#Seven made me insane ok it’s about love it’s about wanting to live and wanting not to live it’s about living

[corporalkiheart]

I finished Naomi Novik’s “Buried Deep and Other Stories” and went to look at reviews after I’d posted mine on storygraph

and I am so glad to see that I was not the only one absolutely floored by “Seven”. It’s unrelated to any other works but it is just so masterfully beautiful and sincere and human and magic. Just incredible. It reminded me about everything I love about Naomi’s writing.

[themeraldee]

Ok but what about homelander who gets bored one day and decides to go searching through adult vids on the internet, scrolling past videos upon videos centered around him or the seven (HOMELANDER AND MAEVE CUAGHT FUCKING IN THE AIR?!?!? NOT CLICKBAIT) but nothing catches his eye. That is until he comes across you. Ur not doing any crazy shit just wearing pair of his brand of panties and nothing else. But it’s the way you look up at the camera all innocent like your not fitting a monstrous dildo down ur throat that makes him click on ur channel

And then he becomes obsessed with you, ur number one fan 🤧🤧🤧

Oh mate the 'HOMELANDER AND MAEVE CUAGHT FUCKING IN THE AIR?!?!? NOT CLICKBAIT' bit made me think of all the weird candid moments and stories people would be sharing on reddit/tumblr/twitter and I low-key want more of that in the show 😂 where are the conspiracy theory boards!!! where are the creep shots!!! Anyway that was off topic. Sorry about that 😂

Oooh hoho hoo how the tables turn. Who's the fan now?

It would take a little while for him to slowly descend into madness. I see this as a desperate attempt for him to soothe his ego. So like he comes back from a meeting where he got talked back to or he got scolded by his corpo parents so he's thinking about how there are millions of people who love him, revere him. He should look at that, not the people in his life that make him frustrated.

He's trying to jerk off, make himself feel good but he's too much in his head, his own voice coming back to him and scolding him too for caring so much about their opinions all while Edgar or Madelyn's voices keep coming back to him.

So instead he seeks out fans that could get his mind off the repetitive and distracting thoughts. Might as well indulge in how much people love him. Fuck Edgar. Fuck Madelyn. He's a superhero for fucks sakes, what do they have on him??

He skips all the stupid ones where people dress up as him and Maeve. He doesn't need to watch someone try to be him. He wants someone to worship him.

So there you are with your soaked little Homelander panties sucking on the silicone of the Homelander's Star Spangled Banger looking up at the camera with those doe eyes as if you were not pretending to be sucking his cock.

That image more than does the job, and he doesn't even get to the part where you fuck yourself with it before he blows his load.

At first that'd be enough for him. Satisfied, no longer thinking about what happened. Until time goes on and he keeps thinking back to that look you most definitely meant for him. If you weren't looking for his attention you wouldn't have presented yourself so perfectly right?

He watches the rest of your content in one night, really pushing the limits of his stamina as he blows load after load to the sight of you getting yourself off to his name in multiple ways and positions.

After the obsession fully sets in I see him having a little bit of a crisis between deciding whether he should be the only one who gets to see you like that. It's literally made for him after all. OR if he secretly likes how much other people drool over you while they couldn't stand a chance with you.

He ends up finding who you are and where you live and he watches through the walls of your home as you record yourself. He gets the front row seat and all the parts that come before and after. All the little insights in your life that others don't see. So he makes the move to meet you... aaaand the rest is history...

ALSOO being the attention whore he is I see him even wanting to record one with you. Where all you see in the frame is his naked thighs and cock so no one can actually tell that it's him while he has you sucking him off. Knowing that nobody else will get you like this and that all your fans are watching you finally blow him like you've been clearly wanting to for so long just blows up his ego to insane proportions.

[welcomingdisaster]

Ok so I’m rotating ideas about elves and mythology and decided to drop some ramblings in your ask box because of all the wonderful theatre-related thoughts you’ve been sharing!! The thing is that the silm is a mythology right. Like it’s written in that style, and the heroes of LoTR and the later Ages in general are always explicitly looking back to the stories of the First Age (see: Aragorn wanting to cosplay Beren and Lúthien with Arwen). But what were the myths, the cultural stories, of the Elves of the First Age? In Tirion what were the stories that Maglor might write a play retelling or subverting, that Elemmírë might make a new song about, that Míriel might have woven into a tapestry? All cultures have ancient myths – but these characters are a) living at the very dawn of the world, and b) are all going to become mythological figures themselves! It makes me a bit insane. My thoughts are that they told a lot of stories about the war the Valar made on Melkor, and also about Cuivienen and the awakening of the elves, but honestly I don’t KNOW. What do you think? (No pressure to answer this is very random I realise) ❤️❤️

NO I love these thoughts!!! My thoughts generally go along the same vein as yours in terms of the general themes of elven myths. Here are some possibilities I imagine:

Whichever continent the elves in question are not seeing is often the center of the stories. The Sindar and Avari in middle-earth myth-make a lot about the lands in the west; the Eldar in Valinor myth-make about middle-earth. Since we're talking about Elemmírë, Míriel, and Maglor I'll stick to the latter.

I imagine there's aways the pervasive idea of secret Ainur no one has discovered yet. No matter how many times the Valar go "no we promise we're all here in Valinor, there's no other Valar left" there's 100% an elf somewhere going "have you heard about the Vala of bogs? yeah they live in middle earth and they're in charge of all the bogs there and if you aren't careful you'll be stuck serving in their bog court"

Not to mention elves who know Aulë and have heard that his people sleep under the earth, waiting for their time to awake. I'm sure for some elves tell it as simply that, but over time another pervasive myth develops -- stories of great dwarven kingdoms under the earth, kingdoms they're barred from seeing, stories of seven great dwarven kings, each much like Aule in face, each possessing a specific sort of magic.

Imin, Tata, Enel, etc! Not only do we canonically get them as a counting story, I imagine their fates are also something that ends up being talked about? They do not seem like they ever ended up in Valinor -- what happened to them? I feel like elven stories can tend to go along the lines of "and then he turned into a tree" or "he still dwells by the sea where he was born" or "he fell into the cracks of the mountains during the war and became one with the earth."

Myth as a way to explore cultural taboos! Elves coming to Valinor, a land with no pain or crime, with the shadows of war and suffering behind them -- I imagine they must explore taboo and pain through storytelling. What happens to an elf that leaves his wife for another? What happens to an elf who poisons her sister? I imagine there's some gruesome/creepy stories that come out there, but are told with a naïveté to the actual truth of what violence looks like. Something along the lines of "and then the servants of Melkor hacked the elven king into bits, so his wife had to go looking for each piece of him in every corner of the world and sew them back together"

The sea!! Must I say more. The elves emerged from the sea, and they long for it -- yet they cannot go too far into the waves without drowning, and they do not know what lurks under the waves. I imagine myths centering around sea-creatures, around the souls of the drowned, around elves (mer-elves?) who never left the sea and make their kingdoms underneath the waters, etc.

Just some ideas!! If anyone else wants to contribute headcanons for early elf myths to his post, please do!

[gramarye]

speaking of my list of ygo by treatment of its female characters so far. its so insanely long well. sorry.

sevens : really good marvelous awesome. women are treated as equals in my honest onion and everyone rocks. i <3 yugioh sevens. i love you romin i love you rayne (WEIRDO!) i love you princess g i love you atachi mimi i love you asana i love you tiger etcetcetc I LOVE YOU YUGIOH SEVENS

gx: it's not Great with what it does with asuka and rei but it's somehow still less offensive than all of the other ygos below it in this list. asuka gets to be pretty cool and again, even tho there's several episodes about her being courted at least they let her come out on top whenever guys are trying to get to her and they never do weird sexual shit with her in a way that is as obvious as in the other yugiohs. YES THE BAR IS THAT LOW I THINK! SAD! and she gets as much as spotlight as say, chazz, kenzan, sho, or the likes. if you disagree btw you were not watching yugioh gx and should try to pay attention to women again. asuka is a really good fleshed character by gx standards. rei is also pretty fun, i love her, she has her little moments and she's Not limited to her love shtick, she has really fun beef and duel with chazz for example and has a neat role in s3 and all that. ALL THINGS CONSIDERED: ITS PRETTY NICE! they did an ok job! its very hobbyani and shounen but its not offensive w/ the women!

