#all i can say is that its a “what if?” scenario where he survives his injuries but chooses not to go back to mount hua

[enihk-writes]

[日久见人心]

characters: present!chung myung + afab!she/her!reader

baek cheon x afab!she/her!reader (implied and one-sided from the reader's end because they are not the main plot point for this fic lol)

summary: old habits die hard, even when you are born in a new body. to his credit, he does try not to seem like he is the reincarnation of the plum blossom sword saint, but his subconscious actions said otherwise. he didn't think you of all people would notice.

word count: 3.85k

author's note: the phrase 日久见人心 (rì jiǔ jiàn rén xīn) is part of the full saying 路遥知马力，日久见人心 (lù yáo zhī mǎ lì, rì jiǔ jiàn rén xīn) and i vaguely remember it was something my mother tongue teacher back in secondary said we could use in our composition essays or whatever,,,, and recently i saw it on those cringey rise-and-grind motivational crypto bro ig pages my ex-classmates are reposting on their stories which kinda gave me an idea lmao.... anyways the meaning of the quote is that we need to take time to understand a person's character (also the fic is the result of my caffeine overconsumption lol and not related to my previous cmxreader because i needed a break from all that angst romance i've been writing wwwwwwww)

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chung myung has been starting to think that you were cut out from the same cloth as yu iseol.

quiet, aloof and always watching.

if someone said that you both were twins, he wouldn't be surprised. but then again, there were differences. the most obvious one was that iseol had more talent with the blade than you did, and the other was that iseol had no talent in actually taking care of herself. you were barely managing, but compared to your senior sister? it was far more decent. the two of you had tang soso to thank for not dying as fast as you could have.

chung myung. bowl.

he looks up to see your hand outstretched, waiting to pick up the empty bowl he'd cleaned off long ago. chung myung grunts and hands it over, propping his arm up and resting his head on it as he watched you go around the dining hall to collect the dinnerware.

you lived in mount hua, sure, but you weren't the fighting sort. maybe because anything you did could get you sick — if the weather dropped or rose a little too quickly, your body would tremble and shiver. did you move a little too much today? did you happen to sleep later than you were supposed to that night? by the next morning you were down with a terrible fever that kept you in your room for the rest of the day. but now that tang soso was here, she would drag you down to the medicine hall, grumbling under her breath, all while you looked at her teary-eyed and apologetic.

maybe it was out of shame or embarrassment that made you try to be yourself useful in other ways, though you would often fail and cause more trouble. everyone would just sigh and pick up after your mess, ushering you out to do something else.

during those days, he'd find you hunched behind the baths, sobbing in frustration. chung myung didn't know what to do or say, he'd always talked more with his fist before his heart, so he'd end up hiding in the trees to watch over you instead. and once you've cried it all out, you would stand, wash your face and go to bed. trying something else tomorrow.

chung myung gives credit where credit was due. for a sickly kid, you sure had a thicker skin than the others.

eventually, you stuck with being the cleaner. your weird, meticulous habits somehow working well in this job. the cups and plates were wiped till it shone, silverware were polished until you could see your own face and that hard-to-scrub dirt on the grout would be pristine and white when left in your hands. chung myung wonders secretly if maybe you'd picked this talent up from that neat freak baek cheon.

what are you thinking about?

he almost hits you out of instinct. you really were cut from the same cloth as yu iseol.

he lets out a shaky breath as he turns to face you, who had been sitting behind him. you look at him owlishly and he would have thought you weren't breathing if not for the movement of your nostrils. crossing his leg over the other, he juts his chin at you in acknowledgement.

what is it?

you're quieter, and thinking a lot more than normal today.

ah... this kid... how does everything that comes out of that mouth sound like an insult? chung myung tries to reign in his short temper, he didn't want to hit a frail person for no reason, and he knows that you just happen to always talk like that.

hm. i was thinking about you.

woah. pervert.

ah... maybe he should hit your head just once. just once and he'll never hit you again.

i'm kidding.

really? were you now?

i'm really kidding, don't go and look like you're going hit me like you do with our senior brothers.

okay, you were off the hook. for now.

hmph. you shouldn't tease your elders.

what elder.

chung myung forgets that you were the same age as him. well, in this body, not spiritually. but if he were to talk about life experience and reincarnation, he was the older one but fuck! you didn't know that! he didn't tell anyone he was the plum blossom sword saint ugh!

chung myung, are you going to have an aneurysm?

shut up!

═══════════════

winter in mount hua was really cold. and chung myung, surprisingly, didn't do so well with the cold. though, he would rather die than let anyone ever find out about that.

he wakes up early to train as usual, but the cold this morning was so biting, he was tempted to just stay in bed, it wasn't easy being an old man. ah, but the other disciples would be celebrating if he didn't appear for morning practice and that was no good. after all, the future of the sect still depended on him, didn't it?

he got dressed and stepped out of his room —

chung myung.

fuck! couldn't you talk to people like a normal person? why do you love to sneak up on people like this? cheong mun sa-hyung please, please, please give him patience and strength.

you look cold.

he was! great observation! chung myung wants to yell that to you with gritted teeth. he was still, unfortunately, very unnerved by how he couldn't feel your presence.

follow me. i have something for you.

you didn't wait for him to reply, instead grabbing his hand as you dragged him to the kitchen. he didn't try to resist, letting you pull him wherever, like a parent going to see what their child just found.

the two of you walk across the training grounds that had been buried under a blanket of pristine snow, the dim light of your paper lantern showing you the way. treading past and leaving two sets of footprints behind.

you push him into the kitchen, hanging the lantern up on a hook in the wall. chung myung notices the fire in the stone stove, you had already started it before going out to find him, probably because you were boiling something in that pot standing over the fire. chung myung sits on the ground, huddling before the blaze, it felt warm and comforting in the kitchen. the sound of water boiling in the pot and the crackling of the charred wood its heat blowing across his frigid face was, unsurprisingly, giving him a boost of energy.

you carefully move the pot to the side, removing the lid to check the contents in it. looking pleased with the result, you take out a bowl still steaming into your hands and placed it on the ground between you and chung myung as quickly as you could.

he looks over curiously. it looked like some kind of pudding, he doesn't think he's seen it before —

it's milk pudding, with lotus seeds and almonds

oh? he pondered, eyeing the bowl as you handed him a spoon.

aren't these ingredients used to make mooncakes?

chung myung asks, folding his arms. he notices that you were avoiding his gaze. don't tell him you...?

did you steal these from the warehouse?

hey! steal is a strong word!

oh i'm sorry, your highness, did you perhaps take the ingredients from the fucking warehouse?

he scoffed mockingly, exaggerating his manner of speech in mild irritation. he laughed at your grimace and pouty expression. ah, he feels like he's making fun of a toddler, he should be ashamed for bullying a kid at his age.

hm, he hasn't done something this juvenile in a long time. it was oddly nostalgic, in a way. he mused, digging into the soft and smooth surface of the pudding with the spoon, trying to scoop up the lotus seeds and almonds in it too.

mmh. 's not bad.

wow, i didn't know you knew how to compliment people

should i take that back then?

i'm sorry.

═══════════════

you had been working hard in cleaning the floors for spring cleaning. but the boys were so heavy-footed and honestly far too uninterested in their surroundings that the well-polished wooden floorboards you were really proud of was always dusty.

should you just barricade the entrance of the dorms until nightfall? just so they wouldn't walk all over your hard work?

you sit on the steps, your hair tied into a scarf, head resting on the propped broom you held between your legs. thinking long and hard over your predicament while looking over at the training grounds where chung myung was drilling down on everyone else.

the sun hung high in the cloudless afternoon sky, its rays casting down on the compound harshly. you were beginning to feel dizzy and closed your eyes, hoping to relieve the pain growing in your head.

you didn't hear anything outside the constant ringing in your ears, so one can only imagine your surprise when the reddish tint you saw while your eyes were closed grew dark.

who?

you cracked open your eyes to try and make out the person standing before you, wincing when the bright light nearly blinded you.

a familiar chuckle graced your ears as the ringing grew quiet. ah, it was senior baek cheon.

he taps the bamboo flask against your forehead, the water in it swishing against the walls. you take it, grateful, chugging down the contents, choking on it a little when a few drops went down the wrong pipe.

hey, hey... slow down... no one's going to take it away from you...

you cough, turning away in embarrassment. baek cheon sits down next to you on the steps, watching your antics in quiet amusement. you didn't want to look at him, not when he was practically topless, with his hair tied up high and swept over his shoulder.

chung myung looks at the scene from afar, not really clocking anything in his mind until he sees the way you were trying to scoot a little further away like a snail touching salt and your hands covering up your cheeks.

oh.

oh?

so you and baek cheon huh?

chung myung feels the cogs in his brain turn. at times like these he wishes he had someone to talk about this with, maybe tang bo. he would have loved to hear about petty gossip like this, and they could have teased the kids like the old men they were.

so you think something is going on between her and baek cheon sasuk too, huh?

jo-gul's voice comes up from behind, and chung myung didn't need to look over to see the guy's eyes trained on his targets.

if you have so much free time to discuss other people's love lives, i think we can continue with our training right, sahyungs?

chung myung called out loudly for everyone to hear.

jo-gul you fucking bastard!

you and your big mouth...

ugh... i can't get up...

the poor guy could only hang his head in quiet embarrassment. baek cheon laughed at the antics of the others, getting up to walk back to the training grounds. but not before he reached out to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

if you're going to rest, do it in the shade. i don't think you want to fall ill again tomorrow, do you?

he asks, and you shake your head in response.

mmh. i'll see you around?

see you...

you wave meekly as he left, your insides going through an entire acrobatics routine. wondering what that short exchange was all about. it couldn't be that he liked you back? or did he catch onto your growing crush? you wanted to throw yourself off the cliff.

