#I tried so hard and still failed you in the end

[sirazaroff]

Lil question(that you don’t have to answer) but what did morrible do to Glinda?(with your head canons ofc)

Hmm, what didn’t Morrible do?~

I’m still trying to work out the details of this but…

Short Answer: she fucks that girltwink up.

Long Answer:

At Shiz, Morrible was working hard to build Elphaba up so that she would go along with her hidden agenda, and it was working very effectively too.

Then things changed and now Morrible has Glinda to train instead. The nurturing and encouragement Elphaba received? That’s not needed here, no. What Morrible attempts to do to Glinda is break her, because someone that high up will only listen if they’re ‘humbled’.

So her plan goes as follows:

1. WITHER:

Morrible only has one agenda in mind for Glinda. She needs to break everything about that woman, and break she does. It’s not just mentally and emotionally, it’s physically as well with long days spent practicing sorcery. Every failed spell is swiftly dealt with until Glinda is left with battered hands and frustration welling behind her eyes. Weeks and weeks of this eventually numb her to any comforts of this new life.

2. FEAR:

Because she’s the beloved Good Witch, Glinda feels a sense of value. That she can eventually be irreplaceable and in turn, protected. Morrible works very hard to let her know that with every waking moment they spend together is but a living nightmare for the Upland woman. A lesson turns into a deliberate assault with no one around to bear witness, nor anyone to care to investigate the screams that echo in the hallways. The Wizard needs Glinda alive, not well.

3. SNAP:

Years and years of this and Glinda never fully relent, testing Morrible’s patience of all things. As long as Elphaba is out there, Glinda holds out hope. By now the sight of Glinda will set Morrible off and in one occurrence she doesn’t realize her emotions have caused a storm to brew outside, a single bolt of lighting breaking through the windows to strike Glinda. She survives, the Wizard is very inconvenienced, and Morrible decides to simply just keep her distance from the Good Witch from then on.

Glinda gets the last laugh in the end. The Wizard is gone and Morrible tries to have Glinda executed in an attempt to grab power before she could. She learns far too late what Glinda shares with the Wizard; popularity. The people rebel and Morrible’s reign ends as quickly as it starts, left to rot in the dungeons of the palace while Glinda becomes the new ruler.

——————

As my favorite tag ever once said: Madame Morrible is never seeing heaven :)

Hopefully this made sense. I didn’t trust my words so I made some pictures to go with it. Anyways ask me about my scarecrow au.

[poorrichardjr]

Ok, I can agree with both people here to some degree, though I think a few things should be brought up.

First, Gore actually won the popular vote in Florida. The Supreme Court stopped the recount that proved that Gore actually won, by a very slim margin. Second, instead of blaming Nader, as most mainstream democrats do, why don't they blame Jeb Bush for purging hundreds of thousands of people from the rolls who were alive and able to vote simply because their names corresponded to names of criminals in other states. This is still done btw every single election in republican run states.

Second, I don't blame all of the voters in the last election, republican or democrat. I don't blame the people who have no time to do the research because they work 60+ hours a week, have families to take care of and spend time with, or those who gladly lapped up the propaganda about Biden and Trump.

There is a caveat to that thought though. Being an informed voter is the responsibility of the people voting. Are you as a voter doing anything at all to learn about the candidates? Are you only getting your information from Fox and the like or RT or Sputnik or whatever? If so, you are slurping up that good ole propaganda and learning virtually nothing. Don't get me wrong, a lot of media outlets have some form of propaganda or slant to their news, but in aggregate, it isn't hard to determine some basic facts about a candidate even with all the partisan BS.

Believe it or not but Trump was not a normal republican president last time. He was crass, cruel, and tried numerous times to do things that his staffers said and warned him were illegal. He was impeached twice for doing things that no other president had done, especially inspiring the coup on January 6th. He also nearly led us into war with North Korea and Iran. We were on the brink of war with North Korea, and suddenly things changed when Russia spoke with both Trump and Un. What did they say that changed the heat? They probably told Trump that Kim wasn't really that bad and that he should be the bigger man and do some outreach, and they told Kim that all you had to do to get anything from Trump was flatter him, because he is an absolute moron.

Biden wasn't a great president, but honestly he really only did two terrible things. He appointed Merrick Garland to oversee the DOJ, and though he was a great prosecutor, he moved far too slowly and initially only focused on the foot soldiers of the insurrection. He never even went after all the congress people who were also deeply involved. Other than that, Biden did what he has always done his entire career and that is to support Israel. He would not use his presidential influence to curb what was happening in Israel, and that turned a lot of good people away from him.

Kamala wasn't really in the running long enough to get a good footing, and she didn't try to differentiate herself from Biden that much, simply because much of what Biden was doing worked. Jobs were up, the economy got much better than the rest of the world, and actual wages were going up for the first time in nearly thirty years.

In the end if you listened to Trump for a single hour and Kamala for a single hour their demeanor, ideas, and temperament should have been enough to get people to do the right thing, but it wasn't. The blatant racism and cruelty espoused by Trump wasn't enough. The knowledge that Trump would support anything Israel wanted in Gaza wasn't enough. The constant lying and whining about 2020 wasn't enough. In the end, if you couldn't guess that some of what is happening now and what could be happening soon was on the table, then you were a fucking idiot or so deeply into a partisan whole that you really didn't care.

Americans failed in their responsibility, and now they will be paying the price for their inability to take this seriously.

Just to be a clear, I am not a democrat, and yet I have voted for them in the last three elections because only a god damn moron couldn't see what Trump is. I hated Hilary because she was untrustworthy, despite my same opinion that she was probably the most qualified candidate for that position in decades. I hated Biden because he really is part of the reason we have many of the problems we have today, and he has been out of touch with a lot of America for years. I had no problems with Kamala, except that she was embracing the right-wingers who gave us Iraq and the quagmire that was Afghanistan and didn't do enough to try and get democrats to vote for her. You can criticize Trump all day, but republicans don't care and are going to vote for him anyway. She needed to rebuild the coalition that was disintegrating because of Gaza and the DOJ's inaction.

[duachai]

PAS DE DEUX - THE8 | SEVENTEEN

Minghao is the mentor for a new batch of trainees and catches M/n, an unmotivated and conscious trainee in a way no one can quite explain. They spend time in the studio together. Maybe too much. The others are jealous. But nothing is stopping him from teaching his boy his body is beautiful.

Do it like how you taught me, Make bands by my lonely

♱ PAIRING : XU MINGHAO X MALE READER ♱ CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains VERY explicit sexual content and mature themes. ♱ AUTHOR'S NOTE : Um... so once again I got carried away... 20 pages... tah dah! LINKS : Wattpad

The studio was alive with movement, the rhythmic pounding of feet against the polished wood floor syncing with the bass-heavy track playing overhead. The air smelled of sweat and determination, a reminder of the countless hours poured into perfecting every step, every breath, every motion. 

M/n stood at the back of the room, trying to blend in, but it was impossible. His movements weren’t sharp, his footwork not crisp. He could feel the stares, the subtle shifts in the energy around him and other trainees noticing, judging. 

“Again,” the dance coach called out. The music restarted, M/n clenched his fists before throwing himself back into the choreography. He knew he wasn’t the best, but he refused to be the worst. 

The murmurs started the second he stumbled. 

“He’s still struggling?” someone muttered under their breath. A quiet scoff from another trainee followed. 

M/n bit down on the inside of his cheek. Then, the music cut off abruptly. 

"Alright, take five. Everyone, except you." The unfamiliar voice was firm but smooth, and the moment M/n turned to look, his breath caught. 

