#agh communication is hard

[skylordhorus]

dubcon seems like one of those words that’s kinda useless in its vagueness because for me, since i would not even consider it erotica if all parties arent enjoying it, i would consider applying it to something where there isnt like, narrative space to establish verbal/written consent just in case that bothers other people; enthusiastic participation from involved parties therefore displays the consent because i know these characters and i know they would verbally establish consent in like, some hypothetical pre-narrative liminal space

but for other people dubcon in fiction means coercion or prolonged uncertainty and/or a general lack of YES! in any form, and i would nope that hell out of that because why on earth would i want to read something where characters arent all enjoying themselves and wouldnt enthusiastically consent if given the narrative opportunity????

but that seems to be the stuff commonly given as examples of dubcon and for that reason i avoid most stuff tagged with it so am i using it wrong?? am i overthinking it and most people would be able to clearly read the subtextual consent in the way i thought it should be used?

[trashworldblog]

casually talked about my disability with my professor and casually tried not to cry talking about the struggles of this semester

[sysig]

Starting out, things going Exactly to plan, as expected (Patreon)

[ssunspotted]

❌ Would you ever hold someone against their will?

Of course not!! What purpose would there be in that? Freedom is the most important thing.

[trollbreak]

Hmmmm full of Thinkin bout sweets sillies this weekend <3

[halfblackwolfdemon]

I'm screaming, this is so cute! Aaaaah

Jason's roommate is strange.

dp x dc promp

Jason Todd rented a small apartment, he has a roommate in it. This dude pays half a rent. But Jason almost never fucking sees him.

Danny is working strange shifts, was the explanation.

And one day Jason comes home and Danny sleeps at the kitchen table. Or at least Jason thought he was sleeping, but he was dead.

Then while Jason checked what could have happened, Danny opens his eyes says good day and walks away.

That happens around three times, and Danny at some point just started walking through the walls, since Jason knew something was off anyway, so no need for hiding his powers.

So Jason's roommate is Strange.

But Danny would say the exact same thing about his roommate. This Jason dude was really strange.

[ursuu-la]

Just in time. - S. Reid.

summary: Where Spencer was at the right place and time.

wc: 1.9k

tw: mentions of suicid3, suicid3 att3mpt, not feeling enough, driving at full speed(?).

a/n: this is not exactly romantic, but I felt the need to post something angsty and this was the first thing that came to my mind. I hope that you enjoy it, but that you don't identify with the feelings :( if so, my inbox is open♡

Also, requests are open!! I think I'll write about Hotch too, just so yk

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"See you guys tomorrow!" Spencer waved goodbye and walked out the door. You smiled before he left and turned your attention back to your stuff.

You were organazing all the things on your desk, at the same time you kept on your bag the ones you always took home: your phone, your keys, and some paperwork that you didn't want to finish in the office. It was almost 9p.m. and there were now only three members of the team left in the office: Morgan, JJ and you.

Once you finished clearing your desk and had everything you needed inside your bag, you walked past JJ and Derek, greeting them both goodbye. You spoke a little with both of them, making sure that the case hadn't affected them so much. You cared about your friends, and wanted to be there for them if they needed someone to vent to. Both of them told you that they felt as usual, which conformed you.

"And you? How are you doing, (y/n)?" JJ asked when you finished checking up on her.

"Fine, I guess." You spoke and smiled to her. Your friend just returned the gesture, wished you goodnight, and then dragged her attention back to the paperwork.

You walked out of the office and, for a second, you kept the smile on your face, but then it slowly started to fade as you walked towards your car.

Even though you had just told JJ that you were feeling fine, the truth was that the last couple of months had been rough on you. The explanation was hard to find, but during this time, you were feeling... just bad about yourself. No matter how many people you saved or how many cases you solved with the team, whenever you got back home, you couldn't help but feel that you hadn't done enough.

The feeling started growing bigger and bigger as the months passed by. You had tried to speak about it with the rest of the team: but something was stopping you. It was frustrating because you didn't usually have any trouble communicating your emotions, and the fact that no one noticed you were struggling made you feel even worse.

Now you were driving back home, no music playing, only your thoughts filling your head. You remembered every part of the case, and as you replayed it in your head over and over, you found new ways in which you could have been more helpful.

"Agh... I hate this..." Your voice sounded frustrated. What was the point of keep going to cases if every single time you felt the same afterward? What was the point of having people around you if you couldn't open up to them and vent your feelings? What was the point of it all?

Suddenly, you felt one tear falling down your cheek. You wiped it off. It brought you back to reality. You were driving, and since it was late, there was no one on the street. Your hands started to shake as the thought appeared in your head.

The whole street was empty, your car would be the only one damaged. You would be the only person hurt, the only mortal victim. Your hands were still shaking, anxiousness creeping inside you as you tried to think of a reason why that was stupid.

But nothing came to your mind.

Nothing was stopping you.

Not even red lights.

Now there was more than one tear falling down your cheek, and you were wiping none of those off your face: you were letting them fall. Your foot pressed the gas with all of its strength, you could hear the engine getting louder each second.

Your heart rate accelerated, your eyes were blurring because of the tears, and you could feel how every part of your body shook. You were about to turn aside your car, knowing that at that speed there was no way of getting out of there intact, but you heard a noise: it was another car.

You stopped the car as fast as you could because your vision had suddenly been cleared, and you noticed that a car was in front of you waiting on a red light. That same car had made the noise. Scared of not stopping at the right time, you turned sharply the steering wheel, causing you to end up in another lane.

When your car was still, you took your hands off the steering wheel and placed them in your head. Just in that moment, you noticed what you were about to do, which made you burst into tears.

"What the hell was I think- AAH!" You yelled out of fear when you heard a knock on the car window. You rolled it down, ready to yell at whoever was standing there. But when you saw the person, your words got stuck in your throat.

"(y/n)?" His voice was like a slap across your face. You felt like you couldn't move. "Hey, are you okay?" He placed one hand on your shoulder, taking you out of the state you had gotten into.

"Spencer..." Was the only thing you were able to say. "Did you...?"

"Yes. I mean- I saw a car coming at full speed behind me, and I tried not to get killed. But... Are you... Are you okay? What were you doing driving like that?" Spencer questioned, yet he didn't have an accusing tone. It was a worried and concerned one.

"I was..." You couldn't speak. How were you supposed to tell him that you almost committed suicide and that almost got him into a car crash? 'Hey Spence, guess what? I wanted to kill myself and almost took you with me, haha!' There was no easy way to say it nor a way to disguise it as something else.

You looked up at Spencer, his gaze met yours. His face was scanning every inch of yours, looking for an answer. When you saw him properly, you felt like you didn't need to speak: you felt like you needed a hug.

"Step back, I'll open the door." You spoke, Spencer took a few steps back and looked confused at your every action. When you walked out of the car and suddenly hugged him, his face turned surprised.

"I don't know what to..." His voice was low. He was hugging you back, perceiving that you needed it. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

You nodded with gratefulness, appreciating Spencer's words. The two of you remained silent for a while after you let go of the hug until you dared to speak about the situation. Both of your cars were parked on the side of the street, and you were sitting on the sidewalk.

"Spencer, I was... trying to end it all, I just wanted to..." He lifted up his gaze to meet your face, but you were looking down at the floor. Not sure if you wanted to make eye contact while confessing the situation.

"Where you about to...?" Reid couldn't finish the question, he averted what you were about to say, he just didn't want to believe that it was true. You were one of the happiest people Reid knew, and thinking that behind that bubbly personality he knew, hid an amount of pain that made you think of suicide as a solution, made his heart sank.

"Yes. I... I don't know what I was thinking... I just reached the edge, and everything feels like too much." Now you dared to look into his eyes, concern filled his face. Seeing Reid like that made you feel worse because you felt like you were only bothering him. "Oh, dear lord. Now I'm just taking away your time. Maybe I'll just need to sleep this off..." You started speaking as you tried to get on your feet, but Spencer stopped you.

"Wait. Don't try to escape the problem." He spoke as he gestured you to sit comfortably again. "I'll be here until the sun comes up if it's necessary. I care about you (y/n), and what just happened is not something to take lightly."

Spencer's words were simple, but they were the right ones; as soon as you heard him, you started crying. Reid tried to hide it, but seeing you like that made him want to hug you as tight as possible and never let you go. How could someone so good be suffering this much? He thought you didn't deserve to feel that way.

"I just don't know what's happening to me... I don't usually feel like this, but these last months have been from bad to worse."

"And we didn't notice?" His voice was loaded with guilt. He was a profiler, and he couldn't have been able to notice your mood or signals. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)."

"It's fine. I jus-"

"No, it's not. We should have noticed, I should have noticed you were struggling. Because what would have happened tonight if I wasn't there with my car?" Reid's voice cracked at the end of the sentence, you could swear that you saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

"But you were there. You saved me." You spoke as you rested a reassuring hand on his arm. Spencer chuckled and shook his head. "What is it?"

"I'm the one that's supposed to be reassuring you. Not the other way around." You couldn't help to smile, which had the same reaction on Reid. "You're always putting others first and yourself last... You're too good for this world."

"I'm not that good. I can always do better on cases, and I barely help to resolve anything." The words that had been repeating inside your head for the last couple of months were spoken for the first time. Spencer looked at you, his face getting sadder than it already was.

"Stop putting yourself down. You're literally the best human being I know." He spoke with a sad smile on his face. "I truly can't understand where you got those awful ideas about you."

You didn't speak. Every word that came out of Spencer's mouth made you feel worse for even trying to do what you tried to. For the third time that night, you were crying, but this time, a hand was caressing your face. You looked at Spencer, who had started to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

"I just... Don't understand myself... I feel like everything I do has a negative effect on people. I need to take a break... from everything..."

"I get it. Maybe it would be better if you just take some time off work. Take some time to care about yourself, treat yourself with some love, and maybe that will help you to heal whatever has triggered these emotions." Spencer took his hand away from your cheek. "Furthermore, I could help you to find any kind of professional help to overcome this. There are plenty of ways in which I can help you, just say the word."

"Thank you, Spence." You spoke with a soft voice, he only nodded lightly.

"I didn't do anything, really. I just happened to be there." He was trying to be modest, but you were way too grateful to let him be like that.

"Spencer, you saved my life. Take a little credit for that." You chuckled, and Reid's face lighted up: seeing you at least a fraction as happy as you were before made him feel better.

Reid wanted to tell you how happy he was for being there at the right moment. He wanted to tell you how important you were to him and how he would have been devastated with your loss. But now was not the time: he knew you needed to think about yourself, and once you felt better, maybe then he would dare to confess his feelings to you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[teaableu]

Pssst...

