#I'm still cellphone-bound

[razzle-n-dazzle]

I just read some of your works and god do you write good better than the actual show I would even say.

I really want to request a Yandere headcannon for mainly Ozzie and Fizzarolli they don’t get enough love as they do, but with a little twist

Whichever you choose I would love either one you pick cause im indecisive.

1: a powerful reader maybe even more stronger than Ozzie being lovers with the two

Or 2: a chubby but physically strong reader that could lift Ozzie with ease as example

If you do see this I hope you consider writing this, you have such a lovely writing style and I would love to see what you cook up

Also call me 🥟-anon if you will cause I hope to request and talk more

ᯓ★ Murder is Okay, Shutting Us Out Isn't. Yandere! Asmodeus & Fizzarolli / Overlord! Reader | Oneshot TW! - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK: romanticizing yandere(s), obsessive behavior, def not proof read (because we die like Adam in this household /j), Vox (/j), boner mention (no sexual content), self harm, yelling, possessive

ᯓ I actually loved both ideas you gave me, so I'm going to mash then both together into one! For that, I'm going to give you all a little crash course into the background for the Reader (you) in this story so things make a little more sense: The reader, though an Overlord, is both physically and magically stronger than Ozzie, though doesn't show it off often. Also, this happened due to their mix of blood; The reader is the child of an an old overlord and a Sin (I'm going for Wrath in this story) and had gained the physical strength from their overlord mother and the magical strength from their Sin father. With this they're able to be known as the Wrathful Overlord, or 'The child and will of Wrath', though Satan doesn't claim them to be his own and has no interest to. Also, no the Reader isn't stronger than other Sins, just Ozzie for this case. Since Ozzie is claimed to be the weakest (or one of the Weaker) Sin that we currently know of, the Reader is matched right around his level. Yet they, much like Alastor, cannot beat other Sins or even Adam, as even with their strengths, are set back by the rather large power difference. So with that out of the way, please enjoy!:

ᯓ You had been living with Ozzie and Fizz for a few months, silently having moved away from your district on the Eastern side of the Pride Ring after their proposal. While it was not uncommon for love to bloom in hell, even with the eternal suffering or the large amount of (usually) taboo topics being put on display down here, you were still not big on having your private life being posted for all of hell to see. Especially those in the Pride Ring, where you were sure Vox would take any chance to slander and drag your name in the mud for having a 'blasphemous' relationship. And really, you didn't feel like cleaning up the blood of another Sinner. Oh no, not because you killed them. Dear, Lucifer god no! Why do that when you had two perfect body guards at your beckon and call?

ᯓ "Honestly, I don't even understand how there can be blasphemy down here. It's hell, God is not watching what we do and I pity him if he did." You would mutter, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching News 666 on your cellphone silently with Fizz; Who had became curious open hearing the news topic and bounded over, wrapping his snake-like arms around your waist twice. He squeezed you a little tight, yet you didn't mind, especially when his head was rested upon your shoulder. You could practically see the growing smirk on his lips before he even spoke, "You know everything we do down here is blasphemes right? That's why we're in Hell, not Heaven. I mean the murder, the sex, the gr-" Though Fizz's little list was caught off short as you hushed him, pressing a quick finger up against his lips.

ᯓ Ozzie was cooking in the background, occasionally taking peaks behind him to make sure you nor Fizz were doing anything stupid; Like trying to cook despite knowing neither of you could do so. It was always a nice gesture until Ozzie has to get the kitchen repaired... again. "And this in, News 666 and it's broadcasting will be disturbed quickly for a message from The fucking V's themselves." Katie Killjoy would crack her neck to the side, seeming oh so annoyed at the interruption. You were too, and Fizz didn't miss the way your face scrunched. "You know Tom, their news isn't even repu-" Katie tried to shout before their segment was cut off, their news source becoming engulfed in The V's logo before the man of the hour, Vox himself, overtook the screen. Him and his snicker, you knew this couldn't be good.

ᯓ Vox never hit the air unless he knew something, unless he wanted something to happen, unless this was his calculated and curated response to something.

ᯓ And the last time that happened, Alastor wiped the floor with him.

ᯓ Fizz drew away from your shoulder a little, his eyes narrowing at your growing irritation before he glanced back towards Ozzie, who already had his arms crossed in confusion. Sure, they've heard about this Vox, mostly from you, but they never expected you to have this much of a detest about him. What happened between you and this TV-head that they didn't manage to dig up? And most importantly, recent or not, did he ever hurt you in anyway. . . or was he planning to?

ᯓ "This just in, news is starting to come up from higher-ups, and close friends, in Wrath Town that their leader, supposed their supposed Overlord, the Child of Wrath, themselves, have gone missing!" Vox stated, trying to carefully keep his voice leveled yet failing miserably; From the twitch in his eye and the wide, plastering grin across his flat face, you could just tell this was another Alastor situation. Yet an Alastor situation that was not pointed directly towards Alastor rather You; Which you had saw coming, maybe even expected it, but fucking Lucifer did you hope you could at least get a good year under your belt before Vox came in to spread 'miss information' all over the Pride Ring. All just to keep his viewers attention on him, just to keep his support. What a loser.

ᯓ You would scoff, trying not to laugh at his obsessive allegations, which were true you guessed, as Fizz and Ozzie silently listened from beside and behind you. While you didn't seem alarmed, or even frightened at the least (as they were sure you would be, seeing as this seemed common for Overlords to not get along) they sure were. Well, not alarmed per say, rather on guard; carefully lingering on the words that Vox was so carelessly spewing to all of those who watched his broadcast. And you noticed how Fizz drew back closer, leaning over your shoulder to glare at your phone, to glare at Vox like Vox might feel his stare, like he was daring Vox to say something else; All the while you couldn't help but laugh, chuckle, giggle, and kind of make fun of Vox as he continued on. His senseless chatter played in the background as you tried to wave off your fiancés' concerns, "Please, guys, don't get worked up over him, he's no threat; More like an annoying bug under everyone's shoe." "One who, from what we hear, likes to stick his non-existent nose in other people's business." Ozzie would comment from the stove, his glare still harsh on the screen even as he flipped over the bacon in the pan. His tone was leaking with annoyance, or maybe irritation and ire is are better words; Either way, you shrugged your shoulders as he continued, "Really, doesn't he have like any other news? that's all basically weightless if it's coming from other people's mouths!" "It's gossip, it keeps his viewer's attention and support up. That's the whole point," You would explain, slightly rolling your eyes at the crazed look Vox gave you. Granted, it was through the screen, but, "I would have thought he would know better than to talk about me, especially since I've shattered his screen more than once." Though Fizz was less amused, "You both give than man way too much credit-" Was the only part of his commentary he could get out, hands on the counter now, before a shout from Vox drew all of your attentions back in.

ᯓ "Oh, ho-ho!" And there was a cackle, one that caused your eyebrows to frown downwards and scrunch your face. One that rang out like an annoying fire alarm and drew a growl from Fizz's throat and a flicker of hellish flame from Ozzie's coat. It's like you all could smell that the shit that Vox was going to spew. "THIS JUST IN," And there was a slam of his hands on the table, "I JUST GOT WORD FROM A TRUSTED SOURCE THAT THE WRATHFUL OVERLORD IS NOT ONLY NOT IN THEIR PITIFUL, SHIT-HOLE OF A TOWN, YET THEY'RE NOT EVEN IN THE PRIDE RING!- Where the fuck are they, you might ask? Well, not fucking here and maybe that's for the better, this place was turning into a shit down with them around." His grin would tease you from behind the screen, and you grew slightly worried that he could see you. That, as his eyes widened and he drew closer to the screen, that he could see right through it. . .

ᯓ "You're in the fucking Lust ring, you absolute SLUT! What the fuck are you doing hanging around an, who's that? An Imp and- And is that Asmodeus himself in the background!" Clack! You would drop your phone like it had burnt you and stumbled backwards, not out of fear, you could never be fearful of someone like Vox, yet out of . . . what would be the word? Ire? Exasperation? Irritation? Preservation? Fizz was quick to lock his arms, just to keep you from stumbling back too far and hitting against the countertops near the stove, potentially burning yourself; As Ozzie stepped up, standing protectively between the phone and the two of you, the flickering of his growing detestation and bubbling anger slowly flickering around his coat, which threatened to burst flames. "This just in, your little Wrathful Overlord, has not only abandoned the Pride Ring yet is sleeping with the Sin of Lust and his weak-dick, limp ass Imp!" Vox's cackle echoed around the room, "That's so fucking sad!- Oh, looks like no one will ever have any sort of reason to be scared of you anymore," And his name spilled out from his lips with venom, poisoning the air with his slithering voice. That was, until his broadcast was cut off, cutting his maniacal laughter short, with a crackle then pop. It seemed like Ozzie had enough of listening to Vox, and seemingly had enough of your phone, as he had slammed his fists into the counter. Effectively ending the broadcast and your phone all in one go.

ᯓ And nothing but silence filled the room, just as you were sure nothing but silence (and soon an eruption of hatred and irreverence) filled the Pride Ring, and Wrath Town.

ᯓ "Fuck. ." Was the words that left with an airy breath.

ᯓ "THAT FUCKER IS SO DEAD!" Was Ozzie's first words; his hair combusting into flames, his irritation and outrage boiling over and finally having struck that match.

ᯓ Maybe it was slight shock overwhelming you, never having expected your engagement to be outrighted for everyone in the Pride Ring to hear, or maybe it was Fizz carelessly (accidentally) spinning you around, but you found yourself exasperation against the kitchen counter; Your eyes still locked on where your cellphone was now intended into the counter. "I've got the rope!" Fizz's voice barely registered in your ears, along with the sounds of his mechanical arms and legs moving to easily wrap himself around Ozzie. "Let's go kill that fucker!- or maybe tie him up and leave him exposed and naked on his own stupid broadcast. Like, really, who does he think he is trying to come for us like that?" Fizz's agreement with Ozzie's irrational solution caused a growl, a very lion-like one, to seep through Ozzie's gritting teeth, "A two timing nobody, that's who he is, and I won't stand for it! He comes for what's mine and I'm going to show him who the FUCK he's dealing with!"

ᯓ You know, maybe you've enabled their behavior a little too much; Sure, you loved the way they grew overprotected about you (and as you were sure they loved when you did the same) yet logically, you knew you had to stop them. When news gets out about Ozzie and Fizz going up to the Pride Ring and killing, or humiliating, an overlord not only will Vox's words be taken as facts, which can cause a whole other set of issues, yet Lucifer might also get involved. Of course, though, your knowledge about how Sins worked together and how they could interfere with each other's rings was limited. Yet, you can only guess a Sin killing an Overlord in another person's ring would just cause some sort of uproar.

ᯓ So when Ozzie, with Fizz coiled around his arm as to not get burnt, were about to leave the kitchen-living room, you had to act fast. Even while a little dazed, a little out of your own body, stilling trying to reel in the information of the situation that just happened, you dashed forward towards them. Or maybe your feet did so because they knew you had to catch them, and it sure felt that way rather than your own doing. It all felt like you were watching through a pair of another's person's eyes as you rushed over, your tail trashing out to stag the Ozzie's heel and trip him (you would have to apologize later). It bought you some time to slid in between him and floor, effectively catching him in your arms. "Yeah, as to hell we're going to go do anything boys! We're," You slammed the door closed, effectively walking away from it, "Staying here!" And that was your final verdict and that was what you were going to do as to make sure you can control this situation as much as possible. While frazzled and your finances' not thinking properly, giving into their own natural urges that some would call taboo (even for hell), this was no time to do that. Ergo, this was no time to be out murdering people!

ᯓ At that time you failed to notice the blush and wide eyes that had sprung to Ozzie's face when you dropped them both onto the couch, as well as the slight boner he had to hide by crossing his legs; Which Fizz defiantly noticed and teased him for with a snicker. Often times, not on purpose, did Fizz and Ozzie forget that out of all three of you, you were the strongest. Physically and magically, as you tended not to flash it off like some demons like to do, instead you flashed where you shined mentally. Though, damn, does it get Ozzie every time you swiftly come in and pick him up like he was weightless, with the same ease he picked up Fizz and you (even after you had told the first few times he didn't have to, later learning that you were conscience about your weight due to your chubbier figure). So it managed to calm Ozzie down, at least a little for the time being. Fizz would follow after, not really looking to murder people by himself - or at least not wanting to or not believing that he could.

ᯓ Calling your name from the couch, yet to no effect, the two would watch as you walked away from them to only circle right back round and leave again; pacing around the room with a constipated look on your face, leaving them confused, and slightly concerned, on the couch. Fizz slinked down to sit on Ozzie's lap, seeing as Ozzie had sat up to make sure you were alright while walking circles around them. Them both noticed quickly the way your tail trashed dangerously, the slight glare you gave to your phone anytime you passed through the kitchen, and the way your left hand clutched and curled in on itself. Fizz was sure your claws were digging into the skin of your palm, where marks from previous punctures of your claws laid fresh. "Hey," Ozzie started, calling out your nickname yet watching it effectively fall onto death ears. Even so, he continued, what's going on?" An invitation to talk to them, an invitation that received the acknowledgement of you hitting the tip of your tail against the floor to ceiling glass. Your own way of letting them know you heard him, yet needed a moment to gather your thoughts. To find something that can fix this situation without it blowing over and becoming bigger than you needed or wanted it to. To find a way to sweep and brush it under the rug. To just- make it like it never, ever fucking happened!

ᯓ Crack!

ᯓ You barely felt it, the smoke of Wrath infesting your very mind and blurring every other sense. Yet, Fizz and Ozzie caught it with ease. They heard the crack of your bone, the saw the way your nails not only had dug into your skin with the increase pressure yet suddenly broke through your palm and to the other side of your hand. Fizz covered his mouth, trying to hold in the gag that threatened to escape from the shock that filled him. Ozzie, wrapping an arm around Fizz to support him up to his chest to comfort him, would stand. . . and he didn't know how else to get your attention but exploding; Calling your name with a tone he rather not use with you. "WHAT?" Yet you would snap back, a green lining the inside of your eyes, right by your pupils. "WHAT CAN BE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU CANNOT WAIT, OZZIE. I'M TRYING TO-" A tug at your wrist, Fizz, despite not being able to stand the sight if your claws puncturing through your hand, dragged you over to them. He rose your hand up to eye level once you were in front of the two, and he didn't want to make you watch the black blood that flowed down from it, that coated your claws thickly, he knew it was the only way to get you to pay attention. To realize that you hurt yourself in the panic of trying to fix a problem that could best be fixed together. To realize the scowl that was placed upon Ozzie's face at your actions, yet the underlining concern he had. To notice how Fizz was a bit sickened at the fact that you could so easily hurt yourself, and hurt that you wouldn't talk to them and effectively just shut them out again. Even though they have both told you countless times that you could talk them through your thoughts, that they can help you, that they want to help you! Even if you felt like you needed to handle everything that happened by yourself, even if you felt like the world was crushing in they were here! They were always here for you, and they were ready to help as long as you just talked to them.

ᯓ Fizz and Ozzie, out of everyone and anything, care about you (and granted each other) the most. And to see you physically hurt yourself over someone you told them not to worry about . . . well it stabbed them in the heart and made them ever so more concerned.

ᯓ "I just, I need time. I can figure this out if I'm given enough time." You would try to explain to Ozzie and Fizz as you sat on Ozzie's desk, where Fizz usually sat to replace any problem limbs. Fizz sat beside you, securely holding your right hand in his own and nuzzling up to you; His head resting against yours. Ozzie was in front of you, carefully trying to bring your claws out of the palm of your hand without hurting you, so he could then disinfect the wounds and wrap them up. He would have gotten a doctor, but felt a bit too fired up to let any medical professional touch you when you were so vulnerable. "Honey, get us, we know," Ozzie started, then let out a heavy sigh. "You say that every time something shitty happens in Pride. It's like- your go to thing!" Fizz added on, his tone a bit chirpier than Ozzie's; trying to lighten the mood, bring at least a small tug of a smile onto your face. Ozzie would soon apologize as you let out a hiss, feeling your claw carefully yet strikingly painfully being pulled out from your palm. You squeezed Fizz's hand, he nuzzled his head further against yours. And yet, you still spoke through gritted teeth and hissing, "I just! There never seems to be- FUCK, Ozzie that shit hurts!" "Love, I'm sorry, but I'm trying my best to make it as painless as possible. Yet, it's kind of hard when you managed to stab yourself right between your own bones." Ozzie mumbled, quickly working on the exposed wound, trying to wrap it with a towel just for the time being so he could work on the other three fingers (your thumb didn't puncture through skin, but did leave a good wound on your middle finger). Fizz would let out a nervous bit of laughter, trying to turn the situation away from your pain, just so you wouldn't have to think about it. "Hey, why don't you tell us why. . . you were so against us going to go kill the guy! I mean, I'm sure it would be easier than thinking of a whole counter plan and stabbing yourself through the hand, wounding yourself for someone you-" "Froggie," Ozzie warned, though his tone was still soft, noticing quickly how he began to ramble out of nerves. "I don't think that's helping."

ᯓ Yet you didn't mind much, it kind of did set your brain a little more straight and screwed in properly. So in a way you kind of did need Fizz's nervous rambling right now, "No, no it's fine. I. . . needed that. I just," A frown stretched upon your face, letting out a heavy sigh that was quickly replaced with a painful hiss and quickly followed by another apology from Ozzie. Your face scrunched at the pain, yet softened as you felt Fizz trying to comfort you once more. His hand squeezed your undamaged one, and when you turned your head towards his, he connected your foreheads. The distress that came from your fiancés were slowly becoming more apparent to you; Especially by the way Fizz looked into you, his own eyebrows frowned and scrunched, worry laced around his eyes. You felt the pressure of Ozzie wrapping your newly oxygen exposed wound with the towel, trying to cover it gently yet firmly enough. "I just. . . didn't want them to hurt you." The words left your mouth before you could think about their weight; Even if they were nothing but the truth, all the worry that struck your brain the moment Vox had called you out was all due to your worry that Fizz and Ozzie might get hurt. That they might be caught in some sort of cross fire between Vox and you and you would have to deal with their blood on your hands. That was a thought your couldn't bear to stand.

