#Soon this horrible year will end and maybe the next one will be better.

[fall0utmind]

Crab Blossom

On ao3 here

Prompt: Crab blossom – ill nature – stop, you need to rest

A little pre-snippet/prelude of my planned multichapter Santimarc fic - thanks @certainstarfishllama for the inspo - enjoy guys (i will say this is a bit of a messy on but done is better than perfect)

“Marc”

The head of curly hair doesn’t move. Awkwardly bent over a desk, Marc is engrossed in the sheets of data in front of him, one hand spinning a pen as the other drums on the table. There’s a half-empty mug of coffee next to him, still steaming.

Marc shifts the papers, scans the next sheet, and murmurs numbers under his breath. He’s the last one here, and only the dim lights from desk lamps illuminate the space. The engineers had left a little while ago, but only Santi stayed, keeping an eye on Marc as he worked himself into the ground.

The low lighting catches on the nasty scar bisecting his right arm, still horribly puckered around the edges despite the crash being two years ago. Santi knows that it’s the reason Marc is still here, desperately seeking answers for a bike that won’t perform, trying to work out whether it’s him or the machine.

Secretly, Santi thinks that Marc is far too hard on himself. He knows that Marc is committed, willing to do anything for success, including ripping his body apart, much to Santi’s horror. But it’s become unhealthy, Marc is spending more time in the garage than anyone else on the team, he’s seen the man pouring over reams of data at every available moment, he also knows that Marc spends a lot of his time at home looking over the iPad full of times and racing lines. When he’s not analysing data, he’s on the track or in the gym, or at the physio.

His arm isn’t better, certainly not fully; they all know it. Maybe it will never be. There’s talk about retirement and chronic pain now, too, but he isn’t sure how true it is. Marc is closed off about it, denying it to the media, but Santi knows him better than most. He’s had two surgeries already because, despite Honda’s vocal concerns, Marc came back too soon. He raced before he was ready, and now he is paying the price. These days, Santi can see the way Marc’s face pinches when he leans on the arm. The range of motion is limited, and his shoulder is clearly stiff. It’s affecting his riding and has to be painful. And yet, Marc doesn’t say a word, he leans into the pain and continues as if he hasn’t got what should be a career-ending injury. Santi sometimes wonders is he likes the pain, if he revels in it.

Santi gets it. He does. This is Marc’s life, everything he loves and knows. He has made insurmountable sacrifices to get to where he is today. Now he’s having to work like crazy because the bike just isn’t there anymore.

They made mistakes as a team when Marc crashed and subsequently had to sit out half a season. Losing their main rider had rocked their plans and put a stopper in their bike progression. Without him in the rider’s seat, they were nowhere.

Now he’s back, the bike is wild and unpredictable. No one can ride it well, not even Marc. Their results have gone down the drain, and Ducati has taken off. It’s a miracle that Marc is somehow still dragging race points out of it.

It pains Santi, seeing Marc like this. It’s becoming unmanageable, he knows they have to put a stop to it. Marc is pushing himself too hard.

Earlier this weekend, he spent so much time on the track that they actually had to stop him to force some fluids down his throat. He didn’t think he would be babysitting a 29-year-old to eat and drink, but here they were.

(Santi pretends that it bothers him, but a small part of him likes it)

Race weekends aren’t much better, with Marc deciding he needs to push the bike until he finds the limit and then ride on the limit as much as he can until he’s inevitably flung off like some twisted game of buckaroo. Again, Santi questions what it is with Marc and pain.

In the office, Santi clears his throat. Marc still doesn’t shift, seemingly unaware of his presence. A sigh lodges in the back of his throat. It’s officially summer break, Marc should be going home and preparing for a holiday somewhere hot with a bunch of his friends or whatever it is he’s doing during his time off this year. Not sitting in an empty meeting room, completely alone.

When it becomes clear that Marc will not respond to his voice alone, Santi approaches. He goes carefully and slowly, scared to make Marc jump if he sneaks up too quickly on the younger man. When he’s close enough, he lays a hand on the back of Marc’s chair. Marc shifts slightly in his seat, distractedly flipping the page, sector times scrawled across it in his messy handwriting. If Santi squints, he thinks he can decipher a listed comparison of pre-crash and post-crash times in the corner.

He sighs.

“Marc” Santi tries again.

No response.

He lays a hand over the paper, tries to block it from Marc’s view, anything to get his attention.

“Marc, come on, it’s time to go.”

Marc finally, finally looks up from the sheets, confusion on his face as he recognises Santi.

“Huh?”

“You’re done for the night. For the break in fact.” He orders, but Marc doesn’t want to hear it.

“What, no, I need to figure this out”, he argues, scrambling to move Santi’s hand, which remains firm on the table, obstructing his access to the paper and subsequently the data

“Nope, it’s late. Go back to your motorhome, go to sleep and enjoy your holiday. The bike will be here when you get back, so will the data” Santi redirects, his voice firm, a hint of dominance slipping in, giving no room for arguments.

Marc goes wide-eyed, finally looking up from his desk to stare and Santi. It is then that he acknowledges the room at large. It’s dark and empty, Marc doesn’t know when everyone else left, nor when it got so late.

He swears under his breath, looking back at Santi, who still looms over him.

“Five more minutes,” he begs, purposefully widening his eyes at the older man.

It makes Santi shift uncomfortably, an unknown feeling welling within him; there’s something about Marc, below him, looking up at him with doe eyes and parted lips that is making him feel. He clears his throat, quietly, cautious about breaking the weird tension buzzing between them. He knows he can’t let Marc stay, even though it feels like he’s toeing a line here.

“Nope. Up, come on,” he demands.

Marc scowls, mumbling under his breath and looking much like a disgruntled toddler.

“Don’t be a brat, come,” Santi retorts, running on autopilot. He doesn’t notice Marc’s stuttered inhale, nor his frozen body and clenched eyes.

When Marc doesn’t move, Santi lays one large hand on the back of Marc’s neck, spanning the space there. He can’t help but think how good it looks, his hand across the small frame of the rider.

Marc makes a choked-off noise in the back of his throat. They both freeze, and time is suspended for a second before Santi tears his hand away and Marc exhales deeply. If the room were lighter, a flush would be identifiable on Marc’s cheeks, painted across his face and down his neck.

“Fuck, Marc, did I hurt you? Are you in pain?” Santi rambles, panic threatening to engulf him. A million thoughts bombard his mind - Marc hiding his pain, actually being in agony all this time, the possibility of there being another injury, or another operation. The worst, though, is the thought that he had hurt Marc.

He doesn’t get to investigate, though, because Marc is out of his seat like a shot, his pen hitting the ground and his papers abandoned. Santi watches on in confusion as Marc flits around the room, seemingly torn between fleeing and staying to sort out the mess he’s made.

The former wins out, and Marc finally decides to bolt. Santi frantically calls out to him, confused and concerned.

“Marc”, he shouts. Marc is almost at the door now.

“Stop”

It’s too loud in the silent room. But it’s a command, a last resort. Marc pauses, his fingers wrapped around the door handle, panting harshly. A small whine breaks from his lips; he clamps his mouth shut.

Santi is quite concerned now, wondering what caused Marc to react like this, with weird behaviour which is so unlike what Santi normally sees from someone so confident. Nothing comes to mind. His disbelieving mind assumes the whine was something else: pain or annoyance, maybe even tiredness – it has been a long weekend for them all. He resolutely doesn’t let his thoughts wander elsewhere – he refuses.

No matter how often Santi’s brain wants to go there, he doesn’t let it. He will not push his unwanted and one-sided attraction onto the younger man. Santi does not let himself think about how well Marc follows commands, and how pretty he looks as he does it.

He doesn’t.

If he really took the time to think about it, Santi would recognise the signs: heavy breathing, a hot blush, spacing out. It is a strong indicator that Marc is turned on, as affected by Santi’s commands as the older man is. In any other scenario, Santi would recognise Marc’s desperate urge to follow the orders. In different circumstances, Santi would give in and take Marc to his bed.

This isn’t a normal situation.

Instead, Santi focuses on what he knows. He strides up to Marc, swallowing the distance between them in a few mere steps. Once he’s close enough, he grips the younger’s chin in his fingers and forces eye contact. He purposely avoids thinking about the headspace he’s slipping into, the same way he is ignoring the audible gasp from Marc and the bob of his throat as he swallows thickly.

“Marc, tell me the truth. Are you hurt?” he asks.

Marc gulps, “No, no, I’m not hurt-”

He breaks off at the end, as if he were about to say something else. Santi stops, waits, but the words are not forthcoming from Marc’s lips.

“You promise?” Santi inquires.

Marc nods, quick and jerky and Santi cocks an eyebrow.

“Word. Use your words.”

Marc’s jaw is slack, and in any other situation, Santi would laugh. But this is Marc, the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen, looking at him like that. Santi knows he is in dangerous territory; the tension is so thick that it chokes him.

“Yes”, Marc stutters. “Yes, I promise – Santi.”

Santi let go of Marc’s chin as if burned, tearing his gaze away from Marc’s mouth. He needs to put some distance between them.

“Okay. You go and sleep, I’ll clean up. Enjoy your holiday, Marc,” he murmurs, shooing the younger away and out of the building. For a moment, it looks like Marc is going to argue, but then he’s going.

“Yeah, okay, Um- You too. Have a good break, Santi,” he calls behind him.

Santi almost cries, torn between laughing manically and slamming his head into the wall. As he tidies the abandoned desk in silence, he wonders how he got here and how the hell he’s going to get over this stupid attraction – a crush, if he’s being honest, before the season starts up again.

[artemisiasmuse]

always known | CH.2

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron, mentions of eating issues, anxiety

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

< previous next >

the next time you run into each other, or really reluctantly meet up, is at the golf range. topper and kelce had conveniently left out the fact that rafe would be joining and you think from the sheepish glances they exchange as you spot the buzzcut they did it on purpose. you know you’re technically the odd one out, but you expected them to figure out that wasn’t a good idea after the last time you saw each other. like the mature 20-year-olds you were, you both ignored one another again. you thanked the sun in your eyes for allowing you a valid reason to not stare at him. rafe similarly thanked the sun for staring at you unabashedly with your back to him. your hair was up in a high ponytail, donned in a familiar light blue skirt and crop top. your legs glistened from sweat and the curve of your ass was barely concealed by how short your skirt was. yeah, suffice to say he was grateful. he caught himself in the thought, finding himself smiling.

“you’re still here huh? tryna prove something to daddy back home?” the voice rang clear in the tension filled silence stretched between you two, you still couldn't get used to the sound. you probably should by now. you know the sweeter lilted version he used to reserve for you would never be back, and while his voice wasn’t this deep before the edge is still there. a knife that keeps digging into you, bleeding you dry, slowly and consistently.

“despite your best efforts, i bought a place, you dick.” rafe hates that you don’t turn towards him when you say it, he hates how far away you sound. the words come out without any vitriol, but he relishes in the childish way you insult him.

“you’re actually staying?” an exhausted sigh leaves your mouth as you finally turn towards him, your brows furrowed, and his gaze traces your features. he could probably draw them with his eyes closed, but then he’d give up a chance to see them himself.

“yeah i always wanted to move back, i didn’t really have a choice before.” there’s that tone again, neutral and unfeeling, he hates it. distantly rafe knows he’s heard it before, you used to talk like this after you got yelled at by your dad or your parents got into a fight that you had to be subjected to. you’re trying to disassociate yourself from your own feelings and rafe knows that this time he’s the one to blame. his stomach turns and his throat suddenly feels dry, he has to make this better for both of you somehow.

“right, well you stay on your side, i’ll stay on mine.” as soon as the words come out rafe knows he’s messed it up further, your face falls slightly before your mask is back.

“really? what are we twelve?” rafe wants to laugh, but he can’t let you have that. the words are out now, he can’t take them back. maybe this is the only way for him to move on. he knows that’s a lie because even your annoyance is a benefaction.

“i was probably nicer at twelve.” there’s no humor in the statement, you feel like crying, there’s a horrible curl in your stomach and your heart is beating out of your chest. rafe is really ending it, you might be sick. you realize you’d rather bleed to death slowly than the knife be pulled out all at once, at least before you could hope for survival. the humid heat of outer banks does nothing to help the cold sweat coating the back of your neck. you feel sick.

“you definitely were, we were friends back then.” the whole conversation is pointless by now, both of you know it, but there’s something invisible holding you in that space, staring at one another with blank expressions and speaking nonsense just to keep talking. you’re tracing each other’s expressions with fervor, both of you know this might be the last time you can do it. it’s painfully familiar, you’re almost hit over the head with how similarly this echoes your childish fights before. you’d always give each other the silent treatment only to give in hours later. that wouldn’t happen this time.

“listen, i don’t know what your problem is with me, rafe, but i'm sorry if i-“a last-ditch attempt from your end. rafe cut you off quickly, ridding you of any hope for reconciliation.

“don’t, it’s fine just-we don’t need to be friends again, and honestly i just want you to stay away from me. if that’s too hard for you then-“

“i can do that.” there it was, the end of it. a lump formed in your throat; you had both long forgotten your game of golf. topper and kelce were returning, wondering what was holding you up. your legs might as well have sunken into the grass with how much effort it took to move. you tore your eyes away from his when you remembered them.

“oh one more thing, i can still hang out with topp and kelce right?” rafe didn’t have to punish you for his own problem. he took one look at his idiot friends and nodded at your question.

“yeah why would i care?” you gathered your golf bag, setting it on one of the golf carts as you avoided his gaze. rafe took you in, for maybe the last time he let himself, and tried to memorize every inch of you. you still had that scar on your knee, he’d cried with you when you got it, his dad had yelled at him to act like a man, he was 10. he should feel embarrassed by the memory or even sad but instead he relishes that he is a part of your skin somehow. that’s all he might have left now.

“cool.” it was the last thing you said before taking off and leaving him completely numb.

as it would happen, obx isn’t big enough for you to run in the same circles and avoid one another. especially when the camerons love you like their own daughter. rose had called you daughter-in-law for about two years of your life before you both started blushing and getting shy about the title.

and rafe does in fact care because it’s about two weeks since your little truce and he’s seething at the fact his friends have been hanging out with you and not him.

no, it’s more so you’re hanging out with them and not him, but he won’t admit that. rafe’s coming back from topper’s place, pissed off beyond repair that his friend keeps mentioning how funny you are like rafe doesn’t know it. but even topper, despite his general asshole demeanor, knows that you’re off limits. no one has dared to talk about you in any slightly untoward way since childhood because rafe always dealt with it. the last time someone had commented on your body in middle school you had to clean up rafe’s bloodied knuckles. even now years later the silent understanding stands.

he can’t believe his misfortune luck when he sees you hanging out with wheezie in his backyard. you’re both lying on your stomachs on a picnic blanket, hunched over wheezie’s phone. you’d always been protective over his little sister.

“lil cameron you sure know how to pick em.” you look at her unbelieving that the creature on her phone screen is the crush she’s been gushing over. wheezie had texted you that she needed advice, and you had a hard time saying no to her. she’d also mentioned/threatened that she would have to ask rafe if you didn’t respond because sarah was too busy with john b. that made you rush over immediately, knowing if rafe got involved the kid would be in for hell.

“oh come on he’s not that bad!” he hears you two giggling and while he could easily ignore you it’s starting to get under his skin. rafe walks past and you both look up; wheezie giving him a small smile and wave while your smile just seems to disappear. he tries to not let it sting, his expression blank as your eyes briefly meet and he goes inside. you both return to dealing with the message her crush sent. wheezie, ever the perceptive teen, picks up on your little interaction immediately. “what’s that about?”

“ask your brother,” you try not to touch the subject, it’s been hard to ignore it when you’re alone. you’re doing your absolute best to live in the present.

“oh please you know he won’t tell me anything.” wheezie looks at you with her big bright eyes and you can’t say no to her. you still see her as the little girl who’d ask you to play with her when sarah didn’t.

“okay fine, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore and we kinda agreed to ignore each other from now on.” your eyes fixate on the picnic blanket, picking at the threads that are coming out, you’re sure you can see the feelings flash across her face, they mimic the ones you’re swallowing down.

“what?!” it’s as shocking as it should be, you know if rose found out she’d be giving rafe shit for it. for some reason she favored you over her own stepson and that only made you dislike her more. your relationship with ward and rose had always been complicated just as rafe’s had been with your own parents.

“we stopped talking while i was gone, i guess he just moved on.” wheezie, much like anyone else who knows you two even a little, knows that your statement is categorically false. rafe hadn’t moved on even an inch. in fact, she could bet he was watching you from inside. her earliest memories of you had always been by rafe’s side. rafe was always softer with you like he was softer with her, that side of him was her favorite. that was the rafe she knew, not this petulant manchild who was pretending he didn’t care about you.

“i’m sorry.” there was nothing else to say. if rafe was willing to give you up, no one would make him see reason.

“thanks wheeze, now back to your creature.” you painted on a fake smile, hoping at some point it’d feel real.

then there’s the club, you’re still a member even now and you look like a dream in a sundress. rafe showed up with topper, kelce was already there chatting with you at the bar. you were quite the sight, your textbooks splayed across the bar as you worked on your biology homework. he wondered how his friends had managed to get you to come. rafe kept his distance, his body angled towards the bar. topp and kelce had caught on, giving up on getting you two to be friendly. there wasn’t anything he could do when your perfume lingered in the air, the breeze plotting against him and blowing it his way. being taller than his friends also meant he couldn't really avoid seeing you when he looked over. the amusement of seeing you steadfastly studying while nursing a drink was making it hard for him to ignore you.

“wanna grab dinner? i’m feeling burgers.” topper suggested after the sun had gone down and the bar was starting to fill.

“i’m good.” you hadn’t felt hungry in a while. you felt behind in your classes from all the chaos of moving and having little time for your homework. your laid-back friends kept inviting you out and while you missed them and wanted to make up for lost time you were feeling stretched thin. the constant reminder of your lost friendship didn’t help the already sickening anxiety churning in your stomach.

“you sure?” kelce asked, noticing how you didn’t look up from your textbook.

“yeah i’m not hungry.” rafe could see it in your face, your cheeks weren’t as round as he remembered. he started to feel panicked at the thought he might be to blame, so he rallied the boys to leave. you walked home by yourself, still trying to finish your homework while walking, of course unsuccessfully. when your doorbell rang a few minutes after you got home you didn’t expect a bag at your front door. a burger and fries. you knew who it was, but you refused to acknowledge it. topper and kelce would never do this. after that you eat normally, rafe didn���t deserve your thanks and you were too proud to let him think it was because of him.

you catch up on your classes after hunkering down for a week and refusing any socializing. your home is finally moved in, your furniture fills the space, and you don’t mind being home. the realization that you can finally feel comfortable at home is bittersweet, the absence of your parents is welcome, but another isn’t. his absence is a curse that you just can’t lift.

a/n: the pain is almost over i swear! (i can’t handle too much angst) also this series won’t be too long i think five parts max!

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading

[toonice113]

bloodonmyhands⋆ ★ W.Johnston

Pairings: Wyatt Johnston x fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: You and Wyatt hard launch your relationship with a TikTok but really there’s only one target you need to reach

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.3k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ This ended up being longer than i expected and the ending is kinda rushed but i had some free time and have been listening to so close to what nonstop since it came out so i have so many ideas for new stories, keep your eye out for more to come in the next few weeks! and lmk if there's something you'd like me to write i'd love to come back to requests once im not too busy again.

Wyatt Johnston didn’t hate many people, he didn’t care enough to waste his energy on all that, but since meeting you there was one person in particular he couldn’t stand at all, your ex.

You had dated your ex for two years before finding out he had been cheating on you with one of his coworkers for months, and because your dating life seemed to be a cliche you had later ended up meeting Wyatt at a coffee shop when the barista mixed up your drinks.

You had now been dating for 7 months and had just recently moved in together, you were adjusting to your new life living together and you loved your little routines, you usually waking up too early for Wyatt to go to work but leaving him breakfast behind and then coming home to find lunch he had left for you, cooking dinner together, sharing his pregame naps on game days, him getting you a new bouquet of flower to put on your desk every Friday, etc. 

It was during a roadie that you got the first message, you were at work when you noticed your ex’s name appear on your notifications, however you were too busy to see what the message was and didn’t check it until you were home, the message was along the lines of ‘we should catch up soon’ and you decided to just ignore it, the next few days more messages came through and when Wyatt got back he could see the annoyance you were trying to mask, finally you cracked when your ex called interrupting an episode of abbott elementary you and Wyatt were watching late at night.

