#Getting To Know The Characters drawing homework and other homework to do before I can post anything

[dr11ft]

assorted scy's transmitted from my exile

[satoruness]

golden — s . gojo x reader

synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.

pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader

word count — 10.6 k

warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.

Satoru Gojo.

How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.

Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.

It started in preschool.

You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.

You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.

And then there was him.

Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.

So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.

You shrugged. “Building.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.

“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.

He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.

You gasped, horrified.

He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”

You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.

But Satoru Gojo was persistent.

He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.

Eventually, you just… let him.

It was easier than trying to get rid of him.

And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.

Your moms met not long after.

It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”

Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.

And that was that.

Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.

By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.

“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”

You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”

“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”

“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”

“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.

“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”

You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”

“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”

“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

—

Then came high school.

At first, nothing changed.

Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.

And for the first two years, you were inseparable.

There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.

Until junior year.

It started small.

A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.

And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.

You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.

And people noticed.

By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.

The guy who no longer just belonged to you.

The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.

But something was different.

You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.

“Where are your glasses?” you asked.

Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”

You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”

He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”

And just like that, something in your chest twisted.

It wasn’t just the glasses.

It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.

Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.

He was Gojo.

Senior year was when it really started to hurt.

He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.

Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.

“Why’s he sitting with her?”

“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”

“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”

You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.

And it made you snap.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.

Satoru frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He didn’t forget it.

You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.

“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

And you hated that he was somewhat right. 

So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.

But then came college.

And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.

Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.

If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.

He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.

And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.

“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”

You always said no.

At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.

And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.

Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.

You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”

Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.

“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.

And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.

Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”

“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”

That stung.

Because wasn’t that what he did first?

He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.

But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?

“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

Maybe it was better to let it go.

So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”

Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”

That hurt more than it should have.

But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.

It got worse after that.

You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.

Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.

Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.

Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.

So why did it feel so awful?

A week later, you ran into him by accident.

Literally.

You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.

“Oh, shit—sorry—”

You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.

Satoru.

Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”

It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?

You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”

It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.

Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.

And then—

A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.

And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.

No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.

You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.

But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.

You missed him.

—

It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.

At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.

Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.

And it hurt.

More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.

But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.

You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.

Until the professor announced lab partners.

The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.

“Uh… who?”

Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.

It was humiliating.

Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.

And she had no idea who you were.

You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.

Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.

Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.

And that, somehow, was worse than anything.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

Working with Satoru again was… weird.

Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.

Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.

Sometimes, it almost felt normal.

Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.

Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.

“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”

And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.

And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.

And then, one day, you got sick.

Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.

But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.

Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.

He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.

And there he was.

Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”

You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”

Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.

“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Lie down.”

You hesitated.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.

The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.

The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Safe.

And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.

—

From that day on, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.

“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”

You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop. 

“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.

Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.

Then, one day, everything cracked open.

It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.

“Oh my God.”

You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”

He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”

And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—

“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”

That was it.

That was what broke you.

It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.

“Oh—oh shit.”

Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”

His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”

Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”

He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”

“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”

He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”

You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I’m not letting you go again either.”

He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

—

After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.

It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.

“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”

Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.

She huffed, looking at you for the first time.

“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Silence.

Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.

“Fuck off.”

Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”

You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.

She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.

You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”

You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.

But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—

Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.

—

It happened slowly.

At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.

You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.

And it was good. It was easy.

But then—then—things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way yours lingered, too.

—

It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”

You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”

“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”

“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”

“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”

You hesitated, torn.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

—

It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.

Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.

Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.

“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.

“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”

You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”

He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”

“You ran the red light.”

“Meow.”

You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”

Satoru laughed but let you.

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.

—

Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.

He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.

“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”

You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”

He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, reaching for the remote.

And then—a shift.

Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.

You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.

And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.

“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.

You exhaled.

Your chest felt tight.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

—

But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.

It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.

The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.

The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.

And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.

Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he wanted something.

And maybe—just maybe—so did you.

—

By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.

Something unspoken.

Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

 —

The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.

You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.

Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”

He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”

You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”

That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.

Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.

“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”

Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.

Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”

He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.

You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”

As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”

A lie.

Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.

The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.

You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.

Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.

Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”

His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.

And God, you wanted him to.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.

“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”

Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.

The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”

You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”

Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.

And then, his voice—low, raw, real.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.

Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.

The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?

As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.

His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.

His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.

His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.

And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”

You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”

He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”

“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”

You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”

Your breath hitched. “You were?”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”

You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”

He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”

His brows shot up. “A menace?”

You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”

“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“

Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.

—

A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.

One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.

Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.

And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.

Like right now.

“I think you should stay over.”

You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”

Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”

You snorted. “Satoru.”

“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”

“Not even close.”

He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”

“They’re practically dresses on me.”

“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”

“That’s a lie.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”

Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”

He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”

You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.

“I swear to God, Satoru—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.

“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.

Your stomach flipped.

“…Debatable,” you muttered.

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”

Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”

“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”

You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.

Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.

You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”

Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.

“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.

His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”

You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.

i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh

[mellosdrawings]

Ok, originally I didn't want to do Twst OCs that weren't based on actual Disney characters, but I broke my one rule because @marigoldendragon triple dog dared me to do an octopus OC. Which I failed, because I did a jellyfish one instead :'D

(Just... pretend he's one of those random jellyfish from that one scene in Finding Nemo)

So yeah, here's my new Ignihyde OC I guess.

Noah Jackson

18 years old, 3rd year

Ignihyde

From the Coral Sea, jellyfish merman

He/Him though he doesn't mind any other pronouns

Signature Spell: Go With the Flow

-Basically an anti gravity spell that allows him or whoever he touches to move through the air the same way he does under water

-The tiniest gust of wind can make him float away

-If he uses it right before he gets knocked out by a spell he just flies away like a balloon with only minimal damages

-While he can stir himself through the air, the people that get affected by his spell generally can't. Only some merfolk manage to adjust and swim through the air

-It also works on objects. His own room is constantly under the spell while he's inside so he can emulate his own home

No heart, no brain, only vibes.

Noah is not the brightest and he knows it. His motto is to just "go with the flow". Whatever is funniest gets his attention, but he never goes out of his way to actually catch it. He just ~vibes~. Whatever happens happens. Good stuff? Great, let's have some fun! Bad stuff? Oh well, let's just wait for it to pass.

Nothing has weight for him. While it means he doesn't get hurt much in life because he just doesn't care, it can be a huge drag for the people around him.

Random facts:

-Noah is based on the Sea Nettle jellyfish. While his sting isn't necessarily deadly, he certainly can hurt others.

-He is only 1.56 meters tall.

-He is genuinely blind but he manages to get around by sensing light and magic. He still regularly sticks to someone and "goes with the flow" of the crowd.

-While very confused about getting sorted into Ignihyde, he immediately got into it because of the lights. He's surprisingly efficient at technomancy and uses speech-to-text to write his homeworks.

-He's pretty sensitive to waves so his dormmates often come to him when they are in search of the best spot to receive Wi-Fi.

-Noah always moves his arms around. His head too, to make his hair flow, which is a problem since his hair have the same toxic properties as his tentacles.

-His stamina is terrible and he has no strength whatsoever.

-He bargained with Sam to get a skirt because pants are too restrictive for him. He doesn't like his Dorm Uniform at all.

-He loses stuff. A LOT!

-His best subject is Flight.

-He's part of the Pop Music club but he has completely forgotten about it. He plays wind instruments, mostly ocarina or pan flute, but he also loves instruments that are bigger than he is.

(Jellyfish pic source)

(@marigoldendragon The drawings with Lachlan will be posted tomorrow, promise!)

[water-to-drink]

How They Became Attracted to You

(Characters): Al haitham, Ayaka, Kaeya, Chiori

(Synopsis): First meetings with the most popular or influential students at the academy

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, reader is an artist, school au, reader is a transfer student, possible ooc Chiori, (if I missed something lmk)

(Word Count): 1.4k

(A/n): If you all like this then I’ll make a part two, just tell me which characters you want to see

🦅Al haitham🦅

🦅 The first and only one to best him in a test, a geometry test to be specific. He only came in at 99% while you come in at a perfect 100%

🦅 At first refused to believe that a mere art nerd could get a better score than him and so with as much delicacy as a bull in a china shop Al haitham came up to you and asked you how you got your score

🦅 Being randomly approached by the school’s smartest student you were very nervous and told him that you just did what you learned from class. Seeing that you won’t give him the answer he asks for you to tutor him which you agreed to go it, mostly because you were very nervous under his sharp gaze

🦅 While tutoring it became apparent that you sucked at explaining things to him, don’t get him wrong he already knows the material he just wants to know how and why you got a 100. As these sessions went Al haitham saw how your hands would glide across the paper, the delicacy almost amazed him

🦅 Slowly but surely Al haitham realized that there was more to your shy exterior. You were sassy and quick witted, you could even match his intellect on many topics, he finds himself feeling that he on an equal level with you.

🦅 Now he looks forward to your tutoring sessions, recently you two won’t do any tutoring just do your homework and talk about anything on your mind, the same mind that he finds so interesting and beautiful

🪭Ayaka Kamisato 🪭

🪭 The two of you have seen each other in the hallway before and after classes. She would always see you with a sketchbook in your hands or drawing in it. You didn’t take up too much real estate in her mind, the poor girl has too much going on as the daughter of the Kamisato family. That was until one day where Ayaka was leaving cram school and her chauffeur was stuck in traffic, she was approached by an older man

“What’s a girl like you doing out so late?”

“I’m leaving cram school, sir.”

“Cram school? You kids work so hard, I can show you a good time.”

“Uh, no thank you, sir.”

“C’mon, don’t be so stuck up, live a little-”

“What’s the problem?!”