ᯓ The silence was thick for a good few minutes as you kept your eyes squeezed shut, afraid to open them and face Ozzie and Fizz. You could feel as Fizz leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his in an attempt to comfort you, coax you to open your eyes. But he just saw they way they twitched and you squeezed harder. You could feel as Ozzie paused, his fingers gently grabbing around yours yet not giving it's usual tug. And without looking at them, you felt the nerves build in your stomach at the thought that you might have offended them in some way, or they were disappointed in you for some reason. Yet they weren't. Logically, you knew that they weren't any of those things, yet they worrying thoughts still crept in your mind. "Baby, no. . ." Ozzie's sweet voice would ring through the unwanted chatter in your mind, almost like he could hear or feel what was happening in your tornado of a mind. "No, you don't have to worry about us, we were more worried about you. Trust me." You felt Ozzie's engulfing hand rest against your cheek and Fizz nod against your head, "Oh yeah! Our names have been racked through the mud since the whole Mammon incident. Trust us, we can take a little shit, but-" And Fizz paused, always a little hesitant to speak about these topics, "This is new to you, and we know how important your work is to you." "And Just like Sins, I'm sure an Overlord's power also comes from your reputation among people. And that guy, well, directly went for your reputation," Ozzie mumbled, his thumb rubbing sweetly against your cheek. He couldn't dent it, but he loved how they were a little chubbier than most, making your skin a little more plump and soft. "And for that I would have killed him! But you don't want that, for some reason I still don't understand!- But, we respect that. Just know we're here to help anyway we can." "Yeah just say the word!" Fizz playfully moved his head to nuzzle his nose against your other cheek, effectively earning a smile from you and a few bits of suppressed laughter that dared to bubble out your throat. You weren't sure why it was always ticklish when Fizz nuzzled his nose against your cheek, yet it was. "Okay, Okay!-" A giggle slipped through your lips, "I'm sorry. . . I should have, talked to you guys instead of-" You paused, chewing over your words. Yet, you didn't have to think for long as Fizz cut in, "Pushing us away?" "Hurting yourself?" Ozzie swiftly added after, both with their own sassy yet caring tones as they stared down at you. "Yeah. . . that." You would mumble, with an heat rushing up to your cheeks out of embarrassment. You didn't realize you were actually being that big of a dick to the two most important people in your life. Wow, you really did need that reality check from Fizz earlier.

ᯓ "Well, thank god we love you." Fizz's sarcastic voice trailed out with a cheeky grin spread across his face, showing off his pointed teeth and his ever so adorable cheeky attitude. "Or else this would be such a different story! You might have ended out on the streets, or worse, dead." And even if his words would be less than comforting for anyone else, you couldn't help but smile at them; Shooting your own cheeky glare back, finally gaining the courage to open your eyes again. To bask in your lovers' faces instead of cowering in the darkness, fearing a rejection that was never there to begin with. Something that would have never came. Ozzie took the chance to, while you were laughing and smiling and paying attention to Fizz rather than your own pain, to gently yet swiftly take out your third claw. Instantly, your tail trashed and a hiss escaped your mouth. And while he felt bad, Ozzie couldn't help but shake his head and rather seriously state, "Yeah, but don't ever do this again." "Yeah no, I don't think I can take looking at you stab through your own hand either." Fizz agreed, shaking his head. Either way, he went back to nuzzling you to comfort, trying to distract you from the pain of your hands as Ozzie moved the towel over your third wound. One more to go. You tried to keep in the giggles that threatened to escape due to their words, yet you couldn't help it. With a roll of your eyes and a sarcastic, yet playful, tone, you muttered back to them, "Well, fuck, if I ever get stabbed I'm never coming to either of you!"

Home | Masterlist Tag list: @lily-ann-b

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[ A/N: Also, thank you so much for this request, it was a joy to write! I can't wait to hear from you again the future! And thank you to everyone for supporting my work, I've gotten so many nice comments in my inbox and I promise I'm trying to get through everyone's requests, or as much of them as possible. There's a good handful of them that request the same thing, so they will be clumped together, just because I don't think I can make enough content to make four separate posts about Adam with a Goth girlfriend or Yandere Lucifer lol! But, thank you all for the support, really, I wouldn't be able to do this all without you :) ]

[lunarriviera]

hi hey hello i have started watching a new crime drama and I AM OBSESSED. it's called 雪迷宫 or, for some reason, The First Shot, although it should be more properly Snow Maze. it's a period piece set in 1997 and it's produced by ZHANG YIMOU which must be why the production values are actually good??? anyway i am here to tell you all about it and why you should be watching it okay here we go

first of all there's a big hot dumb cop, zheng bei. yes that's huang jingyu and you might not like him because of his apparently quite sketchy personal life but all i care about in this case is that he's tall, and thoughtful, and a police captain who's protective of his people and a little bit of an idiot. my catnip tbh. (i guess he was in addicted too? somehow breaking the you-can-only-be-in-one-BL rule?)

(ETA that by "dumb" of course he's not dumb at all, only by comparison; cf. my own stupid meta on this fascinating topic)

then there's an effete genius consultant, gu yiran (wang ziqi), who knows everything there is to know about drugs. he comes from the south to help these ignorant northerners form an anti-narcotics unit. he's such a massive nerd, the team doesn't like him until they realize that he runs 10k every morning and can outrun motorcycles and is actually quite useful. then suddenly it's no longer "gu-laoshi" but is all "ran-ge" this and "ran-ge" that. he can't dance for shit. i adore him.

there's a superb seven-samurai style Assembling The Team sequence in which this cop is brought in as the muscle. Her nickname is mad dog yao and she kicks the ass of an entire club at one point. we love her. her only problem is that, not unlike zhang haixing in tibetan sea flower, she will in fact fight a wall. here's gu yiran's face after a drug dealer mistakenly underestimates her and she stomps on him.

one of my favorite things about this drama so far is how poor the police are. it's 1997 in a dinky northern precinct and these cops ain't got shit. no computers. rudimentary cellphones. barely any forenic analysis, and most of that is on pieces of paper. no bullpen. no interrogation rooms. they have to interview suspects at their desks.

captain zheng is so underpaid he can't even afford a real pointer for his situation board, he has to go outside and get a literal stick.

drives his dad's chicken delivery van. has to slam himself against the front door to open it. everything about this is absolutely perfect.

i'm only on episode 7 but this shit is already brotastic. please behold:

yes that is an actual line from the show. yes gu yiran has to live with captain zheng, they can't afford fancy accommodations for him. turns out there's a trundle bed made out of paper clips but that's okay, they still get plenty of cosy domestic time together.

and that's also what i already love about this drama—in spite of being about anti-narcotics, it's also very slice of life, very daily city life, with meals and neighbors and friends and family and did i mention food, there is so much eating in this drama. it's gorgeous. also i'm improving my colloquial chinese by leaps and bounds.

of course you are you stupid service top, now take care of the baby.

and those are just some of the reasons why you should be watching the first shot, which is funny and suspenseful and unexpectedly brainy and well-cast and has beautiful opening credits. there are 19 episodes on youku's youtube channel right now and the subs are shockingly high quality. i'm hooked, and also so mad at my day job because i can't just binge it, pls join me in this handbasket

[angelsanarchy]

Like A Pretty Boy: Gabe x Y/N Midi Series- PRT 1

Tagging: @icarus-star @kappasbbgirl @starry-eyed-wild-child @luzclarita57 @bonesgirl11 @444rockstargf blondiezluvbrowniez pretty-girl-blogg fallin444niya liquidsmoothdomme @rootin-tootin-pootin ethical-cain-vinnel l3viathan-sin666 crowfullofwoe @8klil avathewitc @spoilingthemilk @romanroyapoligist anakinskywalkerssgf zoloftsh4wty womenloverlmao berrymeringueposts elvira-aarseth agornotsworld

Y/n watches Gabe stretch as he comes out of the closet, clothes now changed, exhaustion clear on his face as he heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had been working really hard on his documentary but Police Brutality isn't a very cheery topic. The reality of the injustices against people of color was growing worse every day and just looking over the statics would blow your mind.

He struggled with the heinous imagery that came with these cases and stories of innocent people being targeted in their own communities just to be suffocated, beaten or shot to death for merely existing.

"You look like you slept 10 minutes." Y/n walked into the bathroom and put his hands on Gabe's shoulders, feeling the tension from leaning over a laptop all night.

"Yeah...kind of hard to sleep peacefully when you're staring at murdered kids until 4AM." Gabe said with a mouthful of toothpaste. He spit into the sink and wiped at his mouth before letting out a groan from the feeling of the knot in his shoulder.

"I foresee many sleepless nights in your future babe." Y/n continued to massage his shoulders and he leaned his head back. The vibration of his cellphone on the counter made him sigh.

"Are we still avoiding your sister? You know she's bound to hunt you down eventually, right?" Y/n chuckled but Gabe let out a heavy sigh.

"She's going to ask me something stupid and I'm going to have to take the train all the way there just to sit with her and her half-wit husband listening to the lack of white people in her book club or some shit. I just...I can't deal with all that right now." Gabe pulled Y/n's hands from his shoulders and brought them around his body. Y/n hugged him from behind and kissed his shoulder.

"I know, I just hate that you're dreading your phone ringing." Y/n explained.

"Must be nice being an only child." Gabe joked turning around to hold Y/n against his chest.

"Oh yeah my parents were thrilled that the only child they birthed turned out to be a trans guy. Super pumped." Gabe frowned not thinking about what he was saying.

"I'm sorry. I think both our families kinda blow." Gabe tried to cover but Y/n smiled at him.

"Hey I don't mind our found family. I think we're not doing so bad there." Y/n countered leaning forward to kiss him. Gabe kissed him back and sighed.

"You know I'm not like avoiding her calls because of us right?" Gabe looked down at Y/n. The topic of Gabe's closeted status was a touchy subject for the both of them but Y/n knew he was under alot of stress with this new documentary and he didn't want to make things worse.

"I know that babe. I think your sister just wants to bitch about her life for a bit. That's what siblings are for, or so I've heard." Y/n joked. Gabe rested his forehead against Y/n's.

"I don't deserve you, you know that right?" Gabe said holding Y/n a little tighter.

"Shut up, answer the phone if it's going to put you in a mood where I have stroke your ego. You know I only enjoy that when you're naked." Y/n playfully slapped his chest and Gabe chuckled.

"Where you going?" He asked as Y/n grabbed his coat from behind the bedroom door.

"I'm getting breakfast because you're going to need coffee if you plan on staying conscious today." Y/n ran back over and gave Gabe a kiss on the cheek as he leaned against the sink once more.

"Be careful." He said earning a nod as Y/n walked out of the apartment. Gabe sat down and looked at his phone at all the texts his sister had sent but before he could open them, Y/n's name popped up on the screen.

"Hey what did you forget?" Gabe asked.

"Nothing, I just wanted to tell you how cute you look this morning." Gabe could hear Y/n's smile over the phone.

"You called just to tell me that? I'll see you in like 20 minutes." Gabe chuckled.

"Yeah but somethings just can't wait. Love you." Y/n said and Gabe felt that familiar panic in his chest.

"You too." Gabe hadn't told Y/n that he loved him directly yet. He expressed his love and he always said you too but he was still working on saying it. He had never been in a relationship this long and he was terrified he was going to wreck it one day, whether on his own or because of his family. He didn't want to lose Y/n.

[unseededtoast]

Light As A Feather | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: The gravity of your job begins getting to you, and you come to realize you've forgotten how beautiful life can be. And one tranquil night, it's like Spencer is able to lift the weight and makes you feel light as a feather. Inspired by Hozier's "I, Carrion (Icarian)"

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: General violence, angst, pining. Poorly Edited

a/n: howdy folks. I'm still in my spencer reid/hozier brainrot era and so here's another. I hope you all enjoy it and thank you for all of the support I've received, it means the world!!

His presence is enough to make you forget about the horrors of the world, of your job. Right now, it's just you and him, and you've never felt lighter; so unburdened. You're convinced that if he wasn't there, holding onto you with his magnetic pull, that you may just float away in the breeze like a feather. 

You had never been to Colorado before, and now you wish you could be here under different circumstances. It's the beginning of fall and it seems as if the people of Boulder are head over heels in love with the season. Which is understandable, you think you'd love fall this much too if you lived in a place this beautiful. The trees are painted in vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red and the distant mountains stand proudly in the background with their snow capped tops. Your eyes are glued to the lush landscape as the SUV drives through Boulder to reach your destination.

You, along with the rest of your team, were called by the Park Rangers from the Rocky Mountain National Park about a few bodies they had discovered. Your superior, Hotch, decided their case was odd enough for you all to pay a visit. At first you hadn't wanted to come, convinced that there would be something closer to home to tend to, but now you're glad you agreed to come. Fall time in Quantico just isn't as picturesque.

Eventually, the SUV you're crammed into alongside three of your other team members drives up a long winding driveway to a hidden cabin in the woods. Hotch had booked the place, seeing as how close it is to the National Park and how secluded it is from potential people of interest. Once again, you tried to argue that the cellphone reception would be terrible up here and that it might hinder the case, but you were outvoted, and the rest of the team wanted to stay here. You hadn't understood why, but when the venue comes into view your jaw almost drops and you understand.

The cabin isn't at all what you had been expecting. Instead of some run-down, small, stuffy house, you see a large, sprawling log mansion. There are large windows adorning the front, accompanied by a wraparound porch on the second level. It's very reminiscent of a tasteful ski lodge.

"Wow." You breathe out as the car comes to a stop outside the front door.

"Still think it's a bad idea?" Hotch smarts off as he opens the trunk and starts handing people their bags. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you grab your bag from him and stare up at your home for the next few days.

The rest of the team wastes no time in going inside to claim their room, but you're happy to meander around for a little bit to familiarize yourself with the layout. You'll let them fight over the rooms and take whatever is left. After all, in a place of this size, even the smallest room is bound to be plentiful.

As you go through the halls admiring the artwork on the wall you spot Spencer doing the same, staring at a particular painting on the wall. You take just a second to appreciate the way he looks, standing there and analyzing art. You've always had an appreciation for Spencer, and not just for his good looks, but also his intelligence and his company.

Since your first day at the FBI you've felt drawn to him, he made you feel important, and heard, when others dismissed you. In fact, he's the reason you're on the BAU team in the first place. He was the only one to recognize your abilities and talents. You try not to hold a grudge about the fact the rest of the team was ready to let you transfer out after your internship. But instead of standing there and gawking at him like some braindead fool, you walk up to him, setting your bag on the floor beside your feet.

You look at the painting that's caught his attention and try to see what he does, try to think about how he interprets it. His mind is an amazing, complex thing, and you hope that one day you'll be able to understand just a small portion of it. It's a painting of the Great Rocky National Park, you can tell from the mountain formation and the river running through it. The painting is almost an identical match, as if it's actually a picture rather than painting. However, there's one small spot on the painting that looks like it's been painted over and over, it sticks out to you.

"What do you think happened there?" You point out the flaw and look up to Spencer, whose eyebrows are drawn closely together as he leans in and looks at the spot. After a few moments of quiet reflection, he stands back to his full height.

"I'm not sure. It looks like maybe the painter had difficulties finding the right shade." He says, still staring at the spot. Your eyes linger on his face before tearing them away before he catches on.

"You're probably right. I'm going to go find what room they left me." You say, grabbing your bag from beside you. Spencer bends over to pick up his as well,

"I should probably do the same." A small smile adorns his face, and the two of you begin walking through the cabin to find the empty rooms the team left you. According to the venue's website there should be one room for each agent, and you're thankful for that. You had never been a fan of sharing room with your coworkers, something about it just feels wrong, but when there's no way to avoid it you endure without much fuss.

The two of you check every room on the first floor only to find that they had all been claimed, meaning you two had to climb the stairs for rooms on the second level. Of course the rest of them would all claim the first floor rooms first, nobody likes to bother with stairs first thing in the morning.

You and Spencer find the empty rooms, side by side with direct access to the porch. You suppose there are worse rooms to have. Eager to step out onto the porch, you toss your bag on the bed and open the sliding door. Colorado's crisp air envelopes you as you step out and you take a deep breath. The air out here feels so clean and refreshing. Great Rocky National Park is directly in front of the porch, giving you an eagle's eye view of a portion of it as you lean onto the banister. Might as well enjoy a little bit of peace before you start working the case.

-----

"Three women were found in the same spot days apart from each other. All bludgeoned and stabbed through the heart." The Park Ranger speaks, indicating to the crime scene that's been barricaded with yellow tape. The Ranger stares at the scene, which is now an inconspicuous patch of dirt and grass, as if there weren't several dead women resting here. The scene is right beside a big body of crystal blue water.

You hang back from the rest of the team, opting to look at the surroundings instead of the immediate scene. The team knows now that finding the tiny details is your forte, and they leave you to your own devices in the beginning of investigations. The cold breeze causes you to hold your too-thin jacket closer to your body as you begin your observations.

"They were all found in the same spot?" Hotch asks the Ranger, who confirms that all of the victims were found in the exact same spot. As you examine the landscape, your eyes narrow in an attempt to find even the subtlest detail. Before too long, you see something out of place in the lush grass and walk over to it while pulling on a pair of gloves.