5d's: like.. it started off really good then they just kind of forget about aki. i will never let them live down the "benchwarmer" thing and guess what. THEY WON'T LET ME EITHER BECAUSE THEY MADE MERCH OF HER WITH THAT TITLE LIKE A YEAR AGO OR SO !!!! sherry is pretty cool though and oh i love carly. carly is good i just wish they didn't kinda ... roll back her progress with jack , it's like they had to make him hate her again for the haha funnies and because he couldn't be nice now in the 2nd half. idk. ruka is fine i just think its hilarious she has a kuriboh with huge ass girl eyelashes i will attach it to the bottom of this post. made sure we know this is a #GIRL kuriboh

DM: its like . okay. anzu doesn't do much i am sorry. i love her it's just that they let her have a few duels and that is it. the #og cheerleader. I LIKE HER! i just think they should let her do more. she has really good scenes outside dueling though and is very integral to the friend group and everything though so :) yayyyy anzu. mai is really good but remember when they. okay this is anime specific BUT I AM TALKING ABOUT THE ANIME SO !!! but remember when they kept her in a coma in like marik's special hell world for literally like 50 episodes. like. it was so fucking dire fifty whole episodes. Bad. AND THEN THEY MADE HER GET POSSESSED LITERALLY IN THE NEXT ARC? VILE. rebecca etc are all fine they werent there for super long but i like them. all in all it was OK wish there was more fleshing out. 5d's still did it better and had more memorable women more in the spotlight i fear. but 4 is not a bad ranking here DM is like alright not too offensive

zexal: ok its like... i don't think tori not dueling in itself is a Crime but it's sad they don't let her when she expresses in the anime wanting to duel . why not let her !!!! plus it'd tie really nicely with rio who i think rocks, but i do NOT understand why they had to have rio duel tetsuo who her only tie to was him having a crush on her when she was besties with kotori and it wouldve been a nice way to tie up their friendship and tori's desire to duel..anyway. CATHY AND ANNA ARE NICE its just that i feel like. anna rocks sooo hard but her whole character is wrapped up in her thing with yuma. they should've come up with another plot for her after i think taht would've been nice but it's not that big of a deal it's still pretty cool. train girl forever. also yuma's sister is cool <3 i think this is kind of a tie with DM actually . also they make at least one weird sexualizing skirt length joke with kotori so um. HOP OFF MY 13 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER AND STOP BEING WEIRD

vrains: AUTHORS NOTE I HAVENT FINISHED VRAINS YET but ive seen a good amount and my vrains oomfies concur with these ratings. blue angel gets into a coma within 10 episodes and is really good at getting her ass beat unfortunately. ghost gal is pretty cool but shes also out there getting her ass beat i think she only wins once like its so fucking dire out here they will NOT let these women win like they just take one L after the other. and theres really no other women there. um. its just kind of an L overall they just don't let the 2 cool women do anything. like gx only really had asuka and rei but at least they let them be cool and fun i DON'T SEE THAT HERE... love them both though. also shoutout to soulburner's npc girlfriend i think shes funny and im glad she exists

arc-v: literally im sorry i havent finished arc-v either but ALL MY ARC-V OOMFIES WHO ADORE THE SHOW CONCUR. IT'S SO BAD. ruri and rin are like barely characters. serena is cool yuzu is cool until she isn't and THEY HAVE HER LOSE TO AN ADULT MAN USING BDSM MONSTERS AND IMPLY BEING SEXUALLY GRATIFIED BY IT? ITS REALLY BAD. THAT EPISODE ALONE WAS SO BAD IT TOOK IT DOWN 50000 SPOTS IN THE LIST AND I HEARD IT ONLY GETS WORSE. LIKE ACTUALLY CRIMINALLY BAD. MADE ME GENUINELY UPSET. also asuka is there and shes kind of a girlboss until they kill her like really badly and in a humiliating manner. like. Okay. they build it up soo much just to let you down so terribly with the girls.

undecided: go rush its still ongoing but i have watched all 115 episodes so far or whatever and it was like based and epic and poggers in season 1 but um the treatment of the girlies has been going downhill. i have a lot of opinions. i dont know what to say about it. it just declined a lot for the most part. yuamu girlboss though they're kind of making some progress again. i need to give it a rewatch when it's done airing to sort my feelings on it.

addendum btw here is the #girl kuriboh ruka has in 5d's. kind of a slay

[shadowqueenjude]

Azriel-Eris wedding as part of my Azriel-Beron fic

@hieragalbatorixdottir

Azriel had contemplated the repercussions of killing his husband-to-be for a good thirty seconds before he decided it wasn’t worth it.

Eris didn’t look smug or even remotely happy, and Azriel wasn’t sure why he was so convinced that he would be.

But in fact, Eris had pulled him over, hissing in his ear, “I don’t want to do this any more than you do. I am perfectly aware that you despise me, and for good reason; I murdered your brother. But understand that both that and this have one thing in common: I was ordered by my father. I have no choice. But once we’re married, we need not speak to each other again. I care not how many lovers you take, and you will not care how many I take. So long as you do not disrupt me, I do not give a shit what you do. Ok?”

Well thank god to that, at least. But it wasn’t his husband to be he was worried about.

It was his mate.

Looking smug as a cat overseeing his wedding to his son, Beron Vanserra had just trapped Azriel in a very new and creative way. He may well be stuck here forever.

Azriel told himself that he couldn’t find a way out of here within the next fifty years, he would end his own life.

Azriel had sat dully in a chair as people had washed him and dried him and prepared him to be married. He caught a couple of the servants wrinkling their noses as they washed his wings.

“Something wrong?” Azriel had snarled at them.

“Don’t you ever clean your wings?” a blue faerie chastised him. “And for the Mother’s sake and ours, please clean in between these folds of your wings too.”

Azriel’s wings had been adorned with lovely sparkling gold cloth that made his wings look as if they had feathers. Right; bat wings were considered quite ugly here.

After he had been dressed, Azriel cringed in horror at the mirror. Robbed of his usual simple black clothes, he had been thrown into a heavy red and gold ensemble that did not suit him in any way. Oh, he couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be over.

Beron tried to send him feelings down the bond. Azriel blocked it out. He was growing better at suppressing the feelings the bond caused. He wondered if he would one day be able to suppress the feelings completely.

The ceremony was rather simple; Autumn Court weddings were similar to the universal mating bond ceremony, only there was no kiss, no ribbon, no throwing one’s hands into the fire, and only three turns were taken around the pit of fire rather than the seven for a mating bond.

Azriel’s head was elsewhere as the priestess began reciting mantras. His broad, dark, calloused hand was at odds with the pale, smooth, slender hand he was holding. He didn’t let that fool him; Eris Vanserra was as vicious a killer as they come. Mere nepotism would not prompt Beron to appoint him general of the Autumn armies, and besides, Azriel had seen him run his sword through his brother. Hated him for it.

Azriel recited his practiced vow at the priestess’s prompting; his voice was dull and monotone, unable to muster up the energy to maintain the mask of sanity and joy. Eris’s speech was far more eloquent and his voice was smooth and vivacious, but Azriel observed his smile. His grin did not meet his eyes. His face was too frozen, as though he was determinedly keeping his own mask on. And for the first time, Azriel felt bad for Eris Vanserra.

Despite living most of his life without him, this little time Azriel had spent with Beron had damn near driven him insane, filled him with rage, and had prompted him to do terrible things. He had tortured Eris. He had kidnapped Nora Barranach, an innocent daughter of Spring and Day. Despite how much he was determined not to let Beron break him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he already had.

He couldn’t imagine having grown up with Beron his whole life.

Ultimately, was Eris Vanserra really any worse than him? Was Azriel thinking objectively or had his close connection to one of Eris’s victims blinded him to the truth: that they were both prisoners in a glorified cage forced to become monsters to survive?

Azriel held Eris’s hand as they walked around the fire. He leaned in, not at all noteworthy for the front they were putting up. And he whispered to the Autumn Court heir, “I’m sorry that Beron forced you to become a monster to survive.”

Eris’s lip twitched ever so slightly, the only sign that he had heard or understood anything Azriel said. “We may be monsters now,” Eris answered equally quietly, his lips barely moving. “But once we are free from our restraints, we shall endeavor to be better.”

Azriel suddenly realized that Beron had made a terrible mistake. Beron either did not suspect his own son of being a usurper, or he did not think him strong enough to attempt it.

Well, he was wrong on both accounts.

Because Eris was no longer alone.

He had Azriel.