Xu Minghao stood near the mirrors, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing. The dancer, Seventeen’s performance powerhouse, was watching him. 

M/n swallowed hard. His muscles ached from overwork, his chest tight from exertion, but nothing compared to the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. 

"You," Minghao continued, taking a step closer, "stay back. The rest of you, get some water." 

The trainees hesitated, some exchanging glances before filing out. Their silent judgment burned against M/n’s skin. 

Minghao watched him for a long moment before speaking again, pointing to the floor, still comfortably leaning against the mirror. 

"Show me the last section of the routine." 

M/n exhaled sharply, nodding, wiping the sweat on his palms on his sweatpants. He stepped into position, body tense with nerves, and the music started again. He moved, he tried. He failed. 

Minghao clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You're too stiff," he said, stepping forward. "You're overthinking. Let me show you." 

Before M/n could react, Minghao was behind him, close enough that M/n could feel the warmth of his presence. Slender fingers traced his skin as he guided his arms into the right position, fingers skimming his wrist, adjusting his posture. 

M/n's breath hitched. 

"Relax," Minghao murmured, voice low, close to his ear. "Feel the movement, don't fight it." 

The words sent a shiver down M/n’s spine, but he nodded, forcing himself to focus. He had to. He couldn’t afford to fall behind. Not in dance, not in his dreams. And definitely not because of the sudden, unwanted spark curling in his chest. 

Not for his mentor. 

Not for Xu Minghao. 

M/n took a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus on Minghao’s instructions rather than the way his mentor’s touch lingered just long enough to make his pulse quicken. 

“Again,” Minghao said, stepping back. 

The music restarted, and this time, M/n moved with more fluidity. His muscles still burned from exhaustion, but the difference was immediate. The moment he stopped fighting the choreography, it started to feel… natural. 

Minghao watched intently, nodding slightly as M/n executed the steps with newfound ease. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. When the routine ended, the silence stretched, save for the sound of M/n’s heavy breathing. 

Minghao’s lips quirked slightly. “See? You can do it.” 

M/n wiped the sweat from his forehead, his heart hammering from more than just exertion. “Barely.” 

“If you were hopeless, I wouldn’t be wasting my time.” Minghao’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact. He wasn’t giving compliments; he was stating a fact. 

Still, something in M/n’s chest fluttered at the words. 

The studio door opened, and the other trainees filtered back in. Some shot him unreadable glances, while others ignored him entirely. The shift in atmosphere was subtle, but it was there; the quiet resentment of those who had watched M/n struggle, only to see him get special attention from Xu Minghao himself. 

Minghao seemed to notice too, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he clapped his hands together. “Break’s over. Let’s get back to work.” 

M/n exhaled, shaking off the unease creeping up his spine. It didn’t matter what the others thought. He wasn’t here to impress them. He was here to prove to himself, to the company, to Minghao; that he belonged. 

As the next round of practice began, M/n threw himself into the dance, pushing past the doubt and the whispers. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. 

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

`` Days blurred together in an endless cycle of training, evaluations, and exhaustion. The choreography became muscle memory, but M/n's mind never settled. The studio had become a battlefield; one where every misstep felt like a bullet, and every success only fueled the silent resentment simmering around him. 

`Minghao remained a constant presence, his mentoring sharp and precise. He pushed M/n harder than the others, but in a way that felt deliberate, almost as if he was testing him. 

One evening, after an especially grueling session, M/n lingered behind in the studio, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Sweat dripped from his temples, his shirt clinging to his body. He should have left already, but his frustration wouldn’t let him. 

Why do I still feel behind? 

The door creaked open. 

"You’re overthinking again." 

M/n startled, turning to find Minghao leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. His sharp gaze softened slightly as he stepped forward. 

M/n swallowed. "I just… I don’t get why it’s so easy for everyone else." 

Minghao hummed, stopping just a step away. “It’s not.” 

M/n scoffed. “You don’t see them struggling like I do.” 

"Because they hide it." Minghao tilted his head. "Like you're trying to right now." 

M/n froze. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was clenching his fists until Minghao’s gaze flickered to them. 

"You’re improving, M/n." Minghao’s voice was quieter now. "But dance isn’t just about the moves. It’s about trust." 

"Trust?" M/n frowned. 

Minghao nodded. "In yourself. In your body. In the movement. You fight it too much." 

M/n huffed. "Maybe because I keep feeling like I don’t belong here." 

The words slipped out before he could stop them. 

Silence settled between them. Minghao studied him for a long moment before speaking again, his voice firm but calm. 

"If you didn’t belong, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on you." 

The words hit deeper than M/n expected. 

For the first time in weeks, the tight knot in his chest loosened just slightly. 

Minghao didn’t offer more reassurance; he simply turned toward the sound system. "One more time. Just you and me." 

M/n hesitated before nodding. 

The music started, and this time, M/n let himself move. He let himself trust. 

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was chasing the rhythm. 

He was dancing with it. 

And Minghao was watching. 

M/n woke up sore the next morning, his body aching from the extra practice with Minghao. But despite the exhaustion, a sense of accomplishment settled in his chest. For once, he wasn’t drowning in self-doubt. 

Yet, as soon as he stepped into the practice room, the atmosphere felt… different. 

The other trainees were already stretching, but the usual chatter was subdued. A few pairs of eyes flickered toward him, whispers exchanged just low enough that he couldn’t make out the words. 

M/n exhaled sharply, pushing down the unease. 

He knew the others had noticed the extra attention Minghao gave him. He knew they probably thought he was getting special treatment. But they weren’t there when I stayed late. They weren’t there when I worked myself to the bone. 

"Suck up," someone muttered as he passed by. 

M/n’s jaw clenched, but he ignored it, focusing on his warm-up. 

When Minghao walked in a few minutes later, the tension in the room only thickened. He greeted the group briefly, eyes scanning the trainees before landing on M/n for just a second too long. M/n looked away, hoping no one noticed. 

They did. 

Practice was brutal. Minghao wasn’t holding back today, pushing them harder than ever. M/n did his best to keep up, but every time he executed the moves, he could feel the weight of eyes on him. 

Then, during a water break, the whispering turned into something worse. 

"Did you hear?" one of the trainees said just loud enough for M/n to catch. "Minghao’s been giving private lessons." 

M/n’s stomach twisted. 

"I've noticed he’s a lot more flexible." another voice joined in. "I think he’s getting stretched out a different way then us." 

Laughter. A sharp, bitter kind. 

M/n’s grip tightened around his water bottle. He forced himself to stay silent, to not let them see that their words had gotten under his skin. 

But Minghao had heard. 

"Line up," Minghao’s voice cut through the tension, sharper than usual. 

The trainees scrambled into position, but the mood had already shifted. 

Minghao’s eyes flickered toward M/n, unreadable, but something about his posture had changed. 

He had heard everything. 

And he wasn’t going to ignore it. 

M/n forced himself to focus, but his mind raced with the words he had just heard. Private lessons. Getting ahead. It wasn’t just whispers anymore; it was an accusation. 

Minghao stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he scanned the group. His presence was always commanding, but today, there was something sharper in his gaze. 

"Let me make one thing very clear." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it made the room feel smaller. "In this industry, you earn your place. No exceptions." 

No one dared to speak. 

"If someone is improving, it’s because they’re putting in the work," Minghao continued, his eyes sweeping over the trainees. "If they stay behind after hours, if they push themselves past their limits, if they refuse to give up no matter how hard it gets; that’s why they get better." 

M/n’s breath hitched. 