“He just won’t stop” You told Wyatt as he reads the messages on your phone “I should’ve probably blocked him when the first message came through but I thought he would’ve given up by now” 

“Okay well we can block him now if you’d like” He suggested, his tone angry but you knew he wasn’t angry at you “Or I could call him and tell him to stop harassing my girlfriend and then block him” 

“Maybe let’s just block him” You chuckle at Wyatt’s suggestion 

The blocking works for around a week and then he’s back to messaging you on every social media possible, even your old facebook profile you now check up on only once a month to see what your family is up to, you don’t really know what to do after blocking him on everything you could think of and then randomly getting a new message, he was relentless and you were tired of it all, now you just deleted the notifications without even checking what the messages read, most of them were along the lines of ‘I realized I hurt you and I’ve changed I miss you let’s talk’.

You’re scrolling through TikTok waiting for Wyatt to come back from picking up your dinner when you see the video, it’s your ex lip syncing to a sad song the caption being about how he misses you and you have to laugh about how pathetic this man is to go to TikTok and post this but the laughter subsides when you see that the video had actually blown up and had close to 300k likes, the comments feeling bad for him and calling you horrible names without even knowing you, some saying that you don’t deserve him and that they will be better for him, if only they knew. 

When Wyatt comes back you show him the video and you both laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation is, after dinner you go through your night routine and go to sleep forgetting about your ex, in the morning when you check your phone you realize you have way too many notifications, all of them coming from TikTok, your ex had made another video, this time sharing pictures of you when you were together and tagging your account, this is now a nightmare and there’s too many comments to read on the only video you’ve ever posted, one that doesn’t even show your face on it, it’s a mini vlog of one of your vacations at the beach from last year to a song that was trending last year, but the comments are not about the beautiful sights you shared, no, they are about your ex, some of them begging you to give him another opportunity, but majority calling you mean names.

That is when you decide you’ve had enough, after asking him to stop messaging you, explaining to him that you had moved on and were now happy, and then blocking him everywhere he tried to contact you he had now made the whole thing public when neither of you were even public figures. Your angry mind flashed back to a video you’d seen yesterday to a new tate mcrae song, it was a girl lip syncing to the lyrics with her boyfriend in the background flipping the camera off, and you devised your plan.

After talking with your boyfriend you both decided that this plan was good enough, yeah it would mean coming out with your relationship and people talking about it, and sure it was a little messy, but again, if there was one person Wyatt hated in this world it was your ex and he was more than happy to film this video and have it posted if it would show him how you were never getting back with him and stop his TikTok from getting more popular cause this guy definitely did not deserve a following.

Later in the afternoon, before Wyatt left for the game, once he was in his suit completing the look with a black Stars cap that you would steal in the middle of the clip, you had around 20 minutes before he had to leave and you knew you’d have to do a couple takes so you quickly got to it. Finally, after 6 takes you and Wyatt decided you had the right one and he left for the game where you’d meet him later.

The video started with only you lip syncing ‘You forgot I got a lotta pride and choices didn’t think that I’d go dance like I can't be bothered, and it kills you’ then you set the phone down on the table in front of you and you stepped back the lyrics followed ‘Bounced back and found another’ and Wyatt walked into frame holding you from behind, his left hand sliding to your waist while he flipped off the camera with his right one when the lyrics ‘And he hates you’ leaning down slightly to give you a kiss on the cheek as you lip synced to ‘Baby boy, you’re seeing stars and it fucks you up so hard’ while taking the Stars cap off of Wyatt’s head and putting it on your own as the video ended.

Before posting it you captioned it ‘Next time maybe don’t cheat’ and finished it up with tagging him, pressing the ‘post’ button took you about 10 seconds of considering if this was really what you wanted to do before your anger came back and you posted it, turning notifications off and making yourself a snack before having to leave for the game.

That night you and Wyatt laid in bed reading the comments to your video, a lot of his fans finding the video after it had been reposted to tumblr and twitter as well as those that would’ve been your ex’s supporters had you not exposed him for being a cheater asking for a story time and sharing their support for you, there were still a few comments supporting your ex and being mean to you, but you ignored those finally blocking your ex on TikTok, the only place you hadn’t blocked him on yet and going to sleep cuddling to your boyfriend who was, 100% percent a massive step up from your loser ex.

[emoisthenewemu]

Favorite present! ~ Megumi Fushiguro x GN! Reader

A/N i live for soft boy megumi like SORRY but he is sensitive I don’t make the rules. i love him sm and plan to write more for him in the future.

If you were to ask Megumi Fushiguro what his favorite present was this year, he would probably say you.

Wc:1086

"Meguuumiiii" You whine from the hall, holding a cardboard box full of your friends' presents. Ones you handmade with blood, sweat, and literal tears. In fact, you had begun the project as early as October (before Halloween even).

What at first seemed to be a cute idea of making stuffed animals soon turned into a pain in the ass, taking up most of your free time.  Of course when you and Megumi would see each other you would refrain from letting it distract you but the very second he left or even fell asleep there you went-crocheting away. When he would walk in your dorm after a long day of class?

There you sat, legs crossed and an ever-so determined look on your face. Hunched over in a way that looked painful-which it definitely was because you had been complaining about your horrible back pain for the past two months.

Every time the two of you would FaceTime you would be groaning and sighing, complaining about how it was crooked or you put too much stuffing. That your fingers were cramping or now you need to start all over because it looks just awful.

Oh how annoying it was for Megumi to sit and watch you suffer over something absolutely no one is forcing you to do. He told you countless times to just give up and ‘buy everyone gift cards like a normal person’.

But he soon learned his lesson because every single time he said anything like that it just ended in a speech about how important it is to ‘finish things you started’ and you ‘promised yourself it wouldn’t be another abandoned project sitting in the closet’. Yes, Megumi understands. He still thinks you are insane. And he will tell you so.

“Isn’t that why you love me?” You say and he can only nod.

Megumi loves your tenacious spirit. How passionate you are about the things you care for. How lucky he is to be one of the things you are very passionate about. It is the only reason he continues to support you in your endeavor. As long as you promise you will not be doing this shit again next year. He even puts a cute little Santa hat on and wears matching slippers with you. It only took like five minutes of begging!

The only thing that continues to bother him is that you did not make him one. Surely you would have mentioned it by now. He would have seen it one of the countless times he walked in to find your room scattered with yarn and your many ‘rough drafts’. He would also be lying if he did not admit he went snooping around a few times when you were showering in the hopes of finding his.

Kugisaki is getting a white bunny. A pink bear for Itadori. There’s an animal for Maki, Yuuta, Inumaki, Gojo, a panda for Panda (duh), and nothing for him.

Maybe you forgot. You’ve been so busy making all of them and it must have slipped your mind. You probably did not even think he would want one. He has no stuffed animals in his room or anything even remotely similar. It’s not like he would cuddle it at night and think about you or anything.

So he delivers the gifts with you-with a smile on his face. Whatever Megumi considers to be a smile at least. Even ignoring the comments of how ‘whooped’ he is to be standing there matching with you. A thing he once swore he would never do.

Until he met you. You softened him up like butter. Gone is the aggression that was always his go-to in any situation. The way you loved him made him feel complete. He used to find it absurd that falling in love could change a person.

But you change him for the better. You challenge him emotionally without trying to change who he is deep down. You bring out the best and suppress the worst of him. Oh how Megumi loves you, more than words can describe.

It is your first Christmas together. As a couple at least so he may have went a bit overboard with the presents. He was trying very hard to impress you. He would be deeply embarrassed if he got you a bunch of presents and you got him nothing.

Surely that would not happen. You gave him a present last year. Why would this one be any different?

He is just anxious, a feeling he knows a bit too well. Megumi is an overthinker, sometimes he will let even the smallest things eat him up inside. He is nervously chewing at the inside of his cheek, holding the now empty box as you finish giving away your last present.

You grab his hand, squeezing it tight before pressing a kiss onto his cheek. “Thanks for coming with me handsome. Im so glad this is over” You groan and he chuckles at the exasperated look on your face. “You were so right. Never again” You peck his cheek again and he smiles contently.

Your touch is so comforting he does not even realize the two of you are heading back to your dorm instead of his. Too lost in the warmth of your smooth hands and intoxicating giggle.

It is not until you open the door and walk him inside that he understands that all of his worries were for nothing. Sometimes he forgets that you might love him just the same way he loves you. Maybe even more like you swear you do. He feels almost silly for doubting you. As he should.

Your small twin bed is covered in presents. His presents. They range all different sizes. But right in the middle, atop one of the gifts sits two little crochet figures.

Two wolves, a white and a black one.

His chest is warm and tingly. Megumi pulls you into a hug. Arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his head digging into the nape of your neck-he swallows the lump forming in his throat.

“Thank you” Megumi sighs into your chest, moving up to kiss your neck lovingly.

“Ohh Megs” You chuckle, trying to jump excitedly up and down but his arms prevent you from doing so. They grip you tighter. “You need to open them first!”

And he says something so cheesy he would have thrown up if the moment wasn’t so sweet. “You’re the only present I need”

[mrs-harrington-reid]

Begin Again

Snow on the beach

" I can’t speak, afraid to jinx it. I can’t even dare to wish it but your eyes are flying saucers from another planet. Now I’m all for you like Janet can this be a real thing, can it?” - Taylor Swift

Pairing: Post Prison Spencer x Single Mom Reader

Summary: Spencer's therapist had encouraged him to get back into the dating scene to improve his mental wellness but after multiple failed blind dates Spencer feels that it is doing the exact opposite. That is until JJ and Garcia set him up with you.

Warnings: talking about traumatic dates, fluffity fluffy fluff, post prison spencer just being a little lover boy cutie pahtootie, lmk if I missed anything else!

Begin Again (Masterlist)

It wasn't that the girls Spencer went on blind dates with were horrible, they just weren't exactly the best. His first date was with a nice women that was in the same book club as Garcia. The date had gone wonderful until she asked if he had a chip in his neck so that the government could track him, and he would've laughed if she wasn't being completely serious. The next one was a girl who used to nanny Henry, that was all fun and games until her ex boyfriend showed up at the restaurant and she left Spencer with nothing but the bill.

Then there was the one who had too much wine and threw up all over him, the one who believed that the earth was flat and that the holocaust never happened, the one who just wanted a signed book from Rossi, and so on. He had been on at least ten failed dates within the spand of three months and to say he was over it would be an understatement.

"Oh come on Spence just give this one a try." JJ pleaded as they walked into the elevator with Garcia.

"I just don't see how this girl could possibly be any better than the last ten that you and Garcia set me up with."

"But she is!" Garcia exclaimed. "You see me and the all so lovely JJ realized the problem was that we hadn't picked a girl for you together as a team so that's exactly what we did and she will blow your little genius mind."

"fine." He huffed in defeat "but if this date ends horribly you have to promise to never set me up again."

Both the girls agreed to the deal so Garcia sent him your number as fast as she possibly could've.

All he could do was pray that they were right and that this date would turn out to be better than the last ones.

_

You adjusted your knitted sweater while you intensely examined yourself in the mirror. You wondered if you had put on too much makeup or if your tan knitted sweater with jeans and converse was too lazy for a first date.

"Can you stop fixing something every five seconds your seriously stressing me out." Your best friend Liv pleaded behind you while her head hung off the edge of your bed.

"I'm scared liv this is the first date I've been on in a long time and I don't want it to turn into a dumpster fire of a night." You sighed and brushed out the curls in your hair one more time.

"I think its going to be just fine from what you told me this guy is just as awkward as you are so maybe it's like a match made in dork heaven." She laughed.

"He seems super sweet I'm just scared he's going to run for the hills as soon as I tell him about Autumn."

“If he has a problem with the fact that you have a daughter he clearly isn't mature enough to handle a real relationship and needs to start acting his age."

Most men you tried to date either immediately ran or told you that they "weren't looking for anything serious right now" after you told them a out Autumn. You just prayed that Spencer would be the exception considering he was six years older than you and had experienced a little more life than you had.

The ping of a text message distracted you from your previous thoughts. "Okay liv, Spencer is going to be here in five minutes to pick me up. Theo is dropping Autumn off at seven and remember please she needs to be in bed by eight or else she gets grumpy in the morning and I'll be home at least by eight thirty." You rambled.

"don't you worry about Autumn she's going to have a great time with the world's greatest god mother. Also I already took the day off so go clean out your cobwebs tonight, I got this." You both let out a laugh at her last comment.

"I just feel so guilty leaving Autumn the day she comes home from her dad's. I promise I will be home by at least nine so maybe I can call in too and we can go get brunch in the morning?" You suggested fixing your earrings; finally feeling less anxious about how this would all play out.

Before liv could answer you the doorbell rang signaling you that either Spencer was waiting or Theo had been there early to drop Autumn off. Your heart rate picked up as you grabbed your purse and walked to the front door and slowly turned the knob.

"Hi you must be Y/N" Spencer smiled when you opened the door. You hadn't expected him to walk all the way up to your door and knock. Most of the guys you'd gone out with were the drive by and honk type, especially Autumns father Theo when you were dating.

"Yes I am and you must be the famous Dr. Spencer Reid I've heard so much about." You beamed as you walked out and shut your door behind you as soon as you heard liv open her mouth.

"Only good things I hope?"

"I think we both know JJ and Penelope would never dare to say anything bad about you." You said as you both approached his car, blushing when he opened the car door for you.

You were sort of confused at the fact that he insisted on picking you up. You could’ve sworn that you remembered JJ saying something about how he hated driving.

The drive was mostly silent and sort of awkward on your way to the unknown restaurant that Penelope had insisted he take you to after you told her that you enjoyed pasta, she had made your guys' reservation and everything. And when you arrived he opened your door for you once again. Even after being told almost every detail about the man standing before you still felt extremely nervous to make conversation.

"So JJ tells me that your a teacher." He attempts to make small talk.

"I am. I teach kindergarten, honestly I wanted to be an English Lit professor but you kinda of have to wait for one of those guys to die before the position is opened." You winced at your own shitty joke. You and Liv had always joked about how college professors looked like they were decomposing but Spencer didn't know that. And now that you’re thinking about it you remember Penelope telling you that Spencer was a professor when he wasn't with the BAU.

He let out at small laugh and you were absolutely flabbergasted. He got your joke? And he laughed? You were starting to wonder if this was just a laugh at all her jokes type of flirt tactic. But then again JJ had told you that he was sort of oblivious and bad at flirting.

"That's so true. You know the average age of college professors in the United States is 42 but there are significantly more faculty that reported their age at 55 and above so technically there's a lot more old professors in the USA than young professors." He rambled.

"I didn't know that." You smiled. He did understand your joke.

When you arrived at the front door of the restaurant you were met with a sign that said "CLOSED" in bold letters. You swear you could've cried you were only twenty minutes into the date and it had been so wonderful until this.

"oh...well if you wanted we could find a food truck and eat in my car? But only if you want to." He suggested, anxiously waiting for your response. You noticed him fidgeting with his fingers and you immediately interpreted that he was outside his comfort zone asking you to stay but he was still trying nonetheless.

"This isn't your master plan to drive to some viewpoint and get me in your back seat is it?" you smiled trying to ease his anxiety.

"I promise" he held his hands up.

You both walked back to his car unable to stop smiling. He was glad that you already weren't like the other girls he had gone on dates with. And you were happy that he wasn't as douche like the other guys you had been on dates with but you also still needed to tell him about autumn before you fully came to any conclusion about his character.

"Spencer before we continue this date I have something I need to tell you." You stopped walking and looked at him and he had fully set into a panic. This is it. This is when you would turn out to be just as insane as the other ones. He braced himself for your next words. "I have a one year daughter. I needed to tell you before I got too attached and you decided to run. I told JJ and Penelope not to tell you so that I could see how you reacted."

He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. "That's a relief."

You quirked your brow at him. "So you don't care that I have a daughter at home?"

"Not at all" he reassured you "I actually quite like kids. I've never had any of my own but I have my two godsons and they're wonderful." You smiled at him. How could he have been so damn perfect.

You continued walking and he opened the door for you once again when you reached his car. And once you were both in the small talk started up again. "So I assume you know how I know JJ and Garcia but how did you meet them." He was still astounded at the fact that they both knew someone this perfect and didn't set you up with him sooner.

"I used to be Henry's teacher and then when my I had my daughter me and JJ were in a mom group together and we became friends. And then I met Penelope when JJ invited me out one night and I've been friends with the both of them ever since." You responded. "And I'm guessing your Henry's godfather that he dressed up as for Halloween when I had him as a student?"

"How did you know? That was such a long time ago I'm surprised you even remember that." He smiled at the fond memory.

"Because it was probably the cutest little costume I had ever seen and extremely creative might I add. My daughter was a pumpkin for her first Halloween and Henry beat her in cuteness by a long shot." You gushed. "But don't ever tell her I said that."

"Can you tell me about her? Your daughter." Spencer asked. You felt like you needed to pinch your arm to see if this was real.

"Her name is Autumn. I named her that because she was born in October and my favorite poem is Autumn by Alice Clary. She has so much personality for a one year old and she’s just so beautiful and amazing. I never saw myself being a mom but now that I am I couldn’t imagine anything else." He admired the way your eyes sparkled and your voiced softened when you talked about her. It was so incredible how in love you were with being a mother. He parked the car and you both walked out and towards the first food truck that you had passed neither of you cared what kind of food it was considering you were absolutely starving.

Within the next couple of hours you had both ordered your food and we're currently eating it as you spoke on the hood of Spencer's car. He has his head thrown back laughing as you told a story about one of your lousy dates that you had been on in the past.

"So I really thought I got stood up and I was ready to leave until this guy shows up and explained to me that he had to have his mom drop him off because he missed the bus. And then he continues to tell me all about how he still lived in her basement and was unemployed." You laughed.

"What did you tell him."

"I pretended that Autumns dad called me and told me that she was sick and I had to leave immediately." You responded "and then he asked me if I could take him back to his mom's house on my way. I ended up taking him home and paying for my own dinner."

"I can do you one better." Spencer laughed "One time JJ set me up with this woman from your mom group named Amy and she seemed okay until she started drinking and in the middle of me telling her what I do for a living she threw up all over me in the middle of the restaurant. I had to carry her out because she could barely walk and I swear my car smelled like puke for a week."

"why would JJ even set you up with her" you wheezed "we literally call her alcoholic Amy. She always has a flask in her son’s diaper bag it’s absurd.” You giggled.

Spencer sat there admiring your beauty as you laughed. Something about you made him feel so comfortable. In the short time you'd known each other you made him feel so comfortable that he didn't need to hide behind all his knowledge. Comfortable enough that he could just be a carefree and casual version of himself that he barely even knew existed. He felt bold and confident in your presence and it made him so truly happy.

Your phone starting to ring. You picked it up extremely fast, scared that it was Liv wanting to face time to tell you that something was wrong with Autumn. But Penelope's name and face was the only thing that covered your screen.

"Oh look who it is." You giggled and flashed your phone at Spencer before you answered. "Hey pen, what's up?"

"So I was calling to ask how the date went but then I realized that I had gotten the confirmation for your guys' reservation at six this morning and I thought it was weird but sei la vie you know?" You and Spencer smiled at her rambling "But then I looked at the website and these people are open at six in the freaking morning! So turns out I made your reservation for seven thirty am not seven thirty pm cause they're closed at five which is completely bonkers if you ask me." She took a second to finally breathe "so I am so sorry if your date got ruined. Ugh and you were the first good one we set him up with too but I'll fix it no worries my love."

"Pen I'm gonna say your hours too late on this call but your all good we found something else to do so no worries." You laughed and turned your screen so that Penelope could see Spencer sitting next to you.

"Oh look at that you guys are still out. I would like to end this call with a quick" she cleared her throat preparing for her next words "I win Spencer, I told you she was a good one! ha!" After those last words she hung up.

"oh my goodness I didn't even realize what time it was" you gasped when you looked at the time on your phone and saw that It was almost midnight. "I'm so sorry I kept you out this late."

"No really your okay. I'd be lying if I didn't already see the time a while ago, I just didn't want this to end so fast." He admitted and it made you heart absolutely melt.

"If I didn't have autumn waiting at home for me I would totally stay for longer but I really should get going." You sighed.

He nodded and took your guys' garbage to throw away before he opened the passenger door for you to hop in. After he got back into the car and put his seat belt on he felt the need to ask you about your previous marriage. Something intrigued him about the fact that you had gotten divorced for what he considered to be at a young age.

“So I know this is sort of first date taboo but um, why did you get divorced? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to I was just kind of curious because I just feel like twenty eight is a young age to get divorced.”