🪭 There you are, yelling at the top of your lungs, she can tell that you’re scared but you still yell drawing more attention to yourself and the creep in question. Once a lot of people are watching the scene the creep walks off leaving you and her alone

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry that you had to step in.” Ayaka bows her head

“Don’t worry, I saw that you were uncomfortable so I decided to step in. See you around.” You waved goodbye as you walked off and her chauffeur pulled up

🪭 Later Ayaka came to learn that you didn’t know of the prestige that came with the Kamisato name. You came up and scared off the guy of your own volition, thinking that she was just an ordinary girl who needed to be rescued and that is what she’ll continue being to you

🪭 It wouldn’t be hard since you two are in different grades, you being her senior by a year. You would both meet up in a quiet cafe you work at, she learned that it was your family’s business and work there to help your family and to earn some pocket money. The two of you got so close that you even let her look through your sketchbook and Ayaka was amazed by your skills

🪭 When you offered to draw a portrait of her she jumped at the offer. So one day at your family’s cafe you presented her a drawing of her. You drew her as a swordswoman dressed in traditional Inazuman clothing and armor, she profusely thanked you and framed it the moment she got home

🪭 There are some nights where if she can’t sleep mainly because of nerves she’ll take your drawing and look at it, thinking about you would quell her anxiety and give her the best of dreams. Just don’t tell her brother, she’s afraid he’ll scare you off

❄️Kaeya❄️

❄️ Is the complete opposite of his adopted brother, he’s known as the school’s flirt and a total playboy. He makes girls and guys alike go head over heels for him, and you, the new transfer student, is on his radar

❄️ He lives for making innocent things like you into a flustered little mess. So when he sauntered over to you and threw his usual flirty remarks, he wasn’t met with a sheepish face nor an oblivious one. No he was met with a look of disgust

❄️ Without saying anything you walked away from him, leaving him bewildered. Did he do something wrong? Everyone falls for him. Refusing to take this laying down Kaeya decides to find out why weren’t you under his spell

❄️ And so he began to make an attempt to learn more about you, your likes and your dislikes, or your hobbies. At first you would just ignore him when he would try to strike up a conversation and after a few weeks he decided to make a deal with you

“Are you serious?” You asked

“Dead serious. We’ll act as friends and if you still can’t stand me in 2 months, then we’ll stop. Does that sound good?”

“Only if you promise to leave me alone after?”

“If you still can’t stand me.” Kaeya threw his signature smirk

“Ugh fine! But no flirting!”

“I make no promises~”

❄️ The two of you tried to act as friends, before it was awkward but soon you got used to his presence and you slowly began to come out of your shell, finally showing your true colors after about 3 weeks of “friendship”

❄️ Kaeya finds himself laughing at your jokes, actually laughing and not the fake laugh he would do when he’s trying to fuck somebody. Now Kaeya’s heart thumps whenever you would laugh at something or wave at him in the hallway. Oh gods, is he in love?!

❄️ He wishes he didn’t have the reputation he has, he wants more than your body, he wants your heart

🪡Chiori🪡

🪡 The president of the sewing club. Chiori and her club members have made various designs, many of them for the theater group whenever they’re putting on a performance. However the best designers have their slow movements, not being able to come up with any designs that are up to their standards. That is what plaguing Chiori

🪡 One day she finds a random sketchbook in the sewing club. Curiosity getting the best of the young seamstress she flips through the book, there she sees the most beautiful character designs, the obvious inspiration from big names like Chanel, Gucci, and Thierry Mugler, but the person who made these designs are unique to them. It all gives Chiori a surge of inspiration

🪡 Immediately she opens up her own sketchbook and begins drafting up some designs, some are amazing but others don’t compare to the designs in the mysterious sketchbook she found. She must find the person who made this

🪡 She hears the door opening and when she turns her head, she sees you looking a bit embarrassed.

“Uh, I left my sketchbook here, have you seen it?”

“Yes, I have.” Chiori picks up the book and hands it to you. “I looked through it.”

“Wait, what?!”

“And I like what I saw, can I make the designs in this book?”

🪡 So every Tuesday you would go to the sewing club and let Chiori bring life to your designs, the two of you would talk about various fashion styles and designers. Chiori is very impressed by your vast knowledge on how different styles and cultures arose, she might even say it rivals her knowledge (but she won’t)

🪡 The more time you two spend together the more Chiori likes you, she would look forward to your presence right next to her talking her ear off about your characters as she worked. Normally she would play music but the sound of you rambling is more than enough for her

🪡 In the privacy of her room Chiori would often find herself drawing up designs for wedding garments for her and yours wedding, she can’t wait for the day you to call her “my wife”

[heretherebeturtles-comic]

How long does the process take you to get one (or more) comic page done? I love the idea of making comics but i suck at structure, you know with the script and posting/layout. I was wondering if you had any tips or what you wish you knew before you started.?

Sorry if this had been asked before

OOOooooo a fun question for me!! I love talking about comic creation :D

I do my best to keep the full process under 2 days (or 12-14 hours of work) per fully coloured page. I'm trying to get faster, but speed comes with time and experience.

Hmmm as for tips and things I wish I knew... so many things... I should let it be known that I am an artist and not really a writer, but your questions are focused on script/planning/structure, so I'm going to focus the advice on that.

Start with something small - Learn about making comics and find a comfortable style through making a couple smaller comics and then try your passion project. Writing and planning smaller comics with fewer pages takes a different kind of puzzle solving and thought process. Smaller page limits can force you to try new things which you can then apply to larger projects to save time; limitations breed creativity after all. Every attempt made (even an unfinished project) is knowledge gained that you can apply again for future projects.

Study comics! - It's hard to create if you aren't feeding the mind and giving it things to learn and create from. Read comics made by professionals and study how they handle pacing. How many pages are they dedicating to each moment? What do you think of their pacing and what would you change? Take a sketchbook and make small rectangles and draw out the panel layout from that comic. What are they doing that works and what don't you like about it? How would you do that differently? ... I think this is me assigning homework... i am so sorry.

Set a hard page limit - Try to get your story told within that limit, and then add more pages if necessary. More pages = more time you have to spend working on it. Most standard single issue American comics are roughly 24 pages. I try to work inside that limit using a rough 5 page per scene structure.

Condense or Cut - I struggle so hard with this one, but comics aren't written in the same way as a novel is. They have a slightly different plot structure and a much more limited amount of pages to tell the story in. Obviously it depends on the story being told, and what kind of scenes are important to that genre of story, but in general, unnecessary scenes should be cut out. examples...

CUT! Having the characters go out to get ice cream is cute, but you don't need to show them each ordering their ice cream unless the flavour they choose is an important plot point. Skip to the last one receiving their ice cream and turning to the others who already have theirs and are having that deep discussion. OR skip that scene entirely and have a quiet panel of them sitting in the park at sunset, already holding their ice cream, before delving into the deep emotional conversation they will be having.

CONDENSE! You can combine two scenes if you need to. If you have one scene where two characters are having a casual conversation and another where they are sneaking into a building? Stick them together. They can sneak AND talk and now you've only used up 5 pages instead of 10.

Comics take a LONG TIME to make!! - you have to make peace with that _(:Ⅰ」∠)_ Comics, especially full colour ones, are an extremely labour intensive and time consuming way of telling a story. If one page takes 1 day (8 hrs of work) and you have 24 pages, that is 24 days of working on one comic.

Thumbnails! - Draw the pages small and rough first! It's easier to plan things and mess around with the layouts when you don't have an emotional attachment to how the art inside looks. Once you have a layout you like, you can then draw it again in full page size and work on it from there.

Page and panel layouts are my favourite part of the whole process, I could talk forever about it, but I do not have the energy for it right now. I'll save panel/page layout for another time.

It doesn't have to be perfect!!! - IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE PERFECT!!!! (shouted with excitement btw). Panels can be boring! A page can be extremely simple! The art can be messy! The dialog can be simple! The plot can go nowhere! In fact it is really really fun to make a messy imperfect comic on purpose. Destroy the perfectionist in you, because they will always and forever hold you back from actually creating things. "what if it's bad?" what if it's fun? what if you learn cool things?

Anyway, those are my tips/advice, idk if I actually answered what you were asking... sorry about all the time commitment ones, that is something I really wish I had figured out a few years ago lol.

Comics are fun to make and a lot of learning how to make them is just jumping in, encountering a problem, and then learning how to solve it.

[teopatra]

Holaaaa

~ choose a meme for a channeled message // this is not a tarot reading .. happy Virgo season and happy Mercury RX 🥵 feel free to choose multiple groups-

Why do ppl love/hate u ??

Group 1 : si or yes

People do not know how to read you. The decision most people would immediately jump on you take the time to consider and really weigh your options. People hate that about you bc they think you’re too good but it’s lowkey a subtle flex bc it shows you have options. People feel like you get too many chances or things come to easy for you and almost like it’s not fair like you always win. If it’s a situation where you always win people feel like you don’t even try. For example at school it can be a random drawing and your name can get called in an assembly or in the morning announcements and people know you didn’t even try and they put so much energy into hoping they’d get it. 😂

Folks pay a lot attention to you bc you always seem so oblivious yet you’re so rational. You say the most intelligent things and overall you make people feel stupid because a lot of times people assume you’re slow or have dumb blonde energy when half the time you’re not even paying attention. But the other half of the time when you seem like you’re not paying attention you actually are you’re just very strategic. Life is like a game of chess for you and this can make others feel like you’re sneaky or have the intention to one up them by using information when it’s convenient for you. You give non chalant energy but not in a rude way in a calm at peace type of way. People leave you out because you make them realize they’re lowkey thirsty or pick Me’s since you don’t jump at every opportunity like they would, but you teach others about the vastness of life by being patient. Others see you as abundant and before you come into peoples lives even if you’re not close to them they see things as very black and white, this or that, left or right, but you being a multi faceted perspective energy to things. I’m getting mutable energy especially gemini, or heavy Jupiter energy or aspects to your Jupiter or 9th house.

