#AAA anon

[gabessquishytum]

Hi! Looong time lurker, first time asker <3! Want to tell you that I love your blog and how awesome concepts are born here, so I thought that I might try and share my own idea with you

Omegaverse Dreamling!

Hob is an alpha who has a successful career in academic and of course owns New Inn pub so he cannot complain, really. He feels a little bit lonely, but he doesn't specifically look for a mate. All his relationships kinda ended, it wasn't it. Hob have been going into his ruts alone for some time but he is fed up with it already. So he decides to go to a brothel and hire some omega prostitute to spend his rut with. He chooses kinda luxury Burgess' brothel.

Enter Omega!Dream. He hates his job and especially dealing with alphas' ruts so it's obvious that this bastard Burgess chose him to "assist" this new and green alpha in his first rut in a brothel. Dream is famous among the clients for his ethereal beauty but also for his snarky comments. That is why most alphas enjoy "taming" him. Dream supposes this one is not gonna be different. He couldn't be more wrong! Burgess warns him that he can't afford to lose this client, he seems rich and gullible, so Dream must behave because otherwise he is going to regret this! Dream doesn't need to be told twice, he knows very well that Burgess has a heavy hand.

When Hob enters the brothel he feels the first symptoms of a rut but when he is introduced to Dream he might as well go into full rut right now and then. What a beauty! Slender, dark-haired, with unblemished and pale skin and the most blue eyes Hob ever seen. Dream is used to being ogled but no one ever looked at him as if he hung the stars himself. He must admit the this Robert "call me Hob, please, nobody calls me Robert" isn't ugly. Quite otherwise if Dream may say so himself. And he smells so nice, even so close to his rut. He hopes that he isn't a demon in bed because he really isn't into rough sex tonight.

They go into the room, Hob is obviously the perfect gentleman and isn't treating Dream as a common whore so he is already alerted. Behind a closed doors Hob is still very polite and pleasent. He asks Dream if it is okay, if he really wants to do this, did he eat anything? maybe he would like to drink something or to talk? Dream is quite overwhelmed, nobody treated him like this ever.But he says he is okay, Hob goes to take a shower and they go into it. And...

Dream has never had since he had started working as a prostitute such pleasurable and overall good sex. Hob is gentle and caring and is treating Dream as if he was his longtime partner. Despite his rut Hob is controlling himself and is always careful to not hurt Dream. Dream might have orgasmed a few times... Fine, he orgasmed a lot, ok? But it isn't his fault Hob is so nice and skilled and has a such wonderful cock! While Hob knot goes down they cuddle and talk. Well, it is Hob mostly talking, because Dream is always withdrawn with his past, but for the first time that doesn't bothers Dream at all. Hob has such a nice voice, he could be listening to him for hours! Well, Dream is very fucked, literally and figuratively. People always told him that he falls fast and deep and this might have happened here. When Hob falls asleep he might even cry a little over himself, because there is no way that Hob would want to ever be with such an omega whore who smells of other alphas. Dream is gonna stay in that brothel as long as he is pretty and then... He fears to think, but it isn't a bright future.

Meanwhile Hob is freaking out because of course he fell head over heels in love with this gorgeous omega! Dream is perfect, in looks and in character and Hob will fight everyone who thinks otherwise.

Hob's rut ended and he went home heartbroken but he gave Dream goodbye kiss on cheek and asked if he would him to come here for his next rut. Dream of course said yes, not because Burgess was behind his back and he expected Dream to agree but because he came up with a plan! He is going to baby-trap Hob! He is now knowing when Hob's rut is going to come and he can stop taking his suppressants. It's a perfect plan!

So few months go by and when Dream sees Hob enter the brothel he immediately goes into heat. Fortunately, nobody notices and they share again a few wonderful days with Hob and surprise, Dream fallen even harder. When Hob again leaves him he only hopes that he knocked him up good. Of course it happens. But what Dream didn't expect is that he was gonna start showing so early. He hoped that he could keep it a secret till Hob will again visit him. Burgess is furious at first but then he starts selling Dream to the clients so they could imagine they knocked him up. Dream obviously said that he has no idea who knocked him up so he gained even worse reputation.

Time passes and Hob again goes into rut and to see Dream. Once inside he learns from Burgess that Dream is pregnant and if he still wants him. Hob cannot imagine his rut without Dream now, but he wanted to refuse, because he didn't want him to tire to much. But something irked him in a wrong way in this Burgess fella, maybe because he was talking shit about his Dream ( jesus, Gadling, pull yourself together) so he agreed to take Dream to the room. He wasn't planning anything sexual, he simply wanted to talk to Dream.

When they get into the room Hob starts telling Dream that he is happy for him and that he just wanted to spend some tome with him and they don't need to do anything sexual if Dream doesn't want to. And this is too much for hormone-ridden Dream. He burst into tears and starts wailing, because alpha of his pup is here and those few months were terrible, he was so sick all the time and he feels sore all over and lonely and overall terrible. But first and foremost he isn't whore! It's Hob's pup and he needs to believe him, he is sorry that he tried to baby-trap him but he loves him and Hob must now hate him, because he is a whore and he woulnd't want to be with someone so terrible like Dream!

Hob is quite light-headed after receiving such info-dumb but the most important news is still banging around in his head: he is a father! Of Dream's pup! Of course he believes Dream, he wouldn't lie to him, not while crying his eyes out, he knows that Dream is to prideful for that. So he kisses Dream partially to shut him up and partially because he loves him and he is so happy.