Last one I promise I swear- *sweats*

OH my god

YES YOU GET IT this is exactly what rotates in my brain for these two AGH

I am having a hard time communicating how perfect this is but believe me this is wonderful I love it so much and their expressions are PERFECT. I hold this gently thank you so much

I made a joke a while ago that One's got the "I'm the villain and I always will be" (emo) complex while Two has the "I'm the villain and I always will be" (sparkles) complex but when it comes to the deepest most vulnerable layers of the twins as brothers in constant competition with one another and Two's role in his family it's more like a bitter reality moment with the exact tone that you portrayed here. One internalizes being a villain as a necessary fate he can't escape, so he really leans into it (you want me to be the bad guy? Fine, I'll be the bad guy), but Two just accepts it as who he is and he's fine with that (very slight distinction but one that I think of so much). Two doing exactly what he (thinks he) has to even if One resents him for it, "Guess that makes me evil"-- AGH sorry I am emotional

Two looks so tired and upset I'm holding him gently. The way One tries to hurt Two but Two just spits it back in his face.. gah, it's so them

[dadsbongos]

sockpuppet

act 1 - the day your life changed / act 2 (coming soon!) / act 3 (coming soon!)

7.5 k words / warnings - reader written as the eldest daughter of toji fushiguro

summary - before meeting his wife, toji had a firstborn; and if you thought he was a messy parent with megumi you're gonna hate being that first kid with all the responsibility.

~~~

Scene 1 - summer 2006

Shoko was yawning into a ceramic mug with ewes playing in watercolor daisies on the front. An unlit cigarette dangling between her fingers. One of her eyes fluttered shut as rising sunlight sliced over her face from the kitchen window. Trees swayed behind the glass pane.

In your hand was a beaten up flip-phone, and three hours away by plane Satoru Gojo also holds a flip-phone (much shinier and newer than yours, though).

“I’m serious, you’re too cocky. Even Sho’ thinks so.”

She moans, not quite sure what she’s agreeing to but too smitten with the taste of bitter black coffee to ask.

“Pfft,” Satoru drags the hissing sound before curtly replying, “Whatever.”

“You’ll get yourself and poor Suguru in serious trouble, you know? Sugu’s a sweetheart, don’t drag him down with your bad attitude.”

“Blegh! Stop whining about Suguru, he’ll be fine.”

“I bet if Yaga knew you two were just goofing off in Okinawa for an extra day, he’d be pissed.”

“Well, don’t tell him! Besides, Suguru and I are always acing missions. We’re the strongest, or did you forget?”

“I’m just saying...”

“And I’m just saying: don’t worry about us. We always come back in one piece.”

You sigh. Earning one from Satoru.

“How about this?” uh oh, you can hear the smile on his overconfident face, “If Suguru and I don’t mess up this mission -- you have to go on a date with me!”

That pulls an eye roll out of you instantly, “And when you do mess it up?���

An audible snort before, “Then, I have to go on a date with you.”

Your laugh is boisterous. A rude “ha!” breaking into Satoru’s ears, but he didn’t mind, he assumes the grin on your face is good-natured anyway, “Very funny, Satoru. I gotta go. Don’t get Sugu’ killed, okay?”

“Agh, stop worrying about him!”

With a harsh dig of your thumb, the line cuts -- an unimpressed glower leveling your face to which Shoko merely shrugs in response. Messy bob detangling between pale, lithe fingers as she strokes her bedhead. Cracked lips stretch around yet another ragged yawn from the girl.

“Jeez, Sho’, did you not sleep at all?”

Again, she shrugs.

“Can’t be as bad as Satoru,” you mumble, jerking open the communal fridge to peer at your friends’ boxed leftovers, “He sounded terrible. Like he was sick or something. Can’t imagine how Suguru feels, either.”

Shoko’s snicker echoes into her rapidly hollowing mug.

“Shut up!”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snap, reaching toward the very back of the chilly box, “Just for that I’m snatching your noodles from last night!”

“I wasn’t gonna eat ‘em.”

Three hours away (by plane!), Satoru is drowsily thumbing the ridge of his silver cell. A faint upward impression left behind on his rosy lips. Suguru dozes off at his side, and Satoru doesn’t have the heart to rouse him -- after all, he can keep enough eyes on Riko by himself.

And closer to you than ever before, two men with dark hair sit in a car. Toji Fushiguro waits with closed eyes and a slouched back, though his brain is live and wired. Shiu Kong continuously mutters about how bothersome his cargo is, earnestly uncaring to the fact Toji can hear his every stilted word.

“Do you want to go out?” you hum around salty noodles, raising a brow. Shoko lays her cheek in her hand and continues, “I don’t feel like staying in all day. I’m pretty sure I could rope Haibara into carrying some bags if we went shopping.”

“Haibara would just be glad to get an invite,” despite the jab, you’re grinning fondly, “Yeah, I can swing a day trip today. Beats studying.”

“Studying for what, even?” Shoko shoots you a disbelieving glare, “Hard ass.”

“Huh?!”

“You heard me,” swinging back the rest of her coffee, Shoko clinks the ceramic mug to wood and blips out of the room with a muted call over her shoulder, “Getting Haibara now! Get dressed!”

“Ughhh,” you frown, looking down at your loose pyjama shorts with contempt. Strangely, the question of which clothes in your arsenal Satoru likes most pops into your head first.

When you remember you won’t see him again until this afternoon, your frown deepens with a huffier “ughhhh!” following. Quickly scarfing down more of your champion’s breakfast.

Once dressed, you set out with Shoko (a freshly lit cig now occupying her mouth), Yu and even a bleary-eyed, unenthused Kento being wrangled out the door by Yu.

“We’re gonna get Kento a nose ring!” Shoko barks, poking the blonde’s cheek.

“I’d rather not,” he grumbles.

As your quartet slithers out from under the torii gates, two parties grow closer.

Suguru stretches, hands above his tense head with an boorish groan. Riko has half a mind to roll her eyes. She eventually does when Satoru follows it up with a complaint, “I’m never playing babysitter again.”

“At least it’s over,” despite his lull, Suguru has a sick sense that it will not be over so soon. Whether it’s a sudden fondness for the girl or true intuition, Suguru is certain he’ll see Riko again.

Riko sops up a droplet of sweat with Misato’s handkerchief, eyes narrowing over Satoru just in time to catch the buttons of his shirt clattering across stone. Untailored undershirt tearing open. Hot crimson splatters out.

A startled scream is trapped in Riko’s jaw, Misato shoving the girl behind herself as Suguru lunges forward. Frayed brain scanning Satoru until the tow-headed boy jams an arm to bar the rest.

Satoru flashes gemstone teeth, tells the group to run along. He can handle a single man.

…

“Augh,” you kick frivolously at the coffee table, orange sun dressing the common space, “Typical Satoru and Suguru! Late as always!”

“I’m sure they have reasons,” Yu claps your shoulder in an attempt to placate your impatience.

“Yeah, starting with ‘Satoru’ and ending with ‘Gojo’...”

“That dink does like making Suguru late,” Shoko agrees, twiddling the pink lighter you gifted her months ago. Her name is bedazzled down either side with rhinestones.

Kento nods slowly, silently appraising the point with hands folded across his bloated abdomen. Yu offers him a slice of tiramisu he’d brought home, to which Kento wordlessly waves off. At the same time, Yu stretches the plate towards where you and Shoko curl together on a single recliner. You both decline, similarly stuffed.

“I don’t know how you’re still hungry, Yu,” you pout, “I’m about to melt into the chair, I can’t move.”

“His stomach’s basically a blackhole,” Shoko’s joke has no room to linger because her phone rattles against the center table as soon as it's out.

Eight eyes draw that way, observing. Disguising her confusion beneath several layers of cool, Shoko stretches around you to snatch up the buzzing device and flip it open and put it to her ear.

“What?” she opens boldly. Brows furrowed.

Cicadas croak outside. You blink at the brunette’s side profile and watch as the knot in her face tightens before unraveling completely -- entire face eerily lax regardless of her tone,

“What?”

She shoves your legs off her lap, making Yu sit up straight. Even Kento’s attention pinched.

“Sho’?” you call quietly.

“Okay,” she flagrantly ignores you, standing and dropping her lighter, “Yes, yes. Yes. I’m coming down.”

“Sho’!” she’s rushing out before you can finish questioning, “Sho’, what was that about?!”

“Those two,” Kento reasons, standing as you do. While you’re preparing to dart out after Shoko, Kento reaches for your arms and rubs soothing ovals into your bicep, “They must’ve gotten injured. Ieiri is the best there is for this thing, they’ll be fine.”

“But they’re- !”

Yu stiffles his own urge to question Kento in favor of pulling you into a hug. Rambling soft, shallow assurances into your ear as he squeezes.

They’re the strongest.

They’re separated.

Suguru under Shoko’s palm, and Satoru looming outside a political office.

“Are you for real?”

The corners of Satoru’s mouth almost begin aching his lips are split so wide. Thumb thunking into his sore temple, heart thumping so hard the red meat may be pushing through his ribs. Extremities somehow simultaneously hot and cold, nerves overwhelmed by righteous hatred. Gold rains over him, and murky shadow splays far ahead of him.

“I’m for real, real.”

Toji knows he should run. Yet remains static as the boy in front of him stretches open; Toji has a twist in his gut urging him far, far away.

But he is stubborn, so he lags.

Green eyes sear through the younger boy. Toji doesn’t know this Gojo brat personally, but he’s certain he hates the kid.

Cicadas mourn in the trees along the walkway, birds flap carelessly overhead. Leaves appear orange under the dying sunlight, and grass whistles lowly around them. Toji is barely sticky with sweat while Satoru is crusty with blackening blood. He almost wants to point that fact out while the teenager is running his mouth.

Toji’s attention is recaptured by swaying trees over Satoru’s shoulder -- a dazzling shade of green. The only flourishing shade not drowned by moldy orange.

Satoru’s breath hitches, “The reason you’re going to lose is because you didn’t chop my head off, and because you didn’t use that cursed tool when you stabbed me in the head!”

“Lose?” Toji cocks a brow, drawing his blade with a fresh drum of agitation, “Our fight is just getting started.”

“Oh? Is it? Yeah… Maybe so!”

.

.

.

Hours later, as the moon finally flutters above the skyline, you’re craned over Suguru’s sleepless body in the infirmary. He lies still with open eyes -skin peeling with jagged red lines and yellow-green bruises. If not for the even bob of his chest he could be mistaken for any of the frozen bodies in the morgue below.

“Suguru?”

Dark eyes flick your way. Empty. Vast. Swirling with only little black spots. His lips remain firmly in a line.

“What happened?”

He does not respond.

“Does your throat hurt? I can make you tea?”

He does not respond.

“Are you hungry? Or tired? Do you want me to go?”

He looks away.

Suddenly, he’s glaring down at the floor -- you follow his venomous gaze to find you’ve begun loudly tapping your foot on the linoleum.

“Sorry,” you swallow the bulb in your throat, forcing the nervous leg to halt, “Sorry, Suguru.”

He’s never looked at you with so much intensity. Nothing is written on his face, he’s excellently schooled his expression to a startling numbness, except for his eyes. Once -just days ago- there was broiling lava rock, burning and gooey at the edges with affection and now you only see hard stone. If you look into his eyes too long you might break your own heart.

“I’ll go, then… ?”

He does not respond.

You quietly, confusedly return to your dorm room, and Suguru stays in the infirmary.

.

.

.

Toji is incapable of getting out the biggest thing on his mind before collapsing into his own pooling blood.

But Satoru’s eyes are unbearably perceptive, so he’s already placing this Invisible Man’s face to an aged photograph at your bedside.