═══════════════

i didn't take you for a guy that had habits like this.

chung myung gulped down the last of the warm water in his cup, setting it down on the counter, and looked at you quizzically. your elbows were propped up over the edge of the counter and you were perched on the stool in a rather un-ladylike manner.

it's good for your health you know.

psh... isn't that an old wives tale?

he scoffs and shakes his head.

haah...

he sighs.

the young people these days.

you look at him, head tilted in confusion. humming for a bit, you let your thoughts simmer before you decided to pose the question.

hey, why'd you speak like that?

chung myung pauses.

like what?

you know... like an old man?

he sucks in a quick breath. there was no way you of all people would have figured it out, right?

he felt like he was spiralling into a bit of a panic.

hey.

you snap your fingers in his face, moving to stand beside him while he was deep in thought.

earth to chung myung?

he looks at you.

he takes a good look at you.

you were not the brightest bulb in the bush, or however that saying goes, at least when compared to him. there was no way you connected the dots and figured out he was the plum blossom sword saint. yeah, this was for sure a case of the right formula and the wrong answer.

he had to divert your thoughts before you start to think deeper.

i think i hear baek cheon sasuk coming over.

huh?

it was your turn to panic a little, and he darts out of the kitchen to escape what would have been your incoming torrent of scrutiny. you realise just then that you had been completely bamboozled by the bastard chung myung.

running to the door, you yell out a string of curses at the run-away instigator. ah, your blood pressure...

═══════════════

you think chung myung might have been raised by old people. because there was no other plausible reason that he acts the way he does.

sometimes he walks with his hands behind his back, and while most people your age would stand straight and position their arms in a stiff way, chung myung puts his hands on his lower back — like he was supporting it. you know who else does this? the sect leader and the other elders. and it doesn't help his case that he was always slouching a little.

another thing you notice was how his taste in food was a few notches blander than the rest of you. he wasn't fond of anything too salty or sour or anything undercooked. he'd always pick out the softest parts of any cooked meat, saying it was the juiciest, which was somewhat believable. but then wasn't it also nearest to where the animals organs used to be before it was gutted? wouldn't it taste bitter?

speaking of bitter, chung myung liked to eat food that made you squeamish. he'd nag at the nutritional value of them and when nobody wanted to try it out, he'd mumble something about kids these days not knowing what's good for them and scarf it down by himself.

that was another thing about him, why was he always calling you a kid when you were the same age as him? it wasn't that big of a deal for you. but calling the other seniors kids? you wondered if it was his way of showing his martial superiority in a twisted way, or if it was another underlying reason.

surely, it must be because he was raised by the elderly.

god, you were so smart, weren't you? connecting the dots like that?

═══════════════

chung myung was sure you were dropped on the head as an infant.

you had cornered him in the toilets. broke down and the door and everything, just to ask him who he was raised by. it was ridiculous, the scene that was folding out right then and he chooses to ignore that your weak body had somehow broken down a fucking wooden door. he has to ignore that, for his own sanity.

you were on the walls, hands clawing and feet digging on the rough surface. chung myung shirks away, exasperated. somewhere in the afterlife, he thinks he could hear the loud cackle of his friends at his predicament.

chung myung.

he tries to evade eye contact.

chung myung.

oh man, look at that spider on the ceiling spinning a web.

hey where are you looking? i'm over here.

he finally looks at you turning his head slowly.

uh... i think... you might be a bit too close...

a bit too close was a forgiving statement. your head had craned forward far enough that your face was almost less than a centimetre away from his.

you lean back at his reply. still not keeping your eyes off him. after all, he still hadn't answered your question.

you know that i'm an orphan... right?

yeah. so am i.

i wasn't raised by anybody...

oh.

you step back, pondering for a moment. chung myung feels the breath he was holding leave his lungs. you caused him so much anxiety. remember when he thought you were cut from the same cloth as yu iseol? he stands corrected, but you were insane in the opposite direction.

okay. so who raised you?

chung myung feels his eye twitch. why were you asking the same thing? he already told you!

i'm telling you—!

nuh-uh. that's not what i want to know. i want to know if you grew up with old people.

then you should have asked that from the beginning!

i panicked, okay?

he sighs, deeply, and covers his face in his hands. he feels his miraculous second life leaving his body at this exchange.

to answer your question. no, i didn't.

huh. i see.

you answer simply.

chung myung peeks at you through his fingers, surprised at your unusual silence. you, on the other hand, had grown more confused by his answer. if he hadn't been raised by the elderly, then how would anybody act the way he did? not to mention, he had knowledge of niche historical facts that nobody other than a person living in that time would have known of.

can i go now?

huh? oh yeah... sure...? oh! wait—!

you had answered too absentmindedly! you weren't done questioning him! shit! the slippery bastard had gotten away!

you jog out the door, only to bump into someone when turning a corner. a pair of arms catch you from falling. looking up you were met with baek cheon's worried gaze, which morphed into confusion when he realized at the same time as you did that you had ran out of the boys' toilets.

uh... wait... i can explain...

you wondered if a lighting bolt could strike down in broad daylight.

═══════════════

you were sulking in the kitchen.

the guy you had a somewhat infatuation with caught you in an embarrassing moment. you had convinced yourself all chances you had with him were ruined. this was all chung myung's fault. every time you had the slightest inconvenience you would secretly curse him out a little in your heart. you used to feel bad when you still had a working conscience, but not anymore though.

speak of the devil, and he comes walking in.

chung myung came in to ransack the cellar behind the kitchen for wine. he had been craving it for the past few days after his own stash ran out. he had waited for everyone else to be asleep before sneaking in as quietly as he could.

so one can only imagine the shock he felt, even though he swears he had already seen it all, when he finds your shadowy figure sitting crossed-legged on the counter and your two eyes staring right back at him in the darkness.

keugh—!

chung myung bites back a scream. fuck! can he please have one, one. peaceful day where you didn't fuck around with his psyche?

you didn't know he was coming in so soon. but you didn't care much since you had something to give him anyway.

shoving the lacquer box engraved with floral designs into his chest, you motion for him to take a look inside. chung mying complied, hesitantly lifting off the lid to find rows of thin mooncakes, without the egg yolks probably, and another layer under that was filled with a flaky-looking biscuit.

it's called tau sar piah.

he hums, taking the round ball out to inspect it. shrugging, he popped it into his mouth and chews down on the pastry. the flavour, it was familiar. he thinks, was it—?

dried mung bean paste?

you nodded, grinning.

what's this for though?

don't tell me you forgot.

forget? what did he forget?

it's your birthday you goon. well, in a few hours but still.

oh. he had forgotten, momentarily. you really were a good kid, remembering this old man's birthday and making something for him. shit, chung myung thinks he might tear up. was this what it was like to have grandchildren? he thinks he understands why cheong mun sa-hyung might have suggested he take on disciples of his own, or well, trusted him enough to babysit the children of the sect back then. ugh, he was a grandfather after all, and you were somehow his most troublesome child.

he sniffles. closing the lid on the box and grabbing the wine. well, it would be lonely to eat all of this on his own, and waking up the others would be too much of a hassle. suppose you would make do as his drinking buddy tonight. hooking an arm under your knees, he slings you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. the other grabbing the food and drink.

he jumps on the roofs until he brings you to a spot where the moon felt the closest. he drops you on your feet as you balance yourself on the uneven shingles. chung myung plopped down, leg crossed over the other, as he began to down the wine straight from the bottle.

he hands you the lid of the box, picking out the mooncake and biting into it.

wow. tastes kinda ass.

ugh, ungrateful much?

i never said i wouldn't eat it.

can't you just say your appreciation like a normal person?

a pause.

