#Event: 60 Followers!

[ham-cheese-toastie]

100 follower event :)

actually im at 160 but shhhhhhhh

you can send me asks such as…

☆ draw me. this must be phrased as a demand. i will give you a (very bad) drawing of what i think u look like

☆ shlurp. i will tell you what drink u are. no explanation.

☆ the toys…. u will get to see one (1) of my toys and hear their backstory and lore

☆ holy media batman . ill tell u a book u should read/ show to watch

☆ send me a random emoji. see what i do with it it’ll be fun i promise

☆ or just tell me smth to do and ill do it!! (within reason ofc)

have fun!!

(if ur not my moot and want to participate BECOME MY MOOT I DEMAND THIS OF YOU)

this event is gonna go till i feel like stopping it :)

(divider credit to @/thecutestgrotto)

intro post here

[lordartsy]

Recently sold these little things at a school event 🎵

(I did not make back my money ✌️)

[bookworm-fangirl1]

Guys it makes me a little sad that no one sent in asks for the 60 followers event :(

I LOVE getting asks so please…. Please…. PLEASE

ask me stuff.

[unfortunatetheorist]

60 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION!

Gotta love Jim Parsons (Sheldon Cooper, The Big Bang Theory).

Thank you to all 60 followers including @snicketstrange, @sianitha-snicket, @volunteerfelinedetectives, @seharr, and @missdarlingsb. Your continued support is much appreciated.

¬ Th3r3534rch1ngr4ph, Unfortunate Theorist/Snicketologist

[shinysparklesapphires]

Sapphire's 60 followers event!

This is an OC Q&A event!

Rules

Oc interactions are only open for Yuu!Sapph

no nsfw questions

you may send as many asks as you want :33

not sure when I want the event to end though QWQ

Curetiel Oc Masterlist

Oc masterlist

tags: @officialdaydreamer00 @twistwonderlanddevotee @angelhairpastawithherbs @dove-da-birb @siphoklansan @silvers-numberonefan @silly-ez @starry-night-rose @ceruleancattail @viilpstick @midnightmah07(lmk if you would not like to be tagged :3)

thank you all so much im so glad you decided to stick around 😭🙏🏾

[omnicviolence]

Come one, come all! Shy who spreads love wants to invite you to join her 60+ follower (+ birthday) event!!

The theme is some of my faves!!! I’m looking for special stuff that you’re proud of! New things you’ve not shown yet, etc. It can be anything! Graphics, genders/sexualities, layouts, replycons npts, etc! Whatever you want!!

This event goes from the 1st of April to the 10th of April.

Themes;

001 - Day 1; Create something based off of a magical girl!

002 - Day 2; Create something based off of the character Ramattra!

003 - Day 3; Create something based off of the character KAY/O!

004 - Day 4; Create something based off of the character Freminet!

005 - Day 5; Create something based off of your most favourite (underrated) character!!

How to Enter/How to Submit:

Simply use the tag #cureprism60 and tag me in your post! The winners will be chosen at random!

Rewards:

🥇First Place will receive: One full body drawing from me (equivalent of a $50 commission; up to two characters, terms apply) and 2 edits/npts of your choice.

🥈Second Place will receive: One halfbody drawing from me (equivalent of a $30 commission; up to three characters, terms apply) and 1 edit/npts of your choice.

🥉Third Place will receive: One icon drawing from me (equivalent to a $10-$20 commission; terms apply) OR 1 edit/npts.

That’s all! Happy editing! If you have any questions, feel free to ask and I’ll try my best to get to them!! Remember to do your DAILY CLICKS!

[nessguts]

when i hit 1k followers maybe i’ll do an art giveaway or something ??? does that sound fun lol

[quinnharperwrites]

50 FOLLOWERS EVENT

A couple days ago, I hit 50 followers. I've only been here for a month and a half, so all of this is crazy to me.

I decided to set up an event with 60 questions. The first 30 are from a book edition ask game by @iknowitwontwork. The final 30 questions are from a new wip development ask game by @writingonesdreams. If you've been seeing me around your dashboard, then you probably know about my new WIP, The Isles of Blirrosia, which I'll be using for questions 31-60.

To play, just send me an ask with the number to whichever questions you want me to answer.

Do u prefer a standalone or a series?

Your fav genre?

Your least fav genre? why?

A book which had a tv adaption that was better than the book itself?

Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers?

Your fav book trope?

Your least fav book trope?

the best protagonist u have ever seen in a book and why?