His first response is anger, the urge to call you and swear you out is overwhelming. That anger is seconds later eaten by pity and guilt -- he punches himself in the arm for even considering harassing you (the pain is nonexistent but at least he can say he punished himself)

He comes to your room that night.

Blood has cemented his torn undershirt to his body. Uniform jacket buttons ripped open and hanging by threads. And gone are his glasses, though he won’t look at you. Snowy lashes low and slickly clumped.

“Satoru…?”

He stumbles forward from your doorway, stops, and falls. You catch him.

His skin is warm and you can feel his breath against your neck. The meat of his cheek occupies your shoulder, arms wound around you tight. So tight you almost consider the chance he’s gone mad and is trying to squish air out of you like a toothpaste tube. You return the gesture when he refuses to loosen, clutching around his bent frame.

“Something happened,” you announce it as a whisper. Your first thought returns to that dreaded phone call, which races directly to Suguru. You squeeze him tighter. Nails digging out the scuffed back of his coat and you slicken him against your chest. Your next thought is that Riko girl he’d called you about and the side of your head falls into the junction of his exposed neck, “Satoru,” he tenses, “What happened?”

“I…” you can feel the sigh before you hear it. His breath against your neck. It’s Suguru, right? He’s just worried, right? But Suguru is okay, right? So why is he so shaken? His back is slumping and shaky knees collapse his whole weight upon you. Is it Riko? Tengen? His embrace squashes your ribs into paste. Suguru. Suguru. Suguru. The sound of relief never reaches your ears, “I killed him.”

Your name - your real name - falls from his lips and he burrows further into you. Hiding. Skittish.

Tengen?

“Tengen?” besides the fact you know he’s alive, Suguru would have to do something truly heinous for Satoru to lay a callous glance his way, “What happened to Amanai?”

He shakes his head, and you feel something. Warm. Wet. Water slips below the collar of your nightshirt as fast as it trickles down Satoru’s cheeks. You smell iron the longer he clings to you.

“I killed him.”

You feel the blunts of his nails sink into your skin. He whispers again and suddenly you feel cold. So cold you cannot help but shiver.

When all the manic grins fell and Satoru could think, Toji’s eased expression became familiar. Gentle frown and unstressed skin beckoning his memory back to a picture yellow with age and dog-eared at every corner. The picture he stares at now, on your nightstand and tucked under your lamp so it doesn’t magically float off.

You don’t feel that tightness in your throat that you think you should. Although you don’t feel relieved either.

You nod and pull Satoru closer. A bland “okay.” all you can spit out.

He inhales, stuttering in the base of his throat. His eyes crinkle shut and that unsmiling, unbothered face in yellowing vinyl is hidden from view, “Okay.”

You nod again, “Okay.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s told you a lie.

Strangely, it still feels like tomorrow you will wake up and everything will be the same. Tomorrow some man you don’t quite know will be off slinking through the shadows of Tokyo, finding his next woman to freeload off. Tomorrow, he will groan himself awake and maybe he will think about you, or maybe he won’t. And he will go see Shiu. And he will be detached from every person he meets. And he will hold things loosely. And he will intimidate men in the street. Except now, he’ll do none of those things.

Now, he’ll rot. Now, everything is different, but it feels the exact same.

No, Satoru is not a liar.

But no, you can’t figure how to take this as the truth.

“He had a boy,” you can feel the curves of his lips against your neck. The words moisten your skin, Satoru’s arms constrict you somehow tighter, “A little one. In a few years, he’ll be sold to the Zen’in clan.”

“What was your plan?” you turn, nose nudging his. Neither of you pulls away.

Baby blues pour into you, moonlight interrupting the color at every twitch in his gaze. Bright stare following you exactly, as if he could see through you so easily but chooses not to. Your imagination casts an opaque cerulean glow around his eyeballs. It’s as unsettling as it is captivating.

“I don’t think it’d be right,” and he’s not a liar, “I was going to take him.”

Slowly, you nod, “Okay.”

“Can I stay the night?” he murmurs, already expecting your four letter response.

You wake up that next morning to white hair feathered across your chest. You don’t know how to approach today after last night, so you settle for a casual facade. You don’t have to approach anything if there’s nothing odd or terrifying that needs approaching.

Shaking Satoru by the shoulder, you rub crust out of your eye corners with the other hand and hum softly, “Time to get up, Satoru,” when he fails to rise, you sit up and watch him roll limply off your chest to your mattress, “C’mon, Satoru. If I’m up, you’re up.”

As he continues to lay there, your frustration inspires you to simply pinch him in the face until he whines, “Whyyy?”

“Get up, Satoru!”

“Already…?” he grumbles. Wiggling his face deeper into your pillow.

“I’m not tired anymore.”

“But I am...”

You don’t bother with more words before swinging off your bed and tugging Satoru by his leg. Still in a trashed uniform, Satoru allows you to drag him out of your room and into the shared kitchen.

Shoko and Suguru are the sight to greet you. Shoko flicking her lighter solely to watch the flame as Suguru pushes breakfast in cyclones around the rim of his bowl. Suguru is in the tasteless white tee and black lounge pants from last night while Shoko, similarly, hasn’t changed out of the white tank top and green shorts she wore when the phone rang. A slight upturn of the lips creeps over Shoko, momentarily dropping the lighter to wave -- then tipping her head toward you in approval,

“Hey, you got him up early for once.”

Suguru blinks down at his untouched food.

Nobody acknowledges the lingering stench of blood that follows Satoru’s disgraced appearance.

Your hand falls from its clutch around Satoru’s elbow toward his hand, index finger looping through his own.

“Are you feeling better now, Sugu’?” you step forward, stopped instantly as his eyes cut along your body. A harsh line from your socked foot to your face, fresh and dark discoloration beneath his eyes: wide like a puppy about to be kicked, “Suguru?”

He swallows nothing but spit, you see the muscles in his jaw fasten before he nods curtly, “Fine. Tired.”

Satoru’s mouth hangs open, a retort imminent. Then silence. And more silence. Satoru’s mouth shuts.

With the tense air stifling, you square your shoulders and shake out an unevenly whispered, “Let’s go, Satoru.”

He nods, dragging his eyes off Suguru’s haggard frame, “Okay.”

Scene 2 - summer 2007

Suguru enters quietly. So quietly you’re startled with the realization he’s willingly come into the same room as you.

Too preoccupied looming over the steel examination table to notice his intrusion, you stare into the drenched sheet below. Cold nipping your fingers, and head hung low. Blood dries on pale cheeks. Faint rot infesting your nose. Kento is slouched into a chair behind you with a towel over his eyes.

When the blonde grunts softly in acknowledgment, you finally spot Suguru. Wilted against the doorway, gaunt face angled just out of sight, his hands are shaking at his sides.

“We weren’t…” you sniff, the scent of meat filling your lungs, “I wasn’t fast enough.”

Kento shakes his head, “That was a local deity… that was a first grade case!”

“You couldn’t take it?” Suguru’s voice makes your shoulders jump, it takes a moment before you register he’s speaking to you.

“No.”

He doesn’t seem surprised.

You want to grab Yu’s hand, but you’re scared it’ll be as cold as the metal. You want to grab Suguru’s hand, but you’re certain he’ll pull away.

“You’re a first grade sorcerer now, you should’ve been more help, right?” Suguru pierces you with his stare, hard onyx needles lingering beneath thick, low lashes. He isn’t smiling and he isn’t frowning and you can’t possibly read the way he’s speaking, “Or maybe they just did that promotion for show. You’re very strong. It shouldn’t have mattered: if you were stronger, then Yu wouldn’t have died at all.”

You prefer his resounding silence.

“You were assigned to oversee their mission anyway. Even though you can barely use cursed energy -- you don’t even have an inherited technique,” an unspoken ‘just like him’ dies on the tip of his tongue when you lash back.

“He almost killed you, you know?” you snap, tempted to slap your chilled palms over your mouth until you remember all those fucking silences. The table’s edge is as frozen to the touch as the flat surface, but you grip that for purchase anyway, “He almost killed you, and the first time -- he did kill Satoru. You’re not one to talk about being strong so people don’t die, Geto!”

“I wasn’t strong enough then,” Suguru leans closer, he smells like his bedroom. Stale citrus air freshener and sweat. His hair is matted with bangs all grown out. And no matter how much he sleeps, those eye bags haven’t lessened a wink, “Now, I could kill your monkey of a father.”

His lips are parted with heated pants and many more words to say as water boils into your eyes, heat sizzling your face until your lips quiver.

“Satoru took care of that already,” if you weren’t so hyperfocused on the way he’d react, you could’ve missed his flinch at that name, “I don’t know what I did to you, Geto.”

Suguru leans back, miniscule expression relaxing back into that terrible nothingness. He blinks, and you can nearly pinpoint the exact moment his eyes truly focus on you rather than whatever’s behind you. Your hunched back, your trembling hands on the table, your fraught expression, your cheeks stained with cold tear tracks.

He sighs, digging the heels of his palms into his swollen eyes, “I don’t know, either.”

“He didn’t even know if I was alive,” you murmur, “It’s not like we were actually family,” lie, “I don’t even notice he’s dead,” lie, “It doesn’t matter,” lie, “I don’t want you to be another thing he ruins in my life.”

True.

Suguru’s eyes are split impossibly now, as if something has dawned on him, “You’re right.”

“I know!” you whimper, flinging your hands to your face in an attempt to bat tears away, “I know I’m right!”

He beats you to it -- cupping your face in both of his larger, warmed hands. He steps closer and glides the soft pad of his thumb under your eyes while purring an apology.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, now fondly stroking your cheekbones, “He didn’t matter at all.”

Toji is one small spore in the world. One small thing growing invasively and infecting -leeching- every surrounding life: Riko and you and him and Satoru and you and his son and you and the people he’s killed and you and unknowing families and you and your mother and the boy’s mother and you and -God- he cannot bare thinking how many people that man ruined and abandoned. But, somehow, none of it matters at all simply because Toji is dead -beyond reconcile. Some day, another monkey may be allowed to fester just the same.

The heat of your body envelopes Suguru, arms twining around his waist and your cheek pressing into the swell of his chest. So intimate despite his cruelties. You hope to keep him together, to remind him that not all people are evil. Toji is one small spore of the world, and he’s been exterminated, so Suguru should look forward.

He does not, it’s just not what he’s best at.

Rather, Suguru is wondering how cruel of a person Toji was. To leave you and (apparently) your little brother and to take the life of an innocent high schooler. Over what? Jujutsu politics? Politics that had nothing to do with him in any case, politics started by monkeys trying to inspire a world they couldn’t possibly tame.

The evolution of Tengen, what a joke; for as much as Suguru’s beginning to lose faith in the wheel of sorcery, he understands more than those cultists could hope to.

The world would be better without this trouble. Without Toji and the people like him, permitted to grow and farm curses and create troubles that eat his friends alive.

“I’m sorry,” his body livens, though refuses to lift independently, one of his hands finds yours and entangles your fingers, “It wasn’t your fault,” he slackens against you, digging himself deeper into your hold, black tendrils tickling your face, “It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry.”