Dream can't believe what is happening but he isn't gonna complain! When they stop kissing Hob explains to Dream how happy he is and how much he loves him and please please please be his mate. Dream is in deep shock, but agrees, of course he agrees! So Hob takes Dream hand and commanders that they leave in this second. While leaving for good Hob punches Burgess in the face for trying to stop them.

Some time later Dream receives his so anticipated bitemark on the neck and the both of them couldn't be more happy!

Well, of course untill they go for Dream's check-up and learn he is pregnant with twins. Hob and Dream are both over the moon.

Ooops, it came out very long so so sorry for that and for any mistakes! Cheers

– AAA

Hello new friend!!! Thank you for sending this, it's so good and I love that it's a nice long one. Gosh, I feel for Dream so much!!!! The part about Burgess hiring him out to even more alphas while he's pregnant so they can fantasise about being the one who knocked him up gave me SO many ideas. Maybe one of the other alphas goes so far as to claim that the pup is actually theirs (either because they want Dream or because they just want to torture him) and Dream has to try and get out of that situation and explain how he knows that that isn't the right alpha, yes he's sure, he's not sure how he's sure he just is!! Anyhow, thank goodness Hob shows up when he does and rescues Dream from that terrible situation.

When Hob takes Dream home he puts him straight on bed-rest (after a nice long bath of course) and makes Dream promise to rest and recover. Hob will do EVERYTHING for him. Cooking, cleaning, bathing, he'll take care of his omega as much as possible. Its important for the twins but it's mostly important for Dream - he's been worked too hard and he still has so much to go through with pregnancy, labour, nursing. Hob wants to pamper him until he's at the peak of health. Dream has never been treated like this before. He keeps trying to sneak out of bed to help, and then Hob has to carry him back and cuddle him until he dozes off. Eventually Dream begins to get used to being spoiled. And resting is nice when his belly gets so big.

All in all Dream becomes a very happy omega, and his and Hob’s pups are the most loved and cherished in the whole world. Dream is so glad that he baby-trapper his alpha. And Hob is, too!

[tunemyart]

So I've just watched the finale and I'm feeling... Weird. I think part of it is because this show started with everything I like in a story (cool badass ladies, a queer romance, found family, redemption, etc etc) and ended up being... Not all that (most characters die, the romance is doomed, and I guess the redemption mostly happened but wasn't entirely satisfactory to me). Also, I'm someone who as Trauma (tm) with death so, I guess my brain's first reaction is "fuck that I just want them all happy and safe" and it takes me a while to accept when stories take these paths, however well written they might be.

Still, I thought it all went a bit fast in the last 2 eps, with parts of the show ringing just a little bit more hollow than I would have expected? I'm left feeling like the characters of Alice, Mrs Hart and Jen were treated a bit superficially (Lillia's story felt more complete). I also wished we had seen more of Agatha's past because spending centuries just conning witches then killing them is... a bit boring? (maybe we learn more about her in WandaVision, I haven't seen it). And obviously I wished we had seen more of Agatha and Rio. It's like the show couldn't decide if it was about Agatha or about Billy (partly because, I'm guessing it's setting up a 3rd show about him?), and with this short format we ended losing a bit on Agatha's part.

Anyway, curious of what you think of all that because your analysis are always super interesting, and like I said my own brain might be a bit biased towards resistance with this one. And obviously would love to read your fanfic(s) should you write any!

So, I've started and restarted a reply to this a few times, but I think what my answer boils down to is: we're meant to have multilayered responses to this finale. We're meant to sit with it. It's meant to change our experience of the show we've had to this point.

I think the best metaphor for this is the fact the revelation that Rio is Death. Bear with me, because I know this got spoiled for us way early on and we all knew it and were all just waiting for the revelation to drop - but imagine for a second that we didn't know that Rio, Agatha's ex-girlfriend and spooky fun vaguely-a-psychopath as played by the delightful Aubrey Plaza, is death. Your perception of Rio would have been turned on its head. Your perception of Agatha would have been turned on its head. Your perception of the Witches' Road and what we're even doing here with Death walking alongside us as a tourist would have been turned on its head.

Now, we all had an incredibly fun time even with the knowledge that Rio is death before we should have had it. But I think some of the power for what it meant for the story - and our perception of what was really happening - was muted.

Jen, at the beginning of 1.08, says, "She told us who she was from the very beginning."

Sit with that - because the same is true of this story.

---

It turns out that the Road is a metaphor for death. This isn't fully illustrated for us until Nicky, the author of the Ballad, walks down the road with Death's hand in his, and we go, oh. Oh.

Agatha tells us in the beginning that the Road doesn't exist, a rare instance of her giving anyone unbridled truth. And sure - the Road that our coven walked down doesn't exist. The Road that all the witches Agatha lured to the deaths believed in doesn't exist. It's a fiction. But it's significant that Agatha lured them all to the Road and killed them. They wanted to walk the Road. They died. Not "they died instead" - it's a two-fold statement. They wanted to walk the Road and they died. In a gruesome way, Agatha's been taking witches on the Witches' Road since the 1750s.

I don't think the significance of that is lost on Agatha, either, especially where we pick up at the beginning of 1.08. Lilia's dead, and everybody's reeling.

Perhaps Agatha more than anybody.

