#I cannot think of anyone I'd rather be with

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Which of the current teen characters/young actors on the show do you think can carry a big storyline? They got real lucky with Danny. I think Aaron had only been on the show for a little over a year when they gave him the coming out story. He knocked that out of the park. I don’t know if there’s anyone of his caliber since. Although, I know Belle has had her share of heavy plot lines and now Sarah.

They're definitely not quite what they used to be since they generally won't recast any of them except Sarah. The other part of the problem is that they really don't give them a chance. They don't use them the way the kids used to get used and so we know nothing about them. They have no consistent personalities. And they don't really give them a chance to do much acting to know if they can handle bigger stories. So when they finally do get something, it's like "well why am I even supposed to care?"

In any case, I'm glad they recast Sarah because I do think Katie Hill is good, it's just this storyline is somewhat questionable at times.

I think Jacob is decent. Not great but he can handle a bit. I think his stuff with Sarah has been pretty good and his part of the Maya story was mostly well acted.

Noah I think is terrible and I wish they'd recast him when he went to prison or something. He absolutely cannot annunciate his lines and I just feel like the son of a Dingle and a Tate should have a bit more presence on screen and he just...doesn't.

Same goes for Angelica. They should have recast her when she went to prison. She is one that I just don't think has been given much of a chance or a personality either so there's that. But I feel like they might have been better off recasting and really doing something with her. I mean she's Nicola's daughter. She should also have some presence.

They could recast Elliot tomorrow with a good young actor and no one would know the difference because no one has seen that kid in years. But he's 17, he should be on screen and having stories.

Cathy I think is okay....they just need to tell her not to be as shouty. I don't know that I want to see her in another big story, but I think she could be a supporting character.

April is good. She's obviously one of the ones they actually give material too. But they also changed her personality to fit the story just like they did with Noah and Samson before. And that just hurts the character and makes them less consistent. But I do think she can carry a bigger story and I do think she's done well with her stuff this past year. I more question the story itself. But I'll be curious to see what they do with Dylan being back and them getting involved with Ray. I do think Dylan is pretty good, but he was obviously cast older than the rest of them so I would expect it more.

Arthur I think they need to give more to do. I do think Alfie is a good actor. They're just not always consistent with Arthur's character either. But I do think he can handle something more. Plus, he's turning 18 in August. That means we should get some more adult Arthur stories, but with this show who knows. Like if they're trying to eventually move Vinny toward Lewis or something, I'd rather they let Arthur and Lewis try to date or something. At least like...give Arthur a part time job in the village. Something. Sigh.

If we're counting Kammy in this group, then definitely Kammy. I think he's been a great addition so far. I just don't want them to bog him down with too much misery if they're giving him a backstory. But I do think he'd do well with whatever they give him.

Mostly, I just want them to use the teens more to build this next generation because their predecessors were already having major stories by this time and were established characters with consistent personalities and growth arcs in Aaron's case. Right now, even when they give some of these kids a slightly bigger story, it just barely factors in down the line and they might just get a personality transplant to suit the next one. They need to do better.

[tentglitch]

I'm crashing tf out grandson

[tardis--dreams]

Some of those doctors make hating oat milk their entire personality. I hate them. Cannot pretend to find them funny or like i give a shit. Fucking pretentious assholes

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I think a lot of what's currently informing my fellow white people curdling like milk and shitting their pants when asked to interrogate their relationship with rap is the way many people (especially well-meaning white people) still can't help but think of racism as something that you get accused of rather than something that influences the entire world in pernicious ways.

like, I think a lot of people currently posting the most cringe takes about rap right now would very much agree that Racism Is Bad and probably even acknowledge that rap has been and is still widely maligned and devalues for racist reasons.

but that last step, acknowledging that your personal tastes and interests are also influenced by systemic racism, is where a LOT of people stumble. it's very easy to assume that because you consider yourself against racism, then your tastes and interests cannot possibly be at all informed by racist. if you're a white American, that's simply extremely unlikely to be true.

speaking from personal experience, I had to Work to decenter whiteness in my media tastes. when I was like 19 I listened to a podcast where a white Jewish man talked about keeping a spreadsheet of the books he read to make sure he was reading a roughly equal number of men and women, and I started doing the same thing to track how many authors of color I was reading. at the time I took pride in my belief that I was reading diversely, but when the year ended I was shocked to discover that people of color had written barely a quarter of the books I'd read. I had been giving myself way too much credit while still unintentionally prioritizing white authors, because white authors were the ones I knew best. so I started making an extremely conscious effort to seek out books by authors of color, both fiction and nonfiction, that sounded like my kind of shit.

music was extremely similar. I grew up a little white girl in a very white city in a very white state; nobody was offering me an education in rap or r&b or soul or hip hop. as an young adult there were definitely some Black artists I liked, like Janelle Monáe, but I had to take the initiative of seeking out more artists to find out who I fuck with. you're not going to like everybody, which is fine, but are you even giving anyone a chance? are you even looking?

racism has roots everywhere, bro. it's not enough to just acknowledge it, you have to actively get digging.

[briarpatch-kids]

Something I don't think many people who don't have complex rehab powerchairs realize is that the cripple tax for us is so much higher.

I'm going to preface this with the statement that if you have a CRT powerchair, it's generally because you will literally die without one. There really is no "suffering without" if you don't have one, insurance or government schemes will not pay for it if you won't literally die without. Pretty often with "some people NEED wheelchairs and can't get by without them" type posts, the tags are filled with "i need this but just get by without" so I wanted to make sure people understand under no uncertain circumstances that people die waiting for approval of these and there is no getting by without if you have one. Some people do need them and get by without, but they are in the "this would vastly improve my life" need category rather than the "I will either get this or die" need category.

Anyways, once you're in the complex rehab category of disabled, the price of being disabled goes up by a MASSIVE amount. I am just barely in the complex rehab category, and my powerchair costs $23,000. This doesn't include the seat cushion or positioning equipment which likely adds another $1,000 minimum. It also doesn't include maintainance (last year mine was over $1,000 in parts cost before labor) Back when my needs were only a custom ultralight wheelchair with the basic seating options, I paid $3,500 for it so you get some context in how much the price SKYROCKETS once you get complex. Off the rack "standard" wheelchairs start at around $250.

My ventilator costs $500 a month in rental for just the box, you cannot buy one only rent. This doesn't include monthly checks, or all the tubes and masks and parts I need, I'd be willing to bet that adds on another couple hundred bucks.

My shower chair? It's a specialized one because I can't use the usual ones and that costs $2,000.

Additionally, because I need a caregiver, that adds another $1,800 a month to my price of living. I am in a special cost saving program that pays my spouse to do my bathing, dressing, and toileting so that would be higher for anyone else as well. This is not for 24 hour care, it's for bathing, dressing, and toileting.

My wheelchair van that I need in order to go anywhere beyond a mile from my house (like the doctors office) and was bought used at an age old enough to vote, that we were given a special discount and tax breaks for, cost us $7,500. If you don't get an ancient shitbox (said with love) like we have, they're around $65,000.

The bathroom remodel we had to do so I could pee and get showered was $17,000 and did not include anything high end, it was the cheapest we could do that met my needs.

The wheelchair ramp was $15,000 before labor to set it up.

None of these costs were optional, they weren't "improve my life" types of costs, they are "this is the minimum I need to live" costs. I know people who have even higher minimum costs to live, I'm pretty low on the "complex rehab" disability scale.

Tl;Dr whatever you think the highest cripple tax costs are for severely disabled people, quadruple them.

[iceunhie]

voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[recordmemes]

༘⋆｡ things overheard at the bar starters.

WARNINGS: alcohol

no,  i'm  not  hitting  on  you.  unless  it's  working.

you're  not  doing  karaoke  again.

why  are  there  fries  in  your  purse?

what's  the  strongest  drink  on  the  menu?

no,  i  don't  remember  your  name.

you  come  here  often?

what's  your  star  sign?

if  you  tell  anyone  what  i'm  about  to  say,  i'll  key  your  car.

it's  last  call.  get  a  drink  or  go  home.

they  just  tipped  with  monopoly  money.

i  think  i'm  in  love...

i'm  saving  this  story  for  your  future  wedding  toast.

i'm  your  wingperson  tonight,  give  me  the  target.

you're  not  from  around  here,  are  you?

i'm  your  best  friend,  not  your  conscience.

say  that  again  and  i  will  make  a  scene.

you're  my  bestie  now,  i  don't  care  that  we  met  30  seconds  ago.

i'd  buy  you  a  drink  but  i'd  rather  make  you  breakfast.

this  one's  on  my  tab.

is  that  a  fake  id?

i  swear  i  only  had  two  drinks...

this  is  a  judgement  free  zone.

they  said  they were working  late... 

let's  play  pool.  if  i  win,  you  owe  me  a  real  conversation.

if  i  tip  you  $20,  will  you  say  i  was  never  here?

that  was  supposed  to  impress  them...

it's  not  a  fake,  it's  retro!

don't  test  me,  i'm  not  drunk  enough  to  forgive  you.

can  you  lie  and  say  i'm  not  allowed  tequila  anymore?

give  me  your  phone.

if  you  want  a  mojito,  you  can  muddle  the  mint.

i  don't  think  that's  your  real  name.

make  me  something  dangerous  and  don't  ask  questions.

you're  cut  off.

you  cannot  cry  on  a  stranger's  shoulder!

can  you  get  me  something  non-alcoholic?  i'm  designated  driver.

no,  i  don't  want  to  join  the  conga  line.

if  i  ask  for  a  double,  will  you  pretend  i'm  not  spiraling?

you  always  ruin  nights  like  this!

okay  but  technically,  i'm  turning  [18/21]  this  year.

i'm  not  your  therapist.  that'll  be  $14.

no,  you  don't  need  to  text  them,  that's  why  i  took  your  phone.

tell  him  i'm  your  sister  or  something.

you  ever  seen  somebody  ruin  their  own  life  in  5  minutes?  watch  this.

you  can  throw  up  now  or  in  my  car.

if  i  were  a  drink,  i'd  be  the  one  you  remember  tomorrow.

we  said  no  shots,  why  are  there  shots?!

promise  you  won't  hate  me  tomorrow?

let's  go  somewhere  quieter.

we  always  do  this.  drink,  flirt,  run...

i  don't  want  tonight  to  end.

can  we  get  pizza  after  this?

do  you  want  to  dance?  i  won't  step  on  your  feet.

don't  climb  on  the  table!

i  am  not  your  lawyer.

why  are  you  laughing  and  texting?!

drink  this  water.

[psychoticallytrans]

There's this idea, fairly common in society, that mental illness is for teens and up. Children are happy little creatures, generally, right? Sometimes they're abused and the trauma can make them mentally ill, but that's not common.

There are two fundamental problems with this attitude. One, it's incorrect to assume that trauma is the only reason a young kid can be mentally ill. Two, trauma is more common than people think. I'll be covering the first problem in this post through the lens of my particular experience.

Where I live, you can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18 years old. You cannot be diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a minor. This poses a problem because my age of onset was in first grade, roughly six years old. Because of the fact that I was very young and new to the world, this was also the age of my first suicide attempt. Thinking I wouldn't be able to pass a spelling test genuinely felt like something worth trying to die over. So, I ate some hemlock, since I'd read about Socrates being killed with it. Luckily, I ate western hemlock, an unrelated species, and just felt kind of sick.

I'm not recounting that for fun or pity. I'm recounting it because children with mental illness are in genuine danger because they have little to no experience with managing their emotions, have little to no concept of the idea that their life can change and improve, and are dismissed by adults. I told a teacher that the test made me want to die, though not that I'd attempted to, and it was brushed off as little kid hyperbole. If I had used a method that was effective rather than one I thought would be, I would have been dead at six years old.

I would not receive medication that worked even a bit for another two years. I would not receive treatment for bipolar disorder specifically for ten years, and that required my PCP fudging the reason for the medication because she was afraid I would die if she didn't, and diagnosis was still two years off at minimum. I received a formal diagnosis at age 19, thirteen years after onset.

But surely that's uncommon, right? This story is a huge edge case, right? I actually have no idea, because age of onset and age of diagnosis are massively conflated for most disabilities. Policies like the one in my area that restricted bipolar diagnoses by age can artificially raise the age of "onset", in my case by thirteen years. The general idea that children are somehow immune to mental illness can also delay diagnosis by several years, perpetuating the idea that young children can't be mentally ill. The data on when people start experiencing mental illness is inherently skewed upwards, and I frankly don't have a good estimate on how bad that skew is. If anyone does have that data, please chime in.

