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musicalchaos07 · 6 months

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⭐️

Hi Faith, tysm for the ask bc I get to talk about my baby.

OK so I LOVE everything about we'll be a fine line, we'll be alright like it's one of my favorite fics I've ever written but ANYWAYS SPECIFICALLY this part:

"No uh I'm going to the Wheelers for dinner" he rattles off. "Oh" "Yea" he smiles hesitantly. "You're not going to the Wheelers too?" She asks Will. "Can I???" Will exclaims, lighting up like he's getting away with something. "No" Jonathan answers gravely. "Jonathan!" She scolds. "Mom, seriously?" He begs. "What I'm sure Karen-" "Can't I just" he starts before stopping himself to rethink his words "I can bring Will next time I promise but tonight I'd like to go alone if that's ok" His eyes are flitting around the room but can't seem to meet hers and she wonders if he's lying about his dinner plans. For a minute, she's about to tell him that she knows about the vodka. And then ask what else he's lying about. She’s pretty sure she’s smelled weed on him a couple times. She’s dying to ask how stupid he thinks she is. To pick a fight, just to feel something. But his expression is so soft and concerned. And she recoils, remembering that she swore she'd never be as cruel as her mother. "Ok honey" she concedes. Jonathan nods, ruffles Will's hair, and kisses her on the cheeks before leaving the kitchen. "Jonathan" she calls after him. "Yea" he responds, stopping dead in his tracks in the living room. "Why don't you put your black sweater over your shirt. It matches better" she advises.

Like we've got Jonathan (You're on your own kid coded) nervous as HELL for his first dinner at the Wheeler's as Nancy's boyfriend. We have Will (precious angel bby) being a complete SHITHEAD about it. And lastly, we have Joyce (Mother) who is completely overwhelmed/feeling like she's failing as a parent wanting to fight with him just because she can but pulls back.

And what I especially love about this whole sequence of first dinner events. Is that Joyce is SO close to understanding what's happening. Like she knows he's off, but she thinks it's because he's drinking. And then there's this part of her that wants to be mean but the thing that holds her back is her own generational trauma. (and I imagine also a little unconscious fear that if she pushes him too far she'll lose one of the few supports she has, bc themes of her unintentional parentification of him u know?) Like???

AND THEN because the inquisitive, smart, "always right" Joyce that we know is still there just below the surface she tells him to put something else on that makes him look better. (It's the sweater he wears at Murray's btw) Like she knows that this dinner is important, that he wants to go alone, and she tells him what will make a better impression to the point that there's also this line after he leaves:

She hears him pop into his room and then he's out the door. His car turns over just as she sits down. It's only then that it registers how weird a dinner invitation without Will is. Maybe he and Nancy are more friends than study buddies, he is teaching her how to drive after all. Then again maybe they finally… but no. No, no, that’s just her old fantasy talking.

Like subconsciously she KNOWS they're together but she's so filled with grief, depression, etc. that she deep in denial.

This is also one of the scenes that I wish I wrote from Jonathan's POV in a separate fic. Because I imagine that he hasn't been able to go to 'Meet The Parents' dinner this whole time and he feels so guilty. But a couple days before he promises Nancy he can finally do it. (and she's so happy and he's so in love with her) Because Mom's doing better, surely they can get on without him for a couple hours. And it's important to him, like he wants to be a Good™️ boyfriend. (that boy is desperate for parental approval I know it in my heart) But then he comes home and Joyce is hiding in her room, and he's like fuck. So he makes an easy dinner for her and Will, while he's getting ready but he can't figure out his tie and he can't ask Joyce because she has her own problems. (Jonathan feeling like a burden for needing to parented is so important to me) BUT HE STILL GOES TO DINNER. Like it's such a beautiful moment of Jonathan struggling with what he feels like he has to do and what he wants to do and picking what he wants. (a little independence as a treat). There's also a very cute moment of Nancy (who's been watching from her window) cutting him off before he rings the doorbell so she can frantically put a tie on him before Ted can start shit.

ANYWAYS, clearly I could talk about this fic for a while

Send me a fanfic director's cut ask

#my big secret is that I think our boy is so 'child of divorce' coded that he's in fact a hopeless romantic #so the traditional meet the parents is very important to him even if he's our counterculture Gen X dad #catch him watching An Officer and a Gentlemen with El while Will rolls his eyes during family movie night.#and then telling her about the military industrial complex #My source??? Homeboy wants to marry his first girlfriend and father her children #also like whomst the fuck says something as romantic and soft as 'we have shared trauma' if they're not a hopeless romantic #ANYWAYS #ask game #fanfic asks #mutual asks #my fic #jancy #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #joyce Byers

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liapher · 11 months

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taming skittish horses like you wouldn't believe

#ohoho the secrets revealed to me in the beamer documentation / source code !#unfortunately this is RIGHT after two public presentations. oh well!!!!#my misplaced stubbornness dictates i have to create a beamer slide deck stylish pretty and elegant enough #to not look shabby next to my colleagues' very nice keynote presentations. i like to imagine i am succeeding #nevertheless we stay silly etc etc

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selfconsumerofmywoes · 28 days

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must be doing something wrong because there’s no way they want us to analyse a 10000 word source in 2000 words right?