[strugglingatart]

Jr Year ep 3

This is me live blogging bc I need to get thoughts out also would love fandom friends full spoilers bellow the cut just so no one accidentally reads anything they don’t want to this will be long

EX GIRLFRIEND I will legit fight Brennan why did we at least not see it....

btw me saying I will fight brennan is mostly a joke like I get why we made all these changes, I don't actually love everything but I do trust all these people enough that it will serve the story and play out great

Immediately clocking the fairy festival (Frosty whatever it is I'm so sorry Brenan says it and then it's immediately out of my head) connection we love

love love looove the aguefort projections, so many Arthur statues!

Riz's manic energy is such a vibe, not exactly healthy but a vibe I get

the astral realm where all the dead gods go

lowkey love that Gorgug and Fabian are solid like the boys lowkey play them so dumb but that's just teenage boys for ya (also thought maybe Fabian would be in less trouble but still some so this makes my anxiety relax a bit, only issues we already knew off)

Actually for the wizards I'm really chill is an A+ and also probably true sentence

ah the answer I needed about Fig's multiclass

Ah the society of shadows again, and a college for sad alone adventureres lol

their record is bad but it should be worse when talking about the one person sports team is SO FUNNY to me

the friends bit is so good, everythig about it, all the laughing, Emily failing intentionally, Ally letting it work even tho it shouldn't, perfection

Lydia still making half orc meals we love and stan

Adaine-Riz friendship is SO IMPORTANT to me

the sibbling energy our girls have are amazing

the Thisstlesprings will literally just go into sex ed and Gorgug's reaction is gold everytime

"Can I run from you?" LMAO

ok I'm getting the silly energy they were talking about now

listennnn we are gonna get into Gorgug isn't a good barbarian according to his teacher again aren't we? it's why it wasn't pre approved? I will fight this teacher he literally saved the world twice as mostly a barbarian let him be a chill barbarian

WHY DID GILLEAR NOT TALK TO FIG

yes Fabian make Fig go to class

yay new lunch lad

also I legit thought the time quangle was just an explain continuity errors away and also get rid of the agueforts who break encounters thing but it might be related to the plot now that it's come back up in the recap and in the intercom in story

Fig has Gillear's luck confirmed ok

Zac's physical comedy continues to be SO GOOD

the sillies really are here I'm laughing so much

straight away this lady is insane

four different dogs is such a good burn, love agro Kristen

do not trust this people at all

ohhh skullcleaver, Katya's aunt? cousin? I don't recall the seven mentioning that

listen Fabian's house being party house is lowkey dangerous

Kristen being a disaster gay even when trying to help friends flirt is a mood and a half

ooohh I like mazey

don't trust the attomaton tbh

also yes I just thought of this now so it's late but going back to Kipperlilly whatever her name is, like homegirl can't make big institutional changes youre class president not on staff

rules always being followed to the letter is tbh scary there has to be room for interpretation, perfect order doesn't exist

YES PLOT love how it's already too much bc mood and "yeah I cannot think about that right now" and "embodyment of writers block" oh this season is gonna continue to hit me in the face

Wanda Childa is wild

she was a turncoat, more importantly she was a mirror

why is Ally's hey girlie voice so terrifying

fully forgot porter was the barbarian teacher and I will fight porter LET GORGUG MULTICLASS...

aaaa I'm going into a worry is here, legit thought it was gonna be in battle but I love Gorgug's energy here bc I've been there where you do things kinda nontraditional way and have teachers make the achivements sound so much worse just bc i didn't get there through the path they wanted me to take

love terpsichore immediately

they get 30's fairly often now we love level 10

fabian is such an arsty kid at heart and always was like Lou wanted to make a jock maybe but never did

listen trashbag sandwich is worrying but it was indeed fine

I get that Riz is type A but he is the non annoying kind

homegirl who desn't like technicalities and ppl gettign away with stuff got out in one huh? also I have no idea what that means the teacher found her? what?

Jawbone I love you and also I worry about how much I relate to Riz

I so hate this girl I'm with Adaine, she's the worst we've had

oh no the Applebee's

ok so I have a huge like essay somewhere about both why I don't like how Kristen is dealing with Cassandra but also how I 10000% understand her as someone who abandoned religion but was then forced to still be in similar roles and religious enviornments after that somewher in my head buut also who cares but just know it exists

omg Bucky giving her a hug I cry

Kristen is not doing well but that was actually a pretty good parental confrontation tbh I'm proud

oh damn poor Adaine I'm sosorry my dear you don't deserve this

Brennan really went you know what? we are not having your wildness work for you this time Emily, your shit is catching up to you

yay fig went to class finally

we got SO many designs with all the teachers and such and they are all so great

oh nooo Kristeeen, each step I take the step behind me vanishes is such a raw ass line like this poor teenager is legit so lost like someone help her please (also that was a relatable little monologue.. am I ok?)

love the cleric teacher a lot

ok but i love cassandra alright twilight, mystery and doubt are such a cool ass domain you can sell it and embrace it Kristen I belive in youuuu

but also again: a good ass teacher

awn I love that they're back in the forest

again Siobhan promised no taers and I have cried twice now maybe three times in three eps??? rude af

the bad kids should've helped with the whole Cassandra stuff I just realised I'm so sorry

oh shit not Kalina again.... I feel like i got stabbed in the heart

oh I am sooo pumped for next ep!!!!!

[intertexts]

SHAKING U BY THE SHOULDERS. TELL ME ABOUT UR P5 HEART PLAYERS YOU KNOW I LOVE THOSE !!!!!!

HHHSDFHBGHDFG HDFHGDHBBBBJFGJ <- BEING SHAKEN NOISES.

OK. ok. my p5r heart players... god. so there r three of them & they all are character foiling each other & all mirroring each other in like, notably similar ways. (a LOT of the character work in p5 IS based around like,,, characters mirroring each other, their trauma echoing or having common roots, similar issues, etc. but these three + another guy r all specifically parallel 2 me.) heart as an aspect is all about... identity, right? who you are + who you pretend to be + the tension btwn those, & also yr relationships + how u interact with others... (which is SUPER fucking p5 coded in general-- like... the entire crux of the game is 50% identity shit + 50% the way u form bonds with others changes ur life)

anyway the one i'm thinking about most rn is called kasumi yoshizawa! she is a very nice cute pleasant high school freshman who's very good at gymnastics & wants to pursue it professionally, and she's dedicated her art to her dead younger sister, sumire, who unfortunately passed in an accident about a year ago and who she really misses...

... except it turns out that she's actually her dead sister :) she's sumire, and she was... brainwashed? by the antagonist of the arc into believing that she's kasumi-- because the antagonist really just wants the world to be a kinder, better place; he wants everyone's wishes to come true :) and sumire's wish is that she (inadvertently responsible for her sister's death)'s more like her sister, because her sister was perfect and amazing and better than her in every way. which is fucking horrifying-- everyone else just,,, knew she was sumire, but she just. Went around the world dressing in her dead sister's clothes and fixing her hair like her dead sister and using her same mannerisms and believing she was her!!! for a year! genuinely a nightmare scenario. do you think she slept in her dead sister's bedroom. do u think it made her parents sick. anyway her conflict between "i literally NEED to be anyone else i CANNOT be myself i cannot live in my own fucking skin i can't do it vs. what. should i just live out a lie? keep living in her dead skin?? drag her corpse around after me because i'm too selfish to let her rest?" insane to me. good lord.

the next guy, goro akechi (MY LITTLE GUY!!!!!!!!!! THE ONE IM BONKERS ABOUT!!!) is ALSO a nice pleasant boy hes also very charming and such :) he's a famous cute celebrity also!! hes super popular as a genius cute boy detective >:3c he. ummm. god. where do i even begin. well. he's also clinging to ghosts & dead bodies & such. he spent his formative years entirely alone and being bounced around the system. he literally fucking genuinely like no shit has a god out there making his life as fucking miserable as possible. like im being dead serious here theres a whole ass god up there making his life the worst it could be. so. well. he's so fucking desperate (like, sickeningly desperate. the kind that's really kind of offputting like you know that's not gonna get you anywhere man.) to be loved or even appreciated he becomes a mass murderer about it. his seven year plan is

-kill my dad

-fake my whole personality so im lovable because theres no way thats happening otherwise

-fuck it we ball.

guy with the most fragile and convincing veneer of pleasant charm possible and under it is this seething morass of hatred and shame and jealousy and anger. anyway he's a heart player because 1. he's a 1 for 1 foil of akira (the next heart player) & 2. because his whole. Deal is being insanely fucking conflicted about himself. he genuinely believes in justice and like. Morality and such, he always keeps his deals and repays his debts. and he's often just a vicious bitch & also a hitman working for one of the worst people on the planet! i'm not explaining it very well but he mirrors sumire so heavily in like... conflict btwn his self + who he wants to be + how he's perceived + what he Wants + what he thinks he wants + the way he interacts with the world... aughghghhhh. their partitioning off of Different Selves for different things is very. well. & they both also heavily parallel each other re: being VERY different than they appear to be initially & being so hard 2 Know. etc.

speaking of partitioning off different selves-- the third guy!!! akira kurusu!! the protag of the game!!!!!! his whole DEAL is that he has a hundred different masks he sifts through & wears for every different occasion, he's a different guy to his friends & his mentor figures & his enemies & the world in general!!!! not that any of them are Fake, just that they are... not the whole thing, you know. absolutely key to his character also is that he's Very sharp and observent when it comes to dynamics btwn people & very good at making connections btwn people (he could Also be a blood player. but like... he Literally Steals Hearts. it feels too on the nose to pass up.) anyway. auugjfjfjfgghkbgh they r all SO DEAR 2 me they r all such good characters.... all of them have such an interesting dynamic together!! three massive liars with insane relationships to selfhood. etc.