...thank you.

chung myung replied in a softer voice.

hmph. see? that wasn't so hard?

you huffed, teasing him.

chung myung only scoffed and rolled his eyes.

the night drudged on, and you spent the time talking about everything and nothing. things that happened that week, gossip you've heard, events that had happened in the past, antics of the other sect members...

chung myung feels his eyelids grow heavy. was it alright to rest his grieving heart for a while on his birthday? cheong mun sa-hyung and the others' surely wouldn't mind.

and as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, your voice quips up.

hey, do you think i should confess to sasuk?

psh—!

chung myung spits out the wine in his mouth, choking on the liquid that went up and out his nose. it felt as though he was vomiting out blood from that question alone.

you were really his most troublesome kid.

[syluslnd]

Hi, I'm your silent reader, and thank you for writing ❤️ can I request sylus × reader? The scenario could be that Sylus never says "I love you" to the reader but loves her he just can't say it and he regrets it when something happens to the reader. Or you can make your own as long as it's angst to fluff. Sorry, for requesting I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable but I'm a fan of angst to fluff 😭❤️

sylus who never says I love you comes to regret it

The room was dimly lit, shadows curling at the edges as you packed your gear, mentally preparing for the mission ahead. Sylus leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable look he always had.

His presence was both comforting and maddening—comforting in the sense that he was there but maddening in how little he gave away. Even now, as you zipped up your jacket, you could feel his eyes on you but his expression was a wall you could never quite get past.

“I’ll be back soon” you said, breaking the silence. “It’s just a routine mission, nothing too dangerous.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “You better be. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes but you couldn’t shake the nervous energy building in your chest. You always wanted to say more before you left, especially when you saw that cool, detached expression on his face. It made you feel like you needed to fill the silence with something more, something personal.

“I love you” you said, a bit more hesitant than usual, hoping for a response that never came.

Sylus didn’t say anything back. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening just a fraction. “You better get going before you’re late, sweetie.”

You pouted, feeling that familiar twinge of disappointment. He never said it back and you weren’t sure if it was because he couldn’t or because he just didn’t care to. But before you could linger on it, he gently pushed you toward the door, his voice light but teasing. “Go already. You’ve got a job to do.”

With a half-hearted wave, you left, the weight of unsaid words following you as you stepped out into the night.

Hours passed and Sylus remained at his desk, occasionally glancing at his phone. He was waiting—though he’d never admit it aloud—for your call, the one where you’d tell him everything went fine and you were on your way back. It was a routine you both had fallen into: you’d go, and he’d wait. You’d always come back.

When his phone finally buzzed, he grabbed it without a second thought, expecting your voice on the other end. But instead a cold, clinical voice greeted him.

“This is the hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact. There’s been an accident.”

The words hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t process them. His grip on the phone tightened and he forced himself to speak, though his voice came out lower than usual, a barely restrained growl. “What do you mean, an accident?”

The person on the other end continued, but Sylus barely registered it. All he heard was “critical condition” and “it’s uncertain if they’ll survive.”

The hospital felt foreign, sterile, and suffocating in its harsh fluorescent light. Sylus moved through the halls like a man possessed, his steps quick and his face a mask of calm, but inside, he was drowning.

The moment he saw the room number, he stopped, staring at the door, his mind racing with what he might find on the other side. He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t know how to be ready for this.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and his world came crashing down.

There you were, lying still on the bed, surrounded by machines that beeped and whirred. Your face was bruised and swollen, one eye completely shut from the impact. Your lips were cracked, dried blood still clinging to the corners. But what made his blood run cold was your hand, bandaged tightly, and one finger missing.

His heart clenched in his chest and for the first time, Sylus couldn’t hide behind his usual detached calm. The sight of you, broken and battered, hit him harder than any enemy ever had.

He took a step closer, then another, until he was standing beside your bed, his hand hovering above yours. His fingers trembled but he didn’t touch you. He couldn’t bring himself to. You looked so fragile and in that moment, the weight of everything came crashing down on him.

This was his fault. He let you go. He hadn’t stopped you. He hadn’t protected you.

For a long while, he just stood there, staring at you, his throat tight, unable to form a single word. The room was painfully silent, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor. His mind churned with guilt, the image of your battered body burned into his thoughts. He should have told you to stay. He should have been there. But instead, he had teased you, pushed you out the door and now…

“Kitten…” His voice was a low rasp, barely audible. His hand hovered over yours again, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to reach out. “I should’ve stopped you.”

The silence stretched on, oppressive and suffocating, as he stood there, his jaw clenched tightly. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to fix this. How did it get to this point?

For days, Sylus came to the hospital, sitting by your side, the usual sharpness in his eyes dulled by the weight of guilt. Every time he looked at you, that same thought gnawed at him. This is my fault.

He couldn’t stop replaying that moment before you left, the way you had said “I love you” and the way he had just smirked, teasing you instead of giving you the words back. He had never said it. He had never let himself say it and now, as you lay there, unmoving, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance.

Weeks passed in a blur of hospital visits and sleepless nights. Sylus kept himself together, at least outwardly. He didn’t break down, didn’t let anyone see the turmoil roiling beneath his cold exterior. But inside, every day was a battle against the crushing guilt that consumed him.

One day, as he sat beside you, he noticed a change—a slight movement in your hand, a twitch in your fingers. His heart skipped a beat but he didn’t move, afraid it might have been his imagination.

Then your eyelids fluttered and a faint groan escaped your lips.

Sylus leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest. “Sweetie?”

You blinked slowly, your vision blurry as you tried to focus and when you finally did, the first thing you saw was Sylus sitting beside you, his face drawn in tight lines, his usual mask of control still there but cracked at the edges.

“Hey” you croaked, your voice weak.

He didn’t respond at first, just stared at you with that same intensity that always made your stomach flip. But this time, there was something else in his eyes. Something deeper.

“I’m here” he said finally, his voice low, barely a whisper.

You tried to move your hand but the pain made you wince, your body still too weak. Sylus noticed immediately, his eyes flicking to the bandaged hand and then back to your face. His expression hardened, but he didn’t say anything.

“You… didn’t say it back” you rasped, your lips barely forming the words. “Before I left.”

Sylus’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor. He hadn’t said it. He had never said it and now, staring at you—broken, bruised, and fragile—he realized just how much those words had meant. How much they meant now.

“I know” he said after a long pause, his voice tight with emotion he was desperately trying to keep in check. “But I’m not leaving again. Not until I know you’re safe.”

and though he didn’t say the words, you could feel them in the way his hand finally brushed against yours, gentle and protective. I love you.

Even if he couldn’t say it yet, you knew.

A month had passed since the hospital and the dull ache of healing still lingered but you were determined. As you packed your bag, the emptiness where your ring finger used to be became more apparent. You didn’t flinch anymore, though the absence of something so simple left an odd weight in your chest. The room felt suffocating with the silence but the source wasn’t just you.

Sylus stood in the doorway, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the dim light of the hallway. He didn’t need to say anything for you to feel his displeasure, the tension radiating from him palpable. You could sense his eyes tracking every movement you made. He hadn’t been subtle about how he felt—he hated this. Hated that you were going back to work

“You don’t need to do this” he’d said earlier, his voice calm but firm. “I can take care of everything.”

But you’d declined, just as firmly. It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t just about work. It was about proving something to yourself, that you could still be you despite everything that had happened. Still, as you zipped up your bag and turned toward him, you could tell he was far from pleased.

When you reached the door where he stood, you offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes and said, “I’ll see you later.”

You started to step past him but his arm shot out with a practiced ease, wrapping around your waist in one swift motion. You gasped, stumbling slightly as he pulled you against his chest, your chest pressed firmly to his front. The air between you felt heavier, thick with something unspoken. His breath was warm against your face as he leaned in, his voice low, teasing but with an edge of seriousness.

“You’re missing something” he murmured. “You look like a lost little kitten.”

You blinked, confused at first and then it hit you—you hadn’t said it. You hadn’t told him you loved him before leaving, the way you usually did. The realization made you pause, a small laugh escaping your lips as you hugged him, your arms wrapping around his, holding him tightly.

“I love you” you said softly, the words feeling light yet heavy all at once.

For a moment, you thought that would be it. But then Sylus shifted, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly before he lifted you off the ground with ease, carrying you over to the bed.

You were completely stunned, barely able to react as he laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours. His usual calm, collected demeanor cracked just slightly as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I love you too” he whispered, the words sending a shock through you. It was the first time he’d ever said it.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave. But Sylus wasn’t done. His gaze softened for a brief moment but then that familiar smirk returned as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your neck.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you go back to work” he teased, his voice smooth but laced with a darker intent. “I have other plans for you.”

Before you could protest, his lips pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck, slow and deliberate, each kiss drawing you further into the heat of the moment. His hands moved to your sides, holding you firmly but gently, as if you were something fragile he needed to protect but couldn’t help teasing all the same.

“You’re not leaving this bed, kitten.” Sylus murmured between kisses, his voice low and filled with something possessive. “Not today. Not ever if I have my way.”