#the last one i had to read was a page #15 seems excessive #but i don’t understand their source code thing #so i don’t know if that’s a secret message on what bits to look at or not #i talk and its probably something weird

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binders-and-beanies · 10 months

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I deserve financial compensation for having to use firefox to queue posts it’s so comically unusable pls tumblr for the love of god let me use safari again

#it takes So Long.#I have to do two step verification in between every post #and it saves the post as a draft with every letter I type including in the tags #with an annoying notification telling me that it’s doing so. it covers up the tags #idk if that part is just bc of the new editor in general (also bad) but PLS #and getting the source links…. bad #one thing I do like tho is now u can just type in the time u want it to post. instead of using The Secret Code #mine #txt

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dead-end-draws · 2 months

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Tribe Banner concept art:

Folks seemed to enjoy my WOF WIPS, so here’s more concept art for y’all! My favorite thing about WOF is the potential for world building. I thought it’d be cool to see a tribe emblem represented on a banner/flag of sorts:

Read below for some of the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywing Banner:

Skywings pride themselves on 3 things; treasure, fire, & their enormous, soaring wingspan which steals the sky.

As such, portrayed on the banner, the fabric (often made with dyed cow or goat leathers) resembles draped dragon wings. Two Skywings embrace a goblet, which is spewing golden fire.

The banner is often held aloft with iron or gold poles, signifying to other tribes their wealth and pride.

Mudwing banner:

These banners are fashioned with leather hides from cow or crocodile skin, held aloft with bamboo, and painted with a Talon-print & Reed crest.

The talonprint symbolizes community and the strength of Mudwing sibling bonds. The reed border unifies all Mudwings regardless of their relationship to home; the swamp. Bigwings are often seen carrying these into battle, signifing their status and making it easier for a sib to locate them in the flurry of a fight.

Sandwing Banner:

Sandwing flags are made with camel skins and dyed cactus leather.

A crest shows a Sandwing coiled around a beaming sun, a reminder that despite the revered 3 moons, Sandwings are born to thrive in sunlight.

The fabric is cut in a way to mimic the swooping dunes of Sandwing territory. And the poles of the flags are equally intricate, with scorpion tails and golden ropes which frame the banner.

These flags make prominent appearances in parades, festivals, and markets, and even miniature version are often displayed in homes or as tapestries/carpets.

Seawing banner:

These banners are often seen displayed in royal quarters or councils, or above land to mark territory.

A nautilus shell crest on front echoes the swirl-pattern associated with royal Seawings: The banner’s borders resemble waves and a dragon swimming beneath their surface.

These are crafted with rich materials, strung with seashells, pearls, silver dollars, and deep oceanic color fabric. There is severe penalty for Seawings found plucking treasure from the banners, as they are a direct symbol of royalty.

Nightwing Banner:

These banners emphasize the Nightwings’ relationship to the moon, their source of power and praise. The material, a contrast of white stitching against purple velvet showcases moonlight and night, black scales against stars, magic and mystery.

They are seen decorated with 3 moons at the top and a centered dragon reaching up into the night sky.

These banners were often used during the war as secret code by spies to deliver to other tribes. Prophecy scrolls often came attached, delivering cryptic messages or secrets in the night. These banners all helped add to the secrecy of the Dragonet Prophecy, and kept tribes on their toes around Nightwings.

Rainwing banner:

Rainwing banners are not used for battle purposes like other tribes, most are mere decoration, location indicators, and have no unified design.

However, It is said back when Rainwings left the rainforest to trade pre-war, this particular banner design was often raised above Rainwing merchant tables, and showcases the coiled tail of a Rainwing with leaves, vines, and other sights from the rainforest adorning a bamboo pole. Bright color combinations accentuated the flag to entice curious customers.

Now, only one tattered version of the original Rainwing banner remains, displayed proudly in Queen Glory’s quarters, a reminder that building the Rainwings’ community is their most important goal.

Icewing Banner:

These banners reflect the same standards Icewings hold themselves to.

Like a visual of the rankings themselves, each banner is cut perfectly from an Icewing’s trained, serrated claws to resemble icicles, and crafted with fine blue stitching.

Flags are often held aloft with perfectly polished narwhal horn or bone, and can be inlaid with sapphires or diamond.