---

I also want to quickly take a look at Rio's accusation of Agatha regarding Billy.

"The bodies are really piling up." "Did you doubt me?" "Yeah, I did. I thought there'd be a trick in there somewhere. And there was! You were distracting me from him."

Because this is a revelation about Agatha's actions toward not just Rio, but any audience watching her - i.e., us the viewers. She's been distracting us! Not from who Billy is, we know that of course, but with regard to what the Road itself is. Agatha's known the Road isn't real the entire time. She's been protecting Billy from that knowledge. She's been protecting Billy from Rio. She's been protecting the coven itself from disintegrating. And, the biggest con woman move of them all, she's been distracting us - with less and less success as the show goes on - from the fact that she is not even the slightest bit in control.

---

So I definitely want to circle back to what you said about how the show started out with everything you like in a story, because oof, yeah, I felt that. I felt that hard in the finale. Coming off the impact of the incredible storytelling in 1.07, and the queer jokes and campy Wicked cosplay balancing out the sad, I think many of us spent the next week expecting some kind of emotional resolution that probably involved the remaining coven banding together in some more of that found family we've felt them becoming along the way.

Here's where things starts going wrong, right off the bat: they don't. Instead, they splinter. Not only are you aware of just how few of them are left (Jen, Billy, Agatha), but Jen and Agatha can't handle Lilia's death. Jen's distraught. The close up on Agatha running away out of the trial and back onto the Road, alone, shows her looking hunted and wild in her guilt. Everything that follows has its seeds in that moment of rending that began with Lilia's death.

From the beginning, the point has been that Agatha Harkness is a covenless witch. It's something we've seen her revel in - maybe simply because she has no choice but to own it. But the fact is that here, for the first time in centuries, she had a coven. She didn't intend to have one - she intended to kill them all in her basement and not think twice about them again. But events transpired the way they did. They became her coven. And one by one, they all died on the Road.

Rio, of course, has the words to cut right to the quick: "Your coven is shrinking," she teases Agatha cruelly. Agatha looks wild - because she's right. The worst thing is that she killed Alice - and she didn't mean to. She didn't want to. But she did, and in exactly the same way she'd intended to kill her at the beginning, the same way she's been killing witches for hundreds of years. "Your coven is shrinking," and it's Agatha's fault. It's Agatha's coven. It's Agatha's coven.

Hold on to that, too.

---

One of the things that I've been mulling over most is Agatha's character. She's so much fun in the beginning. We're all fucking charmed by her. We also don't have the full context of just how much of a serial killer she is.

So for me, at least, watching 1.08 and not only not getting found family, but getting an Agatha so far away from a "redemption" story that she only just barely is willing to not sacrifice Billy for herself, was kind of a rude awakening. Agatha's a lot more of a villain that I was prepared for. Surprise!

Agatha's so far away from "redemption", in fact, that she's only just barely starting to feel empathy for other witches. She's just starting to be affected by people who aren't #1. And that's a trauma response. And it's so, so, so deeply rooted in her that she's only just starting to be able to conceive of the idea of people who care for her. Of the possibility of being able to live in community. She's not ready for a redemption arc. There was no way that the kind of redemption arc she'd need could fit into nine episodes, because so much of it would for her be predicated on a mental shift that Agatha just hasn't arrived at yet. She's still so angry. She's still so traumatized. She's done almost none of the work. And even at the end, even with the final gesture of sacrificing herself for Billy, that's not a final act of redemption, oh Agatha's now a good person/forgiven/insert word frame of choice.

What this show did in terms of redemption for Agatha was set her up to be in a place where she might want it - where she might want to do and be better for Billy, and someday, for Nicky.

And it's significant that that point comes for Agatha in dying… and after death.

---

This show is about death. The Road is about death. Death is a character on the show.

Like, okay, you're saying. Fine. But what about my gay fun times? What about my queer romance, my found family?

And please know that I'm there with you.

I'm not hugely in touch with what the larger fandom is saying and how they're reacting because I have my little echo chamber here on tumblr and a few friends who have actual social media, but even here I get the sense that we're all kind of :/ for fairly similar reasons. What happened to the show I fell in love with?

And for me, the last few days, I think it's been important to realize that the fact that the show I fell in love with didn't suddenly become a different show. It didn't pull a bait and switch. No twists were in bad faith. Everything has been right here in the text of the show from the very beginning.

And I think it's important to see the story that Jac Schaeffer et al. were actually telling vs. our expectations of what they were telling, or worse, what we wanted them to tell. For just one example, I was convinced we were going to see Alice again - maybe Lorna Wu, too. I wasn't expecting it to be for the sole purpose of recognizing that not only is she dead, but to give Alice herself the space to say that it wasn't fair, that she wasn't ready, that she'd just broken her family's curse, that now she can really do something with her life! Because, ugh, yeah! It's not fair, for all those reasons! But that's also death. Likewise, Sharon's just dead, and worse, her death was pretty much meaningless. Lilia rediscovered herself again, and she chose her death to save everyone else - extremely meaningful. But at the end - she's just dead. We don't see her again. She's gone. She, like the others, walked the Road and away with Death.

I loved these covenless witches. I loved them finding themselves together. I loved them bonding around the campfire and discovering community. I miss them all, so so much. But they told us from the beginning how haunted by death all of them were: Alice and her mom, Lilia and her coven in Sicily, Billy and William Kaplan, Agatha and her son and her ex-lover. And of course, Death herself. Forget haunting these individuals - she came to actually join the temporary coven. Like, fuck. They told us what this show was about.