“I’m worried about you, Sugu’,” you whisper, “I think you should take a couple days and rest.”

More time to think might be the last thing he needs.

“I have a mission coming up. Some mysterious village deaths they need me to check out,” he sighs and straightens sluggishly, one hand still wound in yours against his chest. He turns away from the table completely, naturally you follow.

“After that, then,” you’re not usually so insistent, head falling against his shoulder, “I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

“Hm?” he yawns, “What would you know about that? You took a week off after Satoru and I were beaten.”

“I just didn’t wanna worry about you two while out on work,” you pinch his arm with your unrestricted hand, “I was very scared for the both of you, I’ll have you know.”

You expect a retort and are met with none, just the feeling of Suguru’s fingers tethering tighter around yours -- as if you were going to pull away.

“Alright,” he gives, nodding, “I’ll take a break after this mission.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Thank you.”

Haibara’s blood stains the white sheet behind you. Kento stares at the ceiling. Cold toned light bulbs fuzz with a faint, sickly green. A green that burns brighter the longer you hone on it.

Scene 3 - brother: one

“If I choose them, what happens to Tsumiki?” you’re unwilling to admit how jealous you are that your brother would consider the Zen’ins over you -- it’s too embarrassing. He looks down, “Will she be happy?”

Satoru opens his mouth, but you draw first, “Absolutely not.”

Megumi flinches, hands flying to the straps of his backpack, “Uh- !”

“The only thing guaranteed about you joining the Zen’in would be that she is miserable,” behind you, Satoru snorts at your coldness, “They’re no place for non-sorcerers. Or women. She doesn’t belong there.”

Megumi glares up at you, “Then I don’t have a choice.”

“Not really,” your eyes float to where the little brown-haired girl watches from their porch overhead, she’s so adorable you’re set in the thought that clan would maul her, “I’m your best option.”

When all Megumi does is continue scowling, Satoru claps his hands and cheers, “Okay! Now it’s on me to make all the hard parts actually work out!” he rustles Megumi’s hair, “Leave the rest to me!”

Megumi continues to give you that ugly little wrinkled face, and you’re not above giving one back.

A blessing. This son with no manners is a blessing?

This son that looks just like Toji. That has a permanent claim to his status. He has many blessings and it looks like grace is not one of them.

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Be packed,” a reply is hot on his tongue, and you interrupt, “As your technique developes, you’ll need to learn more about jujutsu; getting stronger and keeping up with the bigger kids is going to be your main goal, you know?”

“And Tsumiki?”

An abundance of sudden softness honeys the boy’s voice. His hands strangling his backpack straps and it reminds you of every morning you had to brave school by yourself. Megumi stands taller than you did. Maybe that’s the brown-haired girl’s doing. Maybe whatever preference Toji had for him has given the boy more confidence than a child should have.

It’s going to be grating. You can barely stand looking at him now.

You kneel at eye-level, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt like Mikoto would, “Tsumiki will be loved, and I will try to make her happy,” you smile, but it wavers so you try again, “And I will try to make you happy despite everything. We don’t know each other, but I’m still your older sister and it’s my responsibility to look after you. Both of you,” straining best you can to look maternal and sweet and all things Mikoto did. You’re sure you just look like you popped a hernia, though, “I promise.”

Slowly, he nods, grip on his straps loosening until his arms hang like dead weight on either side, “Okay. We’ll go.”

As if he had a choice.

With great grace and humility, however, you don’t say that aloud.

Instead nodding quickly and sighing quietly as you rise, “Sorry for my temper. I’ll work on that,” you roll your hands into fists, the reality of these two lives now fully burdening your shoulders, “I don’t know how to do this, but I’ll work on that, too.”

Just then, it dawns on you: Kid should know what happened to his daddy, right?

“Uhm, about our dad…” you have to duck Satoru out of sight, swallowing hard around the itty bitty three letter word like it’s actually hard to say.

Megumi cuts you off now, “I don’t care. Whatever happened to him isn’t something I’m worried about.”

Satoru laughs, shock numbing him to how rude the outburst is. He looks at you expecting a similar guffaw.

You look pissed. He clamps his jaw.

“You don’t care? You know he’s the reason you’re set up so nicely, right?”

“He left,” Megumi snarks, “Why do you care? Didn’t he leave you, too?”

“Brat!”

“You’re the brat!”

Satoru spins you by the shoulder and waves the two kids goodbye, pushing you ahead to avoid another ear-splitting shout, “We’ll see you tomorrow, then! Be packed ‘cuz you’re never seeing this dump again!”

Next morning, before the sky is waxing blue, you and Satoru are stuffing shoddy boxes and trash bags into some underpaid assistant manager’s trunk while Megumi and Tsumiki sit inside on nice leather seats. They babble to each other, occasionally earning a muffled reply from the driver.

“Just think, since he already hates the old man he’ll just be extra loving to you!” Satoru beams, “Once he actually warms up to you anyway.”

“Satoru- !”

“On it,” he pretends to zip his mouth shut. Briefly breaking the seal just to yawn.

Scene 4 - brother: two

Your body is twisted sideways at the table. Cold wall supporting your back and knees upward to cage Megumi in your lap. His knuckles are white from gripping the yellow crayon in his hand, he traces the characters you lined in pen. Eyebrows scrunched towards the middle of his forehead and the tip of his tongue peeks out from the corner of his lips.

Megumi unsurely lifts his crayon from the paper, covering his work with a fatty toddler arm as he re-examines what he’s done. Then, he proudly beams up at you with a single missing tooth -pudgy hands crinkling the paper he now jams in your face. Squiggly, messy work, you know, but it’s a lot better than yesterday’s practice looked.

“Very good,” you hold the paper into the light, grinning faintly at the impossibility of reading your brother’s tracing, “We should probably use a different color next time.”

“I like blue.”

Chuckling faintly, you cup Megumi to your chest and lean across the table to retrieve a blue crayon from the box, “Right, right. I should’ve just started with blue, huh?”

“Yeah…” he agrees passively, “That’s okay, though.”

“Oh, you forgive me?”

He shrugs, taking the blue and eagerly trying to scrawl his name by himself -- no pen to trace over, “Yeah. I forgive you.”

Satoru and Tsumiki giggle from Satoru’s kitchen where Tsumiki is showing him how she prefers to make sandwiches.

.

.

.

“I’ve never been to a theater before!” Tsumiki was excitedly bouncing at your side, jangling your arm in her hold, “Thank you, thank you!”

“Heyyy,” Satoru whined, “Who’s paying for the whole thing?”

He’s promptly ignored as your group takes a step toward the concession counter. You squeeze your sister’s hand, then your brother’s, “Two small popcorns. Four sodas, and…” your eyes drift off to Satoru, “Candy?”

“Yes, candy!” he eagerly taps the glass, though no fingerprints are smeared across the display -as if he’s not there at all. Rattling off various boxes and plastic wrappers that catch even a hair’s interest.

Megumi taps your thigh with his spare hand, furrowing his brows up at you, “Can I get caramel?”

“Hmm? Like what? Candy?”

He shakes his head, pointing over the counter toward the popcorn station. Three silvery handles beside the large popper -buttery, extra buttery, and caramel.

Tsumiki leans her face on your hip, eyes wide in exaggerated shock, “What, ‘gumi? I thought you hated sweets!”

Megumi shrugs and looks away, “Nevermind.”

“Stop being a brat,” you scoff, squeezing his tiny hand again, “Just admit you wanna try it.”

“We’ve had it before,” he murmurs.

“When?” Tsumiki tilts her head.

“Your mom made us some.”

She frowns, reaching up to twirl a lock of brown hair, “I don’t remember that…”

Megumi’s head hangs, he kicks at a peeling tuft of lobby carpet, “I liked it.”

“Can I try it, too?” Tsumiki grabs onto your arm with both hands now, bottom lip puffing out, “I don’t remember that popcorn at all, it sounds yummy -I wanna try it!”

“You hated it…” your brother grumbles.

“I don’t even remember it!” Tsumiki barks over your lap.

“No arguing, please?” you kick the pair apart, a sudden ache burdening your temple, “You can both get the caramel.”

“Not even my kids and I’m paying for them…” Satoru pouts at you. Long arms full of snacks you’re sure won’t survive the previews. He wanders toward a gray side table with straw and lid stands and napkins and trash spilling onto the floor. You follow with said kids at either side, they jump up and clammer for their little popcorn buckets. And Tsumiki is already quietly asking if she can have some of his gummies.

Satoru hands over the whole packet with a mournful sigh and you laugh; then taking two cups and handing them to the children.

“Get your sodas, and don’t spill!”

Tsumiki chirps, “yes, ma’am!” at the same time Megumi rolls his eyes, “duh”. They scramble towards the bulky fountain and whisper to each other about what either should get. Occasionally throwing curious glances over their shoulders, you wave and they wave back.

“Can’t believe this is the first time you’re letting me take you to a movie,” the man at your side huffs, “We can’t even do anything.”

“Shut up!” you smack his arm, face on fire with embarrassment, “We aren’t together -you can’t say those things, you know?!”

Satoru smiles, evidently proud of himself, before mimicking a zipper over his lips.

“Tsumiki mixed sodas…” Megumi crawls back, casting a judgmental glare at the girl, “I told her it’s gonna be gross…”

“It’s good!” she shoves her cup toward your face, “Try it! Cola and strawberry! It’s delicious!”

“I believe you, ‘miki,” you politely press her soda back down, “What’d you get, Megumi?”

“Water,” he answers blandly.

“Ick,” Satoru unzips his mouth.

“Nothing else sounded good.”

“No time to bully him,” you prod your siblings forward by their shoulders, “We gotta move before the actual movie starts, yeah?”

“Should I not have got water?” Megumi flings his head back to look up at you, trusting blindly that you’ll guide him straight.

“Did you want water?”

“Yeah…”

“Then you should’ve gotten water,” you wave off.

“Wet blanket,” Tsumiki teases, adding not even a second later, “Just kidding, ‘gumi.”

“I’m not,” Satoru ruffles the boy's hair, “Live a little, jeez!”

“I like water!” Megumi smacks the man’s hand away with a scathing scowl, “You’re not my dad anyway!”

“Damn, okay…”

“Sis,” a hesitant squeak snakes into your ears, followed by a shy tug on your jeans, Tsumiki shamefully holds her popcorn bucket in front of her crumby face, fingers shiny, “I don’t like the caramel…”

“I told her!” Megumi scoffs. Taking her bucket, “I’ll finish it.”

“You’ll give yourself a stomach ache,” you snatch the treat and cradle it against your chest, “Satoru will finish it.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m the family garbage disposal, huh?”

“Shut up.”

He drags that imaginary zipper back over his lips with a sure nod.

.

.

.

“Teachers had everyone make them!”

Two circular, gritty, white mounds sit in either of your hands. A small pink handprint dented into one and a slightly smaller blue one pressed much more messily into the other.

“What’s the holiday?” you mutter, mostly sarcastic. In your head you’re sure it was an art project to make the board look engaged in extracurriculars.

Megumi pointedly stares out the car window, navy backpack in his lap. His kicking legs don’t even skim the back of the driver’s seat so you choose not to chastise him. Tsumiki, however, proudly has both of her longer legs stiffly out and against the passenger’s seat… but nobody’s sitting there anyway so you won’t lecture her, either.

Tsumiki is also staring up at you, unlike her brother, and she giggles, “Mother’s day!”

The auxiliary in front throws a glance your way through the rear view.

“No shit?” you lay the handprints in your lap, cradling them there, “Uhm. Tsumiki, your mom- well. She’s… alive, yeah? Did you wanna send it out?”

