ‘okay’,” you whisper, your voice dipping to a low, slow crawl. “but when he got back to his room—which, mind you, only took him, like, ten seconds on foot—his friend was already in bed, snoring away.” 

kuroo stares back at you, alarmed. “...then who did he see in the kitchens?” 

you smirk. “what do you think, tetsurou?”

“fuck, that’s scary.” he runs a hand through his hair, then scrubs at his eye with his palm. you can tell that he’s actually scared now: his shoulders are tense and his back is stiff, a whole 180 from an hour ago when the two of you were chattering away about souvenirs you’ve bought.

“yep, it is,” you agree, peeling yourself off the end of his bed and dusting crumbs off your shorts. “and i’ve run out of ghost stories, so that’s all for tonight.”

“hey, no fair. you have to stay and listen to mine—it’s only fair that we go to sleep equally scared.”

an amused laugh bubbles in your throat as you toss empty jelly cups and snack wrappers into the bin. “tetsu, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. you know i’m pretty much not scared of anything. save your energy for tomorrow, okay?” 

“nooooo, don’t wanna.” he’s whining now, that big baby. “come back here and talk to me.”

“it’s late, tetsu. i gotta go to bed too.”

“you can just sleep here.”

“no, you snore.”

“aw, c’mon! we used to do this all the time—i let you borrow my notes and sleep in my bed and i didn’t even say anything when you started drooling on my arm.”

you stop in your tracks, offended, and whirl around to stare at kuroo with a hand on your hip. “for the record, kuroo-san, your notes were of no use, you wouldn’t let me out of your room, and— and—”

(you had no excuse for the drooling.)

“—why are you trying to stop me from leaving, anyway?” you look at him. closely. his back is shoved into his pillow, sheets pulled all the way up to his chin, leaving his toes peeking out the other end. he looks… small, like he’s shrunken in on himself.

“tetsu, are you— are you scared of the dark?”

“...no,” he says, the pout evident in his tone.

“then you should be fine.” you turn around to leave. 

“no!”

you look back at kuroo, at the lump of blankets on the bed. a wild mess of dark hair peeks out the top, alongside two sad eyes—puppy eyes—downturned into a frown. 

“i’m not scared of the dark,” he argues, throwing the blanket down and running a hand through his hair. “just to be clear, i simply think it won’t be safe for you to walk back to your room all by yourself. and since i’m too sleepy to walk you back, you’d just have to stay with me.”

you laugh. “bullshit, tetsurou.”

an offended gasp. “rude!” 

“but sure, since it’s so dark out, and the one-minute walk down the well-lit corridor definitely can’t be safe for little ole me!” you sing, lifting the edge of the blanket and sliding in next to kuroo.

it’s warm, so very warm. your heart flutters in your chest and all of a sudden you’re back in your final year of college again, falling into bed with kuroo after a long night of studying. it’s a different bed now, this one much comfier, but it’s the same warmth, the same sense of comfort and safety cocooning your body. and right next to you is the same boy you fell in love with so many years ago, the boy who lent you his notes and his shoulder to cry on, the boy who gave you a home to return to at the end of every tiring day.

maybe you’ll be cursing yourself for this in the morning—for staying up so late, for sleeping in kuroo’s bed again, for skipping on your nighttime skincare routine. you’re not that young anymore. a late bedtime means a bad tension headache in the morning, and if you forgo moisturiser before bed, you’ll definitely see the dry patch between your eyebrows resurface. 

but maybe, just maybe, you can let things go just this once. because when else will you be in osaka again, sleeping next to kuroo and drooling on his arm with a train to catch in a few hours?

you might not have your life together, not just yet, but you have this—this very moment with kuroo, tender and timeless.

looks like things do work out eventually, after all.

a/n: sayu bby, this is a day late but congrats on finishing your test!!! have this as a lil gift o((>ω< ))o i appreciate your friendship so so much, thank you for always sending me the sweetest good morning and good night messages and for being so supportive of my writing T^T i lov u, my honey bunny!

> read the bakugou version of this prompt here!

(series masterlist) (masterlist)

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf News - Seasonal Werewolf Product Roundup

The time of year is well underway - my very favorite season... fall! And why is fall my favorite season? Well, it’s not just because it comes before Christmas and also has my birthday - it’s because of Halloween!