---

This show is about death, but it's more complicated than that: we'll take our cue from Rio again, who, in being Death, is also the original Green Witch. In short, this show is about Green Craft, "growth and decay in constant flow."

So yes - almost every single witch in the coven dies. Yes, it's permanent. No, the queer romance isn't resolved happily. No, Agatha doesn't have a redemption, satisfying or otherwise. And no, none of it follows what we've come to expect from found family story trajectories.

But the focus shouldn't be solely on the decay. There's a whole cycle of growth coming up after it, even now, and it's being made possible by the death and decay that we just witnessed. And most importantly, it's confirmed that this isn't the end of the story - just the end of "Agatha All Along."

---

I'll finish by actually answering your question - I've been sitting with the finale for a few days, because I also felt weird about it. And I think that's the right word: "Weird." Very spooky season-esque, first of all, but also not tipping all the way right into "bad".

The first thing to acknowledge is that no story is perfect - they were limited by nine episodes by what they had the space to show, and finales are really hard to get just right. The second is that you're allowed to not like any or all of it, especially when something happens that asks you to change your entire understanding of the story thus far, i.e. the Road isn't real, or when you have a particular trauma around death and it turns out that that's what the whole show is about in ways we hadn't fully realized. The third is that it's worth sitting with stories sometimes and seeing how they marinate and develop in your brain and your soul over time. All of these things can and should coexist.

This isn't my first go-round with a series finale that initially made me ???, so I was fortunate in that I felt like I had a cheat sheet. I've still got some marinating to do to see how this continues to change for me. But it's helped me to realize that my ??? reaction is what the story wanted me to have - that the characters are reeling right along with me. Not just Alice in shock about her death, but also Billy at the implications of his creation of the Road regarding his responsiblity for what happened on it. We're meant to feel this way… and then we're meant to reconsider the journey we've been on, the Road we've walked with all of them and the death we've died alongside them, and see it anew for what it really is.

[jackshiccup]

Omg, you bound a fanfic? Can we see the finished project? It must be beautiful!

hello hehe yes i did :) i was only going to show friends but i guess this is a good excuse to post pictures of it 🫶🏽

it’s my first ever hardcover bind so i was prepared to make a lot of silly little mistakes and this one definitely does, but i love how it turned out still, i think she’s so cute .. i’m also just happy to finish a personal project that took up so much time to make 🥹

anyways, enjoy the pics and most importantly: stream otnwas on ao3 and youtube teehee🤞🏽❄️!

[nyoclosmom]

dude why is nobody talking about this outfit

[dear-ao3]

Hi uh. Feel like you guys deserve an update bc it did help lol

For reference I'm the girl who asked for help with engagement ring gemstones !!

I looked through it, and alot of people mentioned sapphire and topaz (lab grown) and I looked at what my local jeweler had and he would be willing to do a custom ring with orange and pink sapphire!! So I think I found the one :] it's a little over my budget, but I really love this girl so I think $80 over budget isn't that bad of an amount to go over for someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, the future knows that if it goes well I'd gladly spend more on her lol

Thank you for those that gave me suggestions I appreciate you all 🫡

I will give updates if things go well next week when the ring is finished and i purpose

oh my god

[rippersz]

thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

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(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

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There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer. 

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life. 

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace. 

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again. 

And a community she would never have again. 

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform. 

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower. 

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t. 

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted. 

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance. 

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released. 

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up. 

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care. 

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing. 

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring. 

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note. 

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that. 

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal. 

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy. 

───༺༻───

You had a favourite song. 

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song. 

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness). 

You had a favourite song. 

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands. 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop. 

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips. 

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven. 

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place. 

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together. 

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end. 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born. 

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned. 

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion? 

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her? 

“Darling? What’s wrong?” 

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms. 

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder. 

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.” 

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog. 

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt. 

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia. 

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet. 

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?” 

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.” 

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened. 

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one. 

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved. 

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill. 

And why succumb to death when you could love instead? 

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.” 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

Lucky and strong.

Your rose. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[least-carpet]

What's your reverse unpopular opinion for jiang fengmian

Oh wow, you caught me in your trap, anon!! Okay, I can do this.

While Jiang Fengmian was, like, grown in a laboratory in a big vat marked "guys specifically designed to make least-carpet hate them," I do think he's 1) really interesting, 2) very realistic, and 3) perfectly designed to produce the trio of Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Wei Wuxian, who I adore.

I'm always referring back to this interview where MXTX talks about her process, but here's the relevant part:

I think the environment a person grows up in is a very important factor. The parent generation’s joy and sorrow will create an increasingly greater impact on their children... [The parents'] designs are based on the main cast, to contrast or to complete... For example, first, I think of what kind of person Wei Wuxian is. Then, I think of what kind of parents could have such a child. I base his parent’s characters on his character...Looking at it from within the story, it’s that parents will inevitably influence their children. But from a structural writing standpoint, it’s the children that influence the parents.

So Jiang Fengmian exists to produce and explain my faves. Thanks, Jiang Fengmian!