If u were stuck on an island and could only have three books w u what would they be? (series would be counted as one cuz as i said so)

the worst book u have ever read?

the best book u have ever read?

a book/book series u wish u could read for the first time ever again?

ur fav author( if u have any)?

an overrated book?

an underrated book?

the book that made u fall in love with reading?

a book to get u out of a reading slump?

a book with a strong female protagonist?

a book u came across randomly but ended up loving it?

do u prefer audio books or e-books?

hardcovers or paperbacks?

a book that u hated at first but now love it?

a book u used to love but now hate?

a book genre u haven't read? why?

a book that had u bawling ur eyes out?

ur fav quote from a book?

a 'fanfiction' trope that u like to see in books?

the last book u read? did u like it?

do u annotate ur books?

give any 3 book recs to ur followers!

What's the log line for your wip?

Describe the plot in one sentence

Describe your wip badly

Describe the main characters

What are the main themes?

What kind of readers would be fans of this wip?

What are the main emotions of this wip?

What are the vibes/aesthetics of this wip?

What are the genres of this wip?

Describe the tropes present in this wip

Any characters you had to cut?

inspired this wip

Do you like working on more wips at once?

Where will the wip start?

What do you like about this wip

What do you find frustrating about this wip

What are you worried about in this wip

What are your goals with this wip

Describe the setting of your wip

Describe your favourite location

How would you describe your WIP’s narrative style? (1st person, 3rd person, multiple POVs, single POV, alternating chapters, etc.)

Do you know your OCs personality types (ennegram/mbti etc)

How would you describe your writing style

What is the most important question to answer about your characters

Name the three most important things for you to plan

What do you still need to plan?

Look for three images which best showcase the overall aesthetic for your WIP

If you could pick three songs to capture the feel of your WIP, what would they be and why?

Books or series or movies influenced your writing style the most?

What stories are the most similar to yours / comp titles?

[starry-bi-sky]

FUNNIEST fucking shit that comes with making Danny eleven years old when he had his accident in "late at night, when the nightingale sings" is the implication following, that everything that happened in the show did too. And I fully intend on (mostly) keeping it like that. There'll be some changes (of which I need to figure out) but for the most part??? Yeah relatively the same.

Like I FULLY intend on keeping Dark Danny occurring 6 months post accident. Do you know how fucking HILARIOUS that is??? That Dan got his ass kicked by a goddamn FIFTH-SIXTH GRADER?? I'd never show my face ever again. Homeboy spent the last ten years being a one-man mass extinction event, only to get his ass beat by a kid who hasn't even lost his last baby tooth. That's hysterical. I'm losing my mind just thinking about it.

AND PARIAH DARK TOO. Imagine being an eons old tyrant capable of dragging whole towns down into your dimension, and you get singehandedly shoved back into your coffin in less than 48 hours by a kid whose bedtime is still 8:30. You didn't even have the time to expand your army! You were still trying to take over the city the kid came from!

And he just!!! Shoves you back in!! Insane! This kid hasn't even been dead for a full year yet! He's still growing in his ghost fangs! And he just knocked you flat on your ass in an oversized mech suit. What the fuck! It's like looking down and seeing a four week old kitten meowing very indignantly at you and trying to bite your feet, except that kitten is also actually a black-footed cat and they have a 60% kill success rate, and oops! Now you're dead. You took too long laughing at the kitten trying to attack you that it clawed up your pant leg and ripped out your throat.

COULD I, realistically, span these episodes out over the course of 2.5 years prior to Danny's family dying?? Yes I could! Do I think it's hilarious (and horribly traumatizing, which makes it twice as fun) to shove all of this into the span of (roughly) a year instead?? Yes. Because the show has such a skewed timeline that I've always just assumed that at the end of the show, Danny was starting his sophomore year in high school. So fuck it, lets go for it!

[ham-cheese-toastie]

Holy media batman please

the curious incicdent of the dog in the night time

its got a bit of a different way of being written? but its really good if you havent already read it

[puresel]

^ inhumanic

^ bpdgender should i start a event or just wait ( and would it be a 60 follower event or 100 ) * scratches my head * ermm ... help me....emee help mee,e.e.e.e.ee

[bookworm-fangirl1]

Happy 60 followers!

What’s your favourite song?

Tyyy

uhhh ok so as of right now I really like candy store and god games

but for regular songs I’d say taste by Sabrina carpenter

[crushpunky]

paparazzi interrupts drew and actress!reader's walk

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. warnings for harassment/body shaming and overall assholery from the paparazzi lol

The day had already taken a toll on y/n. First, she spilled her iced coffee she had pain painstakingly made all over her favorite shorts, then her lunch order was completely wrong, and last and perhaps most painfully, she’d gotten a call from her manager informing her that she hadn’t gotten a call back for the role she had been so excited for. Noticing this, Drew suggested the two of them take Charleston out for a walk downtown.