“Oh no I really don’t mind talking about it.” You reassured him. “Me and Theo met in high school. Honestly it was one of those cliche high school sweethearts type of things. I was a cheerleader; he was the captain of the basketball team and our parents were friends so we just thought why not? It seemed right at the time but after I got pregnant with autumn everything changed so I filled for divorce before she was born.” “you know it’s actually proven that children who never experience their parents unhappy relationships actually live a much happier and healthier life than those who experience their parents divorce.” He tried to make you feel better about your failed marriage in his own special way.

“I hope that’s the case with Autumn” you sighed.

“I’m sure it will be. I know we haven’t known each other for very long but you seem like a really good mom.” He smiled as you pulled into your driveway. Neither of you were ready for the night to end but you knew it had to eventually.

“I’ll walk you to your door” he cleared his throat before exiting his car. He opened the door and you both silently walked to the front door but as you went to turn the knob Spencer stopped you. “I’m going to ask you a question and you can feel free to tell me no but it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t ask. Can I kiss you?”

“yeah” you let out softly. He placed his hand on your cheek and slowly leaned down until your lips met. You moved your arms to rest on his shoulders while he moved his other hand to your waist. Something as simple as a kiss had never felt so perfect to you.

That was until Liv opened the door and cleared her throat in an incredibly overdramatic manner. “Hi I’m Olivia, Y/N’s roommate.” You and Spencer pulled away from each other, cheeks flushed and chests heaving.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Spencer” Olivia waited for a handshake that was never going to happen.

“He has a thing with germs”, “I have a thing with germs” you both stated at the exact same time.

“Anyway I should get inside now I had a fun night with you Spencer, feel free to text me anytime.” You smiled at each other with a silent understanding before he walked away.

you walked past liv to get inside. “So coming home after curfew young lady. Tsk. tsk. Did you get lucky?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“no he was a perfect gentleman and we just got lost in conversation.” You beamed.

“I imagine it was hard to have a conversation with his tongue down your throat!”

“that was the only time we kissed tonight! I really like him liv something about this guy just feels so different. It feels like I was meant to meet him you know.” Liv let out a small laugh but you were completely serious. You knew Spencer Reid was about to change your life you just didn’t know how yet.

“oh my goodness and what was that germ thing about. I mean the man wouldn’t shake my hand but he would swap saliva with you?”

“you know it’s actually more cleanly to kiss than shake hands.”

liv just shook her head “you two really were made for each other. I’m going to bed now but I will be ready for brunch in the morning.” She said before she walked to her room. You threw yourself on your couch and you couldn’t help but kick your feet at just how happy you were and little did you know Spencer was just as giddy as he walked into his apartment.

-

A/N: sorry this took my so long to get this out I’m revamping my fics rn so hopefully I’ll be posting more soon! I hope you enjoyed this and heads up I have not proofread so I’m sorry for any mistakes you come across. I appreciate feedback and I hope y’all have a wonderful day and lmk if you would like to be added in the taglist💕

also if any of y’all are into the Harry Potter universe please feel free to check out my other fic im working on called: The Alchemy

Taglist: @witchsbitchestime @sonicthehedgedoggo @feyresqueen @donttrustlove @alcoholandcakes @person-005 @ilwsma @mega-kittyglitter-1 @creative-heart @chicken-fifi

[rose-gold-bullet]

[𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤] Yami Yuugi x Reader One Shot

Summary: You briefly return to Domino City as an adult and reunite with your high school crush at a bar.

warnings: alcohol usage but it’s pretty minor

"I thought you said you knew a place, Joey." You said, inspecting the building that stood before your small group. The sun was beginning to set on Domino City, and as the lights came on, you noticed a letter was burnt out on the sign. Aside from some much needed TLC It didn't seem like a terrible looking bar, per se, but you really weren't expecting to be dragged to a bar in the first place.

You walked up to the window before shifting your stance to get a better look at the group, "Does Tea even drink? I thought it gives her a stomach ache." you glanced over to the only other girl in the group who shrugged nonchalantly in response. You rolled your eyes at Tea's reply as you briefly thought back to your grad party from high school a few years ago. You don't exactly remember how the gang acquired that much alcohol in the first place, but you can't forget how horribly it ended.

"C'mon, it's been years since we've all been together, you with your big boss work and Yug', Yami and I with all our tournaments. When's the last time we partied together, and who knows when you'll visit us next!" Joey pleads as you move to look through the old but decently maintained windows.

The bar was packed, the music was loud, and the colourful lights weren’t quite blinding, but they were enough to overwhelm your senses even from the outside. It being a Friday, you had figured that today would be the busiest week for a business like this, but if you hadn't known better, you'd have thought this would be bordering on a rave.

But even so, Joeys right. it's been a while since you gave yourself the opportunity to let loose and have fun, and it took the stars aligning for you to be in the same place at the same time as your old friends.

"Please, (Y/N)," Joey continues, "It's the best bar in Domino City, trust me! we'll have a great time."

You hesitated before asking, "Tea, you seriously want us to spend the night here too?"

"I don't see why not. I don't get to drink often, I might as well try it while we're all together."

That settled it. If you didn't agree now, you'd just be an inconvenience instead of the voice of reason.

"Fine. Does everyone else know we're meeting here?" You asked Joey.

"Yup. Tristen couldn't make it but Yami and Yuugi are showing up soon, I think they're on their way!"

Your heart stopped at the mention of Yami, your high school crush who you've lately fell out of contact with. If you had to reunite with him again, maybe some liquid courage couldn't hurt. Not that you were nervous of course, no, you've definitely overcome something as silly as a childhood crush, it's just that-

"Hello? Earth to (Y/N), are you with us?" You shook your head as Joey's waving hand snapped you out of your paralysis, and only then did you realize just how red your face became.

"Yeah, sorry, I... Fuck it, let's go in." You gathered your thoughts and turned to face the front door before slowly pushing it open.

The smell of alcohol, cocktail syrup and 150 people in a room that's not quite built for that capacity hit you like a truck, and you had to concentrate just to avoid getting overwhelmed. once inside, the three of you chatted for a little bit longer before you announced that you're heading to the bar for a drink, and within seconds, you were lost in the sea of rambunctious young adults.

You managed to "excuse' me" and "sorry" your way through the crowd and eventually broke free to find yourself two free barstools. you snagged them both, covering one with your jacket before promptly ordering yourself a rum and coke and not-so-subtly staring at the front entrance like a lovesick puppy. Joey said the rest of the group would be here soon, so where were they?

you solemnly drank your order once it arrived, and once you were out, you ordered one more to dampen the disappointment of your friends being late.

Every now and then Tea and Joey would visit you to chat and have a drink before vanishing in the crowd, and after about 20 minutes you considered getting up and doing the same. You weren't one for dancing, but moping at the bar wasn't your style either. Just as you were about to finish up your drink you felt a presence behind you and lips dangerously close to your ear.

"Is this seat taken?" You gasped at the voice and nearly froze in place.

"Yami? O-Of course! Oh my god, it's been years!" Your voice came out a bit shaky, but you could tell the alcohol's been working wonders considering you could talk to him at all. You whipped your head around to see those same piercing eyes you fell in love with years ago as he sat beside you and offered a warm but confident smile.

"It has. I'm sorry we're late, Yuugi had to do something last minute but I'm glad we didn't miss you. How have you been?"

And almost instantly you both reconnected like you had just talked yesterday. The pounding bass and shouting of the crowd seemed to fade away as you both became enthralled by what the other had to say, and though neither of you noticed it, it didn't take long for you two to revert to your old, bashful yet flirtatious selves around each other. You talked and drank and talked even more, and eventually you were both giggling messes, recalling all the crazy shenanigans you got up to when you were younger.

A lull in the conversation transpired, and as your laughing wore off, you watched Yami get up and extend a hand.

"Care to dance?" He spoke with confidence, but you noticed the slight blush on his cheeks. You hoped he was blushing from you and not the alcohol.

"I don't know how..." You hesitated for a moment, but if it meant more time with the man of your dreams, you wouldn't mind stepping on some toes. you gently took his hand and he guided you into the crowd.

"Me neither, but I don't think we need to!" His intimate tone transformed into shouting just so you could hear him, as the singing and laughing and yelling from the dance floor completely drowned him out otherwise. You looked around to see he was completely right. Most people were jumping, shuffling about, or gave up on "dancing" altogether and just used the dance floor as an excuse to make out with their partner.

You laugh, "Sure, but can you at least lead?"

"Hardly, but I can try."

Tipsy from the alcohol and high from being near him, you naturally let go of any anxieties and followed his lead, getting lost in his eyes as you did so.

You were both anonymous in the sea of terrible dancers, laughing and stumbling and growing ever closer as time went on, but to each other, the two of you were the most important people in the world. So important, even, that for a brief moment, the world seemed to slow down. The laughter and the shouts and the music was drowned out, and the bright, rapid lights suddenly weren't so intense.

You were pressed up against him, your faces slowly drawing closer. You closed your eyes, elated that you finally got to be intimate with the man you've secretly loved for years. It was finally happening. His hands were on your waist, you could feel his breath on your skin-

"Hey Yam- OH! Oh shit, my bad, you guys! Holy shit, just wanted to let you know it's getting late so we're taking off. Fuck. Seriously man, won't happen again." You sighed and laid your head on Yamis shoulder as Joey broke the world record for what was perhaps the worst timing in existence.

"Alright, thanks Joey." Yami replied, clearly exasperated as he dropped one hand from your waist.

"Have fun, Lovebirds! We'll see you tomorrow!" Tea chimed in, and from your peripheral vision, you saw Yuugi give you both a thumbs up.

"Sounds good." you mumbled, still pressed against Yami's shoulder as they finally walked off. Once torn away from your tipsy fairy-tale dream with Yami, you were quick to realize it wasn't just the intimate moment that made the crowds seem quieter; the bar was actually just closing soon.

With a sigh, you pried yourself off his shoulder, "I guess we should head home soon, too."

You felt Yami's other hand hesitantly leave your waist, "I guess so. May I walk you home?"

"I'd love that, but I actually haven't booked a hotel yet." you replied sheepishly.

"You can stay with me, then." And with that he placed his hand around your waist once more to prevent you from getting lost in the dwindling crowd and guided you out the door. He didn't recognize the implications of what he said until after he said them, but he seemed even more prideful than usual once he realized you didn't object.

Once outside you took a sharp breath in before stumbling down the stairs and leaning against Yami for some extra support. The crisp air was welcome after being in a stuffy bar for hours, but it didn't take long for you to start gently shivering against him. Yami noticed and seemed nearly eager to prove what a gentleman he was by covering you with his coat. You smiled at his act of generosity, no matter how cliche, and leaned yourself slightly deeper against him. You can't remember if the tension has always been this high between you too, but if so, you certainly realize now why the gang had always been teasing you two about getting together.

The walk home was quiet and peaceful, only occasionally sharing words or offering bashful smiles at each other.

If it wasn't for the nasty headache and blurred vision you were developing from the drunkenness wearing off, you could have sworn it might have been the perfect night. You tried hiding just how sick you were to stop Yami from worrying, but he was much too mindful (and you were much too obvious).

"(Y/N), are you alright?" He asked as he noticed you stumbling more than usual. He tightened his arm around your waist for more support.

"...'M fine." You barely murmured out. With a job as important as yours you rarely got to drink, and this time it seemed not being aware of your limit came back to bite you.

"Clearly not. Are you comfortable walking?"

Not trusting your voice at the moment, you nodded yes before nearly tripping, narrowly being saved by Yami. "No need to be stubborn, I just don't want you getting hurt," He offered a genuine, apologetic smile before slipping his other arm under your knees and carrying you bridal style. As embarrassed as you were, you admittedly loved the closeness. "Don't worry, we're almost there." he reassured you. You snuggled into his chest in response and promptly rested your eyes.

---

When you came to, you were laying in what you presumed to be Yami's bed, with Yami himself nowhere in sight. the lights were dimmed but just bright enough to see all of the Duel Monsters merchandise in his otherwise minimalistic room, and you giggled to yourself as you were reminded just how much of a nerd he was despite his punk appearance.

"Oh, you're awake." You heard Yami call from the hallway. He quickly came to your side with a glass of water and some ibuprofen, and you couldn't help but stare once your eyes finally focussed on him. His studded belts were off and he had changed into more comfortable clothing, and you just barely managed to catch his composed demeanour falter as you shamelessly eyed him up and down.

He cleared his throat before extending his hand holding the medicine, "I got these for you. If I had known you were this drunk I would have brought you home sooner to help you. You were good at hiding it." he smiled as he spoke gently so as not to worsen any potential headache you may have had, and you couldn't help but blush as you graciously accepted the pills and water.

"You don't have to baby me, you know," You tried to sound like you were fine on your own, but your clumsiness as you reached for the pills clearly betrayed you.

Yami chuckled, "I'm just looking after a friend." your relaxed smile faltered for a moment at the word, but you managed to at least finish your water without complaints.

"Just 'friend'?" You asked, passing back the glass. Once again you tried to sound cool and composed, and once again, Yami saw right through it.

"Unless you'd like to be something more," Yami took back your glass and pulled your covers back up to your neck, "But we can discuss that another day, if you'd like. Get some rest— I'll be sleeping in the living room if you need me." You watched as he stood up from your bedside and turned to leave, and in a panic you couldn't help but grab his wrist.

"Stay with me?" You asked, any sense of nonchalance disappearing as you pleaded with your eyes, "Please, Yami." Your grip on him tightened as he weighed his options, still nervous about overstepping.

"Alright," he finally decided, "let me grab my pillow." You squealed with joy before unhanding the poor man, and quickly rolled over to the other side of the bed to make room for him. The moment he got into bed you were lightning fast to return to his arms, which he happily tightened around you as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"I know I'm drunk, but I think I still love you." You confessed. You felt his body tense up before relaxing once again, this time with a smile gracing his lips.

"I know I'm drunk, but I think I do, too." He shifted his position to kiss your forehead, and you smiled impossibly wider before cuddling even closer to him, succumbing to sleep in his arms.

Notes: -2,399 words -you guys don't understand this was my imaginary husband as a kid. we were married. you wouldn't get it -cross posted on AO3 and Wattpad! thanks for reading!!

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

The Jacket - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: Sigh....it's E again. semi-public sex, p in v, bit of fingering. Word Count: 2411 a/n: It's been an exceptionally rough week, so this is a bit late, but it was nice to spend some time at my computer writing after all the difficult stuff. Written for TLOU Sundays!

Nothing should surprise you anymore, not after the endless stream of dates you'd been subjected to over the past few weeks. A dumb New Year's Resolution that had you out every weekend on dates that were consistent in just two ways: they were all shit and after every single one you found yourself sitting at the same bar in the same seat next to the same man.

His name was Joel, a fact you'd learned after the first asshole had tried to feel you up in the parking lot after barely an hour at the shitty Italian place down the street. The second time you found yourself at his side you'd learned he has a daughter, a middle schooler that was sometimes a little much for a single dad to understand.

You'd offered him advice. After the third date you learned he'd taken it.

Four disastrous dates in you found yourself looking for him, almost eager to see him at the same place in the far corner of the bar. You knew you'd find him, the same way you always did on Friday nights, when his daughter was at a friend's for the evening and after your scheduled meet ups with the various fuckboys crawling through your town. And so it went, week after week.

When you find him after a particularly horrible date that had ended with you climbing out the bathroom window of the sushi place you'd met at, Joel has your drink, a mojito, already sitting on the counter. It's fresh, still cool to the touch when you wrap your fingers around the glass, and you wonder if he was just hoping you'd show up or if you've just truly become that predictable.

"How'd the fish go?" Joel asks. You'd told him last week that sushi was on the menu this time around, already onto the next name in the app with the hope that they might be the one. He'd found the entire idea a bit comical, and he never passed up an opportunity to tease you about it.

A long sigh leaves your lungs as you kick your heels off so they rest on the floor beneath your barstool. "I'm here, so..." you pause, avoiding his eye contact, "fishy."

He laughs, a deep rumble that relaxes you more each time you hear it, and you can't help but join in until suddenly the mood shifts. There's something different about him tonight, his jokes about your dates soon replaced by a more-quiet-than-usual demeanor, but you also know him well enough already to recognize that he won't tell you what's wrong, so there's little use in trying to figure it out.

"Who's next?" he asks eventually, obviously trying to cover and return to his usual questioning as he toys with the mostly empty beer glass in front of him.

"I think I've gotta give it up, actually," you admit. "Fuck these dating apps, you know? Embrace the single life." It's a truth you'd only admitted to yourself on the short ride to the bar, but there's no part of you that ever wants to go on another one of these dates, even if it does mean seeing Joel after.

There's no response from him though, not immediately at least, and when you glance in his direction he seems lost in thought. "Gets kinda lonely that way," he surprises you by saying.

"Maybe," you consider, "but it's gotta be better than climbing out the window of a sushi place," you offer, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't even flinch, and you take a deep breath, finding the courage to admit what you want to next. "Honestly, the only good thing about these dates has been this."

That gets Joel's attention, his head turning in your direction in a way that worries you he'll hurt his neck. You resist the urge to laugh at the shocked look on his face, but then someone opens the door, causing the cold evening air to ghost over your exposed shoulders. Your smile fades as a shiver takes over your body, the dynamic growing more serious once more.

"Here," Joel offers, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your body before you can protest. It smells like him, a combination of the sawdust he carries with him everywhere and the store brand deodorant that works just as well as the name brand.

"Thanks," you respond softly, weaving your arms through the oversized fabric until you're drowning in it.

His only response is a nod of his head before he takes a drink of his beer, giving you a front row seat to the expanse of his throat as he swallows, and if you were uncertain earlier about your growing feelings for this man, the second shiver that runs along your spine is evidence enough to suggest that you know exactly what you want. That is, until the reminders flood through your brain. All the reasons you can't have him. Excuses that seem to blur a bit more every time you see him here.

"You deserve better than that," he finally says, unaware of the way you're staring at him. "You deserve more than being alone."

"So do you." It's an easy argument for you to make, because it's true, even if you're certain that he doesn't believe it himself. "No one deserves to be alone."

The silence stretches for another moment, your eyes trained on him, trying to read his emotions until he's suddenly finishing his beer and standing. "See you next Friday, then," he mutters, throwing a twenty on the countertop, more than enough to cover both of your drinks.

It takes you aback, the way he strides to the door immediately after without another word. You abandon your drink without a second thought, scrambling to grab your heels as you chase after him.

"Joel!" you call out, barely noticing the stones littering the pavement beneath your feet as you follow him to his truck. "Joel, stop," you insist, your breath heavy when you do finally catch up to him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

He does stop what he's doing, turning to look at you as the soft hum of cicadas fills the night air between you as though he's expecting you to explain why you've just run, barefoot, through the parking lot after him.

"You forgot your coat."

It's all you can think to say, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make sense of what's really happening right now. If this is happening right now. As you try to determine why you're truly following him and why you're so damn upset that he walked out in the first place.

"Keep it," he returns easily, shifting to open the door so he can climb inside the old pickup.

For a second you think you might let him go. It would be easier, after all. The laundry list of reasons why you shouldn't stop him from driving away right now still longer than the list of the reasons why you should. But now, as you stand in the parking lot, it's more than obvious that you don't want any of the assholes in your phone.

You want him.

"Wait." You say it with enough intensity that he follows the command, the door still open, his hand poised to close it. He doesn't flinch when you lean in over him to throw your heels on the passenger seat, and he doesn't stop you when you climb into the cab, swinging one leg over his thighs and settling in his lap.

He doesn't touch you, either, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides, although you can't help but notice the way his fingers are gripping into the fabric of the seat beneath you both, like he's doing his best to constrain himself. "Shouldn't be doing this," he mutters, avoiding your eye contact until you force him to look at you, your hands guiding his to your hips.

"Maybe not, but I'd rather be here, doing this, with you, than any of those other idiots. Plus," you pause, pressing a tentative kiss to his cheek, "if you really count it, this is, what? Our seventh date now? I should be commending you for waiting this long."

This draws a laugh out of him, one that starts softly and then grows heavier as his grip tightens around your waist, drawing you closer. "If you think those were dates, sweetheart, I've got a lot of making up to do."

"Best dates I've had in a long time," you whisper honestly, because it's true. You'd take a quick drink at a rundown bar with Joel over a high class meal with anyone else any day. His eyes are searching yours when you drag your gaze away from his lips, the next words out of your mouth solidifying what's to come. "Can I please kiss you now?"