I think MXTX is really observant and specific about familial dynamics, and Jiang Fengmian is extremely recognizable as a specific type of conflict-avoidant dad whose combination of Unprocessed Life Stuff (re: growing up and being unhappy about adulthood—which for him is being a sect leader) and resentment of his wife make him distant with his more challenging child, who to him resembles his wife. I think in some ways that's why people respond strongly to him and to Madame Yu, because they're so recognizable.

Finally, I also think there are a lot of interesting gaps to think about if you want to flesh him out—what actually was going on with Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze? Was his and Madame Yu's marriage always that bad, or did it deteriorate over time, and how? Did he just never want to parent? (There's a brilliant genderswap fic called "you will never need another lover," where he's a woman and Yu Ziyuan is a man, and I find him so much more likeable as a woman who sincerely never wanted to be a parent but couldn't get out of it. Also, male Yu Ziyuan is a total asshole but also a way better husband than male Jiang Fengmian, and so their marriage changes in really interesting ways over the course of the story.) There's a lot of room to develop him in various ways.

Phew, I did it.

[onlysushicat]

can u post the pride icons blank / transparent so i can put my own flags behind it?

I always could, but I offered the edits for people that cant or really didnt wanna do it :B

[ennn]

Hello :) I really enjoy reading your analysis on AAA!

What conversations do you think Agatha and Rio had between “because the truth is too awful “ and “what Billy wants is a violation”?

The shift between topics was so abrupt. What would they talk about to make Agatha want to make a deal to never see Rio again?

Hello Anon! Thank you for reading 💚 Okay so I think there's 2 parts to your question here, which is (a) why the change in topics between the conversation and (b) how it leads up to Agatha's deal.

Let's take a step back a bit. If we look at the first conversation, it already starts out about the Problem of Billy right?

And the whole Billy issue only exists in the context of what happened with Nicky. If Nicky had never been a thing, Agatha and Rio and their dynamic would be entirely different. Nicky was the breaking point of their relationship – a relationship with love and lust but also wrapped up in their opposing natures.

The conversation quickly escalates, shifting from Billy to their history and relationship. Rio, direct as ever, airs what must be a long-long-simmering grievance:

Rio: No one in history has had special treatment like you. Agatha: You call what you did "special treatment"? You gave me nothing. You took. Rio: And that's usually your move right.

Now the anger and frustration is starting to boil and Agatha tries to push past and get away from Rio – but Rio stops her and tries to deescalate this argument.

In other words – and to address your ask – the topic shifts because Rio is trying to have a conversation and not fight. Rio knows that Nicky is Agatha's deepest scar, and Agatha is a runner when she doesn't have control.

You can see Rio taking a second, watching Agatha, her tone softening as she asks the question:

Why do you let them believe those things about you, hm? About Nicky?

I think Rio tries to deescalate because she does need Agatha's help with the Billy situation: she can't kill him or reap his soul on her own. It's not a thing Rio is happy about or wants but she's got a job to do.

BUT in this show things are usually complicated: more than one thing can be true at the same time: I think Rio also cares about Agatha and wants to understand why.

After all it was Rio who told the group in episode 5 that Agatha killed her original coven because they tried killing her first. Agatha doesn't bother defending herself, if anything she plays up being this villain.

I mean, Rio loves this serial killer right. It's not the murder part of Agatha's reputation Rio cares about. Rio also has the unique insight of knowing exactly what happened to Nicky. This rumour that Agatha doesn't do anything to discourage seems to not only be an insult to Agatha but the memory of Nicky.

And then in a rare moment of vulnerability, Agatha decides to reveal her truth to Rio.

Because the truth is too awful

I read this moment as Rio trying to reach out and Agatha deciding to give an honest answer. Which again, is a precious rare thing coming from her.

I don’t think any transitional dialogue from this to the other conversation is really important, not as much as the emotional place this first conversation ends with, which allows for the second one about a potential collaboration to happen.

Also like, what do you say to something like that? Because wow there is a lot to unpack there.

Agatha’s implying that what Rio gave her and Nicky is worse than her sacrificing Nicky for power. That she isn’t trying to be cruel, she truly can’t see the gift of time Rio gave them. That she sees herself somehow responsible for what happened to Nicky. That she doesn’t just blame Rio, she blames herself.

If I had to plot out some kind of transition between these two conversations, I would do something like:

Let the silence after the admission drag on a bit. Rio looks concerned but doesn't say anything in the moment.

Agatha takes the opportunity to walk away. Rio doesn't stop her but follows. Agatha lets her.

After a moment of quiet walking, Agatha asks about when Rio knew about the Road hex and they compare notes for a bit (Rio probably throwing shade at the weird nature here). This time lets Agatha build up her walls again.

They sit down and talk about the point of the hex, which then nicely leads into their second conversation, starting with what Billy wants.

In their second conversation, what's interesting here how very reluctant Rio is about asking for Agatha's help. She knows Agatha and hates being in this position so much she doesn't even want to say it, letting Agatha piece together what she needs.

It must truly be a rare instance that Agatha has this kind of leverage over Rio, over Death.

Because Agatha reacts like a shark scenting blood in the water. She barely hides it.

This goes back to your question: Why does Agatha make such an deal that hurts Rio so badly?

My read is that Agatha basically reacts to this rush of power over Rio the same way she badly – almost instinctively – reacted to Alice presenting her with her magic:

She takes and takes and takes.

Because Rio's always been unstoppable but now Agatha can stop her. This is what's she's been hungering for.