[matston]

city life....

exams... exams... oh! and more exams! my life has turned into one big rabbit hole that I can't get out of! to think, it was only seven weeks ago that I was halfway across the world in my favourite city of London, and now I'm back home in my messy apartment up to my waist in task notifications.

and yes, sure! I do admit that perhaps staying out until the wee hours of the morning on a "school night" is not the most responsible action taken by yours truly, but I can't help it! live music waits for no one.

and laundry, laundry! the situation has gotten so dire that I am seriously considering burning my clothes and starting fresh (which is not really an option considering I just bought the cutest Tommy Jeans tank for only $20)

ok, it's not my fault that in every area of my life, I am the busiest I've ever been. my weeks are looking like;

rehearsals, catch the train, study, write an essay, study some more, buy an overpriced oat cappuccino, listen to lana del rey, put on some eyeliner, more rehearsals, more emails, call boyfriend (who's not my real boyfriend) more. study. more essays. catch more trains.

why, even now, i'm writing this blog post to escape writing my modern history essay! how fun. how joyous.

i am vowing to (from now on) to commit to the cute school style, you know? pleated skirts, early mornings, black coffee, tidy notes, books on books on books!!

speaking of books, here is the next section of this post (inspired by my very very favourite podcast Emergency Intercom) is

media of the week !!

Books: Currently reading A Little Life and I am up to page 218 and wow!! I so, completely get it. It is so insanely beautifully written and emotionally impactful and incredibly heartbreaking (please no spoilers, I want to feel an immense amount of sadness when I finish it) I'm also just starting everything I know about love by Dolly Alderton and I highly rate it!! Lastly, I began reading Girl in Pieces (and some of you are going to hate me for this) but I really am disliking it. I'm considering a DNF but I might stick it out.

TV: Not much to note except I'm rewatching the big 3 (Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl, Pretty Little Liars), plus a little bit of SATC and Suits on the side. (which seem weirdly complimentary? is it NYC?)

Movies: I watched Fracture with my family this weekend and honestly, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I also watched The Craft and let me just say, I can't believe I didn't watch it sooner. As a child, my favourite movie was Disney's Hocus Pocus and it really feels like a natural progression. I want to frolic in the meadow with my girls and get revenge on people who have done us dirty. (p.s follow my letterboxd; matildawatches)

Music: Charli XCX's brat has really been speaking to me, most notably talk talk and mean girls. quickfire songs; Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl, Once in A Lifetime, Black Beauty, Rose Blood, Low, Get Back. some sad some random (elite reference) (p.p.s follow my spotify; bonnie-278)

anyways everyone! if you've made it to the end of this post i greatly appreciate! hope everyone is having a fabulous june and here's toa better july.

-B xx

[climberclown]

I’m actually going insane for some reason I thought this would be a funny one shot anyways based off an image and the animation I made on it SMUT WARNIG NOT OK THE CIDEO THE FANFIC PLS ONT READ IF U DONT LIKE SEX OK THANK YOU !!! <3

robert x ross SMUT!! (THEY ARE 25 and 27 , ROBERT IS 25 AND ROSS IS 27 )

context before reading:

ross and robert used to be married until roy talked them both into getting a divorce. ross still really loves robert but robert has moved on and married susie; whom he doesn’t even fricking like and is jst married to her bc he was being pressured to. he also still loves ross .. ;3 wink wink anyways I hope you love this totally cool fanfiction that I’m writing on here bc I don’t want to get wattpad let’s get started jake paulers !!!! ALSO QUICK NOTE I WAS ABT TO START Robert is british that’s my headcanon I’m sorry it’s not canon but GODDAMMM NN it’d be so cute (I like British) OK OK I’ll start now.: b!!

“Babe, that shoe won’t..” Robert grumbled as Susie tried to get a size seven, which he was not, onto his foot. “God dammit! Susie, I’m not Cinderella!” He yelled through the sizing hall, disrupting all the other happy wedding couples. He stared daggers into Susie’s embarrassed flushed face, then looked away as her eyes stared back.

“Come on, Robert,” She started, trying to reason with him. “I don’t want to do this either. You think I wanted to marry a giant with a ponytail? I wanted to marry an average sized handsome man. But, I got .. you.” She spat, now kicking the shoe she was trying to get on with her heels.

“I am not a giant!” Robert exclaimed. He flushed, knowing she was actually right. “If you don’t wanna marry me then why are you? I’d rather go back to..” Robert trailed himself off, knowing if he went there she’d cause the biggest TikTok scene you’d ever see.

“I’m marrying you because if I do I can buy anything I want!” Susie snarked. “I mean, living with a pastor is dumb too.” She referred to her and Pump’s dad who worked at a pastor at their local church. He was very religious about his Christianity and Susie hated it. She tried to rebel by burning the churches main bible, but they just got a replacement in ten minutes. “You have all that money you’ll never use.”

“I do use it.” Robert picked up a size nine from a different box and slid it on. Susie stopped her efforts and huffed. She picked up the size sevens and walked away, leaving Robert with five fancy shoe choices. He stared at all of them, but eventually picked the ones that looked just like the ones..

at their wedding..

He smiled thinking about how happy he was. With Susie, it was never going to be like that. She yelled all the time and sometimes it was funny, but when you’re the one being yelled at, it’s quite not. He frowned. He wished it would be like that, if Susie had found that ‘average sized handsome man’, maybe she’d be like that with him. Happy.

Robert got up and grabbed the shoe box, paid for it, then left. They had already invited everyone. They had already picked out their outfits. They had already picked up the cake. All that was left to do was get ready and do it. The truth was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to marry her. He was sure Susie was a nice girl underneath her saltiness, but he was never going to get that. They knew each other through grade school and high school, but they hated each other then, too. It was never meant to be and they both knew it, but they still were both willing to go through with it.

“Oof!” A voice whimpered. Robert snapped out of his thinking and looked down at the person he just trampled and smiled.

“Ross!” Ross looked up and smiled back. He quickly got up and brushed himself off. “Where have you been?” Robert asked. He hadn’t seen him since he’d told him about him and Susie’s wedding.

“You know.. working.. at the tattoo shop..? Is that what you want me to say?” Ross’s smile faded. Ross wasn’t particularly happy that Robert was marrying someone else, let alone somebody he knew he didn’t like. “What do you want me to say after you divorced me because a midget told you to, then decided to engage the most whitest girl you could find that you don’t even like?” Ross put his hand on his hip and waited for Robert to answer. Robert stared, and his smile was gone too. He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Ross, you know I’m sorry. I was happy with you..” Robert answered.

“Then why were you so quick to leave?” Ross said, his words laced with poison.

“I don’t know!” Robert quickly said back. Ross stood and his glare softened. He didn’t quite know himself why he agreed to it either. To make him happy? To make Roy happy? To make Robert happy? It was a mystery to him. Robert saw his glare was gone, so he took the opportunity. “Do you want to walk to the ceremony room?” He asked.

“To your wedding ceremony room?” Ross stared blankly. “Yeah. I wanna see if it’s better than ours.”

“Oh, trust me. It is. Susie wanted to make it look pretty. Too pretty.” He gagged. Ross laughed.