Minghao took a slow step forward, gaze locking onto the group. "But if anyone here thinks they can undermine someone else’s progress because of their own insecurities, you’re free to leave now. Because if I catch any more of this petty, baseless gossip-" he let the words settle, his voice dipping lower, "you won’t last here." 

Silence. Heavy and suffocating. 

M/n could feel the shift in the room. No one met Minghao’s gaze, but the shame was palpable. The whispers wouldn’t vanish overnight, but Minghao had drawn a line. 

Then, just as quickly as the moment came, Minghao clapped his hands together. "Now, unless you’d rather gossip, we’re running the routine from the top." 

The music started, and M/n exhaled. 

For the first time, he didn’t feel alone. 

Minghao had defended him. Publicly. Unapologetically. 

And no matter how much M/n tried to ignore it, his heart raced at the thought. 

The shift in the atmosphere was undeniable. After Minghao’s warning, the whispers didn’t completely stop, but they dulled into background noise. The jealousy hadn’t disappeared, but no one dared to openly challenge M/n anymore. 

Still, the weight of their eyes lingered. 

Minghao didn’t treat him any differently in front of the others, but there was something there, something unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. 

It was in the way he lingered just a second longer when adjusting M/n’s form. The way his gaze followed M/n when he thought no one was looking. The way his voice softened ever so slightly when speaking to him. 

M/n told himself it was just his imagination. 

But then came the partnering exercise. 

Minghao had decided to challenge them with a new routine; one that required working in pairs to test their synchronization and connection. 

And when it came time to assign partners, Minghao didn’t hesitate. 

"M/n, with me." 

The room was silent for a fraction too long. 

M/n swallowed. "O-Okay." 

As the other trainees moved into their own pairings, M/n found himself standing directly in front of Minghao. The height difference was subtle, but noticeable enough that M/n felt it as they took their positions. 

Minghao placed a hand on M/n’s waist, his grip firm but controlled. "Relax," he instructed. "You’re too tense." 

"I’m trying not to be," M/n muttered. 

Minghao smirked, just barely. "Then let’s fix it." 

The music started, and M/n focused on moving with the rhythm. But it was impossible to ignore how close they were; how every shift, every step, brought him within inches of Minghao’s frame. 

When Minghao guided him into a turn, his grip tightened, steadying him effortlessly. M/n’s pulse stuttered. 

"You’re hesitating," Minghao said. 

"I-" M/n faltered as their eyes met. 

Minghao’s gaze was unreadable, but there was something intense in the way he was looking at him. Something that made M/n’s breath catch. 

"Don’t hesitate," Minghao said, voice quieter this time. 

M/n nodded, but his heart was beating far too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with the dance. 

They moved together, the world fading around them. And for just a moment, it didn’t feel like practice. 

It felt like something else entirely. 

The music swelled, and they moved as one. 

M/n had stopped thinking, stopped overanalyzing every step, every motion. His body followed Minghao’s lead instinctively, matching his rhythm, his energy. It was effortless. Natural. 

Minghao’s hand was firm on his waist, guiding him through the turn. The proximity between them was undeniable, but M/n barely had time to process it before Minghao executed the final move; a deep dip, pulling M/n flush against him. 

M/n’s breath hitched. 

His back arched slightly over Minghao’s arm, and for a split second, they weren’t just two dancers in sync. 

They were something more. 

The studio felt too quiet, the air thick with something neither of them dared to name. 

Minghao didn’t let go immediately. His grip on M/n’s waist lingered, just a second too long. And when M/n’s gaze flickered up, their eyes locked. 

The tension snapped tight. 

It was in the way Minghao’s fingers curled slightly, holding him in place. The way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself. 

M/n barely realized he was gripping onto Minghao’s arm until he felt the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips. 

Then Minghao inhaled sharply; just a small, barely audible breath and that was enough to jolt them both back to reality. 

He released M/n, stepping back. "Again," he said, voice neutral, but there was an edge to it—like he was forcing himself to sound unaffected. 

M/n swallowed hard, nodding. "Right. Again." 

But as they reset into position, his pulse refused to settle. 

And when they moved together once more, M/n couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just come dangerously close to crossing a line neither of them was ready to acknowledge. 

The tension between them didn’t fade. If anything, it only grew stronger. 

Days passed, filled with grueling practice sessions and lingering glances. M/n told himself it was just in his head, but he could feel it every time Minghao adjusted his form, every time their fingers brushed, every time their eyes met for just a second too long. 

It was a slow, torturous build-up, a silent push and pull neither of them acknowledged. 

Until one night, when the studio was empty, and there was nowhere left to hide. 

M/n had stayed behind again, practicing long after the others had left. He was exhausted, his body screaming for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet. 

The music played softly in the background as he moved through the steps, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. But something was off, his timing, his balance. Frustration bubbled up, and he ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. 

"You’re pushing yourself too hard." 

M/n startled at the voice, whipping around to see Minghao leaning against the doorframe. 

"Thought you left," M/n muttered, trying to steady his breath. 

Minghao stepped inside, his eyes scanning M/n carefully. "I was going to. Then I saw the lights still on." 

M/n huffed. "Figured I’d get in some extra practice." 

Minghao crossed his arms. "You don’t need more practice." 

M/n scoffed. "You sure? Because it feels like I do." 

Minghao exhaled, stepping closer. "You’re not struggling with the choreography anymore, M/n. That’s not why you’re still here." 

M/n froze. 

Minghao studied him, his gaze unreadable but intense. "You’re fighting something. And it’s not the dance." 

Silence stretched between them. M/n felt his pulse quicken, his body growing warmer under Minghao’s unwavering stare. 

It would be so easy to deny it; to laugh it off, change the subject. But in this quiet, empty studio, with nothing but the sound of their breathing between them… 

Lying didn’t feel like an option. 

M/n swallowed. "And if I am?" 

Minghao’s eyes flickered with something, something dangerous. "Then stop fighting." 

M/n’s breath caught. 

The distance between them felt smaller than before. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Minghao was right there, close enough that M/n could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that if he just leaned in… 

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Minghao murmured, his voice quieter now, lower. "I tried ignoring it. I tried pretending it wasn’t there. But every time I watch you dance, every time I correct you, every time you look at me like that-" 

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I can’t ignore it anymore." 

M/n’s heart pounded. "Then don’t." 

For a moment, they just stood there, breaths mingling in the stillness of the studio. 

Then, finally, finally, Minghao closed the distance. 

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant it was slow, deliberate, a silent answer to everything they had been holding back. M/n melted into it, his fingers curling around Minghao’s shirt, anchoring himself. 

M/n felt his world tilt on its axis as their lips met. It was soft at first, a gentle press of mouths, but quickly turned into a desperate kiss, the passion igniting. 

Minghao tasted of mint and determination. His hands, earlier strict and disciplined in their corrections, now explored M/n's back under his shirt with a tenderness that belied their usual professional demeanor. Fingers tangled in hair, breaths mingled, and the studio filled with the soft sounds of their mutual surrender. 

M/n was lost in the kiss, in the warmth and comfort of finally giving in to his feelings. He felt Minghao's arms wrap around him, holding him close as if he might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic as their hunger for each other overwhelmed any remaining restraint. 

Minghao pinned M/n against the studio mirror, his body flush against the other's. He trailed kisses along M/n's jawline, pausing to nip gently at his earlobe. 

“Is this okay?” Minghao asked, keeping apart from M/n’s lips for just a second as he held his face close by the back of his head, fingers entangled in his hair. 