[revelboo]

my god how much do u write its like almost everyday i see i new fic (say this as i check tumblr daily lmao)

hope u still do sum hand and wrist stretches, take care of ur hands cuz they the ones who bring these pieces of poetry to us 🙏

but ur brain the main boss, so tace care of urself op

🤣 There’s a reason I post these like they are rather than the actual, detailed long form bits I’ve posted a few times. These are like my notecards for my manuscripts, hitting the high points I need to remember, but not bothering to flesh out a lot of the filler. I can type up a short form scenario like this in a few minutes if I want to. I try not to spam a ton at a time.

It Had to Be You Pt 5

TF One Megatron x Reader-Connection

• He’s aware of you all the time, even when you’re not near. You’re an itch in the back of his processor, snagging him and claiming his attention. Distracting him. None of his followers know about his little human yet and he intends to keep it that way. You’re too small. Too fragile and completely dependent on him for survival. Rummaging through the packages in his hand, he lets himself into his quarters. Knows his Decepticons must be wondering what he’s up to, why he’s always shutting himself away. He wishes he knew.

• He’s back. You hear the heavy sound of those peds and curl into a tighter ball among the blankets. If you pretend you’re asleep he might leave you alone. You know he won’t, though. Peeking out, you watch him drop a handful of packaged food in a corner of your cage and your stomach growls even as you hold your breath. Praying he just goes away. And you still try to claw away, kicking as he reaches in and picks you up. Groaning as you shove at his servos and hating the way that disjointed sense that you know him jangles through you every time his metal flesh touches your skin. It’s a lonely ache that echoes through you, calling to you even as you resent it. Resent him.

• That sense of peace, of rightness, washes over him as he cages you between his servos and vents, optics shuttering. Whatever this is that chains him to you, you either can’t feel it or are fighting tooth and nail against it. But he knows you can’t win. He couldn’t either. The two of you are tied together in ways he can’t understand, that ancient ache only abating when he can touch you, feel you against him. Something in you soothing his very spark when he should hate your weakness, your dependence on him. “Be still,” he growls, carrying you to his berth and stretching out. This too has become a routine as he pins your soft form under his servos so you’re sprawled on his chassis over his spark so he can soak in that warm sense of connection.

• You’re drowning in him, can almost swear you can feel him and not just physically. It’s like there’s a door shut between you and you want to tear it open even as it terrifies you. Those big servos lay heavy across your back, pressing you flat. The hum and heat of his internal systems rumbling through you. Part of you wants more, to press your cheek to his warm hide and just give in. Relax. Your heart begins to race as panic begins to claw its way up your throat. You don’t want to feel so safe in his hands, like this is exactly where you belong.

• “Calm, little human.” A servo slides over the back of your head as he focuses on the feel of your breathing and the frantic beat of your heart against him. You try to wiggle away when he slides his servos under the back of your shirt, strengthening that connection and feeling his spark thrum as that imbalance settles. As soon as he breaks the contact, it’ll be back, but for now he feels whole. For now, it’s enough.

Previous Next

[weenwrites]

Hii, long time lurker here! I love the way you write everybody so in character and feel free to ignore this, but could I request headcannons of the Autobots with an adrenaline junkie reader (I.e.skateboarding down steep roads, parkour, etc) who is actually really calm and philosophical? Always thinking about the nature of life regardless of how big or small?platonic please

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

✎A/N: Hehe thank you!! Since it's been a hot second since I've last written something, I'll do 5 characters instead of my usual 3.

Optimus

He's certainly no stranger to thrill-seekers, though when you're pitted against cybertronian standards, all your hobbies and activities seem rather tame. Still, he understands that humans can be very fragile—it's a baffling conundrum to him, that humans are capable of surviving the wildest scenarios yet can die because of the smallest things. He'll often drop you off at a skate park and he'll always remind you to take proper caution and wear protective gear.

In the rare moments of downtime that he gets, (or if you join him on his patrols which always take place at ungodly hours of the day) he could go on for hours and hours discussing cybertronian and human philosophy with you. The differences and similarities in the way that humans and cybertronians interpret life and its meaning are very intriguing to him, and naturally he enjoys learning. Eventually it's pretty clear how much he looks forward to having you with him on patrol through the way he begins to conveniently go on patrol at more reasonable hours of the day.

Ratchet

He's scolded you countless times when you used your skateboard to grind down the railing instead of walking down from the catwalk normally. And he's also talked your ear off about skateboarding around his feet while he walks around. It's not really for being distracting but rather out of concern that you might fall and hit your head, sprain a joint, possibly break a bone, or he might step on you.

Chances are that no matter what he tells you, you're still gonna do what you do. Well regardless, he'll tell you to wear a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads—it doesn't matter how skilled you are, accidents can happen to anyone because of factors out of their control—and hey, don't forget wrist guards. When you fall, you naturally put your hands beneath you to catch yourself, so your hands and wrists mainly take the brunt of the damage.

He's not quite one for philosophical discussions, but you're welcome to idly talk to him about it, and occasionally he'll either agree with whatever philosophy you're talking about, or critique it and point out how absurd he thinks it is.

Ultra Magnus

What do you expect? He's about as fun as a wet sock. Skateboarding in the base is prohibited. Doing "parkour" around the base is prohibited. Do not scale the side of the monitor. Do not jump off the catwalk onto any passing bot. The list goes on and on for each new creative stunt you come up with. And somehow he has an uncanny knack for guessing where you've hidden up on the suspension beams overhead in the base, yet it's just the fact he has sharp eyes. He'll drive you out to a skate park or any public space if it means you'll stop doing it around the base.

He's not all too philosophical. That is to say, he's never had the opportunity nor the inclination to look into it for himself. However, the more you talk to him about it, the more he realizes that differences between Humans and Cybertronians only run skin-deep.

Despite being hundreds of thousands of light years apart, both Human and Cybertronian culture share some remarkable similarities. Back on Cybertron, no one existed for 'no reason'. Everyone had a purpose, they were assigned a role the moment they woke up, but on Earth? You choose that for yourself. Yet doesn't that seem daunting? To have to find purpose yourself? He dislikes the lack of "order" in that regard. Hm.

Smokescreen

To put it simply, he thinks you're super cool. Smokescreen idolizes you next to Optimus—it's not that you're in second place... You're technically first place in terms of human idols, so, yeah you've got that! See? You're second to none!

He likes watching you skateboard, or parkour your way up onto the top of a building. He genuinely thinks your hobbies are awesome and it'd be hard to miss the way you rub off on him. He'll try to show off and pull stunts of his own in hopes you'd think he's also cool. While you're out skateboarding in the middle of an empty parking lot he'll join you and do some donuts and weave between street lights as fast as he can, and by the end of it you always catch the way he looks at you, expecting some sort of reaction to gauge whether he was cool or not.

And not only are your hobbies cool but, to him you're righteous! He always listens intently whenever you go on about the inherent value of any and all life or any philosophical topics that spark your interest, but does he truly understand even a smidgen of what you're saying? Ehhh, sort of, but honestly it mostly goes straight over his head (which is amazing given his height). He essentially parrots what you say because he thinks it'll set him a bit closer to being just like one of his idols, but he doesn't truly understand the deeper meaning of your words and ideas.

Arcee

Skateboarding down steep roads, scaling tall buildings with just your bare hands, biking along bumpy and rocky paths, even though she's seen her fair share of shenanigans and trouble with Cliffjumper, you're ironically quite the handful despite your size. Ah, just what will she do with you?

At this point you've no doubt convinced her to go ride down some of the rough and rugged paths out in the desert. It's pretty dangerous, sure, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't find the challenging terrain fun in the slightest. She's confident in her own ability to keep you safe and she trusts you, so all you need to do is grab a helmet and the two of you are off!

When you both kick back to relax and chat, philosophy was one of the last things she thought you'd be interested in, but hey, humans are always full of surprises. Every discussion you have with her about philosophy always delves deeper into the more personal parts of both your lives, or on lighter notes it gets to talking about the interesting cultural differences between Humans and Cybertronians. Either way, when things get too deep or depressing, she's always quick to suggest going out for a drive to clear your mind.

[signanothername]

honestly, both outcomes where either of the twins die are really interesting to me, yet NM dying and Dream inherenting all his stuff sounds better, somewhat. I mean, imagine Dream starts to heal and grow and the years pass by and he starts to fit into the true immortal role, perhaps even by his maturity starting to act like Nightmare in certain scenarios?