That sense of helplessness she felt moments ago when she thought she had to let Billy go – like she let Nicky go – now turns to something with teeth.

You can see Agatha literally take a second to calculate the most cruel thing she can say to Rio to hurt her, to deny and reject her love.

Now that's the emotional side of things. On a more logical level, Agatha goes into scheming mode. This is like muscle memory for her at this point, she won't deny an opportunity to get ahead.

So she doesn't deny Rio's ask. She makes the price of her handing over Billy so awful to Rio it has maybe a chance of stopping her from her mission, or buying more time at least. For so much of her life Agatha has justified murder and lies and the worst behaviour with the need to survive and protect what's hers.

Once again: Calculated move, bad at math.

Because Rio accepts the deal. She's so wounded she doesn't even push back even a little. She reacts so badly to Agatha's rejection, to her taking advantage of this opportunity, that she gives into being the villain Agatha sees her as.

[lawlietscaramels]

GUH HIII I JUST STUMBKED ACROSS YOUR BLOG AND I LOVE IT SM

anywhizzle, how do you think the task force would react to L bringing in another detective to work on the kira case (2nd most famous detective after l's aliases), only to fund out a few weeks later that the detective (reader) is L's s/o?

Ok ty byeee 🫶🫶

-🌜anon

Detective S/O ╾ L

HULLO 🌜 ANON!! thank you I'm glad you love my blog <33

I am very sorry for how long this has taken! To anybody who has sent me an ask, I have seen it and intend to answer, it is just taking a long long time. my apologies! let's begin!

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

Of course the Task Force is incredibly pleased to get another detective to help out! And the fourth – well, second, really, but they don't know that – best detective in the world?! It's a stroke of good luck for the case.

Matsuda is the most excited, of course, and Aizawa the most sceptical. But all of them, now that you're standing in front with a bag and an outfit and a look on your face, seem to immediately clock that you are a good detective. Right, because you're famous like L, but L defies expectations in such a wonderfully unique way. The Task Force was no longer sure what to expect.

But a Good Detective.

So it was quite the shock when they walked in on you, two weeks and three days later, sitting quite comfortably in L's lap and doing something that was undeniably, irrevocably, most certainly a kiss. And a kiss with a lot of tongue at that.

"I thought you two were watching the surveillance," from Chief Yagami breaks the two of you apart.

L says, "Do not worry. It has been taped."

As if that was the biggest question they had for the two of you.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

©lawlietscaramels. Do not repost on other sites, claim as your own work, edit, rewrite or “fix,” feed to AI or otherwise use unethically.

tags → @rinneroraito @maevearcher

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[asuyaka]

Hello there! It's the anon who made the Gojo x affectionate reader request, I have to say I absolutely love your writing, it's so adorable and wholesome!

Anyways, I wanted to make a similar request like the one I previously asked for, but with a different scenario- kinda.

So my prompt is that Reader is like Mitsuri(not female tho, but if you're ok with it maybe make them a bit effeminate? Like the soft boy aesthetic!), they are a 1st grader but have enough strength to beat even the strongest adult in Jujutsu High to the ground like a ragdoll, they're very sweet and affectionate and just precious in general. They are best friends with Gojo and Geto and were sent to deliver the Star Plasma Vessel with the boys since their strength and durability can put them in the same level as a Special Grade student.

Now here is where this whole scenario actually takes place; Reader somehow managed to enter the domain(?) that Suguru and Toji were fighting on, unfortunately they only manage to get to where they are after Toji had already defeated Geto and after seeing their best friend now bloodied and unconscious on the ground, Reader gets very pissed off and make it their personal goal to give Toji some righteous ass whooping for what he did to their friends and Amanai. And after they took care of Toji they took Geto and ran out of the domain before it could collapse on them.

Sorry if that's a long request! I like making my asks as detailed as I can and tend to go overboard, especially if it's about my current hyperfixations. I hope you' have a great day/afternoon/night! Also remember to stay hydrated and take breaks!😁

- Sincerely, 🌈 Anon.

★ - 'm so glad you liked it !! o(*////▽////*)q req's a tiny bit confusin' but 'm think 'm got the general gist of it!! :3

★ - 'm sorry but 'm wasn't exactly sure who the main character was, so 'm decided ta use em both cauze yanno they're right there!! ^_^

☆ - Teen! Satosugu x Male Reader — can be read as platonic or romantic!

♡ - Zuha's a bit silly n doesn't know how t'write fight scenes s'forgive 'im if it isn't suuuper good! ꒰#’ω`#꒱੭

This whole 'merging' with Riko was extremely taxing on you, Suguru, and Satoru, but it's almost over so you three can relax and play Digimon 'till you passed out!

"Uwaaa! I'm so tired..." You mutter, leaning on Suguru's shoulder as your group climbs the stairs leading to Tengen's barrier around Jujutsu High.

Riko beside you huffs. "You can at least pretend not to be!"

"I'm sure [Name] didn't mean anything by it." Kuroi smiles softly as the five of you finally reach the top of the stair way, safely inside Jujutsu High barriers.

You let out a sigh of relief. At first, you weren't entirely sure why you were put on the mission, you're only a first-grade sorcerer while Suguru and Satoru were special grades, but Yaga chalked it up to you being strong enough and your friends needing someone responsible to be with.

The mission took more out of Satoru than anyone else, you and Suguru were heavily aware of that. On Day Two, you stayed up with him the entire night, busying yourself with whatever videos you could find and an unhealthy amount of Sakura Mochi.