“I think I’m ready for it to be summer again.” Drew said as he held his jacket against him, Charleston trotting happily in front of the two of them. The two of them walked down the sidewalk arm in arm, the breeze gently rattling the changing leaves. It wasn’t a particularly heavy tourist season, the streets filled mostly with locals.

“Oh c’mon, it’s like 60 degrees out.” Y/n laughed, nudging Drew playfully. Drew looked down at her with a light grin on his lips, happy to see her smiling after the unfortunate events of the day.

“I’m a southern boy, I’ve—” Drew began, but was cut off when a lanky man approached them. Drew quickly pulled Charleston back, allowing the dog to walk between the two of them, and tightened his hold on y/n’s arm.

“Y/n! Drew!” The lanky man said, holding up his camera. Y/n flashed a smile and a small wave, adjusting her baseball cap as they continued down the street. Paparazzi weren't new to them by any means, it just wasn’t super often they really approached them, mostly opting to snap photos from afar.

“We saw the photos of you two at the beach the other day.” The paparazzi said, continuing behind the couple as they walked down the sidewalk. Drew’s jaw tightened, already annoyed by the sudden intrusion to y/n’s already shitty day.

“Looks like you’ve gained a bit of weight, huh, y/n?” The paparazzi jeered, pushing his camera in in an attempt at drawing a reaction. Drew whipped his head around quickly, his eyes furious.

“It’s— just ignore him. Please.” Y/n whispered, tugging on Drew’s elbow. Her heart was hammering, trying her best to not internalize the creep’s clear attempt at garnering a strong reaction from the two of them. They continued down the street quicker, even Charleston seemingly distracted by the man following them.

“All those sweets are really showing up on the hips, y/n.” The paparazzi continued with a snicker. Y/n took in a shaky breath, her eyes beginning to water as the man continued spouting off comments about her body.

“Y/n, I can’t ignore him if he keeps saying shit—” Drew growled, his hands practically trembling in anger as he noticed the glassiness in y/n’s eyes.

“Or maybe you’re pregnant? Hmm, Drew? You finally knock that bitch up—” The paparazzi jeered. Drew whipped around, quickly handing the leash to y/n as he stepped towards the man. The lanky man stopped, his eyes widening as Drew’s broad figure approached him angrily.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Drew said to the man, his finger pointing harshly. “Don’t you fucking say another word to her, a’ight asshole? Not another fuckin word.”

“Relax, man, I was just asking a question.” The man let out a nervous laugh. Y/n took in a shaky breath, tears falling down her cheeks. Charleston nuzzled his nose into her leg, his eyes looking up at her widely as she patted his head gently, her head buzzing with tension.

“You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat the shit out of you for saying that. Get the fuck out of here.” Drew looked down at the man, his cheeks flushed with anger. Y/n stepped forward, placing a hand on Drew’s shoulder, glancing around at the other people walking down the streets whose attention seemed to be focused on them. Drew’s eyes stayed focused on the man as he cowered back, his gaze only breaking when Charleston barked.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” Drew spat before, taking a measured step back, wrapping an arm firmly around y/n’s waist and taking Charleston’s leash from her. The two of them quickly walked away from the creep, not even sparing a glance in his direction, until they found a bench. Drew directed y/n to sit, immediately crouching down to her level.

“Baby, are you ok? I’m so sorry—” Drew said, tucking a strand of hair behind y/n’s ear.

“It’s— you didn’t do anything, it’s fine.” Y/n sniffled, wiping a stray tear away and straightening up, her hand resting on Charleston’s head and eyes avoiding Drew’s. As much as she tried to tell herself what the man was saying wasn’t true, she couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt. It hurt to hear the things that used to just exist in her head or in the comments under a post. It hurt to hear those things out loud. It hurt to hear those things out loud because it made them feel real.

“Hey, look at me, please.” Drew whispered, his hand moving to the curve of y/n’s jaw. He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He gazed over her face, his heart clenching at the teariness in her eyes and slight frown on her usually grinning lips.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful—” Drew said, his thumb rubbing gently along y/n’s jaw, even as she shook her head and tried to look away from him. He held her still, keeping her eyes on him.

“Don’t shake your head, please, baby, you’re killing me.” Drew sighed, his voice nearly breaking.

“Drew, it’s fine, just leave it.” Y/n said, her voice barely a whisper as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“No, I can’t have you crying over bullshit some asshole who knows nothing about you is spouting.” Drew continued, his other hand moving to cup the side of her face. Her flushed cheeks smushed together slightly, her nose scrunching so perfectly Drew felt as if he was gazing at a painting.

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful,” Drew whispered. “So beautiful it’s unreal. Everything about you is just… so perfect.”