There's a pamphlet laying in the grass and upon further examination you see that it's been marked up like someone gave the traveler directions. Directions right to this spot. The killer lured at least one victim here. This trail is far off the beaten path, it's not marked by the Rangers. Only someone familiar with the area would know about it.

"Look at this." You call out to your team, and soon a few of them join your side to examine what you found. Spencer and Morgan look over your shoulder at the pamphlet, which is in better condition than you would've thought considering it was laying in grass beside a body of water.

"They're familiar with the area, they had this planned." Spencer speaks up and you nod your head, agreeing with him. Morgan holds out an evidence bag once he's done looking at it and you slip it inside, protecting it from any further damage. Morgan walks off with the pamphlet, leaving you and Spencer together, both deep in thought.

"What have you come up with so far?" You ask softly, curious to see if his theories line up with yours. Spencer shifts his weight and sighs, looking back to the crime scene.

"The killer is organized. They lured at least one victim right to this spot, and I'm assuming they did the same with the others. And they had to have brought the weapons with them. While there are branches to bludgeon people with, there's no evidence of anything nearby being cut down recently. If they used a natural object, it's likely they would've tried to blend it back in with nature." He explains and you nod your head along with what he's saying as you observe the scene and the scenery surrounding you.

"Unless they tossed the weapon into the water. They could have easily used a rock to bludgeon the victims." You counter his explanation. Spencer and you always did this with one another when forming theories. Not as to dissuade, or prove the other wrong, but to make your theories and explanations stronger. It's one of the qualities you most like about him. His eyes drift to the water.

"They could have. But they had to have brought the knife, there's no natural substitute that would leave that precise of a wound." He says, and you relent, agreeing with him.

"I want to question the Rangers, get their work schedules, and see the call logs. I also want to know where the victims were staying and if there's any camera footage of them in the welcome center." You shiver with a gust of wind and hold your arms tighter around your body as you walk off to gather the information you want.

Spencer decides to join you in going to the welcome center, claiming that in a huge national forest that none of us should be traveling alone. He has a good point, but you wouldn't have objected to his company either way. The Ranger from the scene escorts you two to the welcome center in his cruiser, the warm air letting your fingers regain their feeling.

"Who found the bodies?" You ask as you hold your hands in front of the vent emitting warm air. The Ranger looks at you through the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.

"I found one and Birch found the others during his patrols." He answers and you mentally make a note to find Birch.

"Is that area regularly patrolled?" You push further for more information and the Ranger shakes his head.

"No, it wasn't, until I found the first girl. She had to have been out there for at least three days. After that I sent Birch out to keep an eye on the area. He found victim two a couple days after the first, and found the third a single day after the second." He says and you look to Spencer, both noting the decrease in time between kills. A sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that if you don't find the killer soon, then you may be finding a fourth victim any day now.

Once you reach the welcome center, the Rangers are more than happy to provide you with the security camera footage, work schedules, call logs, and anything else you may need. In fact, it's Ranger Birch that hands over the information himself. He's a young man, maybe mid twenties, with meticulously groomed hair and pressed uniform pants.

"Thank you." You tell him with a warm smile, taking the footage and other information off the counter and into your hands. He nods back with a wide, white-toothed smile and tells you and Spencer to come back if you need anything else. The moment you step out of the welcome center you give Spencer a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think?" He asks you before you can ask him. You lick your lips and glance back into the welcome center, Ranger Birch still looking at you. Your eyes find Spencer's and you motion for him to follow you.

"I think he takes pride in both his appearance and work, and he knows the park well." Hotch pulls up in a black SUV to pick you and Spencer up to return you to the cabin, where the entire team will discuss what's been found so far.

-----

The trip up to the cabin only takes about ten minutes. Your mind works to put pieces of the puzzle together the entire trip back, but there's just not enough known information yet, and it bothers you. You like to have answers quickly because the faster you get answers, the less people will die. Your leg bounces up and down the entire way back, eager to begin deciphering the evidence.

The SUV comes to a stop outside the cabin and before Hotch can turn the car off, you're out and making your way to the entrance. A man dressed in a casual flannel shirt hunched over the flowerbeds stops you in your tracks before you get to the front door. He wipes the dirt from his landscaping gloves onto his worn overalls as he greets you.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I hope you enjoy your stay here. I'm James, I do the landscaping work around here and a few other cabins nearby." He offers you a warm smile, which you try your best to return, but your anticipation is causing you to become short.

"Nice meeting you." You go to walk into the cabin, but James' voice stops you once more. Spencer and Hotch approach, engaged in a conversation likely pertaining to what happened at the welcome center.

"Wait, ma'am. I never caught your name." James smile is reminiscent of an old friend, and he looks at you expectedly. Against your best wishes, you answer him, not wanting to be unnecessarily rude to your host.

"We'll, it's been a pleasure to meet you. Maybe I'll catch you around before you head out. Are you here for work?" He continues his conversation as Spencer and Hotch walk into the cabin undeterred by the landscaper. Maybe if you had just slowed down one of them would've been caught instead. James' eyes linger on the items in your hands.

"Yeah, the whole team is here for work." You answer, shuffling some items around in your grasp. James nods his head and tears his gaze away from the items, the warm smile returning to his face.

"Must be some important work if a whole team is here. By the looks of you all I'd say you're some sort of police." He guesses, eyeing the firearm that's strapped to your thigh. Your eyes narrow at the man, and you nod.

"Yeah, something like that. I really have to get going, they're probably waiting for me in there. Have a nice night, James." You find your exit route out of the conversation with the friendly mannered landscaper. As you step through the door you hear his voice call out to you once more.

"If there's anything I can do to help, number's in the guestbook." The door closes, and the conversation finally ends.

Taking a cleansing breath, you join the rest of the team who are all gathered around the rectangular dining table, which has been designated as the investigation headquarters. On the table are a slew of files, photos, and papers. You add the information gathered from the welcome center to that collection and Hotch starts the conversation.

Hotch reviews the known information and circulates photos of the victims. They're all beautiful young women, and according to Garcia, were staying at nearby resorts and cabins for vacation. The photos get passed to you and you look at them intently, committing to memory every detail you can absorb before you pass them along. It's obvious that these victims were chosen because of their physical appearance, they all share the same basic features such as hair color, eye color, and stature. And eerily, you seem to match the profile as well. 

"The physical appearance of the victim is important to the unsub. Having three victims with similar features is no mistake, nor is it a coincidence." You add to the conversation, seeing your team members look from you to the photos on the table. 

"Maybe the victims represent someone who scorned the unsub? Extracting revenge through them." Spencer suggests, and it's a good theory. You chew on the skin of your bottom lip as your mind races with theories and trying to piece the information together like a puzzle. 

After the general briefing, Hotch assigns Morgan and Prentiss to interview the Park Rangers to establish alibis, JJ and Garcia to continue conducting their online investigation, and Spencer and yourself to go over the welcome center footage. Hotch was going to speak to the people running the cabins the victims were staying at to see if there are any leads there. 

You and Spencer are on the second hour of footage when your eyes start becoming heavy. Reaching for the remote, you pause the footage and stretch, needing to take a break. 

"You want some coffee?" You ask him, needing something to keep yourself awake. He nods his head, 

"Yes, please." You stand from your seat and go to the kitchen to prepare the two of you some coffee. You're sure to put an ungodly amount of sugar in Spencer's, knowing that if you don't you'll hear him complain about it. And most times you enjoy the sound of his voice, but you don't know if you can stand hours of CCTV footage and him complaining about a lack of sugar right now.

You return to the table and place his mug in front of him, steam rising from it. You sip your own and resume your position at the table and reach for the remote. Spencer reaches for it at the same time, your hands brushing one another's. His hand is warm and soft, perfect for the chilly autumn air. 

"Sorry." You say, pulling your hand away and forcing any other thought than the footage from your mind, knowing that there's already a faint pink adorning your cheeks. No matter how long you've worked with him, even just simple touches is enough to send you spiraling if you let it. You try not to delve into what that might mean; you profile people for a living, the last thing you want to do is profile yourself. Without a word, Spencer just smiles back politely and presses play. 

The footage rolls and you two identify the victims who all showed up unaccompanied, which you find odd considering they were on vacation with their families. Your hand jots down quick notes in sloppy handwriting as you critically examine what you do, and don't, see in the footage. Spencer and you replay the footage showing the victims easily five times each, both silently taking notes, knowing you're going to compare soon. After watching the third victim's footage for the last time, you look over to Spencer, who's face is illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun. 

"Do you want to go first?" He asks and you nod, trying not to stare at how the sunlight reflects the amber color in his warm prismatic eyes. You look down to your notes and try to get your thoughts straight before speaking. 

"I noted that all three victims walked into the welcome center with a pamphlet already in hand. None of them took the ones provided by the park. They all showed up alone. I can only assume that the unsub gave them the pamphlets with instructions on how to find the scene. Only, I'm willing to bet it was framed as a good-intentioned suggestion. There's no way those women would have gone if they didn't trust the unsub to some degree." Your eyes glance from your horribly written notes up to Spencer, who's leaning on the table, clinging to every word you say. He hums in consideration before he speaks up.

"I would agree. And if the victims were all staying at tourist destinations, those pamphlets were likely already there. So now the question is whether or not the unsub talked to them at their cabins or before they walked into the welcome center." He says, and a lightbulb goes off in your mind. 

"Wouldn't it make more sense for the unsub to speak to them at their cabins? I mean, if the unsub caught them in the parking lot there's a chance they might have their families with them. But if the unsub spoke to them at their cabins, the women might be persuaded to leave their families behind for some reason." You say, going with the logical deductions that pop into your mind. Spencer mulls over your words, his eyes narrowing, staring back at you in deep thought. 

"You're right. The unsub likely works for the resorts. It would give them access to the victims and it wouldn't be weird for them to give suggestions to guests." He confirms what you thought and you look back to the screen, seeing the third victim frozen in time. 

"We should let the team know." You say and Spencer nods. The two of you finish off your coffee and wait for the rest of the team to arrive. You're confident that the two of you have a solid lead on this case. You only hope you can find the unsub before there's a fourth victim.

-----

The sun sets on the scenic landscape and you lean against the banister of the wraparound porch. The rest of the team isn't back yet, and the last thing you want to do is stay inside when it's so beautiful out here. The snowcapped mountain in the distance gleams brilliantly, and it's almost blinding, but you can't look away. Sounds of water rushing and birds chirping fill the air and if you let your mind relax enough it's almost like you're not here to solve murders. 

Your head rests atop of your arms on the railing and you breathe in the cool air. The breeze gently blows your hair around, sending a shiver up your spine. You had severely underestimated how cold it would be here, and as a result, you failed to pack adequately because you were basing your packing off of Virginia fall time temperatures, which are noticeably warmer. 

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Spencer walking out of his room. He joins your side and leans forward on the railing, looking out at the breathtaking view. His curly brown hair gets blown into his face, and you have to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear. You're also enjoying the breathtaking view. 

He looks at peace, which is not something you usually see in him. His mind works overtime almost twenty four hours a day, especially on cases. It has to be torturous sometimes, to never get a reprieve from your own thoughts; and that's something you know all too well. There are some nights where you can't sleep because gruesome memories from the job haunt you. 

Noticing that you're staring at him, you turn your gaze back to the colorful trees. The two of you enjoy a moment of tranquility together, a rare moment in the fast-paced career you pursued. A bird flies by, and you can only imagine what that freedom feels like. Most times you feel like your job keeps you cemented in one place, always dealing with death and the most heinous monsters that reside in this world. You often forget just how beautiful and free life can be. 

A particularly crisp breeze comes through and you visibly shiver, which Spencer notices. Without a word, he goes into his room and comes back moments later with the throw blanket that was folded at the bottom of the bed. It's burnt orange in color and is made of faux fur, warm and soothing. Spencer drapes it over your shoulders and you hold onto the ends, keeping it secure around you. If you could stay in this moment forever, you would. 

Spencer stands so closely beside you that you feel his warmth coming through the blanket, and without much thought, or care, you lean into him just slightly. He makes no effort to move, and the two of you stay like that for what seems like an eternity. His warmth and his smell are so comforting and makes you feel safe. Deep down in your heart you know he makes you feel at home.

The two of you enjoy each other's company in a peaceful silence. There's never been the need to fill the silence with him, like there is the others. While you two are quite talkative in the team dynamic, when you find yourselves alone it's often relaxed with no expectations. You two talk when you want, or is needed, but when there's nothing to say you're more than happy to just be around him. And you hope he feels the same about you, and you think he does, but you're never brave enough to ask for fear of ruining whatever relationship it is that you two share.

Sighing, you cuddle yourself further into the blanket as the sun dips lower and lower, the golden hue turning orange. Spencer moves beside you, and you see his fingers twitch, like he was going to reach out for something but doesn't. Your head turns to look at him above you, and his head lowers, so that your eyes meet one another. 

You had always known his eyes were beautiful, but up this close you can truly admire the depth of them. The golden hues remind you of the sunsets, the green in them is like the rich moss that adorns the sides of the rocks; or like the pine needles on the tall trees, and the brown is reminiscent of swirling espresso. Taken aback from his closeness and the heat creeping up your spine, your lips fall open and his eyes glance between them and your eyes. He's so close to you, your bodies practically pressed against one another. You feel yourself being drawn to him, like he has his own magnetic pull. 

But whatever was about to happen is cut short by the rest of the team arriving back to the cabin. You and Spencer seem to come back to reality and step away from one another. Flustered, you unwrap the blanket from your shoulders and hand it back to him, already missing the warmth.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft and tender, and his hand brushes your own as he grabs the blanket from you. 

"Of course." He smiles softly back, and the two of you part ways to join the rest of your team downstairs to catch up on the latest information. But you can barely pay attention to what is being said, for your mind is drowning with flashes of Spencer out on the porch. 

-----

The next morning you wake up as the sun shines in through the windows, illuminating the room beautifully and warmly. Hotch had given everyone the night to mull over the information and said that the investigation will pick right back up in the morning. After you get dressed and ensure your service weapon is properly attached to the harness around your thigh, you make your way down the stairs for a morning cup of coffee. Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch are already sat at the table, picking at some toast for breakfast as they get the sleep rid from their systems. 

You make a cup for yourself and Spencer, knowing he will be up any moment now. As per usual, too much sugar gets put into his and then you pour your own. The warm drink calms your nerves and you close your eyes, trying to get your mind prepared for whatever the day may bring. You know there may very well be a fourth victim found soon and you need to be on the top of your game to find the unsub.

"Good morning." A raspy voice makes your eyes open, and you see Spencer walking into the kitchen, dressed in a button up and tie. It's quite casual for him, but you like it, it looks nice on him. 

"Good morning, made yours right here." You say and nod over to the mug on the counter. He looks from you to the mug with a smile on his face.

"Thanks." He says, and the two of you stay in the kitchen, sipping on your coffee and waiting for Hotch to give everyone orders. 

"Feeling good about today?" It's something you always ask when an investigation seems to be coming to a close. You think it sets a tone, an expectation that the team will succeed. Spencer sips his drink and nods, 

"I feel good about today." He confirms, flashing his bright white smile. 

Last night, after the team had arrived, Hotch had shown everyone the list of employees from the neighboring resorts and cabins and today the team will be interviewing those employees. You're convinced the unsub has to be on that list and you intend to find out who it is. The questions have already been sorted in your mind, though you're able to adapt to anyone's personality and are prepared to get answers. 

"Same teams as yesterday, we're going to divide and conquer." Hotch says, handing each team a list of names. You look down at the list he handed you and see that there are a total of fifteen employees for the small resort that you and Spencer are covering. It catches your attention that seven of the fifteen are women, and you mentally place them lower on your suspect list. This doesn't seem like a crime women usually commit, no, this seems like the work of a man as evidenced by the brute force used. 

Morgan and Prentiss take off in one car, Hotch takes another, leaving you and Spencer with your own SUV. The two of you gather your needed materials, such as photos and notepads, before you head out. Spencer grabs the keys and tells you that he's going to warm up the car as you finish organizing your things, and you're grateful for that. Sitting in a cold car doesn't really appeal to you right now. 

Once you're content with the items you've chosen to bring along you head out of the cabin. The bright light almost blinds you, and you squint in order to see. From the corner of your eye you see something move, and when you turn to look you see it's the landscaper from the other day, already flagging you down. Resisting the strong urge to just ignore him, you wait for him to reach you on the porch steps. He looks like he's already been hard at work today, he's covered in dirt and sweat. 

"Well good mornin'. Got anything interesting going on today?" He asks, shielding his eyes from the light with his gloved hand. You shift your weight and look to the running SUV, already planning your escape route out of this conversation. 

"Uh, yeah, you could say it'll be an interesting day." You reply as politely as you can. James smiles widely at your response. 

"What sort of thing you have planned?" He asks and you sigh, not wanting to be part of this conversation any longer. 

"I'm not at liberty to say, but I've gotta go, my partner is waiting for me." You excuse yourself from the conversation before he can get another word in. From behind you, you hear him say. 

"Well alright then, I'll be around if you need anything." As you slide into the driver's side of the car and hand your bag to Spencer, you see the man heading back to the tool shed. 

"That's twice now that he's singled me out." You say, keeping your eye on him for a moment longer, watching his moves. The fact that you match the victim profile is not lost on you, and you think it might be making you just slightly paranoid.

"I noticed that too. Could be that you were the first one there the last time, and the last one out this time, but it's definitely something to keep note of." Spencer says as you drive off to the tiny resort the two of you had been assigned. You know he might be right, but the man went out of his way to flag you down this morning and completely ignored everyone else. An uneasy feeling in your stomach tells you that the landscaper should be looked into more thoroughly. 