Icewing soldiers are often gifted these during ceremonies, and perform training exercises with the flags to test their stance/attentiveness. The crest showcases the swift sharpness of ice through a flying dragon, and a snowflake toward the bottom reminding Icewings that even minuscule snowflakes, small things, should be perfect in form.

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atimeofyourlife · 9 months

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Steve being the one who is actually a fountain of queer knowledge because he has a gay uncle in San Francisco or New York, one of the cities that had the biggest queer communities.

Robin not having much information because she's a closeted teenage lesbian who can't drive, so she has nowhere to source that information without raising the suspicions of her parents.

Eddie doesn't have the chance because he can't afford to spend weekends in Indianapolis or Chicago, because weekends mean parties, and parties are one of the best times to deal. He might go occasionally, but just hitting up a bar to find a dude to hook up with, not getting into queer theory because he doesn't really care to. He doesn't bother to learn about hanky code or anything else, because he's not interested. All he's interested in is getting a little action.

But Steve? He spent a lot of time with his uncle, Hank, while growing up. Anytime his family was in the area, they would stay with Hank. Sure, Steve's parents would try to explain his partner, Joe, as a friend or a roommate, but Steve always knew. He could see how in love they were, even more than his parents.

It became normal for him. He heard the words that other people would throw around, how they would talk about how dangerous, how disgusting two men together was. But he couldn't understand why people thought so badly about it. Because Hank and Joe were so happy together and they weren't hurting anyone.

When he was twelve, they were the first people he told when he had the conflicting feelings of having a crush on a pretty girl named Annika in the grade above, but also really wanting to kiss Tommy every time the other boy laughed at one of his jokes. Joe and Hank just listened to him, then taught him about bisexuality. That it was perfectly normal to like both. They gave him gentle warnings, that he would have to be careful because people were cruel.

And because his parents had left him with them for a couple of weeks, they took advantage of it to introduce Steve to other people. They took him to a tiny queer bookshop that was run by a friend of theirs, giving him a space to learn in safety. Because of them, he met people of so many different orientations lesbians, bisexuals, gay men. Self-proclaimed dykes and faggots. Transexuals, men who were once women and women who were once men¹ and people that pushed the boundaries of gender entirely. He felt in awe of all these people, but also loved and accepted by everyone he met.

A few years later, the summer of '82, age 15 and between freshman and sophomore year, he was sat down for a more serious conversation. The day after he arrived, Hank and Joe sat him down for a serious talk about safe sex, in way more detail than what he got from his parents, which was just a pack of condoms appearing in his bathroom on his fifteenth birthday, with a note saying to use them so he wouldn't get a girl pregnant. The talk emphasized the need for a barrier during any type of sex, and brought up the very real risk of GRID, which had yet to be renamed AIDS², to point out why he had to be incredibly careful with everyone he had sex with. But they also made a point to reassure him that they were both okay, that he didn't have to worry about them. They made sure that he knew that they were always there for him, just a phone call away if he ever had any concerns or questions.

A year later, at 16, they decided he was ready for more information. They provided him with pamphlets and zines, covering everything from rights movements to AIDS to secret codes. He took an interest in the hanky code, but felt a little intimidated about what some of the colors meant. They also provided him with a fake id that declared that he was twenty one and that his name was Mark. While he was staying with them, he joined them out in the community. Meeting the people affected by AIDS, learning about the real effects of it and not just the few scare stories that were breaking through on the news. Hearing more stories of lived life, getting a better understanding of the people around him.

Just a few months later, November '83. When everything went to shit. Steve was terrified when he saw the photos Jonathan had taken from outside his house and developed in the school dark room. He couldn't help getting stuck on the what if? What if it wasn't Nancy he had in his room? What if it had been that night when he and Tommy got a little too drunk and kissed each other? What if he'd finally got the nerve to bring a guy home? His life could have been destroyed in seconds by an asshole being a creep.

He became more on guard, scared that at any point someone could be taking photos in his backyard. Then seeing Jonathan with Nancy in her room, it pushed him further. With the fight the next day, he just wanted to make his words hurt. He dug deep and threw out accusations that he'd never wanted to say. Allowing his anger and fear to take over. The moment the word queer left his mouth, he felt an uneasy sense of regret. Accusing someone else of being what he was, as if it was a bad thing.

After it was all over, the details were shared, the cover stories were given, the paperwork declaring that nothing had happened had been signed, Steve felt lost and alone. Even after apologizing, he still felt dirty for calling Jonathan queer. After a few days, he breaks and calls Hank and Joe, and tells them, well not everything, but what he can. The photos, the camera, the fight. What he said to Jonathan. They understood his anger and his fear. They disagreed with his choice of words, but told him that if he'd apologized and meant it, and it had been accepted, there was no point in him continuing to beat himself up about it. That he couldn't change the past, but he had to try and be better in the future.