“Yeah, I bet.” He though and gagged too. Robert smiled and they walked along the busy sidewalk to their ceremony room. They walked in and it hit both of them like they were looking directly at the sun. “Jesus christ! How did the decorators even see?” Ross closed his eyes shut. Robert pushed Ross in and closed the two doors behind them. Ross finally opened his eyes again. “Woah..” He was actually amazed with how gorgeous it looked.

“Do you like it?” Robert asked. Ross nodded and started picking at the string lights attached on the wall.

“Dude, how do they even get those on there?” He stared at the lights in awe.

“Uhm.. super glue?” Robert answered. Ross looked back and looked mind blown.

“What! No way. There’s more to it than that.”

“Yes way. I know because I did it. I had to help.”

“No way!” Ross smiled.

“Yes way!” Robert smiled back. They both walked around the room together pointing out the most elegant things. Ross was amazed at how simple things stayed and Robert was amazed at how he was amazed.

A few hours had passed, amazingly. They both had gone through the room about a dozen times going over how it stayed and how it shone. They finally sat down at one of the white tables. “I wish our wedding was like this.” Ross smiled sadly.

“I don’t. You’d be too amazed by lights shining to even kiss me.” Robert teased.

“Oh really? How would I forget to kiss the most handsome man in that room?” Ross winked. Robert felt his face flush and he giggled then turned away. “.. and this room, Robert.” Robert flinched. He looked back at Ross who was smirking. He stuttered, couldn’t find his words, then looked back at the light he was staring at. “Come on, Rob. I know you want . . .

me . ‘’

Robert looked back and gaped, his face now a deep red. “Ross, I’m getting married today! Susie would fucking kill me!” Ross rolled his eyes and smirked again, knowing how to fluster Robert even more.

“And I want to fucking fuck you.” Ross softly squeezed Robert’s hand. Robert could feel his heart pounding in his throat along with his stomach sinking. He wanted this. He knew he did. But he was so scared of what Susie would do..

“No, I can’t,” He said with trembling breath. “I’d break her heart.” Robert sympathized Susie, even though she would never do that to him. He took his hand away from Ross, who took his hand right back.

“What heart?” Ross smiled. “You know she doesn’t love you. I know you don’t love her. So come on, I know when you want me. I can hear it in your voice..” Ross whispered. Robert felt chills on his back he hadn’t felt since the divorce. Ross squeezed his hand tighter.

“Al..alright.” Robert gulped. His breath shuddered as he looked down at Ross who bit his lip and slyly went under the white table. Robert flinched as Ross reappeared in front of Robert’s legs. He rested his head on Robert’s knees and looked up at him. Robert couldn’t hide a giggle. “What are you doing?” He laughed.

“Are you gonna let me see how hard you are, fuckface?” Ross grinned. Robert smiled, but sat still and shook his head. “You want to play?” Ross purred. He forcibly spread apart Robert’s legs who let out a grunt. Ross snickered. “You’re already getting off to me teasing you?” Robert looked away from him with a blood flushed face. Ross shrugged and unzipped Robert’s jeans and slowly took out his member while Robert stifled tiny moans. Ross smiled more and sat on Robert’s lap, front facing him. He grabbed Robert’s face with one hand on his member, turned his face to his own, and whispered in his ear.

“Did you miss me, whore?” Robert gulped and nodded. “Exactly.” Ross pushed his face onto Robert’s and kissed him hard while pulling on the back of his hair. Ross suddenly stopped and Robert started panting heavily whilst Ross stared.

“What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” Robert said in between pants.

“You’re holding your breath. You’re not with Susie anymore. You’re with me.” Ross warned. Robert shuddered and nodded again. Ross kissed him rough again but this time while stroking his member. Robert shuddered and moaned quietly while Ross explored his mouth. Ross could feel Robert’s hot breath escaping from his mouth and pressing onto their faces. Ross slowly stopped kissing Robert and wiped his mouth, getting off of the red mess in front off him. Ross smiled at him and Robert weakly smiled back in the chair. “You’re cute when you’re hot.” Before Robert could respond, Ross kneeled and shoved Robert’s cock into his mouth, motioning up and down. Robert covered his mouth, let his head back, and let out muffled moans while Ross went faster then slower. Robert winced and stopped covering his own mouth.

“Ross.. I’m gonna cu..” Robert moaned. Ross stopped quickly and kneeled to Robert’s head.

“Come before me and you’ll have hell.” Robert winced and covered his mouth once more, getting pain out of Ross’s pleasure. Ross let his own hard member out and sat down once again on Robert’s lap. He pressed his own member against the other and stifled an wince of his own. Robert uncovered his mouth and looked at Ross.

“Are you going soft on me, Ross?” Robert said between heavily shuddered breaths. Ross grumbled and started grinding against Robert’s member. “Ross!” Robert yelled, surprised. His head fell back and he let out loud moans. Ross quickly covered Robert’s mouth himself.

“You don’t want your ‘bride’ hearing you, do you?” Robert moaned and drooled over Ross’s hand while Ross kept going with his grinding. Ross then brung his head down and started to bite Robert’s neck, looking for a sweet spot. As he bit, he finally found one after Robert let out a passionate moan. “Still the same, isn’t it darling?” Ross whispered through his own wincing and kept biting and sucking Robert’s sweet spot whilst grinding his member. Robert winced and pulled Ross’s hand away.

“Ross.. please.. I have to..” Robert winced. Ross covered his mouth again and whispered into his ear.

“I’m not even close, babe..” He teased Robert as Robert started to whine. He continued his biting and grinding until Robert suddenly lifted his head, lifted Ross’s hand away, and started passionately kissing Ross as hard as he could. Ross moaned and closed his eyes shut while Robert started to stroke both members while Ross winced and groaned. Ross finally climaxed and started grinding slower. As soon as Robert saw this, he climaxed as well and grabbed the back of Ross’s head and continued to roughly kiss him. Ross pushed Robert’s kissing away, leaving a string of saliva which Ross wiped off. He panted until he noticed they were both still hard. He slyly smiled and gazed at Robert who was still wincing from the session. He started purring which got Robert’s attention.

“What..?” He panted.

“It’s my turn.” Ross purred. Robert got up and Ross slid into his place. Robert stood in front of him and started to slowly kneel down in an attempt to tease Ross. Ross grumbled. “Come on! I didn’t tease yo-“ Robert started licking Ross’s member slowly, teasing him. Ross shook and winced. Robert stopped and smiled.

“Do you want me to go faster?” Robert said quietly. Ross nodded, embarrassed that he was making him communicate. “What?” Ross looked away.

“. . yes.” Ross said quietly, his voice trembling from anticipation.

“I can’t hear you Ross.” Robert slowly stroked Ross’s member, waiting for a response he accepted.

“. . yesngh...” Ross moaned in between his response as Robert stroked his cock faster. Ross gritted his teeth as Robert stroked him and panted. Robert smiled and stroked his own while hearing Ross’s pants. Ross stared down at Robert and started stroking with him while he held on to his hair. He whimpered and muttered something Robert couldn’t hear.

“What?” Robert stopped and listened.

“..Please.. I need this… I need you.. Robert..” Ross pleaded. Robert gazed at him and grinned.

“I’m not gonna leave you this time..” Robert whispered and softly kissed Ross. Ross put his arms around Robert and kissed him softly back.

Shortly after, they’d both finished again. That chair they just ‘used’ had been ruined now. They finished just in time to hear Susie come in with her big goofy wedding dress and say “What the fuck are you two doing?” Right before Robert called off their wedding.

So, they had their own wedding. With all the superglued lights on the wall and a huge fucking cake with awesome icing and Susie wasn’t allowed anywhere near the wedding. They ate all the amazing fucking cake together and lived together for the rest of their lives. The end.” Roy closed his huge fucking book with gold pages. Robert and Ross stared at him, wide eyed.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU WRITE THAT?” Ross screamed while Robert gripped his hand for comfort.

“Well that’s how it happened, right?” Roy smiled.

“We didn’t fuck in a wedding hall, Roy!” Robert stared at Roy in disgust.

“Yeah, we fucked at my house.” Ross crossed his arms.

[johnmalevolent]

monthly scheduled insanity (malevolent lb under the cut)

HI JOHN

:(

yeah :(

:(

HI JOHN

HI JOHNNNNNNNNN

:((((((((

then who :(

not the intention but the effect :(

anjg vendor shopee lg live

ywd lah nnt aja CO nya

yeah babe dont give up youre the protag haha..

ARTHUR?

oh wait.

will it be the dark world arc we didnt predict

wait i almost forgot about the title. the deal

what's the deal .

ARTHU

who

the butcher cant have killed daniel that quick

WHOSE?