Since I keep up with so much werewolf news and stuff anyway, I figure I will start making werewolf news posts here on the blog. Here’s the first one! It’s a bit late due to delays, but here it is anyway.

You can find the links in the titles for each product. This isn’t a full roundup yet, but just some of my favorite things I’ve found.

First up, have a cuddly werewolf...

Build a Bear Werewolf 2022 (currently on sale, as of this post!)

You may not know this about me, but I am a huge plushie collector and enthusiast. I love plushies (I dream of having my own plushie company someday; I’m actually working toward this). And I collect every werewolf plushie possible. It’s difficult, because scalpers love them and there are very few made. A werewolf plushie can end up being worth a lot if you can get your hands on one. Of course, I don’t want them for value, I want them because they are cute and awesome.

I may prefer my werewolves terrifying and fearsome, but look, I just love plushies, okay?

So here is a new plushie out for this season - Build a Bear has a werewolf plush, if you’re interested. I’ve been collecting these every year when I can. This design isn’t quite as good as the last two, because it has no glow-in-the-dark stitching, at least that I see mentioned anywhere, and the addition of brown in the yellow eyes is a weird choice.

But, regardless, it’s a very cute design, especially if you missed the last few years. I also can recommend the bubblegum scent, if you’re into scented plushies. It’s a great smell and not overwhelming, but it can be useful if there’s an offensive odor around.

Next up is possibly among the very coolest werewolf decorations I’ve ever seen for Halloween...

Home Depot’s 9.6-foot tall werewolf!

This big bad wolf is absolutely amazing. His mouth has a light in it, his eyes are LEDs that blink and move, he is absolutely freaking enormous and comes on a huge metal stand to keep him sturdy, he’s weatherproof, and he moves and he even howls and it sounds great (and looks great).

If I was rich, I’d buy this dude instantly. I’ve always wanted to have really awesome werewolf decorations like this guy. Sadly, I am not only not rich, I am completely broke, and I absolutely do not have the cash to spare to get this.

But if you do, then get him, because I’m not sure we’re ever gonna see a werewolf decoration as awesome as this. I have seen a few that kind of compare, but really, I’m not sure any of them quite stack up to this guy.

Home Depot has a few other werewolves, too...

Home Depot Macho Man Werewolf

This is an adorable little dude, and if the Home Depot within an hour of me actually had one in stock and/or delivered, I would get one immediately. Standing only at 13 inches, this guy can fit on your desk.

He also comes with animation and music; see the page for details.

And lastly, we have something pretty strange...

Home Depot Werewolf Pathway Lights

Home Depot went all out this year on werewolf products! I checked Lowes and I found one sad, broken werewolf hanging in an aisle, but I looked online and found all this werewolf stuff at Home Depot. I’m impressed.

This is the most hilarious one: werewolf pathway lights. These little dudes are pretty awesome, I gotta say. I’d buy them too if I could.

That’s all the news for now!

Give me a follow to get ready for this Halloween’s big werewolf fact and even more werewolf updates (including the release of my own werewolf books coming later this year and early next year)!

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 2: A Ride and a Wager

Summary: Thor and Loki visit the local market and hitch a ride home, much to Loki's chagrin.

Word Count: 1,985

Author's Notes: This week's chapter is a little shorter. Loki is a stick in the mud and will continue to be for a bit.

Master List

Thor had managed to talk him into another foray into the human town. Apparently there was some sort of market every weekend, Brynjar had encouraged Thor to come take a look. He felt some of the Asgardian crafters could use the opportunity to sell their wares, once they had their feet under them. Loki wasn't entirely sure how or why he had been roped into coming along, but here he was, walking down the road leaving New Asgard. Thor was going on about trade between the Æsir and the humans and how much it could do for both. Loki was barely listening, he was focused on the cottage at the bend in the road. He was relieved to find you weren't outside and he wouldn't be pulled into another frivolous conversation. As they passed he noticed the goat grazing out in the field again. He briefly wondered why you kept animals on a farm that produces ceramic.