Listen to children. If they're saying they're sad all the time, that they don't care about anything, that they don't see a future for themselves, those are signs of depressive symptoms. If they say that tests make them feel sick, that they can't do anything because they're scared, that they can't breathe and freeze up, those are signs of anxious symptoms. Many children talk about imaginary things, and that's just fine, but slip in a question or two about them to make sure that the kid is just playing, and not experiencing psychosis.

Children are new to the world and vulnerable, and they don't know what's normal and what isn't. They need people who are more experienced watching out for problems they might be having, and listening when they talk about having problems. If you can, try to be the person who perceives them, and tells them that things can be better.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ so, you've been isekai'd into a romance novel...

type of post: blurbs characters: trey, vil, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, kissing in vil's part, lilia's is a little suggestive, I can't help myself, not proofread author's note: I've wanted to do an isekai thing for a while, and I do love a good plot twist ;3

So, you've been isekai'd into a romance novel.

The only way to get home? You have to play the part of the protagonist until the novel ends.

There's just one problem, though: you're not into the love interest.

Not at all.

What's worse: you're starting to fall for a side character.

➼ His Best Friend

You started dozing off while your friend was helping you write an essay.

It was for one of those old romance novels about rich people in the English countryside, and you couldn't stand it. You knew you were going to fail when you fell asleep in your chair, thinking that you'd just cram the next day, except...

...Instead of your room, you wake up on a picturesque hill, inside the book you'd been studying.

You hear someone shouting, and you stand. There's a boy coming towards you, yelling a name you don't-

Oh, oh no.

That's the protagonist's name. Which means that can only be-

"There you are!" Riddle Rosehearts, the love interest of the novel, storms up to you.

"Your friends have been worried sick, you know! We've been looking everywhere! You've embarrassed me in front of the entire county!"

You blink, trying to remember what your friend had told you about this book:

The shouting boy, Riddle, is the love interest. Your love interest.

But it doesn't start out the way- in the beginning, he and the protagonist cannot stand each other. He's hotheaded, strict, and has no interest in love. Over the course of the book, the protagonist teaches him to let go and enjoy life, and blah blah blah...

...Yeah, you have no interest in doing any of that. "Enemies to lovers" isn't really your cup of tea.

But if it's the only way out... you can pretend.

"I... fell asleep," you say. This only seems to make Riddle more frustrated.

"You will come back at once, and apologize to my house and to my guests. Else it'll be off with your head!"

He turns and begins marching back to the estate. You roll your eyes and follow him. You're going to have to put up with this for months?

Well... maybe not.

He leads you through the back door, not wanting to "upset the guests any further", and tells you to wait for him in the kitchen.

Great. Just great.

You watch Riddle straighten his tie and walk into the parlor to speak with the guests, prim and proper as ever. Eye roll.

The door opens- not the door to the parlor, but the one you'd just come from. You turn with a curious look.

"Oh!" another boy says. "I apologize, I wasn't... expecting anyone."

After a moment, it hits you- this is the love interest's sensible childhood friend, so unimportant in the plot that he was cut from the movie adaptation entirely.

You raise an eyebrow. "No, it's alright. Beats getting yelled at,"

He blinks, confused by your wording, and then smiles. You know you shouldn't be thinking these things, but it's sort of cute. What was his name, again?

"Ah... I suppose Riddle found you, then?"

"You suppose correctly,"

"Heh," he crosses his arms. "I apologize on his behalf. He was just... worried."

Wonderful. This is the part where he tells the protagonist about the love interest's sad backstory, isn't it?

"I don't really want to talk about him right now," you say. "Honestly, I'd rather hear more about you."

His smile falters, and he seems a little... well, taken aback. As if no one has ever asked him about himself.

"I... I suppose we haven't been properly introduced, have we?" he mutters, adjusting his glasses in nervous habit. You remember reading that. It was cute.

"My name is Trey Clover. My family owns the bakery in town, but I'm afraid it's not as glamorous as this."

He means the Rosehearts' manor. You could care less about that.

"You bake?"

"...I do," Trey says. "You eat?"

It's a stupid joke, but it makes you smile.

You nod, and he goes back outside, returning with a basket.

"These are for the guests..." he says, taking a pastry out of the basket. "...But they won't notice if one is missing."

You accept the treat. "Rulebreaker, are you?"

Trey's face flushes, but he laughs it off.

"Certainly not. Rule-breaking is a dangerous pastime in this household,"

And yet, he did it for you.

You smile back.

Suddenly, Riddle's temper isn't going to be the only difficult thing about playing this part...

➼ His Rival

With a movie adaptation on the way and a permanent spot on the bestseller's list, you had great expectations for this little book.

You'd heard nothing but praise. Even your family members had recommended it to you, saying that it was right up your alley, and they thought you'd love it.

So, finally, you buy the book (which is WAY too expensive), make yourself a warm drink, get cozy in bed, and...

And... it's terrible. It's completely unrealistic! It's downright boring!

Disappointed, you put it down, turn off the light, and try to sleep it off.

Try to, because you wake up disgruntled and groggy, and not in your bed. In fact, you're not in a bed at all.

"There you are!" a voice comes from above you.

You look to see a short, panicked lavender-haired boy. "Where have you been?! You're on in five!"

You rub your eyes. "Huh?"

"Didja hit your head or 'somethin? If we don't get you back on stage, my boss is gonna-"

"Going to what, Epel?" a colder, stronger voice carries across the hall. You both turn to see a meticulously dressed man with a stern look on him, and not a single hair out of place.

...Shit. You know where you are.

This is the romance book you'd been reading!

"S-sorry, Mr. Schoenheit," Epel says. "But it's their fault! They're the one who ran off!"

"I know that," Vil Schoenheit, the antagonist of the story, says. He narrows his eyes. "I'm not surprised our little potato has already quit. Couldn't handle the pressure, hm?"

You blink- oh, no.

You're the protagonist- the normal, nobody student who was ~randomly~ chosen to be the lead in a romantic drama, even though they've never acted a day in their lives.

"I-I just-"

"Enough of that," Vil says sternly. "Now, get up. These costumes aren't cheap, and you're dirtying yours on the floor."

He escorts you out of the hall and back onto set, Epel not far behind.

"Places!" someone shouts, and Epel nudges you into position on the sound stage.

"Remember, you don't say anything in this scene," he whispers, covering his headset mic. "Just look like you're in love. And make the kiss believable!"

Your eyes widen. "The WH-"

"Quiet on set!" the director yells, and Epel hurries away. "Action!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as the doors fly open and the book's love interest, actor Neige Leblanche, runs on set. His outfit is simple but glamorous, his eyes wide with emotion, his dark hair lightly tousled.

Horrifically, he's wearing a generous amount of lip gloss. So are you.

"My love!" he cries out, running up the steps toward you. You watch in horror as he gets closer and throws his arms around you, and just as you're about to have the dramatic, impassioned kiss the book has been leading you to, you push him off.

The director stares. Neige's eyes widen. Epel smacks his forehead.

The rest of the set is silent.

Finally, you feel a cool hand wrapping around your wrist, and suddenly, you're outside again.

"Have you lost your mind?" Vil hisses, his grip on you tightening. "You are making a fool out of all of us. You're an embarrassment to this production, and you should have never even..."

He stops, mid-rant, when he sees your eyes watering.

"...Don't you dare make me feel sorry for you,"

You sniffle, and he sighs. He pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at your eyes, careful not to smudge the stage makeup.

"You're going to ruin someone's hard work like that, you know," he murmurs. "Now, what are you crying about? Isn't this what you want?"

You shake your head. You must look absolutely miserable, because he isn't even a little mad anymore.

"...You're ridiculous," he mutters, tucking the handkerchief away with a faint smile. "But I can't say I blame you. I wouldn't want to kiss him, either."

You take a deep breath, and then return his smile. How can someone so sweet be a villain?

Vil lets the moment linger. His eyes dart to the stage doors behind you, then back to you, and then he holds your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb, and then he kisses you.

It doesn't last for long, but it's enough to leave you dazed when he pulls away.

"...Your lip gloss is smudged," he comments, and then he walks back to set without another word.

...Perhaps this book is more interesting than you'd thought.

➼ His Father

When your friend started gushing about this new dark romance book she finished, you thought she was just reading a bunch of tropes off a page.

Fae court? Handsome, mysterious, brooding princes? A tall, dark, possessive love interest? Sure.

You promise you'll try it, and she takes that as a "yes", leaving the book on your desk. It goes untouched.

You wake up in a dark forest. For a moment, you think you're still dreaming- until a thorn pricks your finger, drawing blood, and you realize this is very, very real.

You can see a medieval castle off in the distance, and to your horror, you realize where you are.

"No... this isn't happening..." you mutter to yourself.

"What isn't happening?"

You jump at the sudden noise, and turn on your heels to see someone behind you. How you missed him, you're not sure. He's pale, his hair is striped pink, and his eyes are almost glowing.

"Not from here, are you?" he says with a smile. "You must be tired. Come, Lord Malleus' home is always open to guests."

This is the weirdest stranger danger situation you've ever been in. This small gentleman has fangs.

He chuckles. "Don't let appearances fool you. We're quite hospitable!"

You think about it- you could stay in the forest, and die of a slow and agonizing death, either by starvation or mauling, or you could play the part, return to the castle, fall in love with the tall love interest, and have his babies.

...Honestly, hypothermia doesn't sound too bad.

But you also know that the book has to end eventually. And when it does, you'll get spit out. Maybe.

You're in the mood for taking chances.

The castle is just as grand and old as your friend had described it. The food is just as strange, the court just as intimidating.

Strangely, though, she never mentioned any short, pink-haired fae, apparently named Lilia Vanrouge.

"Enjoying the view, are you?" he asks, having caught you staring.

You quickly look back at your own plate. "It's just, um... well... I was wondering about your relationship to the prince,"

He winks, as if to say "nice save".

"He's... well, a foster son, of sorts. Think of it however you'd please,"

"Are you comfortable?" the prince in question asks, his eyes showing genuine concern.

You shrug. "...I guess so,"

"How does one get so lost they end up in Briar Valley, anyway?" one of his knights, Silver, asks in a soft tone.

"AND HOW CAN WE BE SURE THEY AREN'T AN ASSASSIN SENT TO HARM OUR LIEGE?!" the other, Sebek, says in a less-soft tone.

"Oh, nonsense," Lilia says. "Malleus likes them. Don't you, Malleus?"

The prince nods. Oh, brother.

"How nice. Perhaps you two should rendezvous after dinner? To get to know each other better, hm?"

You stare down Lilia, practically begging him to shut up. You want to shake him and shout "Stop trying to set me up with your weird kid!!!!!"

Sebek looks appalled at the very idea. "BUT- MASTER LILIA- THEY CANNOT BE TRUSTED! I CANNOT ALLOW THIS!"

Thank you, Sebek!!! you think.

"Yeah, um... you know, I'm kind of tired, so..." you say. "Maybe tomorrow? Or next week? Or, um, whenever. You know."

Sebek visibly relaxes at that, and Silver raises an eyebrow.

"Of course," Malleus says. "I will have the finest room arranged for you at once."

And he did. This world may be stuck in ye olde medieval fantasy times, but man, what money can't buy...

As you look around the exquisite room, you hear a knock at the door.

Lilia comes in without waiting for an answer. "Enjoying the room, I hope?"

You sigh.

"Did Malleus send you?"

He chuckles, and takes a seat on your bed. "I am his keeper, he is not mine. I just wanted to see how you were faring,"

"I'm fine," you turn back to the wall, pretending to look at a tapestry. The sight of him on your bed is... distracting, to say the least.

"Hm..." Lilia hums. "...I would like to apologize for overstepping at dinner. I did not mean to imply anything. We're rather isolated here, and Malleus has been lonely..."

It makes sense, of course. He's only looking out for his... strange, sort-of son. Still...

"And you're not?" you ask.

Lilia doesn't have a response for that. You turn around to gauge his expression, and he's smiling.

"Khee hee. You're a clever little thing. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were flirting,"

Now, it's your turn to not respond. He's caught you, and he knows it.

Your heart beats with something like excitement as he stands and closes the door.