SCRATCH???

WHAT

D:

NO!!!

not if you help, right scratch

im sorry im kinda distracted over arthur begging. ahem.

NO.........

NO............................

ok now why'd he say enjoy. now i dont feel as alarmed for arthur

oh ok so not arthur

FUCKKKKKKKK WAIT

this eps might not tell us about john's deal but damn

it wasnt a choice john wanted to make either

i dont like that the butcher's theme is playing

FUCK ARTHUR

nyebrang noleh dulu

well john. speaking that frome experience?

arthur to you is that important and kayne used that to manipulate you?

arthur you're whispering rly loudly

😭 gdi daniel

HUH

no

oh

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

oh fuck

no.

HESYRUNNI GET

runingn

oh

oscar .

JOHN YOU FORGET

HEY???

OH MY GOD

OH MY GODDDDDDDDD

JOHN.

FUCK

TWO THINGS AT A TIME

THATS TOO MUCH

HELLO

BCS JOHN FORGOT DANIEL'S FACE????????

HUH

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

if john ends up forgetting colin's face too..

oscar 🥺

what

what

what

what

what

what

what

JOHN. i dont trust you rn.

john :(

ack

aaack

ack ack ack

haha surprise it's parker yang <3

JOHN :(

he's colins. isnt he

oh

ohhhh ok

oh

i forgot arthur is still a fugitive

are you sure this is the right decision orthr..

THIS IS ALL GOING TO SMOOTHLY.

im worried

this isnt the go smoothly podcast

yeah. thats what i thought

yeah he's in the ward

thats what i thought.

fuck

fuck fuck fuck.

the thing is what if he's wrong

sure sure similarity and all but what if reverse psychology

like let's just say the butcher has watched that one gintama episode before and thought of another idea arthur couldn't predict

oh

he's there

NO

ooooh hit a nerve

lmao colins got assigned the worst guy to kill

arthur voice im not like other girls i dont die when im killed

love john peer reviewing arthur's insults

OH FUCK THE DADDY ISSUE

GOOD DOG

is that what made him fail

NOEL HURRY THE FUCK Up

huh

was it seven

NOEEEEEL

alhamdulillah

yay noel

i hear ppl clapping 😭

SON

HIS SON

daniel :(

HE SAID IT

john :(

private eye!! he said the thing!!!

"darlin" reminds me of kayne ☺️

might be a chance john forgets ab kayne's face ☺️

shuffled of this MORTAL COIL?

huh.

huh.

huh.

reminds me a lot of.

huh.

KNOW?

parker yang?

PARKER YANG?

IM GONNA FUCKING KMS

PARKER YANG???

ohhhhh

parker is just the mutual friend

i mean yeah ofc i knew that haha lol

good episode. love that ending

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. masterlist

“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you,  “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand. 

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing. 

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips. 

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement. 

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously. 

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation. 

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up. 

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief. 

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite. 

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly. 

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short. 

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.” 

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away. 

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine. 

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean. 

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug. 

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.” 

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think. 

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens. 

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl! 

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

..

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears. 

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it. 

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you. 

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him. 

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs. 

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from??? 

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door. 

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara. 

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too. 

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by. 

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles. 

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces. 

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it. 

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail. 

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence. 

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?” 

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar. 

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated. 

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll. 

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round. 

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.” 

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him. 

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years. 

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.  

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie. 

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?” 

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him. 

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did. 

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store. 

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish. 

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle. 

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments. 

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily. 

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it. 

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave. 

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again. 

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you. 

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance. 

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me 

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance. 

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is. 

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more. 

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat. 

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word. 

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you  here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–” 

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs. 

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience. 

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion. 

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up. 

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease. 

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit. 

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says. 

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you. 

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome. 

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way. 

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jin,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jin is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jin has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jin. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jin chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jin who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jin states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jin that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jin asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jin exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jin glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jin than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ take me to chapter three!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

taglist:

@tremendousbouquetflower @cowgirlcujoh @joemama-2 @shinypearlywhites @sykosugu

@lovebittenbyevans @luqueam @bloopsstuff @horisdope @alwaysfreakingout

@crammingqueen @rideofthevalkyriess @lavender-hvze @jxvajxy @catobsessedlady

@madaqueue @bbyxxm @gojostit @polarbvnny @sleepyyammy

@lysaray @k4tsukiis @megumisthirdog @drakenswifeyy @elernity

@jujutsubaby @secretmoneybearvoid @bunny-lily @httpxxg @v4mpieres

@nanamis-baker @therealestpussyeater @air3922 @13-09-01 @marija4674

@whereflowerswenttodie @geniejunn @bakuhoethotski @77uchiha77 @hellowoolf

@tobaccosunbxrst @possumwho @kittygrimm88 @billiondollarworth @mmeerraa

@reinam00n @semra4 @coltsgf @strawnanamilk @ironhottubstranger

note: please let me know in the replies if your taglist preferences change! if you would like to be tagged, please check your settings to ensure that your tags are on!

taglist is currently still open

meme of the chapter:

[itsjaywalkers]

omg laurie hi i just saw my tag i love it sm😭😭 (im insane commute nonnie btw)

also, bc i like explaining this, the reason for my two hour commute to class is that im Very Stupid. so what happened is that i did a little two month long internship start of last semester. the office was literally in a whole other town but i didn't have many classes so i decided to just get an apartment in that town and travel for my two-three classes per week. and that was ok. but then the internship came to an end and i found out (get ready for this) i accidentally signed a seven month lease!! idk what even happened but it's not hard to believe that my landlord told me this and i just had my head in the clouds. but anyway i was like ok cool i'll just pay the fine n move out but my best friend said that i should just do the commute this whole semester and get a job at some office again next semester (we're only allowed one internship per sem) and i was like 'ok😝 i'll do that😝😝 with no prior knowledge of my schedule for next semester🤪 im so goofy aha' and then i spent the next two month doing that (which was fun tbh. i didn't have many classes and i used the commute to not have thoughts) but then BAM this sem starts and i don't have the time for interships bc of my schedule!! however. i already lived here for like 4 months now. its like 3 more months. do i really want to just Give Up and let all the time i wasted be for nothing AND give my landlord money??? i dont Think so. which is why. out of sheer stubbornness i take two hour routes to classes 5 days a week

anyways sorry for all the yapping i just think its so funny!! (i live in delusion) but also nothing happens!! ive been thinking about that all the time. im telling you its occupied so many of my thoughts i'd sign another 7 month lease thinking about nothing happens jeggy they're my love<3 i've been talking abt them sm last week a friend gave me her jacket to sit on (was wearing white) and i said "you know who'd do this" n she said "please don't start again"

again sorry for the length of this but also have a great week!!! praying for nothing happens jeggy and the ppl they're torturing (sirius) by being themselves!!! <3

hi darling!! i'm so happy to be hearing from u <3 and i'm glad u like ur silly lil tag hehe u earned it!!

this story is . so very insane to me but at the same time i can't even judge u bc i'd also choose to endure 2 hour long commutes out of sheer stubborness BUT ALSO bc i'd refuse to pay a fine. i made a mistake with the lease and i'm dealing with the consequences but i'm not . wasting any more money . still i'm so sorry u gotta deal with this for 3 more months, just thinking about how much time u must lose on public transport every week is making me wanna cry. ur so very brave babe i swear. at least it's only temporary, and once this semester is over you'll be able to move out and hopefully get a place a lot closer to ur classes so u can chill a little. honestly this feels like something that'd happen to me so u have all my support and appreciation UR DOING GREAT DARLING!!!

don't apologise!! it was very fun to read indeed and i love getting these updates on ur life + ur crazy commutes. and i've been thinking about them A Lot too, both them and oby jeggy have been occupying all of my mental space and i swear they're all driving me insane. AND LISTEN james would. for reg he so would. sorry to ur friend bc she sounds very done but i'm on ur side always and that's definitely very nothing happens james coded!!! IT HAD TO BE SAID!!!

STOP APOLOGISING BABE U AND UR ASKS ARE SUPER LOVELY thank u very much and i'm also wishing u a great week!! u deserve it!! and i'm also praying for all of them bc . they're gonna need it lmao

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

you said it's not up to us to decide to take ourselves out. so a person who is in constant pain, who has nothing to live for, for whom being alive is literally constant psychological torture, should just endure the suffering until something external finally puts them out of their misery? I don't think that's ok. I don't want to suffer anymore. its been over 35 years now. people are allowed to do whatever they want, including abusing me for their own personal gain, but I'm not allowed to even get to stop hurting?