Fr fr same here, really love exploring these possibilities

And that’s exactly what I’m saying, and listen this may be a bit morbid to say, but I wholeheartedly believe that Dream can never truly start his healing journey (and eventually actually heal) until Nightmare’s dead

Cause in a sense, Nightmare is a walking living reminder of both the twins’ trauma and what became of them, and Dream can never truly rest until he stops worrying about the negativity and positivity imbalance that Nightmare’s causing, and once Nightmare’s gone, the balance of emotions is back on its track, and there’s definitely no bigger threat that can mess with that balance afterwards, and by extension, finally giving Dream the actual time to rest/relax, even if a little, considering Dream would definitely feel a bit anxious about the idea of “relaxing” (Dream will forever be a workaholic in my heart, plus his duty as a positivity guardian as well as the fact he’s incapable to stop being a people pleaser will forever haunt him)

But i can absolutely see him finally truly understand and view life in a more healthy manner, find his relationship with life in a way that’s actually meaningful to him, aside worrying about his duty as a guardian, I can see him actually and genuinely feeling what it is like to actually live and not just survive

And by god Anon you’re a fucking genius cause I can absolutely see Dream retaining some of Nightmare’s habits/quirks over time without truly realizing it, only for someone to else to point it out, and for Dream to find it heartwarming yet heartbreaking at the same time

The thing is, Dream becomes both the positivity and negativity guardian once Nightmare’s gone, and I can’t stop thinking about the spiritual implications of that, cause wouldn’t it technically mean Dream would feel his brother’s spirit throughout the negativity of the multiverse? Can Nightmare’s own negativity/positivity get extinguished really? When his memory and impact on positivity and negativity can never be truly changed? When Nightmare used to be a guardian himself? When Dream now has the other black apple half within himself?

Ok ok I’m stopping shhdhdh have another sketch cause Anon you have a big brain with the Dream starts acting like Nightmare idea

Dream doing the formal arms behind back Nightmare stand

Part 1 (technically)

Part 3 (kinda)

Part 4

[vilebird]

FUNERAL AFTER A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

a painting of a pale sky and bright blue sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented the right way. - Day, by Frederick Judd Waugh

"and the man looks me in the eyes and he points to the blue-orange vault over heaven's gates and he says the face of everyone you miss is up there and i know i know i can't see them but i know" - And What Good Will Your Vanity Be When The Rapture Comes, by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib

"i've cut myself off. i can feel the place / where i used to be attached. it's raw, as when you grate / your finger. it's a shredded mess / of images. it hurts." The Door, by Margaret Atwood

"i found you / i found the door / but when i stepped through / there was no floor" I want you, by Mitski

a still from a video of a bright setting sun against a dark orange sky and dark blue sea, with the caption "don't cry" - The Green Ray (1986)

"i feel dead. / i feel as if i were the residue of a stranger's life" - The Lost Pilot, by James Tate

"the shuddering moan of blood, a song to calm the sacrificial, the loss across the river. the way a dying animal will look at you is seared into me. we tie together and all over again." - i cant remember what this one is sorru

"i am feeling numb. it's a curious feeling, and i get it all the time. my attention to the world around me disappears, and something starts to hum inside my head. far off, voices try to bump up against me, but i repel them. my ears fill up with water and i focus on the humming inside my head. / i am inside my skull. it is a little cave, and i curl up inside it. below it, my body hovers, unattached." - Madness: A Bipolar Life, by Marya Hornbacher.

"-though we're dry and waiting. part of me died here so another could go on. the body i raised-" - When They Say you Can't Go Home Again What They Mean is You Where Never There, by Marty McConnell

text: "there'll always be a few things / maybe several things/ that you're gonna find / really difficult to forgive" image: a black silhouette of a minotaur sitting on top of a pale pillar rising out of a pale maze, looking out at an orange sunset over an empty desert beyond the walls of its maze. the text is black letters on white pasted in strips over top. - Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats and Minotauro by Jordi Garriga Mora. collage put together by @scatterghosts

"i know there are things i haven't survived." - Lord of the Butterflies, by Andrea Gibson

"it seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge. who did you come back for?" - White is for Witching, by Helen Oyeyemi

a painting of a bright white bird on a background split between dark blue and black - Promised Land (2013), by Michael Creese

"and with or without your support, i will continue / what im trying to say is you never know what you've been through / til you pause and cough it out" - Cough It Out by The Frontbottoms

"painting all the mirrors black / i won't see you staring back / i'm getting lost forever / searching in the broken glass / trying to ignore the past / and put myself together" - Mirrors by 8 Graves

"saint calvin told me not to worry about you / but he's got his own things to deal with / there's really just one thing we have in common: / neither of us will be missed" - Saint Bernard by Lincoln

"so many bright lights to cast a shadow / but can i speak? / well, is it hard understanding / that i'm incomplete?" - Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

"being in a completely normal nonthreatening scenario & environment and thinking 'i have GOT to get the fuck out of here' with the intensity of some trapped neurotic prey animal" - tumblr post by user @greelin

"but you know me / what can't i conjure into hysteria / and longing? / any place is a funeral as soon as i get there. / of course i'm the disaster / but you're the one foolish enough / to learn my name." - The Next Time We Talk on Facebook, by Clementine von Radics

"if your wounds are still open, trust / they are the doors to an answer, / and walk through." - You Better Be Lightning, by Andrea Gibson

text: "what a tremendous thing to learn from" image: black text on white strips across a blue-orange gradient - i forgot this one too sory

"when the body remembers, it bucks wildly / when we try to heal, the phantom smell returns / while in the shower, you break down / while you wash your body you realise it is not your body / and at the same time, it is the only body you have" - Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head, by Warsan Shire

"that was the thing. you never got used to it, the idea of somebody being gone. just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking." - The Truth About Forever, by Sarah Dessen

"the spirit is so hurt / it don't know the / body / it / looks in / the mirror / and asks, who is it?" - On/My/Aging, by Carolyn Marie Rodgers

"could we sit together in new bodies, shoulder to tender / shoulder, / the lovely and the thorned, the bitter and the failed, / the grave to the left of us, the sea to the right?" - 8, Always a Rose, by Li-Young Lee

"the fact of the matter is / you survived, / it's what you do. / death and you / walk side by side / all sigh and scythe / you stay alive. / and you have the right / but struggle to believe. / you're still allowed / to be alive. / it feels inappropriate." - It's What You Do, by Lena Oleanderson @lena-oleanderson

a painting of a bright orange sky at sunset, sun nowhere to be seen, over a pale sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented upside down. - Night, by by Frederick Judd Waugh

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part One

Content Warning: mentions of main character deaths but these are temporary because this is a time travel two-to-four-shot and so, they start dead but then get better :3 Also maybe a whiplash warning? In that it starts off kind of dark for a story that's pretty light-hearted in the end.

Here's the first part of the threatened season 4 AU time travel fic where Steve gets thrown back to the moment in family video when Dustin and Max show up demanding the phones. Previously he was 5 years into a grueling apocalypse.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Steve has lived his life in regret. Replaying scenarios in his head over and over late at night when sleep eludes him. And sleep is always eluding him these days, weeks, past five years. Steve hasn't known a day without regret since the day they failed to kill Vecna, the day Max almost died. The day Eddie did.

It's five years to the day today.

Steve spends endless nights thinking about how he'd change that spring break. It was the start of the end of everything. Eddie's death wasn't world ending for Steve. It was the end of a what-if. A maybe. But for Dustin. Oh God, Dustin. Who had blamed himself for Eddie's death, who was broken and then never able to get time to recover. To grieve.

Dustin, who pulled away from everyone, from Steve, because of it.

He's not dead, Steve knows, because he still hears his voice on the radio. Separated from the group but vital to their survival. He spread intel on Demo-creature movements, where safe spaces are, news from across the broken and destroyed America, and how to survive the hellscape.

There have been losses. Terrible, tragic losses.

Murray Baughman. Lucas Sinclair. Karen and Holly Wheeler. Will Byers. And those are just the ones he knows. A lot of people scattered to the wind when Hawkins became overran with the Upside Down and its creatures.

He's still two days out on this supply run. Two more days and he'll get to know who is still around. Who they lost this time. It's not always someone they know, but the horrors never cease, and Steve's been gone a total of three weeks.

"Hey," Robin breaks him from his thoughts as she leans over to whisper in his ear, "since you're gonna daydream, you might as well actually dream. Scouts say it'll be a while before we can continue moving."

"I'm not daydreaming, I'm thinking."

"Well, be sleeping instead. You'll be more useful with some rest," Robin pats her shoulder, inviting him to lean his head against it.

"Don't use my weakness against me. You know I love being useful," Steve sighs as he drops his head onto her shoulder.

"I know. It makes you easy to manipulate," Robin teases. He can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, shut up and sleep."

Steve grumbles under his breath. No real words, just grumpy noises as he does shift and get as comfortable as he can leaned against Robin. He is tired, and with nothing else he can be doing, he won't feel too guilty about it.

He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness of the sun shining through the glass storefront of Family Video. Usually when he dreams of the past, the sun's never this bright. It's been years since he's seen the sun at all, with the red-black sky of the Upside Down looming above them constantly.