The auxiliary clicks her tongue awkwardly.

Tsumiki blinks herself sober of whatever dewy excitement previously possessed her. She slumps back into the seat and throws her shoulders up indifferently.

On your other side, Megumi curses, “We didn’t make them for Tsumiki’s mom.”

Uneven marker scrawls of their names stain beneath their handprints. FUSHIGURO printed so obviously. You flip them over again and re-read the inscription on the flat sides: THANK YOU FOR TAKING CARE OF ME is on both of them. You flip them back around and are somehow once again jarred by how small each print is.

“Teacher said we didn’t have to make them,” Megumi still doesn’t look your way, “We could’ve skipped it and worked on homework.”

“But we didn’t want to,” Tsumiki twiddles her thumbs.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI FUSHIGURO TSUMIKI

Gently, you reach out and take one hand from each kid -- Megumi’s palm is stained like cornflowers while Tsumiki’s is the color of strawberries.

“We got to pick the colors,” Tsumiki’s voice returns chipper, “Do you like them?”

Megumi watches you through his peripherals.

You squeeze their hands and let go, holding the plates carefully on your thighs. It takes a moment to recollect your voice before you croak, “Yeah. I like them.”

“I wanted to write my own name but the teacher wouldn’t let me,” Megumi flops into your side and away from the window, drawing his index finger over his name.

“Boo,” you jeer, “Your teacher’s lame.”

“Mine let me write my name,” Tsumiki adds unhelpfully.

You shake your head sympathetically, “Your teacher’s extra lame, ‘gumi.”

“I know,” he grunts, annoyed.

.

.

.

“Gojo says I look like Dad,” Megumi has no recollection of what Toji looks like. You’ve hung no pictures and you don’t intend to. You have one piece of solid evidence that your father existed, and it’s too fragile to crack out for display.

“You do,” you say simply, watching the way his chubby cheeks puff up in a pout, “It’s not like that’s a bad thing. Just… a thing.”

“Just a thing?”

“Can’t change it,” you shrug and think back to how Mikoto would preen and coo over what little resemblance you shared with Toji, “Why be mad about it?”

“I don’t want to look like him,” he crosses his arms, still pouting stubbornly, “I don't want you to think I look like him.”

Because Dad hurt Mabu, didn’t he? That’s why she doesn’t live with Dad, like he and Tsumiki didn’t live with Dad. Why would Dad have Mabu just to leave her? And why would Dad have Megumi just to leave him? Does Mabu see Dad every time she looks down at Megumi? Megumi doesn’t like Dad -- not at all.

“You still look like your Mom,” you crouch down and scrub a hand through Megumi’s untamed hair. It flies up in ways that Toji’s didn’t -and it’s a handful of shades lighter, too, “‘m guessing, anyway. I never met her, you know? But you definitely don’t look like him as much as you’re thinking, Satoru just likes being mean.”

“You’re saying that…”

“No, seriously, Dad’s hair was all flat,” both your hands settle atop Megumi’s head, smoothing down his hair and watching your brother’s nose wrinkle when it’s laid against his ears. But even so, with the same aggressive fringes and strong bridge of his nose and big ears and pale skin, it’s only Megumi. Megumi, your sweet baby brother. He blinks up at you, awaiting your judgment, “You don’t look that much like him. Satoru’s being mean.”

“You promise?”

“Uh-huh,” you stand back up and snicker when his hair bounces back into place, if a little frizzy, “You’re nothing like him anyway. So don’t worry about it.”

“I wish I looked like you,” he blurts.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how would we know who your dad is, hm? I don’t look like that guy at all.”

“I don’t care if people know he’s my dad,” he donks his forehead into your knee, “I wish I looked like you!”

“You’re adorable,” you poke his puffed cheek, “Who knows? Maybe some day when you’re grown up, you’ll suddenly have my nose.”

“How would that work?”

“Dunno.”

“Ugh…”

Scene 5 - summer 2004

Three faces in front of you, plus one at your side. The sun blares between dusty window slats. Cicadas die outside and the overgrown grass sways to a calm breeze. Green ponds ripple beneath the wind, you think it's a shame you’re locked inside.

A foot taps anticipating your introduction, the girl -medical marvel Shoko- watches between glances out the broken blinds. She tatters a nail against her rickety desk but stops when she catches you staring, mouthing a lazy ‘sorry’ and resting her chin in her palm.

Similarly posed and less polite, the Gojo heir with snow white hair and a toxic radiation glow to his blue eyes. He’s sneering and you haven’t gotten to speak yet. His nose already pointed into the air.

Finally, the modest Geto, Suguru (the one with the bangs, is how you remembered he existed). Born from a normal family in a normal, slow, rural town outside of Tokyo. He introduced himself the most sanely -- stating his name and age and that he was excited to work with everyone. His smile is tight, no doubt a ruse to hide his annoyance at how long you’re taking to speak, but still he’s smiling.

Yaga clears his throat and encourages you on with a simple brow raise. No matter how desperately you begged he was insistent you engage in the few normalities of his schooling. Unfortunately your family was not well enough known as Satoru Gojo’s, where he simply stood from his chair and gave double peace signs with a ”yo~”.

Suguru was the only one unsure of who he was, meaning Yaga forced him to genuinely introduce himself while you and Shoko laughed. Now it's Satoru’s turn to laugh at you. May as well get it over with soon, then:

“Clan history’s a bit muddy, and I don’t like my name, so just call me Mabu while we’re here.”

Satoru’s whole nose crinkles with cringe, eyes slitting at you, “Blegh! Edgy.”

“Drop dead,” you scoff.

“Hey,” Suguru raises his hands as if he could manually divert the tense energy, “No need to fight, we’ve all just met.”

Attention sufficiently snagged, Shoko snickers to herself, vision drifting between you and Satoru, “Nah, this could be interesting. Kinda want to see where they take it.”

Holding Satoru’s glare for a few prolonged, dreadful seconds, you sigh and retreat from his unsettling, crystalline eyes, “Whatever. Not like I came here to get along with you all anyway.”

“Edgy!” Satoru accuses, louder this time, “It’s hurting just to listen to!”

“Drop dead!” you repeat yourself, fingers coiling into a fist.

“Well, I tried…” Suguru murmurs.

Yaga sighs, pinching away the stress behind his forehead, “Yes, thank you, Geto. Gojo, enough antagonizing. And Mabu,” flinching under his brutish tone, you slowly peek back toward your mentor, “You do sound terrible.”

“Whatever,” again, you repeat, but this time the words are caked with a childish pout.

Overly familiar, Shoko pulls you into the seat beside her by your uniform sleeve. Then gliding that same hand up your arm until it finds leverage on your shoulder, careening into your personal space with a lollipop stick hanging carelessly through the corner of her lips, “How about you drop the tough act? I think you ‘n’ me could really be friends.”

“...whatever…”

Satoru cackles in the seat on your other side, wriggling fingers teasing to tug at your shirt collar, “Yeah, we should be friends!”

Your mouth opens to revise your favored two-word catchphrase, until Yaga wittingly clears his throat, you flounder before shrugging, “As long as you learn when to shut up.”

The boy crosses an ‘X’ over his heart with a curt nod. You smother the sight of your grin behind a raised hand.

[stopthisshitplease]

What I would chance about the last season of The Umbrella Academy because the last season was a disgrace for the humanity and lost of all our hopes. (#1)

SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY

- Luther's jobs were in a bar for so long so it doesnt really made sense on why he was a pole dancer. I feel like after looking less hairy and buffy he would try to socialize more. Maybe hes that one barista who is overly talkative but so done with people. We could see some Karens absulutely wailing at him. And Sloaine. Shes with him. BECAUSE WHERE IS SHE???? But Luther begin a 'dancer' was really funny af sooo

- Diego wouldnt become a mailman thing. He was trying to be a police in the first season and tried to save Kennedy in the second. He would try to be a police again. Yk the Police Academy and all that. The CIA thing was good but if he cant get in the legal way he is getting in another way. You cannot stop him as he was a literal vigilante.

- Allison, Claire and Raymond lives together now! She wouldnt overwork herself, She is finally with her daughter and her husband now. She would work a small but stable job so she can provide and have time for her family. (Keep in mind that Raymond isnt from this timeline so hes still learning about the future) And yes Klaus does visit her time to time so he can babysit Claire, even thought its more like Claire babysitting Klaus.

- Klaus is eighter a psychiatrist or has a 9-5 job while is studying in community Collage. Eighter way he is helping drug addicts, homeless people, LGBT+ people, angsty teenagers in his own way. People know him as a friendly weirdo but they all like him! Hes not doing well financially tho. Güven that he doesnt have a stable job experiance.

-Five working in CIA doesnt make a lot of sense. For all the means he probably swore wouldnt work anything like that at all. He lives in the countryside now. And is a farmer! He tells the other people who lives close to him that he inherited the place by his dead father (haha) and the others learned the hard way to not pity him.. The boy maybe cant travel now but he is sure manically dangerous!

- Ben... Agh Ben. Not sure about him. He is obviously an asshole. But in the season he was more open. He was getting better. He doesnt have a lot relationship with the other siblings so I dont think he wants to hang out with them at all. But I dont think he would be a criminal (minus minor law breakings but who is counting?) Maybe he teaches martial arts? But a really competitive teacher and his students always go to home with bruises. He swears its a part of training. The parents are not amused. His yelp revievs sure is something!

- Victor wouldnt have a thing with every woman come on.. He loves Sissy too much for that. And his relationships never ended good. Him having his own place is nice but he strictly never dates. He adapted to the powerless life better that the others given that he didnt have them for a long time. But he still felt like the little kid who was locked up again time to time. Would be kinda cool if he and Allison bonded over it. (Allison couldnt talk for a year remember?)

- Lila wouldnt be a stay at home mom. She would still be on the 'book club' but her, a stay at home mom??? She has insane abilities in physical power, she would maybe be a coach. And for her AND Diego having three kids bespite begin scared to have one?? Nope those babies are poof! Gone!AND NO SHE DID NOT CHEAT.

[lightsoutnaway]

Pile Up

PAIRING- Lando Norris x gn!reader (they/them pronouns)

SUMMARY- After a pile up during a race Lando asks to have you on the radio. You get nervous about Lando's career after realizing how dangerous it could be.

WARNINGS-none

WORD COUNT- 1,892

AUTHOR'S NOTE- New blog and first f1 fic. i don't know how much i'll be posting but i need to get my f1 obsession out in writing.

You were sitting in the McLaren lounge watching as Lando drove around Monaco’s track. You always loved the home races. It meant you got to go home to your own bed after Lando secured his win. Lando was in third, behind Lewis and Max. The race was tight, everyone piled close to each other at every turn. Max made a move for first at a tight corner. Lewis tried to push him out, turned too hard, and spun out. Max’s car followed suit, being thrown into a wall. Lando drove past Max’s spinning car before you watched him collide with Lewis and slide into a wall. Then the video feed turned away from the cars, suddenly focusing on the grandstands. You rose without a word and started running towards McLaren’s garage. One of the McLaren security guards tried to stop you, but you pushed his arm off you and he didn’t have the heart to go after you. You found yourself in the garage, everyone turning to see your very loud entrance. You looked at Zak. 

“Is he okay?” You cried out in question. A camera was turned on you. 