People do love that you kind of don’t care about things BUT YOU DO😂 people really don’t understand you, but the crazy thing is with you it’s what you see is what you get but people swear that you’re hiding something or people may ask you what’s wrong a lot and you’re like nothing????? You don’t have the typical type of resting face it’s more of a stare into the distance because you’re trying to remember if you unplugged your flat iron or turned off the TV before you left the house. If you’re in school you may forget about assignments or homework and end up having to do them on the bus, in the bathroom or in other classes and people hate that they’re tying to fill you in on things but you seem so preoccupied like you don’t care but girl you’re just trying to passss.

EVERYONE wants your energy meanwhile they’re all gossiping about you lowkey bc you’re so interesting and they don’t have anything better to talk about in the sense. But not bc there isn’t anything to talk about it’s just you’re so mysterious. You’re a popular loner like people will try to leave you out just to tell you about it later and you’re like 😃 ohmygosh that’s so wonderful and they’re like BIH you should be jealous like… people really wanna make you the villain. The type of look you have is very girl or guy next door but effortlessly sexy. You actually do alot of self care and you’re intentional with getting dressed but you’re subtle. It’s just a I washed my face and brushed my hair type of thing. You could have a chiseled jawline or symmetrical face. I’m seeing Reggie’s fine self from riverdale. It reminds me of the main character from clueless also how she’s very girl next door almost typical looking but still very standardly pretty. Don’t get me wrong you’re gorgeous and you eat everybody up on your normal day to day. I feel like you actually plan to really make yourself look nice n the mornings before you go to work too but half the time you’re almost running late bc that sleep just be too good.. you focus mostly on your dental health and I see you putting drops n your hair like hair vitamins or oil so your hair must be long and light brown. OHHH you’re giving me Ariana vibes , “no tears left to cry” like people love that you’re unproblematic but that’s the problem lol who do you think you are to be so unbothered? Meanwhile you’re oblivious 😂

Signs: STRONG Scorpio, cancer, gemini, Pisces too actually all water

Side note: People love your hair and be wanting to play with it, when you flip your hair it’s smells like Garnier fructise or something like that like not the new style shampoos that smells perfumy the old type shampoos that smell fruity but still that tumblr era shampoo smell . Your hair puts people n a trance everyone stares at the back of your head when you’re not looking so keep protection crystals around or evil eye

Group 2 : eeyuh?

People love how talkative you are; you’re funny as hell like why you be saying crazy stuff. Even teachers love you or superiors look up to you even if you’re younger. Your supervisors or older colleagues could have crushes on you because you make them feel young like you. People love your light hearted youthfulness it makes them feel comfortable being themselves. This causes people to get clingy and obsess over you. People may send you random messages through the day like when they’re at the store shopping like Ohemgee this reminds me of you haha and it’s like a notebook or some random stuff they have at 5 below and you’re thinking uhmmmm ohhhkay should I be offended orrrrr…? Lol people make themselves uncomfortable with how much they love you because everyone kinda volunteered you as tribute to be THEE it girl or HIM, and you’re like Ohemgee I’m the main character but you just keep that to yourself. People feel like bc they praise you or put you on a high pedistal that you owe THEM something 😂 it gives you wouldn’t be here without me energy almost like you’re a local celebrity and if it wasn’t for your fans that you would be a nobody. You mind your own business and sometimes you can’t get time to yourself bc someone is ALLLLLWAYS calling your name and you’ve gotten caught a few times trying to avoid people n the halls, office, target or whatever and those people feel slapped by will smith n the moment bc how dare you. Next thing you know you’re shadow banned irl by everyone. You have this very magnetic control on folks to where everyone’s energy is the EXACT SAME towards you it’s almost scary sometimes cuz you’ll think dang did someone pass away? Cuz the energy is HEAVY; you’re left confused as if you didn’t get them memo then BOOM almost as if paparazzi announced the new issue of YOU is dropping and everyone needs the scoop and now you’re bombarded at once. Angry mob vibes almost. Heavy air sign energy I’m sensing Kanye, Doja, trump even tho you prob can’t stand either of those 3 ppl the example is to show how they can have such a strange cult like following and be hated but followed at the same time.

Back to the funny thing where you end up being like the class clown bc once people get your joke which it’s not like you’re trying to be funny but you’re very theatrical in how you talk and communicate and it cracks people up and those laughs just fuel you. People hate that you’re so funny they don’t want you to stop but then they realize so much time has gone by that they’ve spent laughing at you they’re now mad bc THEY got distracted 😂 people hate how you disappear or you like to eat alone people be literally wanting to watch you eat. People hate how obsessed they get over you because they start to feel like the feeling isn’t mutual but even as outgoing as you as you tend to be a bit reserved at times especially when you’re trying to focus. You have very good time management skills and you type fast lmao. People hate how fast you finish your work and how fast you run 😂 you’re a runner you’re a track star 😂 you be runnin from people huh lol people will literally chase you like this old school Disney channel movies where the fans chase the pop star.

People love love love you but they hate how lost in time you make them feel and everyone wants to be your best friend and people may try to make it seem like you’re mixy or you’re just social for attention.You actually made yourself be social to help with your shyness or anxiety; only your close family would realize this and you almost live a double life like Kim possible or Hannah Montana where your family would be so surprised to see how much of a starrrrrr you areeee. You may like to read books or do skits; I’m hearing theatre kid or you like to sing old pop or rock n roll. I heard “that’s just the way we roll” by the Jonas brothers 🥺 I love them they’re actually having a concert n my city this week 🫶🏽😭I’m getting more Pisces and gemini vibes like group 1, also Leo and Sagittarius

Group 3 : doj

People hatteeeee how fine you are 😂 you will catch people staring at you and you don’t know why? You also can be super tall or super strong and if you’re a workout girly people like staring at your muscles or buttocks lol . People hate to see you in the gym or gym class bc you can do so many reps OR it’s the fact that you’re not the typical type to look as strong as you actually are and there’s a saying/ word for this but I can’t remember what it is. You could be very slim or maybe more thicker or big boned and if you’re on the heavier side you’re super beautiful and people have never seen someone plus size be that beautiful. Sorry if that’s triggering but people are superficial. People hate that you look better than them even tho you’re big 😂 BIG SEXYYYYY . For my plus size girlies and gents you have a lot of confidence and everyone loves you and people hate that bc you make them feel small no pun intended but n the sense that they try to put you down maybe by making a fat joke or a skinny joke and it just makes them look lame bc you’re actually the total package you’re smart, creative, strong mentally emotionally and physically and all they can do is comment on your weight 😂 people actually wish you were their friend bc you sound so smart when you speak it makes people feel slow bc you’re very wise.

People love how you dress and they love your shoes and the bags you carry. If you get pedicures pay attention to when you get a fresh set bc I’m hearing it be looking good and people lowkey wanna copy they wait for you to get a new color. Or you have gorgeous looking feet it makes people stare it them in a weird way lmao and you may catch people staring at parts of your body even if it’s your face and they feel awkward and may try to make a 😒🥴 face because you looked at them back bc of how hard they was staring like 🙄. Your family or friends may be very well known and you’re very quiet which for some reason attract a lot of rude people to you like someone may try to cut you off in line and you call them out now they’re embarrassed. You could have to deal with confrontation a lot or have disciplinary hearings like someone was always telling on you trying to get you into trouble 😂you’re literally so quiet half the time but you also speak multiple languages so you could be part foreign and people assume you’re dumb bc you’re foreign smh.. you could be into spirituality or some associates from school or your neighborhood could have seen you in your traditional dress maybe you’re of Asian/Indian descent or you’re Muslim … if you’re into spirituality people actually watch your YT, tiktoks or listen to your tarot readings and may blame you for being right like😂 I was just trying to warn you. People really do not like you sometimes and you honestly don’t even do anything aww 🥺 PLEASEEEE don’t let this make you feel bad bc tbh your lil feelings would be hurt n the moment but after about 5 to 10 minutes you don’t even care 😂

Like you’ll go home and forget that even happened and if you are sensitive and it hurts your feelings people are threatened by you and sometimes that’s just life and both life and people can be sucky but you’re not here n this lifetime for people your here to share your research findings and your creativity/art. Especially if you’re a tarot reader, a yogi, a herbalist, spiritualist or any type of healer , you heal those who have negative energy around or towards you bc they cannot transmute the energy in their own. It’s not your job to transmute energy for others tho bc if you do that people will only become codependent off of you then turn on you. You have to build up strength and boundaries and if you have been doing so or done that already then good. People will try you sometimes and just don’t even let it get to you bc they are projecting onto you but people love your advice they just hate that it’s you giving it 😂 you really bother insecure folks

Big libra, Capricorn vibes .. also Taurus or Saturn dominants /aspected Saturn

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

[thankskenpenders]

As I'm sure many of you are already aware, Did You Know Gaming (who have been doing some really great investigative work lately) recently put out a video on canceled Sonic games. The whole thing's worth a watch, but I have to bring it up here specifically because they talk about the plans for Sonic Chronicles 2 with a LOT of new info directly from the lead designer.

The section on how the story of Sonic Chronicles 2 would have went starts at 9:45. It's very interesting! He outlines the whole plot, including the fact that they were going to end with ANOTHER obvious plot hook for a sequel in the hopes that they or some other studio could keep the Sonic Chronicles series going indefinitely. Sonic Team even claimed they were interested in using Chronicles characters like Shade in other games. It's crazy to imagine a timeline where this might have become a pillar of the franchise.

I refuse to mourn the loss of the sequel, though, because y'all saw me stream the original. It was miserable. And with the original game selling and reviewing decently well, they would have had little reason to go back to the drawing board and overhaul that game's bizarrely hateful design.

Of course, DYKG also had to talk about the reason why the game was canceled. I was dreading this because of how often people tend to get the basic facts of the Penders cases wrong or downplay the obvious Archie Knuckles inspiration in Chronicles. But no, they did their homework! And they got the details right in part because, well... they asked Penders for comment directly. And he sent them back a MASSIVE wall of text about the whole ordeal, including some fascinating details that I don't believe I've heard before!