“Yes,” M/n reassured, looking through his long eyelashes up at Minghao.`  

"Good..." he whispered, catching M/n's bottom lip between his teeth gently. His hands started to trail down from M/n's neck, across his collarbones, to the hem of his shirt. "Can I..." he asked softly, fingers grazing the bare skin of his stomach. "Take this off?" 

“Mm,” M/n hummed. 

Slowly, almost reverently, Minghao eased M/n's shirt upwards. His calloused fingers brushed along M/n's sides, sending shivers across his skin as the fabric slid off completely. Minghao drank in the sight of M/n's bare torso, eyes darkening with appreciation. "Beautiful," 

“You’re just saying that...” 

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, his fingers hooking into the waistband of M/n’s pant. He wanted M/n to see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he was looking  at M/n like he was a prized possession. 

Minghao leaned in and placed a soft kiss on M/n’s neck, his warm breath fanning across his skin as he spoke. “I’m saying it because it’s true,” he murmured, his fingers slowly untying M/n’s sweatpants, “You’re so fucking beautiful, M/n.” 

He gently pushed M/n’s pants down, hooping around his thigh along with his undergarments, reveling his slim hips and thighs. He trailed kisses down M/n’s chest, his abs, and then finally his thighs as he helped M/n step out of his clothes, “Lift your arms,” he whispered. 

M/n followed instructions. The damp t-shirt slipped off his body, then their forehead pressed together for a moment, peppering kisses as Minghao drank in his junior's body, “Fuck...” he breathed, admiring M/n’s naked form in the studio mirror light, “You’re so perfect,” He trailed a hand down M/n’s side. 

Minghao began to remove his own clothes. His shirt was discarded quickly with the help of M/n, reveling taut muscles and smooth skin. His pants followed soon after, leaving his bare before M/n. M/n stood starstruck. He’d never in a million years think his idol would be au naturel right in front of him. 

Minghao stepped back closer, his hands framing M/n’s waist possessively. He nuzzled his face into M/n’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I wanna see you from every angle.” 

Guided by Minghao’s hand, M/n turned and faced the mirror. 

One hand snaked around M/n’s waist, resting low on his stomach. The other traced up his chest, brushing against a nipple. “Look at yourself...” 

M/n looked into the mirror. He was in awe at himself. He didn’t recognize himself. In Minghao’s arms, he felt sexier, more alive, more than what anyone could tell him. 

Minghao wrapped him arms around him, placing a kiss on M/n’s shoulder, smiling onto his skin, “See how stunning you are?” 

M/n’s lips curved into a soft smile as covered Minghao’s hands with his own, relishing the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together. “Every curve, every line...” Minghao cooed, his hands roaming over M/n’s torso, “Absolutely gorgeous.” 

“I want you,” M/n whispered breathy, almost not aware he said that out loud. 

Minghao’s breath hitched at M/n’s confession. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips as he felt a shudder run through M/n’s body. “Fuck, I want you too. You deserve it.” 

M/n leaned back into Minghao’s embrace as their fingers locked over M/n’s chest. His breath caught in his throat as he felt M/n’s weight settled against him. “Let me treat you like the prince you are.” 

Minghao slips his fingers into his own mouth, covering it in his spit. He slowly trails those wet fingers down M/n’s backside, pushing M/n gently into the mirror. 

He spread M/n’s legs apart with his thigh as he slowly circled his wet fingers around M/n’s entrance, teasing and preparing him gently. He looked at the scene in the mirror, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the reflected image of M/n panting, sweat sticking to his forehead and the mirror. 

His finger slowly pushed inside M/n, watching carefully for any signs of discomfort, “Good, baby.” He cooed, his free hand slid around to grip M/n’s erection. He saw M/n’s reflection, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he hissed and ahed. 

Pushing his fingers deeper, he started stroking M/n in rhythm with each thrust, his hand working the younger’s length perfectly. In the mirror he could just see how turned on M/n was, “Look at how beautiful you are taking my fingers,” His teeth nipping at M/n’s ear. 

Minghao withdrew his fingers, leaving M/n trembling with need. Holding M/n by the hips, Minghao guided him to bend forward slightly, pressing his chest his back as he hooked his chin on M/n’s shoulder, locking a hand together in front of him as his other positioned himself at M/n’s entrance. 

He slowly pushed in, giving M/n time to adjust. Minghao’s fingernails dug into M/n’s hips as gently as possible, M/n’s hand gripping tightly in his. Minghao pulled back slowly. Almost withdrawing completely before snapping his hips forward again.  

“Fuck... God...” Minghao groaned deeply, pleasure rolling through him as he watched M/n accept him so perfectly. In and out, he had a set steady rhythm, his hips rocking forward and pulling back, watching the erotic sight of their coupling in the mirror. 

“Hao, f-fuck,” M/n choked, the vibration of his moans and whines bouncing off the mirror. Minghao’s lips curl into a smile at M/n calling out his name so lude. His togue ghost his lips briefly at the needy whimpers. 

M/n could feel his release building in his stomach, his thighs shook and he practically was scream for a resolve. Minghao reached his hand back around M/m’s leaking length, stroking him in time with his thrusts, “Come for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire but so sweet like his smirk as M/n came undone, him following suit. 

He felt M/n’s released pulse through him, hot and west against his hand. The sight of M/n falling apart in the mirror, pleasure contorting his features, stuttered as he came hard, burying himself deep inside M/n with a choked groan, then a sweet string moans straight in M/n’s ear. 

As the final shudders of their releases faded, Minghao stayed buried deep inside M/n, holding him close. He peppered soft kisses along his junior's shoulder blade, murmuring praises between each gentle press of his lips. 

The next morning, nothing had changed. 

And yet, everything had. 

M/n and Minghao returned to practice like nothing had happened. They kept their distance, their interactions no different from before, strictly professional, strictly normal. No one batted an eye. 

But beneath the surface, there were cracks in the facade. 

It was in the fleeting glances they shared when no one was looking. The way Minghao’s hand brushed against M/n’s lower back for just a second too long when adjusting his form. The way M/n held his breath whenever Minghao got too close, because now he knew what it felt like to have that distance erased. 

And then there were the nights. 

When practice ended and the others left, and Minghao would find an excuse to stay behind. When M/n would linger in the studio just a little longer, waiting. When the silence between them carried an entirely new weight; one filled with stolen moments, quiet confessions, and the unspoken promise of more. 

They weren’t reckless, but they weren’t distant either. 

Late at night, after the world had gone still, they met in empty studios and whispered things they couldn’t say in daylight. Minghao would pull M/n close, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, murmuring things like, "You’re getting better." "You’re going to make it." "I’ll be right here." 

And M/n would believe him. 

Because despite the secrecy, despite the world they lived in; the competition, the expectations, the scrutiny, this felt real. 

And for now, that was enough. 

As M/n packed up his things after another long day, he felt the familiar presence before he even turned around. 

"You’re staying late again?" Minghao’s voice was quiet, just for him. 

M/n smiled. "Depends. Are you?" 

Minghao’s lips twitched. "If you are." 

The answer was unspoken, but they both understood. 

So as the doors shut behind the last of the trainees, and the studio emptied once more, M/n turned to face Minghao; his partner, his mentor, his secret. 

And in the soft glow of the practice room lights, as they stepped toward each other again, M/n knew this was just the beginning. 

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Twenty-One

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: Oak for Strength

Summary: The Host Club tries to help Kasanoda. It, of course, does not go as planned.

            “A werewolf! Eek!”

            Tamaki sighed as Bossanova’s appearance in the Host Club once again scared guests off. He had tried to make him cute with cat ears and a waiter’s outfit, but Bossanova’s fearsome expression wasn’t to be softened.