He takes a deep breath, basking in the fresh(ish) air of Family Video. How long has it been since he's taken a breath without his mouth covered by a mask, bandana, some cloth or another? Well, he's not really breathing without a mask on, his conscious self has one on, but it still feels good to fill his lungs and release. He has half a mind to jump the counter and go outside to repeat that; see if his unconscious mind will provide a difference in the air, if it remembers enough to do so.

"Hey Steve," Dustin says as he is stepping through the doors with Max at his side. It's then that Steve takes in where the dream has started. The doors have just opened, and Steve's looking partially over his shoulder, towards the doors instead of the TV as it plays the news of Chrissy's death on the screen. The world fades back into motion, instead of the slowness the beginning of his dream started as Dustin finishes his question, "how many phones do you have?"

"Are you seeing this?" Steve asks on autopilot, playing out the scene he knows, but he holds off from stating the someone was murdered part. He's tired of saying it.

"How many phones do you have?" Dustin asks with more urgency.

Steve takes in Dustin and Max while Robin explains the phone situation. It's been so fucking long since he's seen Dustin. Since Max was able to see him. God. He can't let this play out like normal. It's not going to fix reality, he knows that logically, but what would it hurt to live out his fantasy of getting a re-do while he dreams? Wasn't that what he was thinking about while awake?

He tunes back into the conversation when Dustin shoves his backpack across the counter, and then himself. Instead of whining about the tapes, he reaches for the pen and notepad they keep close to the till. "Hey, what's this about?"

"Max, fill them in while I do this," Dustin replies.

Max turns to him and Robin, who is eyeing both Steve and Max but listening. Max explains what Steve already knows. The lights going crazy, Eddie fleeing his own home, and that it might be Upside Down related.

There's a script here. Responses he has memorized because of how often he dreams this moment over and over. An answer Steve usually gives, but this time he finds he can hold his tongue. He doesn't have to speak. Doesn't have to follow the script.

"Okay," Steve says instead. "Dustin, what's the number for the Byers now?

Surprisingly, that actually pulls Dustin from the computer. He spins on the stool to give Steve a confused look. "What? Why?"

If he's being honest with himself, he's never really had this much control over his dreams before. Having this control makes him want to do all the things he's daydreamed about. To change the choices that fill him with regret and guilt. "I want to leave a message for Jonathan," Steve lies, "or talk to him if he's home. Give him a heads up that Upside Down shit might be going on again."

Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, suspicious, "Jonathan?"

"Yeah. Jonathan," Steve says in his bitchiest voice. "Number, dude."

He can tell Dustin doesn't fully believe the lie, but he recites the number anyway.

"Thanks," Steve says as he scoots around Robin and heads to Keith's office to use the phone there. The first thing he does is call the police station and let them know that he saw Eddie Munson at Rick Lipton's place, up by Lover's Lake on Holland Road. The lady who answered starts to ask questions, Steve just says he recognized the trailer on TV as the Munson's and hangs up. He'll swing by later once everyone else has pieced together the Rick Lipton part of this all themselves. If Eddie's still there, he'll drag him to the station himself.

'Cause the thing is, Steve has thought of many scenarios. So many. And even if nothing else changes, this is the bit that will. Eddie cannot be killed in the Upside Down if he is in a jail cell instead. And if the police do follow up on his tip, then they'll take Eddie in for questioning before Fred dies. And that's.

Well.

Steve's living through the end of the world and that changes people. It's changed Steve. Once there would have been a time when allowing someone to die, knowing it was going to happen and not stopping it, would have filled Steve with guilt, regret, maybe even some self-loathing. But Steve's made enough sacrifices for this town. Lost enough of the people he loves to be jaded. Maybe even cruel. If Fred has to die to prove that Eddie didn't do it, then that's what will happen.

His next step is to call the Byers. It surprises him that Joyce actually answers with a hesitant hello. That never happens in the dreams.

"Joyce. I mean, Ms. Byers. It's Steve. Uhh, Steve Harrington," he says.

"Oh. Hello Steve. What, uh, what can I do for you?" Joyce's voice is still hesitant.

"Listen, the Upside Down is back. Or, like, it was never gone? I don't know. But I needed to tell you."

"Oh my God," Joyce sounds horrified, and Steve can hear Murray in the background asking questions. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Vec- sorry, it has already killed a girl. Max was a witness. Well, of the aftermath. But that's not important. What I need is for you to tell El that she's never been a monster and never will be. That everything has been the fault of One. And I think you should tell her Hopper is alive and you're going to rescue him."

There's not an immediate answer. A rustling sound and then faint voices he can't make out. She must be covering the phone with her hand as she and Murray talk. Or argue, knowing Murray. After a moment, Murray's voice comes through the line, "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

It's followed by Joyce shouting, "How do you know about Hopper?" and Murray quickly shushing her and some shuffling noises before Joyce says, "Okay. We're both listening."

"Look, I know you have no reason to believe me so I'll give you something that might serve as proof that I know things I shouldn't. When everyone gets back from the roller rink, be there for El. She's going to- to have a bad night, because of a girl that's been, like, bullying her at school. Then, I need you to get them headed this way tomorrow morning, because you gotta be gone then, too, but like. Be there for El tonight. There will be an incident involving a roller skate. So, if you believe me, call me back after that."

"How do we know you're who you claim to be, Steve?" Murray questions again, while Joyce says, horrified, "El's been being bullied?"

"I can't exactly prove I'm me. But call my house tonight after you've spoken to El and I'll answer. That's the best I can do. I... I don't know if Jonathan or Mike have my number, but Mike can call home and get my number from Nancy. That'll be proof, right? Or Will can get it from Dustin. Whichever."

"And how do you know about something happening tonight at the roller rink?" Joyce demands.

"I know more than I should. So, if the roller rink thing holds up, and you decide to at least hear me all the way out, call my house," Steve hangs up then, not wanting to get into a loop of explanation.

"Steve! Hurry up and come help people while I help Thing One and Thing Two!" Robin calls through the door and Steve takes a step towards the closed door to comply but he stops, hand hanging just above the doorknob. That's how the dream goes. That's what 19-year-old Steve would have done.

But that's a Steve that died five years ago, when the world ended, when the apocalypse started. Steve's not 19 anymore, though he must look it, a master of his own puppet. He's never sought himself out in a mirror when he dreams; he's too busy taking in everyone who has been lost to him in his waking life to bother with himself.

What does he want to do this time?

What does he want to do right now?

He leaves Keith's office to beeline to Dustin, pausing only to pat Robin on the shoulder. He slides around Max and comes to a stop beside Dustin.

"I already told you, I need this for-" Dustin starts to speak but cuts off with a squawk that sounds like a mixture of indignation and confusion as Steve just reaching out and bodily turns Dustin towards him. "Steve, this is important!"

"I know," Steve says and then hugs Dustin. Dustin doesn't hug back, but neither does he pull away. Steve knows he's missed Dustin, felt his loss for many years now, but holding Dustin now, feeling him solid and here feels Steve what he can only equate to grief.

Dustin lets himself be hugged for what is, undoubtedly, an awkward amount of time for him before he thumps Steve's back twice and says, "okay... You can stop now."

Steve lets go and turns to Max, who immediately puts her hands up, "No. Absolutely not."

He chuckles and steps around her. He won't force his affection on her.

Then he takes off the family video vest and sets it on the counter.

"Steve?" Robin asks.

"Sorry, Robs, I can't stay and help customers. I have some things I got to do."

"Steve, you cannot abandon me on a Saturday!"

He can't quite bring himself to feel bad for abandoning her. It is a shit thing to do but right now saving Eddie and Max from Vecna is more important. He's already wasting daylight, so instead of answering his gives her his best 'I'm so sorry' face and bolts out the door. All three of them shout after him but he doesn't slow.

He's got a list of regrets to change.

-

Tagging the besties and all the people that expressed interest when I posted the lil blurb about this. Sorry if I missed you!