You can go to 15:19 in the video and scrub through to read the many, MANY screencaps of their emails from Ken, but here are the most interesting and/or hilarious tidbits to me:

#1: Perjury!

As we already knew, Ken claimed that the incomplete, photocopied contract Archie presented in court was a forgery, and that he had never signed a work for hire contract.

The judge obviously knew that one side had to be lying here, and thus was more than willing to present the case to a jury to let them decide the truth... and send whoever was deemed the liar to jail for perjury. (The judge apparently looked Ken directly in the eye when he said this, which... well, make of that what you will.)

Archie's lawyers knew that they didn't have a completely airtight case and obviously did not want to go to jail. So they decided to settle instead of going to trial in front of a jury.

(I will reiterate that Archie's arguments not working out is overall a GOOD thing, because we really do not want to set a legal precedent where corporations can "lose" a contract for a creator, make up a story about what was on the contract, and then have that hold up in court. They gotta get that shit in writing. And they didn't. They fucked up!)

#2: Sega was threatening to revoke the Sonic license!

As we knew, Sega wanted nothing to do with the comic copyright lawsuit. To them, it was Archie's job as licensee to deal with their freelancers. (Y'all watch Succession? You know how Logan loves lackeys who will eat shit for him without him having to even hear about the problem? Yeah.) And, in fact, according to Ken, Sega gave Archie an ultimatum: if they wanted their license to make Sonic comics renewed, they were gonna have to deal with Ken on their own, and cover all the costs.

Yeah, uh, this kinda makes me think that Sega being pissed about the ongoing Scott Fulop copyright case in 2016 may have been a bigger factor in Archie Sonic's cancellation than I previously thought. There was a lot going on at the time that could have contributed, but, y'know.

Anyway, Archie sued Ken for "damaging their business" largely because Sega was threatening to take away the Sonic IP. But because Archie couldn't ask Sega for help and they couldn't produce an original contract, they had to settle.

There's another detail I find funny here, though. Ken WANTED Sega to get involved in the comic copyright case, thinking that Sega would strongarm Archie into paying him the millions of dollars he wanted for "using his work without permission" so that they could be done with it. I mean, sure. I guess Sega wouldn't have cared about Archie's finances, but still. I'm not so sure that would've worked out for him.

#3: Shade!

Yes, Penders still claims he legally owns Shade, and under advice from his lawyer still intends to put out an NFT of her to put his claim to the test. Yes, it's incredible that he still hasn't put out the damn NFT. It only needs to be one image, which he already drew! The market has collapsed!

Anyway, building an argument off the legal concept of estoppel, he says that if Sega continues to not do anything about his claims that he owns Shade then, in the eyes of the court, they'll be forfeiting their claims to Shade altogether. But they aren't going to do anything because they never wanted any part in the copyright battles in the first place, and to them Chronicles is a long dead asset not worth fighting over. Why bother trying to use Shade again and giving Ken a reason to take them back to court when they can just move on? It's not like this franchise is short on characters. And so Ken can say that Shade and Julie-Su are literally the same character, and if he owns Julie-Su then therefore he also owns Shade.

Our copyright system is, indeed, a nightmare. Chronicles should have been halfway to the public domain by now.

#4: Sega's oversight on the Archie comics!

Ken says that in his first year on the series Sega only requested some dialogue changes here and there through the editor. They never requested huge script changes, and also never spoke to Ken directly. After that first year, they stopped asking for dialogue changes altogether, and Ken "had a free hand to do pretty much whatever he wanted." Yeah, no surprise there.

He does, however, say that Archie's original deal with Sega stated that they weren't allowed to create ANY new Sonic characters without informing Sega. They would've needed to make a contract every single time to get Sega's approval and make it absolutely crystal clear that Sega owned the whole cast. And then Archie just... didn't do that! And didn't tell any of the freelance creatives not to come up with new characters! Had Archie followed this rule, the trajectory of the comics would have been completely different, but there also never would've been a copyright battle in the first place.

What a shitshow. Truly.

[nqmonarch]

Valentines Day w/ HSR Characters!

Doing Calc homework and am very stressed, i can feel it everywhere in my body. the math is just not mathing mentally today (i looked at trigonometric identities today so maybe thats why)

Just writing out some messy ideas to take a break

Btw if u sent in a request and I haven't answered it yet I am working on it thank you for your uh question ask thingy i appreciate it, i like to know what people like to read bcus tbh i like to write anything altho jingyuan gets like +10 points cus he fluffy

Valentines Day With Some HSR Characters (Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Stelle)

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is old school romantic. You cannot tell me he wouldn't arrive home with a big bouquet of roses (does HSR even have roses?) and 20 other gifts, including but not limiting to boxes of chocolate, teddy bears, and at least one gag gift. There's gotta be at least one, he'd make a dad joke out of it too.

Then he'd reserve one of the best restaurants on the Luofu and bring you there. He'd probably have booked a private room, thank goodness because no one wants to hear the general continuously compliment you until you're a puddle on the floor. What he is best at is attacks. But if he gets a compliment in return he'll freeze up for a moment before playfully returning it.

Jing Yuan doesn't put on his normal coy facade today, instead he just embraces how much he loves you because he's happy to still have you in his life.

Blade

Blade does not know it's Valentine's Day. It's not his fault, cut him some slack. Anyway Kafka probably reminds him that it's Valentine's Day about half way through the day to which he goes into a silent panic. You can't tell he's panicking he's just staring at the wall with a blank face, he actually looks like he wants to murder someone.

The two of you end up celebrating though! He... pulls something together, it really is something. Sure he smells like blood and the waiters are scared, and taking over this restaurant for a Valentine's Day dinner was definitely not in the script but... It could be worse. He's trying his best, really.

Afterwards you and Blade share lots of cuddles! Something he's pretty good at! Holding you just tight enough, and keeping you close to his side-- you just won't be able to get up if you want to get water or anything. He doesn't say too much but you can feel the love in each caress.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng doesn't really like going out, why would he when all he needs is right by his side? So the two of you stay on the express in the archives. What matters isn't where you are but the company. He'd probably get you a few trinkets from different places he's collected over the years, a necklace, a sick looking compass, whatever fits your vibe.

Dan Heng would probably also write you a love poem, and make you read it or awkwardly recite it in front of you. If you read it out loud though he will get unbelievably embarrassed and snatch it away from you. He'd give it back but he'd take some coaxing, be nice okay? His face is already red.

Then when the night draws to a close the two of you would curl up together on that sorry excuse of what he calls a bed. The majority of your body would be on Dan Heng's using him as a pillow, and his arms would be wrapped around your body keeping you still and warm.

Dan Heng's bed is not it man. Personally, I'd get back problems.

Stelle

"You are the one who deserves the golden trash the most," Truly romantic words from Stelle as she hands you a golden trashbag. That is just the first of the gifts she gives you tonight, and the one that's most valuable to her. It's the thought that counts right? You still have no idea what she's talking about when she mentions fighting Sampo as a trashcan...

The two of you spend a romantic night together, walking down the quiet streets of Belobog, and-- did Stelle just investigate a trashcan again? You should be used to this. On the bright side, every time she gets something cool she comes up to you with the biggest smile on her face, it's beyond adorable. Sometimes the trashcans even have good stuff, like a scarf Stelle lets you wear that thankfully doesn't smell like trash.

It's just good to spend time with the person you love. She spends her time catching you up on everything new from her adventures, and when it's too cold to stay out any longer the two of you head to the Astral Express. Where you shower together and then doze off on one of the Express' couch cushions while playing games. Your head rests against Stelle's reminding you, you're never alone.

Okay I need to get back to homework, fun break thanks guys. Imagine being alone on Valentines Day couldn't be me, I have my Calc Homework. It told me I was integral to it <3 legit peak partner material.

[storm-angel989]

Idea: Val's Teenage Daughter is at school and she is crushing some boy from her class (or something like that) and HE LIKES HER TOO and gives her a flower, and later on Val (or her uncle's, I don't know) found the flower hidden in her backpack, because she was embarrassed of telling them (or scared of their reaction, whatever your think is best)

Hi friend, 

Sure thing! Take a peek below! This was super cute to write!

<3 Mandy

Ninth grade dances were going to be the bane of my existence. 

As I looked around at the kids I had known most of my life, I tried to imagine dancing with any of them. I couldn’t really- I had known the others way too long, and had way too many memories stemming back to kindergarten for me to see any of them as anything other than a sibling like friendship. 

Except for one. 

He had moved to our school from the greed ring at the start of the school year. Quiet, handsome with dark hair and brown eyes. The first time I looked at him I felt a feeling in my belly I had never felt before. 

“Oh, someone has a crush,” my best friend teased me when I told her as we got ready for afterschool practice. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied as I pulled on my swimsuit. “But it doesn’t matter. Did you see the other girls in class? He literally can pick anyone and they’d swoon.”

My best friend rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not anyone. But come on, we’re going to be late and I don’t want to swim extra laps because you’re crushing, hard.”

As the weeks passed, I found myself seated next to him in more than one class. We exchanged a few words, passing remarks about assignments. At lunch he sat with the rest of the boys, and during study hall, he sat in the front row, his pencil constantly moving across blank paper. By mid September, curiosity finally got the better of me and I asked him what he was so busy working on.

Sketching was the answer. Pages and pages of drawings, detailed outlines of objects and characters from his favorite shows. 

“These are really good,” I praised him. 

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right, you’re just saying that.”

“No, really, I would know. My Aunt Velvette is an artist,” I told him. “She designs clothes, and she draws on literally everything. One time, she left her sketchbook in the office and she made my Uncle Vox turn around and go back to get it. We missed our flight. My dad was super pissed.”