            “They ran away again. Despite being the ultimate healing item, even kitten ears failed,” said Tamaki. “How strange. Kitten ears have been a turn-on for guys since antiquity. Everyone knows that. And Renge said quite passionately that they’re popular with girls these days as well.”

            “Doesn’t that limit our range to Otaku only?” said Haruhi. “I mean, if you’re getting information from just Renge…”

            “I don’t know about turn-ons, but kitten ears might not be enough to counter his evil face,” said Kyoya. As soon as he said it, though, the picture of (Y/N) wearing cat ears went through his head. Cute. No way around it—cute.

            “Yeah, Boss is too soft,” said Hikaru.

            “If we’re gonna do this,” said Kaoru.

            “We need to combine kitten ears and a maid costume,” said the twins in tandem.

            “I see. I should have realized that,” said Tamaki, nodding.

            “That’s even more for maniacs!” cried Bossanova. “Are you guys jerking me around?!”

            “He’s mad! He’s scary!” said the twins.

            “I-I’m sorry,” said Bossanova. “You guys came up with so many operations for my benefit this week, but I feel like people are avoiding me even more. I’m just frustrated.”

            “Don’t worry,” said (Y/N). “It’s not your fault this time. The problem is obviously with the weird ideas they’re coming up with.” They chuckled. “I think that answer is simpler than everyone is making it.

            “No…It’s all my fault for not being able to benefit from their kindness,” said Bossanova. “I don’t look good in kitten ears or angel wings.”

            “Most people don’t wear those regularly,” said (Y/N).

            “But I really want to be a lovable person,” declared Bossanova. “Okay! The maid outfit! I’ll wear it.”

            “…” The twins grinned suddenly. Obviously, they had been teasing. But now they really got to have some fun.

l

            “I don’t know what I’m looking at,” said (Y/N). Bossanova had put on the dress, but it was over his uniform, so it was pretty…strange to look at.

            “I doubt we’ll ever have the hosts wear that,” said Kyoya, making a note to himself.

            Knock. “Excuse me.” A blonde boy poked his head in. “Is Master Kasanoda here?” His eyes landed on Bossanova in the maid costume. “M-Master?!”

            “UH?!” Bossanova was mortified, and his face contorted angrily.

            “I-I’m sorry…You’re in the midst of your secret hobby,” said the boy, bowing hastily.

            “What?! This isn’t my hobby!” said Bossanova. “Why did you come here anyway?! Get out!”

            “Please forgive me!” shouted the boy, running out of the room.

            “Bossanova, calm down,” said Haruhi and (Y/N).

            Poor Bossanova put himself in a corner. “I did it again…I hid my embarrassment by lashing out.”

            “Who was that?” said Kyoya.

            “Oh, he’s one of my men, Tetsuya,” said Bossanova. “A year ago he suddenly appearing saying he had to join us no matter what. He’s a hard worker and is always hanging around me, so he’s the one I end up scaring the most.”

            But he still goes to Bossanova. He must actually like him. That’s one more friend than Bossanova realizes he has, thought (Y/N).

            “What a grievous state of affairs,” said Tamaki.

            “I wonder what he came here for…” said Bossanova.

            “Indeed,” said Kyoya, raising a brow.

l

            “Mori is being targeting by the paranormal?!” siad Tamaki the next day.

            Mori nodded, and Honey hugged him.

            “He cut his fingers on glass, someone threw a bucket of water at him, and rotten eggs almost hit him, too!” said Honey.

            “That’s not paranormal,” said (Y/N).

            “And there’s more,” said Hikaru. “A flower pot, an encyclopedia, a VCR, a roof tile…”

            “His tile-chop was awesome,” said Kaoru.

            “Mori, are you alright? That’s awful,” said Tamaki.

            “Anyone but Mori could have been seriously hurt,” said Kyoya.

            “Did you break a Jizo statue or something, Mori?” said Kaoru.

            “Or step on Beelzeneff?” said Hikaru.

            “Is Takashi cursed?” said Honey.

            “Hey! This is no time for fooling around,” said Bossanova. “I saw all the incidents myself, and he’s definitely under attack!”

            “No way,” said the twins, waving their hands. “No one can hate Mori.”

            “How can you be sure—”

            The Hosts (most, at least) ignored him.

            “Would you like me to introduce you to an exorcist?” said Kyoya.

            “An exorcism! An exorcism! Yay!” said Honey.

            “No, send for Nekozawa,” said the twins.

            Bossanova gave up and walked out the door. Haruhi frowned and looked at (Y/N). They nodded, giving her leave to follow him while the others continued chatting.

            “So, shall we follow?” said (Y/N).

            “I can’t believe Bossanova doesn’t realize he’s the one under attack, not Mori,” said Honey, smiling.

            “At least it means we can watch him,” said Tamaki.

            “It’s good that you noticed the glass in his locker and got rid of it before he did, Mori,” said Tamaki.

            “He would’ve fought someone and damaged his reputation more,” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            Mori nodded. He helped people who deserved it, and Bossanova had.

            “Where’s Haruhi?” said Tamaki.

            “She wanted to talk to Bossanova,” said (Y/N). “I think it will be good for him.”

            “But what about his enemies?” cried Tamaki.

            “We’ll get them,” said Honey, grinning.

l

            “This’ll teach him,” muttered a man, holding up a balloon of paint.

            “Yeah,” agreed a second.

            They threw the paint balloon, and it hit Haruhi instead of Bossanova.

            “Try again,” said one of the men.

            Two long arms swooped down and grabbed them. The men squawked indignantly. “Let go!”

            Mori wasn’t going to.

            “Mori-senpai!” exclaimed Bossanova in surprise.

            “What’s going on?” said Haruhi, looking at (Y/N).

            “We’re just cleaning up some trash,” they said, smiling while Hikaru and Kaoru tied up the troublemakers and Kyoya took a photo.

            “Hey, Kasanoda, you coward!” shouted one man.

            “You kidnapped our boss’s son and then hired a bodyguard!” shouted the second. “You kidnapper! Give our boy back!”

            “What are you talking about?!” said Bossanova, completely blindsided.

            “They were after you the whole time, not Mori,” said (Y/N).

            “We didn’t want to tell you,” said Honey. “You would’ve gotten discouraged! But Takashi found broken glass in your locker yesterday.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bossanova looked at Mori. “Instead you helped me…?”

            Mori patted Bossanova on the head, and Bossanova’s eyes widened in surprise at the kind gesture.

            “I know a villain when I see one,” said Mori. “Just be yourself. People who understand you are bound to appear. If you care a lot about your friends, they are sure to understand you. You should realize that.”

            Bossanova’s eyes widened at the honest words. But I don’t have anyone like that—

            “I thought I saw some familiar faces.” Tetsuya stepped out of the trees in the courtyard.

            “Master Tetsuya!” said the men.

            “Master Tetsuya,” repeated (Y/N).

            “Ah,” said Kyoya as they made the connection together.

            Tetsuya glared down at the men. “You play dirty because you don’t have the guts for a straight fight! I left because I couldn’t stand people like you. If you try to hurt Master Kasanoda again…I’ll send you to Hell alive!

            “Tetsuya, you…?” Bossanova trailed off.

            “I’m sorry for not telling you,” said Tetsuya. “I’m the second son of the Tokyo branch of the Sendo family. I’m Tetsuya Sendo. I’m drawn to Master’s personality. I’ve already made up my mind to leave the Sendo family and swear loyalty to the Kasanodas. I’ve always been against the Sendos’ unscrupulous policies. On a rainy day about a year ago, I had a fight with my father and left home. I had no place to go, but I couldn’t go back. Then Master came along and covered me with his umbrella, a total stranger…” Tetsuya smiled fondly at the memory.