"But I suppose I have all night to figure it out,"

[zorostitties]

Weak Point; 1

⤕ It's crazy how life can turn upside down overnight. In your case, life took a 180º turn the morning you discovered you were the weakness of the most powerful creature in the world.

From a normal citizen, you become Jujutsu Society's most coveted target. In a world where everyone wants your head on a silver platter, plagued by secrets of the past and struggling to balance what remains of your “normal” life, you are trapped in a situation you cannot escape.

And yet - amid the chaos, you slowly realize that you might be his weak point in ways that have nothing to do with sorcery.

pairing: gojo x (f) reader

genre: romance, fluff and humor, angst, forced proximity, slow burn, eventual smut, "oh no we have to live in the same house" trope, fix-it fic (kinda)

warnings: violence/blood, explicit sex (in future parts), grief, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit language, me trying to be funny

rating: 18+

word count: 9k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!! First of all, thank you so much for giving this fic a chance!! - This self-indulgent mess starts a little before JJK 0. - Reader is roughly a year younger than Gojo. - We're gonna dig HEAVILY into grief, especially deceased parents, so beware if this is a sensitive topic for you! - This is an afab!reader situation, so no specific physical traits will be described. I am giving you a nickname tho, because I'd rather eat shit than pollute my text with "Y/N" ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) - And as usual, English is not my first language. Enjoy!! <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Taglist open!

It was a shift like any other before the kidnapping happened.

The emergency room is never a calm environment, of course, let alone of a big city. But the previous night, it felt that the gates of hell opened in the grounds of the Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital. It was that type of shift that let nurses with their hairs disheveled and eyes widened and doctors running from side to side and the endless noise of stretcher’s wheels around the halls and ambulance sirens and for fuck’s sake the coffee machine is broken again I will kill myself.

A shift like any other. Yeah.

There were two car crashes. Or three. You stopped counting after the third exposed fracture. A big festival happened in Shinjuku – or something like that – which always results in drunk people doing drunk people atrocities. There were a few cases of alcohol-induced coma, too, and a couple guys needing stitches on their faces because they got into fist fights. Also two heart attacks? Some old lady fell down the stairs of her home.

Yeah. Yeah, there was a lot of stuff happening at the same time.

Maybe that’s why you were so inattentive, that morning. The clocks marked 8AM; the sun had risen above the city and you hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe it was the coffee’s fault (or the lack of it, since the machine broke sometime past midnight). Or the energy drinks. Or the full pack of cigarettes you smoked. Or the salad you ate hours ago. Uh. There were a lot of things going on with you, actually, and not very professional on your part, but it was your second 24 hour shift that week, and you hadn’t really slept between the shifts, which meant you’d been awake for… huh… twenty hours straight?

Dad would’ve killed me if he knew, you thought.

Dad. Maybe you should’ve listened to your dad back then, when he said you should pick another specialty. A cardiologist like him, probably. Or a gynecologist. Some area that would allow you to work in a calm clinic, with a much higher salary and a more reasonable lifestyle.

It’s what anyone would want, of course, after years and years of studying: a respectable profession that gives you tons of money. But you weren’t like dad. You needed that adrenaline, and you needed the cigarettes and the coffee and the energy drinks, and you needed to be so overworked that your brain wouldn’t stop for a second to think about that other thing.

July 18th, 2017 – your phone screen showed. You only survived the 17th thanks to all of that.

Which didn’t mean your brain wasn’t reduced to jelly inside your skull at that point, of course.

“You look like you’re on cocaine.”

Remi stared at you with a mix of judging and concern in her eyes. She sat behind the nurse’s counter, while you leaned on it in front of her.

“I don’t.” You shrugged and took one more sip of the warm water from the plastic cup. Remi tightener her eyes.

“Your pupils are two black wholes. You look insane right now.”

“I’m fine.”

“How many energy drinks did you take?” Her perfect eyebrow quirked up.

“Not many.”

“This alone implies you had more than one. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You shrugged again, half of your face hidden behind the plastic cup.

“Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed.

You weren’t annoyed at her. Remi was the responsible one, and you were the reckless one. This was your dynamic. It worked well. And she couldn’t really judge you, not while you spent the night in the seventh ring of hell while she spent her shift in the calm, silent inpatient unit.

“I’d rather be actually high right now, to be honest.” You admitted quietly. Remi nodded. She put some strands of honey blonde hair behind her ear delicately.

“Yeah. Me too.” Not so responsible. “Keito-kun was in Shinjuku… he sent me many photos.” A pout slowly took for in her lips. “He had invited me, you know. We were supposed to be there together.”

You tightened your eyes slowly.

“I thought you had stopped talking to him.”

“That was past week, darling. Things change.”

“Right.” Yeah, definitely not very responsible.

“But that’s not the point. The summer festival looked so fun! And there were so many hot guys there, too…”

“But weren’t you supposed to be there with Keito-kun?”

“I can multitask.”

You cackled. She followed. It was probably the first time you smiled that day.

You opened Mayu’s contact impatiently again. She had chosen some anime boy as her current icon. You tapped your index finger over the counter, trying to ignore the fact that your hands were shaking a bit.

“Mayu’s not answering me.” You mumbled. Remi typed something on her computer, not bothering to lift her eyes to you.

“It’s 8AM on a Saturday. No normal person is awake at this hour.”

“I think she went to Shinjuku behind my back.”

Remi pursed her lips and hummed. “...It’s the type of thing I would do as a teenager.”

“Me too.”

“So you can’t really judge her, can you?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be the responsible one now, aren’t I?” You didn’t plan on sounding exasperated all of sudden, and you didn’t plan on making your breathing get faster or your eyes widening, and maybe Remi was right, maybe you did look like someone on cocaine, and maybe you should really stop with the energy drinks – oh shit stop stop stop. One thought at a time. One thought at a time.

“Oh, come on. Even if she went there, Mayu is pretty level headed for her age. Much more than I was. I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s sleeping right now and you’re overreacting.”

Yeah. Maybe. You’d call Aunt Junko later to make sure she actually slept there instead of sneaking out (Aunt Junko wasn’t that great with messaging apps. You had bought her a new phone, but she only knew how to accept and decline calls). But how could you not be anxious and overreact if yesterday was that day?

You knew – Mayu wasn’t as affected as you were. She was way too young when everything happened, after all. But still, now that most of the craziness of past night was slowly leaving your system, you felt guilt slowly grow inside of you. Was it a bit selfish to choose to work a shift in such a date? What if she was upset that you left her alone?

July 18th, the notification bar showed. Yesterday, July 17th.

July 17th.

Shit. Stop thinking about that other thing. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To not think about it. So don’t think about it. It was yesterday anyway. It’s over.

Remi yawned.

“When are you leaving?”

“At nine thirty.” You groaned and massaged your own forehead. “Shit. Just remembered I’ll have to go home by subway.”

“Thank God, I wouldn’t let you drive in this state.” She tightened her eyes at you again. It was funny to see her going mom mode, even though she didn’t have children. “You should take better care of your health, girl. An ER doctor trying to have a heart attack? You’ll enter this hospital as a patient one of these days!”

You nodded tiredly. “I know. My bad.”

To be fair, usually you wouldn’t be so reckless. In a normal day, just plain caffeine and a few breaks to smoke would carry you through a full shift smoothly. It’s just that… it wasn’t a normal day. But you didn’t have it in you to try to justify yourself, because if you tried, you’d have to talk about that other thing, and you didn’t want to do it.

Before any of you could say anything, the soft ring of an electronic bell caught your attention. You tiptoed over the counter to see the panel of alarm lights. The little light from Room 32 glowed in green.

“Mrs. Hamazaki’s room.” Remi sighed and got up from her chair, sending you a pleading look. “I know you’re on your break, but can you cover me for a while? Just until Misa-san comes back. If a patient calls, dial downstairs… but she should be back in five minutes.”

You still had thirteen minutes left. Technically you shouldn’t, but you decided to shrug and walk to the other side of the counter anyway. “Sure.”

Remi patted your shoulder as you settled on her chair and put the stethoscope around her neck, disappearing down the quiet hallway towards Room 32.

Quiet. Real quiet, here.

You sighed, suddenly feeling an invisible weight worth tons over your shoulders. Sleep was finally starting to take space inside your head. Just the thought that you still had to take the subway – even for just a few stations –, shower, eat something and probably scold Mayu for going to Shinjuku (you knew her too well) made you feel tired.

But it’s fine. You’d have the next three days off, thanks to the two consecutive shifts you took.

You placed your phone standing over the desk, balancing it on the computer screen, and opened the front camera – just to immediately regret it. Jesus Christ, you really looked insane; your hair looked like a bird’s nest, dark circles under your eyes, your lips were chapped (you were so sure Mayu stole your lip balm)… everything about you was wrong. You immediately untied the loose bun and tied it again, trying to make your hair look at least a little more presentable. A small part of your brain tried to remember the last time you wore something nice, went to a hair salon or put makeup beyond just some soft mascara and blush… it was two months ago, maybe. Or three.

Fuck.

That’s the life you chose, right?

Nine minutes to the end of your break.

An annoying, familiar sound caught your attention. You frowned and got up to peek from over the counter.

Disgust immediately set in your stomach.

Other than the broken coffee machine or the new nurse that took ages to get a single blood sample or that old man that yelled at you because his case was sooo much worse than a car crash victim (he just had back pain) or the paramedic that gave you he wrong prognosis or the drunk patient flirting with you or that test result that arrived two hours late, that fucking thing on the floor was what made you truly feral the entire shift.

Except – you couldn’t sneak into the inpatients unit to complain about it with Remi, because apparently, no one else could see it.

It’s not as if you weren’t used to it. In fact, you were so used to it that you could fully ignore it, because that’s what adults do. Oh, you’re seeing a creature that looks straight out of Silent Hill? No, you’re fucking not. No one else is seeing it, so I’m not seeing it either.

It was also very unprofessional to be showing clear signs of schizophrenia and not being brave enough to confess it to a psychiatrist, sure. But it wasn’t a today thing. It was an always thing, because you’d always seen these things, and it was already so familiar that it didn’t shock you anymore. Maybe you could’ve done something about it when you were a kid, but now? At your big age? As you were so close to completing your residency? Fuck no.

This one wasn’t even as gruesome as the others you’d seen. But hell, how annoying it was.

“Chuuuuu…” the creepy little thing moaned. It looked like a rat – an obese, hairless, in advanced state of decomposition rat; its legs were too short and thin for the rest of the body, hence why it moved around slowly, dragging itself on the cool floor. And shit, it smelled so bad; its stench immediately overwhelmed the usual smell of antiseptic of the hall.

That fucking thing.

It kept chuuuu-ing in your ear the entire shift. It wandered around the ER room, and you crossed its slow path many times, trying to not look too insane as you avoided stepping on it. Even when you were far from it, you’d still hear the chuuuuuu and it was making you go nuts.

Again. Maybe it was the date or your maniacal mental state that made you so bothered with it. You’d see these things almost weekly at the hospital; they were all irritating, but they were also small and easy to ignore. You’d encountered far worse before. Yet, you just couldn’t stand it this time.

“Chuuuuuuu…” it repeated again. You grimaced.

“Shut the fuck up,” you finally hissed in something between a whisper and a yell, because you’d been holding back this entire time and now there was no one to witness you cussing at nothing.

Seven minutes to the end of your break.

The fucking thing looked at you.

It moved its hairless head slowly in your direction. Its eyes were white and empty. It… it lifted its head to look at you.

You froze in place.

You were looking at it, and it was looking back. It was looking. It was seeing.

That was new.

The thing screeched.

Like a rodent in a trap, but angrier. It… it looked angry, now. Its fat face retorted, exposing a set of sharp teeth, drool dripping from its mouth.

That was also new.

It changed directions. Before, it was crawling down the hallway; now, it crawled towards the counter – much faster than it was before. Towards you.

That was also very new.

“What the fuck?” You whispered, looking to your sides; the hallway was still empty. Your hallucinations were trying to attack you now? Shit, what if Remi was right and you were actually high? What if someone spiked your energy drink? Where the hell was that Misa-san she talked about? There’s no way– no way you’d deal with that alone.

The rat thing crawled closer. Closer. You got up from the chair.

“Shoo,” you tried, feeling a mix of urgency and disgust and sheer embarrassment because hey, were you trying to shoo a mutant rat that apparently only existed in your head?! You looked to your sides again, over the counter, waiting for anyone to appear – but the hallway was still dead empty.