That elicited a laugh. From that point on, he made it a point to sit by me, to share his sketches in between classes. And the more we talked, the bigger my crush grew. As the halloween dance grew closer, I imagined that there was one way I was going- and that was as his date. 

Two weeks before the dance, he presented me with a red rose. Standing next to my locker at the end of the day, I flushed bright red. Was this really happening? 

“I get it if you think dances are lame, but you didn’t say you had a date, so I was wondering if you’d be mine?” He asked. “Or if you do think its lame, we can go get pizza or something instead?”

“How about the dance and then pizza?” I suggested as I took the rose from him. 

“It’s a date,” he agreed. 

Joy overflowed from my chest. The bell rang and we both took off towards our respective rides- him to his bus, and mine to the limo. I slid into the seat, staring at the ruby red petals. I had a date. Not only a date, but the date! 

“Did you have a good day?” The driver asked.

My stomach dropped as realization flooded through me. I had a date. That meant I needed to tell my Dad. And my mom. And my Aunt Velvette and Uncle Vox. The notorious V’s. Hastily, I shoved the rose in my backpack and pulled out a book. 

“It was fine, thanks for asking,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. 

As soon as I got inside, I hurried up to my Uncle Vox’s office. As carefully as I could, I took out my homework, being sure to keep the rose hidden. Thankfully, my Uncle Vox was too busy working on his computer to say more than hello and I busied myself in my homework. As soon as I finished, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and rushed back downstairs. I knew I couldn’t risk them finding the flower. It would have to stay in my backpack until I could put it in my locker the next day at school. 

The more I thought about it, the more I cheered up. In fact, I wouldn’t even tell them I had a date to the dance! I would just say I was going with friends. This way, I could avoid all the questions I knew my family would have. In relief, I hung my backpack on the door. 

“So, did anything exciting happen today in school?” My Aunt Velvette asked over dinner.

I felt the color rise in my cheeks. Quickly, I shook my head and shoved a bite of chicken into my mouth. 

“Really?” my Dad asked.

I quickly lifted up my water glass and took a sip. I shook my head again.

“Oh, well. I got a note from your teacher today saying you have a test that needs to be signed? You’re not doing so well in math?” My father asked with his eyebrow raised. “Did you have Uncle Vox sign it?”

“I didn’t sign anything,” Uncle Vox said as he took a sip of water.

“Oh, I, uh, yeah, I forgot about that,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry, I just…it’s really hard this year.” Or the head that I stared at was super cute. 

Valentino exchanged a glance with Vox and Velvette. 

“I’ll take a look at it,” Vox said. “Not a problem, math gets a little more complex in high school, nothing I can’t walk you through.” He stood up and dropped his empty plate in the sink. 

I watched as he walked over towards where my backpack hung. 

“No, wait, Uncle Vox! I can get it out,” I said quickly as I jumped up. 

“Why? Something in here you don’t want me to see?” He teased as he dug around in my bag, “I promise you a few bad grades won’t kill your GPA. What color is your math book again? Yellow?” He paused, “now where did this come from?” 

I felt my heart sink and my cheeks flush as he pulled out the crumpled rose. Vox looked to Valentino and Velvette. 

“Okay, fine. I sort of got asked to the dance, I wasn’t gonna tell you, but I..” I blurted out. I turned to run and hide in my bedroom but Uncle Vox stepped in front of me.

“You have a date? To a dance? And you wern’t going to tell us?” Aunt Velvette exclaimed. “Reader!”

I buried my face in my hands as embarrassment rushed through me. 

“Why not?” My fathers calm voice broke through the silence. 

“Because, I didn’t want him to be interrogated and I really like him!” I exclaimed in frustration. “You three are the most powerful overlords in hell, it isn’t like he can just come to the door and pick me up like my friend’s dates do. You’re gonna want to meet him, and that alone is intimidating and I…it isn’t fair!” 

“You are taking this way too far,” my Aunt Velvette said. “And being super dramatic. Take a breath.”

“Yeah, we won’t threaten to kill him more than once,” my Uncle Vox said lightly.

“Don’t tease Vox,” Aunt Velvette retorted. “Babygirl, come sit next to me.” 

Slowly, with my gaze down, I sank into the chair next to Aunt Velvette. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. 

“Hey, you can always come to me. We might be the overlords of hell, but I promise you I’ll keep the boys in line,” she told me with a sharp look to Valentino. “And I promise when he comes and picks you up, we’ll be on our best behavior. Right, boys? You don’t ever need to keep secrets from us. Got it?”

Slowly, I nodded. She released me and planted a kiss on the top of my head. 

“Good. Now, let’s talk about that math test…”

[raileurta]

The tfp kids were some of the first things I created in GL2, and it's been a few months since then and I have gotten much better. So here's my updated version of their designs/story.

Also fyi before I forget this is not what I would actually have them be in the show if I had written it. This just self indulgent takes on the characters. Let me know if you want to see how I would have written the show.

Miko

Age: 17

Pronouns: Uses any.

Likes: Skateboarding, drawing, slash monkey, kemonomimi, horror movies, fighting, her friends, and monster trucks.

Dislikes: School, conformation, bullies, and authority.

Description: Miko is a full blooded Japanese exchange student that came for America’s music, art, and to free themselves from his overly strict parents. She's quite energetic and finds it hard to sit still. So to help rid herself of her extra energy he'll practice kickboxing or parkour around town. While she may not act it she is actually intelligent. Miko is also quite the music and language prodigy, easily being able to learn them. He just hates the rigid school system and doesn't care for homework. Miko doesn't have many friends as most are put off by their strange personality and or scared of her. If you do become their friend though Miko is very loyal and will be your ride or die to the end.

Miko is a force to be reckoned with so watch out Decepticons, they're coming for you!

Raf

Age: 12.5;

Pronouns: He/Him

Likes: Coding, his friends, studying, snakes, robots, math, science, cats, school, chocolate, and nature.

Dislikes: Yelling, pity, scary movies, being alone, hospitals, and dogs.

Description: Raf is a young techno genius that was born with quite a few health problems. He is the second youngest out of his many siblings, five to be exact. Since his parents are always busy with work and Raf’s other siblings, he tends to be forgotten a lot. He doesn't let that get him down though (most of the time) and is quite a cheery kid. He puts his smarts to good use and has skipped four grades already while also taking some college classes. While he likes science and math his real passion is coding along with robotics. He dreams of one day opening his own tech company.

He might be a sweet kid but don't underestimate him. Raf could hack circles around even among some of Cybertronian’s elite.

Jack

Age: 16

Pronouns: He/Him

Likes: Motorcycles, girls, family, social media, and his friends.

Dislikes: Risks, seeing his friends hurt, and bullying.

Description: Jack is quite an average guy all things considered; he's not overly smart or a great fighter but he is quite the strategist and knows how to deal with people. Jack helps bring out the strengths in Miko and Raf and how to make them use it the most effectively. If he is trained properly he could become quite the leader. He lives with only his Mom, Jack’s dad having passed away a long time ago. He does every he can to help support his mom. While yes he feels she can be too overprotective or a bit embarrassing at times he loves his mom and wants to lessen her burden as much as he can. The reason he even got a job in the first place was to help her out with the bills.

Watch out for our very own human prime! He won't hesitate to sick his friends on those deserving.

Explanation undercut

Miko is still my favorite out of the trio and I will continue to show blatant favoritism. I learned much much more into the punk aesthetic because I think it's perfect for her personality. While I did like how colourful her old design was from a character design perspective it wasn't really unified or fit there enough.

Anyways she has some big ol stomping boots now that are definitely steel tipped. (Ouch man) They give them around 4-5 inches and make her the same height as Jack when wearing them. She also has knee pads and a shoulder pad. Well because skating and I wanted her to have armor without it being armor. If that makes sense? Miko also has horns partly since she likes kemonomimi but mostly because he's a “daredevil.” Miko's skateboard is Bulkhead themed, of course no explanation needed there. I tried to do some messy makeup since they give off that vibe.

I'm a sucker for the black people with white hair design. Plus I thought Raf kinda being (fictional) albino would play into Raf being ill. When something is wrong with you you're more likely to have more problems. For him I kept it generally similar to the last design just made more cohesive. He still has that nerdy school boy vibe and stuff. He also has a wrist brace now since someone told me how bad canes are for it so I wanted him to have some extra support to help.

If you look closely, his bag has a bumblebee on it.

Jack's design also didn't change that much; the main thing is his eyes are now blue. I thought it would be a nice nod to how since he's a human prime that his eyes should be autobot blue. Plus it fits the color scheme better. His gloves are leather and arcree themed. Yeah nothing to say much, as he also didn't change a lot. 🤷

Edit: Forgot to include the updated irl me design.

[decepti-thots]

would you be down to give me a rough outline of how Prowl has been characterized over the publication history of the tf comics? I mean, in as far as you know about it. Every time you mention the costa stuff it makes me curious

I can try! I can't really drill down well without a thing to focus on specifically, but here are some general highlights.

Furman (and stuff that directly draws from Furman's run, like AHM as a whole) characterizes him basically as he did when writing Marvel G1, and gives him so little to do that not very much really comes out even then. Uptight, stick-in-his-ass, still a basically Good Guy TM and while he puts people's backs up a little, he's not under any level of suspicion. This is the closest to continuity-agnostic "fanon Prowl" you get in IDW, because that fanon figure draws quite a lot on the Marvel G1 characterization (when it isn't simply making things up wholesale, anyway). Furman copies his own homework, basically, lmao.