“Your nose.” Drew pressed a kiss to y/n’s nose. “Your chin.” Drew pressed a kiss to her chin. “Your neck.” Drew pressed a kiss to her neck. “Your shoulders.” Drew pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Y/n said, a small smile spreading on her lips as Drew gazed up at her as if she were a goddess gracing him with her very presence… and to him she was. He never thought it’d be possible to be so completely and utterly perfect, every aspect just so quintessentially her. Even “flaws”, like the faint scars of acne on her cheeks or the way her hair would tangle in the morning were so her he found it impossible to see them as anything less than perfect.

“I wanna hear you say it.” Drew grinned, his eyes crinkling in the way that made y/n so weak in the knees she was glad she was sitting down.

“No, c’mon—” y/n groaned.

“We’re not leaving until you say it.” Drew sang, his hands resting on her knees as she let out another playful groan. She took a deep breath, her cheeks warming as she smiled back at him.

“I’m ‘so fuckin’ beautiful’.” Y/n said, Drew’s grin growing impossibly wider as he pressed a sloppy kiss to her temple before helping her to her feet. Charleston barked excitedly, his tail wagging as they continued their back towards their house.

“Exactly, Charlie, your momma is so hot.” Drew wrapped his arm around y/n’s waist, pulling her to his side. Y/n giggled, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s what he said. I think he said ‘hurry up and get home I’m starving’.” Y/n teased, elbowing Drew lightly.

“Mmm, me too… but something a little different.” Drew said, looking down at y/n with a quirk of his brow. Y/n’s eyes widened as she caught onto his hint.

“You’re such a dog.” Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes as she rested her head onto Drew’s shoulder again.

“Can’t help it my girl’s so fuckin’ hot.” Drew said, pressing a kiss to her head. Y/n grinned, her head spinning with Drew’s intoxicating presence, all doubts about herself disappearing under Drew’s loving gaze.

[yeonmuse]

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗ Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like getting close to new people, but when a little girl shows up to his place of work in need of skating lessons he finds himself getting oddly close to her older sister. Now he’s starting to realize himself developing some uncontainable feelings while having to teach not only her little sister to skate, but her as well.

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary ⛸️

ૢ CASTING ༉ ot7 Enhypen. THE GANG ot9 andteam, lesserafim chaewon, katseye manon. READERS FRIENDS boynextdoor woonhak, boynextdoor leehan, blackswan fatou, loona jinsoul, theboyz chanhee, txt yeonjun, pamalaaam as mari. HONORABLE MENTIONS theboyz sunwoo, soloist alexa.

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well.

TAGLIST IS OPEN ❕ 🏷️ | SERIES PREVIEW

ღ GENRE smau & written parts, fluff|slight angst, acquaintance to lovers, non idol enhypen, university enha, crack tweets & texts. 3rd person reader pov

CHARACTER PROFILES › ENHA & FRIENDS | READER & FRIENDS | HONORABLE MENTIONS

1 › prince of the ice

2 › let’s go bears

3 › UOA vs DVU

4 › take this L

5 › aint no party like a yeonjun party

6 › fuck you sim jaeyun and nishimura riki

7 › park sunghoon

8 › jinsouls shayla

9 › I’m sorry

10 › you did what ??

11 › case of the stolen teammates

12 › three thousand dollars

13 › @/princeoftheice followed you !

14 › failed ransom

15 › the zamwhati?

16 › according to google 🤓☝️

17 › am i literally stupid ?

18 › should I flea the country ?

19 › im cooked

20 › soft hands

21 › swimmin with the fishes

22 › snowed in

23 › Fuck you mother nature

24 › sweatpea?

25 › skate night

26 › yn and sunghoon sitting in a tree

27 › place your bets

28 › yeonjuns downfall

29 › he’s kind of cute

30 › he’s so not interested

31 › i dont care

32 › this isn’t a kdrama

33 › happy soobin day

34 › love in the air

35 › omo he made a new friend

36 › melted ice cream

37 › mr lonely

38 › mr tavia

39 › where is she?

40 › you like krabby patties don’t you squidward

41 › sounds like you missed me

42 › maybe i like him

43 › #needthat #wantthat #desirethat

44 › your girlfriends here

45 › jealousy jealousy

46 › weird..

47 › maybe I care

48 › you like her

49 › I feel like percy jackson

50 › about that guy

51 › did I intrude?