The following summer, 1984, he joined them with a new hatred and fear of the government. He felt safer with them, not feeling like he was looking over his shoulder all the time. But he was also so worried, what if the Upside Down came back when he wasn't there to help. He threw himself into helping others, knowing there were so many ways that the government was willing to screw over citizens. Wanting to do the little he could when he could. It brought him some peace of mind, being able to do something.

After Starcourt, after getting discharged from the hospital, Steve confides in Robin. He tells her about Hank and Joe. About how much he'd learnt from them. He tells her that he's bisexual, a word she was unfamiliar with, but she embraces him anyway. He spins a story of all the different people he'd met, people that proved it could be okay for people like them.

It formed an even deeper bond between them, a shared understanding that they couldn't find in anyone else their age. They share secrets about crushes, about realizations. Judging how attractive customers are together once they got the jobs at Family Video. Steve showed Robin the zines, helping her pick up more pieces of information, about how many others there were out there.

Steve clocked Vickie pretty quickly, almost certain she was bisexual like he was. Robin struggled to believe him, not wanting to get her hopes up, or to risk getting hurt.

When Eddie crashed into their lives during the spring break from hell, Steve found himself falling hard and fast. He'd noticed the black bandana Eddie wore tucked into his back left pocket, and wanted it. He had never considered being into s&m, but would be willing to take anything Eddie gave him.

He tried to bring it up subtly to Eddie, only to be met with confusion. Even trying less subtle ways of questioning it, Eddie still didn't seem to get it. Steve had to ask if he was flagging, and Eddie responded by asking what flagging was. Steve felt mortified, and stuttered about it being a code, and he thought Eddie was gay. Eddie assured him that he was gay, but still had no clue what Steve was talking about with flagging.

Steve showed Eddie the zines as well, going through all the different colors of the hanky code. Eddie got a little embarrassed when he realized what he'd been signalling, but some of the interactions he'd had with guys the few times he'd been to a gay bar made a lot more sense.

It took a few more days after that for Eddie to realize what Steve had been getting at by bringing up him flagging. There was another awkward, and slightly embarrassing conversation to confirm that yes, they were into each other, and no, neither of them were actually into s&m.

(And of course, Hank and Joe got a kick out of the story when they were the first ones Steve told, other than Robin.)

¹I wrote it this way, as it would have been a way that twelve year old could understand different gender identities in 1979. Different language and terminology was used. I believe that it is up to individual trans people for how they describe and consider themselves pre and post coming out and transition, as it is a very personal thing. I'm non-binary and I consider anything about myself under the age of 17 to be a girl, because that's how I identified at that time. ²(AIDS was known by a bunch of different names, some less kind than others, including GRID [Gay-related immune deficiency] and 4H disease [Heroin users, homosexuals, hemophiliacs and Haitians], until the summer of 1982. The name AIDS was proposed on July 27th 1982, and came into use by the CDC in September of that year. The term HIV came into use in 1986.)

This was supposed to be a quick little headcanon, and it ended up taking me nearly a month to write 1.5k words. And I now want to write so many parts about Steve with his relationship to Hank and Joe. They're the gay uncles everyone deserves.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #platonic stobin #steddie #pre steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #atimeofyourwrites

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astrosky33 · 6 months

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The Best Career for you: Asteroid Industria

◉ Industria is an asteroid in astrology that can represent the long term career industry you will work in. Based on the readings I’ve done this asteroid is very accurate in predicting your long term career

◉ Asteroid Code: 389 -> How to find asteroids

House Meanings

Asteroid Industria in the 1st house

Your career will be a major part of your identity (more so than others careers would). Your career may change or constantly be testing your outlook/view on life. This career will be something you’re very passionate and ambitious about. You may use lots of mannerisms in this career. It most likely is going to involve your physical body, fighting, beauty, confidence, and/or individuality

Ex: Athlete, Model, Makeup Artist, Fighter

Asteroid Industria in the 2nd house

Your career will be a major source of stability (not just financially but also emotionally) for you in your life and your career may boost your self esteem/self worth. It is going to revolve around material items. It most likely is going to involve either your singing voice, finances, cooking, giving, receiving, and/or material resources

Ex: Singer, Banker, Accountant, Chef, Product Designer

Asteroid Industria in the 3rd house

In your career you will use your voice to spread an important message. You will express many of your ideas to others. It most likely will involve communication, literature, teaching, transportation, influencing, social media, the mind, and/or phones

Ex: Author/Writer, Social Media Influencer, Driver, Teacher

Asteroid Industria in the 4th house

Your career will be in an industry where you’re using lots of emotion toward your work and/or caring for others. It won’t be a job far out of your comfort zone. It likely will involve houses, home related things, food, and/or self-care