You hear Suguru tell Satoru he worked hard, and he did. Harder than the two of you could thanks to his technique. You make a mental note to yourself to treat the two of them to food when the merging is finally complete.

"I never wanna get stuck babysitting a brat again." Satoru rolls his eyes, the blue glow that indicated he was using his Six Eyes dissipating.

You walk up behind him and hug Satoru from behind. "Goob job 'toru!" You make sure not to squeeze too tight, he was tired and you didn't want to make him physically hurt too.

The next thing that happens, hurts.

You feel something— it's sharp — enter your abdomen and exit through Satoru's sternum.

The two of you instinctively look back. You're inside the barrier which is supposed to protect you from any intruders, but obviously from the blood that's piling up your throat, it didn't.

Satoru uses a small version of Blue and Suguru uses a curse. It hurt, obviously. You couldn't use your technique to nullify it because it wouldn't do it's job of hurting the man behind you, so you let it pass.

You breathe to calm yourself and analyze your situation. Your eye is bruised, not blind but there is blood obscuring your vision. You definitely have internal bleeding, but it missed vital spots so you can suck it up and deal with it.

Satoru and Suguru are talking about something, but you're worried about Riko and Kuroi— some could argue that you should be worried about the hole in your stomach but your injuries come later, Riko and Kuroi need to be safe.

"Suguru, [Name], get them to Tengen-sama."

Suguru tenses, gazing between you three before nodding. "Be careful!"

You get up, internal bleeding be dammed, grabbing Riko's arm and running the other way with Suguru.

The bleeding of your eye gets worse with every step and you have to keep running despite coughing up blood more times than is healthy. Suguru looks back at you, worried, but you assure him you're okay.

You can't let Satoru down. You can't let Suguru down, so you force your body to deal with it— force your body to use RCT, something you know like the back of your hand due to your technique.

The four of you reach the elevator that leads to where Tengen stays. Suguru makes sure You, Kuroi, and Riko enter in first before pressing the button for the lowest floor.

"H-here!" Kuroi hands you a handkerchief to clean the blood off your hands. You mumble out a small "thanks" using it to wipe your face as well.

You're strong, you know that. Being a first grade while in the second year is an amazing feat, but fuck you were scared.

You're able to go through Satoru's Infinity just fine, but that's because of your technique. That man, whoever he was, shouldn't be. "Satoru's going to be fine, don't worry," Suguru says as if he can hear your thoughts, patting your arm for reassurance.

If Suguru says everything is going to be okay, then everything is going to be okay. You remind yourself to focus, focus, focus— because after this, you two will go help Satoru, and everyone will be fine.

The elevator stops and the four of you get out. You're beside Suguru and Riko and Kuroi trail behind you. All of a sudden, Kuroi stops.

She's crying and you can feel your heart breaking. This 'merging' thing was fucked up from the get-go. No kid should have to always have in the back of their mind that they're going to die, and there's nothing they can do to stop it.

"Suguru..." You mumble softly. You shouldn't be seeing this— it's private, meant to be between them. Suguru nods. He understands, he knows what's happening is messed up and he's going to do something about it, who cares what Tengen needs?

The walk is silent, unnervingly so but you're about to kill a kid. The thought makes your stomach churn but you do nothing about it. You're strong, you can deal with it.

"Suguru, I'm staying back." You say, hands pressed into a fist and your head hung low. You can't stomach the thought of willingly killing a kid— you won't forgive yourself even though you know you can't do anything about it.

Suguru doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. You were put on the mission last minute, and he knows how empathetic you are.

You watch them make their way to Tengen's territory and you feel sick. You feel sick to your stomach, hunching down and forcing yourself to calm down.

"focus, focus, focus." You say like a mantra to yourself, even though you're scared. You know how to focus if the situation is right, but you just feel nauseous.

You hear steps walking closer and your heart jumps. It's Satoru! Satoru did it and now he's coming back to show that he's a part of the strongest duo in the Jujutsu world.

"Damn. Didn't know they had security here."

Your eyes widen. That voice doesn't sound like Satoru, and it doesn't look a thing like him. It's that man, the same one that went through Satoru's Infinity.

You can see him clearly now thanks to the yellow fluorescent lights on the sides of the wall.

He's more muscular than you you can tell that easily. His hair is flat against his head with eyes that don't have any form of empathy in them, and with a scar on his lip.

You aren't scared, surprisingly, you're angry— fucking livid.

He killed Kuroi, a woman who was so nice, so grateful for the things she'd had in life, a woman who didn't deserve to die. He killed Satoru— he killed the people you care about.

You don't ask questions, you don't stare with your mouth open like a moron, you start fighting.

You're struggling to keep your emotions in check even though the first and basic rule of Jujutsu Sorcery is to not let your emotions get in the way.

The man, whoever he is, grabs your wrist, hastily pocketing his gun and grabbing a knife, stabbing it straight through your sternum and dragging it down to your hip line.

He takes it out, your blood staining his forearm. He switches the way he's handling it and stabs you through your throat.

Your vocal cords and blood vessels are in pain, but you can't yell, can't scream, can't do anything. Your body face-first falls limp on the floor, pushing the knife deeper into your throat to the point it comes out the back of your neck.

He stomps on your head for good measure, grabbing his gun and walking towards where Geto and Riko are.