Roche is the guy who wrote phase two Prowl into existence as we know him. Rather infamously because he thought it was an interesting take on the character to er, ignore all the above stuff and make the Autobot SIC a rat bastard, lmao. Roche and Barber's interpretations came to dominate the character in IDW going forward, but they do differ. Roche's Prowl is more isolated from other characters (one does not really imagine Wreckers Prowl calling Bumblebee his best friend sincerely, as exRiD Prowl does), and people treat him as disliked by default. Even before the worst of what he does comes out, his reputation precedes him. Also, Roche's Prowl speaks fairly neutrally, whereas exRiD Prowl speaks more casually than fandom tends to admit to! Finally, Roche's Prowl is less spontaneously, outwardly emotional than Barber's is later on, and tends to fit the fanon stereotype of "always restrained" more.

Costa came in post-AHM but pre-Wreckers and hated all that, so he retconned it. LMAO. His Prowl is the archetype of the "good cop" protagonist surrounded by corruption, combined with surface level noir tropes that sort of work in tandem with those but lacking any grit. (Costa seems to understand what noir looks and sounds like, but none of the underlying narrative devices that make it function as noir.) This Prowl is specifically supposed to be (here's the retcon) someone who used to be more deliberately cold, removed and logical but who has specifically decided to change to be different following his experiences on Earth. (Spotlight: Prowl is a good one-issue explanation of Costa's perspective on Prowl, which is not the same as being a good comic.) As time goes on, the sheer unpopularity of this take pushed Costa to undo it a bit, and reintroduce some level of ambivalence to him... but by and large he remains kind of the "good authority figure who objects when the systems are misused" type, almost? His conflict with Spike is very much over the fact he expected better of Spike, see.

Barber's Prowl notably does not wholly throw the Costa stuff out the window. (This is why the Spike stuff features a lot; it's really the only strong emotional hook Costa's work gives you for his version of the character to grab at.) But Prowl is back to being a morally gray figure whose moral ambivalence is very strongly tied to his role as an authority figure- and that's worth mentioning. Prowl's downward spiral being intrinsically linked to his refusal to relinquish authority, and his abuse of it, is something that is all Barber and not Roche. (In Wreckers, Prowl is an asshole because of personal arrogance. In exRiD, he's more an asshole because of his role enabling a wider system, by the end. IMO that's a big difference, anyway.) He is not starting off exRiD loathed by absolutely everyone, or a figure of preexisting serious mistrust. That's something that develops over the course of the comic as things come to light for the characters in-universe, meaning exRiD Prowl feels like he's put up a more convincing shield in front of his worse dealings over the course of the war, perhaps. His position deteriorates significantly over the comic. He is more prone to balancing his deliberate cold-heartedness with angry or emotional outbursts than we saw in Wreckers, leading to him having multiple outbursts that worsen his situation over the course of the comic. This is the Prowl who holds grudges.

Roberts' Prowl is kind of different to talk about to the above because his Prowl in Shadowplay and his Prowl in Titans Return are different genres. I can do a post on that if folks really want but it probably is its own post, haha.

IDK feel free to clarify any specific stuff you'd like a vibe on if you want, this is all just what came to my mind instinctively!

[lilacwisps]

How about Hogwarts Legacy boys reaction to f!MC trying to tease/turn them on in public? Assuming they are in a relationship.

Sure, nonnie 💜

These include Sebastian, Ominis and Garreth, if you'd like other characters please let me know.

Sebastian:

The late morning Charms is as boring as can be expected - that is, until a note from MC lands on Sebastian's desk. Sebastian glances at MC, who appears to be quite taken with the lesson to pay him any attention and flips over the note.

"So unfortunate you had detention last night - I missed you. Luckily, during my last excursion to the Restricted Section, I found a very peculiar muggle book that kept me company. This little excerpt made me think of you."

Sebastian frowns - he had no idea that there were muggle books in the Restricted Section, but, as usual, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he unwraps the note. It's a page torn out from a book, and on it - a single image, man and woman locked in an embrace and…

Instantly, color rushes to his face, and he crumples the paper before he can even think. The picture is pure filth - but he'd be lying if he said it didn't send his heart racing. The coy smile on MC's lips when their gazes finally meet doesn't help the situation at all - heat instantly pools low in Sebatian's stomach, making it very hard to concentrate on the lesson.

His mind keeps conjuring the picture from the book. More than anything, he wants to get MC alone, so he can show her just how much he enjoyed it - hell, perhaps, they can even recreate it, if she's up for it…

To his chagrin, it's not as easy as he'd hoped. Professor Ronen stops Sebastian and Ominis right after class to talk about their last assignment, so the next time Sebastian sees MC, it's at lunch in the Great Hall. They sit next to each other, but that hardly helps Sebastian, as every brush of her hand against his or when their knees touch under the table makes him think of the picture - and of just how desperately he needs some alone time with her.

"MC, can we speak privately?" he asks, leaning over to her as the lunch draws to a close.

"What do you want to talk about?" MC asks, looking at him through her eyelashes.

"I think you know," Sebastian murmurs, but MC only smiles sweetly.

"Do I? I'm not so sure. Sorry, whatever this is, it will have to wait till later - I'm going to be late for Arithmancy."

Neither her soft tone nor innocent gaze fool Sebastian - if anything, it only fans his ardor. He can hardly remember anything that happens during his afternoon classes, his mind consumed with MC and that damned picture she'd sent him, wondering what that position would feel like - and, inevitably, his body responds to those thoughts. For a moment, he considers cutting class and heading back to his dorm to handle his rather pressing problem, but he decides against it. MC has started this, and he was going to see it through.

He almost forgets that the two of them have detention together after classes for breaking into the Restricted Section the week before. To his surprise, it's not Madam Scribner who oversees the detention, but rather the groundskeeper Moon.

"Just…just do your homework and be quiet," the groundskeeper tells them, "I don't have time for this right now with these damned demiguises."

Sitting next to MC feels a little like torture - especially when she bites the tip of her quill pensively as she stares at the parchment, and all Sebastian can think of is her lips around his… But it gets worse. Groundskeeper Moon disappears behind the shelves when MC turns to Sebastian.

"I'm having issues figuring this one out," she says, sliding a book closer to him, "Do you mind helping me?"

At first blush, it appears to be their Transfiguration textbook, but the moment Sebastian looks closer, the words start to blur on the page. Next thing he knows, he's looking at half a dozen of quite…explicit pictures, just like the one she'd sent him earlier in the Charms class. Warmth rises in his cheeks, and all he can do is just look at MC.

Before he can say anything, Moon reappears from behind the shelf.

"These damned demiguises… Listen, you two - I have some matters to attend to, but I'll be back quick - just keep doing your homework and be quiet."

"I'm all out of parchment," MC says, "And I'm still not finished with my Transfigurations essay."

"Just grab some on the desk over there," Moon says, pointing over to the table in the corner.

With that, he heads to the exit. Sebastian glances around - they are in a secluded area of the library, and there aren't a lot of people, so they could probably get away with this. And besides, he'd be lying if he said he doesn't find the risk of getting caught at least a little bit thrilling. MC's still picking up new parchment when Sebastian gets up and heads toward her.

"So then," he wraps his arms around her waist from behind and leans close, letting his breath ghost her neck, "What was it you needed my help with? You'd like some assistance recreating those illustrations, is that it?"

MC turns around and steps back, leaning against the table.

"I don't know what you are talking about," she murmurs, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

"You can drop the act," Sebastian says, leaning closer, his lips almost touching hers, "Playing coy will get you nowhere."

"Are you sure?" MC chuckles, hopping up and settling on the desk, "Because it looks like I'm exactly where I want to be."

Sebastian remembers the half dozen illustrations on the page - in one of them, the woman was seated on the table, and the man…

"Well played," he laughs, drawing her in for a kiss, "So then, shall we start from that?"

"I'd like that - and, then, perhaps, we could do whichever one piqued your interest - if you'll be up for it then, of course."

"Shall I remind you who tapped out the last time?" Sebastian chuckles darkly, his hand tugging up the hem of her skirt.

"What can I say - unlike some people, I know when to stop," MC laughs, pulling him in for another kiss.

Ominis:

Since the early morning, Ominis has been quite distracted. For some reason, MC has been acting a lot more affectionately than usual. Typically, the extent of MC's affection would be holding his hand as she and Ominis walked from class to class, resting her head on his shoulder when she got tired from studying at the library, and, on occasion, interlacing their fingers under the desk during a particularly boring class.

That day, however, it seems MC was intent on taking every opportunity to brush up against Ominis or to touch him. Ominis would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy MC touching him - sometimes way more than was appropriate - yet he could not help but feel a little annoyed at just how much MC's touches distract him, bringing up the memories of the past nights that make him yearn for more.

It seems MC only gets more handsy as the day progresses. As they sit together during lunch, a moment doesn't pass without a brush of her arm against his or their knees touching under the table. It's a strange kind of torment for Ominis - he doesn't want her to stop touching him, but at the same time, he absolutely loathes just how flushed and flustered these little gestures make him. Especially since they are not alone, and others can see them.

It almost frustrates him just how much MC's simple touches are setting his very soul aflame - but what frustrates him even more is that they won't be able to get any alone time until much later in the day - they still have three more classes to attend and an Astronomy group project in the evening with Amit and Everett. Ominis takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart - it works for all of thirty seconds until MC leans close, pressing her side against his as she reaches for the pitcher of pumpkin juice.

Ominis can only hope to Merlin that he'll make it through the lunch without doing something stupid - something Sebastian would definitely do if he were in his place - but it seems this isn't his lucky day.

"Ominis," MC exhales softly as she leans close enough for her breath to ghost his neck. Instantly, Ominis's mind races with memories of the last time she'd said his name like that. Hot blush rises in his cheeks as he feels his body reacting to the memory. "Could you pass me the treacle tart? It's to your left," MC continues.

Ominis blinks, confused - it takes an embarrassingly long moment before he realizes what MC just said.

"Yes, of course," he says hastily, passing her the plate.

Ominis knows that after lunch, they'll go to separate classes - he has Ancient Runes, and MC has Arithmancy - and he hopes it would give him enough time to compose himself. They walk out of the Great Hall together and up the Grand Staircase - in his years at Hogwarts, Ominis has completely memorized the routes from the Great Hall to all his classes - when MC stops.