52 › liquid courage

53 › nights like this

54 › sweater weather

55 › you don’t suck so much

56 › you have a little crush on me

57 › how it feels to rest on your patient lips

58 › party at jakes

59 › winter break

60 › let’s hit the slopes

[sixeyesonathiel]

a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH01 – the anatomy of a grudge

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

series masterlist | playlist | next

chapter summary : it starts with a princess, a prince, and a perfectly decorated box of chocolates. it ends with a broken heart, a flying carrot, and a lifelong vendetta. some wounds never heal. some grudges never die. and it is just impossible to avoid someone when you live in the same bubble.

the first day of kindergarten is an event, a grand occasion worthy of celebration. the sun shines bright, gilding the pristine walls of tokyo’s most prestigious academy, as if the universe itself acknowledges your arrival. your dress—a dreamy confection of lace and ribbons—catches the light with every step, a shimmering reminder of who you are. inside the grand classroom, the air hums with anticipation; the other children whisper, eyes wide, voices hushed with awe. you are used to this. the admiration, the attention—it is the natural order of things, and you embrace it with the effortless grace of a princess greeting her subjects.

but amid the murmurs and the shy stares, a name rises above the rest. gojo satoru. the words are spoken with reverence, laced with something almost like fear. the smartest kid in class. the heir to the gojo conglomerate. a genius, they say, as if that alone makes him untouchable. your interest is immediate, sharp as a diamond catching the sun—you have decided. you are going to marry him.

when you finally find him, he is seated at his desk, a tiny king on a plastic throne. his glasses, far too big for his face, slip down his nose as he reads, utterly absorbed in the world of numbers and words. around him, children run and shriek with delight, yet he remains unmoved, isolated in his own brilliance. you have never seen anyone so mysterious, so special, so handsome. like a prince out of your bedtime stories, the kind who rules entire kingdoms with a single glance. the sight of him, so lost in his book, fills you with something fierce and determined—you must have his attention.

so you march up to him, confidence radiating from every step, your brightest, most charming smile in place. “do you wanna play with me?” the question is simple, the answer should be obvious. but he does not even look up. “i’d rather study,” he replies, tone flat, uninterested. you blink. what? scandalized, you stare at him as if he has just insulted your entire lineage. no one—not one person—has ever turned you down before.

but you are not one to give up easily. if he will not play with you, then you will simply have to play with him. for days, you follow him around, unfazed by his dismissals, chattering away as if he has already accepted your presence. he speaks of numbers and patterns, things you do not understand, but that does not matter. “yeah! i’m trying to study how red and white makes pink too!” you declare, nodding with the same intensity as him. he squints at you, skeptical, but does not tell you to leave. it is progress, a victory, and you grin, certain of one thing—soon enough, gojo satoru will be yours.

february arrives in a flurry of pink and red, ribbons and glitter, love and admiration wrapped up in shiny paper. in the warmth of the kitchen, you sit perched on a stool, small hands carefully piping pink icing onto a tray of chocolates. your nanny helps, guiding your every move, but the love you pour into each swirl and heart-shaped decoration is all yours. it is important that they are perfect, because these are for him. gojo satoru. your prince, your future husband—he just doesn’t know it yet. you imagine the way his face will light up when you give them to him, how he will finally understand that he is special to you, that you adore him, that he should adore you too.

but when the moment comes, it is nothing like the fairytales. standing before him, chocolates cradled in your hands, your heart beats like a hummingbird’s wings. you are shy for the first time in your life, cheeks warm, fingers twitching as you present your hard work. satoru barely glances at them before frowning. “you shouldn’t eat too much chocolate,” he says, matter-of-fact, like he’s reciting a textbook. “it’s unhealthy. bad for your teeth.” and then—he doesn’t take them. your breath catches, the world shifts, and you don’t understand why it feels like the ground has been ripped out from under you.

you sob in the hallway, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, staining the sleeves of your dress as you bury your face in them. the walls, once grand and full of warmth, now feel cold and suffocating, closing in on you as your chest heaves with the unfairness of it all. why did he do that? why didn’t he want them? you made them for him, with so much love, so much effort, and he just… rejected them. the sting is unbearable, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. the other kids watch with wide eyes, but you don’t care—you cry until your nanny finds you and scoops you up, whispering reassurances that do little to mend the ache in your tiny heart.

satoru, meanwhile, sits at his desk, bewildered. he doesn’t know what he did wrong, only that your face crumpled and your eyes filled with tears and then you were gone. at home, he asks his dad for advice, confused and restless, something tight and unfamiliar pressing against his chest. “you should apologize,” his father says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s easy. so satoru thinks, hard, determined to make it up to you, and remembers something he read once—carrots are good for the eyes. and you have very pretty eyes. logically, this means that carrots will make you happy again.

the next day, you march into class with a fresh resolve: you will not think about gojo satoru. you will not look at him, you will not speak to him, and you will certainly not remember the way he broke your heart with his stupid, stupid words. but just as you take your seat, still clutching the remnants of your righteous fury, a shadow falls over your desk. you glance up, and there he is—gojo satoru, standing stiffly in front of you, an unreadable expression on his face. before you can tell him to leave, he shoves something at you, small hands gripping it tightly as if it holds the answer to all the world’s problems.

a carrot. a whole, unpeeled carrot, straight from someone’s fridge, still a little cold in his palm. “here,” he announces, dead serious. “carrots. for your eyes.” you blink, slowly, processing. surely, surely, you misheard him. “...what?” your voice is hesitant, unsure if this is some elaborate joke, but satoru just nods, like this is obvious, like he is being generous.