Joel doesn't waste any more time, diving in and practically devouring you in one swift motion now that he has permission. His hands are suddenly everywhere, tethered in your hair as he holds you against him, on the bare skin of your thighs as he draws the fabric of your skirt higher and higher, and eventually between your legs, right where you want him most.

You whine, a sound that has him instantly reaching for the still open door so he can close it with a thud, encasing both of you in the steadily growing heat of his truck. "You're soaked," he informs you as though you don't already know. "When was the last time you were properly fucked?"

"Too long," is your only response, and you're already fairly certain that it wouldn't matter anyway because something tells you that you've never been fucked by anyone quite like Joel Miller, and you doubt you ever will be again.

His fingers work quickly, sneaking beneath the thin fabric that covers you and slipping into your heat without warning. "Then we better make this worth it," he whispers against you ear, and when he curls his fingers perfectly you know instantly that it will be.

"Joel," you breathe out, rocking into his hand when his thumb joins the assault, circling around your clit in well-practiced motions. "Fuck, how are you so good at this? "

"Years of practice," he laughs gruffly, his lips worrying into the skin of your neck. He has you teetering on the edge in what feels like seconds, only to slip his hand from between your thighs before you can fall.

"What the fuck, Joel?"

He has the audacity to smile when you pull back to look at him, but he's already reaching between you to undo his belt. "Wanna be inside you when I feel you come," he explains like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you aren't about to ride him in the cab of his pickup truck under the soft haze of the single light of the bar's parking lot.

When he rolls a condom over his length without you even having to ask, it's obvious that you've made the right choice, and everything that follows seems to happen quickly. Joel guides you up and onto your knees, one of which is digging into the buckle for the seatbelt, but you don't care because seconds later he's pulled your panties to the side and his cock seems to be stretching you to your very limits.

"Easy now," he reassures you as you sink down, one of his hands on your lower back as he encourages the arch of your body against his. "That's it, sweetheart. Take what you need."

You follow his guidance willingly, working yourself on him in slow motions. "Did you order my drink tonight hoping I'd come?" you ask, unable to hold back the question any longer as you rise on your knees again.

He nods.

"And did you think that the night would end with me fucking you in your truck," you lean in to whisper against his ear as you glide back down, encasing him in your heat once more, "while wearing your coat?"

It's his turn to shiver, but his only response is to seal his lips against yours once more, kissing you fiercely as he begins to rut up against you. The truck squeaks with your movement, although you're unsure if it's because of its age or just how well he's taking you, right where anyone could walk from the bar and see exactly what was going on.

"Gonna take you on a date," he insists, as though he doesn't have you on the verge of your orgasm, "a real date. Show you what you've been missing out on."

"Oh I think I know," you say, your hands moving to the headrest behind him, looking for some kind of leverage as you slam down onto his cock again. He shifts below you slightly, inching his way down the seat and planting his feet more firmly against the floorboards so he can change the angle. The move has you screaming, helpless to do anything but as he pounds up into you and triggers your climax.

It washes over you like a wave, your body stilling against his as you cry out his name loud enough that you're sure if the parking lot hadn't been empty someone would've heard you.

"Fuck, fuck fuck," he repeats, voice rough as he works you through it, "so fucking tight." You've barely returned to earth when his thumb sneaks between you once more, rubbing in tight circles against your core until you're clenching around him again, Joel stilling beneath you a moment later as he spills into the condom.

You feel boneless when you come to, your entire body limp in his arms, the scent of him on the jacket still on your shoulders now combined with the heavy smell of sex. Joel's lips are again bruising your neck, leaving a distinct reminder for any other man that you might encounter that you're already taken. And after this, as you relish in the feel of his softening cock inside you, you're pretty sure you are.

"Will all of our dates end like this from now on?" you ask breathlessly, more than content to stay right where you are.

"Only if you want them to," he assures you, finishing his task with one last kiss pressed to your skin.

"Yeah," you reply softly. "I think I'd like that."

[obsidianpen]

These questions about Lightning make me wonder what direction you plan to take it. I know you don't use the same things in every story, which makes them so delightfully unique. This is just my wishful thinking for you to explore the prophecy more. I know that in the books the power that defeats V is love, but for some reason I feel like there's something more to it than that. Harry is the chosen one, and that could mean so many things. Jamie, have mercy on me and please tell me something about this new story of ours 🥺🥺

omggg what me ramble about my the plot of a fic im not writing? Please

okay so

SPOILERS in case I ever do get around to writing Lightning

Here’s what I know so far about how the beginning of the fic is going to go (and I may, ofc, change my min entirely):

Harry, a young auror in training, goes back by accident, due to a dark ritual involving the ring, an illegal time turner and human sacrifice that he Ron and Hermione attempt to bust on their own, ignoring ministry protocol. Things go very awry, Harry ends up in 1950 ish, alone. Oh and he has a ton of gold, thanks to an interaction Draco that happens earlier that day - how lucky

Harry carries a terrible blood curse with him, and knows immediately that this shit is going to kill him and soon if he doesn’t seek medical help. But he also knows that time traveling like he did, no matter the circumstances, will send probably him to Azkaban, if not off as a test subject to the DoM. He knows they’ll look into his memories if he comes off as suspicious at st mungos, because it’s a real dark curse, and he’s a horrible actor and he’s awful at Occlumency and he knows it, so

harry concocts a ridiculous plot that allows him to pull out alllllll of his memories but with a plan in place to get them back after his curse is lifted, and sets things up so he wakes up right outside st mungos, where he knows they’ll take care of him

he is well taken care of, the poor lamb, to be attacked on Christmas Eve!!! and spends a few days there, maybe makes some hospital friends who have also had their memories fucked with

they assume he was the victim of some awful mugging, and that the perpetrator wiped his memories after and did such a terrible job and that’s why Harry can’t even remember his own name (they deduce his first name is ‘Harry’ only because he wrote it on the inner tag on his robe beforehand; a healer tells him that next time he writes his names on his personal belongings, he ought to put his last name, too)

but he still has his wand - how lucky! So they tell him he should go to ollivanders, as it looks like one of his (man remembers every wand he ever sold, ten galleons says he’ll remember you)

so Harry does, and the moment he asks, ollivander’s face goes slack - he’s clearly been confounded. He goes into a back room, hands Harry a moleskin bag, and bows him out of his shop without another word.

Harry goes back to the room he’s renting, and it’s NYE btw, and he opens the bag to find a shit ton of galleons and two vials, both glowing silver, one so bright it’s almost blinding. There is a handwritten note on each one. ‘Before you died’ and ‘after you died’

another note reads something along the lines of, ‘hi Harry, these are all your memories. I’m not even sure if you should take them all back or not; it might be better if you didn’t. It’s not often you get a chance to start over. But I know you - ha - so you’ll definitely end up taking them back. Maybe think about it first. It’s not great. I think I’d take the do over. really, think about it. Oh, and while you’re considering it - avoid Knockturn alley.’

harry does indeed find this all ominous, and assumes he must have been a horrible horrible person. He probably stole all this gold! What if he killed people for it! So he takes his sad amnesiac self down to the Leaky and starts to day drink heavily as the new year approaches

he is friendly with the young bus boy named Tom, who swears he’ll be running that pub someday.

as if gets busier later in the day, quite crowded, Harry gets more depressed. At one point, half the bar seems to cheer when a new person arrives. harry looks. He’s tall. He’s very handsome. He immediately makes Harry’s mind go on high alert and he’s instantly anxious and doesn’t know why.

tom the busboy tells him that if he keeps staring like that, the bloke is going to notice. Sure enough, he does. Harry looks away and is having a crisis (why am I staring at that handsome man? Why do I keep calling him handsome? Am I gay, and I forgot? Wtf is wrong with me)

so he goes to leave, but Tom the bus boy got busy, so he shouts to get his attention so he can say goodbye to his bestie. “Tom!”

”…Yes?”

wrong Tom. Harry is suddenly eye to eye with the very tall very handsome very scary man. He’s staring down at him, looking confused. “Have we met…?”

harrys body acts without his consent. He moves in ways he did not know he could move - in a flash he has his wand out, pointed at this man’s temple, has him backed up against a wall, his elbow across his throat, pressing on his windpipe.

about a dozen people around them are ready to kill Harry at once, but mystery tall man calls them off with the barest gesture. Harrys heart is pounding and he is having all these horrible confusing thoughts, like ‘should tear his head off, lock him up, stop him now, ruin him’

And he’s looking right into his eyes while thinking all these things, so TR is just drinking it all in, unbeknownst to him

Owner of the bar yells at harry. Harry, so very confused and too guilty and panicked to even apologize, just leaves. he goes somewhere far away for a bit… and decided to take the first vial of his memories then

mental crisis ensues

aaaaaaand I actually have a lot more than that semi planned but that’s the exposition 🥲

[wokecipher]

p. 1 // p. 2

After Weirdmageddon.

This is LONG so I'm just leaving it ALL under the line!

MORE ART AND LORE VVV

Things went bad. Like I mentioned in my previous post, Tony takes over and Anthony is put into hiding. Once Anthony comes back out, Tony is an adult and they are still a child.

Ann (Anthony's nickname) slowly grows up with Tony taking care of them. They're scared, alone, don't know what happened with Bill, and Tony is different now, not in a good way. Tony has been ruling over the Nightmare Realm (he's decided to ignore the threat of erasure for now, a rather horrible decision, but you do you I guess) for almost a decade. Not much time for the henchmaniacs or residents, but a long time for both of the twins.

Tony quickly shields Ann from the worst of it while Ann grows up, but is incredibly verbally abusive, alongside minorly physically abusive. Once Anthony is "old enough", Tony starts using them for help with "keeping everyone in line" and soon enough, Ann is doing all of Tony's dirty work.

Anthony is easy to keep on a leash, they're so scared of Tony rejecting them, they'll tolerate doing things for him even if it means hurting other people. Tony uses threats of abandoning Anthony often to keep them in line, too.

This goes on for millions of years, time starts losing meaning and both twins are also slowly losing their sanity and morals. The threat of the Nightmare Realm being erased is slowly feeling more an more real. It was billions of years off, originally, why should two kids care about that? That's unfathomably far away! But time passes, and that window starts closing faster and faster.

Tony is unconcerned, Anthony is terrified.

Tony refuses to do anything about it, Anthony is frantically searching for a solution.

And meanwhile, Tony is getting worse, she thinks power is the only meaning of existence, she's continuously horrible to everyone around her. Tony knew people wanted her dead, gone, but she never really expected her own sibling to turn on her.

Anthony attempts to assassinate Tony. The two get into a nasty fight, which ends in Tony dead and Anthony scarred. Anthony is left alone without the only person they'd learned to rely on for so long, and it leaves them near non functional.

They could not handle the things they had done for Tony, the things Tony had done to them, and now, what they had done to Tony.

They were haunted by this, horrified and shocked. They had to do what they did, they had to. Tony was making everything worse, hurting everyone, what was Ann supposed to do?

This is when The Axolotl finally presented themself to Anthony, with an irresistible deal too. All their crimes can be washed away if one day, Ann calls upon them. Anthony takes the deal, scared, alone, unknowing. and The Axolotl is pleased, and leaves Anthony to their own.

Anthony spends the next few hundred years sulking and minorly attempting to save the Nightmare Realm, these efforts are in vain however, and they eventually die one way or another. Maybe assassination, maybe the Nightmare Realm finally erases itself, maybe something worse.

It doesn't particularly matter how it happened, but it did, eventually, happen.

And they, alike to their father before them, was sentenced to a life in the Theraprism, making up for their crimes and misdeeds. Unlike their father, they will change, they will get better, they will improve.

They will be reincaranted.

I still do not know if the two will even be aware the other is there, I'll leave that to readers interpretation. If Bill knows Anthony is there, if Anthony knows Bill is there... if either meet? That's up to you!

Here's some extra art for your travels, friend.

[nomatterwhatnomatterwhere]

What a ( Not so) Strange World XV

A. N: …I really don't know what to say this time. It's not that I don't like the chapter eh, let's be clear, it's just that nothing extremely relevant really happens, it's obvious that it's a passing chapter, and I don't know how to feel about it.

Having said that, I hope you guys don't mind anyway, so let me know what you think.

Soo until next time?

Gotta dig a little Deeper (Is what I'm hearing)

PartXIV PartXVI

Heartslabyul was certainly a peculiar place, and everything, from the colours to the décor to the division of space made it quite clear who the inspiration behind the dormitory was.

You weren't sure if the Queenie you knew and the Queen of Hearts of this world were exactly the same person - you hadn't had time to read the book about the Great Seven yet - but you were pretty sure Queenie would have liked it.

( There were too few red roses around, but she wouldn't have been too unhappy. Maybe she would have had more clocks added).

Who she certainly wouldn't have appreciated was Frau Grimhilde: you could very distinctly hear her voice lamenting the tackiness and general untidiness of the place.

(Still better than Madame Tremaine, who refused to even comment on the bad taste of Wonderland's ruler).

In spite of everything, however, you would have agreed with Frau Grimhilde on one thing: the place was extremely confusing, and you would not have been able to live there.

You didn't know how much of this could be considered the fault - or merit - of the great sense of organisation that had distinguished your guardians, in both worlds, but being a student at Heartslabyul would have tested your patience - more than two dormitory freshmen were already doing, that is.

You could certainly appreciate its uniqueness, but between crooked stairs that went up and didn't come down,and stairs that went down and didn't come up, hallway floors that turned out to be walls that turned out to be ceilings, yep, that place made you seasick

(Not to mention all the crooked furniture - in the very structure - that you had seen).

In your - desperate - search for Riddle, you had managed to come across a group of students whom you asked where you could find Riddle.

"He's a little bit busy right now, with all the preparation for the tournament, but he should be here soon... Um...would you mind waiting in the common room? Maybe?"

You accepted the offer, as long as someone walked you to the Lounge Room because you were sure you'd get lost.

"Yeah, I get it, some first years still get lost. But it used to be even worse"

"Oh don't remind me! Till last year there were some horrible direction signs: they had the oddest direction, like, the one for the maze was ‘that way’ but every tuesday it changed to ‘the other way’ "

"The Housewarden decided to remove them because everyone would get lost and end up being late for class. But yeah, it's still a little tricky"

They had been very kind, offering tea and biscuits, albeit outside the time recommended by the rules, because Riddle wouldn't have been angry, not about that, not any more

You were happy to hear that the situation with Riddle was more relaxed, to hear his classmates talk about him so lightly was heartening: they were seeing how hard he was working to improve.

The students who had accompanied you had stayed with you for a while, but then had to excuse themselves to go to their activities, but had left you in the care of the students who were studying there in the hall

At first you had refused, saying that it wasn't really necessary, after all you were just waiting for Riddle, but they had replied that it wasn't a burden at all and then they owed you one.

( You didn't really understand what they owed you, you didn't feel like you had done anything to win their trust, even during the Overblot.

You had no idea how obvious it was how comfortable Riddle felt with you, how he was physically more relaxed, but it had been obvious to them from the first time they had seen you interact with their Housewarden: you were somehow cut from the same cloth)

Eleven minutes and 37 seconds had passed - if you had read the pendulum clock on the wall correctly - when Riddle entered the lounge room with a slightly worried expression and tense shoulders.

He wasn't the first one to enter the room looking like that, actually: a couple of guys had come in a little earlier with a rather dejected attitude, but you hadn't given them much thought; they'd come in to say something to some of their friends and then they'd all left together.

Now that you thought about it though, maybe you should have paid more attention.

The redhead's attitude relaxed slightly as you smiled as you met his gaze.

You hadn't missed the doubtful look he'd given the almost empty cup of tea you held in your hands, but you hadn't missed the moment he'd stopped himself from saying something about it either

( He had looked like a goldfish to you, he was adorable)

"I was told you were looking for me. What can I help you with?"

"Hmm" you nodded, getting up from the small couch - much more comfortable than Ramshackle's, you should have asked Crewel where they bought dorm supplies while you were at it - cup in hand as you looked around for where you could put it " I wanted to ask you for a copy of the schedule for the tournament, I know you Housewardens had an organisational meeting"

He nodded as he took the cup from your hands, tapping twice on the saucer: the cup was gone.

You doubted it had really disappeared into thin air, it was still part of a set: it was more likely to have been transported elsewhere. It was an interesting application, you hadn't felt any magic coming from the object, so whoever had cast that spell must have had an intangible magic trace

"It is common custom to tap the object twice once you have finished using it" Riddle told you bringing you back to reality, he must have seen how you were studying his hands " this way it is directed to the most suitable place, in this case the kitchen sink"

Oh. So the dishes washed themselves? Or, as there was a kitchen sink, there were cleaning shifts?  In Ramshackle it was you and Yuu who did the dishes, but because A) Yuu couldn't use magic B) you were convinced the magic in that dorm was ‘exhausted’ so you hadn't even tried

‘’The schedule will be posted on the noticeboard in each dormitory, in the cafeteria, and on the main school noticeboard starting tomorrow. I'm not sure it will also be distributed in the classroom, I'm not in charge of that, but I think I have a few extra copies I can give you."

Riddle had felt almost a little guilty answering the question you'd come for: you were reflecting on the vanishing spell you'd just seen - you'd whispered something very similar to ‘magic trace’ and ‘cleaning rounds and in doing so you'd assumed a small, but adorable, pout.

You must have loved magic, given how committed you were to understanding the concepts and reasoning behind a single spell, but as interesting as that sight was, he still had to ensure Trey's condition,

"That would be awesome. Also" you moved closer to Riddle than he expected,"There's something I'd like to talk with you. Would that be possible?"

"If you don't mind coming with me to check on Trey...’"

You had already started moving when Riddle had mentioned the older boy, and your alarm bells had started ringing

"What do you mean ‘check on Trey’? Has something happened?"

Riddle had tensed his shoulders and, albeit for a single moment, had lowered his head before answering

"‘He....tripped over the stairs....It's my fault."

"Not everything that happens is your fault" you were dead serious as you said it, you didn't want Riddle to go back to feeling responsible for someone else's actions too, it wasn't healthy at all 

"But this time it is. I was the one who was tripping, Trey just...tried to help me"

Your bells were ringing louder

"I know it's a strange question, but um are you in the Spelldrive Team perhaps?"

He studied you for a moment

"Is this somehow related to what you wanted to discuss earlier?"

You let out a small sigh: Riddle was really sharp.

You informed him of what Crowley and the injured students had said.

‘It really seems that someone is targeting the players so... “the redhead sighed heavily, shaking his head ” I made their job easier"

At his statement you raised an eyebrow: sure, you felt sorry for Trey who had been the victim of a very bad prank that you hoped hadn't hurt him too much, but you couldn't see how Riddle could have made whoever was responsible's job easier... unless

"Is Trey also on the team?"

"One of the best."

Now you understood: it didn't matter which one got hurt, the important thing was that someone got injured.

Ahh. Despicable person. Whoever it was, it was despicable.

Entering Trey's room, you realised there were more people than you expected, with Grim having jumped up at the sight of ‘ragin Riddle’.

As Riddle also told them how the accident had happened you couldn't help but notice the crutches at the side of the bed; you really hoped that Trey hadn't been hurt too badly, but apparently your wishes hadn't been granted.

( You also noticed the can of tuna , a gift surely from Grim, and that made you smile slightly: the little weasel was not so tactless perhaps.

Maybe you too could have brought something next time).

Once out of the room, you all headed for the Lounge where Yuu also informed the others of what the Headmaster had said

"I knew it. Grim coming by for a get-well visit? That's just plain sus."

"I mean... he brought a get-well tuna as a gift? Doesn't that count?" you whispered, making the older boy giggle.

"I must admit that I found the circumstances odd as well. I've had Cater looking into it for me."

 You gave Riddle a dirty look which he ignored, but which had certainly not gone unnoticed by the others, who, however, had no idea what it was due to

 Ace suspected that, as when you had slapped him, Riddle had also said something that had struck your delicate nerves. 

( You should have hit him too, then, you were being unfair!)

Cater had also had a similar thought, knowing you, something must have happened between you and Riddle that had led you to take offence

Deuce was a little worried: that was the same dirty look he and Ace got from you every time they did something stupid, but Riddle didn't seem the type to do something like that

Yuu had been the only one to notice how Riddle had deliberately avoided your gaze during the entire conversation

"You think someone is causin' accident to take out threats from the tournament?"

"The whole world will be watching. A good performance can make a player's whole career. It's no surprise that someone would resort to underhanded methods to even the odds"

"Sure but it doesn't make much sense. I mean you'd know if you got pushed off the stairs by a gust of wind magic or somethin', right?"