"I can't believe this damned robe unclasped again," she complains, "Ominis, can you please help me? I cannot seem to figure this out."

"Of course," Ominis replies softly.

He's had his fair share of struggles with the Hogwarts uniform in his early years at the school and can sympathize with MC. Carefully reaching forward, he locates MC's shoulder before moving to the robe's clasps at her throat.

"All done," he says with a smile.

Suddenly, the stone rumbles under their feet as the stairs shift, and he can feel that MC is off balance. Before she falls, he reaches over to steady her. His right arm lands on her shoulder, but his left one misses the target, grazing her collarbone before accidentally sliding lower…

Instantly, crimson blush blooms on Ominis's cheeks. He's touched her in various states of undress many times before, but he would never dream of groping her like that in public.

"I'm so sorry," he apologizes profusely, his face burning with embarrassment.

"It's alright," MC chuckles, "Well, I'll see you after class."

Ominis had hoped that being away from MC for a little bit - and the mortifying incident on the staircase - would help him get ahold of himself, yet, somehow, it only made the situation worse. Try as he might, he cannot focus on the Ancient Runes. Instead, his mind incessantly conjures up memories of how MC felt against him the other night, of the way she called his name.

By the time he arrives at the library to work on the group project for Astronomy with MC, Amit, and Everett, Ominis is all but counting down the seconds till he and MC can finally be alone. The first twenty minutes pass without any incidents, and Ominis almost breathes a sigh of relief - he doesn't think he could handle MC teasing him much longer - and then, suddenly, he feels MC's hand high up on his thigh. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart beats staccato as her hand slides higher.

"For this part, we'll need "Of Moon Phases and Constellations"," Amit notes, suddenly distracting both Ominis and MC.

"Do you know where it is in the library?" MC asks

"I'm not sure," Amit says, "I've seen it both in the Astronomy stacks on the first and the second floor. MC, Ominis, would you mind checking on the second floor? Everett and I will look here."

They head upstairs - Ominis's wand is helpful for a task like this one, but the search still takes a moment since he's never held that book before.

"Found it yet?" MC leans close, her lips almost touching his ear as her warm breath sends shivers down Ominis's spine.

He cannot take this teasing anymore.

"MC, now that we are alone," he murmurs, moving towards her, "There's something I've been wanting to do all day…"

"Hmm?" she hums, openly delighted, "And what would that be?"

"I wanted to ask - must you be like this?" Ominis finishes sternly, catching MC off guard.

"I suppose I must," MC answers finally, and he can almost feel her pouting, "Since I've been trying to get your attention all day - clearly, without much success."

Ominis cannot help but chuckle as he shifts closer, "Well, now that you've got my undivided attention, what do you intend to do with it?"

"I could think of a thing or two," MC drawls, content, "How about we head right to the Undercroft?"

"Galdy," Ominis says, closing the distance and ghosting MC's lips with a featherlight kiss that makes her reach after him when he pulls away, "But not until the project is done."

"Ugh, you are terrible for making me wait that long," MC sighs.

"Says the person who's been getting me worked up and making me wait all day," Ominis chuckles.

"You know you liked it."

"That I did - and I'm about to show you just how much."

Garreth:

When a note from MC lands in front of Garreth during lunch, he's rather intrigued.

"I'd like your help with a potion after classes - if you are up for it," the note reads. A little cryptic - MC didn't bother elaborating just what kind of potions she needs help with - but Garreth finds surprises to be quite exciting.

Looking over to where MC sits at her house table, Garreth catches her gaze and smiles. MC smiles back momentarily - before turning her attention back to her rice pudding. It's not in Garreth's habit to watch people eat, and yet he finds the dedication with which MC cleans off her spoon, making sure that there's not a drop of pudding left, to be a little more engaging than he should.

That is, until MC meets his eyes again and proceeds to lick her spoon, not breaking the eye contact. Instantly, bright blush burns on Garreth's cheeks as his mind helpfully conjures up the images from just two nights prior - when she looked at him just the same as her tongue diligently…

Garreth shakes his head, trying to chase away the thoughts, but it's far too late - his treacherous body is already reacting to the images his mind so helpfully provides. It takes more strength than he'd like to admit to look away from MC, who appears quite taken with her rice pudding, but he cannot be exactly sitting at his house table fantasizing of all the ways MC's mouth… No.

He feels a little guilty - MC's just enjoying her food in peace, and all he can think about is, well, that. It's almost embarrassing the hold she has on his mind, heart, and body - but Garreth would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, at least a little.

By the end of the lunch, he finally manages to calm his racing heart. As he gets up from his seat, he sees MC walk through the doors, heading for the Entrance Hall, and hurries to catch up with her. He finds MC sitting in a small alcove by the window, looking through a notebook in her hands.

"Ah, Garreth," she smiles, noticing him, "There you are - I've been waiting for you."

"I received your note," Garreth says, coming closer, "What is it that you needed my help with?"

"I found an intriguing potion - and I tried making it yesterday, but it seems I must have done something wrong - so I was hoping you could lend me your expertise," MC replies, looking at him through her eyelashes as she hands him her notebook, "Here, that's the recipe."

Garreth takes the notebook and glances through MC's writing - the ingredients and the recipe sound oddly familiar. It takes a moment until suddenly he realizes - it's an aphrodisiac potion, a very potent one.

"You…made this yesterday?" he asks, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Yes," MC replies calmly, "I was bored yesterday evening when you were in detention, so I figured I'd go to the Room of Requirements and try brewing something fun. Although, as I said, I don't think it came out as strong as it was meant to be - the effects wore off after only twenty minutes. If you flip a few pages, you'll see I wrote down the entire timeline…"

"You took notes as you were under the effects of the potion?" Garreth asks, wide-eyed.

"Of course - how else would I know if the results were successful," MC smiles sweetly as she gets up from her seat, "I have to go to Herbology now, but you can keep the notebook - maybe if you read through my notes, you can see where I went wrong."

"Alright," Garreth replies, his head almost spinning as he tries to chase away the images of MC that his treacherous mind keeps trying to conjure.

"I'm sure with your expert guidance, I can get this potion to work just as intended," MC leans in, looking at him through her eyelashes, "And afterward, perhaps, we could try it together, just to make sure it works?"

Garreth isn't sure how he makes it to Transfiguration - and, once in class, he absolutely cannot focus, his mind consumed with one thing - MC's notebook. He knows he should not read it - the thought of her using an aphrodisiac potion is alone enough to make him want to cut class and head to his dorm room for some privacy, and if he got to read her notes…

Curiosity, as always, gets the better of Garreth. During the short break between his two afternoon classes, he gives in. MC's writing starts innocent enough, with her discussing the color and flavor of the potion and the way it made her feel warm and tingly when she took it. What follows is filth - pure, unadulterated filth - and Garreth cannot get enough of it.

She has a way with words, Garreth will give her that - he's almost painfully aroused after reading just a few sentences. Though, if she was only a fraction as eloquent, he's sure he'd enjoy it all the same - how could he not when she'd meticulously detailed all the things she wished he did to her as she touched herself?

By the time Potions - the last class of the day - rolls around, Garreth can hardly contain himself. When he sees MC outside the Potions classroom, and she smiles at him that sweet, faux-innocent smile, he knows he won't make it through the lesson.

"You know," he says, grasping MC's wrist, "Why don't we skip this class and work on that potion you showed me earlier?"

"Oh?" MC smiles, "Well, I don't see why not."

Once they are in the Room of Requirements, Garreth draws her in for a deep, passionate kiss.

"Hold on now," MC laughs, pulling away, "This part is for after we try the potion."

"Well, you should blame your notes," Garreth replies, drawing her in for another kiss, "Reading that made every aphrodisiac potion pale in comparison."

"Oh my," MC chuckles, "Perhaps, I could read you some of my favorite excerpts before we start then? You know, for science."

Garreth's all too happy to oblige.

[accio-victuuri]

excerpts from this article : “Behind the scenes of "Sunshine by My Side", a story of starting over again”

"I would think, why would a young, handsome and sunny boy like a divorced female director who is going through difficulties?" The plot gives a good explanation for this question - because Jian Bing once illuminated a small, dark corner in Shengyang’s heart.

The similarity between Xiao Zhan and Sheng Yang is a coincidence

The characters of Sheng Yang and Jian Bing can be seen from their names, as well as the warm and healing relationship between them. In the initial script setting, Sheng Yang was as direct, light and sunny as his name, without so many layers, just a simple and warm big boy. However, after Li Xiao and Xiao Zhan started to contact each other because of discussing the script , Li Xiao discovered a temperament in Xiao Zhan that could be added to Sheng Yang.

This was Li Xiao’s first close contact and understanding of actor Xiao Zhan. “I found that he was different from what I imagined.” Li Xiao said that before this, she had not fully understood Xiao Zhan and just know that he is very popular.

Perhaps this is also a stereotype, giving people a sense of distance and room for speculation. But when Xiao Zhan sat in front of Li Xiao, Li Xiao felt Xiao Zhan was beyond it. "He has a classical temperament, especially like a person who came from the past, unlike us modern people who are always surrounded by all kinds of information, his energy will be scattered, but he does not seem to be distracted by the complicated surrounding environment."

While discussing scripts, Li Xiao and Xiao Zhan would also recommend some of their favorite movies to each other, "I didn't expect his taste in movies to be so literary. Some of them are really boring movies that I can't stand."

Because of this, the story of "Wei Sheng Huozhu" popped up in Li Xiao's mind, "I think there is no love and attraction for no reason in this world. In real life, everyone can feel the hormonal changes of both parties, just like someone." It’s a kind of metaphysics, but in TV dramas, the audience may not be able to feel it, so they have to do some homework on how two people attract each other.”