It crossed the counter, screeching angrily. You stepped back and almost hit your back on a cabinet behind you. “Go away!” You whispered again. It only caused it to screech louder.

The thing opened and closed its jaws, biting the air around your feet. It was trying to bite you.

“No!” You tiptoed, trying to avoid it. The thing screeched so loud that it hurt your eardrums. It aimed at your ankles; its teeth were dead sharp, and it was drooling, and it was so much more disgusting from up close, and it smelled of rotten flesh, and it was going to bite your ankles, and– and–

“No!”

You stomped on it.

The thing exploded.

Its insides splashed around your right foot like it was nothing but a balloon filled with water, but instead of water it was purple rotten slime. You stood there, paralyzed, staring at your foot, the rat’s guts splashed on the floor – when suddenly, right before your eyes, its remains started to vaporize in black dust.

And then, in less than 5 seconds, there was only purple blood.

Or you thought that was blood.

That was all very fucking new.

“Ew!” A visceral disgusted groan erupted from your throat. You looked around again frantically (No one! Where the hell was that Misa-san girl?!), not knowing if you wished someone would see this or thankful that no one witnessed you murdering a… uh… rat? Rodent?

You were feeling its warm blood drip down your ankles and inside your socks, staining your white tennis shoe and the hem of your navy blue pants. That thing was real.

“Ew! Ew!” You whispered again. You hopped on one foot towards the paper towels on the wall, taking as many as you could and wiping the blood from your shoe the best way you could. I’m gonna get rabies, the thought crossed your mind, spiking your panic. I’m gonna get mutant rabies. I need to disinfect this. Disinfectant! Shit, I killed a wild animal or whatever that thing was– but I wasn’t expecting it to fucking implode like that! How did it get inside the hospital anyway?! Should I call animal control? How am I going to explain this–

“Excuse me?”

You yelped and turned around in a jump.

There was a boy.

He stood on the other side of the counter, eyeing you with a slight frown. His hair was a gracious mess of spiked black strands; he wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans. His eyelashes were ridiculously long (in a jealous tone), contrasting with his pale white skin.

Oh. Ooooh.

You eyed the identification sticker glued to the right side of his chest (remembering names is not a doctor’s forte).

“Oh. Hello, Fushiguro-kun. Good morning.” You swiftly threw the dirty tissues in the trash can under the counter, away from his eyesight. “How can I help you?”

Technically you shouldn’t help him because this was not your area and that Misa-san girl should be here already, but not only were you trying to not look so awkward and not let a visitor know you had just killed a wild animal inside the hospital – you had a soft spot for him. Everyone had, to be honest.

“Good morning, Mori-san.” You noticed how he didn’t look at your ID badge, he just remembered your name. Such a good kid. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that… I thought I heard something.”

Great.

“Really? Heard what?”

Fushiguro tightened his eyes again. Why did he look so suspicious?

“Something strange.”

Greeeat. The boy heard me stomp on a wild animal. Fantastic.

“Must’ve been outside, I guess. It’s really silent here.” Years of calming hysterical patients made you perfect the ability of offering a calm, unsuspecting smile. “Can I help you with anything else?”

Which was something stupid to ask twice, because there was nothing you could help him with… and you had tried before.

You first met Fushiguro back in April.

It was your shift when his older sister, Fushiguro Tsumiki, was admitted to the hospital.

She came unconscious in an ambulance with a shivering, panicked friend of hers, both wearing school uniforms. You didn’t remember the specifics, but they were out of school doing something they clearly shouldn’t when Tsumiki blacked out, in her friend’s words. Your first assumption was alcoholic coma, obviously, even though her friend denied it vehemently (what teenager wants to get caught drinking in school hours?). She also stated that Tsumiki hadn’t hit her head anywhere, which was true: there were no signs of concussion or any other injury anywhere in her body. No convulsion, drooling or bleeding. Her vital signs were perfectly fine. And yet, Tsumiki wouldn’t wake up.

Around an hour after she was admitted, Fushiguro arrived. You remember asking where their parents were, but he was so frenetic that you decided to explain the situation to him before they could come. You told Fushiguro about her health status. You explained that she was going through a tomography at that moment and she still had more exams to take, but despite the unconsciousness, she was stable.

Your shift ended. You went home. The sight of that lonely, scared teenager stuck with you – maybe because he reminded you of Mayu.

The next day, you discovered that Tsumiki had been transferred from the ER to the ICU. She was none of your business anymore. And yet, during your break, you decided to check her test results out of curiosity.

There were no signs of alcohol or drugs in her blood.

No concussion, aneurysm, tumor or stroke. Her brain was perfectly fine.

And yet – Tsumiki would not wake up.

You were always busy with patients. It was hard to keep track of each case, and after someone was transferred out of the ER, you usually didn’t have time to check on them. But that girl intrigued you (and pretty much the entire medical staff). She was not brain dead; instead, her brain was working on a low frequency, as if she was simply asleep.

An inexplicable coma?

The entire situation kept coming back to you, not just due to the sheer absurdity of it, but also because of the boy.

Fushiguro came to visit every day during the first month. Remi always talked about him. Other nurses talked about him, too, always in a heartbroken tone. You’d cross his path in the hospital sometimes, and when you did, you’d make sure to check on him.

Whenever you saw him, your heart tightened.

He did remind you too much of Mayu. It made you think of her in this state if you were hospitalized. It broke your heart even more after you learned they were orphans. The whole thing just hit too close to home.

It was one of these situations that made you wonder, if I had done something different when she arrived, would I have saved her?

These days, he visited the hospital once or twice a week, always alone – which made you genuinely worried for him, since he was orphaned. Who was taking care of that boy? You went as far as checking Tsumiki’s file again, only to note that they had a legal guardian (well, someone had to be paying for the medical expenses, right?). Remi explained that said legal guardian did visit her sometimes as well (and she didn’t forget to mention how hot he was, apparently), you just happened to never be there when he was.

Tsumiki was currently in a room down the hallway. The visiting hours started at 8 o’clock, and there he was, always punctual.

And still eyeing you with suspicion.

Boy, I like you, but you’re starting to piss me off right now.

“...No, thank you,” he finally said, stepping away slowly. “I guess it was nothing.” Fushiguro offered you a polite bow. “Excuse me. Have a good job.”

You watched him walk out of the inpatients unit through the door.

Only then did you breathe again.

Three minutes to the end of your break.

Shit. You were going to get late. Where the fuck was Misa-san?! In fact, where was everybody in this goddamn ward?! You rushed to grab the phone and dialed the infirmary extension, ready to yell at someone, taping your fingertips over the desk impatiently. You’d have to explain yourself about the mutant rodent later – and you wouldn’t bother to clean that blood, not after Misa-san pissed you off by being late. Is no one going to pick it up?!

Two minutes to the end of your break.

The soft ring of an electronic bell.

Great. Fantastic.

You eyed the panel of alarms over the desk angrily. I don’t even know who Misa-san is, but I already hate her.

But then – you froze.

The alarm light was glowing in red. Emergency.

Over each alarm, there were stickers with the names of the patients occupying the rooms.

Room 39.

Fushiguro Tsumiki.

Your stomach dropped.

You put the phone down and ran down the hallway.

Is this really happening? Is it a mistake? What if the alarm is broken–? It didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter that you were going to get late and that this wasn’t your job. That was Tsumiki, and her brother had just left the room barely a minute ago. What if a miracle had just happened?! You’d still have time to run after him to tell him the news!

Room 39 was at the end of the corridor. Without a second thought, you barged in.

You were greeted by darkness.

The curtains were closed. Barely any light from outside reached the room. You tattered the wall, searching for the switch. It didn’t turn the lights on.

But you could still see the outline of her body.

Laying on the hospital bed. The covers up to her chest. Sleeping peacefully.

And for a second, you thought it really was just a mistake; the alarm went off on its own for some reason.

Until you saw someone holding the button.

It was dark; you couldn’t really see. But your body felt it. Your senses. You felt it, with something primitive and instinctive inside of you, felt it with your soul.

There was something terribly, terribly, terribly wrong happening.

And it was like the world outside of that small hospital room didn’t exist anymore. You couldn’t hear anything behind that door; only the darkness that surrounded you, and the cold – it was freezing cold – creeping up your legs and arms like frost. Your lungs failed. Adrenaline pumped in your veins. You didn’t want to turn your back to that thing, because your instincts knew that was a bad idea. And yet, you knew you had to run.

You turned the doorknob in a swift motion.

But it was already too late.

You had time to feel an icy cold hand grip around your wrist.

Then – darkness.

Megumi felt himself fill with anger as he waited for The Idiot.

He tapped his foot nervously, bit his fingernails even more nervously. He’d been trying to stop with this habit, but these days it felt nearly impossible. Not after everything that had been happening.

And certainly not after what happened an hour ago.

Which is what made him angrier. At himself.

Because he didn’t feel that presence until it was too late.

Megumi was inside the elevator, making his way to the ground floor of the hospital, when he felt that. The undeniable, chilling cursed energy – so strong that he could feel it from the other side of the building; it appeared suddenly, made the hairs in the nape of his neck rise, made his eyes widen and his heartbeat spike. Made him press the floor button angrily as if it’d make the elevator change directions out of nowhere.

Then came the explosion.

It shook the entire hospital. It cut the energy. It made him get stuck alone in the elevator for solid three minutes. It took him another three to run upstairs.

But it was already too late.

The cursed energy had disappeared, but not the immense hole on the wall that it – whatever it was – created in broad daylight.

Inside his sister’s room.

Panic filled the entire complex building. He heard people yelling, running, nurses rushing to get patients out of the ward, the distant sound of sirens. There was no fire, however – what created that hole on the wall wasn’t normal. All of that was a blur inside Megumi’s mind.

A hole. Cursed energy. Something inside Tsumiki’s room, minutes after he left.

She was unharmed. Some debris hit her cheek, but other than a small bruise, she was “fine”. That didn’t calm him.

What just happened? Why it happened? Why her?

The hospital was packed with police, firefighters and reporters now. As expected, lawyers already tried to talk to him (desperate for him not to sue them), but it was no use talking to a minor. They wanted his legal guardian.

The Idiot.

If he even felt like coming, that was.

There’s no way he’s not coming, Megumi tried to calm himself. This isn’t just because of Tsumiki. Something strange happened here. He needs to check.

Though – maybe there was a tiny part of him wishing he wouldn’t come…

Well. That was too late.

The familiar black sedan peeked around the corner.

And there he was.

The Idiot walked out of the car with his usual nonchalant posture, holding an opened chocolate Pocky pack. Megumi half expected him to immediately hit him with a joke, or scolding passed as a joke, or downplay the situation–

But The Idiot looked in the direction of the East ward and hummed.

Megumi couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew the man was frowning.

Great. So he knows I’m not overreacting.

“Scandalous, heh?” The Idiot mumbled as he stepped closer. “Too many people here. I don’t like it.”

Ijichi walked out of the car as well, looking nervous as usual. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose while typing something on his phone. “Should I notify the school?”

“Yep.” The Idiot put a Pocky in his mouth.

He walked towards the reception, not waiting for anyone. Megumi saw Ijichi about to say something else – probably that The Idiot shouldn’t get involved before Jujutsu High took responsibility over the case –, but he kind of had permission to do whatever he wanted, so Ijichi stopped himself and pressed the phone on his ear with a sigh of defeat.

Megumi followed him inside the hospital shortly.

“What do you think it was?”

The Idiot shrugged. “Dunno. Gotta take a closer look.” Normal people weren’t allowed to walk in, but he simply ignored it. “Is Tsumiki okay?”

“Yes. She was taken to another room.”

He nodded while chewing. Megumi wanted to believe that The Idiot felt relieved upon hearing that, even though he had already said Tsumiki’s condition through the phone… but it was hard to tell.

“So, let me rewind it…” Megumi rushed to follow him into the elevator. “You were right here… and didn’t feel anything wrong?”

Megumi felt his ears get warm. He hated being reprimanded by The Idiot, and he hated failing, and he hated that it would give The Idiot material to tease him about it. The elevator doors closed.

“I did feel something strange… but…”

“You thought it was nothing?” The Idiot crossed his arms and pouted. “You let your critical thinking overrun your gut? C’mon, Megumi. I’m disappointed.”

“You can’t judge me. This hospital is infested with Grade 4 curses. You know it.”