“they’re good for you,” he explains, pushing the carrot closer, his tiny fingers wrapped around it with a kind of solemn determination. your jaw drops. of all the things he could have done to fix his crime, this—this root vegetable—is what he chose? is he mocking you? is this some nerd thing that you don’t understand? the insult is too great, the betrayal too fresh, and suddenly, all the grief and rage you’ve been holding in erupts.

“i don’t want your stupid carrots!!” you shriek, shoving his hand away so forcefully that the carrot goes flying across the room. it bounces off a desk, rolls onto the floor, and lands unceremoniously near the cubbies, an innocent casualty in the war between you and gojo satoru. silence follows. the entire classroom, once lively with chatter, falls into stunned quiet as every pair of eyes turns to watch the scene unfold. you are furious, fists clenched at your sides, breathing hard as you glare at him like he is the worst thing to ever exist.

and satoru—poor, poor satoru—looks devastated. his mouth falls open, hands still frozen in mid-air where the carrot used to be, his eyes wide with something that looks far too much like heartbreak for a boy who doesn’t even know what he did wrong. “but…” he stammers, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sense of what just happened. “but they’re good for your eyes.” his voice cracks at the end, the first sign of his impending doom, but you don’t care. you spin on your heel, nose in the air, and storm away before he can say another word.

satoru stands there, lost, humiliated, still staring at the spot where the carrot landed. his ears burn with the whispers of his classmates, with the quiet giggles and curious glances, but none of it matters. all that matters is that he tried—he really tried—and somehow, it only made things worse. his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists, his throat tight with something unfamiliar, something sharp and awful. 

you decide you hate him. you call him a boring nerd, cross your arms, and vow to never waste another second of your time on him. he had his chance. he ruined it. as far as you’re concerned, gojo satoru is no longer a prince, no longer special—just an insufferable, glasses-wearing, know-it-all who doesn’t deserve you. but as you go back to playing with the other kids, ignoring him completely, satoru sits at his desk, staring at the abandoned carrot and wondering why his chest feels so empty. girls, he concludes, make no sense at all.

later, when his father picks him up from school, he sits in the backseat, staring out the window, blinking rapidly to stop the tears that threaten to spill over.

he doesn’t understand. he might never understand. but one thing is clear—girls, especially you, are impossible.

high school is hell. not because of the schoolwork—you don’t struggle with that, never have—but because everything else is crumbling, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold it together. your father does not bother to hide it anymore, coming home late with his collar stained in red, his shirts reeking of perfume too sweet, too floral to belong to your mother. you wonder if he even bothers to wash her scent off before climbing into bed beside his wife, if he kisses your mother with lips that just touched another woman. your mother, poised and perfect, does not react. she doesn’t cry, doesn’t fight, doesn’t care. because she has her own secrets, her own whispered rendezvous, her own sins tucked neatly behind closed doors.

the house is still beautiful, still immaculate, still cold. marble floors that gleam under the chandelier, long dining tables set with silverware that never sees real use, portraits of a perfect family hanging in hallways that have forgotten what warmth feels like. your parents sit across from each other at dinner, exchanging pleasantries, empty words over untouched meals, and you think you might go insane if you have to sit through another one of these nights. they are both living their own separate lives, tied together by name only, playing pretend for the world. you are the only one left suffocating under the weight of their act.

so you leave. not forever, not in a way that anyone would notice—but enough. enough to get away, enough to escape the sterile perfection of a home that does not feel like home anymore. the city is alive in a way your house never is, buzzing with neon lights and laughter, thrumming with music that drowns out the thoughts in your head. and when you step out, chin high, gaze sharp, the world takes notice. men—older boys, college students, strangers��watch you, eyes trailing after you like dogs chasing a scent, greedy and hungry, waiting for you to acknowledge them.

but you don’t. you let them look, let them stare, let them want. you know you’re beautiful—people have been telling you that your whole life. they say it in different ways, in lingering glances, in hushed whispers, in the way they hover just close enough to hope you’ll look back. but you never do. you don’t need them. you just need the feeling—the rush of knowing you are seen, that you are something more than just a girl trapped in a perfect, broken home.