Ex: Real Estate Agent, Nurse, Baker, Home Designer

Asteroid Industria in the 5th house

Your career may revolve around you and be in an industry where a lot of spotlight/attention is on you. You’re going to work in an industry where you use your talents. It’s going to be a career you really enjoy and that makes you happy! It likely will involve entertainment, romance, events (such as a festival or concert), children, talents, and/or drama

Ex: Actor, Event Planner, Child Psychiatrist, Talent Agent

Asteroid Industria in the 6th house

Your career will have a set schedule and steady income. In this career industry you’ll constantly be working on self improvement. It likely will involve health, fitness, hygiene, your analytic nature, animals/pets, and/or giving service to others somehow

Ex: Doctor, Nutritionist, Fitness Trainor, Dentist, Vet

Asteroid Industria in the 7th house

Your career will be one that’s based around equality or partnership. You’re going to be working towards harmony or peace in this career. It will likely involve commitment, marriage, attractiveness/attraction, contracts, conflicts, negotiations, and/or equality/sharing

Ex: Wedding Planner, Lawyer, Model, Fashion Designer

Asteroid Industria in the 8th house

Your career will be one that’s based around a lot of transformation, power, or mystery. In this career industry you’ll constantly be working on changing for the better. It will likely involve crime, death, taxes, psychology, surgery, investments, the stock market, business, loans, secrets, your inheritance, reproduction, and/or spiritual transformation

Ex: Detective, Psychologist, Tax Preparer, Surgeon

Asteroid Industria in the 9th house

Your career will be one that helps you grow a lot as a person. In this career industry you will learn a lot more than most people do in their career. It will likely involve travel in general, air travel, exploration, television, media, teaching, higher education (college/uni), religion, beliefs, ideologies, philosophy, interviews, courts, law, cultures, ethics, viewpoints, and/or languages

Ex: College Professor, Pilot, Newscaster, Photographer

Asteroid Industria in the 10th house

You are more likely than others to be very successful when having this placement in your chart. Your career will teach you how to set long term goals for yourself and succeed. It will likely involve being in charge/a boss, business, peoples reputations/images, sense of mission, responsibilities, being famous, and/or status

Ex: Manager (anywhere), Publicist, Movie Director

Asteroid Industria in the 11th house

You’re more likely to gain wealth from your career with this placement since the 11th house represents financial gains -> read more here. Your career will be one that introduces new ideas to the world and may be a more unique career compared to most peoples. It will likely involve technology, film, politics, science, inventions, chaos, sudden change, friendship, groups, desires, manifestations, hopes/wishes, humanitarianism, social networking, clubs, and/or parties

Ex: Engineer, Scientist, Film Producer, Politician

Asteroid Industria in the 12th house

Your career is one that will transform you spiritually. In this career industry you will heal others. It will likely involve spirituality, hypnotism, isolation, music, karma/karmic debts, hidden enemies, the subconscious mind, subconscious memory, sleep, dreams (the ones you have when you sleep), old age/people, mental health, fears, losses, endings, impersonations, closure, self-undoing, bed pleasures, intuition, illusions, and/or the afterlife

Ex: Therapist, Song-Writer, Astrologer, Psychic

➠ [READ] the examples listed aren’t the only possible careers for each house only some, so there can be more interpretations than the ones listed

𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚! 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗹𝘆𝘇𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗮 𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗶𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝗦𝗨𝗕𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗕𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝘀𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁

𝗠𝗬 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

#astrology #astro community #zodiac #astro placements #astrology tumblr #astro chart #birth chart #asteroid astrology #industria asteroid #industria asteroid persona chart #asteroids #astrology asteroids

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lovinpelova · 5 months

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found out | j. fleming

summary; y/n uses the wrong word and asks for a definition of said word, when her and jessie give each other a knowing look and are caught the team teases them endlessly.

🎵 the morning - the weeknd

it was no secret that you and jessie had been together for ages. fans realised this when they first stalked your friends socials for pictures of jessie at ucla before finding pictures of you and jessie, way too close to be best friends. they then found pictures of you and her kissing after a couple matches before cracking the code and spreading the news.

now at twenty-five and twenty-four, you'd been together nearly nine years and couldn't be happier. sam joked sometimes that you'd be dead before you got married but you always argued back that you were still fairly young to be fully tied down and weren't going to break up anytime soon- if you were going to break up you'd have done it more than eight years ago.

obviously you and jessie were extremely comfortable with each other in every way possible, loving her for nine years, receiving endless reassurance and adoration meant you trusted each other with everything in yourselves. especially in the bedroom, that's how you got here today.

the canadians lips scattered over your neck hungrily to produce more blood-red love bites wherever she could, her tongue running over your skin like she was a vampire starved for ten years. her left hand pinning your right one above your head with a silk blindfold laced between your fingers and her right hand endlessly moving around your thigh, pulling it to wrap around her waist alongside your other one as she began to roughly grind into you.