“Oh, but I can judge you.” The Idiot pointed at him with a Pocky. Despite his words, his tone wasn’t harsh – it was carefree as usual, and perhaps that pissed Megumi even more. “You told me you were taking care of the weakling curses. You said everything was under control, isn’t it? Boooo.” He flicked Megumi’s forehead, which made him inflate with even more anger. The Idiot pouted like a child and stepped away from him, pressing the pack of Pockys over his chest protectively. “Don’t look at me like that. I ain’t giving you any.”

“I don’t want your stupid–”

Ding. The elevator doors opened. The Idiot walked out before Megumi could finish the sentence.

As expected, the hallway was packed with policemen and firefighters. The door leading to the inpatients unit was protected by Keep Out yellow tapes, but The Idiot simply lifted it over his head and walked in.

A guard from the hospital immediately intercepted him. “Sir, this area is forbidden…”

And maybe the fact that he was two heads shorter than The Idiot made his confidence deflate, or the off-putting blindfold, or the simple fact that The Idiot had this strange way of acting like he owned anywhere he walked into and it always made people question themselves. Megumi had seen this same reaction countless times before. The guard cleared his throat and made an effort to broaden his shoulders.

“Sir, you may not enter the area unless authorized. I must ask who you are.”

“Oh. Right.” The Idiot had the decency to shove the Pockys inside the pocket of his jacket, at least. His tone was a mix of nonchalance and passive aggressiveness as usual. “You were looking for this little guy’s legal guardian. Here I am. The legal guardian.” He patted Megumi on the shoulder rather aggressively. “His legal guardian and of the girl who almost blew up inside your hospital, you know.”

The guard went pale.

A middle-aged man wearing a suit nearby observed the conversation and rushed nearer. Megumi recognized him – one of the hospital’s lawyers. He pressed his hands together and smiled nervously.

“Eh, you must be Gojo-san, isn’t it? It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’ve been waiting for your arrival–”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The Idiot kept walking.

Megumi followed. The nervous lawyer followed, too.

The nearer they got to the room at the end of the corridor, the more people gathered. The Idiot towered over all of them, making his way unhurriedly while the lawyer babbled. As he stood in front of Room 39’s open doors, a policeman tried to stop him, but the lawyer hushed:

“This man can end our hospital’s reputation. Please, let him take a look.”

The policeman let him step inside. Megumi followed.

The Idiot whistled.

“What a mess.”

Megumi’s stomach dropped. The wall that faced outside was destroyed; the steel beams were retorted, the concrete cracked even on the ceiling. A hole with a diameter of at least three meters.They still had to verify if the structure of that part of the building had the risk of completely crumbling, though Megumi doubted it. Now, the view to the hospital’s back gardens and the street just ahead was totally visible.

To know that Tsumiki laid right there when whatever or whoever caused this much destruction was… to know that the debris could’ve caused her much more harm… Tsumiki, asleep, defenseless…

The man beside him hummed and held his chin. In moments like this, Megumi wished he could see through his eyes.

“Sloppy work. There’s residue all over the place.”

“So… you don’t think this is the work of a curse?”

“Nope.”

Megumi’s worst suspicions.

Curse users.

Whoever was behind this was intelligent. Had intent. So maybe… maybe Tsumiki’s condition had intent behind it, too…

“I just don’t get why Tsumiki was unharmed.” The Idiot said. “Why draw this much attention if you’re going to leave her behind?”

Megumi had been asking himself this the entire time. It didn’t make any sense.

He sighed and crossed his arms. “Well. I guess keeping her here isn’t safe anymore. Though I don’t think Shoko will be okay with moving her to the school…”

Megumi knew that. Jujutsu High didn’t have the necessary staff or equipment to accommodate a patient in coma; that’s why Tsumiki was in this hospital in the first place. They already knew that her problem couldn’t be solved by normal doctors. She just needed a place to be properly taken care of until they found a solution.

“C’mon. Where is Tsumiki now? Gonna take a look at her.” The Idiot turned around. Megumi frowned and followed.

“What about the cursed energy residue?”

“Just the usual. We gotta track it.” The Idiot shrugged and walked down the hallway back to where they came from. The middle-aged lawyer approached again, babbling about how he was so eager to sit down with him and settle the situation extrajudicially (Megumi wanted to punch him on the face. His sister could’ve died and all he cared about was not getting sued?!). Said lawyer got pale when The Idiot absently handed him a simple black business card and told him to talk to his lawyers (plural), as he had no time in his schedule.

They waited for the elevator. The Idiot started chewing his Pockys again, humming a tune and tapping his foot to the rhythm.

Megumi hated that.

How he couldn’t even pretend to be worried for Tsumiki.

That was when another voice caught his attention.

“You’re not listening to me, sir.”

“I am listening, ma’am.”

“Then why are none of you taking action?! I spent the last hour explaining the same thing!”

“And I have already explained how the protocol works–”

“I am telling you that my friend was taken!”

Ding. The elevator doors opened.

Megumi walked to the other end of the corridor instead. The Idiot tilted his head to the side, calling his name, but he ignored it.

That was Yoshida Remi. The blonde nurse responsible over this floor’s inpatients unit. Megumi already knew her well at this point. He noticed how her forehead had a small bruise, and there were band-aids over her forearms; she was hurt by the explosion? Her hair was disheveled, her face pale, and her expression a mix of concern and frustration. An unwilling policeman stood in front of her, looking like he just wanted to get rid of the situation.

“In fact, Yoshida-san, you have failed to explain exactly what happened.”

She gripped her own hair and groaned. “I… I already told you! She was taken!”

“By who?”

“I…”

The policeman sighed and made an appeasing gesture with his palms turned to her. “I understand you must be in shock, ma’am, after witnessing an explosion. I believe it’s best for you to calm down first and organize your thoughts.”

“My thoughts are organized! My colleague works here and she’s nowhere to be found!”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“I already said– I told you that I got her phone!” The nurse almost scrubbed a phone on the policeman’s face, shaking it angrily in his direction. “How could I call her?!”

“Excuse me, officer.”

Megumi turned his head to see The Idiot approaching as well.

He touched the policeman’s shoulder and opened a small smile. “I’ll take it from here.”

Anyone normal would question the guy with the blindfold, but the officer was visibly so tired of that situation that he decided to simply nod and escape.

The nurse was taken aback. “Fushiguro-kun? You’re still here?” He saw a load of guilt cross her face. “I am so sorry for what happened to your sister. You have checked on her already, right? Fortunately, she was unscathed…”

“Yes. Yes, I saw her.” Megumi nodded.

The Idiot stepped closer. “What were you talking about? Your colleague was taken?”

Yoshida Remi’s eyes traveled to The Idiot – and at the same rate she was visibly confused by the blindfold, she also blushed. Megumi tried not to roll his eyes. “Gojo-san? I-I didn’t know you were an officer.”

“Yeah.” The Idiot smiled, not bothering to deny it. “So? Can you explain to me exactly what you saw?”

She dropped her eyes and frowned; the nurse was so, so, so visibly confused. “I-I… I’m not really sure of what I saw. But I saw. I heard a noise coming from Fushiguro-san’s room, so I went there to check it, and…” She scratched her head nervously. “I saw someone, or something, grab my friend and take her away. Then the explosion came and I’m even less sure of what happened, but…” She looked up again with frantic, widened eyes. “But she disappeared! I looked for her everywhere! Look, her phone was left behind, and I found her badge on the floor, too…”

Megumi’s eyes widened.

“It was Mori-san?”

She nodded. “Yes! You remember her, don’t you?!”

Of course Megumi remembered her. He saw her just minutes before the explosion happened… and she looked suspicious…

Surprisingly, The Idiot took the ID badge from the nurse’s hand and looked down at it.

His smile had vanished.

So had his nonchalant posture.

“Megumi.” The black haired boy frowned at his tone – lower? More serious? “Let’s go.”

He also took the phone from the nurse’s hand and turned around without explaining anything.

“What? Are you making a police report?”

The Idiot threw her a thumbs up without looking back. “Yep! No worries!”

Megumi bowed at the confused blonde nurse politely before running after him. “Where are we going?!”

“We’re going to solve a kidnapping, silly. Ain’t it obvious?” He flicked Megumi’s temple again to his utmost anger. Luckily, the elevator’s doors were already opened, so both rushed in. The black sedan and Ijichi were waiting in the same spot.

“Good news, though.” The Idiot said while chewing more Pocky. “I don’t think this had anything to do with Tsumiki at all.”

“What…?”

The Idiot, as usual, did not elaborate.

Surprisingly, he sat on the passenger’s seat instead of the backseats, which for some reason made Ijichi sweat. While Megumi adjusted his seatbelt, Ijichi asked nervously:

“Where to next, Gojo-san?”

The Idiot hummed.

With his thumb, he pushed the black blindfold up to his forehead, exposing his right eye. His cyan iris seemed to glow faintly.

“...Hmm… Sanya, I guess.” He put the blindfold back in place and excitedly reached for the radio, immediately turning it up to an obnoxious volume. “I’m not picking any of your boring songs, Ijichi!”

The driver shivered.

One day, Megumi would land a much deserving punch on his face.

It was freezing.

All of your senses were slow as consciousness awakened again. No hearing, no seeing, no smelling or tasting. But you could feel that it was cold.

The second thing you could feel was your teeth chattering.

The third, a discomfort on the entire left side of your body: you were laying on a hard floor. Your neck hurt from the way your head hung.

The fourth was the fact that you couldn’t move.

You could feel your limbs, but there was no strength to them, as if the cable that connected your brain to your limbs was ripped off. Your body was useless.

That’s when panic started to settle in.

What the fuck was going on?!

Finally, you could see again.

The place was dimly lit by… candles? That was it, probably, judging by the way shadows flickered on the walls. Each breath of yours produced small clouds of steam. It was a relatively large room; the concrete floor under your body was wet. The place smelled like a butcher shop. Were you inside a meat locker? That should be it, judging by how stupidly cold it was. With your peripheral vision, you could see that there was a plastic curtain somewhere in the corner.

Your teeth chattered, but that was an involuntary motion. You could move your eyeballs and that was it. The rest of your body – numb.

A million thoughts per minute rushed in your head. A spinal fracture? Had you completely lost movement?

You were laying in fetal position: leg to leg, arm to arm. You tried your best to look down…

You were… mummified?

That was the only description. There was… paper wrapped around your body. Yellowed paper, old looking, with inscriptions that you couldn’t really recognize. From what you could see, only your head was free from it.

Panic really really really settled in.

Oh my fucking God. What is happening?! Where am I?! What happened– wait, try to remember. Try to remember. I was working. I was in the hospital. I stepped on a weird looking rat. My break was close to ending. I rushed to a room because the alarm was on and– and– what happened after that?! What–?

You heard steps.

It made your heartbeat spike up.

Shit. Shit. Oh my God. Oh my God. I was kidnapped.

It was more than one pair of feet – two or three people? You couldn’t be sure, as you couldn’t fucking move your head to see it, but the noise clearly came from over that plastic curtain. Low male voices. It made violent shivers run your entire body.

Fear. Fear. Fear. You were frightened. A type of fear you’d never experienced before. It was visceral, colder than the temperature, scarier than any weird creature you’d seen before. You were in an actually dangerous situation and you couldn’t even form a coherent thought.

I’m being trafficked I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m–

The second little person living inside your head slaps the first little person on the face. Shut up!! Focus! Try to think of a way out!!

A window–?! You couldn’t turn your head to see if there was one. If this really was a meat locker, there shouldn’t be any. A familiar sound?! Cars outside–?! Nothing. The only things you could hear were the low voices of the unknown men nearby and a constant quiet buzz. A board?! A flyer?! Anything that might tell you where you are–?! Nothing to see on your field of view.

The first little person living inside your head starts freaking out again. I don’t know where I am I don’t know how long I’ve been knocked out I might be paraplegic I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die—

You’re not being useful!, the second little person yells, making the first little person recoil and shiver. You’ve watched these true crime documentaries! The probability of living if you don’t take action now are less than 10%! Do something now that we have a chance!

Right right right. They still hadn’t noticed that you were awake; you could only hope there was no one watching you from behind where you couldn’t see. You’d have to take advantage of this before anyone crossed the curtains.

You could feel your limbs and the pain and the discomfort, so a spinal fracture was less likely. Maybe they had anesthetized you and the effects were beginning to dissipate? What sort of anesthetic was that, by the way, to render anyone in this state? Gosh— if it really was general anesthesia, you were lucky to be alive to begin with.