dress code violation. again. they don’t even send a note home anymore, don’t waste their time dialing numbers that will ring and ring with no answer. the teachers barely look at you when they usher you into detention, muttering something about repeated offenses under their breath. you roll your eyes, adjusting your bag higher on your shoulder as you step inside, skirt still hiked up at the waist. same old story, same old routine. but then, you see him.

gojo satoru.

he sits at the front of the room like he owns it, glasses perched on his nose, book in hand, posture as straight as ever. not a single wrinkle on his neatly pressed uniform, not a single hair out of place. he doesn’t even glance up, doesn’t acknowledge your presence, just flips another page like he’s too absorbed in whatever stupid book he’s reading. you nearly scoff. of course he’s here. of course, the student council president, the school’s golden boy, would be the one watching over detention today.

you turn to the window instead, resting your chin on your palm, watching as snowflakes gather along the glass. once upon a time, you loved the snow—loved how it painted the world white, how it felt soft against your fingertips, how it meant holidays and warmth and laughter. now, all it reminds you of is cold, empty spaces. rooms with no warmth, no light, just a family name that still shines while everything inside has rotted. you exhale, fogging up the window, and drag your finger through the condensation, drawing nothing in particular.

but in the corner of your eye, you see him. sitting there, perfect as ever, untouchable in his pristine little world. no cracks in his foundation, no stains on his perfect family portrait. a life still whole, still secure, still wrapped in the warmth of something you barely remember. he still has everything. and you—your nails dig into the desk—have nothing.

the bell rings, loud and sharp, snapping you out of your thoughts. you’re the first to stand, flicking your hair over your shoulder, striding toward the door without a single glance back. gojo doesn’t stop you. doesn’t say anything. and you tell yourself you don’t care. that he isn’t worth your time, your thoughts, anything at all.

you’ve learned, over the years, that rage is exhausting. teenage fury burned hot and fast, but it never fixed anything, never filled the hollow space in your chest. so you let it cool, let it settle into something easier to manage—indifference, or at least the illusion of it. money smooths over the cracks anyway; it buys silence, buys distraction, buys the closest thing to happiness you’ve ever known. you spend it recklessly, thoughtlessly, like if you throw enough of it at the void, it’ll give you something real in return. maybe it never does. but the lights are bright, the music is loud, and the nights blur into mornings before you can think too hard about it.

you’ve perfected the art of being the girl everyone wants to know. you slip into every party like you belong there, heels clicking against marble, lips curled into an easy, practiced smile. men chase you, women admire you, and none of it means anything. you let them get close, let them touch, let them want—because want is power, and you like holding it in your hands. you don’t believe in love, not really, but pleasure is easy, and control is intoxicating, and if you wake up in a stranger’s bed with his wallet on the nightstand and your lipstick smeared on his skin, who cares? you’re having fun. and that’s all that matters.

still, you play your part during the day. you walk the halls of the most prestigious business academy in the country with your head high, effortlessly slipping back into the role of the untouchable heiress. business administration suits you—broad, flexible, full of opportunities you’re not sure you actually want but know you’ll take anyway. because success is expected of you, because wealth demands wealth, because of course you’ll thrive. it doesn’t matter that you’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else. you don’t think about that. instead, you drown yourself in numbers and presentations, in group projects with people who fear you just enough to always listen when you speak.

and of course, he’s here too. gojo satoru, top of his class in business finance, heir to an empire, as obnoxiously untouchable as ever. you never really forgot about him, even when you tried, not when you two basically exist in the same circle, even when you spent years pretending he didn’t exist. and it’s infuriating, really, how he’s still perfect—still smart, still respected, still sitting at the top like he was born there. he walks through the academy like it was built for him, like he owns it, and it makes your teeth grind. because you know—you know—that no matter how much time has passed, no matter how different you are now, you’ll always be the girl who once declared she was going to marry him.

except now, you’re also the girl who swore she hated him.

group projects are the worst.

you don’t even bother hiding your sigh as the professor hands out the details, voice droning on about advanced business and economics, about luxury market strategies and the delicate balance of exclusivity and profitability. it’s all so predictable—another overcomplicated assignment designed to make sure everyone in this academy understands just how privileged they are. as if your last name, your wealth, your place in this world aren’t enough proof already. whatever. you’ll skim the slides, nod at the right moments, and let someone else do the heavy lifting while you focus on things that actually matter.

but then you hear his name.

gojo satoru.

for a split second, something in you sparks—amusement, maybe, or something sharper, something almost triumphant. because this? this is a jackpot. you already know exactly how this will go: satoru, with his color-coded notes and ridiculous spreadsheets, with his perfect grades and even more perfect reputation, will handle it. he’ll do the research, draft the reports, put together a flawless presentation. you won’t even have to lift a finger.