"love when you let me do this."

she mumbled against your collarbone, voice slightly tuned out by the string of moans she was pulling from you as your left hand clawed at her bare and muscular back. the canadian groaned in response to your nails digging into her skin and leaving a trail in their wake, flesh turning red raw like your hickeys as you threw your head back and moaned loudly at the way her muscles rippled and flexed under your touch.

"jess..."

you trailed off breathlessly, not knowing what you were calling for her to do as it was all so overwhelming you couldn't even think properly, your brain was short-circuiting and judging by the way jessie chuckled cockily in your face she knew exactly what was happening.

"yeah, baby?"

the midfielder teased, feigning innocence whilst her right hand trailed up your bare torso to massage your breasts just the way she knew you liked- you had been together close to ten years after all, what kind of a girlfriend would she be if she didn't know how to make you fall apart without even fucking you?

"need you."

you babbled mindlessly, the affects of mind-numbing pleasure only jessie could source you with already taking place as you whined and squirmed underneath her muscular body. she'd stopped moving her hips by now and she didn't want you to move yours either, so she took her hand away from your semi-clothed chest and pushed your waist down into the bed beneath you with her biceps bulging from the display of strength.

"need me to do what? where do you need me babygirl?"

you hesitated, knowing she wanted you to be filthy and vulgar with what you said next. as much as you loved jessie when she was like this, you hated extremely explicit dirty talk - only if you were saying it, jessie saying it was beyond nice - it made you feel weird saying things like that out loud.

"c'mon princess, can't make my girl feel good if i don't know what she wants can i?"

"jess- please, need you to fuck me."

"see? that's all i wanted to hear. such a good girl."

the praise made your brain go to mush, the hand that was clawing at her shoulder mindlessly pulling her closer to smash your lips onto hers desperately. whatever you could take from jessie, whatever she would give you, you were taking it. she suggested using the article of silk laced between your hands a couple years back when you decided to start exploring a less vanilla side of your sex life and it's safe to say she loves it.

whether she's blindfolded or using it on you, she adores it. the way it heightens the senses, makes touch and smell and words ten times more intense without a single clue what they're going to do next- that's what jessie loves. the cluelessness to it, the realisation that you don't know what will happen next. it makes the orgasm ten times better, especially if it's sudden.

"you sure you still wanna use this prettygirl?"

jessie mumbled against your lips, moaning into your mouth when you pulled away to bite her lip roughly, letting her know you wanted it hard and you wanted it now. jessie loved fucking you like that, especially when you were blindfolded. the noises you let out were music to her ears but with the way they'd grow impossibly louder out of shock when she'd touch you if you didn't expect it?

god, jessie fucking loved it.

you nodded eagerly with a grin on your face matching hers, letting go of her hand so she could move the silk blindfold to wrap around your eyes. she tapped your temple twice lightly in a silent request you lift your head, humming in approval when you did so and carefully tying a knot around the back.

"that okay? not too tight or too loose?"

"no, it's perfect baby."

you pressed your head back against the pillows, jessie undyingly turned on by the sight beneath her. ever since the first time you'd used a blindfold she could swear she'd never been so turned on in her life before.

the way your breathing hitched with every move she'd make or time she'd touch you, how your hands would tentatively reach out and always land on her muscular arms or toned back to ground yourself, it was nowhere near the way you reacted to her without a blindfold. obviously jessie loves having sex with you no matter what, but there was just something different about it when a blindfold was involved- don't even get her started on how much she loves being blindfolded herself.

the way you straddle her hips and mindlessly grind against her without warning, roughly pushing her head back or to the side so your lips could devour their way along her body, filthy whispers of what you wanted to do to her - or what you wanted her to do to you - making her moan louder than ever as it's all she could focus on. no sight means heightened hearing, so if you're whispering all the ways you've thought about fucking her or being fucked by her? she's a goner.

don't even get her started on the one time you restricted her hands as well. using another piece of silk to tie her wrists together against the bedframe, denying her the right to touch you as you got your own satisfaction and didn't give jessie the pleasure until she begged to touch you. (spoiler warning; when you let her out of those restraints she fucked you dumb.)

"how you feelin' baby?"

she questioned right against your ear, knowing the whispered words affected you from the breath you let out against her neck, feeling her hands wrap your legs around her waist again as she started grinding down into you at the perfect angle. jessie had been with you eight years, nearly nine, she knew exactly how to push your buttons and when to push them. right now, she was putting that to use, turning you on as much as she possibly could so she can give you the worlds best orgasm in a couple moments time.