“Yes,” Zak said. “He’s stuck in the car.” Zak turned back to the computers and spoke into the headset. You stood in the back of the garage hugging your arms around yourself and listening intently to everything Zak was saying. 

“…Yeah, they’re here…Not now, Lando. Let’s just get you out of there…Yeah, they are, but—Yeah. Alright, Lando. Hold on…” Zak turned away from the computer and walked towards you. He pulled his headset off as he approached. 

“Lando wants to talk to you,” Zak said. Your eyes widened and you took the headset from him and pulled it over your ears. 

“Lan?” You called into the microphone. You could hear him grunting in pain. 

“Hi, love,” he replied. 

“Lan, what’s going on? I’m scared. I’m not supposed to talk to you on the radio,” you said. 

“Just want to—ah—hear your voice,” he said, gasping between his words. Your eyebrows were furrowed together as you heard your boyfriend gasping in pain. 

“Lando, are you hurt? What’s wrong?” You asked, tears starting to slip from your eyes. He didn’t answer. “Lan?” 

“I’m not hurt,” he managed to get out. 

“Lan, why am I on the radio with you? What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“The car’s on fire. And I can’t—ah—get out,” he said. You looked up at the pit wall. Zak was on a new headset. 

“Two minutes out on back up fire support,” he called over the headset. 

“Would—mm—Would you all mute except y/n?” Lando asked. 

“Lando, we need to be in communication right—” Zak started to argue. 

“I’ll tell them if I need you back on. I want a minute alone,” Lando said firmly. Zak pursed his lips. 

“Alright, everyone off.” You watched as everyone began pulling their headsets off. 

“Lando, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?” You asked.

“I love you,” he said, as if that were such an obvious reason to have you on the radio—an unprecedented occurrence in the McLaren garage. “I want to be with—mmpf—with you right now. Even if it’s just—ah—over the radio.” 

“Why? Tell me what’s happening,” you begged. 

“You’re the best thing—agh—that ever happened to me,” Lando said, ignoring your questions. “I loved every second.” 

“Lando, are you trying to say goodbye?” You were crying. 

“I’m—mmpf—I’m okay, love. It’s going to be alright,” he said. 

“Don’t say that,” you whimpered. “It makes it sound like it won’t be.” 

“Fire support is thirty seconds out,” Zak called over to you. 

“Just hang on, baby,” you begged into the headset. “Zak says they’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer.” 

“I see them, love,” Lando told you. “Get Zak back on for me. I’ll be back soon.”

You signaled for Zak to put the headset back on and you watched as everyone in the McLaren garage simultaneously moved their headphones over their ears. Andrea was immediately questioning Lando, and instructing him how to keep himself protected while they got him out of the car. You stood with your arms wrapped around you waiting anxiously. After a few minutes the chattering on the radio had ended. Your heart was racing, terrified of what that meant. A safety car pulled up to the McLaren garage and Lando climbed out of the passenger seat. Lando searched the back of the garage for you, striding quickly across the garage to wrap you in his arms once he saw you.

“Lan,” you whimpered. 

“I’m alright,” he assured you. “Totally fine.”

“I was scared—the way you were talking—I thought—”

“I know. I did too,” he whispered into your ear. Your hands were digging into his suit as you cried into his neck. “But I’m okay.” 

“I can’t lose you,” you whimpered into his neck. 

“You’re not gonna lose me, sweetheart,” Lando said. He didn’t call you ‘sweetheart’ often. It was a nickname he had never used outside of the house before. The change felt serious to you. He would call you ‘sweetheart’ when he was comforting you. He didn’t use it any other time. 

The next few hours felt like a blur. The rush of fear seemed to have let time drift by you. Lando was checked by the medical officers. He did his press. He had his debrief. You were back at his place before you even realized it. 

“You alright?” Lando asked when you stood motionless in your bedroom. You turned to look at him, as if broken from a trance.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you said. “Just tired I guess.” You quickly changed into your pajamas. You got into bed, immediately scooting over to Lando and laying your head in his lap while he sat against the headboard and scrolled on his phone. His empty hand immediately went down to your hair, running his fingers through it. 

“Have you been on twitter since we got home?” Lando asked. 

“No,” you said. “Something funny?” 

“No,” he answered. “People are talking about what a sweet couple we are,” Lando said. You tilted your head to look up at him. 

“Did we get caught making out somewhere?” You asked. Lando laughed. 

“No, you muppet,” he said. “They think it’s sweet that I had you on the radio.” 

“Oh.” You said. Lando raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked.  

“I just sort of wish that nobody else heard that,” you said. 

“Just because they heard it doesn’t mean it wasn’t just for you, sweetheart,” Lando said. 

“I know, Lan,” you assured him. He reached down to your chin, turning your head so he could look into your eyes. 

“Nobody is a part of this but you and me,” Lando said. “They don’t know about us.” He smirked as he said it. 

“Did you just make a One Direction reference?” You asked. 

“Maybe,” Lando said with a mischievous smile. You rolled your eyes. 

“So genuine,” you chuckled. Lando wound his fingers with yours. 

“I’m serious though,” Lando said. “They’ll never really understand how we feel about each other.” You smiled and reached up with your free hand to cup his cheek, gently pulling him down to kiss you. 

“I love you,” you told him when he leaned back. 

“I love you too, baby,” he assured you. You hummed before turning back to lay more comfortably. Lando smiled as you fell asleep in his lap. For the next week you were always by his side. Lando was on break but he still had practices with Mclaren and you were there at every single one. You would barely leave Lando alone. He loved it. He had always felt like he needed you more than you needed him. It was nice for him to feel like you couldn’t get enough of him. He was laying on the couch one evening when you curled up with him. He decided he should finally ask you about it. 

“What’s got you like this for the last two weeks?” Lando asked as you snuggled into his side.  

“Like what?” You asked. 

“All cuddly. Usually you make me beg you to admit you need me,” Lando joked as he started dragging his fingers against your scalp. You were quiet. Too quiet. Lando stopped moving his hand and craned his neck to look down at you. “Baby? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m scared, Lan,” you admitted. 

“Scared of what, love?” He asked. You sighed. 

“That pile up in the last race,” you said. Lando’s eyes softened. The look on your face when he walked into the garage had been more terrified than he imagined you could ever be. “I just—I guess I never thought about how dangerous it really is before.” Lando pulled you up so you were lying over his body. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “I promise you that I’m always driving safely.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I know, Lan,” you told him. “It’s just scary now.”

“That’s why you’ve been coming to all my practices,” Lando said in realization. 

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you and I’m not there.”

“Nothing is going to happen. Everyone in the crash is alright. Lewis got the worst of it and he’ll be back in a month,” Lando comforted. 

“He got lucky. You got lucky,” you said. 

“The cars are safe, love. You know the engineers are good,” he reminded you. 

“You’re going over two hundred miles an hour in a box made of carbon fiber filled with gasoline,” you said. “So much could go wrong.” Lando sighed. 

“I know,” he said. “But there’s nothing we can do about it.” You hummed quietly at his words. Lando knew what it meant immediately. “Baby,” he started to protest. 

“I didn’t say anything,” you defended. You knew what he meant too. 

“I can’t quit. You know that,” Lando said. 

“You could. You just don’t want to.”

“We need the money if we want to keep living here,” he said. 

“Lan, you know we don’t really need this whole house,” you pointed out. He sighed. 

“What would I do then? If I didn’t have racing?” He pushed. His voice was flatter than it usually was.

“You have Quadrant,” you reminded him. Lando’s hands had stilled the patterns they’d been drawing on your back. He took a deep breath.

“Love…That’s not the point,” Lando started to argue.

“I know you’re not going to quit, Lan,” you stopped him. “I would never ask you to quit anyway. I know what racing means to you.” 

“Oh.” Lando was expecting a fight when you started talking. Everyone else who had this talk with him had always told him to quit. 

“But I thought you were going to die so I can still wish you would quit,” you said. “At least for another week.” Lando smiled softly down at you.

“Okay, baby,” he said. He kissed the top of your head. “That’s allowed.” 

“Promise me it’ll be okay one more time,” you asked in a whisper. Lando heard the worry in your tone. He heard the fear. He heard the way you needed him. Even if he didn’t really know–even if his job was just as dangerous as you feared, he knew what you needed to hear.  

“I promise, sweetheart. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m always going to be with you.”

[miniminininiminim]

If there's something that I can commend about my Hero Academia it is the way that Horikoshi handles relationships and the character connection.

More than a power-driven manga, my hero showed that there are tons of stories we've never heard from the sidelines, some reasonable some aren't. Some we can sympathize and some others can. We lose feelings and emotions for people we had a crush with before, or we are angry about. Some people forgive easily even no matter how much others hurt them, others don't then they seek out revenge and then again others don't. Some people make an impact on our lives but sometimes we forget their names.

It's normal. We don't have to deny that some of this stuff stayed, gone, or even non-existent.

I think why there are many shippers is that you can connect stories with the other characters freely. Whether by the quirk compatibility, talent, personality-wise, and even backstory or design-wise. In real life, we also see these things when we make friends, or colleagues, or even find idols or something along those lines.

You see My Hero isn't solely dealing with individual development...

They aren't growing only by their own will but also together with the community around them.

The basic unit of society is indeed the family but when you look around you, you're barely alone. Some experience the same situation as you and do or don't do the same action as you did. MHA was as careful as much as Hori-sensei and his were whereas much as they can they built up the characters around Izuku Midoriya with him, by themselves, or even through strangers in the community. Some awaken their passion and purpose for doing hero work or villainy, while others find simple things that make them remember why they are still living.

My Hero Aca always has the simple plot to be the greatest hero and to reach out to people who need it. Plots like this can be shortened with a one-shot but Hori-sensei and his team dedicated time, effort, and inking (jeez a hard-fought battle) among others to show the different sides of the society.

The society is diverse and with that, we need to reach out to others no matter what because who will ever help each other aside from one another.

I hope this reaches the audiences who need this the most.

Agh. I'm about to sleep and had a bad day today just writing about the things I want to say makes me at least relieved.

[aerynoakenshield]

[Boromir] - All I Ever Wanted

♫ - Perfect - Ed Sheeran

A/N: It's 2024 and I still adore this man, hopefully now this has been written the  brain worm leaves and I can move on with my life (i am lying to myself i have not moved on since 2007).

Thank you for reading, enjoy! <3

It was a joy to live in Gondor, the kingdom and its people were, in truth, simply beautiful. For you, there was everything here you could ever want. Kind people, a community, and most of all the man you loved.