The market was just outside the north end of town. An open field had been covered in a maze of wooden booths. Vendors were hawking everything from produce to leather goods. A few stalls were offering cooked food, the scent drifted in the air. There were too many sellers here to all be from this town, Loki guessed that several must come from nearby to take advantage of the tourism here. He noticed many of the customers moving between the booths appeared to be from out of town as well, some likely even from out of the country.

Thor stopped here and there to speak to a vendor or admire their goods. Loki found that if he ignored the intermittent sour glances he could very nearly enjoy himself. There had been markets very similar to this on Asgard. Bustling trade, street food, a fine distraction. He could almost imagine that he was back home. Almost.

"Hello, boys!"

Of course. Of course you were here. Thor turned and practically shouted your name in excitement. You were smiling wide from behind a wooden market stall. Your booth was the same width as most of the others, the countertop extended backwards at both ends to form a sort of U-shape. The surface was filled with an assortment of plates, bowls, cups, baking dishes, and vases in a range of colors. There was an awning overhead to shield you and your wares from the weather. A couple potential customers were shuffling along the perimeter. A pair of brown eyes and pointy black ears appeared at the edge of the tabletop, brought to attention by the commotion. Loki was obligated to follow Thor as he closed the distance between you.

"Good afternoon, my lady. How is your day?" You nodded. "Pretty decent, so far. Made some sales, haven't dropped anything. And you two? Enjoying the market?" "Oh, very much so." Thor picked up one of your plates to examine it, a bright red glaze mottled with a more subdued crimson. Loki again saw the bird silhouette stamped on the bottom. He noticed now that many of your mugs on display had the same image decorating their walls. A bird of bare clay slightly raised above the surface. Glaze flowed down around it, enhancing the impression of a bird in flight.

Thor looked over the plate at you. "Do you do well here, at the market?" "Oh sure. Folks only need so many dishes but there's enough new people coming through each week to keep food on the table." Loki grew slightly nervous at the mention of food on your table. They were metaphorical inches away from another invitation to eat. Thor returned the plate to your countertop. "We have many fine artisans with us in New Asgard. I hope that they may find a place here." You nodded encouragingly. "I think they'd make a killing. People love anything handcrafted. Add in that it's crafted by a god? Clean sweep. They'd sell out, I'm sure." You paused, tilted your head down and lowered your voice. "You don't have anyone that makes pottery, do you?" Thor laughed. "I'm sure you have nothing to fear, your work is excellent." "I don't know, I'm not so certain I could compete." You gave a wry smile before turning to to assist a customer.

There was a squeal, Thor and Loki turned to see a pair of young women approaching excitedly. They were asking Thor to take a photo with them, he obliged and made small talk. Loki rolled his eyes. It was no wonder that Thor didn't understand his reluctance to go out among the humans. Everywhere Thor went he was met only with praise and admiration.

Loki looked back to you. You didn't seem to take notice of the scene happening in front of your booth. You were chatting with the customer while packing away a vase, seemingly oblivious. Loki wondered again how you were not aware of the brothers' notoriety. Surely by now someone would have at least mentioned it in passing. How long would it be until it was made known to you? He tried to imagine the scowl you'd wear for him after you heard of his misdeeds. It was difficult to picture on your ever-friendly face.

Thor's fans departed as you were finishing up your transaction. You and Thor exchanged a quick goodbye and you offered Loki a wave before another customer needed your attention. The brothers moved along and Loki thanked the Norns that the visit had been so blessedly short.

**

It was late afternoon when they found themselves back on the road home. They were just outside of town when their conversation was interrupted by a voice calling their names. Loki winced, he already recognized it. Approaching from an adjoining road to the north was a wagon, pulled by the large draft horse he had seen grazing in your field. You were waving from the bench seat, the black dog sitting beside you. Thor waved back while Loki revoked the thanks he had previously given to the Norns. You pulled up alongside the brothers and came to a stop. "Would you boys like a ride?"

"Oh, a ride would be most appreciated." Thor answered for the both of them.

You turned to the dog and pointed a thumb behind you. "Ash, hop in the back." He obediently jumped into the bed of the wagon, taking a seat among the crates. You scooted to the end of the bench to make room for the brothers. Thor stepped up and took a seat beside you.

Loki remained where he stood. "I think I prefer to walk."