You feel your heart slowing down as your blood leaks to your fingers. You're dead, you're dead if you don't do something—anything. Your eyes close and blood leaks out of your mouth. You're done for.

The sound of rubble falling wakes you up, your hand twitching before you lug yourself up, the front of your uniform stained with your blood as the energy from your subconscious RCT flares off your body.

You pull the knife from your throat. It stings, obviously, but you don't care about that.

You know for a fact now that Satoru, Kuroi, and Riko are dead. With every step, you hear more crashing and buildings getting destroyed.

Your eyes scan the area. You can feel the output from one of Suguru's stronger curses, it's faint, most likely due to distance, but it's definitely there.

Jumping from the platform, you hastily make your way to where the energy was coming from.

You're there— so close until the building fucking collapses.

Your heart drops when all the dust and smoke clears. Suguru is lying down— is he dead? Oh Suguru, please don't be dead — an 'X' on his torso his eyes are closed and that same fucking man is standing in front of him.

"Shit kid, just can't stay dead can you?" His grin pisses you off. It's full of teeth as his scar grows wider.

He notices your expression, holding back a snicker. It looks just like the curse-eater's when he realized Gojo died. "Might wanna close your mouth, you'll catch a flyhead in there." He snickers, putting the blade he had back into his cursed spirit and getting a smaller weapon with two blades on it.

You grab a weapon out of your back pocket. Your technique barely helps in hand-to-hand combat so you're used to carrying a weapon on you that you're used to using. Why you didn't use it the first time, you aren't sure yourself.

It's a decent-sized blade Yaga had made with the technique of a retired sorcerer. Hammerspace or something, you don't really care. All you need now is that man dead.

You throw the knife at him for a distraction. He deflects it, like you expected. You ducked behind him, your hands curled up into a fist as your hand connected with the blade of his sword.

You had to make this quick so you can tend to Suguru.

Not giving him any time to land on his feet, you grab your blade from the air switching the grip into a reverse hammer and brute-forcing your way through his hand.

The blood splatters on your cheek, grabbing the blade out and using your other arm to hit him from the side.

You take a second to breathe. His arm has a hole in it and he's breathing heavily. That cocky grin finally wiped from his face.

Every single bone in your body was telling you to kill him, to put an end to him right then and there for killing people who didn't deserve it— for killing teenagers.

But then you remember Suguru. Suguru who's lying on the floor somewhere, most likely bleeding out. That is what pulls you out of your anger-infused trance, turning your back to the man and rushing for Suguru.

He doesn't try and kill you, thankfully, but you notice Riko's body is gone.

Pushing all that to the back of your mind, Riko's dead body, her lifeless face— her life that was cut too short because she was born as a vessel, you find Suguru.

His breathing is there, very faint, but it's there. Immediately starting RCT on his body as tears brim your eyes. You're crying now, crying over all the things you should've cried about before but were too busy trying to keep yourself alive— not that you could die anyway, you do RCT subconciously.

"Suguru... Suguru, please open your eyes," Your voice wavers as his uniform gets damp with your tears.

You keep RCT going, pressing your ear where Suguru's heart is as his blood stains your face. You cry over the death of Satoru, you cry that you weren't able to save Kuroi or Riko, you cry about how you couldn't kill the man that would've killed most of the people you knew— most of the people you care about.

"[N-Name]...?"

Suguru's voice sounds so weak. It sounds horse, like he's dehydrated, but it's there— God, Suguru's alive.

"'m sorry- was too weak- 'm so sorry S'gu!" You wail as the tears fall harder, your decently muscular arms wrapped around his torso as you wait for him to berate you, to yell at you for not killing that man when you had the chance.

"[Name]— It's okay, I just... fuck, okay, listen, it wasn't your fault, alright? He had a heavenly pact and from what I can see, you at least caused him to bleed." Suguru's hand wipes the blood on your cheek, his thumb presses against the grass to get the blood from that monkey off him.

"I'll check on Satoru, so wait here, okay?"

You don't have the heart to say no to him. You're too weak, too mentally fatigued to stand up and see the corpse of someone else you loved, someone else you cherished.

So you watch Suguru leave, accompanied by wet sniffles and dry wails, you curl in on yourself and wait obediently for someone to come get you.

You don't know if you're hallucinating, but you swear you see a patch of dark blue hair, blood leaking from Riko's the person's head before you pass out.

[thedarkcircuswritings]

After so long being stuck in that tree, the jester had returned, and just his luck, right in front of Shadow Milk was his beloved daughter... It made him laugh, knowing that she had aided in keeping him sealed away, but look where that got her. Trying to stop his corruption as if that'll do anything! Seems like she knew it too, but as his strings went for her, it was perhaps a little too late... even for apologies...

[viveela]

May I request Jason White, please?

Sure, here he is!

[pjsk-headcanons]

ik someone already put it here (and i love it) but aroace agender kanade. also qpr kanamafu

- 🦊

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[layersofmania]

So what if she got a little…kooky…at the end she’s literally death do you understand how tame that was. I’m so with her actually, it’s her situationship

Rio waited until Agatha was asleep to take Nicky so that she wouldn’t have to see him leave… she didn’t show her skull face so that she wouldn’t scare Nicky. She gave Agatha time with her son. From our POV she actually did NOTHING wrong and she tried her best to be as gentle as she could’ve whilst still doing HER JOB :///