            “I did that?” said Bossanova, surprised at himself.

            “Yes, you did. Even if you’ve forgotten, I never well.” Tetsuya’s gaze gently at Bossanova. “I know you like animals. You’re a softie for touching stories and dramatic movies. On the guys’ birthdays you secretly send them a cake. On Christmas you leave presents by our bedside

            “You’ve been doing stuff like that, Bossanova?” said the twins.

            “It looks like he was already doing what he needed to in order to show he cared,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “As usual, Tamaki overcomplicated things,” said Kyoya.

            “Yes, but Mori came through when needed most,” said (Y/N).

            “You are shy and clumsy,” said Tetsuya. “I know it, and everyone in the family knows it as well. We can’t say anything because you’d be embarrassed. As for your scary face, sorry, but I’ll try my best to get used to it.”

            Some things are hopeless, thought (Y/N).

            “I take responsibility for their offense,” said Tetsuya, throwing a glare of the thugs of the Sendo family. “But please.” He bowed. “Allow me to stay by your side!” He straightened. “Oh! And here, I didn’t have a chance to give it to you yesterday, but the weather has been bad lately.” He held out an umbrella. “A spare umbrella! Everyone worries if Master catches cold.”

            “Sorry to interrupt such a touching scene, but you commute by car, so you don’t need one,” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            (Y/N) grabbed them by the collar and dragged them back.

            “Th-That’s right,” said Tetsuya, growing nervous. “I’m sorry.”

            “No!” A heavy blush rested on Bossanova’s cheeks, and he held the umbrella tightly. “Thank you!”

            “Sure!” said Tetsuya, also blushing.

            “All’s well that ends well,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “And Bossanova will cease to bother the Host Club,” said Kyoya, pleased by the development.

            “Oh, I have to apologize to Haruhi,” said Bossanova. “He got covered in paint because of me.”

            “Haruhi is changing clothes,” said Honey helpfully.

            “I’ll go find him. Thanks,” said Bossanova.

            “See you later, Master!” said Tetsuya. “We can play kick the can this afternoon!”

            “Well, we did a good deed,” said Tamaki. “They’ll live happily ever after.”

            “Boss, you didn’t do anything,” said Hikaru and Kaoru.

            “Mori was the hero this time,” said Kyoya. “He even had a speech.”

            (Y/N) tilted their head as they watched Bossanova disappear into the building. “Is he going to interrupt Haruhi changing?”

            “To say he’s thankful for the Host Club,” said Tamaki, still delusional about his involvement.

            “…Haruhi is a girl,” said (Y/N).

            The Host Club froze. Haruhi!

            “Haruhi! We’re coming to save you!” Tamaki took off running, tailed by Hikaru and Kaoru.

            “It’s too late, isn’t it?” said (Y/N), wincing

            Kyoya sighed. “Yes.” Still, there was little to do but follow after everyone to salvage the situation as they could.

            Sure enough, when the Hosts arrived at Music Room 3, it was too late. Bossanova stood outside the door with a shocked look on his face. The door was closed again, but he had seen Haruhi was a girl.

            “So you saw…” said Hikaru and Kaoru, appearing behind Bossanova with dark expressions.

            Tamaki looked like he was spiraling into space, nearly fainting.

            “U-Uh?!” Bossanova wasn’t used to fear, just embarrassment, but he was certainly feeling it now.

            “You saw? How much? You saw Haruhi’s modest body? You creep,” said the twins, advancing on Bossanova.

            “Bossanova…” said Honey. “I think perverts are scum…”

            Bossanova’s jaw dropped open.

            “Now what, Hikaru? He found out Haruhi’s secret,” said Kaoru.

            “We have no choice,” said Hikaru.

            Kaoru grabbed Bossanova, and Hikaru grabbed a bat from nowhere. “We beat the memory out of him!”

            “Cut that out,” said Kyoya. “Covering up a crime would be troublesome.”

            “I think a couple of hits are in order for not knocking before entering where someone is changing,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            Bossanova flinched as Hikaru raised the bat again.

            “No, we have other matters to attend to,” said Kyoya.

            “How can you be so calm?!” said the twins. “You should’ve realized sooner that Haruhi was getting changed.”

            “We all should have,” said Kyoya.

            “Look!” Kaoru pointed at Tamaki. “Due to the shock, the boss is a mere hollow shell of a man! We refused to deal with him when he’s like that!”

            “I don’t want to,” said Kyoya. “But Bossanova found out Haruhi is a girl, so we need to confer. Mr. Kasanoda—”

            So we do know his name and just ignore it, thought (Y/N).

            “—Haruhi is in the special situation of having to hide the fact that she’s a girl,” said Kyoya. “The reason she is in the Host Club is to present herself at a boy.”

            Most of this is kind of true.

            “We don’t have the right to forbid you to tell anyone, but would you be so kind as to consider what would happen should not only the Ootori family but also the families of the other club members become your foes, hm?” said Kyoya. An insidious aura radiated from him despite the smile.

            “Hey.” Haruhi, fully dressed, stepped outside the room. “Stop threatening Casanova.” Bossanova averted his gaze in embarrassment as she approached. “I’m sorry I surprised you, Casanova. I don’t mind if you tell. I’m completely fine with that.”

            An audible crack echoed through the room as Tamaki collapsed in shock.

            (Y/N) sighed. What was going to come next? Would he tell or would he keep her secret?

Taglist:

@roo024

@jmclouds

@yappydoo

@ramblingsoftheill

@girgal73

@rockerica

@nosoyyo1213

@ritzes28

@grippledee-galaxy

@rory-cakes

@neenieweenie

@k03ume

@constellationguy

@paastaboi

@introvertathome

@chaseyui

@jexnight

@snowy-violet

@nanaloverz

[husku-u]

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry my love, I couldn't protect you"

POV: You failed to protect what mattered most to you, You almost made it out together but now they're gone and you have to live with the fact it was your fault :D now you get to experience the suffocating guilt and grief of child loss

Found Sweet Pea 2nd Cycle of an expedition despite supposedly having turned pups off and managed to shelter before either of us died. Almost failed the expedition at least 4 separate times, but we fucking made it. However second to last Cycle after my friend joined, I died outside the den with Sweet Pea on my back while my friend waited in the den, the shelter closed before we could grab them ;-;

Legitimately fucking sobbed my eyes out for 10 minutes. We spawned them in the next cycle with dev console but holy shit I am experiencing real grief over this-

ID: 3607

[crowsongcaws]

(This is easily one of my favorite depictions of Codfather Jimmy, it feeds into my Empires s1 worldbuilding interest, and YES long hair!!! I love this account so much, I depend on each daily post, of course I had to write something)

The Codfather could feel a pair of eyes on him.

It wasn't an entirely unusual feeling—he was used to getting stray looks whenever he stood beside his sister. They'd see the Ocean Queen in all her glory, then their gaze would slide down to him, and he'd be able to feel the disappointment like a shiver and taste the pity on his tongue. He'd never quite gotten used to it.

This stare, however, was more persistent.

The Codfather tried to shake off the feeling, tried to keep himself focused on the emperor's meeting at hand, but the itch of it made him cave within a handful of minutes.

Glancing up at the current speaker, fWhip, he quickly let his eyes flicker to each person until his eyes met Smajor's. Immediately (the elf must have just then realized how long he'd been staring), he averted his gaze and fumbled with his pen to write down any sort of useful notes. The fins on the side of the Codfather's head flapped briefly in confusion, but he couldn't ask anything while fWhip was speaking, so he tuned back into the spoken topic and tried to return to his note-taking.