When you and Spencer reach the resort you waste no time in beginning your investigations. The two of you are laser focused on the task at hand, and agree to split the list equally. Spencer volunteered himself to question the extra person. Luckily, the front desk attendant was more than helpful and secured two rooms for the interviews to be conducted. 

The first four interviews go by without incident, all front desk attendants and kitchen workers who have no indication of manipulative traits and answer your questions openly. You've done this enough times to spot exactly what you're looking for, you know what gets under the skin of unsubs, especially the organized ones who think they have it all figured out. 

A couple other interviewees give you good information about the victim who stayed here. They tell you how they remember seeing her with her family in the hall, and how nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the room when it was cleaned. Hotch had questioned the families last night, and cleared them from the suspects list. 

By the time you reach the end of your list, you know you can safely cross every one of them off. None of them responded to the misinformation you sprinkled in the questions, things the unsub would've been known to be untrue. And none of them had any sort of reaction to you insulting the intelligence of the unsub, something that would have surely set them off in some way. But to your dismay, none of them had any clue of who could be capable of this kind of malice. Typically, there's at least one person who's able to spot something weird about someone, but not this time. 

You group back up with Spencer, the two of you comparing notes in the room he used for his questioning. He had the same results as you and you both were hoping someone else on the team was more successful. 

"We got all of them except for James Hilton. The others said he bounces around to each place and some days he's not even here." Spencer says, pointing out the only uncrossed name from the list. 

"James Hilton. That's the landscaper." You say, barely able to recall his name from yesterday. The uneasy feeling in your stomach grows. 

-----

In the afternoon, the team reconvenes in the cabin around the table to compare findings. Every other agent was able to interview everyone but James Hilton. Granted, his job requires him to go from location to location, but it seems like he's been hanging out around this cabin often. However, he was nowhere to be found when everyone came back. But maybe he went to another location to work on their flowerbeds. 

"We'll need to get his statement today. Anyone up to track him down?" Usually you volunteer to go after someone like this, but something is telling you not to, and you listen to your instincts. Thankfully Morgan offers to track him down, and Prentiss joins him once more. You pick at a piece of paper on the table as your mind works, mulling over what you know about the case and the overly-friendly landscaper. 

Before Morgan and Prentiss leave, Spencer informs the team about the conversations that James has dragged you into. You tell them exactly what happened, and they all agree that it seems suspicious. Hotch goes off to make some calls to JJ and Garcia, leaving you and Spencer at the table. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asks, leaning forward on the table. His voice snaps you out of your trance and you cease to fiddle with the paper. 

"Me? Yeah I'm fine, why?" You ask, not sure why he's concerned. He looks conflicted, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he answers. 

"Well, it's just that you fit the victim profile and the conversations with the landscaper seem to be suspicious. And you keep playing with the paper which is an indication of anxiety." He says, trying his best to not profile you in front of your face. 

"Spencer, I'm okay, promise. I was just thinking." You tell him, and it's the truth. While James makes you feel uneasy, you're confident that nothing will happen to you. Spencer nods and you stand from the table, wanting to inspect the cabin with finer detail and stretch your legs. 

After going from room to room looking for the tiniest thing that might be relevant to the case, you find yourself staring at the same photo that caught Spencer's eye when you all first arrived. There's something about it, something about the discolored spot, that you just can't let go of. It's bothering you for some reason. Frustrated, you take it off the wall and bring it to where Spencer is in the main living area, nose in a book. He looks up from the page when he hears you coming, his eyebrows scrunching closely together. 

"What are you doing?" He asks, putting the book on a side table. You place the painting on the large coffee table and put your hands on your hips. 

"There's something about this that's driving me insane." You say, eyes drifting from Spencer's face to the painting. It takes Spencer all of ten seconds to analyze the painting again. 

"It's the same place the bodies were found." He says and your eyes widen, taking in the scene again and realizing he's right. 

"Wait. If this is the same place the bodies were found, then that, is the exact spot they were in." You say, pointing to the discolored spot. The discoloration is where the grass meets the water, the mountain in the background. Your eyes drift to the bottom corner of the painting where you see a cursive 'J' painted in white. 

"Do you think the killer is the one who painted this?" Spencer asks you, and you nod. 

"I'm sure of it. There's a J painted in the corner. It has to be Hilton. Can you call Garcia?" You ask, mind feeling like it's running a marathon. Spencer doesn't hesitate to get Garcia on the phone. 

"Hello my beautiful boy genius, what can I do for you today?" Penelope's voice sounds throughout the room and you smirk at her entertaining phone greeting. 

"Hello my beautiful computer genius, can you do me a favor?" You speak first and you can hear her laugh through the phone. 

"Oh my darling anything for you." Her voice is melodic and you shake your head at her antics. You love Garcia, she's one of your closest friends inside and outside of work. 

"Can you find anything on a James Hilton from the Boulder, Colorado area?" You ask her, knowing your answer is about to be served on a silver platter in just a few moments. Garcia's quick typing echoes through the phone. 

"James Hilton, born and raised in Boulder. Has been working as a property manager for the last ten years at the property you all are staying at. Has one traffic record from the nineties, but other than that he's clean." She says, but you were hoping for something more incriminating. 

"Anything about a wife, or a girlfriend? Maybe even a sister or mother?" You ask her, staring down a the painting. 

"It looks like he was in a long term relationship with Valerie Wilson, also of Boulder. But according to her Facebook page, they are over with." She says, Spencer and you looking at each other, knowing you may have just found a potential piece of the puzzle. 

"Perfect. Can you tell me what she looks like and how to contact her?" You ask and write down the details Garcia recites. After you get the needed information, Spencer hangs up and calls Hotch to inform him of what the two of you just found out. Hotch tells us that he's on his way back to the cabin after he's done with the last interview. 

The painting lays in front of you two, and you take a seat on the arm of the chair Spencer is sitting in, your leg brushing up against his and your arm resting behind his head to keep yourself stable. Your eyes are glued to the discoloration, and you know there's just something about it that's more than just not being able to find the right shade. 

"Is there a way to see if something has been painted over?" You ask Spencer rather than Googling it, knowing he can probably get you an answer faster. He clears his throat and nods his head.

"A few years ago it was found that Vincent Van Gogh painted over several of his works due to the cost of canvas. Experts used x-ray to see through the layers, revealing the original painting." His answer is exactly what you were looking for.

"We have to get this thing x-rayed. And someone needs to contact Valerie and ask her about her relationship with James. His tool shed should be examined as well" You jump off the chair's arm, ready to leave immediately, but having to wait for Hotch before you can proceed with anything else. 

-----

Hours later, your leg is bouncing up and down, eagerly awaiting the results of the x-ray. The hospital staff had never encountered something quite like this, but you were thankful that they were cooperative. Spencer had come along with you while Hotch stayed back to get in contact with Valerie. You check your phone every ten seconds to see if you have a new message for him, but your screen is blank.

Thankfully, a few minutes later an x-ray technician comes out and beckons you to a dark room where she clips the x-ray images onto a lightboard. While the images aren't in color, you can still see exactly what you need to. The images show that where the discoloration is, there used to be a woman standing and a man on one knee. A gasp leaves your mouth, the pieces finally fitting together in your mind. Without a doubt, James is the unsub. 

Spencer and you race back to the cabin and spill the findings to the rest of the team. Hotch informs you that Valerie had confirmed that James recently proposed, but she turned him down. All of the victims match her appearance. He must have been killing to fulfill some sort of revenge he felt was necessary. 

The team calls each of the resorts that James is employed at only to find that he's not at any of them. While the others scramble to try and find a way to find him, your eyes land on the guestbook. 

"Guys. I can call him. He told me his number is in the guestbook and we know I fit the profile. He won't be able to help himself." You say, and the others don't have any good reason as to why you shouldn't do it. Your hands shake from the adrenaline as you dial the numbers and the phone rings, your heartbeat resounding in your ears. You're so close to catching this depraved man. 

"Hello?" He answers finally. You let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding and speak up.

"Hi James, you told me to call you if I needed help with anything. And, um, I think I might have broken one of the outside lights." You quickly come up with a lie, hoping to lure him out here for the arrest. You hear him moving around on the other end and the start of an engine. 

"Of course, I'll be there in just a moment, honey." He says and you hang up the phone, trying not to gag from his pet name. 

It takes James all of fifteen minutes to reach the cabin. When he pulls up, the entire team is waiting for him, but you were the one with cuffs in your hands. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Hotch and Morgan were out the door ordering him to the ground. With smug satisfaction, you step over the man and secure his hands in cuffs behind his back. 

As the local police show up to take him away, he's spitting every expletive in the book at you. Rage and hatred show themselves very clearly on his face, and you see who he really is. You smile sickly sweet at him as he's shoved into the back of the cop car. Another monster off the street, unable to do harm to another woman. It's like a weight gets lifted from your shoulders. 

-----

After the excitement of the arrest, you come down off your adrenaline rush. The rest of the team are packing, getting ready to leave in the morning, but you can't find it within yourself to do it. You're too struck by the beauty in front of you to worry about going back home. You just don't want to part with this yet. So you find yourself out on the wraparound porch once more, the sun retreating far too quickly behind the horizon for your liking. 

Despite the waning sun, the landscape looks brighter, more vibrant now that you know that the killer is in custody. Usually, the team gets only a few hours of celebration before you're saddled with paperwork and the next case. A bird flies past again, and you appreciate its freedom again. Its sweet melodies carry in the breeze and soothes your weary soul. 

You love your job, you can't imagine doing anything else, but it does wear on you. Both physically and mentally. Before you had started working with the team, you never could have imagined the kind of evil lurking everywhere, even in a place as gorgeous as this. But now, it's like wherever you look, no matter how beautiful the surroundings, you can always spot something amiss. You feel weighted by the knowledge of what reality actually is. 

The familiar sound of the sliding door catches your attention, and you see Spencer coming towards you, blanket in hand. A smile finds its way onto your face as he closes the distance between you, securing the blanket around your shoulders. Just like yesterday, he stands right beside you, admiring the view. 

"The others are all leaving tonight, they said they want to get a headstart on the papers. But I told them we'd go back in the morning." His voice is raspy, yet soft.

"But what about the plane?" You ask, eyebrows knitting together. He shrugs his shoulders and looks down at you. 

"I told them we'd fly back in the morning, already have the tickets arranged." He says, easing some of your anxiousness, but not satisfying your curiosity.

"Why?" You search for the answer on his face. 

"Because I saw how much you like it here. You deserve one workless night." He says with sincerity and your heart swells at the sentiment. You fully turn towards him, soft blanket draped lightly across your shoulders. You notice that Spencer has traded his button up for a simple pullover. Something so simple has never looked so good before. 

"Thank you, you really didn't have to-" He cuts you off with a smile, 

"I know, but I wanted to." He admits, pink coloring his cheeks. You stare up at him in awe, not quite sure what you did to deserve his thoughtfulness. Not being able to hold back your affections, you reach out and engulf him in a hug. 

"Thank you, Spencer." You reiterate into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you. After a few fleeting, precious moments, you let go of him. Staring up into his eyes, you reach a hand up and stroke the soft skin of his cheekbone with your thumb. He doesn't flinch from your touch like he does with others, no, he leans into it as if he's savoring the feeling.

His arm that was around your waist come up to cup your cheek, and he gently brings your face towards his, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You hold him close, a flurry of warmth spreading from your face down to your body. His other hand finds its way around your waist, securing you to his body. 

You break the kiss as your chest begins burning with the need of oxygen, and he rests his forehead against yours. Your hands come up to gently grasp the sides of his face, keeping him in place so that you can admire his beauty. After minutes pass by in silence as you two appreciate each other, Spencer tilts his head up and kisses your forehead. 

He turns you around so that you're facing away from him, and he grabs the blanket from around your shoulders. Seconds later, you feel him standing behind you, wrapping the soft blanket around the both of you. His chest is behind you, and he hands you the edges of the blanket so that his hands might find the soft curve of your waist. Spencer pulls you in to him so that you're leaning back on his chest. 

His presence is enough to make you forget about the horrors of the world, of your job. Right now, it's just you and him, and you've never felt lighter; so unburdened. You're convinced that if he wasn't there, holding onto you with his magnetic pull, that you may just float away in the breeze like a feather. 

Spencer rests his head atop of yours as the two of you relax your minds and bodies, focusing solely on each other and the scene in front of you. Your hands come down to entwine themselves with his with a soft smile on your face. 

A lone tear falls from the corner of your eye as you're overcome with emotion. You cannot recall a single time in your life that you've felt this serene, where everything just feels perfect. Your soul is well nourished and full from Spencer alone. All of those cases you worked together, the stolen glances across the office, the simple acts of kindness and thoughtfulness for each other has culminated to this one precious moment in time; and you've never felt more content. 

The sun eventually sets behind the horizon, the chilly breeze billowing the blanket around you both. Above you in the sky, the stars shine brightly, and you tip your head back to admire them. You can never admire their true beauty in Quantico, their shine is dulled by light pollution, but you can see them clearly here. You can see everything clearly here.

"You know, scientists estimate that there are about two hundred sextillion stars in the sky within the Milky Way." Spencer whispers in your ear as you two bask in their soft white light. You turn around in his hold and smile up at him, 

"And yet none shine as brilliantly or as beautifully as you." You say, and pull him in for another soft, heartfelt kiss. As you pull away, you watch as his eyes flutter open and he smiles endearingly. You've never seen such a beautiful sight, never felt comfort as warm as him, and you know as you lean into his embrace, that you will not bear the weight of this world or this life alone. 

[1001gallery]

pandora. chap. 1 - Before Light, There was Darkness

masterlist | chap. 2

a/n - if you read the first time this chapter came out...

no you didn't

The city of Musutafu watched as their shadows disappeared.

Once thin, wispy strands of clouds now carried veins of grey bleeding into the white, the city being engulfed in inky dark sky. Day turning to night in only seconds.

Along with the shadows went the sun blocked by the ever growing storm cloud. The air chilling as the ones on the street watched the spectacle, some with their eyes, while others took behind their phone screens recording the moment, wondering if they would get more than just a storm.

Their words caught by the wind as it wound its way from the sea through the coastal city.

Up and over the beach to the grassy hill as a mother sighed watching the damp-haired children play, complaining to the ones around her of how someone could ruin this day. The importance of it all. Some nodded their agreement as their eyes landed back to the children's screams of joy. 

"I'm All Might!"

"Fat Gum!"

"Can I be All Might?"

Twisting and turning through the densely packed cityscape that seldom felt overcrowded, two young men ambled. Steps unsteady as they focus on a cellphone, the screen showing white clouds, gangly veins of grey soon following.

"-ems to be out of control."

"But no rain. Could it be some type of gas Quirk?"

The leaves were a whispering audience, tumbling around the wheels of cars as they were shot into the air by the different slips of wind. Others drifting along, going higher and higher till they reached the top of the multi-story buildings.

Flipping backward and continuing forward as strong gusts blew them further north. Where the thickest and darkest clouds converged.

Just as things do, the leaves found gravity and fluttered down, skipping as it scratched the pavement, joining in a chorus as trees blew along. Moving below swings as they creaked and swung filling the playground void of laughter.

The wind formed around the structure, creating an invisible outline as it climbed to the top, cocooning a body. Still and Silent.

You heard it before you felt it. Rustling of the trees that border the width of the playground. The slithering of wind as it came up the slide wrapping itself around you.

Whooshing past your ears. Whispering. Laughing.

"Why are you lying? My mom says lying is bad."

"All Might is a real hero!"

Didn't your mom tell you it's bad to yell at other people? You thought as your arm that came up to wipe your nose froze, the sound of marbles clicking together makes you stop.

"It's a bracelet! That's a bracelet!"

Talisman. A talisman, not a bracelet. Stupid. You wiped your nose once more before placing your arm in your lap, the two marbles falling. One hitting the side of the slide while the other lay underneath your hand. Bound by the string wrapped around your wrist. 

What do they know of heroes? What do they know of the mountain your hero is? A twitch of fingers wrap around the one marble, its surface uneven.

Was. That your hero was. Your eyes begin to sting from the wind. It's always the wind.

Stupid kids, stupid All Might, stupid Heroes.

If only you didn't open your mouth. If only they weren't stupid and understood you. If only you weren't the problem.

Looking up as another burst of wind comes from behind, you see two lampposts sat on either side of the playground, the only lighting offered to the front of you. While behind - marbles colliding against the metal, ringing - as you grip the slide's bars to keep from falling down, was the jungle gym. 

Behind the jungle gym, a blue fence separated the playground from the apartments. The sidewalk beyond the fence shined brighter as three lampposts were spaced out. One on the left, one in the center, and one to the right.

It was all the same in the end. You were alone.

Even in your short-lived life, even with the experience of the eyes that followed your family. Your young self was taught to not mind the people around, that you are you, and nothing is better than that. You still couldn’t help it.

The hope of a friend.

Maybe that’s why your body found itself on top of the playground’s structure. Waiting for someone to come, didn’t kids like to play at the park?

Huffing that ended in your inhale stuttering, you settled back to the front. Letting go of the bars as you slid down, the sting in your eyes worsening.

Silent as your feet met ground, your hand formed a fist achingly tight as it wound around the marbles, to the point it felt like they would burst. You hoped it would always be like this - dark, windy, the smell of rain, the safety the darkness held - it would be better than when the sun was out and the days were loud and happy.

A cold swept your body, wind hitting your back. Your throat filled with an icy feeling, you coughed to clear it away. Only to be in time with another sound.