Try to move. It felt silly to try to mechanically do something a body does on the automatic. You focused your senses on your left feet; the strange blood of the mutant rat had dried in your sock, becoming some sort of crust you could feel very well. You could feel that the shoelace was less tight than on the right foot. Try to move. Try to move. A spasm. A wiggle. Anything. Anything.

But nothing moved.

No matter how hard you tried.

Your breath became irregular and difficult as real, real, real panic spread through your system.

I am going to die.

Both little people inside your head were screaming now.

I can’t move. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who these people are. I don’t know what they’re gonna do. I don’t have a way out. I don’t have an escape plan. I can’t contact anyone. I am going to die I am going to die I am going to die I am going to die I am going to die I am going to—

Mayu.

The two little people shut up abruptly.

Mayu.

Fourteen year old Mayu, waiting for you to come home. Acting nonchalant at first but then getting really worried when you don’t pick up or text back. Mayu, going back to Aunt Junko’s house, not knowing what to do. Mayu, Mayu-chan, Mayuka, lonely and frightened the way you saw Fushiguro Megumi the evening that his older sister was brought in.

Mayu.

You couldn’t allow anyone to kill you.

You couldn’t just leave her behind.

Another feeling grew inside of you, spread like fire on hay; made the two little people run and hide. Overwhelmed the fear quickly.

Anger.

Who the fuck these men thought they were to kidnap you?! What right did they have?!

Anger mixed with frustration pumped even more adrenaline through your bloodstream; tears welled up your eyes, tightened your throat. I can’t be dragged around like a garbage bag! I can’t allow it! I have to do something!

USELESS BODY!! DO!! SOMETHING!!

It started like a point of heat — right in your heart.

You didn’t know what that was. For a brief second, you thought it was cardiac arrest — that’s probably what it’d feel like. It was hot, piping hot, made your blood boil, your vision blur in white; it spread through your skin, from your toes to your scalp. It was heat, it was energy, it was anger—

It was fire.

It was black. The flames — they were black; they enveloped your body, and it took a second to understand that this was not your imagination; you were in flames. You’d have screamed if you could. It took you another second, however, to realize that these flames weren’t burning you… not exactly.

They set the papers that wrapped your body on fire.

You watched in utter disbelief as the inscriptions on the papers seemed to glow for a moment before burning down to ashes.

All of that happened in less than ten seconds.

The black fire extinguished as if it’d never been there in the first place.

The strange yellowed paper that once enveloped your body — gone.

And all of sudden — you could move.

The cable was reconnected.

You got up in a jump; your limbs ached and you felt dizzy, but somehow managed to keep your balance. Your heart pounded in your chest, you gasped for air as if you’d been underwater, your fingers were shaking, you felt a terrible headache— and on top of that, you were tired as if you’d ran a marathon.

None of that mattered. You could move. You could run.

You didn’t even have time to look around, however — because the curtains were opened.

There were three men.

They were all relatively tall. The one in the middle had long black hair, an ugly goatee and tattoos on his forearms. Their clothes were pretty unimpressive. They… didn’t look threatening, not exactly — the one in the middle looked like someone you’d have beaten up in middle school — but there was something in your gut yelling at you to be careful, that they represented danger you could not deal with. Not just because of the obvious fact that they were your kidnappers. Not even because the guy on the left had a fucking katana strapped to his hip.

It was that chilly, strange feeling that usually meant there was a creature nearby.

You’d never felt this for a person before.

The goatee guy hummed and measured you up and down.

“She broke the seals. You shoulda made sure these seals would work, huh, Hideki?” His voice was raspy. Was he talking like a stereotypical Yakuza member on purpose? Did he think he sounded cool doing that?

“Ain’t my fault. The seals were pretty tight.” The guy on the left replied. Why was he also talking like that?! He opened a smirk, exposing a set of the yellowest teeth you’d ever seen. “This only means she really is the one, right?”

“Uh-huh.” The goatee guy smirked too and caressed said goatee. “Just like they told us, aye?”

“This one’s gonna make us a ton of money.” The one on the right said with a stupidly high pitched voice.

“Who are you? Where am I?” You felt stupid — why would they answer? Why even ask in the first place? In fact — seals?! What were they talking about?!

“Knock her out again. And make better seals this time.” Goatee guy ignored you completely. The guy on the left stepped closer, which spiked your panic once again.

You could move now, but what difference did that make against three people? You were weak, standing pathetically, shaking from head to toe.

“No! No!” You yelled when he gripped your wrist and pulled you without any effort.

“No one’s gonna hear you. It’s useless.”

“Fuck you!”

You punched his face.

It was a sloppy, weak punch with your non-dominant hand — not enough to make him release you, but enough to make him angry.

He gripped your hair with his free hand and pulled aggressively; it felt like he was going to rip the strands off the scalp, making you scream again — in pain this time.

“Fucking bitch—“

And then you were on the ground.

And he was on the ground, too. And goatee guy. And the baby voice guy.

And everyone was on the ground, because the roof had exploded.

You didn’t have time to look up or scream or even properly register what the fuck had happened before you were shocked against the wet floor. It sounded like a bomb had dropped over your head, and concrete and steel cracked like paper, and the sound was deafening and disorienting and it felt like oxygen was sucked off your lungs, and just like that — in seconds — half of the roof and the wall were gone, and it was all white because— because— the sun is still up! The sun was up and your eyes weren’t used to the brightness, and there was dust in your mouth which made you cough, and your head hurt and you didn’t know what was happening— what—

What—

There was a guy.

And he was floating.

Your brain was overloaded with information. You had stepped on a mutant rat. You had been kidnapped. You spontaneously combusted in black flames. The place where you were exploded. And now—

There was a guy floating meters above you, from the immense hole caused by the explosion. Like, an actual person. Floating.

Your ears were buzzing, your eyes were still adjusting to the sudden sunlight; for some moments, all you could see was a silhouette. And for a second, one of the little people in your head breathed out in awe and disbelief: Jesus?

It wasn’t Jesus.

Jesus didn’t have white hair, as far as you knew.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, confused and disoriented, the extremely high pitched buzz still ringing in your ears; it felt that your head was underwater. Sounds were muffled. You didn’t really see the moment he — Albino Jesus? — got down, but all of sudden he was hovering over you — his torso leaning down to look at you closely, his feet on each side of you.

“Looking” was a bit of a stretch.

He was… blindfolded?

And grinning.

“Happy to see me?” His deep, lighthearted (?), excited voice reached your ears through the buzz. You couldn’t help but note how his teeth were so perfectly white, the complete opposite of katana guy.

“What—?” You managed to mumble somehow, still feeling the horrid taste of dust in your tongue.

“Nah, no need to get emotional. We ain’t got time for this.”

He offered his open hand in your direction, and for a moment you thought he was helping you to your feet… but you heard a strange zzuup, an inescapable attraction, and then suddenly you were off the ground without doing any effort – towards his palm. Your back was glued to it as if he was a magnet and you, a coin. You saw yourself weightless, floating beside his body.

You felt like a potato sack if potato sacks didn’t have weight.

No. A potato sack is too nice. He was carrying you like a dog.

Your stomach twirled.

You wanted to take a better look at his face (what was visible of it), but the three guys were up to their feet again and you went cold. What was worse: the three kidnappers, or floating Jesus?

However, their reactions took you completely off guard.

They took protective stances. Their expressions weren’t mocking or relaxed anymore… they were… scared?

Frightened, in fact.

“Oooh?” Floating Jesus hummed in that same excited tone again. His voice seemed to be naturally loud. “You want this nurse so bad that you’re willing to fight me for her?”

What?! I’m not a—

“This is fucked up, man,” baby voice guy stuttered. “It wasn’t on the contract that we’d have to face Gojo Satoru.”

Floating Jesus pointed his finger at baby voice guy.

“So you’re not willing to fight. At least someone’s honest!”

Your brain didn’t properly register what happened next, partly because it couldn’t believe it.

Space around baby voice guy’s body twisted; it was like looking at someone’s warped reflex on rippled water. But that wasn’t simply a warped reflex or an illusion. He yelled in pain, a yell that came from his guts — and you watched in real time as his arms and legs warped with the twisted space around him, heard the nauseating noise of his bones crushing in different angles, saw the blood splashing from his wounds and his body falling flat on the floor.

Your jaw dropped.

There was no time to let that image sink in. The other two guys ran in different directions – trying to flee.

Floating Jesus giggled.

Your stomach dropped with your jaw when he moved, dragging your weightless body along; fast fast fast, he moved too fast for your eyes to follow, making everything look like an incomprehensible blur. In the blink of an eye, he was floating again above countless roofs; it looked like a residential neighborhood — and you looked down, and you were too high, way too high, and he wasn’t even really holding you, your back was just glued to his palm and what if he dropped you— what if—

You screamed.

“Don’t shout in my ear, woman.” He whined.

“We’re gonna fall! We’re gonna—”

He had moved again.

You were closer to the street this time and at that point you wondered if your brain was lagging, because how the hell could you be in a spot in a second and in another spot a second later?! You found what he was looking for — katana guy, running down the street at a speed that didn’t even look human. And yet, it was still not match for Floating Jesus.

He stopped in front of katana guy.

“Boo.”

That thing happened again – warped space, warped limbs, screams and broken bones and blood. You wanted to vomit. And he did it again, and suddenly you were in another street, and there was a car? A black car? And a nervous looking guy in a suit standing near the car, and you didn’t know what the fuck was happening, and—

“Megumiii, the last one’s yours!” He said in a sing-song voice. “Don’t let him escape!”

And maybe you heard a familiar male voice saying “understood” before the sound of fast steps echoing down the street.

And then finally, your feet touched the ground again.

Your body had weight. It was heavy, it was tired. Your head hurt, your stomach was still doing twirls, you were dizzy and confused and something inside your brain felt about to explode—

“Case solved! We got the nurse back!” He said in an obnoxiously happy tone— and maybe if you hadn’t noticed with the corner of your eye that he was about to touch your arm, you wouldn’t have done it.

But you did it anyway.

You slapped him.

It was instinctive. Your palm found its way to his cheek with speed and strength that could only be fueled by panic. The slap echoed on the street, turned his head to the side abruptly, made his cheek burn in bright red.

The suit guy gasped audibly.

Even Floating Jesus seemed shocked. Not that you could tell for sure because of the blindfold, but his jaw was dropped.

Yeah, your brain was definitely lagging. You could’ve said a hundred things. A hundred questions. You could’ve tried to run away. You could’ve tried screaming for help.

And yet, the only thing you said – pointing at him angrily as if he had called your mom a bitch — was:

“I am not a nurse!”

That was around a second before your brain completely shut off.

You had time to see the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

And then—

Darkness.

A/N: AND OUR STORY BEGINS!!! GOSH!! So much stuff happens this chapter. But I wanted to start this story with adrenaline!! Next chapter we'll have time to sit down and talk (hopefully) ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ If you read it this far, please don't forget to leave a comment or interact somehow! Feedback always motivates me to keep writing. Let me know if you guys are excited about the story too! 💞 Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! See you <3

[darkbluekies]

My dearest Edmund,

I write this letter with an aching heart today, knowing what is to come. However, I understand and submit to the fact that your will matters above that of all others, including your consort, and thus it is your right to do what you wish, including taking lovers. Yet, on that day when I had fallen ill, I noticed just how passionate your romance with yourself was, much more passionate than the love between you and I. As your devoted wife, I much desire your happiness over my own, and so, I am humbly requesting a divorce so I will no longer be in the way of your true love, you. I beg of you not to protest this; I know you more than anyone, and can see in your eyes that you are much happier with you. Thank you for all the joy and love you have given me during our time together. If I am put in the dungeon or otherwise disciplined for this heartfelt letter, I will know you agree that we must part.

Your obedient servant, Y/N

"My dear, wonderful queen,

What the actual fuck.

What a silly girl you are. Truly.

At no point in time have I ever dreamt of having a lover while being married to you. You think you don't please me? On every level, physical and beyond, you are the only thing I crave. You know very well what I think of the ladies in court. Truly, they disgust me. They're ugly, bad-mouthed, and incompetent. I'd rather talk with the wind for a day straight than a minute with them because then I'd at least get some sensible answers. Don't you dare disgrace yourself as a mere servant. Would I marry a servant? Do I look like a fool to you?