"so turned on, jess."

you breathed out into her ear, kissing her skin afterwards and pushing your hips up into hers after you'd worked out her rhythm and immediately being rewarded by a delicious friction against your core, the canadian a bit frustrated at the way you just took that from her without asking but letting you off because of the loud moan you let out.

"good, it's gonna be worth it when i fuck you until you can't speak anymore."

--------

it was media day at chelsea, meaning you and jessie were going to be split up for an unnecessary amount of time the next couple hours. sure, you'd have your media buddies you'd been partnered up with but it just wasn't the same as each other, you hated media days.

you'd just finished a game of guess who with guro for the barclayswsl tiktok account and chelseawfc youtube channel, meaning you had a fifteen minute break before you and the norwegian were put back to work with another media team for another social media account. quickly heading to sit beside one of your best friends millie and seeing jessie being guided over with niamh helping her, you went to jump up and hug her before staying put next to your skipper when you saw what she was wearing.

"niamh whys she got a blindfold on?"

millie made a noise of confusion from next to you, the girl you previously addressed stopping her footsteps as jessies mouth fell open slightly from your words.

"that's not a blindfold, it's an eyemask."

millie corrected you, making your competitive nature reveal itself for a moment as you challenged her immediately, your girlfriend listening as she pulled the eyemask down to rest around her neck and niamh watching amusedly.

"what would you define a blindfold as then?"

"like, a bit of material put over your eyes. they're mainly used to kidnap people, you know the usual."

you scoffed at millies joke and turned to look at jessie, the pair of you giving each other one of those looks when you thought you weren't being watched, only realising you were being watched.

"oi! what was that look for?"

millie questioned, niamh racking her brain for any answers whilst millie had a slight idea of what you and jessie just said to each other with your eyes. you shrugged in response, thinking of something sarcastic to say.

"jessie can agree with me when i say blindfolds are subjective to context."

the blonde next to you had her straight face scrunch up in disgust for a second as you grinned cockily at her, turning to your girlfriend as she smiled sheepishly with a massive blush across her cheeks as usual.

"you two disgust me."

"what? what does she mean? what have i missed?"

niamh questioned, genuinely confused by what you'd said and drawing the attention of other teammates. guro shuffled closer, sam came over with jess and lauren arrived at some point too, putting you and jessie on the spot as soon as millie explained it to niamh.

"her and jessie have used a blindfold before."

"okay? why would they do that?"

"no, niamh. they've used a blindfold before."

the defenders expression changed from one of recognition to one of disgust, pretending to throw up as all the other girls started teasing or turning away in shock. you and jessie sat there and took the brunt of it all, knowing there was nothing you could do now that the secret was out. plus, how could you be upset? at least you were still getting some.

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concorp · 3 months

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new hidden messages in the qsmp.global code from the website dev! translations using google translate, as they're in several different languages. J'ai vu vos questions ! Je vais répondre à quelques unes d'entre elles ! Je m'excuse d'avance si tout le monde n'a pas eu la réponse qu'il voulait :( (I saw your questions! I'll answer a few of them! I apologize in advance if everyone didn't get the answer they wanted :() QUESTION 1: Pra que esconder mensagem secreta até no código fonte? (QUESTION 1: Is your secret message uncoded?) Porque é divertido! E encontramo-los sempre, e é muito fixe! (Because it's fun! And we always find them, and it's really cool!) QUESTION 2: Who's been writing messages in the source code? It's me!! QUESTION 3: Chilaquiles rojos o verdes? Es importante (QUESTION 3: Red or green chilaquiles? Is important) V E R D E (G R E E N) QUESTION 4 : Quién nos está hablando? Mr Duck? Cucurucho? (QUESTION 4: Who is speaking to us? Mr Duck? Cucurucho?) Jaja ninguna de las anteriores! Cucurocho no se molesta en hacer eso, es más el que me da instrucciones! (Haha none of the above! Cucurocho doesn't bother to do that, he's more the one who gives me instructions!) QUESTION 5: Quem é você? (QUESTION 5: Who are you?) Sou um programador web! Gosto de dar o meu melhor nos sites que crio e estou muito contente por poder falar consigo! (I'm a web programmer! I like to do my best on the websites I create and I'm very happy to be able to talk to you!) QUESTION 6: Por onde você esteve por todo esse tempo? (QUESTION 6: Where have you been all this time?) Estava a descansar! Também passei as férias de Natal e recebi uns chinelos lindos :) (I was resting! I also spent the Christmas holidays and received some beautiful slippers :)) QUESTION 7: What's inside the eggs? I think you already know the answer to that one, don't you? :) QUESTION 8: I would like something interesting, something only the most dedicated QSMP Viewer will know and understand. "Something that only a true QSMP fan would know? Noted :) QUESTION 9 : Quelle est la signification des codes traduits en césar de "hibiscus" et "rabbit" ? (QUESTION 9: What is the meaning of the codes translated into Caesar for “hibiscus” and “rabbit”?) Je pense que tu sauras pourquoi bientôt :) (I think you'll know why soon :)) QUESTION 10 : Pourquoi vouloir détruire l'île Quesadilla? (QUESTION 10: Why want to destroy Quesadilla Island?) Mais pourquoi je voudrais faire ça !? L'île Quesadilla est un berceau de beauté et de bonheur pour nos résidents ! Je ne leur souhaite que le meilleur ! (But why would I want to do that!? Quesadilla Island is a cradle of beauty and happiness for our residents! I wish them nothing but the best!) QUESTION 11: What is your objective? My goal is to make sure that the people who come to the websites I make have a good time, and that it helps them to forget the worries they may be going through! Et voilà ! Je m'excuse encore si j'ai manqué des réponses, merci encore une fois de votre implication, et prenez soin de vous ! (And There you go ! I apologize again if I missed any answers, thank you once again for your involvement, and take care!) See you soon!