 You nodded to what Cater said

"I mean, if someone had cast any kind of spell, someone should have seen it? No?"

"The culprit can tell us all about it when we capture him. And we intend to help you do that"

That statement made Grim suspicious, while it made you smile at Adeuce's shamelessness in trying to take the place left by Trey.

On the way to the Hall of Mirrors you stood back, a little behind the group, glancing at the information Cater had gathered: you had no idea how he had gathered all that information in such a short time, but knowing him, Cay was a resourceful guy.

You weren't sure if RIddle's plan completely convinced you, what if while you were tracking one of the possible targets, the culprit had already hit someone else? What if your being a big group on the lookout for something had made you take notice of the culprit himself?

You didn't want to think about that.

But you had to, you doubted that this quest would trigger another Overblot, but considering the strange incidents, it was pretty obvious you'd all put yourselves in danger if the culprit realised you were investigating.

It was only when you crossed the borders of Pomefiore that a little alternative plan began to take shape in your mind.

You just had to hope for the best, which was as much as to say, considering the precedents

@jessiegerl

(Again, if you want to be added in the taglist just let me know)

Diveders by @sweetmelodygraphics

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 6: beginning

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be shy and scatterbrained, or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen, when in reality it’s just what I want to happen. But this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.”

You haven’t told her you love her too in years.'

'And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

---

You and Megumi set out to prevent an emergency involving Yuuji and a cursed object. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. But at least everyone is fine in the end, even if it means you'll have to walk away from almost everything (or maybe it's the other way around).

You're going to be all on your own. Still, now it seems like this will hurt less now.

word count: ~8k; tws: none for now :)

17-6-2018 

The two of you walk down the lane. It’s midnight. There’s a loitering silence in the air, no words exchanged between you and him, and it twists your heart in brief moments of hurt when you’re not trying to keep your mind occupied with other things. Your legs move subconsciously without you caring to think of them, the route to the hospital ingrained in your mind as if intrinsically there. 

At some point, you think your hand with its sweat and its grip is going to leave imprints like a marring on his skin, but it’s of your own selfishness that you choose to hold onto his wrist anyway. 

There’s a million things you could say to him right now, things you’ll forcefully push to the very back of your throat, things you’ll keep under lock and key in a mangled mix of quiet anticipation and sombre anxieties. Right now you’re holding his wrist and that’s enough for you, to have him walking behind you if not beside, to be two people near each other— not together— in silence since any conversation is not an option; any conversation could lead to the last spark needed to be fanned into the flame for it to erupt bigger and brighter than ever before. 

If you asked about Tsumiki right now, or why either of them never bothered to speak to you since 2016, it could break you apart, of that you’re sure. And even without words it threatens to do so to you like a chandelier of melting wax candles hanging above you being suspended precariously from the ceiling or light lightning soon to be thrown down mercilessly from the sky. 

“The turning to Sendai Hospital is on the right.” 

“I know the routes better,” you let out, and rather disappointingly it sounds brasher and more derogatory aloud instead of the unobtrusive tone you were aiming for— you hope it doesn’t hurt him but then wonder why you still even cared that much about how he felt about what you said or did anyway, “I got myself accustomed to taking the one on the left that leads you through. Quick shortcut and all.” 

You’re not looking back, but the light pull of his hand from the hold of your wrist seems to suggest his slight reeling back in a small sense of surprise and an equal amount of shock, as if suddenly remembering the fact you were your own person, that you had your own autonomy as one, because somehow everyone thought you weren’t. 

It’s strange to look back at how you were before: meek, timid. Too shy to speak up. Too innocent to be angered by anything. Always dreaming, mind bleary as if on a cloud in blurred skies, hiding behind the backs of others like a petrified forest critter. 

And now you’re this— this person who frowns and disagrees and retorts at every little thing, and as much as you have to, as much as it was nearly inevitable the way you turned out, all you can think you share with the person you were when you first met Megumi and Tsumiki was your need to be useful— and even that has been exacerbated by how you’ve grown, how you’ve become this person you grew into. And a part of you— no, just you as a whole— doesn’t like yourself at all. 

Your father was right. That little girl was hopeful, obedient, kind, caring— you don’t know why even then you were dissatisfied with the way you were, or why your dissatisfaction would matter because at that time you’d cared so little about everything besides caring for people and having fun with the pair of siblings that you were so rarely bothered by it, that it was still just a slight whisper from the back of your head that could be shushed or tuned out with library visits and nights in front of the TV and the glow of old cartoons. Your father was right and this is proved even more by the fact that the whole situation just infuriates you on the surface, and just makes you feel like an empty, hollow shell left behind when you reach deeper into yourself. 

That little girl had potential, potential to be useful but kind, obedient and close to the people who raised her even if it meant abandoning her own ideals. But you’d been so devoted to them, you think, that she was killed and destroyed in the world she grew up in, and now there’s a space for her that’s left vacant due to the way she wasted away. You miss her, the girl you once were, you miss being her, how easy and lighthearted everything was and how all of you felt so content in every sense of the word. But you don’t want her back. Now that’s just what makes you miserable sometimes. 

Self-reflection just made you feel revolted by yourself. You keep your eyes on the road. 

“It’s here,” you state, pointing at the building in front of you. 

Sendai General Hospital is an institution made out of bare concrete. Its walls are yellowed and close in on its wards like a prison, coloured using old paint that hasn’t been repainted over and is as pallid-looking as the skin of the people sitting on the beds it is inhabited by. Just being in it feels like a hit to the body and the brain and the senses, too. There are old-fashioned tiles on its floors, their pale beige hue muted yet the blinding shine on them harshly mopped clean. Inside it reeks of an imminent presence of sickness or death or illnesses and conditions never to be able to be defeated and sterile sanitisers. Looking at the latex-blue curtains in it feels like a blindfold unwantedly, forcefully pulled over both your vision and your ears. 

“You and that Itadori seem close.” 

“We are,” you say, then you add, not really knowing why, “He’s my best friend.” Maybe you’re trying to make him jealous, rile him up a bit. But even then you wouldn’t want him to be riled up, nor would you be satisfied if he were to keep silent. Maybe you just wanted to hurt him, to hurt him back or something, if only for something small, even if you’d already resolved not to do so. 

You’ll make sure not to do that again, though. 

Instead he does something else, takes another route instead. “Then it seems you visit his grandfather often.” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod as the two of you enter the hospital, and you have to blink a few times as always in order to adjust yourself to the light and how it reflects off the detachedly clean floor. “My mother’s here, too.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry— is she alright?” 

“She’s okay, I… think. She… she got sick a while back and stays here now,” you explain, “Let’s not talk about that…—I mean, I… don’t really want to.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” It just makes people feel worse. 

He doesn’t push further and you suppose that’s okay. Your chest hurts a bit, like phantom pain on a wound that’s still there. There’s not really a way to explain it but almost everything makes you feel that way these days. Everything makes you feel horrible to some degree. Maybe it’s being a girl, maybe it’s being a teenager, but it’s not quite either, you guess. 

“He won’t be here for a while,” you say, “He’s either still in the room where his grandfather is or he’s buying flowers for him.” 

“Then I’ll just contact them and let them know the whole situation first.” 

Who’s ‘them’? 

“Okay.” You turn your back on him, “—wait.” 

“What?” 

“Do you have any emergency contact or something? Like, a trusted adult who could help you with any of this? In case things go really bad?” 

“...why would you need one?” he questions. 

You roll your eyes, “Just give it to me, damn it… if there’s anything I have nowadays, it’s probably foresight for stuff like this. For emergencies.” 

He gives you the number, albeit a bit begrudgingly. Why’d he have to be so pissy about anything and everything? 

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to visit my mother now.” 

The air and the colour from it seems distant as always, the ward she was basically imprisoned in smelling of the indistinguishable mix of sanitiser and sickness. There her body chains her to her bed, and there is little she can do besides rely on and weakly cling to the nurses who assist her, a frail shadow of what she once was. 

“Hi, Mummy.” 

She turns to you, and your chest constricts. Her hair, once much longer, the type that you dreamed to have as it billowed in the wind, the type that invited you caressively to bury yourself in and take in that heady scent of roses that emanated from it— that hair is now replaced with a cloth wrapped around her head. Radiation. Chemotherapy. 

The wrinkles on her face make the difference between her now and her years ago all the more stark. Every visit you come back here, you’ve forced yourself to be acclimated to this new reality, one where she isn’t waiting at home no matter how tedious the fights get or how exhausting it was eating with someone who remained silent, someone who chose to continue suffering if it meant she could hurt and turn her daughter to guilt (as if that would change anything). At least she was there. 

Cancer is a terminal illness, especially the type your mother is facing— regardless of how much chemotherapy she would struggle through and how much you didn’t want to acknowledge a truth so plain and conspicuously bare, she would be confined to this bed until her final days, her illness like gyves tying her limbs and forcing her earthbound; the bed a cage she could never be liberated from. 

Sometimes she made it a point to you that she didn’t want to liberate herself from it anyway, and you’d never been so depressed yet irked by anything else. (You’d regret everything— not spending time with her, not appreciating her nearly enough— except for your decision to be involved in the Jujutsu world, if not as a sorcerer then as a doctor. That was, and is— your ultimatum. Your end all be all of this whole situation.” 

“Hello. Where’s that Itadori boy?” 

“Not here today, he’s still with his grandfather— maybe later.” You swing your bag over your shoulder, rummaging through it a while before pulling it out. “I’ve something for you, by the way.” 

“Oh! These,” she exclaims, and she smiles faintly, bits of colour rushing back to her face like watercolour dots on moistened paper. “I used to make them for you, sometimes. They used to be your favourite when you were really little.” 

“I know,” you explain, “That’s why I made them. I don’t like them anymore, but… I can’t remember your favourite food or if I ever asked, and I know you don’t like the food they give you here as much as… I don’t know. Your own cooking, I guess.” 

“It’s not my favourite,” she states, matter-of-factly, bluntly, “But thank you for the effort. My favourite will always be my own mother’s cooking.” 

Silence. 

“Now that I look back at everything, there are so many things I regret. Things I should have done but never did out of fear; things I should not have done and never apologised for out of pride. I’d like it if you could be different. Your grandmother went out the same way. At least, even if you had the same illnesses as we did, which I hope the genes for which have been curbed by your father’s— at least you would not leave the world with regret,” she looks down at her hands, staring down at them solemnly like a shadow, an excluded figure. “But it was a good life.” 

“...then maybe you can tell me more. While you— while we still have time. What was your childhood like? What was your mother like?” It feels strange, imposturous, maybe— to be referring to someone basically a stranger as “grandmother”, to name someone so far away from you so intimate, even if the only generation between you, tying the two of you together, was your mother’s. If you had a daughter it would be the same for her, most likely. There’s a part of you that would find honour in becoming your mother once you’d grown, but there’s a part of you that would think being such would accost you horribly, for all time. 

She sighs, “I’ll tell you later. There would be so much to say, like compressing all my words into one tiny paper. The stories have weight in them the same way letters and words in handwriting can be firm and large. But if I were to start,” she begins, “I’ll say that I was born as the daughter of two very powerful sorcerers. Now, I know how much this would sound like some nonsense spouted by your mother, but I think you should listen anyway. 

“My parents loved each other a lot, but my mother had come from an obscure clan whose name I can’t remember, but who had high hopes in them having a child with a powerful cursed technique as their last resort, since, if I recall correctly, there had been a crisis within the clan for it to keep surviving. 

“I still remember when they found out I had no cursed technique and how terrified they were. In me I had a bit more than the relatively normal amount of cursed energy most people have, and so I was expected to have techniques as powerful as they did. They loved me and treated me preciously, like a fragile object, so long as I was quiet and demure— and I guess to some extent I still was and still am today. They wondered what they could do to run from the clan, as if they didn’t have enough power when they were supposed to protect me despite my father’s bullheaded industry and my mother’s patience-formed strength. They lacked grit to grapple against them, and only in this did they lack it, I think; only against my mother’s family did they not have the ability to resolve things whether peacefully or violently. And eventually they just gave up and thought they would just… surrender me over when I entered my adolescent years. I was their daughter. I… suppose they didn’t love me enough. I know it sounds awful— thinking that they should have always protected me, through and through—” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“—when it could have been the clan itself that would have been mostly to blame.” 

“But they were still supposed to protect you! They were your parents—” 

“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be a shy and scatterbrained or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen when in reality it’s just what I want to happen, but this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.” You haven’t told her you love her too in years. 

“But then when I was an adult I met your father, who was a bit like a country bumpkin, but a formidable sorcerer and a kind, honest person, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the person he was both inside and out. And for the next few years we struggled to have a child until I found out I was pregnant with you,” she continues, “Even though by that time I was well into my late thirties, we were overjoyed and decided to keep you.” 

Suddenly you wish there had been more time before things were ruined. Time for you to know her better, the beginning of your existence. You would have begged her for old photos, stories, mementos of her and your father. 

“And now the clan’s faded into obscurity, finally. The younger members left and the older ones passed away peacefully. Happy story, right?” 

“...yeah.” It all ended well, but you don’t know if you can say the same for your mother’s. At least, you hope, when she goes away, it can be swift and peaceful like the way her relatives did. 

Then suddenly there’s a buzz in your pocket. An inconvenient one, out of the blue. 

“You should go get that first,” she says. 

“...okay.” 

You lift it up to your face and feel like crushing the damn thing. Old number. Stupid number. Number you haven’t called in months because you’d given up on that bastard— oh. The two of you were working together now. 

You turn away from your mother, creeping to the edge of the room. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just talked to him, but I think it would be easier if you came back and was there with him too since you know him better than I do. And he… doesn’t seem like the brightest. He may think that it’s not important enough to hand over unless you ask him to or something.” 

You muffle your voice with your hand and whisper, “Hey, you shut up, you know nothing about him. He’s way smarter than people give him credit for. But I’m— I’m with my mother right now. Wait for a second. Just ask him to wait for me first; he wouldn’t need any of my help for all of this yet. Make a friend or get a life or something.” 

“...fine. But you’ll have to join us later. He’s bound to ask about you.” 

“Then just tell him I’m with my mother!” you snap, still whispering. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Wh— you little— oh, don’t you hang up now—” 

Weird thing is, he probably wasn’t even being so infuriating on purpose. And you wouldn’t have burst out at someone for being that way anyway. It was only because it was him, specifically. 

You’d sworn to put that past you. 

Your immaturity strikes once again. 

“If you have to go now,” your mother says, “You should. Just come back again next time. I can tell you the rest. Thank you again for the food, [Name].” She doesn’t call you ‘darling’ anymore, doesn’t she? Just your name. 

“Okay. Sorry.” 

You swing the bag back over your shoulder, wearing it this time instead of taking it off, easing your way out of the room. 

“It’s okay,” she assures you, “Goodbye. I love you.” 

“...I love you, too,” you say, but it’ll mingle with all the other sounds in the hospital, and it’ll be drowned out like a ship in the middle of nowhere, your voice soft and thoroughly soused by the cacophony of bleak noises like telephone rings and beeps from electrocardiographs outside of her deafeningly quiet hospital room. 

“Hi, Yuuji,” you greet them in the dimly lit waiting area, “...and Megumi. Sorry to keep the two of you guys waiting for so long.” 

“Oh, hey; it’s okay!” he goes, although in his voice it seems that there’s been some of his usual energy seeping away from him. “Didn’t know the two of you knew each other until just now or that you were a part of some magic curse society. Are you guys childhood friends who met because of all that cursed stuff or something?” 

“Something like that,” Megumi explains. 

“It’s a long story,” you say, not exactly denying him nor conceding his words anyway. Once again, there’s a trace of anger despite your promise to be untethered to your puerility like this. “Anyway, are you okay, Yuuji? How’s your grandfather?” 

He pauses. “Oh, about that… he just passed away.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Yuuji…” you hold the fabric of his jacket (sometimes it still feels wrong to try and hold his hand— it just makes your heart ache again like a scab being clawed at) and pull him into a brief caress, patting his back as gently as you can manage. 

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he smiles as you pull yourself away, “Grandpa wouldn’t want me to be crying right now anyway. So don’t worry.” 

“Okay, I won’t. But if you’re sad, just know you can always talk to me.” 

He laughs, softer than the boisterous manner he usually does so in, “Yeah, I know.” 

Megumi clears his throat, pointedly trying to make a sound, “Anyway. Itadori Yuuji—” 

“Just call him Itadori. You don’t have to be so uptight.” 

“Nah, [Name], I’m fine—” 

Megumi sighs. “Anyway, we need you to give the cursed object now.” 

“Oh, yeah, that,” you start, “So, Yuuji, do you have the thing that Megumi would have explained to you? The cursed object? We need it for everyone to be safe, and all.” 

“Yeah! Hold on, let me get it. I told you I didn’t have it already, but here’s the box,” he says, tossing it over to Megumi. 

He retrieves the box. It’s ancient and wooden, the craftsmanship behind it elite and adroit, and the paper on it has the words for a buddhist sutra written on it like an inscription. You’ve heard of it before, the kind of curse it was meant to seal, but it definitely couldn’t be— 

He opens the box. 

Holy shit. 

“Where is it?” 

“It’s empty…” Megumi panics, “Wait— hold on!” 

Things are bad— as in, they couldn’t get any worse— not only was the school doomed by the loss of its cursed object, the cursed object was Sukuna Ryomen’s finger itself. 

You blame your inadequacy, your inability to have stopped everything sooner— if not for that nobody would have gotten hurt. If not for that there wouldn’t even be a risk of anything happening anyway. You should’ve tried harder to sense it, and you should’ve focused more on it to keep the student body safe and sound. 

It was your fault. No one else was to blame but your useless self, and even if that were wrong, you’d still have the most to be blamed for. 

Megumi has a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, keeping the other boy from moving, his breathing erratic and his eyes wide in frantic shock. 

“...well, they were saying, ‘let’s open it up to see what’s inside it tonight’,” Yuuji clarifies, standing a few centimetres away from the door, “Why? Is that bad?” 

Sasaki and Iguchi? 

The air in the hospital feels particularly chilly tonight, gooseflesh terrorising your skin all over, and for all the kinds of reasons that would cause anything like such. 

“It’s way worse than bad,” Megumi declared, fear and grim so thick in his voice they were tangible enough to be cut through with a knife. “Your friends are going to die.” 

“We’ve got to go,” you rush, “Now! Quick!” 

It passes by like a blur, as if you’re in that moment and out of it simultaneously. Your mind has been bombarded with and pressed so thoroughly onto the moment, like tissue on a wet surface, that it seems it’s being blanked out, while your legs continue to run despite your mind nearly forgetting, at this point, why you’re running— as if your legs moving so frantically to help them was something intrinsic, something you didn’t need your mind for. 

Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. 

You didn’t know them all too well, really— just through Yuuji, and Yuuji himself wasn’t as close to the two of them, being their junior and all. And although a part of you was doing this just because you could, like the way you did when you first discovered your cursed technique, you knew that another was doing this for Yuuji. If in any way they were hurt or could not survive, he would blame himself to no end. He possessed such a kindness within him, so much that it hit the depths of your soul sometimes; shattered your heart so gently a million times over or heated it in the kindly way mothers heated pans on stoves despite the heat of it being greater than that of blue flame. If anything happened to them, no matter how much or how little he knew of them, he wouldn’t be able to live after that. 

The two of them are near the barrier separating the school from the street before you (you struggle with catching up to them— one’s a star athlete and another has been training for much longer than you, you’re sure), the gates tall and enveloped in darkness. You didn’t think much of school except for when it came to your grades and being with Yuuji, thinking of these gates— the ones that you and Yuuji use when you’re running super late— in particular as just a shortcut entrance you paid little attention to, just something treated with indifference as you passed through them whenever you were late. Yet now they echoed denial, refusal, and slim chances— it was unlikely that they’d be alright, especially since this cursed object in particular was the finger of Sukuna Ryomen. 

“Is that the building?” Megumi questions, “Where are they?” 

“Fourth floor— guh!” Yuuji seems to come to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming into what seems to be an invisible wall. A veil. 

“Yuuji!” 

“I’ll handle this,” Megumi declares, hopping onto the metal wires, more directed to Yuuji than you. So even he can tell how selfless Yuuji is, even after only having just met him. 

“I may not know those two that well, but—” Yuuji starts, “But they’re friends! I have to help!” 

“You’re staying here,” Megumi commands, “[Name], if you could— get your father or any sorcerers you know to come here and help.” 

He climbs over the gate. 