Your head snapped up. You couldn’t have imagined it. The leaves crunching were steady. The sound of something skipping along the pavement came with it. You looked to your right just where the lamppost was used as a mark between the neighboring houses and playground - there! The shadow that followed as a rock bounced along the length of the sidewalk.

Heartbeat quickening as your knuckle cracked from your hold. The one who walked came into view.

His blonde spiked hair never moved in the wind. A net of some sort sat on his shoulder, the hand closest to you swung as he walked, in no rush to get home even with the storm clouds overhead. Yet the most prominent feature, he looked to be your age.

Your eyes glued to him as he continued his strut, never once looking in the direction of the playground. The boy had already reached halfway when your chest tightened, the heat in your head running cold. You wanted to call him. You wanted to scream, but all that came out was a held back whine.

He wasn’t going to see you.

Please see me. Please. Please. Please. A gust once again blew at your back, rustling the surrounding trees as it made contact with the boy. His head snapped in your direction as if you had been the one to ruffle his clothes.

Eyes widening, body shooting straight up a thought came to your child’s mind. Did you finally find a friend? But all too well, even with the distance between you two, you saw as his eyes bulged.

Net swinging down at such force, it broke in two, hitting the ground. His fist clenched, eyes turning into a scowl, “What do you want, HUH!” The boy’s nostrils flared, standing to his full height even if he were close to being five-years-old.

“You creep!” Throwing the net back over his shoulder, handing by a thread, the blonde shoved his free hand in his shorts pocket. Clicking his tongue as he disappeared around the corner.

Cut from strings your shoulders slumped, bones cracking again as you loosened your hold around the now sweat covered marbles. Landing in your lap as the world ebbed away. The sting once brought from the wind now numbed to the familiar pins growing in your heart, spreading to your whole chest.

Lap, shoes, and ground mixed and blurred together even as your eyes dried.

It was your fault. YOU. you. you. you. yo- A blob of red.

 The blonde haired eyes were red. Did he see a monster sitting on the slide?

“Um..” The red took form in the shape of shoes. Shoes that shared the same space as your own colourless ones.

“There’s a storm coming,” This voice wasn’t rough. It was higher pitched, small. “You- you should go home.”

Home. You could never go home. Why are his hands bawled?

You crawled into yourself more, the movement seemed to spur the boy as his fists tightened.

“Are you o-” “YN!”

Thump. You know that voice. Thump. The string around your wrist rubs against your skin. Thump. When did it get so cold? Thump. Would you ever be able to go home?

Red shoes pointed to the direction of your grandmother’s voice.

“Hi-um. Hello.” The boy’s second attempt sounded more respectful toward the elder. Footsteps you knew by heart moved closer but never made it to you or Red Shoes.

“Thank you, child.” Her voice was breathy and drawled. Your head lowered. You could no longer see past your lap. Your hands felt like ice. “Come now, the storm is about to break.”

You wait till Red Shoes moves, moving around in a wide arc, coming up beside your grandmother. 

Red Shoes must have done something as Obaa clears her throat, “You, too-”

“Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, ma’am.”

“Izuku, come along.”

You see hands swatting their dismissal in your peripheral. Before any words can leave him, Obaa has already turned her back on you two. Dipping your eyes as the boy follows after your grandmother, a flash of a green box around Red Sh- Izuku’s waist, the only thing you see as you follow behind. The voice of Izuku quieting when he realized Obaa’s words were final.

Turning a corner, you were met by the back of an apartment building. It was nothing like you ever saw. 

Koi streamers hung from the railings of the balconies, decorating the cement coloured buildings. Green. Black mixing with red and blue. Pink and a dash of blue created one koi's scales. Long and short, they hung to signify the parents and children. You spotted one with its fins, like wings. Yet as wind filled their paper bodies, bringing them to life, the koi swam.

Their soft rustling echoing as you three made it to the front of the building. Izuku bows and thanks your grandmother for walking him home even when a few minutes before he had been adamant in his own to walk back alone.

“No one should be in a storm alone. You have a goodnight, Izuku.” He bows once more before turning and opening the door of the apartment building. Warm air blasting out as it mingles with the wind from outside. 

Red shoes are already halfway through the threshold holding open the door when they hesitate. Shuffle. And turn. Pointing directly at you.

“It was nice to meet you-”

Izuku was doing what your grandmother had, leaving room for you to introduce yourself. Your voice felt croaky and quiet, more air than sound, “Yn.”

“Y-” His voice pitched up in question as he sounded the first letter, his body leaning towards you, and you saw green. Green box hanging in the air as his body leaned to catch your vision. Green bushy hair. Green eyes that were more beautiful than anything you had ever seen. You felt your body stiffen as you pulled away, heart uncomfortably speeding up as your hands came up to your stomach as if it would make a wall between you and the boy.

Baby, you thought. Having to have Obaa tell him your name because your voice would not come out.

“Yn-chan.” The door closed, and with it came a burst of warm air filling your chest even as the wind continued to thrash around the awning. The way he said your name, those eyes that locked on yours for a second.

There was fear. But his eyes were kind. He was kind.

A strong gust with dust and all whipped in your face, breaking you out of your reverie as the silence was filled with your grandma’s labored breathing. It had been getting worse. You watched as she slowly declined ever since you showed up at her door. Wheezing for breath after only a couple of steps. Having to sit on a chair in order to cook food for the both of you. 

Ever since you came.

You try to ignore the ache settling in your legs in your chest. It was your fault for how your grandma was, how you ran off, and had her search for you. But the children’s laughter, their mocking, grew in your head.

Looking to the woman you hurt, you found her eyes already on you. Your own falling to the side, followed by her sighing as she leaned heavily to her left and all in one motion shuffled towards you. Reaching down to grab your hand but found your wrist instead only to blink and hold nothing but space as you thrust your way out of her grasp, coming out of the cover of the awning.

A single drop of rain hitting your head.

“Yn.” It was a commanding voice with no room to argue, “I have traveled all evening to find you. I am passed the age as to pretend my body is fine.” You never knew, but she saw how your back spoke for it all.

I hurt everyone I love. I’ve already hurt you. Looking to the ground as she sighed, she sent a prayer, somewhere, to someone. Asking for the strength needed.

“Come here, child. Now.” After a few seconds, you moved back to her silently. She gripped your shoulder, limping severely as her body weight leaned on you for support.

“Rain is to be enjoyed under a roof, where you go to bed warm and wake up dry.” Your steps were slow and steady as you made your way back to the home your grandmother spoke of. The sky rumbling in the distance.

Yet not one drop fell. Not when the door to the house closed. Not when your bones grew weary, your breathing uneven as the pins and needles grew underneath your skin. Hands pinching and clawing your back as you lay in bed.

The first drops came when your grandmother hobbled her way over and found strength to tuck you in. Your body sighing with relief as the hands melted into the warmth of the mattress.

The rhythmic slow descending rain was your lullaby, eyes growing heavy as your consciousness slipped into darkness.

Only then did the storm break. Lightning cracking and thunder booming as rain beat heavily on the roof, wind howling as it moved the trees to dance hauntingly.

Even so, you slept through it all. Dreams only a blur as they filled with green.

masterlist | chap. 2

[galesdevoteewife]

Wedding ask!! I would love to know the answer to 26 and 31!

💜

It'ssssss WEEKEND!!! Thanks for the ask!!! YEEYAYY let's goooo!!!

24. The Night Before -

It was almost dawn… The sky was beginning to lighten, and birds were chirping sporadically. Gale paced anxiously back and forth in the tower's grand hall. Tomorrow—today is his wedding day, and his bride is still somewhere in the hells, fate unknown. His finger once again found the sending stone ear cuff, trying to contact Zilvera. Nothing came back, just like his other attempts that night. Suddenly— Zoom, a portal behind him! Sulfur, heat! A pair of delicate arms threw themselves around his chest and spun him around. They had just fallen to the ground when an axe slammed heavily into the floor, only a few inches away from the tip of his shoes— "Get the hell out of my way, fuckers!!! I'm going to their wedding and you can't stop me!!" A loud, fiery voice pierced the early morning serenity. It was Karlach, they had arrived! One by one, friends emerged from the portal: Wyll, Astarion, Shadowheart dragging a still-swinging Lae’zel— "Told you I'd make it," Zilvera said with a smile.

Zilvera was jailbreaking Karlach and Wyll the night before! Gale, on the other hand, had a different adventure. He had to help settle the arriving guests, take them sightseeing, and ensure their accommodations were comfortable. My HC Gale has a huge family, and he had been busy as a bee socializing and trying to be a good host ever since the wedding day was marked on the calendar. It wasn't easy nor much fun for him. Oh, how he wished to lock himself in the tower, with Zilvera in one arm and an old, intriguing ancient tome in the other hand…!

[Note] My Zilvera and Gale have a pair of unlimited sending stone ear cuffs, basically cellphones. Gale's is on his left ear (the side with Mystra's earring. He still wears it in my postgame as a reminder of his lesson), and Zilvera's is on her right ear. As a drow and a human, the couple has fairly different concepts of time (and many other things, too). Zil, being a free spirit, often disappears for weeks at a time. This mixed with other factors once made things a bit difficult. Nonetheless, they decided to work it out together and the ear cuffs were part of their attempt.

31. First Night, Morning After - The wedding, or rather the marriage itself, was something Gale wanted. He wanted to give her a safe haven, to be her home, and she his; despite her never showing interest in any of those. He had his worries in the back of his mind that he was imposing his ideals on Zilvera. He had been trying to sell the idea to her, showing her the best he knew to convince her. Even after the wedding, it didn’t quite feel real. It was done. They were now husband and wife—spouses, family, partners, bound by vows, witnessed and blessed by their friends and family. They didn’t get a chance to be alone until the middle of the night the next day —

Even though Morena insisted it wasn’t necessary, Gale was determined to walk her home until Tara promised to take care of it for the third time, and the tressym was losing her patience. He closed the entrance door and felt the urge to say something to fill the sudden silence. "Wow, we danced a lot. Do you remember Aunt Leia’s graceful dance moves? I am not a bad dancer myself, but she's always been the best in our family, until you—" "Gale." "Y-Yes?" "I love you." Gale’s eyes widened in shock. She had never said it before— Zilvera knew well the weight of the phrase for him, so she had been hesitated to say it. She felt it would be deceitful if she didn't truly understand what it means. That had changed, Zilvera thought to herself. She looked into his dark brown eyes, noting how the moonlight and lamplight outlined the features of her new husband. I love you, she whispered again, as if she was warming up to the feeling of how the words rolled off her tongue.

Nothing spicy happened that night. They bathed together, exchanged thousands of kisses. Zilvera then sang exhausted Gale to sleep. She spent the rest of the night humming, combing fingers through his hair, writing the day into a song to keep the memory for them forever.

🧡

Me, the entire time picturing all these. Thanks you again for sending the ask, it was so much flufffff!!! ♡ Wedding Prompts ♡01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

[hpowellsmith]

The games are set in the 1700s, but they still have cars?! That's cool. Will we ever get some details as to what kind of cars are available? Will we ever drive in one/ride in one? A limo, maybe? I'm just curious. Also, will cellphones ever be a thing? Will we ever have one? Love the games by the way. Just interested in the world you build as you write the series!

It's not our world's 1700s, just that those are the dates of the calendar used in the setting. There is a little bit of info about technology in the FAQ over here!

You can ride in a car in Creme de la Creme in some branches (though not all), and in Royal Affairs you always ride in a convertible at one point. In Noblesse Oblige the roads aren't very suitable for cars so they use carts and carriages more. In Honor Bound, there are various times that you can be in a vehicle, mostly pickup trucks, a bus, and a fancy limo-ish car; one character owns a motorcycle and you can ride on it with them.

I don't think I'll ever go far enough into technological development to include mobile phones. The type of phone they have at the moment is this kind of thing and it's not something that ordinary people have in their households. It'd be a major step from that to even basic mobiles and there are ways in which the technology is less advanced than the 1930s Europe that it's loosely based on (eg there aren't cinemas). There is some chat in Honor Bound about the emerging field of computing though!

Thank you for the ask!

[tiesthatbindery]

The @renegadepublishing Bound Book Exchange is complete and the books I made have been received.

I was very lucky in that my recipient, @rhipidurafan, had multiple amazing picks for fics she'd like to receive and two spoke to me immediately. I got even more lucky when both @neverwaswise and @shinyopals gave me permission to bind their fics for this exchange.

I got less lucky when my Cameo 4 decided it wasn't going to foil my titles and tentacles for me, but I think it came out Not Too Bad doing it by hand.

Ship In A Bottle by Neverwaswise (rated T) is a modern AU for OFMD and it starts with Stede moving into a lighthouse and doing some interior decorating. This decorating scheme influenced my choices for the case where I tried to match the paper to the wallpaper he was installing and the bookcloth and endbands to the orange brick of the interior of the lighthouse. I also knew early on that I wanted to reference the kraken tentacles on the case or end papers, but I couldn't find anything that felt right, so drawing my own tentacles it was. I'm so happy that the two that ended up making a kind of heart shape wrapped around to be on the front of the book.

The Magnus Institute vs the 21st Century by Shinyopals (rated T) is a series of four epistolary fics (well, 3 epistolary fics and one scriptbook style fic). I discovered very early that there is a very disappointing lack of good eye imagery for decorative paper and cloth options. I decided to lean heavily into the fact that the Magnus Institute may be dragged into the 21st century against their wills, but that doesn't mean they won't still keep things as old school as possible. For the emails and IMs, I tried to replicate the fonts that would be used in Outlook and on the cellphones, and then I matched fonts for the scriptbook as well.

But for the titles, I picked out a nice crunchy Punk Typewriter font. My Cameo 4 tried its best to destroy that on the spine, twice getting caught in one space and ruining it. And foiling by hand made it a little extra crunchy but I kind of enjoy the effect that happened. Yes, technically it's not perfect. But by this point I'd already decided on making my own cover paper art as a manila folder with post notes on it, so I actually enjoy the way that the imperfections in the spine titling make it look even more like this book is the result of the archival assistants printing off all the emails and IMs to file hard copies and then needing to hand adjust when the typewriter didn't quite label perfectly.

I also had a lot of fun coming up with some of the things to have on the post notes on the back cover.

And what would a TMA series be without some tea? I made the little tea bookmark and realized I didn't have any particularly tea colored size 10 crochet thread, so I did the reasonable thing and used gold with metallic and it's fancy tea. That's my story.

Link to cup of tea bookmark pattern Link to corner bookmark pattern Fonts: Punk Typewriter Seaside Wave Initials With Curls

[clickedbait]

She didn't get to leave Hawthorn or the island all that often. Days off came as a reward and earned privilege. Perhaps many would frown at that, but she didn't mind it. It kept her focused, disciplined, and ready. She liked living on the island and with the other chefs, but being allowed off it getting a day off? That was a treat and she was going to take advantage of it by taking the boat into town curtesy of Dale-- another chef with more than the general know how on both boats and acting. She'd dressed herself in civilian clothes-- something simple. Capris jeans and a baby blue button down, sleeves rolled to her elbows. It was a common look for her, hair pinned back and faint smile on her lips. She felt comfortable in it, a close second to the comfort of a Hawthorn chef's jacket.

But she was doing her best not to think about that jacket or the tasks that came with it. She was, again, taking advantage of the day ahead of her-- including picking up a new journal. She'd filled her last one to the brim with thoughts, recipes, and secrets-- the tattered item in her purse hung over her shoulder. She'd burn it while still in town. No reason to hold onto those thoughts or even the recipes (all memorized or official in some fashion at Hawthorn). She found comfort in burning the leather bounded book almost every other time she came into town... enjoying letting go of what's inside.

There's one thing about Katherine though that sets her apart from the rest of the world when she steps onto the mainland. She doesn't have phone. No cellphone to keep up with her friends or her family-- why would she? Hawthorn was her home. Her family. Her friends. She didn't need anyone else-- she wasn't meant to. That's how good it was to work for Chef. Didn't matter how he treated her last year in punishment for denying him. Didn't matter that she had to fight tooth and nail for her position in feeling like she had some of his respect again. She was happy with her life.

Arriving on the mainland was easy and it was even easier to find her way to her favorite little bookstore. Sometimes she'd reward herself with a book purchase, but the only times she had to read were in the wee hours of morning and it was that or sleep. Mind you some of that time was used for the journals she'd have, but sleep was important. It was recommended-- frowned on really if you missed it and yawned the next day. Either way, it didn't stop her from perusing just slightly some of the new releases as she entered. Picking up one and turning it over to read the back flap before returning it to its place. She gave a muted grin to the clerk who greeted her after helping someone, shaking her head when asked if she needed help. She was fine.

She made her way too the back of the store where journals were kept, eyes fixating on the wall lined with them. She nearly missed the woman walking out of the kids' area with a couple books in hand-- Katherine throwing on the brakes and stopping dead. She was quick on her feet thanks to her time in the kitchen, dark blues quickly snapping to find a woman she almost didn't recognize. Mind you it'd been years since she'd seen the woman, but Katherine rarely forgot a face. Especially one you saw almost every week for nearly a year before one dropped out. @witchdoctrines.

She remembered her name (came with knowing a face), but hadn't she gotten married since then? God. How long had it been since college even? The years felt as though they blended together working in this industry and especially since joining the team at Hawthorn. Not that it mattered. The point was-- Katherine recalled who Emilie was. It wasn't just her face and name. She could remember how terrrible the woman was at cooking. How awful she was despite the trying attempts to do well-- had Katherine ever paid her mind to help or was she too wrapped up in her own world.

Quite like now.

Katherine blinks quickly and gives a shake of her head, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings," but she barely pauses before adding, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're Emilie, right? I think we had a class together back at NYU-- culinary arts one, I believe?"