so you don’t acknowledge him. you don’t turn your head, don’t glance in his direction, don’t bother with the fake niceties that other students would force. instead, you sling your bag over your shoulder, heels clicking against the polished floor as you walk out of the lecture hall without so much as a backward glance. later, you’ll send him the bare minimum—a quick “lmk when it’s done” or “let me know if you need anything”. it’s effortless. it’s easy.

you don’t think about how he’s still here, still orbiting your life like a constant, a ghost of a childhood you don’t care to remember. you don’t think about how annoying it is that he’s still perfect, still untouchable, still the one person who’s never bent under the weight of expectation.

you don’t think about him at all.

except, of course, he’s a pain in the ass.

you ignore his texts? he calls. you ignore his calls? he shows up. and not at some normal, reasonable place—no, he tracks you down at an exclusive luxury bar, where the music hums low and expensive in the background, where the drinks are poured with a practiced hand, where you’re lounging on a plush velvet seat, laughing at something not even remotely funny. the world is soft around the edges, warm with alcohol, and you’re enjoying yourself just fine. until you see him.

satoru stands at the entrance like he owns the place, like he belongs here, even though he sticks out like a sore thumb. designer casual, understated but ridiculously expensive—soft knit jacket, tailored slacks, glasses perched on his nose, hair messier than usual, like he ran a hand through it too many times. the sight of him makes you scowl. not because he’s bad-looking—annoyingly, he’s not—but because he’s here. why is he here? you don’t get to ask before he’s moving, crossing the distance between you like it’s nothing, leaning down to murmur, “we have work to do.”

you laugh, not even glancing at him. “you have work to do. i just have to sit pretty and get the grade.” your glass clinks softly against the table as you set it down, lifting a brow at him. he doesn’t even look irritated—just vaguely amused, as if he expected this. “this is how you do research?” his tone is smooth, edged with dry amusement. you sip from your drink again, feigning indifference. “networking, actually.”

he hums, unconvinced. “come on. let’s go.”

“i’m busy, gojo.”

“you’re getting wasted.”

“and?”

“and we have a project to do.”

you tilt your head, smirking. “how about we do it here?” you gesture at the men who’ve been stealing glances at you all night, their interest barely hidden. “i bet one of them owns a luxury brand. isn’t that our topic?”

he exhales through his nose, patient. “get up.”

you scoff. “make me.”

his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something close.

before you can react, satoru grabs your wrist, gentle but firm, pulling you up with absurd ease. “hey—!” you protest, but it doesn’t matter. he’s already leading you toward the exit, his grip unrelenting yet careful, like he knows exactly how much pressure to apply to make you follow without a fuss. the night air bites against your flushed skin as soon as you step outside, sharp and sobering, and you barely register where you are until you’re standing beside his sleek, very expensive sports car.

satoru unlocks the door with a single click, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the city. the streetlights cast a pale glow over the pavement, over the sleek lines of his car, over the way he stands there—calm, composed, like he has all the time in the world. he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand, just watches with that insufferable patience, hands in his pockets, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose. his gaze, even behind the lenses, is expectant. “get in.” the words are easy, effortless, but they leave no room for argument.

you cross your arms, shifting your weight to one side, chin tilted up in defiance. “you’re annoying.” the night air bites at your skin, but you refuse to shiver. he barely reacts, only tilts his head slightly, lips curving into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t not one, either. “you’re lazy.” it’s not an insult, just a statement, delivered with the same frustrating calm as everything else he says.

“we’re literally rich.” you exhale, exasperated, like it should be obvious. “why does this even matter to you?” the words come out sharper than intended, but he doesn’t flinch. instead, he studies you for a second, like he’s searching for something beyond the irritation in your voice, beyond the stubborn way you hold yourself. “because i don’t like half-assed things.” his response is immediate, unwavering, and there’s something about it—about the certainty in his tone—that makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

you scoff, turning your head away, but the movement is too sudden, and the wind catches you off guard. cold slips down your spine, sharp and sudden, and you don’t even realize you���ve tensed until you hear him sigh. before you can react, something warm, soft, and faintly scented with expensive cologne settles over your shoulders. his knit jacket. heavy, draped over you like it belongs there.

“wha—” the protest barely leaves your lips before he cuts in.

“it’s cold. get in the car.”

you hesitate for half a second, something tightening in your chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. but you don’t fight it. you slide into the passenger seat, tugging his jacket closer around you, drowning in the warmth. only because it’s cold. definitely not because your heart is acting weird.

[shinysparklesapphires]

For Yuu!Sapph; is there anything in TWST that makes you homesick? Any comfort items that help with that?

(thanks for the ask! :3)