Boromir and yourself had grown up together, as your father was a nobleman and therefore held position on King Denethor's council. With Boromir's father being that king, he was always looking for something to do or someone to talk to, which was when you stumbled into each other's lives as children. 

You often saw each other in the castle courtyard. At first, you barely spoke, nods of acknowledgement here and there and sometimes a greeting. You could not have been more different as people. 

Boromir was a boy who loved fighting, loved running around and learning how to wield weapons. You preferred your books, to write and study history and nature. The pair of you could often be found together outside the older you grew; you with your nose stuck in some ancient literature while you  sat under the tree as Boromir practiced sparring techniques in front of you. 

One was never really seen without the other. You were both like shadows, and never tired of being around each other. Your father was not upset by this, hoping one day perhaps you may marry the young prince. King Denethor, however, hoped quite the opposite. Nevertheless, that would not stop you from spending your free time together.

Boromir was there for you through every bad time you had, always offering a shoulder to cry on and a gentle hand when you would walk through the gardens. You were there for him whenever his father had been harsh on him. As the eldest son, Boromir was looked upon to be a leader, to have an heir to the throne one day and keep the family line in tact. 

He wanted none of that, not until he was older, maybe. He told you all the time of adventures he wanted, how he wanted to live first before thinking of that sort of thing. You grew to adults together, but your hobbies and interest had not changed.

Here you were, a bright morning in Gondor, sat in the gardens on your favourite bench reading a book. The area was secluded, barely anybody walked here, but it was filled with flowers and a lake with a fountain front and center. Before you, Boromir was practicing movements with his sword and a young guard. He had become a master swordsman, and had been trusted to train up new soldiers for Gondor's army should the need arise.

Setting your book down, you watched them spar. Boromir was quick on his feet, but so tentative in helping the young man with his own technique, and you couldn't help but stare. Something in your heart soared to see him smile, to watch him doing the thing he loved. For a brief second Boromir looked to you, catching your eye and winking.

"Back to your books, you."

Boromir had not dealt with his own feelings for you, yet. Each day you met, his heart grew fonder of you and it was at a point in which it became hard to contain. When you sat there and lost yourself in writing, he would look on at you in wonder. Often, his thoughts would drift, and he would ask himself what was stopping him from pushing you against a wall and kissing you. The fear of rejection, of you not feeling the same, was what pushed those thoughts away.

You had picked your book back up, though you were no longer reading it. You held it as though you were, but your eyes peeked over the brim, eager to watch him instead. His face lit up differently when he was training, his features became more beautiful than they already were. He had a love for swordsmanship, and it showed. 

"Agh!" 

You were snapped out of your daydream by Boromir's exclamation. Dropping your book, you noticed the young guard's sword on the floor and a look of horror on his face. Your eyes flicked over to Boromir, who was holding his arm. It appeared the man had caught the prince's arm with the sword, though it didn't look too bad. 

"My prince, I am sorry, I did not-"

"It's okay, lad. You run back to the castle and have a break, we'll keep you on the wooden weapons for now," Boromir said with a chuckle, and the guard nodded and ran off. 

How he could joke in this situation was amazing, but you knew it was to calm the other boys nerves, which were presumably sky high. Boromir caught your gaze and you beckoned him over.

"Are you okay? Seems like that's quite the gash." You gestured to the blood on his tunic, and reached into your bag for the first aid essentials you always carried. It wasn't the first time he had been injured in your company, so now you always carried them just to be sure. 

"I'm alright, got you to patch me up, haven't I?" Boromir winked at you, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

"Sometimes," you replied, swatting his nose with your finger. "I think you do it on purpose."

He feigned shock, but said nothing as he let you work on his arm. Your concentration face had him in a trance as he watched you work, eyes darting from your face to your gentle hands. There was no wound he had ever gotten that you could not fix with a bandage and some herb or salve, so the books were paying off. 

"You know," you started, working carefully to stitch the cut in his arm, eyes not moving from it as you spoke. "You are wonderful with those guards. You have always had a gift for combat, but it shows more and more each day. You look happiest when you're training."

Boromir could not help the smile creeping up on his face.

"It does make me happy, I love the art of swords, the craft of it all. The beauty of wielding a weapon is quite a thing. Though, I have to admit, I am my happiest whenever I am with you."

Pausing for a second, you look up at him, and he has a cheeky smile on his face as his eyes looked at you through his brow. He was so handsome, rugged yet boyish all at once. You could not have fallen harder if you tried. Realising you were staring, you turned back to your work with a blush rising on your cheeks. 

"There," you knotted the last stitch and wrapped a bandage around his wound. "You're all fixed up."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed. "Does that mean I don't get your special treatment and attention anymore?" His smile could light up a room.

"Boromir!" You playfully tapped his non injured arm and laughed along. "I'll give you special treatment if you carry on like that." He scoffed jokingly at your sarcastic mocking tone.

Your threat was hollow, knowing that you couldn't best him in a play fight, let alone a real one. The master swordsman stared at you, seemingly taking your comment to heart. 

"Or," he spoke lowly, moving towards on the bench and taking your chin lightly in his hand. "I'll give you special treatment."

Boromir leaned in and your heart raced. He never connected your lips, waiting for you to respond. He was respectful enough to wait for you to kiss him, to make sure this was what you wanted. You closed the gap, and he pulled you into him and deepened the kiss.

This moment was what you had dreamed of. Boromir's arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand held the side of your face as his lips made their way from your own to your jawline, pressing little kisses down towards your collarbone. Your hands lay on his chest, keeping yourself as close as you could be as quiet hums of content came from you.

Boromir brought his head back up to look at you, and he could not believed how stunning you looked before him. The sun lit your face up, eyes twinkling as they looked back into his own. The red tint on your cheeks gave you an almost ethereal aura. Your hands came to cup his face.

"I have wanted this for so long, Boromir. I never thought you would feel the same way. I was scared you saw me only as a friend."

He chuckled, pressing his forehead to your own.

"You silly thing, I would be a fool to not have fallen in love with you. You are incredible. I have loved you for so long now, I have lost count. I never thought you, with your books and your writing would ever want a swordsman who just loves fighting."

"Apparently you're a poet now, too." You giggled and his brow furrowed, but hearing his words back in his head, Boromir realised the rhyme he had made. 

"Then in that case, I'm perfect for you," he boasted, nodding in agreement with himself and making you throw your head back with laughter. 

Pulling you onto his lap, you sat with your arms around his neck and just took in the moment. You had hugged him before, but never like this. You had spent hours in his arms, but never under any circumstance other than comfort. Now, it felt different. 

"Hey, look at me, " Boromir whispered, and you lifted your head from his chest to look at him. "If you wish to court me, and I most certainly would like you to, I want you to know that being with me probably will not be easy. But, if you do wish to be mine, I will promise you now that I will do all I can to protect you and keep you safe, and I will always show you nothing but love and care for the rest of our lives."

Your eyes teared up a little at his words, and you smiled down at him. 

"You are all I have ever wanted, of course I will court you. It would be an honour to be yours, Boromir. I know it won't be easy, I know there are threats out there in Middle Earth that you will one day have to deal with. I am not afraid of that, I would welcome a future with you. I have spent my youth with you, so what's the rest of our lives in comparison?"

"You beautiful thing..." he spoke, voice quiet and full of love. "My beautiful thing."

With one more kiss, a kiss filled with hope for the future, Boromir brought you off him and offered his hand to you. You accepted, and with a kiss to your knuckles, you set off on your first walk as a couple and the first walk of the rest of your days as one.

[wonfilms]

incl : l.hs x gn! reader

warnings : tears, a little bit of angst but a happy ending, communication issues.

a/n : i’m in love w/ one lee heeseung and goodnight.

w.c : 0.8k

Waking up next to Heeseung was something you’d learned to treasure, with his busy schedule and your work it was hard to get some time to just enjoy his presence. You’d even started waking up a little earlier just so you could spend a few moments in the soft silence of the morning before life became hectic again. 

The sunlight pouring in through the window made your boyfriend look almost angelic, hair tousled framing his pillow case, long eyelashes rested oh, so prettily against his cheeks. Soft snores escaped the corner of his slightly open slips, he looked like a painting laid like this. You resisted the urge to brush the stray hairs out of his face and press sweet kisses to his temple, but you didn’t want to wake him.

You knew how much he needed this sleep. You could tell that he was starting to get exhausted. His training was endless and even though he was getting some rest right now , you knew it wouldn’t last.

Distance was never something either of you wanted, but at the moment it felt like that was all that you had, the mere reminder that he was there. Perhaps not when you got home every night, but he was there. He always would be, and you knew that but why did it hurt so bad to see him like this.

When he sheepishly asked you to massage his tight shoulders for him last night he looked happy enough, but you couldn’t help the way your heart ached a little when you saw him trudge in through the door late at night, eyes a little duller than usual. 

You missed him, hell of course you did. You missed him every time your phone call went to voicemail, and though he called back as soon as he was free , you felt almost hurt every time you heard the monotone bleep of the answerphone.

You swallowed thickly to stop the tears from threatening to spill out of your eyes, though you failed to keep back the sniffle that escaped from your lips. A soft grunt came from heeseung as he awoke and turned to face you,

 “Morning pretty… wait- hey are you okay??” his voice immediately changed to concern. You nodded furiously , attempting to cover the gloss of your eyes with your hands.

 “‘M fine heeseung, agh you have to go already… you should get ready”  you panicked as you looked at the ever looming time on the clock sat on the bedside table. He cocked an eyebrow at your words, before pulling your hands away from your face,

 “oh y/n…” he whispered before pulling you into his chest, you felt the tears you were holding spill almost instantly when your head nestled against his shirt. He patted your back carefully , holding your body close to his. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong hm?” he leant his forehead against yours. 

“I feel s-so bad heeseung..” you voice came out in hiccups as you attempted to explain the tears this early in the morning, “i don’t want you to leave”