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @vampirestevie @alex-axolotl @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched

[stump-not-found]

A03 wrapped 2024

tagged by @tempusedax-rerum >:DDDDD

1.) Biggest surprise while writing this year?

how much people responded to bill cipher saying daddy . how people have interpreted ford's relationship to mabel in theseus' guide; i've really tried to write him as really caring for her so seeing that interpreted as him disliking her is so interesting haha

most of all tho i'm just surprised and very grateful that theseus has received any attention, it's been so so wonderful reading everyone's thoughts and seeing them engage with the fic . it really makes the entire process so gratifying, and i hope folks continue to enjoy where the story goes next :D

2.) How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

i've got my erotic billford rom com Can of Snakes that's over 20k right now . it has banger titles such as "sad handjob" and "penicular sounding", so someday i'll be posting that . i think they can make it work

i also just started Weirdmageddon 2: Electric Boogaloo: Lost In New York, an AU where ford gets stan to help him finish the portal after kicking fidd's to the curb . stan and bill become besties, ford hates it, and bill isn't allowed to destroy new york until he tries a slice of 'za .

this is not accounting for the mountain of comic WIP's i have but that shit aint goin on ao3

3.) Favourite character to write this year?

ford for sure . you give me a character who's autistic in a way that isn't cute and it just means the world to me . i get to give him evil autism . the autism where we acknowledge growing up autistic is traumatizing and makes you not a nice person all the time . fuck i love him . i get to dump so much of my own shit on him its so funnnnnnn yay lalalala

there was a whole paragraph i wrote that was just describing the perfect eye angle to maintain when walking through a farmers market to avoid social scenario's, which i had to remove because it was just me rambling about my own social survival strategies . farmers markets are dangerous places

i also love writing him in the context of bill . what a fucking mess they are i hope they never get better . but together <3

4.) The character that gave you the most trouble this year?

honestly stanley pines . i feel like i soften him too much, and lean in to his more positive traits than his more negative ones . it's hard because i feel like folks don't talk about the fact he was homeless for like 10 years & also had a breaking bad style adventure in columbia

the other problem is that he IS a big softy so idk . but he should be bitchier god damn it . he should be talking about his cataracts

6.) Did you receive any gifts this year?

I DID YOU INSANE PEOPLE thank you all it make a me smile:

@stemmmm @ancharan @kronehaze @sillyhyperfixator @ezrathean0n

7.) Did you do any collaborative works this year?

i feel like all my writing is collaborative!! i spend hours talking fic stuff with my wife & brother and my stuff is all the better for it . would love to do more of that w/ other folks i love it talking and thinking and playing is so fun

8.) What do you listen to while writing?

i don't like listening to music when i write lol ...... i sit in the cold silence and type in a frantic spiral .

i listen to a lotta different things while i think of things to write tho . atm all i want in the world is to make a theseus animation to this song it's very hammercore :

9.) Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

oogh that's hard to choose . i'm just gonna share a bunch that make me laugh

from theseus' guide step six:

Dipper, clearly, doesn’t get it, and Ford acknowledges he is too young to understand a professional working relationship.

also from step six:

“Oh, sure, I can move on,” Stan grins, “To the other items on my list. A, the shack’s toilets all suck, and the seats keep raisin’ automatically. B, your handwriting sucks. C–”

from theseus' guide step three:

“You think you’re coming back anytime soon?” “No, 8-Ball, I don’t think I’m ‘ coming back ’ anytime soon.” Ford snides, though 8-Ball either doesn’t register that, or doesn’t care; hard to tell with the guy, “I’m sure you’re aware, but your boss wants to kill my family. And destroy my universe. ” 8-Ball sniffs. “Cool. Mind if I eat your leftovers then? Teeth keeps eyeing them.” Ford frowns, “You couldn’t have just brought them with you?” “Nah, man, I want to eat them.”

lots of lines from step eight but we ain't there yet

uuuuhhghhg who to send this chain mail along to uuuhgghgh

@beccadrawsstuff if u wannaaaa . anyone else feel free to pick this up as well i'm bad at this lol

[hollowed-theory-hall]

do you think harry is a flight or fight type of person? or maybe its just cuz he knows which battles are worth fighting

I think Harry is very much a whatever suits him best person with a preference towards fight. Like, when he is actually scared and distressed and backed into a corner, he fights. I think, especially later in life after the books, if you grab him unawares he might accidentally hex you out of instinct, like we see in book 6:

“Pathetic, Weasley,” said Snape, after a while. “Here — let me show you —” He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, “Protego!” His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk.

(HBP, 180)

But, when he's in a situation he can't win, if he could he would flee. He's smart. In the graveyard Harry is terrified, he only chooses to fight when he comes to the conclusion running isn't an option:

There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have considered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled. Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where Cedric’s body lay and returned with Harry’s wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry’s hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters.

(GoF, 659)

Even in book 5, even though he does fight and successfully hold off the Death Eaters in the ministry, his first choice of plan is to escape without a fight. And he's right to do so in these situations.

In life-or-death situations, Harry's first instinct is usually to run away to live another day. Flight in combat scenarios like his would be the best option for survival more often than not. So, it's a smart, practical move.

In the face of more mundane fights, like bullies (be it Dudley, Malfoy, Umbridge, or Snape) Harry swings back, with either words, curses, or even punches.

He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly

(PS, 79)

Darkness fell outside Umbridge’s window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit here all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill. . . .

(OotP, 267)

“IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

(OotP, 4113)

“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them. “I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him.

(OotP, 852)

The point is, Harry's situational. Flight is usually his first choice in life-and-death battles he isn't likely to win, in situations with bullies where he is likely to win, he chooses to fight, like, instantly.

The reason I'm saying he has a preference for fight is because of his anger and savior complex. When someone hurts someone he cares about, he chooses fight regardless of how dangerous the situation is or his chances of winning.

In the Chamber of Secrets, Harry doesn't even consider running away, because running away means killing Ginny, so it isn't an option:

Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right . . . but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny . . . and in the meantime, Harry noticed suddenly, Riddle’s outline was becoming clearer, more solid. . . . If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later.

(CoS, 292)

In OotP, after Bellatrix kills Sirius he chases after her, disregarding how dangerous that is:

“Harry — no!” cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin’s slackened grip. “SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM — I’LL KILL HER!” And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches. People were shouting behind him but he did not care.

(OotP, 809)

Harry reacts similarly after Snape kills Dumbledore:

And Harry felt the ground shudder under his face as the brother and sister and the enormous Death Eater obeyed, running toward the gates. Harry uttered an inarticulate yell of rage: In that instant, he cared not whether he lived or died. Pushing himself to his feet again, he staggered blindly toward Snape, the man he now hated as much as he hated Voldemort himself — “Sectum — !”

(HBP, 603)

When someone Harry cares about is hurt, the danger matters much less to Harry, and fight just becomes his go-to instinct.

[jomeimei421]

Because I haven’t finished ORV (took an indefinite break but I like it loads so I’ll go back eventually) I’m curious <- saw your tags on the fix it fic reblog

The story that the MC reads, is it an actual story irl and the manhwa is quite literally a fanfic?

The book that Kim Dokja reads is an in-universe webnovel called Three Ways of Surviving the Apocalypse (TWSA).

TWSA isn’t an actual webnovel that we can read, but we know it wasn’t going to end happily for its protagonist, Yoo Joonghyuk.

In ORV, the world of TWSA becomes reality and the plot is functionally KDJ’s TWSA self insert fix-it fic where he uses his knowledge of the world and the story in order to bring YJH and all his companions to a “happy end” and look cool and smart in the process

That’s not the only reason I brought up ORV in the context of that post though! Without spoiling anything, it gets clearer the further you read but KDJ is a “reader” through and through.

He’s not great at telling stories, he’s a HORRIBLY unreliable narrator, and even though he knows what he wants YJH’s ending to look like, he doesn’t really want to think about what an end to the scenario looks for himself.

Because of his special skill, the Fourth Wall, he sees the world around him as fiction so it’s very, very difficult for anything to get through to him — for better or worse. KDJ is also extremely fatalistic, and assumes he already knows how things will turn out before he even tries to do or say anything. A lot of the time, it leads to him funneling himself into a bad outcome because he thinks it’s inevitable.

Basically ORV is trying to bait you into doing for KDJ what KDJ is doing for YJH. That’s just a tiny sliver of the tip of the iceberg though…

I really recommend reading the webnovel for yourself! It will change something permanently in your brain chemistry and you will never look at another piece of media the same way again

[lilac-5ky]

The Party (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Plot: You decide to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday

Tags: Birthday fluff, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Shibuya incident?What Shibuya incident? (year is 2018), Established Relationship, Gojo Senpai, Satoru being the adorable menace everyone loves, SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. MAKING. APPEARANCES, feels like an actual jjk ep at this point, (fic deteriorates a bit over the latter part as my mental health does, writing until 6 am is exhausting, i know im late but spare me)

Word Count: Slightly under 9k.

A/N: Happy late Birthday, my love 💙💙💙

Masterlist | Requests | AO3

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost there—watch your step!” You warn, only to lose your footing a second later as you smash head first into your boyfriend’s back.

There is no way Satoru doesn’t know where the two of you are headed. Even with his technique supposedly turned off and your shaky hands concealing his curious eyes, all the things that make Jujutsu Tech into the place that raised generations of sorcerers (yours, included) continue to exist, bearing witness to his intentionally dumb guesses.