It was only after the meeting had come to an end that he suddenly found Smajor by his side. Admittedly, he was left flabbergasted by the sudden interest in him, and it was getting harder to assume Smajor's true interest had something to do with the Ocean Queen. Part of his inner turmoil must've been clear on his face because Smajor had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

"My apologies, Codfather," Smajor managed to say, formal and polite as usual—had he ever relaxed? "I just happened to notice the feather you've got in your hair, and I was wondering if that's a new fashion statement of yours?"

"I—I mean, yes?" The Codfather stammered, his confusion only becoming more apparent by the second. "Well, uh... it isn't a new fashion thing, or a 'fashion' thing at all, it's just... new for me."

Smajor tilted his head, just as confused.

Jimmy hurriedly added, "to the Cod, the sea and the sky are one and the same. Some of the more traditional people will say that this holds true enough that in this life, I may live as Cod, but in the next life, I'll be an Avian. So this feather, it represents the life before this one and the life I'll have after—that I always have and always will strive for the best no matter what."

"'The best'?" Smajor asked.

"Probably lost in translation over the centuries," he admitted, "so everyone interprets it differently. Some people say 'the best' means world peace, individual satisfaction with work or relationships, stuff like that, but I consider it to be personal happiness. I feel like it'd be hard to achieve anything else if you weren't personally happy."

At that, Smajor hummed in agreement, but he looked lost in thought. The Codfather hadn't expected to be sharing a part of his empire's culture so suddenly (or at all), but it struck him as comforting to see someone curious about it rather than the larger and more apparent culture of the Ocean Empire. Still...

"What made you ask?" he prodded.

Smajor suddenly seemed very blank-faced, his words failing for a handful of seconds before he finally said, "I thought you were engaged—"

"Engaged!?"

"—because avians in Rivendell, we—they—give feathers to those they're supposed to marry! And I didn't realize you were being courted by an avian, and the feather was so small, I didn't know if the courtship was supposed to be subtle and you were just walking around with it anyways because you wouldn't know that—"

"I'm not engaged! Lizzie would kill me if I was and she didn't know!"

The Codfather self-consciously brought a hand up to the feather, debating whether to tuck it away or remove it altogether in his wave of embarrassment, but Smajor was quicker—the elf reached out and grabbed his hand, startling them both.

"I'm sorry—" "I hope I didn't bother you—"

They both paused, and at that point, both had felt enough embarrassment to last for weeks. Smajor carefully pulled the Codfather's hand away from the feather, gently smoothing out the hair to not get tangled with the single feather.

"I'm sorry," Smajor repeated, "I just... didn't want you embarrassing yourself, and I just ended up embarrassing myself instead."

"It was a nice thought! And, well, it was nice to see someone notice. No one really asks about the Cod Empire if it isn't slime-related," The Codfather laughed, if only to mask his disappointment.

"... If you want to talk about it more, I'd love to learn more. None of my books ever teach much about the culture of other empires."

"Are you sure? It can be messy, and uh, a lot of it is just spoken history since it's so difficult to get everything written down in a majority-underwater empire—"

"Then I'll listen. Maybe take some notes if I can, so there's something in Rivendell about it."

The Codfather felt like he would genuinely cry over such an offer.

He eagerly said, "You know what? Sure! Just, send a letter! When you've got the time, of course. Leave the rest to me!"

...

Some years later, the Codfather would have a white feather of his own tangled in his hair.

...

One life later, an avian with bright yellow wings would wake up in a death game with the faintest memory of snow-cold hands and red poppies.

ah ... perchance a codfather ? or , If you are familiar at all with Jimmy's legacy smp , well . a jimmy clueless never hurt anyone ....

Day 75!

Codfather!! I just think he's pretty neat.

[tragicotps]

Asriel Belacqua + his biggest weakness aka Marisa Coulter

[dogwaterdish]

I've elected to ignore 430 & midoriya losing OFA for good, the ending did not do my favorites justice so I am pretending it didnt happen forever - only thing I'll accept is midoriya becoming a teacher

[wavebiders]

turn on your location Shar I just wanna talk

[la-principessa-nuova]

first off i want to say that everything you’re describing here are all very much thoughts that went through my head at some point, and not just say that they will get better, but to give you the additional datapoint that i had all these same thoughts and yet for me it has gotten better.

I ended up writing a lot so i guess read whatever you feel like (as always) and i’ll put it after the fold so it doesn’t take up too much space on people’s dashboards:

that creeping sense of doubt of what if it’s all wrong or what if i can’t do it can be so hard to go through, and I’m sorry that you’re so deep in that right now. it did get better for me with time. it still comes into my head from time to time, especially when i’m around people who are deadnaming/misgendering me a lot or in an environment where i’m not out, but it definitely gets easier to deal with, a little bit just over time but especially as people around you start respecting your name and pronouns and treating you like a woman (either bc they change or bc you change your surroundings but either way).

for me, the thing that has helped the most in combatting the doubt, and you mentioned this already, is that counterpoint that when you think about going back, about having to pretend to be a man again, it feels so bad to think about. Because once we’ve had a taste of self-actualization, the pain of hiding and being someone else is just so much more noticeable with the context and the language/mental model to describe it. But that feeling is such a clear and present form of gender dysphoria that always reminds me why I’m doing this.

When I question if I could really be a woman because it seems so uncomfortable to push through all the conditioning that I’m not allowed to be, I think about being a man and it seems so foreign and so wrong that it helps me distinguish the feeling of truly not being a gender from the fear of the unknown and the fear of putting myself and my femininity out there to be rejected.

And when I fear that I will never pass and be read as a woman, I think about all the years that I was failing to pass as a man. All the rooms full of men (and boys earlier on) who tried treating me as one of the guys and it felt so wrong, and when I would use one of their phrases to fit in and it felt so gross coming out of my mouth. Never fitting in, never being truly part of things. Physical features are actually way easier to change than how we think and feel.

And when I think about the same situations with women, while there was a discomfort, introspecting on that made me realize that what I was feeling was that I wasn’t allowed to be there. I feared rejection from the group I wanted so badly to be part of and yet had been conditioned to believe I could never be. I felt like my presence in those settings was obtrusive, offensive, and threatening. These were all things I needed to work on (and still do to an extent) that clouded my sense of belonging within those groups.

i think it might help to show that this stuff gets better if i share a bit of my own story.

i first realized that the feelings i’d had about being more feminine and not like one of the guys meant that i was trans when i was 19, sitting in my dorm. it was the first time i had been away from home with peace and time to myself to think enough to do some deep introspection. i processed a lot of what i’ve mentioned and a lot of what you’ve mentioned at that time, and it was so overwhelming.

i didn’t think i could ever even tell my parents, and they handled all of my medical appointments and things still, so there was no way i felt like i could “medically transition” (whatever i thought that meant at the time). so after initially figuring things out, I just stopped thinking about it. I got busy with school and getting a job and I let that stuff keep me distracted, and every now and then when I had some time alone I would think about the fact that I’m trans and my gender and just feel this huge sense of cognitive dissonance as i continued to tell myself it’s not an option.

I convinced myself that even though I was technically trans, I didn’t need to transition, I could just get through life knowing for myself and hopefully one day I can find a partner who will be respectful enough about trans stuff that I can be open with it about her and that will be enough. But I was lying to myself, and eventually that all caught up with me when I moved out of my parents’ house and had some free time to introspect again and privacy to not be embarrassed reading about and watching videos by trans people explaining everything.