#qsmp #qsmp.global

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csuitebitches · 4 months

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Book Review- The Wealth Elite: A Groundbreaking Study of the Psychology of the Super Rich, by Rainer Zitelmann Notes

I came across this book because I was looking for psychology books. I found the first of the book rather boring and too textbook-y. The second part is much better.

The author interviewed like 45 millionaire - billionaires. These were his findings.

—

48% stated that real estate was an ‘important’ source of their wealth, and one in ten described real estate as the ‘most important’ aspect of their personal wealth-building. And a total of 20% described stock market gains as an ‘important’ factor in wealth-building, although in this case only 2.4% stated that this was the ‘most important’ factor in building their wealth.

‘Creative intelligence’ is key to financial success. The following is a comparison between the percentage of entrepreneurs (and in brackets the percentage of attorneys) who agreed that the following factors played a decisive role in their financial success: seeing opportunities others do not see: 42 (19); finding a profitable niche: 35 (14).

The role of habitus

* Intimate knowledge of required codes of dress and etiquette

* Broad-based general education

* An entrepreneurial attitude, including an optimistic outlook on life

* Supreme self-assurance in appearance and manner.

He identifies a key quality that is essential for any prospective appointee to the executive board or senior management of a major company: habitual similarities to those who already occupy such positions.

Skillset of Entrepreneurs

* The ‘conqueror’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to make plans and a strong will to carry them out.

* The ‘organizer’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to bring large numbers of people together into a happy, successful creative force.

* The ‘trader’. What Sombart describes as a ‘trader’, we would more likely call a talented salesperson today. The entrepreneur has to “confer with another, and, by making the best of your own case and demonstrating the weakness of his, get him to adopt what you propose. Negotiation is but an intellectual sparring match.”

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Commitment

* Creativity

* A high degree of extroversion

* Low levels of agreeableness

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Orientation towards action after suffering disappointments (the entrepreneur remains able to act, even after failure)

* Internal locus of control (the conviction “I hold my destiny in my own two hands”)

* Optimism (the expectation that the future holds positive things in store)

* Self-efficacy (the expectation that tasks can be performed successfully, even in difficult circumstances).

constant power struggles with their teachers in order to ascertain who would emerge the stronger from such confrontations.

Secret of selling

* Empathy

* Didactics

* Expert knowledge

* Networking.

Conscientiousness is the dominant personality trait. Extroversion is also very common among the interviewees. Openness to Experience is very common

A high tolerance to frustration is one of the most characteristic personality traits of this group.

exceptionally high levels of mental stability.

primarily characterize entrepreneurs as being prepared to swim against the current and make their decisions irrespective of majority opinion.

“No, I never did that (lost my temper). I never get loud. But I can be resolute and say: “That is unacceptable.” And then you either have to go your separate ways or make a decision that the other party might not like. It’s the same in negotiations. I was always described by other people as a bit of a toughie.”

Having the courage to stand against majority opinion is probably a prerequisite for making successful investments, as this is what makes it possible to buy cheap and sell high.

Many of the interviewees spoke about their ability to switch off and direct their focus, even in the event of major problems. The interviewees consistently referred to their ability to focus on solutions, rather than torturing themselves with problems.

At least in the initial phases of wealth creation, most of the interviewees rated their own risk profiles as very high. This changes during the stabilization phase, when risk profiles decrease. In this phase, the hypothesis of moderate risk does apply.

Conscientiousness was the interviewees’ most dominant personality trait. It is important to remember that the Big Five theory’s definition of conscientiousness does not just include qualities such as duty, precision, and thoroughness, but also emphasizes diligence, discipline, ambition, and stamina.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #getting your life together #balance #book review #books

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syneilesis · 4 months

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[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

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