"Nonsense!" Thor boomed. Before Loki could protest he found his feet leaving the ground, Thor had grabbed hold of his shoulders and lifted him into the seat. If looks could kill even godhood wouldn't have saved Thor from the glare Loki shot him. Hiding a smile behind your hand, you were kind enough not to laugh out loud.

You cleared your throat and gestured at the horse in front of you. "Allow me to introduce you to our driver, Breidr." You gave a click and the wagon began moving forward again. "Thank you, Breidr." Thor gave a gracious nod to the horse. "Most Midgardians I would expect to use an automobile." You nodded. "Yeah, a car or truck would probably be cheaper in the long run, but I inherited Breidr and he does the job well enough."

You and Thor continued in pleasant conversation which Loki didn't care to invest attention in. He peered over his shoulder into the back of the wagon and found the dog was watching him. Loki felt its gaze was abnormally focused for an animal. If he was anything less than a god it might have unnerved him. Luckily, he was a god and therefore was not intimidated by a dog and broke eye contact for entirely unrelated reasons. He turned his attention to the crates instead. There was one left open, he could see one of your mugs nestled among the packing material, a bird silhouette emblazoned on the side.

He decided it was worth sating his curiosity and raised his voice above the current conversation, "Why the birds?" You leaned back in order to see him past Thor. "Huh?" "On your pottery. The bird images." "Oh!" You smiled. "That's Gerdy's doing. She used to call me Terna." You laughed slightly and shook your head. "She said it was because I flew to her from so far away, but I always suspected she just liked it. The nickname stuck. In fact, it's the name most people here know me by. Now it's like my calling card." You gave a shrug and added. "Plus people like birds so the mugs sell pretty well." Loki returned to silence, his interest satisfied. You looked curiously at Thor who said something about manners again and resumed the previous conversation.

The trip was short, in no time at all the wagon was trundling along the low stone wall. "Ash, get the gate." At your word, the dog leapt out of the wagon and bounded ahead to the wooden gate. He lifted the latch and tugged the gate open by a rope that appeared to be tied there for that purpose. His enthusiasm implied this was the most fun any creature could hope to have. Thor raised his eyebrows. "Your dog is very well trained. Very impressive." You nodded. "I can't really take credit for it. Ash is really smart. Practically trained himself."

The wagon came to a stop in front of the open gate. You turned to the brothers. "Well, boys, I'm afraid this is the end of the line." Loki was already stepping down from the wagon. Thor shook your hand and thanked you for the ride before following suit. The horse began pulling the wagon through the open gate and you called to the gods as they started down the road. "Take care!" Thor waved in response. "You as well!"

The brothers continued down the road in silence for a few minutes. Loki was waiting for a reprimand. When it didn't come he decided to air his grievances instead. "Don't ever pick me up like that again." Thor gave a deep laugh. "It was for your own good. You would have looked so foolish walking alone behind us." Loki rolled his eyes. "You could have declined her invitation and we could have walked together." Thor shook his head. "She is pleasant company, which is more than I can say for some." He have Loki a pointed look. Loki scowled. "All I ask is that you do not drag me, literally, into your Midgardian company." Thor chuckled. "I cannot make any promises." "I will not be so accommodating next time." "Oh? And what will you do? Stab me? Right in front of the poor woman?" Loki shrugged. "Perhaps. What do I care if she witnesses your consequences?" Thor scoffed. "You expect me to believe that? You are affected by the opinions of the humans in town but you wouldn't mind if she saw you callously stab your own brother?" "I am not affected by the opinions of the mortals." "Oh? I must have imagined you telling me you were going to avoid them until your crimes faded from living memory."

Loki glowered in silence for a moment. "They're dull. And short-lived. It's akin to making friends with an ant." Thor gave a single laugh. "You underestimate them, brother." "Hm. Regardless, we'll see how friendly she is once she's aware of my history here on Midgard." "You may be surprised. She could continue to be perfectly pleasant." "Hah! You have too much faith in these ants." "Perhaps you have too little." "No. I would wager my finest dagger. Her kindness doesn't extend beyond her naïveté." Thor smirked. "Your finest dagger? I will take that wager."

Loki was not concerned. He knew the hearts of humans.

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