[mellaithwen]

thank you for tagging me @princessfbi @renecdote @thekristen999 and @nymika-arts you beautiful wonderful talented beans <33

Rules: Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line (or a few), and share it! Then tag 10 people

.

I'm not you, nor you me (but we're both moving steady)

“I’m surprised you’re not keeping Eddie company right now, not that I’m not grateful for the visit,” Bobby jokes lightly, but the fond look becomes troubled, and Bobby starts to wonder what he’s missed. 

“Ana’s with him, I didn’t want to…crowd him.”

Ah, Bobby thinks. There’s the rub.

Gently whispered hope

A peaceful feeling seems to wash over him, as he leans back against the sofa, settling into the role he’s been assigned, careful not to jostle Jee-Yun in his arms. Jee-Yun Buckley-Han. It has a nice ring to it, a beat, a rhythm, almost like a calming melody in his head; dum-dum-dumdum-dum.

Covered in hope, and filling with doubt

Buck 17:12 Did you know there’s a shark called a tasselled wobbegong?

You're calling me home like a ship that got wrecked

“Let me do this,” he begs, clutching at Eddie’s palm in his, before letting go to reach out and gently tilt Eddie’s chin upwards. Even though there’s a part of Buck that’s worried he might have overstepped, he pushes the thought down deep as he moves to cradle Eddie’s jaw in his hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing at the tear tracks that are still visible on the other man’s cheeks.

Send me a postcard (when you get to where you're going)

The light from outside that shines through the tall glass windows of the apartment complex is almost blinding, and Buck can’t quite make out the man’s face, but he can just about see the outline of his white bushy beard shining in the sunlight. 

Coloring outside the lines

“Wait, is that Hen?!” Chim interrupts with glee, as he points to the person in the rig with slightly lopsided glasses, before reaching for his cellphone, presumably to take a picture. “Which means Bobby’s up-front and these two cozy-fellas are—”

“Listen —” Buck protests as he tries not to choke on Chim’s description, “crayons aren’t exactly my strongest medium—” 

Bound to each other's hearts

"You could have been killed," Buck says, blinking past the burning in his eyes that has nothing to do with the smoke in the air, as he launches into a bitter tirade that would have put their Captain to shame. 

He’s nowhere near done, and he has plenty more to rail and shout and scream against as his anxiety peaks in the relative safety of the aftermath of what could have been—even if what comes out of his mouth is little more than a harsh pain-filled whisper—but before he can say another word, Eddie’s surging forward, cutting him off at the pass with the sudden press of his lips against Buck’s.

And just like that, they crash together, fumbling for purchase as they collide.

Every bit of me hurting for you

He hopes he didn’t freak his husband out too much with that message, just enough to come running, just enough to hope that he’d know to leave Christopher at home before racing to Buck and Maddie’s rescue.

Crawl towards a life of fragile lines

There’s another shot in the distance, a horrible bang from somewhere behind him, followed by the surreal sound of a lead round slamming into metal at high velocity—much louder than if the bullet had found a soft target. Buck flinches so hard that his head hits the underside of the engine and his adrenaline spikes.

And in short, I was afraid

Buck’s silhouette is standing in the doorway, and god, Eddie would know him anywhere, even now as he fights just to breathe. 

& i'll tag @littlespoonevan @henswilsons @capseycartwright @homerforsure @lovebuck @hopeintheashes @evanbucxley @shortsighted-owl @buttercupbuck and @tripleaxeldiaz <33 sorry if you've already been tagged and I missed it!!

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Seven, Part 3

"Four, or right around there. We could probably even go now." Chad replied. I looked at my phone. It was three after all.

"Fuck it, why not? I could use a different kind of drink," I said, slamming down the rest of my lukewarm cappuccino.

Both of us stood up and stretched. After throwing our cups into the trash, we headed the short walk back to my apartment. His car was parked there, and it was just easier to walk then try to find parking on a Saturday afternoon.

It had rained most of the morning, but the sun ended up winning, and now the day was now humid and rising in temperature. Even though the walk was so short, both Chad and I were sweating. There was no need to go inside. I already had all my stuff. So, we just hopped into Chad's car.

After blasting us both with 'Starfuckers, Inc' by Nine Inch Nails, Chad turned the volume down and pulled out into the road. It seemed every vehicle I got into was having the volume problem.

"Do you have any idea how to get to this place?" Chad asked me. I guess I had more of a chance of knowing it then he did, but still. He knew me. There was no way in hell I'd know where some bar in Walker's Point was. I am not mister direction. I don't drive.

"I have no fucking idea. I thought you did. I can get us to Walker's Point but I don't know the neighborhood." I asked, readjusting the passenger's seat back to how I always had it. When I lived in Oconomowoc, I was in this car probably just as much as Chad. It was a running joke in our circle of friends that I could tell exactly who had sat in the passenger seat. It was my seat, and I rarely got it wrong.

"I have an address."

"What is it?"

"Uh, Seven Zero Zero South Second Street."

"Yeah, I have no idea." I don't know why I asked for an address. I barely knew my own, other than the street. "Call Alana. I'm sure she could walk you to it better than me."

"Good point." He pulled his cellphone and put it to his ear. A few moments later, he set it back in the center console. It seemed she hadn't answered and it was our time to figure out how to get to this place. Neither of us knew where the hell we were going, and neither of us were smart enough to go get directions. We weren't that far away from my home yet. I had the internet. At least we were in the neighborhood now. We were bound to run into as long as we paid attention.

Instead, we were supposed to meet up at four. Alana and her friend called us at 5:30 as we were still struggling. And both of us were frustrated. But even with us being frustrated and still being stupid, we were still laughing and enjoying the trip. Frank Turner once said "if you're all about the destination, than take a fucking flight."

Finally, we got lucky and found ourselves right outside of the bar. It's windowed wall looking out onto the street. A small handful of people stood around the door, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of plastic cups. Across the street was some kind of nightclub. On the street outside, we could hear punk music pumping out of the bar. We parked the car in the first spot we found, hoping and praying that it wouldn't end up being an impound spot. Chad had never had the best luck with his car in Milwaukee, getting a ticket almost every single time he came. He used to tell me Milwaukee wouldn't be that awful of a city if it wasn't for the absolute serious problem with parking. I guess I never paid much attention to it.

Our spot was about a block away and the walk was spent smoking cigarettes and still catching up with what was new and joking about what was old.

We entered the bar up a small staircase and into a packed hall for music and a crowd. The walls, where there wasn't windows, were covered with tons of old rock and punk posters and other memorabilia. Tables were scattered all over the floor. Most of them were already filled with groups of people. The bar wasn't any better, almost every stool was full. I scanned the place, looking for Alana but realized that I would have no idea what she looked like anymore. It had been quite a long time. Enough for people to change.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

7th Dimension (Chapter 7.8)

7TH DIMENSION MASTERLIST (ALL CHAPTERS)

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 7.7

7TH DIMENSION WATTPAD VERSION LINK (I am entirely ahead on this site now. 7th Dimension on Wattpad has now accumulated more than 10 chapters. There are minimal scenes back in the previous chapters which has been altered there, so sorry about to those who only read my updates through Tumblr because there might be some differences in Satoru's characteristics which has been changed on Wattpad already, yet y'all are bound to read the altercations in further chapters. Heehee.)

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: (Part 9) Mind Training with Gojo Satoru had been beneficial to the both of you. You were given a mission to bake him sweets and in return of earning a 10/10 rating from the Great Teacher Gojo would result for a Shopping Spree treat from the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive. Additional Summary for this chapter: From your transference of your world to Satoru's have been actually forecasted by an undisclosed diviner that obscured his prophesies in the dark. Nonetheless, what was meant to be envisioned for you had all been a trifling matter because he had seen nothing but a nullity of a future set out as you walk upon Satoru's dimension. Except for the fact that Fukumoto Daichi knew you also were an erudite when it came to the happenings that was set forth for the Jujutsu Society in the near future.

Warnings: Fukumoto Daichi is not a character from Jujutsu Kaisen along with Sasaki Hibito as well. They're both OG characters created by me. | Satoru's still being Satoru. Other than the menace being a menace, none. Just a lil' bit suggestive somehow because Satoru's sexy as heck---*rolls on the ground*

7th Dimension Taglist: @dailystsg (Send me an ask or message if you want to be added or removed, bb's!)

A/N: FEEDBACKS HELP A LOT FOR A WRITER.  REBLOGS, RESPECTFUL MESSAGES SENT THRU ASKS AND COMMENTS MAKE MY HEART TINGLE AND SQUEAL, ISTG. 💙 I DO APPRECIATE THEM ALL. I sincerely apologize how long chapter 7 is. There's another part which is 7.9 but don't worry because it'll be the last part before chapter 8. Thankies! Heehee.

SORRY IF THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS AND GRAMMAR ERRORS WITH EVERY CHAPTER I WRITE. I ain't a professional writer! I'm just a potato-hoe! LMAO.

Words: 5.4k+

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits, also those posted are not mine especially the GIF's. (I dunno how to make GIF's 😭 Tell me if the GIF's are yours so I could probably tag/credit you, bb's!) I only own the plot of 7th Dimension. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline and the characters themselves. OG characters are created by me and will be stated during my brief author's notes. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be for the sake of the story.

YOU'VE PATIENTLY WAITED FOR THE TRAIN ON THE SIDE. Another ice-lolly on hand that Satoru has promised to invest you in. His own strawberry popsicle guzzled within seconds. As expected from an unusual man who had a terrible, gnarly sweet-tooth. There wasn't much people that bordered. The veiled excitement balling upon your soles, making you senselessly wriggle those toes of yours inside your shoes, playing along your weight with the heels of your feet as it appeared like a child eager to be taken to the first destination of her field trip.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Satoru could feel his phone vibrate inside his pockets. The default ring tone of his cellphone pealing out loud, over and over again.

He never cared to put it on silent. Unmoved by how it look as though he was definitely needed to be somewhere.

Gojo was doing it on purpose. Ignoring the call, that is. In no circumstance did he bother to answer again as he knew it was either Yaga ranting and raving for his irresponsibleness or Ijichi being chided for his faults that has been put to the assistant director's blame.

"You're not answering that?" your tone seemed mirthful than ever, bringing the stuff toy below your chin while the other held onto the wooden stick. The cold dessert you were clutching onto was now polished off to the ends; the piece of wood aimed directly at Satoru's phone that was kept inside the pocket of his jeans.

You've held a palm out to him, signaling for him to wait as your feet skipped through the cemented grounds, throwing the garbage inside the proper recycling bin. Even though, Satoru did not appear to be looking. He basically was keeping track of where you walked upon.

Filled with vim. Your feet having the springs as you've pranced back, being all smiles and giggly. He'd given you his regard and another of his toothy grins, intentionally ignoring your question.

"You should at least hide your excitement, Tiny-Chan."

The train was fast enough for you to emit a sound of excitement; a faint squeal that went straight passed out of your mouth, heedless that you've ought to say it out loud. The train speaker declared its standard procedures in their native language, stating upon which station they were currently in---where both you and Satoru are located in.

You've taken short, overjoyed leaps through the entryway, snapping your head from left to right once situated inside and saw how there weren't a lot of people aside from a college looking student who had thick, square eyeglasses that sat on the farthest end of the train over the boundary where another hatch were interloping and connecting with the other door, a periphery of the area.

This stranger had his head leaning along the window behind him. He'd audibly sighed his frustration out underneath his breath. Mind elsewhere, currently in a pensive state as he was burdened over complications that has happened with his work and towards subsidiary affairs.

Activities which can be considered as a religion he worshipped. A lone divinity adulated by a faction of individuals they've devoted their lives for, depending on their own scriptures or gospels delivered by a deity they offer all their reliance on. People were of many creeds and cultures. Humanity embodied boundless beliefs. Divine beings reverenced by traditions that were established years before. 

Each one had their own doctrines of predestinations. It was just a matter of faith or a member of the human race to perceive and accept their designated sects with accepted pieties and the sanctity of one. 

"If 'Toru' has a tiny spot of grime...I'm strangling you alive, Satoru!"

You've caught this stranger's attention when you've given a loud, rowdy exclamation of your own irrefutable threat. The man lethargically blinked to himself, keeping his head away from the window before he'd been knocked for six, blinking another as if he couldn't believe his eyes. 

"Is that..." His submerged mind went above the apprehension of reality, own dwellings surfacing in between a quandary that emerged for an unsought time. Incredulity and dread loaded his disbelieving spirits. Own nerves malfunctioning, putting a kibosh on worrying over the mistakes he'd been berated back on a work he'd been receiving money from. 

The faction comprehended him clearly. Six months. Half a year after dooms day, Fukumoto Daichi was to be reborn again. Right after on the succeeding date that every Jujutsu Sorcerer has been oblivious for. An ill-starred time that no one would've been aware of. 

Their world's downfall for only a minute of time where each one was bound to suffer in successive unforeseen deaths. 

Fukumoto Daichi had seen what was written in the stars.

Through every calamity; every stroke of bad luck from every Jujutsu Sorcerer's decisions till the contretemps of what Satoru's dimension provided them with. Natural disasters that couldn't be controlled till the resoluteness of cursed-spirits that has been casted to the sides---thrown towards the tenebrosity of their world because of one's existence. He'd detected them all. They were au courant with the eventualities and incidents. Every member finding utmost trust to his divine providence that he offered to their faction.

But, to his ordinance---a god-forsaken commandment, Fukumoto Daichi had announced his sacrilege was to never stand in the way of what fate had for their dimension.

No matter what it takes.

Undeterred by the laden consequences, deplorable conditions and egregious circumstances that he'd foreseen before his demise.

Even if it meant for their world to collapse into complicated, torn pieces.

Only Sasaki Hibito was the sole person to apprehend what was said between the lines of their overseer in the subject matter of a woman; a substantial commination to the tenets of Fukumoto.

This threat he'd distinguished to be. Fukumoto foreknows everything. The image of your face which had his sanction flabbergasted by the details. Yet, barely laying hold of what you provided for Satoru's world other than the sketches he envisaged because your existence; your life, your motives or plans ahead, to Fukumoto he'd seen nothing but a nullified cloud of obscurity. Withholding bupkis of your astral influence that he could not predict.

Hence, which is why he'd made it intelligible for everyone---to everyone meant that only Hibito had understood the obligation imparted to those who were vacated that you were entailed to be terminated.

It was either to decimate or keep you constrained no matter who ended up escorting you through your unnecessary pilgrimage on their land.

Nevertheless, the scene that he was welcomed with---bringing you with them to a standstill required sedulous care. An all-embracing endeavor and a life of toil for each member of their religion that it would take a chucklesome illusion of pigs flying in the air.

Perhaps, keeping you detained within their grasp would be impossible.

Because you were guided---deemed to be protected and shepherd around Japan by the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in their world.

How fearsome it was to see you with him. Even mind-boggling to get a drift of such appearance that were an absolute reciprocity of Fukumoto Daichi with an opposite gender that they had prophesied for. Though, to no extent did they have any idea where, when and how you would make an appearance.

Hibito's hand couldn't help but shake just by being in the presence of him alone. Those fingers of his that trembled from trying to clean his own glasses with the fabric of his shirt. His lungs that began shaking like a leaf.

Those of the members within his faction who had seen Gojo Satoru in the flesh have been right. It was either you get intimidated or terrorized by the judgements you had for his potentials, exhibit abhorrence for his existence and hubristic side or have a bit of both.

There was no in between if he doesn't plan to keep you close within his range. Physically, mentally and spiritually.

Only those who were of palsy-walsy are to witness what and who Gojo Satoru really was. Apparently, Hibito was not one.

Master Daichi knocked together a plan of action that was paradoxical to begin with if what he depicted were not of an illusion fabricated during his stressed out conditions.

Hibito brought back his glasses to where it was situated in the first place. Lenses all limpid that he'd happen to fall further on his seat. An expected migraine taking place from the image.

You really were with the honored one. The inheritor of the limitless and six-eyes.

"Out of all damned people...She was supposed to be with us," Hibito mentally thought to himself, shunning his eyes away from both you and Satoru who kept bickering like you did not care for the world. He kept his eyes straight, disregarding your presence on purpose.

Nevertheless, his own leg seemed to be jiggle when he began to cross them. His own nerves deceiving him through the thoughts, logics and false providence that followed; his soul outright aware of Satoru who was just meters away from him and knowing he had the capability to die with one phony act he makes when he appears to be like he knew him and his history along the Jujutsu Society.

It would always end up with the question, 'How'. In which, Hibito could forebode their sub rosa patrols that involved time ahead and revealing them all would have him dying first before he could.

"Ooooh. Scary! A threat coming from a teeny-weeny girl," Satoru teased and taunted, shifting on his seat as he leaned his head to the side, sending you a charming, skittish beam, "---A threat that's entirely impossible to happen. Heh." he'd lowly chuckle to himself, leaning closer to your face to offer more of his mischief and irritating taunts, "---I'd love to see you struggle."

"You've already gotten him dirty because you threw him off!" you've groused with a grimace, huffing back to him and taking the stuff toy in between you both, emphasizing your forefinger and drawing beads on where the exact smudges were. Showing him the tiny specks of dust that it has gotten from his previous reckless actions back at the photo booth.

"Eh. It's only a tiny speck of dust. You should've chosen a different plushie then. You had options. Either a black one or the horrid, white one." Satoru nonchalantly stated, his voice light as he leaned his broad shoulders back, crossing his arms but having his legs spread enough for you to chastise him for in which he clearly didn't care about if you were too bothered by it.

"Aren't you sitting too close to me? There are lots of spaces to be seated on! Yet, you chose to sit beside me and man spread like a bitch again!" your verbal horsewhips passed from one ear then towards the other. His grin growing like it was animated enough as Satoru scooted closer next to you, depriving more of your area with his lofty built. Another sally resurfacing that was already prepared to be quipped out in the open.