Hello again and on. I must confessed that your last ask caught me in the middle of the night with very little sleep and was such a surprising thing because while I used to get those kind of ask all the time it has been many years since I've gotten one.

Once again I feel maybe I'm not the best person to ask because I have a deep love of God.

I believe that in most all situations God is the only one who should have the authority to take a life. However I do see things from your point of view and I think my advice to you as an adult would be a little different than my advice to you as a teenager who is not gone out and experienced life.

I will say that I have been through every type of abuse except for sexual period I have somehow managed to live through all of it and I have found my own separate piece with things.

And while I believe that God is the only one in most situations that should be able to take a life I also don't believe that suicide is going to send you to hell. But again since I've never died I can't tell you that for sure. The thing that kept me alive the most is thinking what if I went through all this horrible stuff and I killed myself and there were more horrible things waiting for me on the other side how crappy would that be?

I know what it is like to feel trapped, I know what it is like to have no family that knows what you're going through or cares, I know what is like to have friends that don't take you seriously or no friends at all.

I am very curious as to why you are asking me for my permission to let you kill yourself. If you are dead set on it I'm not sure what the words of a stranger could do for you if you've already made up your mind. But like I said I have lost so many people. Most importantly my niece who is only 5 years younger than me and we grew up like sisters. When she was 35 she took her own life after her stepfather had taken his own life. This caused my sister to die and it also caused my nieces younest son to die as well.

Before any of that happened our mutual best friend was basically murdered when she went in to have her first baby and the anesthesist in charge of her delivery was high on drugs and killed her and her unborn child.

My niece and I went through parallel lives. We were both terribly abused both as kids and as adults in our adult relationships. Neither one of us had parents to back us up. But it f**** me up in every way possible to know that I thought my way through it and she didn't.

Being an undiagnosed artistic for the first 45 years of my life another reason that I never killed myself is because at the time I had no idea what was wrong with me but I knew something was and I really feared that I was just completely insane. And I knew that if I killed myself that's what everybody was saying about me oh we always knew she was a weirdo yeah it's pretty typical that she would do that she was probably crazy. And I wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.

After everything that has happened in my family absolutely will not give you my blessing to kill yourself. I can't.

The only time I would ever say that is okay is if you were dying from cancer or another terminal disease. I just found out that one of my friends who has suffered horrible medical conditions for the last six or seven years for every day she lives is a little bit worse than the day before because of two extremely rare conditions she is found out that she has had and on top of all this she just found out she has stomach cancer.

If that pain from that disease was so bad that she decided to take herself out of it then I could say nothing bad about that. To go out on your own terms in that situation to me is a right. And I realize it is a stupid double standard to say that physical pain is worth the psychological pain. Or that cancer is worse than abuse.

I wish I had some kind of psychological degree that I could give you more help on this but I am just a punk rock school teacher who is trying to get by her own self.

I am so sorry for all that you have been through whatever it has been. No one deserves abuse, no one deserves to be hurt, no one deserves to be gas lit. Everyone is valid. Everyone is deserving of love.

[oh-snapperss]

hey hi! i loved your work on cysm (have reread it twice and cried a lot) but i was wondering if you had any tips on writing etho and bdubs individually and how they interact with each other? working on my first project for them that's set in an alternate universe and i really want to get it right! thanks a lot hope you have a good day

hi anon!! thank you so much, i'm really glad that you liked cysm that much omg

hmmm ok i have a lot of thoughts so i'm gonna do my best to make this as comprehensible as possible:D

I'll start with Etho. One of the first things I noticed while writing CYSM and learning how to write Etho was his voice and his speech patterns, and how to transfer that onto a page since I didn't want to just be like "He spoke with a Canadian accent," and leave it at that when in my fic, Canada isn't really even a thing.

He has the signature "oh, snappers!" (hehe), he'll say "buh-bye!" and when he's exasperated or about to laugh or smile you can tell based on his tone. And he's got the "no-ho-ho-ho" he does when something goes wrong and his voice goes up a few octaves.

Depending on what content you're basing Etho off of, his personality also changes. If you're basing your writing off of his early days (so, Mindcrack and that era), I noticed that he's a lot quieter in general. If you're writing based on Hermitcraft, he's a lot more open.

A lot of people write Etho as cool and mysterious and slightly terrifying, and I think he can be depending on the au (e.g. @bananasofthorns' god au, where he's part of the void, you can read that au here and I adore those fics) but... a lot of the time Etho is just a guy doing a thing. He's ridiculously smart and entirely a wet rag.

In short, he's quieter, he's making fun of you without you realizing, he's got no idea what he's doing, and he's a genius.

And now I'll shut up about Etho and move on to Bdubs.

he's just a little guy! little skrunkly moss man!

Once again, depending on what era of content you're basing on, his personality would be slightly different. For the purposes of this, I'm gonna assume we're talking hermitcraft/traffic series and go from there.

god. where do I even start. Bdubs has a habit of giving his loyalty and love to anyone who will have him. We've seen him do it time and time again-with Scar in season seven, Cleo in third life, Ren in the current season as kingmaker, even Sausage now in Empires--Bdubs has this want to be wanted and given attention, and he'll swear himself to someone if that's what they can give him.

And he always goes back to Etho. At the end of it all, it's Etho Bdubs returns to.

He's loud, he cracks jokes, and I think he has a tendency to live in denial, especially when the end is near and everyone knows it. In canon, an example of this would be when it's the end of season eight and everyone else has left, but Bdubs is ignoring the giant rock hurtling towards him and filling the sky in favor of "claiming" all of the server as his own. In last life when he turns red the final time, he doesn't really accept he's red (ex. of this in my fics would be the moment in cysm when even Etho's accepted his fate, and Bdubs goes back into denial).

Bdubs will be incredibly kind while telling someone their build sucks. He's up front about things and a terrible liar.

The two together? oh god okay here we go. i'm going to have to put this post under a read more i think. whoops.

They can't take things seriously. It's rare they manage to have an entire conversation without skirting around anything deep and I think they leave a lot unsaid. It's easier to speak in actions then define it in words, and I think they've been doing that a long time.

Bdubs is the louder one, but Etho will drive him insane (it's his love language I think). They love each other but they'll never say so to each other, not really.

I think the best example of showing that I have isn't in cysm, but in I love you, I made you tea. They always leave SO much unsaid and it drives me INSANE.

Bdubs will brag and put on a bigger front than he actually has. Etho will go along with it, and tease him relentlessly.

Anything to keep the heavy topics at bay.

and now! moving on to love languages!

i think my sibling @oceans-swim worded it really well earlier so i'm gonna just say what they did SLDJKFSKLFJ

etho tends to show love to bdubs through acts of service, and bdubs shows love to etho with physical touch and words of affirmation?

another way i like to write them and affection--bdubs' love language is like. he loves attention and etho will give that to him, while etho is more reserved and bdubs will just love him anyways.

in a way i think sometimes that can actually maybe cause a problem because i think they both show love the same way they'd like to receive it but... that's just not what tends to happen? it really does go back to the lack of serious, non-joking communication. it's not an issue until you as a writer make it one LMAOOO

and uh. that's about all i got! maybe. hopefully. i really don't ever shut up about them. i hope that helps you! best of luck with your au!

[ketamineharry]

I Love Me - Harry Lewis

Requested - Yes ~ can I request an ethan/Harry one where the reader is curvy (bigger boobs/bum/hips etc) compared to Talia + Freya and the other girlfriends and they are on holiday with everyone and the reader feels a bit insecure and scared of what everyone will think when they look at photos, have photo shoots and insta comments, love you and your writing!! 🤍

Trigger Warnings: Body image issues, self-confidence issues

Authors Note: This was originally requested as a holiday, but I changed it slightly as my most recent imagine was a holiday themed one. I hope you don’t mind!

As you entered the restaurant, an uneasy feeling took over you. Usually, being seen out in public with your friends, and your boyfriend Harry wouldn’t phase you — but over lockdown, you had put on a few pounds. Expressing your emotions in a healthy way, had never been your forte so when the lockdown restrictions hit, instead of going to the local pub to drink your sorrows away, with a group of friends you had turned to eating. Comfort eating had become the norm whenever you felt sad, lonely, happy, or to put it more accurately whenever you felt anything.