You’re startled by the sound of his airy laughs, “oh pretty? I’ll be back home extra early tonight yeah ? I promise”.

Though you smiled at the sight of him laughing,  your feelings still weren’t conveyed properly, “no hee, I mean… I don’t want us to break up. Your bottom lip threatens to quiver as you speak, a soft confused look graces Heeseung’s face. 

“What do you mean y/n? We’re not breaking up? Are we?” his eyes gloss over at his own question..

“You’ve been so busy lately i just wish that there wasn’t so much distance between us, but even so i can deal with it i just don’t want this to be the reason you end it, and i know you’re so tired but-” your rambling is cut off by heeseung pulling you in for a tight hug, 

“Love, I'm not going to break up with you because we’re busy right now, I promise… I'm tired but I never want you to think I'd break up with you  because I can't deal with it… have I made you feel that way??” you can sense the urgency in his voice, to which you just held him tighter.

“Not at all heeseung, even when you’re exhausted like this you’ve never failed to ask how my day was even once? And I'm so thankful for that.” you smiled pressing your forehead to his, “thank you.”

“Love, you don’t need to say thank you to me..” he whispered, kissing your cheek sweetly, “and i’ll stay true to my word, i’m going to try and get home extra early tonight yeah? And then we can spend some time together ”

You felt yourself grin at how cute he was, “yeah ” . 

“I think i want to thank you” he said instead , “god hee, you don’t need to say thank you to me either??” you were bashful as he grazed his nose against yours.

“Thank you for sticking by my side.” he mumbled before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

[conduitandconjurer]

I think I've figured out one thing (beyond that .... "ending" ....) that bothers me about TUA s4 and Klaus.

It seems like the popular dichotomy, in terms of his characterization, is "fearful of life because he's mortal" versus "careless and effectively invicible" and that somehow being divested of his abilities would pave the way to healing and guarantee sobriety. Klaus's rage at his family for saving his life by returning his powers is proof enough that HE believes this. Alongside this is the presumption that all of his character development last season, mastering the gift of immortality, is itself--RATHER THAN THE WAY THAT HE MASTERED IT (by being led on and used by Reginald, and made to equate his worth with his usefulness/skill)--should be nixed. It's bad for him to be porous to the veil between life and death. It's bad for him to be immortal. He can't "deal with it" and he'll go on a bender the moment it's restored. His unwillingness to drink the "marigolds" (until he's dying and forced to do so) is supposed to be proof of this.

I have some qualms with this line of thinking, despite its solid attempt at showing character development.

I think Klaus is braver than people give him credit for WHILE he is mortal. Friends have posited (and I agree with this part) that he becomes very high strung and phobic about any form of injury or illness because even though mortality is scary to someone who just found out he was immortal...and then lost that immortality...he also feels he has CONTROL over his own body and mind and life that he was NOT afforded when he could be possessed by ghosts and used for his conjuring powers (both by family and predators). And I've been harping on Klaus's need to actually have agency and grant consent since that squicky Ben-possession joke in season 2. But, agh.

To begin with, I don't think Klaus is 'afraid' of life (or at least that the fear is unwarranted or laughable) so much as he's forcing himself to endure what he KNOWS is deeply perilous and unfortunate t unlucky people like himself, without resorting to the powers that also open the door to substance abuse. Of all of the Brellies, he tries the hardest, the most often, to break patterns, when he sees that there is motivation to do so (more on this later). He is hardcore and brave as fuck, rubber gloves or not.

But is it really a good thing, or even necessary for Klaus as a character, to equate no powers with guaranteed sobriety and powers with falling off the wagon? I don't think it is.

Unfortunately, this is hard to glean from the audience pov, because all we're given in this season is the most extreme, toxic, abusive, stomach-turning example of how his powers can be abused the moment they return--and how, of course, this exacerbates relapse. We get the whole 'have sex with his body while the deceased possess it, for drug money" subplot. We get him getting so desperate for the cycle to end that he begins inviting harm and self-harming out of some grim hope that his powers will fail (getting shot in the head scene). And he needs the drugs that this awful situation provides BECAUSE OF said situation. Compound upon that the PAST trauma that it's opening back up like a raw wound (literally, from at least the age of 8). Of course Klaus is using because of his powers, but because THEY'RE BEING ABUSED.

Klaus's abilities don't guarantee a fall off the wagon. His low self-esteem does, and the inability of anyone in his life to communicate with him or intervene does. When (deleted but still important scene) Lila's relatives are calling him, in front of him, a loser junkie (etc), and he says, "Yeah, that's....that'd be me," Klaus is mortal. We see the cogs in his head turning: yeah, I'm worthless, what's the point. And it's already too late right there, unless someone intervenes.

"What's the point," AND NOTHING ELSE, is Klaus's kryptonite. And he isn't a fatalist by nature, I'll (controversially, I guess) add, but there are things nobody can endure forever. Klaus, like any addict, is there because of underlying core beliefs about himself and about his ability to change his circumstances. What I love about the deleted scene that shows Klaus INSISTING on having his AA meeting is that he becomes his own advocate, because well, the Hargreeves are "all assholes" (well spotted, Klaus, lol) in their own ways, and each has to be their OWN intervention. This has more to do with self-determination than it does with seeing ghosts. The cause and the remission of Klaus's addiction is deeper-seated than powers that are given and taken away at surface level.

Why is this so important to me? I guess because to me the powers Klaus never asked for still remind me of something perhaps not initially intrinsic to someone's being--but still something they have to integrate into their lives in order to go on living. I think it MEANS more to fans who identify with Klaus (at least it does to me, someone with debilitating chronic illness) that he be able to transform his abilities into a strength that is, to Klaus and his loved ones, benign, while also not letting it become the central facet of his identity. He IS a medium, but he is also OTHER things. He is a human being, and all human beings have many interests, roles, and hopes.

The precipiating events of Klaus's trauma are NOT his ability to see ghosts or resuscitate. They're the abuse inflicted by those who would use Klaus for their own gain. Why should he give up his powers in order to heal, just because Reginald is an unconscionable monster who was willing to kill his own child over and over and over? I wish Klaus himself had had this epiphany before the show ended.

Losing his powers for good would certainly be the quickest route to healing and growth, and fine, if fans like it, go for it. To me, though, it feels like "don't ever wear crop tops because if you do, you won't get SA'd." Like, no. Maybe the world needs to operate by a kinder standard. Maybe Klaus needs a real support group, a better family of his own, to help him contradict his feelings of self-loathing. Maybe he needs the AA counselor to stay when he shows up for his chip. Maybe he needs reliable transportation to and from. Maybe he needs to move to a different city. Maybe he needs to chat with some of the ghosts he sees, and start a fucking Tuesday evening afterlife meditation circle. Maybe he can get a cheap apartment and fill his living space with succulents that he has to be held accountable to feed and water and keep ALIVE. Maybe he should become an AA counselor and help other people go the right direction. Maybe he should resort to poetry or knitting every time he has an urge to use, and that can become a healthier compulsion. Maybe someday he can get a kitten or start dating again (someone alive, in this century). What Klaus needs is to have MORE in his life to define him than his powers and how they can be used for the benefit of others.

Maybe the TUA writing staff is weirdly sadistic and won't let any of that happen. But by God, we can. And it's important. It's important that healing and remission not be dependant on things others can bestow or take away (like powers). It needs to depend on something internal, an "internal locus of control," as the CBT shrinks call it. THAT is having control over your own life.

[eris-snow]

Hiiiii!! I hope you’re doing well ^^ this concept has been plaguing my mind for DAYS. listen. Mute reader joining class 2A where bakugou has already started going deaf from his quirk. AGH I swear it’s so cute I’m already dying, probably angst to fluff type stuff idk ur the boss here :3

(this is my first time requesting I hope I’m doing it right lol)

Oh you're so sweet! Don't worry about requesting your request was so cute 🥰

But YES, this is such a good headcannon 😭😭

Katsuki would think that you're way too quiet, and imagine his surprise when you start signing to him.

--

He'd just gotten back from the hospital after a particularly shitty injury, so he wasn't there when you were introduced to the class

He didn't know that you were mute, so when you camd rolling up to the dorms, all he saw was a way too quiet girl holding a way too big box for your size.

You must be the newbie, Katsuki sighs, squinting at you. It takes him five seconds to realise that your quirk wasn't strength based, and 10 to realise you had 5 of those big ass boxes to get through, before he kicks off the couch to help.

It's fine. He's been through this, he's gotten help. He can talk to people without brandishing insults now.

"Jeez, pass me that, you freak,"

Head, meet hard wood.

You, however, don't seemed fazed at all. Instead, you let out a sigh of relief, happily passing him the box and taking another one to carry to the lifts.

He's almost glad you don't say anything, because at least then, he doesn't have to go 'SPEAK UP, NERD' on ten different occasions. He wasn't wearing his hearing aids, after all.

When he does finish helping you, you're bowing to him profusely, and to his utter surprise, you lift your hands and start signing to him.

Do you know handsigns?

He almost rolls down the stairs.

Yes, Bakugou signs back. You bow at him again, and Bakugou feels giddy.

Thank you! I'm sorry if you found it rude when I didn't respond, but I am mute. I appreciate your help, Bakugou-san! I hope we get along !

And that's how Katsuki gained a new friend.

--

Oh and don't forget about the silent conversations.

Besides Deku, you were the only one fluent in handsigns and Katsuki took full advantage of that.

Just imagine, 20 odd class mates and no one knowing what words being exchanged between the two of you.

Communication is the one of the most important thing on the battlefield, and the scariest thing was that Bakugou was starting to have difficulty doing that, patrol or not.

For some reason, having someone who understands that fear makes Bakugou feel just a little bit more stable.

--

On paper, your disabilities should hinder your ability to get along, but like how two unlike poles attract, you get along swimmingly. Communication, which is supposed to be one of the most difficult actions to carry out is so smooth with Bakugou it's basically telepathy at this point.

A glance at you.

Oh, you want your protein shake.

A gesture to the teacher.

Oh, you need help with a question.

A middle finger...("Oi, Bakugou that wasn't a handsign-WAIT WAIT NO DON'T-")

Means a dead Kaminari.

And for some reason, even if Katsuki can never hear your voice. Even if you can't ever tell him how much he means to you, you'll stand by his side even if the world tilts sideways, or be the first at his door when his nightmares overtake him.

You'll be the first to guess what's one his mind and stand by him no matter what.

After all, actions speak louder than words, don't they?