What happened at the court was regrettable, I agree, but it gives you no right to hold it against me. You have to understand that I have a duty to fulfill, and that duty includes you. Your behavior reflects my capability to rule. I got you all the best care afterwards. I stayed with you day and night to watch over you. My secretary had to fill in for me but I was behind either way. Would I have stayed by your side like a pathetic dog if I put myself before you?

I love you with every fiber of my being. The ball I hosted was all for you. To hunt you down and finally have you. I killed hundreds of allies and friends to the royal house to prove my absolute devotion for you. Don't you dare say I would be happier without you. Because I wouldn't. You are the only one that makes me feel human. And I cant lose any of that. Not my humanity. Not you.

So, my answer to you is short and precise: no. You do not have the right to divorce me. You do not have the right to leave me. You belong to me, soul and body. You said so yourself in your wedding vows. "In life and death". Are you going to cheat your way out of it?

But I will not put you in the dungeon for this. Or the tower. When I get home, we are going to talk. And if these are the kind of thoughts you get when I am away from home, then I will simply have to take you with me. Because this cannot be how you'll act every time we're apart.

Stay put, I will be home soon

— Your devoted husband"

[micahulrichdraws]

I come in peace! I don’t wanna try to convince you to take commissions! But I am curious about why you’re so strongly against them, did you have a bad experience working on one? Anyway, love your stuff, your tarot designs go so hard

Thanks for the love!! The reason isn't a bad experience or some such, it's 19 years of being a professional artist and knowing the field!

TLDR: I'm a traditional pen and ink illustrator, so it's not financially viable or creatively fulfilling.

I'm always down to talk art business, so here's a brief breakdown wall of text:

On the financial side, commission designs are almost always done at a net loss/break even for the artist, and I'm no exception. They're alright for starting out, or if you're looking to incorporate them into your marketing (IE: doing a poster design for a band to gain exposure), but typically they're roughly half the cash-per-hour for any established artist VS making an original design, and creating a print run of it.

Example: while tons of folks would look at someone charging $1k USD for a commission and think that it would be crazy cash, once you break down the math, it's pretty bad. An average design for me takes on average 30-40 hours, and that's because I don't have to communicate with anyone else. I'm just drawin' my idea. Assuming this is a dream client who has the mind-meld with me, wire transfers the $1k straight into my bank account the second it's done, that's roughly $25/hr. Once again - this looks *great*, that's around $50k/yr from drawing custom stuff! But that's not how it works. First of all, most folks would lose their *minds* at paying $1k for a commission - over the years I graphed it out, and back when I was a less-established artist, most folks would start with a budget of $100, have their limits pushed at $300, and outright refuse $500. You have to sift through all of those folks in order to get that reasonable commission. That includes folks who aren't willing to commit to a commission, don't want to say no to the price, but will still take up your time. Roughly, for me at least, 10 hours a week of it. You'll also have to run collections on roughly 20% of your customers - they may pay the deposit, but you'll have to chase them for the final payment. Even if you take the payment *in advance* you'll end up having to chase them down/get ghosted. So, realistically: you end up taking the $500, for *at least* 50 hours of work. On average, it clocked in closer to 65-70. $7.14 an hour. That's less than a third living wage and less than minimum wage. You cannot grow an art practice while actively starving. It's easier to make a design, sell it/license it/etc. to make more cash without losing your mind.

That said - After 2020, I reached a point in my career that when I take on custom work, it's typically from a larger brand with a larger scope and larger budget, ranging anywhere from $5k-$30k. That said - these businesses are typically ones that understand the industry and are far less of a headache to work with than individuals, and will give several months worth of work at a time at a living wage.

On the creative side, I enjoy making my own designs and work as opposed to other folks. I have a ton of drawings and projects I'd rather work on and share with folks of my own that are infinitely more fun than the 200th identical commission request (a biblically accurate angel that also is the grim reaper that is also Baldur's Gate 3 thirstraps/Dark Souls fan art/primarchs because Y'ALL AIN'T CREATIVE BUT MY ASTARION X SANGUINIUS SHIP CAME FIRST.) Also, most of the fun of my career is knowing as many folks as possible get to enjoy my art junk. I'd rather go through a few extra hoops and have thousands of folks see my stuff vs something only one other person gets to see.

If you made it this far, congrats, here is my favorite image I have saved in my camera roll:

[ooooo-mcyt]

no wait ur right. wait can u elaborate on desert duo + box boys + divorce quarter queer-codednees PLEASE ur right but i cannot put it into words

For me it's a matter of nonconformity.

The root of the queer coding in Double Life to me lays in the Double Life societal expectations. Soulmate relationships were held above all other relationships and there was an immense pressuring expectation to both be interesting in/prioritize the soulmate bond and to be with the "right" person, the person who you are assigned to and who it is "correct" to be with, who you are supposed to want to be with. To me this reads as a very strong standin for both amatonormativity and heteronormativity.

Scott and Cleo have always been the ones who immediately struck me as being very obviously queercoded with how they presented their narrative. Choosing each other and the joy they find together despite the expectations on them, and talking at length about how invaluable it is to find your own path and choose the kind of love that's true for you even if people think it's wrong and even if it's hard. It's also no surprise to me that the characters with the most explicit queer themes happen to be played by cc's who are both queer irl. It's also worth nothing how much the reaction of other players to their relationship adds to these themes- confusion, discomfort, even judgment. BigB tries to console Scott that there's still time to connect with his real soulmate. Jimmy repeatedly calls their relationship 'fake' to their faces. Nobody quite seems to understand.

The themes are less spelled out with Ren+Martyn and Grian+BigB, but they're still there. Ren and Martyn are both outwardly fixated with the people they're 'supposed' to be with, but at times it feels almost forced, like their minds are more on doing what is expected of them than on the actual people who are their soulmates, meanwhile they're frequently drawn toward each other in the background, because love doesn't care about the bounds of strict societal expectations. BigB and Grian have a very open struggle between what's expected of them and what they really want, because they want each other, regardless of what they're expected to want, and they're constantly torn between these two factors, trying to be together in secret because they don't feel like their relationship can be accepted publicly.

Scar is slightly different from the others in that he doesn't seem to want a relationship at all, which in of itself is a form of nonconformity. He's 'supposed' to want his soulmate, but instead Scar seems focused on himself, on his own projects, and on his connection with animals. This lack of concern with what is supposed to be the most important and special relationship is framed, by most people, as ridiculous, a failing on Scar's part, because of course anyone would care more about finding their soulmate than about the things Scar is focused on. Scar's desires conflict very strongly with the societal expectation for relationships in Double Life, and he struggles with the outside pressure to prioritize a relationship he never really wanted, just because he's expected to want his soulmate.

I'd say Pearl is the one I don't read queer themes as explicitly from. I always got the feeling she did want her soulmate, and that she did value soulmate relationships strongly, her isolation coming from circumstance rather than Pearl having fundamentally divergent desires. That being said! Pearl is also very very negatively impacted by societal standards of Double Life! I've said it many times, but Pearl wasn't isolated because Scott rejected her, Pearl was isolated because it was impossible to form a real support system in Double Life. Because the soulmate relationship was seen as so deeply important and was centered in everything, Pearl could never feel like she belonged anywhere, always an outsider looking in when she tried to form friendships with soulmate pairs. Pearl was also frequently either pitied or viewed as if there was something wrong with her for not having a soulmate, which reinforced how lonely, bitter, and hurt she was. Pearl doesn't have queer themes to me, but I view her as the symbolic standin for how amatonormativity and heteronormativity can be extremely damaging even for people who aren't queer through shaming and pitying people who don't have relationships, making them feel defective, and isolating them through making non-romantic connections seem less real or meaningful (in many cases this also disproportionately impacts women- who are in many cases valued solely through their relationships- and disabled people- who in many cases have a harder time making connections and are more likely to be viewed as 'defective' generally.)

Anyways sorry for rambling but Double Life is truly a story about amatonormativity and heteronormativity to me and I'm kinda insane about the themes.

[vadedoesart]

OTP rough sketches, idk if I'll ever finish. I'm a multi-shipper. I'd just like to state that for the record. I love me some good Sonamy, Sonadow, Sonshadamy, Silvonic blah blah blah etc. Honestly, as long as it's not anything illegal or creepy, then I either like it or am indifferent towards it. But of course, I have my OTPs and my personal headcanons. I am aware that some people won't SHARE my headcanons, and that's FINE! Anyways besides Shadamy being my OTP, here are my two other favorite ships, and the dynamics I like for them. There's more for Metilver bc they're a rarepair... I crave to RP them or write a story for them or something someday... </3

Metilver:

My headcannon for Silver (He/Him) is that he's constantly being told to chill out or calm down, and he's one crash out from leveling an entire city with an uncontrolled telekinetic surge. Overall, he's outwardly optimistic and gentle, inwardly, however, he's repressing a LOT of emotions, which is rather unhealthy, and he has memory issues because of it sometimes. He's also like- 1/4th Komodo dragon, and his spit is venomous. He has a mouth and he wants to kiss, but cannot kiss... Metal is the exception to this because he isn't organic. He's Demisexual.

My Metal Sonic (He/They) is selectively mute. He doesn't speak to anyone but Ivo (father), Sage (sister), Orbot (cousin), Cubot (cousin), Amy, and Silver. He 100% believes that he is the REAL Sonic, but also feels as though he is completely different from the blue blur as well. He was obedient at first, but during one of his inactive stages when Tails was repairing him, Tails installed a virus in his hardware that gave him more free will before setting him free. He listens to Ivo out of his own volition, and is morally neutral evil at best. Metal is very much Demiaroace.

Relationship-wise, Silver believes he can fix Metal and make him better, while Metal thinks he can corrupt Silver and turn him evil. Together, they even each other out, and Metal in return never tells Silver to "chill out" or "calm down". Silver is a yapper, and Metal is a listener. Although Metal is a robot and therefore cannot "love" he's incredibly fond of Silver, and eventually becomes loyal to only him after Ivo inevitably passes. Using his Neo form, he eventually uses his bio scan to make himself a bit more... "Organic" and learns that he does in fact, love Silver.

Knuxouge:

Rouge (PROUD She/Her) is an ordinary vampire bat, and discreetly drinks blood. She's an ordinary Morphian by... my AU standards, but she doesn't believe in all the purist interpecies ableist bullshit. She's Shadow's best wingman and has a sort of older sister bond with the edgie hedgie. She's Bi.

Knuckles (He/Him) is considered an Evomut in my AU because of his odd coat color, but isn't harassed too much because he's a massive dude who would willingly punch a bigot. He's very much a feminist and has a big brother bond with Amy. He loves her to death (platonically) and is very much an advocate for her. He's the straightest motherfucker in the group, but he's 100% an ally.

Rouge "wears the pants" in the relationship. She's a huge flirt to Knuckles, and at first both of them are dancing round each other like a lovesick war. Eventually, when they do get together, Knuckles absolutely adores Rouge, and Rouge absolutely loves Knuckles. They take care of the master emerald together.

[its-a-me-mango]

Oh hey... it's been a while Telly...

Everypony, this is URGEN, and I need your help, I have a sad TV that needs cheering up, can you help me? You guys think you can help me? Pretty please?

THIS IS A FUN LIL OC/SONA DRAWING/WRITING/WHATEVER EVENT THINGY AND YOU'RE INVITED TO TAKE PART!!!

INFO BELOW THE READ MORE!

Hi welcome to below the read more, nice down here innit.

THIS IS NOT AN EVENT WHERE YOU SUGGEST THINGS TO ME, THIS IS FOR YOU TO DO, I WILL BE IGNORING ANY ASKS RELATED TO REQUESTS FOR ME TO DRAW!

Anyway so as I said, you're invited to have your sona, your OC, your AU or heck even one of the SMG4 crew help cheer up Telly! You can do this in anyway you like, wethers it's taking them out somewhere nice like a park or city, to playing games with them, or just hanging out with them! You're in charge of picking out something fun for your character of choise and Telly to do together! They love doing anything as long as its with friends so you're welcome to do pretty much anything!

You can also make this in an medium you'd like, be it art, comics, writing, or anything else you can think of, there is no strict medium this has to be done in so go wild and most importantly have fun!

For the sake of keeping things clear in the SMG4 tag, you can use #SMG4CheerUp as the tag for this event, you are obviously free to @ me but if not, I will check the above tag instead.

Before I go any further, just want to make this clear:

THERE IS NO PRIZE! THERE IS NO DEADLINE! THIS IS JUST FOR FUN!

THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION

Just saying this as I don't want people expecting anything from me in return for this, nor do I want people putting themselves down or comparing themselves to others, I want people to have fun for the sake of having fun.

I'm obviously not super stricks on rules as this is for fun but I do have a few requests:

No just straight up brining Mr Puzzles back, that kinda defeats the point. You're more than welcome to use your AU or OC version of Mr Puzzles for this, but no actual Mr Puzzles, let him rot in prison for a bit please.

I know I said you're welcome to do pretty much anything but please keep your work age appropriate! Telly is meant to be no older than 10 at max so nothing too outrageous please! I don't mind a bit of angst or anything like that but you know, be nice to the kid alright, I will kill you otherwise /j

Also for this please don't use their teen/adult design, this is focused on them as a kid so please keep them as one, no aging up to do anything not age appropriate please.

Please keep in mind that Telly is mute and cannot talk! They can write/type to talk (as they don't know sign language yet) and they can make static noises, but no actual speaking for them!

TELLY USES THEY/THEM PRONOUNS AND NOTHING ELSE, PLEASE JUST REFER TO THEM AS A CHILD/KID

That's all I could think of lol, will add more if I think of anything else.

TELLYS REF IS HERE FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS IT (it is also linked on my pinned post at all times) I'm not overly strict on design so feel free to add your own lil details to them, I think it's fun! :3

My media asks are off for now, as I'd rather people make their own posts, it's what Tumblr's for and I wouldn't want anyone's amazing work to sit and rot in my inbox! I will be reblogging everything I promise.

You're welcome to ask me any questions but my response will likely be either "yes" or "if it's fun for you go for it!"

There is no deadline as stated, but I'll say this is open for at least a month-ish, or at least until Mr Puzzles comes back or something lol (watch that be, this week! wow how short lived /j)

ANYWAY WITH ALL THAT OUT THE WAY, GO FORTH AND ONCE AGAIN, HAVE FUN ABOVE ALL ELSE!!! :3

[luvrrszn]

by the book

FRAT!RAFE CAMERON x TUTOR!FEM READER

summary failing his class, rafe seeks out your help. there's only one problem—you both can't stand each other

warnings enemies (somewhat) to lovers, fluff, angst somewhat, erm idk! not proofread

a/n university timeline! this was so self-indulgent LOLL i'm getting bored plssssss send me requests loveya

masterlist

you think frat boys are a waste of space.

noisy, messy, entitled.

rafe thinks tutors are a waste of time.

nerds, pretentious, judgemental.

but here he is in front of you, almost begging for you to tutor him.

rafe cameron, the kook king. rafe cameron, who has everything going for him. wealth, popularity, and a carefree lifestyle. perhaps too carefree, since it led him to seek out the one person who would rather be talking to anyone but him.

"cameron, i said no. can you get that through your thick skull?" you grumble, trying to wave him away with your hand as the other brings your cup of tea to your lips.

he'd hunted you down to find you at the campus coffee shop after getting back his latest math exam grade.

"i'll wear you down eventually." he smirks before turning to leave.

—

and true to his word, he doesn't give up easy.

everywhere you go, he's there.

studying in the library? he's pulling out a chair across from you, staring at you the whole time.

getting ready for a lecture? he's settling down next to you.

slowly, he starts bringing you coffee or tea for lectures.

"fine! i'll do it, i'll tutor you. y'know, if you spent all this time studying instead of following me around, you'd be at least a little bit better." you grumble, picking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

"i knew i'd wear you down." he chuckles, stretching his legs out. you bump your knees back against him, complaining about his "incessant manspreading". he starts to protest, but the girl in front of you whips her head around and glares at the both of you, effectively shutting the both of you up.

—

when you meet him for the first tutoring session, you change locations about four times.

the library's too crowded.

the courtyard is too hot.

rafe's frat house? no way in hell.

you eventually reluctantly offer up your off-campus apartment.

you let out a sigh of relief when you finally get settled at your dining table, hoping that the two of you can finally study in a conducive environment.

you're quickly proven wrong.

rafe cameron cannot focus for more than five minutes at a time. he constantly tries to distract you, throwing in sarcastic comments, insults, pushing your buttons to see just how far he can go before you snap.

but you're familiar with the games he's playing, and you won't let him win.

"cameron, if you're going to waste my time, just leave now." you sigh, slamming your pen down on the table.

"chill out, bookworm. we've been studying for like what? two hours?"

"not two hours. barely even one. and what you've been doing hardly counts as studying." you grit out, rubbing your temples. the urge to slap him int he face has never been this strong.

—

weeks fly by and before you know it, you're on your eighth tutoring session

"no, you have to differentiate that first. you need the derivative of that equation to solve this part." you explain, pointing at the textbook in front of rafe.

the two of you have surprisingly managed to study for around two hours, and the sun is starting to set outside.

"shall we get takeout? it's getting late, i'm sure all the restaurants will be crowded by now." rafe mumbles, scrolling through a food delivery app on his phone. you want to protest, going to check for ingredients in your refrigerator, only to be met with a few bottles of water and condiments.

"yeah, let's get some chinese food."

"already ordered," rafe replies, chucking his phone onto your sofa. he's somehow made himself comfortable on your sofa, scrolling through netflix.

"what are you doing? we're not done yet, you've still got three pages to go!" you groan in annoyance, looking at the mess of papers on your dining table.

"we'll call it homework. can't we just rest now? i've done so much already." rafe puppy-dog eyes you, and you're half-disgusted. half...because somehow that stupid expression works on you.

he settles on a movie, some stupid sci-fi.

you settle on the opposite end of the couch, grumbling at his choice of entertainment. your arms are crossed, eyes on the screen but not really paying attention. rafe's too smug about getting out of his work early, and you’re too stubborn to admit that maybe—just maybe—you don’t totally hate having him around.

your stubbornness bites you in the ass when you try to watch the movie, but can't see anything because of the stupid spot you chose to settle down in. rafe notices, and chuckles, "sweets, you can just come over here, y'know. i don't bite."

"only you would invite me to make myself comfortable in my own apartment." you roll your eyes, but move over to sit down next to him anyway.

the sci-fi movie drones on, something about aliens and government conspiracies, and at some point, the exhaustion of tutoring him starts to creep in. your muscles loosen, and your head lolls back against the cushion.

then, somehow—without even noticing when it happened—you’re leaning into him.

your cheek is against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into something close to comfort. his arm is draped lazily over your shoulder, fingers idly tracing patterns against your sleeve.

you should move. y should put some space between you. but his warmth is distracting, the kind that makes you forget why you were annoyed in the first place.

and then his voice—soft, teasing, close to your ear.

“knew you'd come around on the idea of me, tutor girl.”

you shove him, rolling your eyes, but you don’t move away. and neither does he.

—

that night, you lean against the doorframe of your front door as he puts on his shoes to leave.

"don't forget to finish up those few questions before tomorrow night. you'll reap the rewards of what you sow." you nag as he laces his shoes.

"yes ma'am," he nods, and before you can react, he plants a chaste kiss on the top of your head and leaves.

you're left standing in your doorway, shocked.

you spend the rest of the night replaying it in your head. the casual way he did it, like it was nothing. like kissing you—even just there—wasn’t some line he shouldn’t have crossed.

and the worst part? you didn’t hate it.

by the next evening, you’re ready to put it behind you. you tell yourself it didn’t mean anything, that he probably didn’t even think twice about it. you're his tutor, not his friend—not whatever else your brain is trying to twist this into.

so when an hour passes after your scheduled session, and rafe still hasn’t shown up, you check your phone.

nothing.

another hour.

still nothing.

you feel something ugly settle in your chest.

maybe it had meant something, and now he’s avoiding you. or maybe it really was nothing, and that’s exactly why he didn’t even bother to show up.

either way, you’re not letting him off that easy.

so you do what any self-respecting tutor would do.

you track him down.

—

the party is loud, filled with the usual crowd of overconfident frat boys and girls draped over them like accessories. it's a reminder of everything you hate about frat boys and sorority girls.

it doesn’t take long to spot him.

rafe is leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, smirking at some girl who’s way too close. she giggles, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. His hand rests casually on the counter—just inches from her waist.

your stomach knots.

he wasn’t just busy. he chose not to come.

your feet move before you can think.

“nice to see you working so hard,” you snap as you stop beside him.

rafe turns his head, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. like he’s expecting you.

“relax, tutor girl,” he drawls, tilting his drink. “didn’t realize my education was such a priority for you.”

this time, his nickname for you of "tutor girl" has lost its affection. instead, he throws it out like an insult.

your jaw clenches. “you need to pass this class, Rafe.”

“oh, I will,” he shrugs, not even looking guilty. just amused. “ but I figured I’d take the night off. you’re not my girlfriend, i don't have to listen to you.”

the girl beside him giggles again, and you have to resist the urge to throw his drink in his face.

“clearly,” you snap, turning on your heel. “good luck figuring it out on your own. don't ever come begging me for help ever again.”

you’re halfway to the door when you feel him grab your wrist.

“hey.” his voice is softer now, but still teasing. "i was joking, i just lost track of time. i didn't mean to bail on you."

but it's too late. the damage is done. the words he threw out without a care had hurt you.

you yank your arm free. “enjoy your night, rafe.”

then you leave.

and this time, he’s the one left standing there, watching you go.

—

the cold air outside is a sharp contrast to the warmth of the party, but you barely register it. you just keep walking, wrapping your arms around yourself, willing the sting in your chest to fade.

it was stupid to expect anything different from him.

you’re halfway down the street when you hear footsteps behind you, quick and determined.

“wait.”

you don’t stop.

“goddamn it, would you just stop?”

a hand grabs your elbow, pulling you to a stop. you turn, eyes blazing.

“what?” you snap. “didn’t humiliate me enough back there? figured you’d chase me down to finish the job?”

rafe exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “jesus, would you chill?”

“oh, i’m sorry,” you scoff. “am i overreacting? am i supposed to just laugh it off when you blow me off and talk to me like i’m just some girl who’s annoying you instead of the person who’s been helping you?”

he falters. the teasing smirk is gone now, and for the first time tonight, he actually looks… regretful.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters.

“then how did you mean it?”

he hesitates. and for once, rafe not having an immediate comeback feels worse than anything else.

you shake your head. “forget it, rafe.” you pull your arm free. “go back to your party. go back to her.”

you can't shake the image of rafe and the girl. in that moment, it reminded you that rafe was really just a frat boy. and you hated frat boys. cocky, entitled, always with a new girl each week.

but you don’t get far (distance-wise and spiralling-wise) before he says, “i didn’t even care about her.”

something in his voice makes you pause. not teasing. not cocky. just… honest.

you turn slowly. “really? because it sure as hell didn’t look that way.”

he exhales, stepping closer. “i knew you’d come.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“i knew you’d come looking for me,” he says, quieter this time. “and i wanted to see if it—if i—actually mattered to you.”

you stare at him, thrown completely off guard. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard.”

“yeah,” he admits. “but did it work?”

you don’t answer. you can’t answer, because the truth is right there between you, laid out in the way you showed up at this party, in the way you’re still standing here, in the way your chest tightens when you look at him.

and judging by the way he watches you, he knows it too.

he steps even closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m sorry.”

and maybe it’s the way he says it. or the way he’s actually apologizing for once. or maybe it’s the fact that, despite everything, you know this isn’t just about tutoring anymore.

but when he reaches for your hand, you don’t pull away.

you don’t pull away.

his fingers curl around yours, hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to shake him off and walk away for good. like he knows he deserves it.

but you don’t.

because as much as you hate to admit it, this was never just about tutoring. never just about rafe being annoying, or you being stubborn, or either of you pretending this was nothing more than an arrangement.

so you stay.

“you’re an idiot,” you murmur, staring at where his hand holds yours.

he exhales a short laugh. “yeah. i know.”

his thumb brushes over your knuckles, testing the waters. you let him.

the party is still raging behind you, music echoing through the street, but it’s like none of it matters anymore. it’s just you and him, standing too close under the dim glow of the streetlights, the tension finally shifting into something you’re not ready to name.

“so what now?” you ask, voice quieter now.

he tilts his head, studying you. then, with a smirk—one softer than usual, laced with something more vulnerable—he says, “well, i still need to pass that class. hopefully with the help of my super duper smart girlfriend?”

you roll your eyes. “i hate you.”

“nah,” he grins. “you like me.”

and maybe, just maybe, you do.