While you had been piling on the pounds, Talia and Freya, had been keeping to a strict fitness regime. So naturally, they looked incredible. While you just felt deflated. To make matters worse, this was a Sidemen dinner, meaning that not only were there going to be pictures, but eyes were going to be firmly on your table.

Instinctively, as you walked you grabbed for Harry’s hand. Thankfully, he was slightly in front of you, so you could hide yourself behind his broad frame. As soon as your fingers entwined, you found a sense of serenity; despite how short lived that may have been.

As the others crowded around the table, trying to figure out seating arrangements, you focussed your energy in trying to remain calm. All you wanted was to have a seat on the outskirts, so that you wouldn’t have to participate in the group Instagram photos. The self-loathing from the way you looked in this moment was enough to fuel your insecurities for a good few months, you certainly didn’t need the constant reminder on Instagram too.

Luckily, you managed to secure the seat you wanted. Josh, being the father of the group dictated where everyone else was going to sit. Usually, there was a rule of thumb that you sat in couples; but you had ended up sitting in between JJ and Freya. Harry was on the opposite side of the table, his phone in one hand, completely engrossed in an app, knowing him it was most likely Twitter. However, in this seating arrangement you felt sick. Your one lifeline, although not ridiculously far from you, had been cut off. You were going to have to brave this one out.

The waiter approached the table and introduced themselves. He had a cheery disposition until they made eye contact with you, their fake customer service smile fading as he served you his best judgemental glare. It lasted a split second, but you knew what it meant. The feeling of being out of your depth was confirmed in that look, it wasn’t just you that felt it, it was felt by those looking in on this dynamic of people. Why would they want to associate themselves with you?

“And for the lady?” He asked, glancing over at you again. His demeanour changed once more. You remained silent for a moment, mulling over whether to ask for what you actually wanted or order something that you didn’t want to avoid more disapproving glares.

“May I suggest the chicken caesar salad.” He adds, knocking you out of your stream of consciousness.

“That would be lovely thank you.” You respond. The last thing that you wanted was to cause a scene. In fact, the thing you wanted most was to be ignored, unseen. It was blatantly obvious what everyone was thinking, where their stares ended up… all on you.

The plates of food started to arrive, being placed before everyone. You looked around, envious. Their food all looked insanely good, Talia had mac and cheese while Freya had a vegetarian lasagne. To say that you were covetous, as you chowed down on some lettuce, was an understatement. Just some flavour would have been nice.

The same waiter came back to see if anyone wanted any desserts, Harry ordered a chocolate cake with some whipped cream and Freya ordered a cheesecake, Ethan wanted a coffee, the others weren’t really bothered though. What was made apparent, was that you weren’t even asked by the waiter.

Freya turned to you, a sympathetic look on her face. “Are you ok?” She asked, as she placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You mumbled unconvincingly, certain that Freya could pick up on how you were feeling. She had been sitting next to you the entire time after all.

“Let’s go to the ladies yeah? I’ll just text Josh to let him know what’s going on.” She said, as she retrieved her phone from her bag. She quickly sent the text before she grabbed your hand and directed you to the bathroom.

Freya held the door open for you, as you both walked inside, she went over to the sinks and climbed up on top of them. Crossing her arms. Inspecting you slightly.

“So, spill… what’s wrong with ya?” She questioned, with a small reassuring smile.

You took a deep breath in and out, as you tried to steady yourself. As much as you loved Freya, talking about your feelings to anyone was a challenge that you faced daily. It was hard enough being open with Harry about your feelings, and he was the person that you trusted most. Never mind one of your closest friends.

“I hate the way I look.” You confessed, as you subconsciously started to tug at the dress you were wearing. It all of a sudden felt too tight, too claustrophobic, as if the material had shrunk from the time it took you to walk from your table into the bathroom.

“You and Talia, you are both gorgeous and slim. I’m not that way at all. You can wear whatever you want and look good. If I so much as looked at a belly top, people would be disgusted.”

Freya remained silent, letting you ramble on about how much you hated your body and what you looked like. How out of place you felt and what you wish you could change about yourself. When you were finally finished, she jumped down off of the counter and engulfed you in a hug.

“Don’t you ever, ever feel like you aren’t good enough. You are the funniest person I have ever met. You make me belly laugh every single day. You spread so much positivity, and you make sure that everyone around you feels loved. I am slim, but do you know what… I’d kill for a rack like yours.” She whispered, as she comforted you.

“As for that asshole waiter who has been making you feel like shit all night, don’t think that no-one else has noticed it, because they have. They’re all too polite to embarrass him in public, but trust me, he’ll get his comeuppance. Now, wipe those tears and let’s go show him what a fucking bad ass bitch you are.” She laughed, as she grabbed your hand once again, as she led you back out to the table.

The bill was laid out on the table, the seven cards were placed on top of it as you rejoined the group.

“Here she is.” Harry beamed, as he reached out for you. You went and gave him a hug, before taking your seat again.

As the waiter collected the bill, Harry called him over. “I’d like to give you a cash tip, can you follow me outside so I can draw the cash out?” He asked. The waiter nodded, a gleam in his eye. Harry gave you a gesture, letting you know to follow him.

Once you were outside, how cold it was finally hit you. It made you recoil into yourself.

“Yeah, the tip I wanted to give you was to never, and I mean never try to ridicule my girlfriend about anything.” Harry said, swiftly connecting his right fist to the waiters cheek.

“Run.” He shouted, as he grabbed your hand, your feet pounding on the floor until you reached the car. You were both panting, leaning on each other for support.

“You do know you’re still a ten out of ten to me. No matter what.” Harry smiled, as he placed a kiss to the top of your head. “Now let’s go and get a McDonalds, because I know you’re still hungry and it’s your favourite.”

[the-bloody-sadist]

prepare for an entire novel please because ive just finished sinner and i have so much to say. tl;dr its my favourite thing in the world thank you for writing it.

i dont know what that story did to me honestly. ive never EVER felt so..... viscerally from something written. its insane. it made me feel so numb for so long and then it made me Feel and i feel like i just went through the entire rollercoaster with dazai. it made me cry and it made my chest so so painfully tight and it made my body go numb and it made me stop caring about anything in the world aside from just. that. reading that.

i am an absolute sucker for tiny touches and gestures that feel incredibly significant. obviously, sinner is packed full of those, and i am LIVING- its so slow and meticulous and particular and everything is so significant and its SO SLOW I WISH I COULD WRITE LIKE THIS. so so slow, the way everything happens. so dragged out and full of suspense and anxiety and i cannot explain how much i adore it.

i dont know why but. the thing that made me audibly gasp and cover my mouth like i was in a movie was when dazai said "mori likes it when i play doll". i cant scream enough about it. i had to drop everything and scream at my friends about it. i cannot explain the sheer Emotion. i dont know why, i dont KNOW when after everything thats happened that just seems so silly and mild but just. it really highlights how no matter how absolutely horrible fyodor was and how much he broke dazai, dazai got there already broken. it comes so suddenly its like seven punches in the gut and then several kicks when i was already on the floor wheezing. then a bus, rolling over my entire body. twice. made my spirit leave my body for multiple minutes before i was ready to continue.

and yes the chuuya x akutagawa parts were absolute gold i am obsessed i have never thought about that ship in my life but i will never stop thinking about it ever again.

thats it, i think. i say, closing my seven page essay-

no actually fuck it now that im already here let me just say forbidden blood is also a masterpiece and i reread it like 5 times and its good every single time. ok. now thats it.

have a good day :)

Good GRIEFFFFF!!!! Talk about feeling accomplished as an author when you get an ask like this holy SHIT.

I wish I could respond to every detail but I was literally sitting there with my mouth open and little tears pricking my eyes through the whole thing because THIS!!!!! THIS IS JUST!!!! Every reaction described is everything I’ve ever wanted to hit my readers with and I am insanely pleased that it at least hit you and the others who’ve told me as much.

That is ACTUALLY crazy about the Mori line because I HIGHLY debated taking that out 😂 the entire chapter really, but mostly that line felt so corny and I was like “am I pushing it??” But now I feel great about it. So thank you.

What you said about the TINIEST touches feeling gigantic is also MY favorite thing (no surprise) and I really had never discovered that as a possibility until anime as a genre, and how that brought out a lot of subtleties feeling like pillars of emotional damage and/or healing. Whenever I write anything, I want this the most. And it really worked out for Sinner.

THANK YOU SO MUCH. This made my day. And Forbidden Blood too!!! You trooper! Thank you for the compliments on that as well!

May both sides of your pillow stay cold for eternity. 😩✊ Much love to you!