He’s going away from you again. Slipping away from your grasp. And now, all you can do is watch. There’s nothing else— nothing else you can do, at all. If you went inside now, you wouldn’t be able to help except— what?— tend to their injuries? Manipulate your own cells into weapons? The former wasn’t possible with how much you’d strained yourself from running so quickly earlier, and the latter was too dangerous: you hadn’t even started with the basics of that yet, on your father’s obstinate insistence that even if he’d let you play doctor he wouldn’t let you manipulate any of the cells in your body into any kind of usable weapon. Any simple wrong move could make things turn south in the most drastically terrifying of ways. If you went in there, you’d just die, and there’d be more casualties, more trouble, more problems caused by you and you alone. 

You can’t even call your father, either. That would always be your last resort— because even if you fought, you still needed him to rest. You didn’t want him overexerting himself by using his cursed technique at all. 

(You were selfish. You didn’t want to lose your father. You didn’t want to have to visit not one but two parents lying sick and tired and grey in matching hospital beds.) 

“Yuuji?” you start, turning to him. “You’re…deathly quiet. Are you okay?” 

His lips quiver slightly, a faint whimpering noise coming out of him. Is he crying? 

“Yuuji, look at me. Are you okay?” you ask, as gently and softly as you can right now, despite your ragged, unsteady, unathletic-addled breaths. You place a hand on his shoulder, slowly rubbing up and down from his shoulder and crook of his neck to his back. “It’s okay. …Megumi’s a good and… capable, strong person and jujutsu sorcerer. He’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay too. Just… just put your trust in him, okay?” 

“I’m sorry, [Name], but I’ve got to go,” he tells you, “You stay here, and call for help or something. I’m sorry, but I’ve just really got to do it!” 

He hugs you, quickly, deftly. And then he crosses the gate, leaving you all alone like Megumi did. You wish he’d hug you longer, that you could take care of him for a little longer— it was your last way to be useful now. 

Still, there’s someone you could call, now that you remember him.

The emergency contact. 

You snatch your phone out, resolute. 

“Hello! Gojo Satoru speaking,” the voice on the other line says. 

You’ve heard it plenty before by accident. 

When Gojo and Megumi are back, Yuuji’s in the form of a figure slung over Gojo’s shoulders like he’s been reply entrenched into slumber, his body seemingly limp and his torso completely bare. There’s barely an ounce of movement in him, except for slow exhales and inhales you can see on his chest. Sasaki and Iguchi are both nearly the same, the former covered in bruises and in a deep, panicked haze, and the latter as asleep as Yuuji seemed to be while harbouring injuries he may never recover from. 

The only non-roughed up one here is Gojo, it seems; Megumi has a stream of blood running from the top of his head in rivulets, staining his sweaty, scraped forehead. 

“Wh— you two, what happened? Why are they all asleep? What happened to Yuuji? Are they okay? What—” 

“Calm down, kid,” Gojo says, “They’ll be fine. I mean, there’s a 100% chance that your friend can be executed, but…” 

“Executed?” you almost scream, “What the hell happened? You said things would be okay!” 

“Uh-uh, again, calm down. I mean, we don’t even know when they’re gonna make him kick the bucket! He ate Sukuna’s finger, by the way.” He holds his arms up in faux surrender. 

“Gojo you ignorant slut! Don’t you fucking dare tell me to ‘calm down!’ He ate Sukuna’s finger? Why weren’t you able to stop anything? What’s going to happen to him now? You know what— give him to me!” 

“You know, it’s not like I’m scared of being hunted down by your father if you use your cursed technique— I mean, I’m leagues stronger than him— but the stuff was too strong. It’s not like you’ll be able to get rid of the finger in your little boyfriend.” 

“He’s not her boyfriend!” Megumi interjects.

“Thank you, Megumi!” Your face is going hot like a campfire fanned by the wind. 

“Oh?” Gojo adds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Anyway, we’re going to get him to a place where we can cover everything with talismans to surround him.” 

They’re going to execute him at Jujutsu High after.  

“I’m coming with you.” 

“You sure?” Gojo asks, “Your father isn’t going to like you travelling so far away without telling him.” 

Megumi shifts, a little sombre. “[Name], you don’t have to.” 

“...I’m doing this for Yuuji, not for you.” 

“You okay?” Gojo asks while the three of you are back in the hospital. (You hate this building so much.) Iguchi’s been transferred to a ward, Sasaki having woken up and insisting on staying with him. “I’ve got kikufuku if you want some. You must be really tired since it’s so late, huh?” 

The whole situation is so incredulous you’re unsure of whether you want to burst out laughing or dismember someone. 

“...nothing. Wait, let me see Yuuji again.” 

Everyone is asleep, it seems— all except for you and Gojo. Yuuji’s been knocked out, and Megumi’s stuck in the world of his dreams. 

You can’t sleep. There’s just nothing to put your mind at rest. 

At least if there’s one thing you can do it’s this. 

Gojo picks him up by the sides of his torso (now temporarily clothed with a spare white shirt) like a child with a heavy book. “Woah— he’s pretty heavy for a fifteen year old kid.” 

You lay Yuuji face-up on the line of hospital chairs. There are thin scarlet marks right under his eyes— Sukuna’s eyelids, you’ve been told. 

You should’ve done more to protect him. 

Slowly, reticently, you kneel by the side of the chairs. You press your fingertips onto that pair of thin tiny lines. 

Nothing happens. You can’t picture his cells being able to grow back. It’s as if there’s been a slit on his face and its outline has been replaced with brand-new skin. His cells don’t budge. 

“Why don’t you help Megumi? I bet he’s got plenty of healable injuries.” 

“…I don’t think I’ll be able to help much. I could faint if I try helping him now. It’s better to leave it to Dr Ieiri or something.” 

“Pft,” he scoffs, “Shoko? She’s definitely not going to heal all of him. It’ll just be a waste of her time. You can just help him with the tiny scrapes and bruises first. And I’ll even tell her that you did it. She’s really fond of you, you know.” 

You give him a shy, modest smile. “Thanks, then.”

It’s time to get to work. 

Megumi’s skin is smooth like a baby’s just like the last time you felt it, though the frown on his face, ever-present, is bound to cause wrinkles there in less than a few decades’ time. You place your hands on him, bruised and bloody, watching in your mind and directing his cells as they work. 

Once the smaller injuries have been dealt with, you stop. “I can’t really work on the one on his head, since then you’d get another fainted person to carry around, but he should be fine with some bandages and patching-up there, because I’ve already kind of catalysed the start of that area’s healing process a little. Other than that, he should be completely fine. I’ll give it, say… two weeks or so for it to get better completely.” 

“Good work!” he smiles, the outline of his cheeks visible on his blindfold. 

“By the way, Mr Gojo…” 

“You know, I appreciate the respect you’re giving me now, but just Gojo is fine.” 

“Okay, Gojo. Do you think Yuuji will be okay?” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. And I’m going to ask them to suspend his sentence. I’ll just see whether he wants that or not once he wakes up.” 

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure if he even will.” 

Gojo laughs. “Don’t worry. He was really strong, and able to switch between being possessed by Sukuna and being himself at will. We haven't seen that kind of talent in a millennia! I’m sure they’ll listen to me, anyway.” 

“Thank you,” you sigh. Thank goodness. “If you need any type of payment, um… teleport to my house whenever you get inconvenient little cuts like bruises and stuff. I can help.” 

“Nah, reverse cursed technique’s got me covered.” 

“Oh, wait— I forgot about that— um… I can…”

“Just leave it to me! No payment required,” he exclaims, holding both thumbs up. “And for the record, the one who wanted to save Yuuji was actually Megumi.” 

You wouldn’t have imagined that would happen. Megumi— pragmatic, serious, unkind when he needs to be (no matter how kind of a person he actually is— no, was— at heart), different from Tsumiki in so many ways. There was no way he would have been the one vouching for Yuuji, someone he’d only just met, to be spared. 

“Really?” you ask, “I… wouldn’t have thought he was the one who would do it. I thought, maybe, you were just… really kind tonight or something…”

“Well, maybe it was because he saw how much you cared about Itadori and did it for you, or maybe he had met Itadori, liked him, and just wanted to save a good person,” Gojo suspects, “But if there’s one thing for sure it’s that your old friend saved your new one.” 

“...oh.” 

You’ll have to bring it up with him next time— maybe, if he’s still there tomorrow…

“I know you’re mad at him, but a lot has happened,” Gojo states, voice lower, softer like a schoolteacher’s, “Still, I won’t tell you that you have to give him a chance or any of that. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to thank him or anything. I’m sure he did it out of his own volition without expecting anything from you. He knew he probably didn’t deserve to if it were you.” 

You pause. “No, it’s just… I’ll talk to him again the next time I see him. Alone, most likely. And I can figure something out. I think that would be the best way to go around things. Thank you, Gojo.” 

18-6-2018 

The aftershocks are still there, although you’ve come out unscathed. 

Last night was a mingled mess, a blur. You’d tried your best to help Iguchi by the time Yuuji was placed in the room of talismans and you could come back to the hospital and visit, but in the end he still needed better help than that. His injuries were too large of scale for how you were at that moment, already tired after healing some of the numbers done on Megumi. 

(You were useless. You couldn’t help anyone. You couldn’t prevent Yuuji from being hit with such soul-striking guilt., couldn’t help Sasaki from being traumatised, couldn’t help Iguchi enough for him to be back at school soon—) 

Sasaki’s injuries were limited to bruises and scrapes, but though you could help her physically, there was nothing you could do to assist her emotionally. 

You stayed with them for a few hours in the ICU and then one of the hospital wards (a floor under your mother’s), your father calling you once the sun had risen. 

“Gojo Satoru told me about everything that happened.” 

“Yeah. I know you’ll scold me, but… not now. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” You hang up. 

For all you spoke of wanting to be useful, the night when your powers were needed the most was when you were at your most useless— you couldn’t help them, you couldn’t help attack the cursed spirits, and the only thing you could do was call for an adult’s help like a little, scared and helpless girl. 

You needed to train, and train harder than you had been doing for the past few years. 

There’s a knock on the door, a dot-dot-dot-dot-dot. dot dot. It’s Yuuji, you know it is. How ever could you not? 

Timidly, movements quiet like the room itself, you pull the door knob, seeing him there, relatively unscathed. You sigh in relief, a moment’s respite before you return to the panic you had been living in before since you deserve the respite less than other people do— no, you don’t deserve such a break at all, you’re absolutely sure of that, not after what you pulled, how horribly and utterly useless you were, you’ll remind yourself of that again and again and again— the heart-piercing guilt and the worry and the constant need to care for the people around you, almost like a mother, maybe, but you don’t like that thought as much as you think you should. Maybe if your own mother knew, she’d disagree— maybe she’d tell you that you should be a mother, maybe she’d ignore that you were also a child at certain times— the most convenient ones, probably. When she thinks it good that you, a child, were someone’s caretaker because women should take pride in and appreciate that, she would encourage you to be one; when she thinks it bad that as a caretaker and a so-called ‘adult’ you can have your own autonomy, agency and opinions, then maybe she’d remind you that in her eyes you knew nothing of the world. But maybe, just maybe, there was also a chance that she wouldn’t be like that in any way. 

But you wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Yuuji, are you okay?” There are questions about to spill out of you, tears about to fall like gushing rivers, but you’re just happy he’s alive at this point. 

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. Your chest twinges; it hurts like an awful, intransigent little bruise. “Hi, [Name].” It feels so unignorable, the way it’s filled with such sorrow and worry that it weighs his usually loud and boisterous voice down. 

“I thought that—” you start, lips trembling, “I thought there was a chance I couldn’t lose you. The only thing I could do was—” you sniffle, “Hope that they could delay it or something.” 

“Yeah. I’ll explain it later,” he says, his voice sincere. 

You squeeze the wrist of his sleeve. “Don’t do things like that ever again,” you plead, “Promise me that at least.” 

“I promise.” 

“And keep your promises.”

“I will.” 

“...want to come inside?” 

He walks inside, and you step back to make way for him. 

“Sorry I came so late,” he says to you and Sasaki, who shakes her head in reassurance. “Hello, Sasaki,” he greets, “Is Iguchi okay?” 

They speak for a while— you don’t feel like it’s much of your right to join their conversation, since you did nearly nothing at all when they were most in danger, so you leave them be for a while. It would be better not to bother them right now, anyway. They’ve both been traumatised until it reached beneath their bones within the past twenty-four hours. 

When you leave the hospital, Sasaki tells you that she’s going to stay. You tell her to take care, squeezing her hand one final time. 

You let her, patting her on the back. You’ll call them later— she’d given you her contact— just to check on the two of them. 

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask Yuuji. 

“Oh, Fushiguro? I’m not too sure, but that Gojo guy said he’ll be there soon.” 

“Where, though?”

Sheepishly, in peak Yuuji fashion, he scratches the back of his neck. “Actually, another reason why I came here was also because… I mean, I know you and him weren’t close, but I’m going to the place where they’ll keep Grandpa’s ashes, and I think… you know, you could come with me. I… I don’t think I’d be able to do it really well alone, even though he had definitely made it clear he seriously didn’t want me moping around after his death and all. Gojo and Megumi will probably be there, but I thought it would be better if you were there because I know you better than those two, and you’re my friend. So… could you come with me? I know that he never really showed it, but I think he had always liked you a lot. Like, he was happy we were friends and stuff.” 

“...mhm. I’ll always be happy about that,” you tell him, before pulling him into a hug. The guy must need one right now. You’ve never hugged him before. Your heart hurts. 

The air is hot and humid with the breath of summer, bundles of mosquitoes bound to be breeding new ones these next few weeks. Up in the sky is the sun, bold and bright, glaring down harshly at the two of you. 

“Before he passed away, Grandpa actually said something. He… kind of cursed me, if I’m being honest,” Yuuji starts. “He said I was a strong kid, so I should help people. And I’m going to do that. So that was why when Gojo asked if I wanted to be executed immediately or just eat all the fingers before dying, I chose the second option. I… I think I want to help people that way.” 

‘You’ve already helped people enough. You helped me,’ you almost tell him. 

You frown, because that’s the only thing you can do right now. You search for words to say the same way you do looking for dog books in libraries chock-full with those of other genres. “I’m… disappointed, I— I know I should be grateful, grateful that you’re still going to be alive and all, but… you’re still going to be in danger, and you’re still going to be executed one day. I mean, again, I know I should be happy you’re going to have more time alive and that I can still see you, but what if things don’t go as planned? What if you lose control of yourself once you reach, like, the fifth finger or something?” 

You’re selfish like that. In a way, you’re just the way your mother is. You should’ve always known— you were her beloved daughter after all, and the people you know would be loved the same way she did you since the day she knew of your existence, and maybe even before that. 

“Don’t worry,” he grins, wide as always. Even in an over-enveloping darkness he still manages to be the light. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a strong kid, after all. And we’ll always be friends!” 

Gojo asks if he and Yuuji can talk in private for a while. You wonder if this was how your mother felt as she had to give the person she loved most away (but you will have to go away, one day), because you can briefly tell what Gojo is going to ask. You wonder if she felt this twice. 

Yuuji can’t stay with you forever. In the same way you can’t remain by your mother and father’s sides for all eternity. 

This won’t be the last time you’re here, you think. For a place of death, it’s quite a bit beautiful how there’s such large masses of grass and plants surrounding it. 

Megumi nearly walks past you, his eyes on the old photographs of the deceased all around him. 

“Megumi.” 

He turns around. 

“I just wanted to thank you for wanting to save my friend, even if you may not have wanted to do it for me, specifically… um… I didn’t expect that you’d still be here. Are your injuries okay?” 

“I’m okay,” he answers you. “And also, I…” he hesitates, the first time he’s talked to you for something actually related to the two of you in a long time— nearly two years if you’re counting correctly, but the thoughts in your head are a bit too jumbled to count at the moment. “I didn’t really do it for you, though. It… it was for Tsumiki.” 

“Oh.”

“Wait! I’m sorry, that didn’t… come out right. But I should also apologise for something else. You wouldn’t have been thrown into this world anyway if not for my own demon dogs years ago.” 

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault. And I would have wanted to be in it anyway. There’s not many who can heal other people and all, so I just thought… even if I can’t do as much yet, since I don’t have reversed cursed technique and the drawbacks that come from mine are really bad, I can still help people sometimes if they’re dealing with relatively minor injuries. I can, um… make things easier for people. I can be useful like that. I’d keep to it anyway, because I’m stubborn, but… yeah. It wasn’t your fault, really.” 

“Okay. That’s good to hear.” 

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m happy to know that Tsumiki is okay.” 

Silence again for a while. The air turns a little more sombre, and a lot more awkward. 

“She is. And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.” 

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.” 

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says. 

“I do. He’s a really good friend. If there’s something I’ll always know I know that, at least.” 

“I can see that. It doesn’t seem like he loves you back in the same way, though.” 

“...wow. Way to be blunt, Megumi. And yes, I do know that, too.” 

“Let’s just… change the subject.” 

“You’re the one who introduced it in the first place.” 

“Okay. How… how are you?” 

“I’m good. Wait, I think you should… go back to them. Maybe they’ll need you there right about now. He’s probably going to have to go to Jujutsu High, right?” 

He pauses. “Yeah. I’m sorry, [Name].” 

“No, no. That’s okay. I expected it. It’s just that I’ll miss him a lot,” you tell him, “He took care of me, kind of. You know I’ve always been a bit of an awkward or shy person, but he still approached me since I was new and we ended up hitting off as friends, kind of. We did a lot of stuff together.” 

Sounds pretty familiar, huh. 

“If you want I can make sure he’s safe for you.” 

“...you should be able to do that regardless of whether it’s my wish for you to do so or not…” you state, “But that would help, I guess. And I’m sorry for my attitude towards you for the past few hours or so. Thank you again.” 

“...I’m sorry I never spoke to you for so long, by the way,” he says abruptly. ‘By the way’? Classic Megumi… 

“I could tell you were. It’s… it’s okay. The two of you kind of have a habit of doing that.” 

All your rage, your loneliness, your feelings of abandonment— and this is all you can do. This is all you can say. You can only just let it go, in the end. 

“I’ll explain it all one day.” 

“You don’t have to if it’s hard.” 

He stays. “No, I will. I promise. And I promise I’ll start to talk to you again, as well. I was just… scared of a few things, maybe.” 

“That’s okay.” 

The two of you aren’t quite friends again yet, but it’ll happen soon. Maybe. And even if it doesn’t, you’re finally able to say, with an open, honest heart, that that doesn’t matter as much anymore. 

“I guess this is goodbye again, then.” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh, right— promise to keep in touch, okay? My patience is running thin with you,” you chuckle at that last part, attempting to joke and make things lighter again. 

“Promise.” 

“I’m going to go home now, by the way. Please tell Yuuji that I wish him the best and I’ll visit when I have my own money to visit Tokyo and all.” 

“I will.” 

“And help me say goodbye to him for me,” you add, “Hope that’s not too much for you to do. Sorry for the trouble. It’s just that I’d actually just about cry if I had to do it in real time right in front of him. Be good to him and be good friends, okay? Keep that promise, at the very least. That’s the one thing that I wish for the most.” 

“Bye, Megumi.” You turn back in the direction opposite of his. 

“Wait—!” 

His hand is on your wrist. Now you’re in front of him, like yesterday, and he’s holding your wrist, albeit a bit gentler than the way he used to pull it a whole eight years ago. 

His eyes are cast away from you, slightly avoidantly and in a way that’s a bit abashed. “I’ll miss you, [Name].” 

“It won’t even feel like I’m not there,” you say. Though his grip is slightly tight, he loosens it as soon as you try to slide it up, as if he’d let you be free of it if you want him to. 

You squeeze his hand instead, turning to face him. It feels warm. It feels like there’s blood coursing through you, the sensation more tender and tangible than it’s ever been. 

“Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, [Name]. I’ll… I’ll call.” 

“Thank you.” 

Now you’re the one slipping away from his grasp. You move your hand away and walk back. The door slides open. 

2010. Springs, summers, autumns, winters. Hands on wrists, a back faced to your eyes, wide with innocence. Warmth and laughter and happiness and love. Days coloured with vibrant hues and time spent with dog books and in libraries. Frowns were greeted with smiles. Hesitance was non-existent. You didn’t feel a need to compensate for your uselessness. You were a child. You didn’t feel useless at all. You just felt this: a constant leaping in your heart, the corners of your mouth twisting up into a juvenile grin, braiding someone’s beautiful brown hair and tying it with a pretty cherry hair tie. 