And then finally after 8 years I had a moment where it really sank in that I had to transition. I realized that while I could maybe keep myself alive and go to work and find some little joys along the way, I could not live until I transitioned. I realized that I could never relate to a partner who is expecting me to be a guy, and that at best I could hope to make it to old age and die sad and alone with no real friends and no partner. I realized that my creative pursuits were suffering because I wasn’t experiencing life. And I finally realized how many things that, even knowing I was trans, I hadn’t realized were manifestations of gender dysphoria.

And even after that, I still had doubts, and for the first 6 months or so after that they were so strong that I was afraid to come out to anyone irl because I didn’t want to pass the point of no return where I couldn’t just quietly throw away all my feminine things and go back to before. Even now they come and they go, but I know how to get through them without letting them send me so far into a spiral.

And when I started transitioning, I felt like there was zero hope of it working. I felt like I looked so masculine and like I could never be read as a woman, let alone completely “pass”. I thought I’d get laughed out of the room if I ever told anyone I was a woman and asked them to call me a different name and use she/her pronouns, especially my parents. I thought I’d pass so poorly nobody would ever see me as woman. But already, only 9 months into HRT, people do, and people have even earlier on.

But in some environments, people who know me from before still see me as a man in a wig, and it hurts, but it’s getting better with time. My conservative dad who had said severely transphobic things over the last few years, just a couple weeks ago, called me Sabrina for the first time. And in the conversation afterwards referred to me as his daughter. It gets better.

You will learn how to handle these struggles and avoid spiraling with time, and even if you never pass, the world will become more accepting in the long run.

As for your fears about the difficulties of transitioning, they are very valid, but while stressful and difficult, I have found them much easier to handle than the moments/contexts where I’ve had to boymode a lot and started to get sucked back into the before-times.

I’ve also come to realize that I was overestimating a lot of the difficulty and that fear was the hardest part both to experience and to overcome (although context: I have OCD and that definitely played a role, and also I live in a very blue state). The biggest step that reduced the most stress for me around transitioning was finally actually accepting that it was my life to ruin as I wanted. That I can disappoint my parents and that’s fine actually. That I can dress in ways that clash or don’t quite work and that’s fine. That I can not quite perfectly cover my stubble or make my body shape conform to feminine standards and most people won’t notice or care or think that means I’m trans even.

And also that outside of your family, people tend to care a lot less and get used to change a lot quicker, and if they don’t, you’re not stuck with them. The one exception I’ll say is possibly school, if you’re still largely with a cohort of people you’ve known for a long time (idk how common that is with like some in sixth form and some at college if i understand the uk school system correctly).

So for me there was a lot of like accepting that I can do it wrong and adjust and eventually I’ll get there. And that I have to woman badly to learn how to woman well. Like I have to actually put on makeup if I want to get better at doing it. I have to talk to cis women about things I still feel like I’m not allowed to in order to get comfortable with it. And learning to separate out those insecurities to know how to deal with them one by one.

idk i kind of rambled for a bit but hopefully some of this makes you feel less alone and maybe gives some advice on dealing with things. (and oh god i’ve been writing for 2 hours??? why can’t i do that for my book like i do for tumblr posts?)

i think im starting to accept that im a girl and. im just heartbroken

i feel robbed, i couldve been so much happier and im grateful that ill get to be, but its all so much more complicated. its not fair

i shouldnt feel as calm as i do. it seems so up here but i feel like its just stress masquerading as quiet. i just dont have the words anymore

they should get to work on that button

[candlebel]

I cared. I still do. I still think of you and I still cry over you. You were importat to me. You still are.

[tommygotwrittenoff]

okay buck would definitely be like hey eddie let's spar together and eddie would be like okay!! sparring is so much fun!! and so they would go to a gym after their shift and spar and it would be Fine for about 5 minutes. before buck realizes he's in over his head and his size is Not an advantage with eddie because eddie is able to pin him down no matter what buck does. and buck would be so horny and frustrated the entire time and eddie would be confused because I thought you could fight buck??? why are you giving up once I pin your hands down??? and buck would try to be all ha ha I guess I can't compete against a former street fighter while actively trying to hide his erection

[idiaa-shroxd]

HEY HELLO I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM I'M SO JELOUS MARRY ME???/j

awww thank you so so much!! 💗💞 I absolutely would marry you (*´∀｀*) i hope you don’t mind but i checked out your blog aesthetic is literally so pretty?? i’m very jealous of people who know how to make a pretty profile!!! i adore the color it’s so pleasing to the eyes!! i also checked your writing and it’s very nice!! it’s easy to read and understand and i also respect the first post being one about deuce! <3

i also really love the genshin emotes, makes me happy to see another fan ehe so here’s one in response, as faruzan’s got to basically be my main besides wanderer because i adore her so much?? play style is absolutely fun despite only being c4 i crowned her. my wanderer is like triple crowned and has cons with a BIS but I still love faruzan so much—. she’s literally so cute!! (´・ω・)

[babieken]

this is random and mildly embarrassing but does anyone watch Grey's Anatomy here?

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

When Ghost had asked if you would help him with something, you’d answered yes without a question. You didn’t ask for details, smiling and thanking him every time he opened each door that led to the base’s parking garage, giggling when he even insisted on opening the truck door for you. You’d come to grow fond of your work husband, appreciating how he never failed to make you feel special.

You sometimes wished his affections were genuine, rather than part of what you’d assumed was a strange hazing ritual in the military (which you couldn’t deny kind of worked, the two of you had grown closer hadn’t you? Was that the point of hazings?).

But you knew that line of thinking wouldn’t lead anywhere, other than potential heartbreak. He surely was only joking around, wouldn’t return your feelings. That’s why you played along with the ruse, but tried your best not to fall too hard for the man who was making that more and more impossible.

Still though, you couldn’t deny the pang in your heart when you discovered the errand he requested your help with, was to go look at engagement rings.

Did he actually have someone special in his life? Someone he hoped to propose to?

You felt guilty, thinking there might be another person out there that he loves enough to ask them to marry him, all the while you’re enjoying his attention at work, pretending he could ever actually want you as his wife.

You follow him into the shop, eyes widening at the never ending cases and displays of shiny, glittering jewelry, as far as the eye can see.

He chuckles at your expression, telling you not to worry your pretty little head over any price tags, just to pick out whichever one you liked.

You appreciated that he trusts your judgement so much that he wanted your opinion on which ring to buy his partner, and so you take your time looking through them all, even if it makes you sad to picture him slipping this ring onto another person’s finger.

Gaze scanning the displays, your eye is instantly caught by one ring and one ring only. You point to it, Ghost humming in agreement, signalling for one of the employees behind the counter to unlock the case.

The man pulls the ring out, handing it to the Lieutenant who examines it in between gloved fingers.

“Let’s see how it fits.” He murmurs, taking your left hand in his and slipping the band onto your ring finger, both of your eyes locked on the movement.

“Like a glove.” The employee says with a smile, moving to gather a selection of ring boxes he hopes to show you both, seeing that the ring has evidently found its owner and fits perfectly.

“It’s really beautiful Ghost.” You tell him, admiring the ring as he admires your expression. “Your wife’s a lucky woman.” You add, thinking of the mystery woman you’re convinced he’s buying this for, assuming you must have a similar ring size to her or something, if he’s having you try it on.

Your eyes meet his own warm gaze as his hand folds your fingers, bringing the ring up to his lips to press a kiss through the mask.

“Not as lucky as I am to be her husband.”