In this story about a young man holding a pillar, the first thing Li Xiao thought of was warmth. Jian Bing inadvertently illuminated Sheng Yang's inferiority complex caused by his father's career, and gave him some encouragement and positive guidance. At completely different stages in their lives, the two gave each other some help and met again ten years later. "Such a romantic date and a story of worshiping a girl for ten years happened in Sheng Yang, played by Xiao Zhan. It's reasonable."

Xiao Zhan's dedicated and persistent temperament adds more possibilities to the role of Sheng Yang. After creating so many scripts, Li Xiao found that sometimes when writing a character, if the actor's own temperament is not very close to the character, it is actually half the effort. But if the character is very close to the actor, the actor's own natural temperament and temperament can be used. status, that is, getting twice the result with half the effort.

"Sheng Yang has a kind of stubbornness. He will do something very determinedly and can stick to it for a long time. Including his good impression of Jian Bing, which lasted for ten years, all came from my contact with Xiao Zhan." Li Xiao said.

On the contrary, Sheng Yang's obvious external settings, such as his career as a designer, family atmosphere, ability to draw, etc., are similar to Xiao Zhan's, but it is a coincidence. Li Xiao didn't know that Xiao Zhan was a designer before becoming an artist, and he didn't know that the plot where Sheng Yang painted clouds for Jian Bing happened to use Xiao Zhan's painting skills.

During the script creation stage, director Song Xiaofei and screenwriter Li Xiao had reached a very clear consensus on "The Sun Is With Me": the story should be real and down-to-earth, rather than just creating a romantic idol-like love.

Therefore, all the scenes in the drama are designed to make the actors feel this reality. For example, we chose to shoot in Chongqing because Xiao Zhan is from Chongqing. That is where he grew up and lived. There is no strangeness to this city, and it is easier for him to believe that he is Sheng Yang himself.

Including Sheng Yang's home, the director led the art and props team to build a 1:1 replica of the two-story corridor in the studio to capture Sheng Yang commuting and returning home. In order to create the bustling atmosphere of the courtyard, the crew not only built Shengyang’s house, but also built a room in the opposite building, so that when shooting night scenes, they can put some lights in the opposite room, or the noisy background sound of the TV , to create a breath of life and set off a real sense of atmosphere.

The messy advertisements in the corridor, the rusty stains on Shengyang's bed, and even the warped walls were all made bit by bit by the prop team. Xiao Zhan came to Shengyang's room for the first time. Looking at the basketball posters and paintings all over the wall, it became clear that Shengyang liked basketball and painting. During the break between shooting, Xiao Zhan drew some paintings by himself. When Sheng Yang was happy, he also added the "air shooting" action.

"The fit between the character and the actor is very high, which is helpful to the actor's performance. First of all, Xiao Zhan is confident when he sits in front of the computer. When he opens those design-related software, there is not one he can't use. In this way I can just shoot at his hands and the screen, that kind of focus on work does not require acting, and the sense of reality comes out all at once."

When filming, the director is also worried that if the environment creates a strong sense of stage, the actors will enter a state of acting that is out of style. So in terms of reality, "Sunshine by My Side" put a lot of effort into it: for the subway scenes, we actually went to the subway to shoot them; we also restored the details of the parts at home; when we went to work at the company, we turned on the computer and saw the design works on the computer."It is this complete sense of reality that can give actors the greatest sense of immersion and security."

[ryuichirou]

You’re probably tired of so much KaliJami but headcanons for RSA!Kalim x NRC!Jamil?

Also, how do you feel about genderbent? Like one of them is female or both are female? I’m sorry if you answered this before.

Not at all! We’re not tired of KaliJami, we actually like them very much, so please don’t worry and keep asking if you want to. It just takes a while to get to them with all the other ships, as you must’ve noticed...

Ohh, RSA!Kalim and NRC!Jamil!.. Sounds fun, we’ve actually discussed a little bit the fact that before Kalim was transferred to NRC, he could’ve been in RSA – because where else would he be? I mean, we just don’t really know other schools, and RSA is known for its over the top goody two shoes. But before I list a couple of headcanons, I’ll answer your other question.

In general, we love genderswap, I draw genderbent characters from shows we’re into from time to time. But it doesn’t work as well for us with twst for some reason? It’s hard to explain, and we’re not opposed to it: there is some really pretty art out there with genderbent characters from twst. But I guess it’s just unlikely that we’ll draw or post anything, although you can never know for certain with us lol

We also tend to genderbend both characters because this world needs more girl+girl couples with interesting and messed up dynamics. A lot of times this is our main motivation.

 Alright, so headcanons…

Kalim misses Jamil a lot. For the first time in their lives they’re separated like this, and it affects Kalim on a much deeper level than he anticipated. He has a lot of friends in RSA, he has a bunch of servants that went to live with him since Jamil isn’t around, but it’s not the same without Jamil. Simply because of that Kalim is actually having a hard time at RSA, even though he spends his days laughing and hanging out with Che’nya, the gnomes, Neige and pretty much any other RSA guy.

Kalim messages Jamil every day, writes him letters, calls him, he is actually quite obnoxious about it. Jamil is very annoyed by it and doesn’t always reply, but if Kalim were to stop texting him for like 5 hours, Jamil would probably get concerned about his well-being and call him. The codependence is strong.

Jamil visits Kalim at RSA more often that he would like to admit; sometimes Kalim asks him to help, sometimes Jamil feels that he needs to check on Kalim because something was weird about him the last time they talked. He also sends him food regularly and even helps with his homework… he does a lot of things he does in canon, but now he also has to travel back and forth for it. Jamil really hates it, and it’s not like he absolutely has to do it, Kalim isn’t forcing him to, but he just can’t help it. When he thinks about Kalim being there alone (even with a team of servants), he starts feeling anxious and loses his sleep over this. Which kinda makes him hate Kalim even more… because Jamil really thought that he would be free from all of this for once in his life.

Jamil asked Kalim not to come to NRC several times, but Kalim is very stubborn and excited about the idea of visiting Jamil, checking out his dorm, meeting his new friends, etc. Deep inside, Kalim feels this unusual (to him) and strong jealousy and frustration, because he doesn’t get to hang out with Jamil as much as people from Scarabia do. His first instinct is to befriend them, to get to know them better, in hope that it will make him less jealous and hurt, but this probably won’t work. Although he’ll definitely become a star at NRC rather quickly, because he is loud, charismatic, sweet, and people love him. Jamil, on the other hand, feels absolutely exhausted every time Kalim visits him…

One day Kalim decided to completely ignore Jamil’s pleads not to visit him at NRC (at least because it’s dangerous for Kalim to travel alone) and arrived on his magic carpet. His excuse? “But I really wanted to see you, Jamil! And no one got hurt, so it’s good, it’s good!” I’m sure they unintentionally recreated the balcony scene from Aladdin, granted Jamil was much more tired and done than Jasmin. But they still went on a magic carpet ride, because the alternative option was to let Kalim stay in Scarabia until morning.

[starry-eyed-never-satisfied]

Fanfic Writer Ask Game: 😅 🤡 🛒 🍦🤗🧠🤲✅🤯 sorry if this is a lot lol

No worries I love asks and talking about my writing, so the more the merrier!

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

The only one I really feel weird about is Tonight I Wanna See It In Your Eyes. Just cause it's so short and doesn't go into enough detail on what I was trying to portray. I did it for writers month and tried to write it in a day, which I can't do. I love the idea though and I fully intend to expand it more one day.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Driving On Down The Road and reason why Butt Fuck Nowhere is called that, and the whole of 100.000 Years, it's just so silly, but I really can picture them having that whole interaction.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Always angst, I can't help it. Paul's sensitivity and vulnerability, Gene's tough but caring.

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

Hold Me. No smut, just Paul in a dark place and Gene not knowing how to help, but still being there for him.

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Don't feel like you need to start from the beginning. Write whatever it is that has inspired you, whether it be a scene or phrase. If you get to a bit where you want a particular thing to happen but don't know how to write it just type insert smut here or insert fight here or whatever and go on to the next bit. After you've written the stuff you're confident with it's much easier to fill in the gaps.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Here's a bittersweet head cannon about Paul and Ace for you. Neither of them will admit it, but they were close, and after Peter left they became closer. Paul didn't want Ace to leave and tried to keep him happy, even drinking with him on occasion. But he didn't want to get blackout drunk like Ace did, so it wasn't very successful. The pictures from The Elder/Creatures period, where they are holding onto each other - that's Paul silently saying don't go. But it was inevitable. And everything they have said since then comes from a place of hurt.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Because you liked Let Me Know so much, this is a follow up to it, called Far From The House And The Family Fights in which teenage Paul has a fight with his parents and runs away to Gene.

“We received a letter from school today, Stanley.”

Stanley.  That meant he was in trouble.  Even so, Paul rolled his eyes and headed towards his room.

“You are not going anywhere, young man!”

Stanley and young man.  He was in a shitload of trouble!

 “You are going to stay here and explain yourself!  You are on the verge of failing.  You haven’t done any homework and have been missing classes.  You’ve been drawing . . . penises in your schoolbooks.  And you told your teacher you didn’t need school because you are going to be a . . . rock star?”

Oops.  He hadn’t mentioned that particular ambition to his parents yet.

“What happened to you?” asked his father.  “You had so much potential.”

“God gave you this wonderful brain and you’re not using it,” said his mother.

Paul had heard this so many times before, and this time he lost it.

“Did he give me this stupid fucking ear too?  Because I’ll happily trade my brain for a real one!”

“Stanley Eisen!  Mind your language!”

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Angst! Even when I try to write something happy or funny the angst creeps in. I don't want Paul to be unhappy all the time.

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Fight scenes. Arguments I can do, but when it comes to the physical stuff I struggle. While I believe these guys probably did get into punch ups occasionally, I can't really visualise them, I've only seen fights on tv and we know how realistic those are lol