You want to cry as you walk back home. 

You’re pretty sure you do. 

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[rintarousgirl]

kiss me better, baby - an atsumu miya two-shot

PART TWO - MASTERLIST

a/n: so, i randomly got inspired to write a thing like this, and i recognized that i haven't really written for 'tsumu before, so here i go! i tried doing all lower-case for this just to see how it is, because i feel like people nowadays enjoy a story on tumblr more like that, but on ao3 it needs caps?? idk, you tell me.

synopsis -

you and atsumu had been living together happily after your marriage, but after conflicting work schedules and bottled-up feelings, the two of you break into a heated argument. now, it's up to the two of you to mend it, maybe with a kiss? | tags: lack of communication, angst, making up, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship.

you married atsumu knowing, he was frustrating. you knew there would be up's and downs, and fights, and the regular. that's how marriage worked, and quite honestly, how your husband worked.

you knew by the end of the day, you'd be able to smile at him, embrace him, and give him a soft squeeze and a muffled apology as you dragged him in bed to watch a movie with you after work. everything would be alright, that's how things worked.

the two of you never got too worked up over apologies. you recognized that you did something wrong and made up for it with touch rather than words. that was what worked for you and him, and it saved atsumu the embarrassment of a wounded pride.

your friends had always told you that communication was key, and you knew that was true. you knew stating boundaries and expressing your emotions was right in a relationship and the best direction for a healthy bond between two people but...atsumu and you were different. you both had big prides and egos, and even if you were pissed off at day all of that seemed to melt away by the time night fell.

up until recently that is.

atsumu was obsessed with volleyball, you knew that much. it was his life, his career. everyone in his family had played it at some point, but they'd known when to give it up and pursue a career that lasted or one they were more passionate about. personally, you viewed as some passed down tradition, and you knew osamu broke out of it as soon as possible.

and just as reasonably you knew your own child would probably play volleyball to some extent. but that was exactly it. eventually, everyone got older, and their bodies couldn't keep up anymore, or they lost their passion with the sport that they held when they were young. atsumu wasn't like that. every game you still found that competitive spark in his eye, the same spark you fell in love with all those years ago.

but now you could only sigh, watching from the sidelines, phone dangling from your fingertips and your wedding band burning against your skin. was this the life you wanted to live? demoted to some trophy-spouse? no, it wasn't. you wanted your husband back.

atsumu began to stay later at practices, and left earlier in the morning too. when did come back, he'd drop his bag in the foyer, take a quick shower, and collapse in bed. you knew he was tired, and that he worked hard, but he was asleep before you could even say goodnight.

often times, you kind of had to chase him to bed. it would be around nine when he got back, dinner sizzling on the table from where you'd kindly reheated it for him. he presses a quick kiss to your lips, at least acknowledging your existence, and then run for the bathroom.

it was horrible, almost humiliating, even. by the time you had everything cleaned up, his dinner wrapped in plastic and placed in the fridge for him to pick at the next day, he was half-asleep in bed. you'd give his shoulder a comforting squeeze, brush the blonde hair from his eyes, and whisper a soft goodnight before leaving for the living room to watch your nightly television.

and even when he wasn't at practice, he was always doing something. whether it be an interview, or helping out at osamu's shop, or mentoring or watching other teams practices. sometimes, he'd hole himself up in the garage where you'd set up a homemade gym. this had nothing to mention the fact you had work to, a simple quiet office job where you filed papers, typed in numbers, and picked up calls.

it wasn't much, but it paid good money.

so, in the lucky times when you were both home, contact was limited to breakfast and lunch which even then your mouths were full and there wasn't much for you to talk about. the only thing that came out of his mouth were, "volleyball", "see you later," and an occasional, "love you!" without the "I".

somewhere along the line, you came to the conclusion of, well if i barely see him anyway what's the harm in picking up some extra shift for some more money? it wasn't like the two of you weren't comfortable. honestly, you both could live smoothly off atsumu's salary alone, but you were never the stay-at-home type.

atsumu had spared a small comment at that. late at night, as you crawled into bed next to him, he circled his arms around your waist and muttered, "you worked later today," into the soft flesh of your shoulder. you gave a small hum, feeling something bubble in your throat contracting your words.

you didn't have to work, but it was kind of satisfying nonetheless to have him hold onto you because you cut off an extra hour of time you had together. revenge was petty, you knew that, but you were tired of being on the receiving end of missed calls and empty sheets in bed.

his thumb had rubbed small circles on top of your hipbone, and you could feel his mouth twist into a frown. "you don't have to...did the cut your check or something?"

"no," you said into the quiet, "i just felt like it, that's all."

he sighed and buried his head into your neck. you felt yourself smiling despite it all, and he held you a little bit tighter the next few nights.

though, eventually, everything blew up in both of your faces. that night, when atsumu came home you hadn't bothered to reheat his dinner or make dinner at all actually. as you heard the front door shut and then lock, your stomach rumbled, having skipped it as well.

despite it all, you didn't have an appetite. not when you felt nauseous with your anger. you were tired of only seeing glimpses of your husband. hell, shoyo saw him more than you did in a week, maybe even a month.

you couldn't keep living like this. alone, and secluded, the barest hints of comfort coming from his touch. you knew he loved his job, and you wouldn't tell him not to. you just...wished he loved you as much as he loved the stupid game.

you missed your husband, your atsumu. those boyish grins he would give you and chaste morning kisses before he ran out the door. you missed when he would come home right in time for dinner and the two of you could sit down and talk and laugh about your days.

this time though, you didn't hear the sound of the water but instead his soft voice calling out into the silence of the house. usually you had the television on, or music playing when he came home to fill your head with something other than your own thoughts. now though? it was only the sound of his footsteps and your heavy breathing.

the door creaked open, his shadow spilling into the room. you hugged your knees to your chest, looking to the window beside the bed. atsumu walked in, sweat clinging to his skin and his lip caught between his teeth. "baby?" he asks, stepping further into the room, "are you alright?" he reaches forward, pressing the back of his hand to your head to check your temperature.

you gently swat away his hand, huffing as you refused to look at him. beside you the bed dips, and he places a hand on your knee. "what's wrong with ya? i'm all ears, y'know. i kinda promised...in sickness and in health and all that."

a lump rose in your throat, and you struggle to swallow around it as your eyes dart to the silver wedding band on his finger. it glints under the lamp light. you didn't have the heart to reach over and grab your own ring out of its box on the bedside table. atsumu hadn't noticed, but it's been there for the past three days.

"you're tired," you end up saying, "you should go to bed...I'm gonna go," you rush to get up, but you only make it so far before his hand jumps out and grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

he stands with you, pulling you close, still holding onto your wrist. "c'mon now, tell me what's wrong. you're worrying me, y/n," he admits softly, and you half-heartedly tug your hand out of his grip.

"it's nothing," you hiss, glaring at him, "of course you care now."

his shoulders go stiff, and his expression sours a bit. "what are you insinuating?" he mutters, lip curling, "of course i care for you, are ya out of your mind?"

"maybe i am," you grumble, "i'm sure you wouldn't notice then either since you don't seem to give a damn!"

his hands reach up to tug at his hair, before running through it and resting on the back of his head for a second. "i don't get what you're so worked up about. and i won't get it until you tell me!" he shouts, temper rising and patience thinning. well, you could play two at that game.

"oh, get over yourself!" you yell back, "you spend day and night at the stupid gym and i get to sit here all day and rot and wait for you to get back. and guess what? when you do get back it's like i'm talking to a fucking wall!"

he laughs, a little hysterical. "is that what you're upset about? you're upset that i care about my job?" it's so condesencing, and infurating and you just can't anymore. he was a grade-a asshole, and you were done putting up with it.

atsumu was sweet before, he would hold your hand and sway you around to sweet love songs that came on the radio in the kitchen. he's kiss you and laugh at all your jokes, and enjoy your food, and give you all his time. you missed that atsumu. you didn't like this version of him.

"get out," you whisper, hands curling into fists.

"what?" he stammers, a little bit of that anger fleeting from his eyes.

"i said get out!" you scream, shoving him a little. it wasn't enough to knock him off balance, you weren't strong enough for that, but it should've been enough to get your point across.

"you can't be serious," he says with a little huff, a hint of a confident smirk pulling at his lips.

"deadly," you growl, and point to the door, "now out! i don't want to see you tonight, or tomorrow preferably. actually, don't bother coming back from work either!"

you give him another shove, and that gets him to move an inch. you're fortunate that the door is close enough to the bed that after a bit of effort you can get him past the doorframe. he turns around, licking his lips, all that confident aura from earlier gone.

"so you're gonna kick me out? just like that, huh? over something so stupid--"

"honestly, atsumu, if you think this is stupid than you're more of an idiot than i thought. not in a million years had i thought this was the guy i was going to marry, but here we are now."

he stammers to say something, but you're slamming the door, locking it just as quickly. you turn on your heel, but your knees seem to buckle from beneath you.

crumbling down onto the ground, you press up against the back of the door and watch as your world disintegrates around you. your shoulders begin to shake, your lip trembling and eyes spilling over with tears.

the sobs don't begin until you hear the sound of doors slamming as atsumu no doubt packs a bag, and you can hear the metallic clang of the laundry machine door.

your breaths are shaky and wet, and you're choking on them. you don't know how long he's slamming around for, but eventually you can hear the running shower water, and the hallway light flickers off.

the atsumu you knew didn't give up that easily...the atsumu you knew didn't neglect you. the atsumu you knew would've sat on the other side of that door and pleaded to be let in.

and you can't help but wonder what happened? what did you do wrong? what is he hiding from you? an affair? a demotion? something more than that? you didn't know, you weren't sure you wanted to know.

so, for the night, you sat there. shoulders shaking, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, choking on your own spit and sobs. sooner or later, you fell asleep like that, curled up against the door, shirt soaked with your tears and a depression hanging over you like a shield.

[i-mean-y-not]

ALL THIS TIME

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Office romances are overrated…right?

Feel free to note, reblog, or requests drabbles from the one shot. :)

You know the saying another day, another dollar? Well in your case as of late, that age old saying has been another day, another asshole. Not literally an asshole, though. I mean… he does have a nice ass, like a juicy pea- scratch that. Satoru Gojo, the asshole aforementioned was a pleasure to be around at first. You remember the first time you’d met him.  

It was a Monday, and from the moment you woke up you knew that day was going to be the reason people abhorred Monday’s. You and your best friend, Jess were sitting in the break room discussing her less than appropriate taste in men.  

“You cannot keep harassing the new people, Jess,” you exasperated with a good a roll of your eyes, hint of a smile etched on your face.

“You’re going to end up being arrested, reported or pregnant at the rate you’re going. You know Choso is more than willing to take you up on your offer,” you say, beginning to pack up your lunch.  

“Pfft, Choso? As in Kamo Choso? The Choso that’s been working here for two years? Please, as if. I’m reserved for people who are here on a probationary 90-day period,” she says with a flick of her ginger colored hair.

With a shake of your head you waltz out of the break room, coffee in hand. Which turns out to be your nthmistake that day.

 “I mean as soon and Suguru lets his guard down and stops playing around he can get this-“. All of a sudden a force collides with your chest knocking you backwards and staining your white blouse with a horrible coffee stain.

“Oh shit,” three voices say in unison. As you struggle to get up, a hand you can only describe as ethereal sneaks out to grasp your waist to help you up. Now on one hand this day has been absolute shit. To start, you woke up late. Secondly, you barely had time to perfect your makeup routine. To top it off, you missed your daily cup of coffee which is currently making its way down your bra.

But whoever these pretty hands belonged to could definitely make the day that has been chaos better.

Your cringe must startle pretty hands into action because in the next second he’s crouching down. The hand he used to help you is now damn near groping you as he profusely apologizes and asks if you’re okay. Jess has long disappeared with a whisper of “Looks like you found your probationary ass” and a click of her tongue about 30 seconds ago.  

Once again you fail to think how this day can get any worse as you hopelessly gaze into the upside crescents that this gentleman has. The first thing that comes to your mind is a very subtle oh. Subtle in this context might be simply because my brain can’t fathom this creature. If beauty could be the essence of a human, it would be this one. He’s tall. Astoundingly so, well built, not lanky but not overly muscular. And is his hair white? Not white but the most striking hue you’ve ever seen. Almost as pure as freshly fallen snow. The eyelashes that reach the top of his eyelids fan out in surprise and if you thought his hair was something, his eyes are almost inhumane. The perfect combination of cerulean and light sky blue. It’s light lightning in the orb and thunder when he blinks. Your mouth flounders as soon as he opens his and any thoughts are interrupted by him saying, “ I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t see you there. I-I was just trying to find the bathroom, it’s my first d-“ he cuts himself off as he sees the way you look at him.  

With a small smile he extends his hand “Satoru Gojo, nice to meet you”.  

As introductions go, maybe that wasn’t the way you’d like to meet anyone. Both of you on the floor next to the water cooler and him offering you his caramel frappe to replace the coffee that was now a permanent part of your ensemble. You remember him offering to pay for dry cleaning too as an official sorry for adding another thing on the list of already shitty things your day wrought you.

However, that was the first and maybe only time Gojo had shown an ounce of kindness towards you. Now, almost two years later it’s all eye rolls and interrupting you while you give presentations and giving the occasional scoff at your “over the top ideas” as he puts it.

Currently, you’re thinking that his good looks have nothing to do with his annoying list of endless questions. In a meeting to discuss the latest developments on the brand our company is launching is where Gojo does his best façade. To him and to the select few that don’t know him, he’s asking fair and thought provoking questions. To you and everyone else, however he’s asking questions to equate to being your 13th reason.

His hands are steepled on the table in front of him as he levels you with a look that can only be described as condescending.

“So, you’re saying women are only valuable if they don’t wear makeup? I didn’t know we were makeup shaming now. Is that even a thing?” He takes a glance around the table then. “Isn’t that what we’re committed to not doing? My, my, (*) there’s no way our client is going to go for this.” He finishes his tirade by turning to your boss and mumbling, “Mr. Kento, if you’d kindly allow it, I’d like to take lead on this account since-”  

Your mind wanders as your hands clench into fists and your teeth grit in irritation. This isn’t the first time Gojo has done this. He constantly tries to poach your clients, belittle you at meetings, and make the occasional accusation that you’re incompetent. He actually has been successful as far as the poaching goes. It was just last year when he walked in on one of your meetings with your biggest client and gave an elevator pitch that astounded them.  

The next thing you knew you were giving him all of your preliminary research and being told to help your junior partner, Mark raise his clientele. It was cute at first. The little game you two had going. But before long his meddling came to interfere with your professional life and you began to wonder if you were as incompetent as Gojo made you out to be.

Working for one of the most notable skin and beauty companies and being the top salesman for the past three years had earned you the right to brag. That was until, Gojo found it necessary to intentionally, single handedly wreak havoc on your career.

Before you know it, an inhumane sound akin to a growl rips out of your throat and your hands slam on the glass conference table.  

“What I’m saying is, women have the choice to wear or not to wear makeup. With our new line of skin products, they can have the skin they’ve always wanted. However, they don’t have to sacrifice their beauty regimen,” you say pointedly ignoring the blue eyes glare fixed to the side of your face.

“My statistics show that women do feel beautiful with and without make up. I’m spit of that, with their skin free and clear of blemishes, they’re more likely to go out without wearing it. Isn’t that what we’re all about here? Making women feel comfortable and confident in their own skin?” Your eyes skim everyone around the table and notice a sense of approval sweep the room with some nods. A boxy smile from Yuji from accounting, and a slow clap from Toge from the linguistics team.  

This meeting has proven to be a success.

“Any questions?” you say, beginning to collect your documents.

 Knowing he’s already raised his hand and without you looking up you say, “Anyone besides him?” You hear a snicker and turn to wink at Jess and notice that your boss, Nanami also has a smirk on his face watching as Gojo dramatically lowers his hand with a huff.  

As Namjoon stands to congratulate you on a job well done and close out the meeting you sneak a glance at your rival. You almost immediately wish you hadn’t though, because if looks could fuck, you’d be splayed out on the table on your third orgasm.

 

There’s this thing with Gojo, you just can’t pinpoint it. There’s this continuous cat and mouse game you play. You’re honestly not sure if you want to get caught. From what you’ve seen he’s a bonafide playboy who just likes to get his dick wet. Usually from a different unsuspecting woman or as you like to call them victims every weekend.  

You refused to be another notch in his belt. Maybe that’s why he wanted you. It was the thrill of the chase. He didn’t want you, perse he wanted to be inside you and from what you heard about him in the bedroom, would that be so bad?  

You wish you were more like Jess sometimes. She has the ability to set her sights on a man and get him into bed within weeks, sometimes even days. You weren’t Jess, though and apparently; she hadn’t set her sights on the blue-eyed harlot anyway. After that fateful day at the water cooler she swore to never hit on him because Gojo was in her words, “Your pick.”

As you zone back into your boss’s closing comments, you feel Gojo’s gaze sharpen on you. Nanami concludes with, “Satoru and (*), I love your willingness to communicate. Maybe this next project we start on should be given to both of you? That way you’ll have plenty of time to work through your... creative differences.” He finishes with tilt of his head and a small smile. Which you return with a tight one, eyes pleading with him to not do this.

Nanami is very aware of the bad blood that runs between his top two marketing executives. Why?  

That question wrings through your head and you open your mouth to respond, but it snaps shut just as quickly. You hear a booming “We’d love to Mr. Kim,” from across the conference room table.  

“Come again? We’d love to what?” you say, hastily trying to make your way to the exit.  

Only to be stopped by your voice, “That wasn’t a request Y/N,” you nod your head as you slink to your office only to be met with a knock five minutes later.

When Jess pokes her head in the door with a smirk you pin her with a look that clearly says please no.  

However, she persists, “Can I just say one thing?” Before you can answer she barrels on with, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? You guys can finally…resolve these feelings.

You’ll be spending a lot more time together with this new project, right? I mean you were in that meeting; did you see the looks he was giving you? When you basically told him to shut up, he clenched his jaw so hard I thought his teeth would shatter! You could cut the sexual tension in that meeting with not a knife, but a chainsaw. A freakin’ chainsaw. Please just have sex already.”

She concludes with a dramatic sigh and a plop into the chair opposite your desk. You glance at her as you state, “Really? I was honestly thinking about giving Toji a chance. He’s

cute and if anybody could scratch my itch it would be him. I mean did you see the body rolls he did at the last company retreat?”

Her mouth drops open in disbelief.

“Toji? The slab of meat on the fifth floor? He’d scratch something alright.” As you gaze forlornly into your fantasy, a throat clearing interrupts your conversation as you look up to find Gojo standing in your office doorway looking none too pleased.

“To what do I owe the displeasure?” you say as he looks at Jess in a way that has her immediately scrambling out of your chair and rushing past him to get to her own office.  

Once she’s clearly out of hearing range he takes her seat and pointedly mutters, “He has a girlfriend”. That statement leaves you with a hopelessly confused look on your face which causes him to clarify.” Toji, I mean. He’s in a relationship.”

Your mouth opens in a silent affirmation as you process this new and frankly unimportant information.  

“Yeah, I knew that. I was just trying to get Jess off my back. Once she gets an idea in her head, she’s the worst kind of pest.” He pins you with that screams skepticism but doesn’t press the issue.

Wincing you ask, “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” he says and moves on swiftly. “So, about this project we’re working on? Did you want me to maybe eat you o-I mean take you out to dinner so we can discuss it further?”

“Kento hasn’t even given us the new project yet.”

He slowly looks from under his lashes to smirk at you. “If you weren’t in such a rush to make the great escape back to your office, you would’ve heard him say that he’s sending the documents over for the new campaign today.” He says this with a look that you feel deep in your core and has your thighs clenching together. He seems to notice this too, licking his lips and biting his bottom lip, as you stare at him and he at you.  

It’s then that you start to feel that chainsaw sexual tension. So,this is what Jess meant. A resounding ping from your computer breaks the moment as you spare a glance at your computer to see that, yes in fact, your boss has sent you an email attachment. The bold subject line says: new brush collection project.

“Yes, there it goes,” you murmur. He takes a step backwards, back ramrod straight and says, “So I’ll pick you up at six? Wear something cute or nothing at all. Up to you,” He winks as he takes the remaining steps out of your corner view office.

“As if, Gojo.” And it doesn’t sound convincing . Not even to you.

Six comes a lot sooner than you anticipate. The traffic home is what got you. The long red lights and four way stops seeming to last longer and longer. Before you left for the day Gojo asked for your number and address, which you reluctantly recited and headed out at four o clock thinking you’d have plenty of time before the rendezvous .