"Actually, you should be thankful. I get to check the weather up here and that annoying top of your head. Need to check if you're growing a halo or the devil's ears already." His facial expressions turned more of a cock-a-hoop when you've shamelessly pushed his thigh close with your palms, exerting all your energy to it as he let you do it your own. Satoru going on with the flow and letting you have your own fun.

He'd countered all of this perversion with a semblance of bypassing the sense of absurd froth that spumed under that palisade he trusted to be resilient and stout.

"---I realized that it might be a little bit of both though. There's no in between. Are you also like this back in your world?"

"I was once an angel. But, being with you is making me turn into a she-devil!---Satoru, your leg is heavy! Please move! Or just basically give me space then!" You've breathed out the energy used to just allow yourself to sink in further on your seat, being cloth to cloth with Satoru now while he expressed his frisky, obdurate discords with a shake of his head and continuous 'nah's' ,'No's.'  and unsophisticated 'uh-uh's'.

You were being ridiculously more comfortable as you held onto the prize that you both had claimed back at the arcade. Another exhausted breath has been puffed out of your lungs as you've held onto your fluffy, Neko's white ears, making it sit on your lap, aimlessly playing with it, a genuine smile lifting your face.

An involuntary run of the mouth. The repressed thoughts, one that has been too honest to overhear by the latter, "---Also, I've chosen this because this is the only one that has the possibility to look like you!"

Satoru couldn't help the waggish grin that traced his features. His arms folded before him as he was gazing alongside your face, "Ah. I understand it clearly now. Are you saying that you've chosen that Neko plushie in hopes of remembering me whenever I'm not around?"

"---I mean," he started again and went on with his teasing, wiggling his albino brows as he jibed at your abrupt honesty, "---you've basically had him patented with such a marvelous nickname, right? There's no doubt that you've chosen that particular plushie to spare a thought for me."

Damn it. His own reasoning and logic made your body freeze. A bucket of numbing ice seeming to fall above your foolish self. Your hands stiffening from mindlessly playing with the stuff toy at hand.

Caught red-handed. You had to snap your head away after that, fighting shy of his conspicuous, unabating observance. Those palpable Ether that always had your face toiled underneath the broiling sun. With a twisted expression and your tongue poking on the insides of your cheeks, there was no doubt that you wanted to slap your own mouth, turning too free-spoken around a person that you should be through and through attentive of. 

Satoru was left chuckling to your side. The tonality rich and resonant, full-toned enough to analyze that he was probably thinking of taking its meaning to his head. The assumption lingering inside his haughty mind that you've purposely chosen the white cat in terms of remembering him when he wasn't around.

You knew you were right when he started to brag his mouth upon the notion, "Don't worry, I'll always be around you, Tiny-Chan. There's no need for that." Satoru pressed on, his leg now elegantly crossed as he leaned further on your side. Straight off, being cheek by jowl with him. His willowy, athletic weight now leaning more onto you as he hummed teasingly.

"Y-You're putting words in my mouth! I-I didn't say that!" Flustered words toppled one on top of the other, caught in your own incautious reckoning. Those honest statements should've been left unsaid and prohibited only to that angel sitting on your shoulder.

Those off the record kept thoughts should've been written on a locked diary or some sort instead. Yet, this erratic, refreshing solace that neighbored you whenever Satoru was around, the apparent sheltered ambiance that could be felt through him paved those thoughts out somehow.

In which fed to his ego again after all.

"It's okay to be honest with me. I dislike liars anyway. Feel free to memorize my charm and handsome face before I return the blindfolds back," your cheeks were puffed for both, restraining the need to strangle yourself from your genuine dopiness, aware of the piping hot temperature that tarried, falling further down the volcano hole. Your face experiencing to be sizzling in a fiery catch of shame for such an honest retaliation that didn't seem to even be a verbal counterattack from you and also for Gojo's veracity that he was proudly reveling in.

He'd slanted down further, catching you entirely off-guard when the supple of his lips grazed along your earlobe. Those next words of his sounding deep-toned, modulated but a little bit hoarse that was meant to be classified into the titillating side.

What was set forth susurrated below his breath. Warmth carelessly skimming above your skin, "Don't be shy,"

All at once, those hairs on the nape of your neck stood like you've been electrocuted. The electricity going straight down the rabbit hole like it has given you a sensation of something different. One squeezing through concupiscent dreams, worth for a mother to scold the licentious behavior of her daughter. 

It echoed and rang through that flummoxed state you were having, his words being crooned like a choir out in a church. Full and utterly angelic despite of how the devil was probably laughing out of court through your persistence of going through the motions being a paragon of virtue. An angel? Nah. You certainly weren't. 

This quotation you've heard from Satoru have been mixed within the familiarity that echoed in that fragmented abyss planned to be healed and connected together, filling the cavity of intrigue. Though, the words that came out of his mouth was definitely the first time you've heard them loud and clear. It was as far as you could recall, including that distinct impeccable locution he uttered that has given you a giggle prior when you were forcefully fed by his Shiitake Mushrooms.

"H-Hey! IT'S MAKING ME UNEASY!---you are making me uneasy, Satoru!" Out of the blue, you've loudly protested at the top of your lungs. As luck would have it, there weren't any other passengers except for the college student you've become cognizant of. To some degree, his body stilted upon his own seat like he was situated in a rather confined space when he had all the expanse to take, off in a world of his own. If there were elders, they would've chastised both you and Satoru for being so brash and rowdy. Affiliates to be classified in the boisterous side of the crowd because of the constant rumbustious pleasantries that catapulted high and low from both parties.

The noise would've been considered ill-mannered to their culture especially while riding a public transportation.

You tore hell for leather out of the seat you've occupied in the train, lifting yourself off from Satoru's side, emigrating from his reach without sparing him a glance. Your face uttermost being baked inside an imaginary oven, feeling like it was being scorched by the heat of the stove.

Satoru was utmost tickled pink for such a raucous reaction.

Too entertained that he had to drive more around the bend. He'd given a simper, the ends of his lips stretching wider as he ought to bring his pestilent necessities to use. Satoru was settled to provoke you even more, shamelessly pulling himself out of his seat, scurrying along your side with a playful purse of his lip. The troublesome idea of whispering the phrase again along your ear.

The strongest have made it obvious. Satoru's perverse decisions and plans that were clouded with mischief all the while he scooted next to you and offered his audible teehees.

"Don't be---" His words were cut off, lanky body being at an angle where his breath was capable of giving the summer breeze along your hypersensitive skin. The wariness of his presence stuffing your sentience that you were holding tightly onto your brand new prized stuff toy with a reckless moniker of it having named 'Toru' that you've had the audacity and will power to shove the plushie on Satoru's face in attempts to shut him up.

It would've stopped everyone's tracks; would've ceased Sasaki Hibito if he wasn't intentionally shunning off to both of your existence, it would have also catch Satoru's students on the hop because of a breathtaking and unanticipated incident. An absolute willpower from a non-sorcerer would have raised a furor among everybody who'd wanted revenge given to a menace of the Jujutsu Society. That fixity of purpose from a person who entirely had no sense of cursed energy nor knew any technique in regards to Jujutsu.

All that spunk you've got deserved an uproar. If his students or those people who were constantly annoyed by him were around, you might have received a splendid applause.

Satoru had seen it. His senses knew you were about to give him a smite with your Neko stuff toy. But, he was too busy; too preoccupied with his own guffaws over the bashfulness of your spirits that he allowed it to happen. Your soft toy smacking him in the face, "---Oomph!"

However, Gojo Satoru was obviously quicker than you opined him for revenge. Energetically taking the stuff toy from you and out of your hands.

The annoying idiot literally and proudly chucked the prized possession away inside the train. Within the area of the public transportation that you were both traveling in. The poor white stuff toy kitty heading throughout the width of the train compartment, accepting its hapless fate with a faint squeak of its loss. The lifeless soft toy devoting itself for its sustained defeat for being tossed for a lot of times today.

Satoru Gojo: 2 | Neko-san: 1

Neko-San has earned his well-deserved point by hitting him on the face.

"SATORU!"

This has been one of the loudest exclamation of his name that has been spat out of your mouth, kicking up a fuss for the sorcerer's foolish actions. Those embarrassed expressions you had, the broiling heat gradually melting away when Gojo had to dramatically stood on his towering height. He'd posed like he had a strike over a bowling game. Fists tightened on either side of him. His long-legs slightly bent like he was ready to pounce or give a kick over a cursed-spirit that technically wasn't there to begin with. Stance appearing to be like he was ready for combat.

You couldn't help the tight, firm moue. Those aghast expressions candid to be perceived by anyone, distorting them even more when Satoru had to declare a word out loud.

"STRIKE!"

You've given him the stink-eye, giving his face a once over and scrutinized the widening beam he had. As a matter of fact, you've spotted the slight dinky rumpled streaks of his wispy Ivory hair on the strength of Neko-san's attack. Satoru never took his eyes off your Neko stuff toy that went and flew as far as it did that it fell right exactly before the stranger's shoes whom was sitting silently and minding his own business.

"AH! YOU NEED TO STOP IT! He's as pale as your albino hair! Stop throwing him away like he's some ragdoll! REALLY!" With a stomp of your foot and an obvious, tight wrinkle of your brows clamped together. To the fullest extent were you nettled by Satoru's acts of inconveniences. You've felt your lips twitch on the sides, huffing out an exasperated breath. Holding onto the train's metal side bar to stabilize yourself to stand as you've audibly vouched and dragged your heavy footing along the floors towards your beloved stuff toy.

"---I have to get him again myself!" you've crowed your thoughts out loud, bleats frank enough for Satoru to assess as he continued on with his poses and own glares upon a lifeless dummy he was subtly seeing as an illusionary combatant. "---you've almost had to hit the stranger on the head too! Now, I need to apologize for your behavior when I don't even speak your language!"

The floor seemed nicer to stare at for Sasaki Hibito. How long had he been moored to his seat till his destination? In all likelihood, the time he spent with the both of you around had been ephemeral. Quite not too long ago yet. Granted that, time stood still and had been a suffocating mess when Satoru Gojo has been in the ballpark bordering his vicinage.

Hibito has been eavesdropping, nevertheless. Mentally inscribing synopsis or observations for your existence as well. One he'd taken to footnote was the nonnative language you were speaking. Distinguishing you to be of a foreign woman whom the strongest could decipher. He'd also been hearing you both fighting over something so childish. An irrelevant notation he'd paid attention to when his earwigging was ceased due to seeing a large, white, stuffed cat toy that has been knocked to the ground, right before the tip of his shoes.

This was the thing that both you and Satoru has been bickering non-stop about.

He couldn't help but mentally cuss inside his head. Never risking the profanities to be commented out loud.

"Damn it." Hibito was repeatedly questioning himself if he needed to get it for you. Balancing the consequences if he did or did not. What if he acted and turned a blind eye to the plaything? would Gojo Satoru break his neck for it? 

Hibito technically heard the prior canards through one of Fukumoto's disciples. One of the few and far between strong adherents of his that he couldn't conceive to be happening; confabulating with an eldritch being to start with. He'd listened to the their chinwags over how Gojo granted ruthless measures over a particular unregistered special grade cursed spirit who'd underestimated the strongest. His foe losing his temper for his vainglorious demeanor that he had whenever in the course of a Jujutsu battle. Gojo Satoru was granted that he was verily stronger and had the upper hand before the battle even started. 

The word on the street purveyed in the pitiless aftermath of this certain vier, taking him down a peg or two from grisly pulling his own head off inside Gojo's Domain Expansion that has overthrew his. 

Straightaway and without even realizing his fretful nerves were controlling him all at once, Hibito was coming in for the stuff toy. His subconsciousness screaming how his yips would've made everything conspicuous, yet he had to play the chivalrous and respectful Japanese citizen. He didn't need to look at the both of you anyway, he silently thought as his head bowed when he'd felt that you were at arms length away from him. 

Both of his arms out with the plushie on his hand, offering your soft-toy back without even sparing you a glance. 

This was the first and only time he'd seen whom everybody have loathed and been frightened of. Gojo Satoru whose existence which made every cursed-spirit hid behind the shadows because of his birth. Hibito even had the ill-fate to tolerate upon communicating towards the threat that their worshipped being has forewarned them all about.

The woman of peril that needed to be constrained within their hands.

"Ah---Hm. Arigatou Gozaimasu and Gomenasai. I hope the pronunciation is correct. By the way, mister---I'm with the crazy, albino man child. I'm so sorry." you've kindly thanked Hibito, trailing off for a second as you've glanced at the train's ceiling, reclaiming your soft-toy back from his hands. Your next words gibberish for him to understand as it was beyond any doubt a foreign sentence that he had his brows in a twist. The stranger carried on and hid his face underneath and in between his arms, playing the role of a diffident man who did not want to have a confab with anyone. 

He just didn't trust the constant frets of his fingers and the everlasting instability that Gojo's presence has brought him in. 

"Oi! Tiny-Chan!~" 

Ah, Damn it. Hibito felt himself tripping on the wrong foot when he'd heard Satoru merrily calling out for you. His spirit of inquisitiveness has been changed to stress, stirring an intense amount of agitation when he heard Satoru hollering. The peculiar nickname and honorific he'd used piqued his curiosity. 

He had to continue and bow further as if the floor was really such nice art. Fukumoto's votary wanted you to scram; wanted you to skedaddle that he was pleading to Fukumoto's dead soul that you would leave him alone before his state of nerves could divert Satoru's attention from yours to his. 

However, your nosiness; your snoopy self decided to stay upon your tracks and studied him down in concern, wondering why he wasn't giving you a look, worried that he wasn't all too well. 

You've dwell on further, not wanting to judge the culture that you were still adapting from. Distracted as you appeared to be especially with the visual perception of Gojo, his six-eyes be immersed over your figure as you stood before the unusual, timid stranger. How the echo of his feet were like the drums of death, steadily being clobbered with in hulking thuds. Literally. 

"He knows. He knows that I know him. He knows. He knows." Hibito was cognitively ranting and wordlessly rambling time after time. His mind in a mess and have been on edge that he had unconsciously fished his phone out of his pocket, acting as if he has gotten a text when he could hear Gojo's heavy footsteps echoing closer.

"Didn't I tell you to just stay beside me because it's more fun when I'm around?"

Hibito's breath was being held back. He could feel himself fighting to keep an unstable pattern of breaths to make him appear more composed within the presence of his mind when it has all been the opposite. From his peripheral vision, his line of sight that has been hardly engrossed over the screen of his phone, he could see and feel Satoru closing in within a spitting distance which kept his anguish mid bay. 

"More fun when you're around? Hah! That was very funny. You've been giving me headaches!" you've bewailed with a tepid, sardonic laugh, turning a blind-eye to Satoru's saunters, "---throwing my plushie away since the moment I had him whenever you could. I always had to get it myself! This is all your fault!"

"Hai, hai...Come here now," Satoru droned once he was well-nigh, waltzing within the borderline of your discussion with a stranger you barely knew. "---besides, Neko-san's meant to be catapulted all the time."

"You go wash him then!" 

He'd kept his foot atwix the stretch of margin that kept you and Hibito adjacent to each other, looking as though he was trying to meddle in. Satoru actually was, much to your ignorance. On grounds of Hibito's twitchiness, his own nerves reacting upon his jittery impulse, his foot has faintly repelled when his sight-line and headlong senses seen Gojo's shoes step in between the line. 

It probably wasn't the best idea for his own axons to betray him in such an epoch-making occasion right now. 

You've been too faraway over your own hairsplitting mumbles of complaints over Satoru's actions, those real grouches inwardly interrupted when you've felt the grasp and warmth of his riveting touch that has gently grabbed your wrists, snowed under with his sizeable palm. Indulgent as he always was with you. Gojo have pried you out of the superfluous conversation, dragging you alongside of him and back to where you both seated. 

He's protective over her. She probably has been aiding to what Master Fukumoto has seen her to be. This guy wouldn't keep her with him if she was entirely useless after all. Hibito took his time as he breathed out the air he had been holding. At an apparent snail's pace with each step Satoru took as he yanked you away. The sneaking suspicions settling his ruminative thoughts ahead again. 

Although, he's kinda' too protective to assess.

Unbeknownst to him, The Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer has given him the side-eye upon his intrusion, sparing him a glance of his fugitive heed when he'd intentionally whisked you away from Sasaki Hibito, the knacks of his scrupulous senses fastening on the infinitesimal buck fever he was having till the mocked-up act he was trying to mask for whatever reasons. Yet, above all was the tiniest scent that he had been around cursed-spirits. His six-eyes never conked out nor diminished him. It was a vague smell that he was inured to after all and even how diminutive this was for Hibito because he hadn't even met Fukumoto's acolytes for today yet, Satoru knew.

Satoru's foremost gut feeling that his restiveness had to be about him. 

That's what he thought because Gojo has been given to understand that you were a nonentity. Thoroughly unidentified and your existence purely being a mystery whom no one in his world knew of. 

"How could we even get ahold of her when it was impossible from the start?"

Gojo has cut those hunches dead, thumbing one's nose over a tangential non-sorcerer whose existence was irrelevant to begin with. 

Through the birth of Gojo Satoru; the balance of the world has been altered. But, to your unanticipated existence and being entirely surrounded by him, alone. Everyone's destiny was guaranteed to be reshaped and tweaked to an extent that should've been left untouched.

Just wanna make it clear that Fukumoto Daichi has the same face with you. He's a man but prolly older. Heehee. He also have his disciples which are Sasaki Hibito and the others---which will be named and introduced soon. 