 It was currently a quarter till six and with a text from him letting you know he was on his way at 5:30 you figured traffic would keep him at bay at least until 6:30. You were not however expecting your doorbell to ring at six o clock exactly.  

“Shit. You sigh under your breath as you yell in the direction of your front door, “Who is it?” You slip into your other shoe, a subtle heel to pair with the modest dress you have on.

“C’mon now doll, who else would it be?” You march to the door and wrench it open. You want to snap, be catty, but your eyes widen at the sight before you. His Armani suit tailored to him perfectly. There isn’t a wrinkle in sight and his sleek black dress shoes shine vividly under the approaching sunset. Not to mention those signature round frames that adorned his face. He’s chosen clear frames for this particular outfit it seems, but the bright blue eyes behind them take your breath away.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” he lilts, making his way into your place.

 “So, I see you’ve chosen to go with the clothing option, I’m a little disappointed but...” He laughs when he sees your expression, eyebrows raised and mouth waiting to spit out an insult.  

He dials it back a notch saying, “Your place is just like you, cute,” You feel your body warm and you pointedly avoid his eyes.  

When he sees his compliment has the desired affect he nods toward the door. “Shall we?”

The drive to restaurant is eventful. You and Gojo realize that maybe if you didn’t hate each other so much, there’ would be a possibility you could be friends. You learn that he’s Japanese and is fluent in three languages: Japanese, English, and sex because even the way he changes gears is erotic.  

The veins in his arms are prominent and you have to look away to avoid moaning at the very sight of them. He learns that you speak three languages too: English, Korean, and Spanish. You discover that you actually graduated from the same college and that you had friends in the same circles. Who knew that you two actually had the potential to be pals?

When you get to the restaurant, you look up to find the name Infinity etched onto the front of the building. And when Gojo opens your car door and helps you out, then hands the keys to the valet you realize that he really is a man of absolute confidence. From the way he maintains direct eye contact with everyone to the way he pulls off his erected posture. You’re astonished. He smiles at everyone and almost seems to be friendly. Maybe he’s like that to everyone but you.

When you get to the hostess stand, a small but friendly woman looks up. “We missed you!”

 Gojo remains tight lipped although he smiles and says, “Hey, Claire, how have you been?” They chat for a bit and you zone out, taking in the beautiful surroundings. Soon you feel a hand around your waist guiding you past the main space of the restaurant and to a secluded room in the back. You hear a couple staccato and treble greetings to your companion in the short trek to the reserved room and it gives you pause. You turn to look at him but before you can say anything, Claire speaks, “Here you go, Yuta will be with you shortly.” Then she’s off with a smile and a wave.

“You must come here often and bring all of your flings. Is that how you’re constantly in someone’s pants? You wine and dine then the deal is sealed, huh?”  

He looks at you for a second and cracks a breathtaking smile. He rolls his neck and looks at you pointedly, “Everyone knows me because I’m the owner”.

You stare at him waiting for him to laugh but no, he doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

In response you gape at him. “No fucking way, you own this restaurant? That we’re sitting in right now?What was your commission off that pigmentation account last year?”

Before he can answer, Yuta, a brunette man comes into the door with a lanky stride and a smile and recites, “What can I get for you?”

“Apple martini, you request while Gojo says, “Warm sake”.  

Yuta tells you that the specials are beef medallions with a side of pickled vegetables or roasted duck with hollandaise sauce and a side of tartar. You both go for the duck. As soon as Yuta leaves Gojo’s eyes are back on you. “I opened Infinity last year.” You’re still gobsmacked, staring at him with a hum to yourself, “I never knew that.” He replies with, “Because you never asked”.

Yuta arrives with your drinks and food almost fifteen minutes after you guys start discussing your upcoming project. The strategy, the statistics and the current climate for your product are all rather simple. Delving into the duck, you moan at the flavor on your tongue. Gojo drops his fork, a whispered expletive coming out of his mouth. The hell is his problem? With a gentle place of your utensils on your napkin, you finally ask him what you’ve wanted to know these past two years.

“Gojo?” He hums to let you know he’s listening. “Why do you um-why do you hate me?” He almost chokes on what he was chewing and as he splutters you can see him rapidly shaking his head.  

When he gets some water, he blinks up at you in confusion. “Hate you? What are you talking about?”

You glance away from him. “I mean damn Satoru, can I call you Satoru? You’re always competing with me and we’re supposed to be on the same team.You pin me with glares every chance you get. And you even told Kento how much you despised me in the break room last week. You just seem to be fond of everyone but me.”

The surprise registers on his face and you feel his shock ripple across the table. “You heard what I said to Nanamin?” You nod and try to keep the tears at bay. I mean you’re a tough cookie, but you try to be nice to everyone. Even if they’re not so nice to you and it’s a little disheartening to know that someone hates you simply because you exist.  

 He looks at you with a look that says he’s annoyed more than anything. And with a roll of his eyes he declares, “If you weren’t forever the scared the little rabbit, we could’ve solved this problem last week. Would you like to know exactly what I said to Kento?” Without a response he straightens up in his chair.

“It isn’t at all what you think. I said something along the lines of: I can’t stand how she prances around this office like she does, in those tight dresses and skirts. How she acts like she owns everything. How she constantly gives me looks like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. You know what she’s doing ? She’s fucking teasing me!”  

When he finishes, he stares at the scandalized look on your face and continues. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it. I saw you clench your legs under the table earlier.” You look away as you feel your caramel cheeks heat up.  

“You must have heard what you wanted to hear,” he says exasperated.  

“Why would you say something like to your boss? To our boss?”

He laughs, a beautiful melody and shrugs. “Hes my best friend. I tell him everything. Why do you think we’re working together on this project?”  

You allow yourself to slowly think about the past two years. Although he’s always been a pain in the ass, he has been a helpful pain in the ass at times. He’s helped you close some big accounts, stayed late at the office to help you with some last minute mock ups.

Even covered for you when you were fucked up at the last company retreat with your head attached to the inside of the toilet bowl. It all suddenly clicks into place. Your chest starts pounding and you feel sweat beginning to form and your hair line.

“Are you okay?” he questions.

Your head shakes and you breathlessly say, “And if I say I don’t feel it?”  

He raises his eyebrow and you clarify, “The chemistry. What if I say I don’t feel it?”  

He counters right back with, “I’d say you were a fucking liar.” With that you take the last sip of your martini and stand up wiping your mouth and you quirk an eyebrow at him.  

He tilts his head and you cock your head. “Are you gonna come?” That handsome smile slithers its way across his face as he stands and throws some cash on the table.

 He grabs your hand and in the sexiest voice you’ve ever heard says, “Oh, I plan to”.  

[black-arcana]

WITHIN TEMPTATION's SHARON DEN ADEL On New Music: 'We Really Have An Idea What We Wanna Do Next'

In a new interview with the "Everblack" podcast, WITHIN TEMPTATION frontwoman Sharon Den Adel was asked if she and her bandmates have commenced work on material for the follow-up to 2023's "Bleed Out" album. She responded (as transcribed by BLABBERMOUTH.NET): "Well, we, we are trying to make… That's also so funny because I was talking to Robert [Westerholt, WITHIN TEMPTATION guitarist and Sharon's husband]. He's, like, 'Yeah, we're gonna take our time this time — maybe two years, maybe a little bit longer — just to make the perfect album.' And then we started writing. 'Oh my God, it's going really well. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Maybe we should release it very soon.' It's, like, I'm going from left to right.

"I don't know. I can't say it anymore because I don't wanna disappoint anyone," she continued. "We're just gonna see where it ends. But it goes really well. And we really have an idea what we wanna do next."

Sharon also touched upon WITHIN TEMPTATION's constant musical evolution, saying: "The fire hasn't died, so, yes, we do try to continue and develop. But I think that's what's always been inspirational to us — not to do the same thing over and over and make that even better, but it's more, like, to finalize that or something, but more like trying new things. I think that's what makes our blood stream, makes it boil, and we can't wait to do the next thing. But I also admire people who can make their style a certain art and make it perfect or somehow. But it's for us anyway. We always wanna do something new again."

In December 2023, Den Adel was asked by Mexico's Summa Inferno why it was important for her and her bandmates to voice their political views in some of their recently released songs, including "Wireless" and the title track of their latest album "Bleed Out", which have highlighted such current topics as the war in Ukraine and the suspicious death of Mahsa Amini, an Iranian woman "detained" for not wearing a hijab. She said: "We are musicians. And what do musicians do? They're storytellers, in my opinion. At least that's how I see myself, as a storyteller.

"Back in the day when there were castles, hundreds of years ago, when the musicians were traveling from country to country, what they did is bring the news from one country to another country," she explained. "If there was a war far down South, then half year later, people would know up North because then the musicians came and they make music, telling the stories of what's happening in the world. And I think that essence of being a musician, I think that's important. I think the essence of keeping certain subjects alive in a different way than in the past, of course, but now more like the news goes so fast in our time, because we have Internet and everything, we know what's happening in every country, more or less. And the thing is it becomes old news very fast. But certain things you need to keep addressing and talking about, like what's happening in Iran, for instance, but also the war in the Ukraine, and of course now that what's happening in Gaza and in Israel. Those topics are important to talk about.

"For us, we've written songs about certain of these topics, like Ukraine and Iran," Sharon added. "We did write something about that. We were inspired by that. So that's why we're talking about it in our interviews. And because it becomes old news very quickly here in Europe. I don't know how it's in your country, but nobody talks that much anymore about the Ukraine or what's happening in Iran. Not at all, because it's not in the news anymore. Ukraine is, because we are, of course, supporting them, but in different ways from a European point of view. But Iran, it's already very much old news since Mahsa Amini died because she resisted the morality police and died in a horrible way after being beaten to death, just because she wore her clothes in an incorrect way, to them. And it's very important to talk about these topics because otherwise it becomes old news and their fight is still going on. And that's in many subjects. We could have written about so many things in the world, even about South America where certain things are happening. But these were the things that inspired us when we were in the studio. At that moment, the war broke out in Ukraine. At that moment, Mahsa Amini had just died and we watched the news, and before we knew it, it was integrated in our music. But it could have been also other topics that are just as much needed to be talked about, of course. But these were the things that were happening in the moment when we were writing music."

Asked if she is afraid of the backlash and criticism she and the rest of WITHIN TEMPTATION might receive for publicly voicing their political views, Sharon said: "Well, I believe in democracy. And I think also we have a voice, and I believe in debating. What I hope to do with this — we're not lashing out or criticizing anything. It's more like we try to keep the subject alive because just by talking about it, we can bring other people to new ideas or get a little bit deeper into the subject or start being interested in the subject and thinking about what is the right thing to do. What kind of world do we wanna live in? I think that's a good question. So I'm not afraid of feeling attacked because of the fact that we take a certain point of view because I think… Well, I think it's, that's the thing of democracy. We can all be a voice and we can all contribute to the debate on what kind of world do you wanna live in and what do you accept from each other and what don't we accept from each other. There should be a certain pressure from other countries trying to help certain people in need. And I think it's most important that we support those who are in oppression, who are oppressed, and to let them know there's people thinking about them and supporting them."

[strawberryya]

how to befriend a vampire

Yeosang x reader

synopsis: what could be better when you’re bored of life in every way than a hot vampire fuck buddy?

word count: 2k

genre/contains: smut, vampire au, vampire!yeosang, gn!reader, strangers to lovers/fwb, unprotected sex, general tw for vampirism and being bitten (the word blood is not used but heavily implied), stalker-ish behavior from both individuals, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms

rating: 18+

a/n: first arousal august fic is here! I hope everyone likes it and looks forward to the next little blurb I have ready and waiting in the drafts :>

my arousal august masterlist

original event for arousal august

[navigation post!]

Summer was over and new classes were about to begin. Returning to your normal routine wasn’t too hard, you had done it before. Your friends were the same, your dorm was the same, although your roommates were new, and the classes all felt as usual. Nothing special was happening at all. Of course, it would’ve been nice if something were to happen, anything really. Just something that would make life this year a bit different than last year. Maybe you should drop a class and pick up something that has nothing to do with your goal, perhaps cults would be fun to study for a term or two? 

Nothing was wrong, it was just so very…boring. 

“A back-to-class party?” Not a terrible idea, you reasoned when your new roommates asked if you wanted to come along to the park that first weekend back at campus. 

It could be horrible, but at least it would mean that something would happen other than studying or watching movies with your new, and so far reasonable, roommates. It had been a while since you had been with anyone too. Maybe this party was the perfect opportunity to find someone a bit attractive to hook up with. The one from last year had ended up getting into a relationship during the summer - rather annoying, because he really wasn’t that bad in bed. 

You needed orgasms to get through the school year, and so you went to the party. Dressed up from head to toe, in clothes that hugged your ass and glitter in your hair, hoping that the outfit would be enough to gain someone’s attention. 

Your mission was… sort of successful. It did attract tons of people, some really attractive people, and some incredibly sleazy and creepy people.

You regretted coming after about two hours of nonstop socializing with other students which led absolutely nowhere. Nobody grabbed your attention, everyone fit perfectly into the little presaved folders in your head. It was so predictable, so incredibly boring. 

“Should we just give up?” You shouted to one of your new roommates. At least, you found some hope in the fact that neither one of them had ended up finding someone interesting among the large crowd that flew past one another like ants in the campus park. You weren’t completely alone in yur failure. 

“I’m ready to go, honestly,” one of your roommates agreed, while the other one had already disappeared in the crowd without acknowledging your question. 

You grabbed ahold of one another. Neither of you sober enough to be able to navigate your way home without losing one another in the night. With arms folded together, in a way only possible for two almost strangers when drunk, you two trudged away from the party and the loud bass that made your head pound. 

“I wanted to fuck someone tonight,” you groaned and fake sobbed into the chilly night air, your roommate only laughing at your unapologetic whining. “I’m not kidding, I don’t care who it is. I just really wanna be obsessed with someone! I wanna be in love! I don’t care if it’s actually love or just really great sex.”

It seemed a bit silly to say out loud, but it was the truth. You probably wouldnt have been so honest with your roommate this soon had you been sober tonight. Nevertheless, the truth was that you just wanted someone to think about, someone to crush on, someone to sleep with when the days became too boring to handle by yourself. 

You were wobbling down the cobbled streets on your way back to the dorm. Your arm was still entangled with your roommates, thoughts having moved on from your honest feelings and instead focusing on whether or not it would be possible to order fries to your dorms. 

When he bumped into your arm, or more correctly, when you stumbled into his arm as he passed, you almost fell over. Enraged at the audacity of this random guy to walk right into you, you turned back around, prepared to yell at him with all your might. But when you began shouting a loud “Hey!”, your anger soon ebbed out as the stranger turned around, revealing his perfect face in the yellow light from the streetlight above. His features were striking even in the dark. His eyes were piercing. His hair was dark and pushed back from his forehead in a light wave. Beside one of his eyes, you noticed a blushy pink birthmark, almost matching the pretty red shade of his lips. His lips… were a lot redder than any lips you had seen on a random guy before. Was he wearing lipstick? 

You had forgotten why you had yelled out to the stranger. His gorgeously handsome face distracted you completely. 

“Y/n, let’s gooo,” your roommate whined, pulling at your arm, evidently not enraptured by the pretty stranger you had bumbled into. How was that possible? You had never seen him before, never known he existed, and you were already obsessed with him. His name, his interests, his favorite place to kiss his lover, you needed to know it all. You needed to befriend him. 

The night was mostly a blur the following day, everything except for the stranger.

For some reason, his face never left your mind. For two weeks you searched every room for him, scanned the streets as you walked down them, and took walks on the campus every shot you got. 

You never found him. He could’ve been an illusion, but you knew deep down that he wasn’t. At least looking for the mystery man in the night had given you something to think about, someone to obsess over, even if you didn’t even know his name. 

It took yet two more weeks and another walk to the convenience store to finally find that one necessary piece of information. You didn’t understand how it had taken this long to find him, it wasn’t like he was hiding. He was walking around in the park, just like the last time you had bumped into him. Dark hair falling onto the sides of his head, a long coat half open to reveal a simple black polo and jeans, almost exactly like last time. You took it all in, stopping mid-step as to not loose sight of him, the plastic bag you had bought filled with snacks and drinks for the late-night studying you had planned on doing was rustling in the wind. He had seen you too. 

He wasn’t moving either, maybe he thought you were a weirdo for simply staring at him in the dark park. 

You drew in a breath. “Hey you! What’s your name?!” You shouted across the grass. If you were going to be a weirdo, you would do it properly. 

He didn’t shout back. Far away someone shouted in the night. You looked towards the sound for half a second out of reflex, and when you looked back the stranger was gone. 

Again?? You thought and damned the universe for teasing you like this. 

“Yeosang.” 

The voice was deep and it sent chills down your back. It made you quickly turn around, finding the stranger right behind you now. He was even hotter this close. 

“Yeosang…” you whispered under your breath. He was rather tall. He gave you a small smile, white teeth flashing cold in the moonlight. Unusually pointy. “I’m y/n…”

His smile got wider. “I know”

Your mind blanked, but you needed to say something. “Let’s be friends!” You hurried to say before he could have a chance to mysteriously disappear again. His smile dropped, eyes looking at you surprised and slightly suspicious. Understandable. 

“Sure,” he said after a moment of only the wind in your ears, a smirk appearing on his face. “If a friend is all you want, I can grant you that.” 

“It’s not,” you said honestly and quickly. His smirk grew. “I want a lot more, but I only found out your name ten seconds ago. Thought I’d give you a chance to get to know me before I tried getting you into bed with me.” 

You felt feverish, the embarrassing reality of what you were telling this stranger hitting you hard.

“I know enough,” he said before his hand found the side of your face and his lips leaned in to meet yours. He tasted like aluminum for a split second but the way you could feel his toned body against yours where your coats fell open distracted you and you soon forgot about the unusual taste. 

A swishing sound made you open your eyes again, the cold from the night air in the campus park seemingly gone and replaced with much warmer air. You were inside, you were inside your own bedroom. You didn’t know how it had happened, you didn’t really know what had happened, and you didn’t know why you didn’t even care. The stranger in the night was named Yeosang, and he was kissing down your neck in your bedroom, pulling your coat off your body, and throwing it into the corner of the room. He was no ordinary person, that you had already caught onto. 

“Can I bite you?” He mumbled against your skin. 

His hands were caressing your body and your mind was buzzing with desire, but the desire didn’t clog your mind yet. You were clearminded and saying “Yes” before you could stop and think about what a bad decision it might be to agree. 

Small pecks now your throat made arousal pool in your lower abdomen. “Bite me as you fuck me,” you whispered. This made Yeosang smile against your skin, moving up to kiss you passionately once again as he pulled his own clothes off along with yours. Pushing you down on the bed as his hard cock pushed against your thigh. It would be tight, but you needed him to use you and stretch you out enough to make life interesting again. 

That, he did. Nothing was mundane or boring about his hands on your body or his tongue on your chest. He was surprisingly gentle as he began filling your hole with his erect cock, but his pace grew feral as he continued pounding into you. You were moaning and clawing at his sculpted body when he hit the right spot inside of you. When his lips let go of you, you looked at him gazing down at your bare neck, he wanted to bite you for real, it was clear he meant it, and you wanted him to as well. You shifted your neck, inviting him to do what he wished. “You look delicious,” he mumbled before he threw himself onto your neck, piercing the skin ever so slightly. You barely even felt it, but the way he suckled on your skin after the small sting felt like he was trying to mark your skin, sending goosebumps down your body when he continued licking and humming against your neck. 

You came as he pounded into you, his hands working their magic while getting to know your body. He didn’t stop until you came for a second time, whining at the overstimulation. 

He cared for your neck and cleaned you up, his movements swift and gentle as he handled you. He caressed your skin with great care, careful not to be too rough. A world’s difference from the way he had fucked you a moment ago. He didn’t force any small talk, a nice change from most other guys you had been with. He had gotten dressed and given you some of your own pajamas to put on before he was ready to leave. 

He couldn’t leave just like this, you collected all the courage you had left and began with an unsure voice. “We’re friends now, right? So you’re welcome here anytime, we could do this again…” 

“We’re friends, yeah.” He smirked and looked at you as you pulled your shirt over your head. “I’ll be here if you need me, or if you’re just… bored.” The last word he said was paired with a small wink. You chuckled nervously, he had known all along. Could he read your mind as well? Maybe you could find out next time. 

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

[navigation post!]

[thevioletcaptain]

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.