Think of them as a cult that's supposed to be hiding at all costs because they know some things that aren't supposed to be known that easily.

Satoru just be breathin' and Sasaki Hibito be fainting---LMAO XD 

There's still going to be chapter 7.9 before chapter 8 begins. Sorry if it's too long. I just really wanted this to last and also let them have their moments. Heehee. See you on the next chapter soon, if anybody even reads these fanfic stories of mine. Heehee!

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[truecrimetime]

Cheshire Connecticut, Home Invasion Murders

On the evening of July 22, 48-year-old Jennifer Hawke-Petit and her 11-year-old daughter, Michaela, took a trip to their local Stop & Shop. Michaela had planned to make dinner for her family and needed to pick up ingredients to do so. They were unaware that they caught the eye of Joshua Komisarjevsky, who had a fascination with the family's money, and Michaela. He followed the pair home.

Joshua brought an accomplice, Steven Hayes, into his plan with him. Based on a text message exchange between the two—"I'm chomping at the bit to get started."—the duo seemed excited by the prospect of their illicit activities. A confession from Hayes came claiming that the original plan was to rob the Petit home, but things spiraled out of control before the ordeal was through.

Although Komisarjevsky and Hayes had planned to invade the Petit home in the middle of the night to score some cash, they ended up arriving to them property in the early morning hours of July 23rd. Allegedly, they also agreed to tie up the family but leave them unharmed otherwise. When the pair found Dr. William Petit asleep on the couch in the sun room, and a baseball bat by the basement stairs, Komisarjevsky wielded the bat and proceeded to strike Dr. Petit four to five times. After this, Komisarjevsky and Hayes bound the doctors wrists and ankles with rope and plastic zip ties.

Jennifer, Michaela, and the other Petit daughter, 17-year-old Hayley, were apprehended in their respective rooms. Pillowcases were slipped over their heads and their wrists and ankles were secured to bedposts. After their initial search for cash, Komisarjevsky and Hayes moved Dr. Petit to bind him to a support pole. Then, a second phase of ransacking was frustrating for the criminals until they found a check register with $40,000.

Hayes then took Jennifer to the bank and demanded that she withdraw $15,000 under threat of further harm coming to her family. When the money was obtained, Hayes and Jennifer returned to the Petit home. Soon after, Hayes raped and strangled Jennifer to death. Investigators however, have argued that Hayes might have engaged in necrophilia.

Around this time, Komisarjevsky raped Michaela, turning her final moments into that of horror, which he documented on his cellphone. After this, Hayes and Komisarjevsky doused Jennifer's body and the still-living daughters in gasoline, in hopes to destroy any evidence they may have left behind. The Petit house was set ablaze and unfortunately, the daughters died of smoke inhalation. Dr. Petit was able to escape out of a hatchway in the cellar.

The criminals then fled the burning home in the Petit's stolen car. After a bank teller, Mary Lyons, noticed the worrying situation with Jennifer, she had alerted the police to the situation, causing cruisers to be stationed down the street from the Petit home. In their getaway, Komisarjevsky and Hayes crashed into the police cruisers, which led to their arrests.

The home invasion lasted seven hours. At the time of these murders, Komisarjevsky and Hayes were both on parole due to previous burglaries. Also, due to the timeline of when Hayes had purchased the gasoline, many believed that the murder of the Petit family had actually been pre-meditated.

Both the lack of surveillance on the two parolees and the posting of the police so close to the home as it was set ablaze has led many to cast doubts upon the police and the way that they handled the atrocities. Komisarjevsky and Hayes were quick to point fingers at each other as being the driving force behind the despicable set of crimes once in custody. Komisarjevsky later blamed Dr. Petit for the death of his family, calling him a "coward" who could have saved them if he really wanted to.

In 2010, Hayes was convicted of the murders and sentenced to death. Komisarjevsky was later convicted in 2011 and sentenced to death the following year. However, despite protests from the sole survivor of this massacre, these criminals never saw execution. In 2015, Connecticut abolished the death penalty, and Komisarjevsky's and Hayes sentences were commuted to life imprisonment.

Even if it wasn't to the full extent, justice was served. Although nothing can bring back the lives of Dr. Petit's family, their cherished memories live on. Jennifer was a nurse and co-director of the health center at a private boarding school. Hayley participated in varsity cross country, basketball, and crew. She had also just graduated as a high honor roll student, all while actively fundraising for multiple sclerosis research. Michaela had plans to take over Hayley's fundraising once her sister left for college, and she loved cooking for her family.

[wherethewoofwoofsgo]

A Quick Introduction

Hello. You are getting... as close to the spiel I give all my friends and coworkers and anyone who will listen about my babygirl as I can replicate in text format, which means it is not gonna make any damned sense. Bear with me.

If you know anything about D&D, there's some basic concepts copped from it, but honestly I fucking hate D&D's lore, so I mostly stole it and did whatever the fuck I wanted.

The majority of our story takes place in Silver Port, but we can't start there. We gotta start, instead, in the dwelling caverns (Think drow and you got a start.)

In the caverns, a scandal is brewing.

Severity, daughter of Clarity, has had a child outside the approval of the matchmakers. Even worse, the child is a second son--An extraneous boy past the one already alive. She's not telling who the father is, but thankfully the answer for what to do with the child is the same as what to do with any second son: Feed him to the goddess who created them and walks every cavern's halls: Ezphe.

Given we have a story, it doesn't quite go like that. For her efforts, Severity dies--There's only so long you can push against the spell of a dweller name.

Fourteen hours train ride away, in a world vastly different from our own but where cellphones and shit still exist, Shame, son of Severity arrives in Silver Port, a sunny, deserty, highly human and dwarven city, and is promptly adopted by a pack of dogs who make a living by stealing who rechristen him Beloved of the Dogfell pack.

There's a lot wrong with the life, obviously, but he grows up feeling loved, and not just by dogs.

He's involved with the local thieves guild from a young age(a group rendered a more respectable position than your average thieves guild by Silver Port's unique stance on theft), several religious organizations that provide regular meals (though he always remains more interested in the gods of the dogs), an eccentric elven woman who decides she's his aunt now, his local unhoused movements, and probably some other shit I haven't thought of yet. He's involved in his community, as are most people in Silver Port--It's a hard city not to be.

One thing he is lacking in, or maybe two: elven education in general, and dweller education in specific. It's bound to happen when there just aren't that many elves in town and what ones there are are spread out as shit.

Basically ya boy thinks he's grown at 25.

A QUICK NOTE FOR POSTERITY: Here's how elf age works here. Simplest way: From 20 to 100 you're 19 but you need to be 23 to vote.

A bit more complicated: At 20, in an ideal world where your family is rich and you all get along, an elf chooses their sixteen most interesting relatives. They will then spend the next eighty years doing five year apprenticeships with each, searching for a passion, and at the earliest at 80, though more likely at the earliest 90, declare themself an adult.

Obviously it doesn't often work out like that because bitches are not that fucking rich and you take what you can get, but that's the ideal.

But what do you do when a bitch is raised by dogs and born to steal?

That's the dilemma facing the elves of the thieves guild who are like "there is no way we can let this literal infant declare himself an adult." (They give in when he's like 48, he gets the tattoos to go with it and everything.)

Now at 50, dwellers reach the age of religious responsibility--They still aren't the age to vote in our example of 19 and 23, but Ezphe will kill them if they act up too bad.

And it is at that age that Ezphe appears in Mr. Dove's dreams and is like. "Hey. I'm your goddess. I literally made you. You need to come home and worship me." (She is playing favorites with his family.)

Now keep in mind. Dove is now a full grown man with full grown man responsibilities. So like any full grown man he says. "No."

Do you think a goddess is gonna take that well?

It is this period of 40s to early 100s that I am currently most interested in exploring. Please ask me questions and I will post things as I think to and want to, peace and love on planet Earth.

[dashnite]

psst, brazilian musical fans (or another countries musical productions / language fans). i found a bootleg of the São Paulo revival production of Phantom of the Opera (the one that was like two years ago in 2020 and then corona came and wrecked the sales)

[CORRECTION BY @glassprism: the revival actually ran from 2018-2019, before corona was a thing in brazil (i remember it being a big deal after carnival, on march/april 2020 iirc), and it ended in december 2019, so thank you for the correction!!!]

it's a very good quality bootleg, with minimal cuts and just a small annoyance that is the balcony standing in front of some scenes! (and YES it is in Portuguese!!!)

here it is ❤️ have fun!

[cast in read more]

CAST

Phantom - Fred Silveira

Christine – Giulia Nadruz

Raoul – Henrique Moretzsohn

Monsieur Firmin – Sandro Christopher

Monsieur André – Marcos Lanza

Carlotta – Bete Diva

Madame Giry – Taís Víera

Meg Giry – Fernanda Muniz

FEMALE ENSEMBLE

Bianca Tadini

Gabriela Bueno

Joyce Martins

Natacha Wiggers

Natália Hubner

Raquel Paulin

MALE ENSEMBLE

Douglas Tholedo

Gilberto Chaves

Henrique Moretzsohn

Leandro Cavalcante

Leo Diniz

Misael Santos

Paulo Santos

Rodrigo Miallaret

BALLERINAS

Ariadne Okuyama

Carol Paz

Carol Tangerino

Caru Truzzi

Isabella Morcinelli

Yasmin Barbosa

DANCEURS

Thiago Garça

Victor Vargas

[starlighthan]

A ROSE BESIDE THE TALL BUSHES

pairing: non-idol!felix and gender-neutral!reader

genre: fluff, university au

warnings: none

word count: 1.8k words

synopsis: enlisting subjects for the next semester is the definition of hell. until some cute transferee asks you, the student services head, to guide him through the experience of the website crashing and enrolling to his wanted subjects.

note: i am back with a fic after almost 2 months!! really missed writing!!! so here’s a fic inspired by my enlistment for subjects around a month ago (spoiler: it was a tragic mess) :’DD i thought it’d be great to make a cute and sweet fic with that... i hope you guys enjoy <33 missed u all too heh

© starlighthan - all rights reserved. please do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours.

Heavy rock music blares into your ears, headphones holding on tightly to your head. Usually, it leaves you in an energetic mood, similar to caffeine pumping in your veins. But now, it’s making you feel worse, like that grumpy cashier from the nearby convenience store is ruining your day every time you buy the ice cream you crave. The music gives you headaches now, but you’re not going to take the headphones off. You cannot survive in silence in the middle of an important event.

The university’s website crashed. You haven’t enrolled in more than half of the subjects you’ll be taking next semester. Slots for the classes you want to enlist in are running out.

To not pull your hair out of frustration, you placed your hands on the table. It was enough to hold on to your remaining bits of self-control rather than lash out in the middle of the study hall. You started to regret enlisting in this place, even if the internet connection here’s way better than the mobile data you’re subscribed to when you’re at the dorms.

Sucks to be you. Even the fastest internet speed won’t make you get your subjects right away. The whole student body is on the site to do the same thing.

At the most satisfying part of your favorite song, the guitar solo, your cellphone lights up when you almost move your head back and forth. Please, I wanted to headbang in this part.

You guessed it: it's better not to do it than to make your headache worse. Opening your phone, you see a message from an unknown person.

Hello! I remember Chan telling me to contact you about uni stuff! I just want to ask for some help in enlisting, I’m a transferee here and I still don’t understand the instructions given to me :’) I’m so lost.

You completely forgot that enlistment season means a lot of people in your college will be messaging about their concerns. As it was the first inquiry of the day, you typed in your question with a smile, going into work mode immediately as the student services head.

Chan gave you the right contact then! But who’s this?

Face palmed right after you reread your message. You sound so bad for a student services head. You don’t sound that nice at all.

Oh, I’m sorry! It’s Felix :D

Is your browser is updated? Is your internet speed good enough to open the website?

Yup, my browser’s updated! And I’m at the study hall near our building, the internet here’s pretty good, I guess.

He’s in the same building as you. No, he’s in the same room as you. He must be nearby.

I’m in the study hall as well! Are you okay with me teaching you all the way, wherever you are?

Yes, it’s alright! I’m at the last table, near the windows! I'm the only blonde-haired person there too if you’ll find it hard to find me! Heh :D

A great sign given by Felix, you thought. It was smart of him to point out the details of his appearance rather than let you mindlessly find him without knowing anything about him. After all, enlistment is time-bound, so you’d rather have this student not panicking that he just entered the university without any classes to take.

After a quick round in the study hall, you found a blonde head on the last table near the windows. It's good to know that he’s not the type to fool you around.

All the seats near him were empty, so you pulled the chair beside him. The small sound of the chair scratching against the floor startled Felix. He almost fell over his chair. "Oh, sorry! It was so quiet, you surprised me!"

You chuckled, immediately finding him adorable with his very animated reaction. "Sorry about that! I was a little aggressive in pulling that chair, I didn’t know the noise would be that loud," you shake your head.

"Have you enlisted already?"

Your face fell into a blank expression, recalling that you barely enrolled in your classes. Felix was paying attention very well. He sensed that you haven't enlisted yet. "Are you struggling as well? I heard a lot of sighing, grunting, and groaning echoing here in the study hall. Enlisting was harder than I expected."

He must be very clueless about the school he got in. Even with much consideration, you have to warn him about some of the obstacles to simply being at this university. "You should’ve researched a lot about this uni. For sure, you’re going to see students warning others that the enrollment process sucks here," you look back at him and give a small smile.

Snickering, Felix responds to you, "I did research a lot about this university. I’ve seen that the education system here is slightly better than at other universities. I literally transferred for the sake of my mental health."

"We have the same intentions then," you comment after Felix gently slides his laptop in front of you. "They have my dream course, but this is also somehow a student-friendly university and I’m very thankful for that."

"They just missed in the enrollment process, I swear to God. Their website crashes right away," you grumble, refreshing the website on Felix’s laptop. "By the way, you still remember your username and password, right? So you can log in?"

The boy beside you smiles and nods with all of his might. This whole scene felt like a kindergarten teacher asking their students if they understood the lesson. Felix has a unique energy, and it makes your feelings of endearment for him stronger. You’re not sure where that sudden feeling came from, but you’ll let it stay for a while.

A sigh of relief echoed through the study hall as the website did not show any errors. It finally works.

"The site’s back?" Felix asks, moving his head closer to you and his laptop.

Your smile right now is unmatched. This is arguably the biggest smile you have had today, and you are not even sure if this is because of the website or this blonde guy beside you. His wide eyes of curiosity sure do make you interested in him.

Nodding, you said yes. You quickly cupped your cheek, feeling the heat. You slid the laptop back to Felix and said, "Log in first, get the screen away from me."

"Why?" He asks you, still with those big eyes of his. You might sob over his gullibility, but he’s too cute.

"Dummy, you don’t want me to see your password, right?"

"I don’t mind showing you. I know you’re not going to remember it."

“Oh, you have a point."

You’re too close to facepalming yourself. Even if he does show you, you’re not going to remember it. Why? Because you have your own and you barely remember it. It’s written in your notes app on your phone. A brain cell of yours wouldn’t give space to someone else’s password.

But why is your brain not letting you stop mentally gushing about Felix?

The answers to that question floating around your head disappeared after Felix slid back his laptop. "Got in already."

"Great! So, I’m going to walk you through the enlistment process on this site so we can get you enrolled in your classes."

The rest of the hour was just the two of you finding the best classes for his schedule and finding sections that are not yet full. It took you a while since these sections get full slots right away.

"Was that the last section for this class?"

You mirror the worried expression on Felix’s face. You know that there are more sections, but you don’t know if they are full or not.

"We’ll have to go back to the list and find out," you return to the list of sections. Scrolling down, you found a section in a different color, implying that it is still open. "There’s one! Does it fit your schedule?"

Felix goes through his paper, and the classes he previously enrolled in are listed there along with their time. "Yes, it doesn’t overlap with my other classes! Let’s get this!"

With a loud gasp, you realized something. You enlisted in this class earlier. This was one of the first classes you got to enroll yourself in.

Felix returns to his face of worry, "What’s wrong? Is it full already?"

You shake your head and purse your lips. "I don’t know if I should even say this, but this is also the section I enlisted myself in earlier."

Going back on track to enlist him in this class, you felt his hand on your shoulder. It wasn’t right to not look at him since you think it’s disrespectful to not even initiate eye contact, but the fire on your cheeks might get stronger if you even try to look at him. Who wouldn’t get flustered by a person like him?

"That’s good! We can go to class together!" He lightly shook your shoulder, "I can be with you for at least one class! I’m excited!"

Did you hear that right? He’s excited to be in the same class as you?

"Excited... because I’m in the same class as you?"

With enough courage to look back at him, you try to see his genuine response to your question. And god, looking at him felt like you were entering heaven. With the sunrays from the window beside him, it was like all of the goodness and innocence were shining down on him. A living angel.

"Yes, _____."

Speaking your name could’ve melted you on the spot, but you have to keep your composure. Yes? For real?

"You still haven’t enlisted for some classes, right?"

Unable to utter any word from your mouth, you answer him with a nod.

"What if I enlist your remaining classes in exchange for your hard work in helping me with my enlistment?"

"And put you in the same sections as me in some classes, hopefully? So I can see you more?"

And there you go, your heart shattered. Shattered in a good way. It felt like the universe was on your side all of a sudden. It broke to pieces because of how smooth this guy can be with you. Can you just give in already? Every single movement and word from him just makes you insane and out of your mind already.

You were a stuttering mess. It took you a while before you gave a proper answer. "Of course, that’d be nice."

He logs out of his account from the site and shows you the screen. "Can you log in to your account?"

While trying your best to not show your shaky hands as you type, he probably made your hands shake even more. "Can I take you out after this as well?"