“Is it the beach? Are you taking me to see the ocean?” Satoru excites. “Aw, baby! You should have told me so; I would have brought my swimming trunks with! Although, I hafta say swimming in December is probably a bad idea, my nipples will freeze and fall right off. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

A sigh evades your lips, expelled as a little white cloud of frustration. On second thought, his mouth was what needed to be covered. Preferably stitched.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we aren’t going to the beach”—aw, shoot—“and your nipples get to live another day.” Your teeth chatter. Tiptoeing behind him with upstretched arms is already hard on its own. Doing so in the cold is purely exhausting.

You lose count of how many torii gates you cross, the joint click of your shoes switching to an uncoordinated thump as you go from traversing cobblestone paths to climbing an endless uphill of stairs, your stroll, again, feeling like part of a survival show. Curse Master Tengen. They might have only been responsible for the barriers, though in your scare, that doesn’t stop you from holding them accountable.

We are going to die.

Or more like you are going to die, considering Satoru’s already secured himself a life net in the form of your poor broken-to-be bones, and that’s the best case scenario you can hope for, the worst being having to repeat your ascension from the bottom step up.

“Then, are we visiting Himeji Castle?” Satoru continues, the frigid temperature not enough to crack his spirit. “Because I know the single best place for Tama Tsubaki. So fragrant, so elegant, so deliciously sweet! You haven’t been to Himeji before, have you? It’s also known for its excellent leather craftsmanship. Last time I went there, they had these insanely pretty wallets with—”

“N-no!” You yelp, voice as strained as if you’re walking on a tightrope. Shivering, “Wouldn’t you have noticed if I took you on a 4-hour road trip?”

“But time always moves so fast when I’m with you.” He coos in response, his tone serious when he asks, “Wanna take a break? Promise to keep my eyes closed till we reach the top. And after that too, if you want.”

Silky lashes map out the inside of your palms as they flutter against them, sweet little butterfly kisses that convince you to withdraw your hands. After all, you’d hate for his birthday to be stained with blood.

Not yours, at least.

“If you dare open them, I’ll kill you.”

“How scary!” Satoru captures your frozen hand and slips it in his coat’s pocket with far too great precision for someone with impaired vision. You don’t complain. Not even when he makes you bump into every single step on your way up, giggling to himself, until, as promised, you reach the summit and he lets go for you to assume your previous positions.

“I don’t”—pant—“miss”—pant—“walking this w-walk.” You muster in between labored breaths, palms on your knees as you crouch forward like an elderly lady with chronic back pain. “Wh-what are you smiling for?”

“Nooooooothing!” Satoru chirps, soft dimples carving hard into his milky complexion. “Just takes me back to the time when you still called me Gojo Senpai is all.”

Your youth comes playing in your head like an old cassette forced to rewind, bittersweet recollections sending you on a sudden trip down memory lane.

You met Satoru at the peak of spring and fell in love with him over the course of fall—a swirl of autumn leaves coloring the currently naked maple trees red. Muddy soles and uniforms soggy from the rain. Chasing after an umbrella you agreed to share and hopscotching across shallow puddles. Laughing louder than the pending storm.

But before that, bickering. So much bickering that continuously tested the patience of those around you, arguments over video games escorting you to morning assembly, and plans to catch new movie releases sealing your goodbyes.

The bitterness of Shoko’s cigarettes and the promise to never smoke again. Arcades and electronics in Akihabara. Karaoke and conveyor belt sushi in Shibuya. Getting a stranger to buy you your first beer and puking your guts outside a convenience store in Shinjuku. The promise to never drink again.

Moon-viewing festival. The unforgettable sight of him in a yukata, your heart multiplying itself into your eyes. Stolen glances and not-so-accidental nudges. Your first kiss tasting of melon soda, your second burning faster than the wick of his sparkler. Another kind of promise.

The giddiness of first love filters the film pink. Five-minute dates behind the old gym in flash forward. Late-night expeditions to each other’s dorms. Your loss of innocence overshadowed by the sudden loss of Haibara. Tears that threaten to spill out of the sequence. Suguru’s betrayal. The strength to move forward.

You’ve come a long way since the days you cheekily called him Gojo Senpai without a care in the world, and even though tragedy managed to forever sully them, standing here with him now makes it worth the pain. Given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

Rolling the cricks around your neck and shoulders, you walk up to Satoru, a tug at the lowest hanging tuft of hair signaling for him to meet your height. Knees bent. Eyes still closed. Lips still curled. Features so undeniably beautiful at 29 as they were at 17.

“Don’t move.” You mumble, smiling softly as you watch him pucker his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, you fish out a pair of rectangular shades from inside your pocket and place them over the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go before we get scolded for being late again.” Your hand steals his this time around, ushering him forward. A speckle of heat shooting from your fingers to your cheeks. “I trust you not to spoil your own surprise, Gojo Senpai.”

You are less than thirty steps away from your destination when, without a warning, the man behind you stops moving, forcing you to halt with him.

“What is it?” You ask, your body reeled closer to his from the bind of your fingers. “If you’re gonna ask whether I’m taking you to Laputa, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m still figuring out the coordinates.”

“That’s not it.” He huffs a chuckle against your knuckles, tenderly brushing them against his cheek. “But drop a pin when you do. Always wanted to take a nap in that fluffy flower bed. I’m sure it tastes fluffy too, just like whipped cream.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You return, a yawn coaxed at the mention of napping. “So, what is it? Why did we stop?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, so am I, but we really are close this time. If you just—”

“You should kiss me.” Satoru announces with solemnity better befitting a declaration of war. He realizes that himself, bringing his free hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his skull. Awkwardly. Ears tinged red. Cutely. “That would warm me up.”

“Is that your excuse?” You ask, chapped lips rubbing together. Your heartbeat felt in your throat. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not when you’ve known each other for the better part of your lives. It’s not normal. You don’t think you are.

“Nope.” He balances things out with a boyish smile that doesn’t make things any better for the lovesick teenage girl residing in your heart. She doesn’t know any better but to fawn over it. “My excuse is that we haven’t kissed here before. We’ve kissed there,” you follow his pointer, first to a bench made of stone and then to a blind spot behind some shrubs, “and there—many times there, heh, but not here. So we should kiss.” He reasons with a simplistic, nearly childish mindset. One you can’t quite argue against.

Until his spell breaks on you rather unceremoniously.

“I thought your eyes were closed!”

“Well, they were, but then I—hah, stop pullin’ like that—started missing your pretty face too much. Can’t deny me the simple joys in life, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “C’mon, just one kiss. Then we can meet with Yuji and the others. Promise I’ll act extra surprised!”

“Y-you knew?” Your eyes widen.

“I’ve known for about a week now? Heard you two talking on the phone, plus the kids asked to be put on cleaning duty when they usually leave everything to Megumi. Then a ton of chairs started to go missing, and—”

You barely bother listening to the rest, too caught up in your thoughts for Satoru’s detailed explanation of where it all went wrong to matter. Every year without exception—from your 16th birthday party-for-two in that tiny storage room you were accidentally locked in together to last year’s all-out murder mystery dinner party—he’s managed to sweep you off your feet, and yet you can’t throw him one party without it being spoiled.

You aren’t a planner. You know that. You know, but somehow you hoped this year would be different. That, twelve years after his insistence to spend his birthday in your company alone took root, (“Why would I want to spend this day with anyone other than you, angel? We have tons of fun together, don’t we? Just me and my special girl. Speaking of, any special requests for your birthday? I have some ideas myself, hehe~”) and one year after he stopped waiting for an apparition to show up and celebrate with him, he’d allow himself to bask in the appreciation of the living.

“Are you mad?”

The buzz of his voice quiets down, the paleness of a winter morning dawning beneath snowy lashes as he peers at you from above the rim of his sunglasses. Snowflakes of wonder stirring in his irises that contain them like two perfect snow globes, trapped in them, an ageless moment of the past.

“I’m relieved.” Satoru whispers, so faintly you almost miss it.

“Re…lieved?”

“You brought everyone here, right?” You nod. “Without blackmailing anyone?”

“Just Nanami.” You admit. “And Ijichi—Shoko promised to take him out for drinks if he came.”

“That’s good.” His lips pull into a smile warm enough to thaw your worries. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of my own birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” you interrupt. “You aren’t the only one perceptive here, Mister Six-Eyes.”

He gives you a funny look, creases forming over his brow as an imaginary zipper is drawn across the corners of his lips.

You unzip it. “Please continue, Great Gojo Senpai.”

His eyes light up. Satoru isn’t one for honorifics, yet hearing you address him as such makes the lovesick teenage boy in his heart shudder with excitement.

“You know what birthday I got the biggest haul for?” A shake of your head prompts him to continue. “Seventh.” Figures, you add. He nods. “Wanna know what they got me? A Hokusai painting. You know. One of those wavy ones.” Only he would ever refer to a Japanese classic that way. “But seven-year-old kids don’t care about dead people’s paintings or Shinto shrine visits. They want adventure, balloons, and luscious Gâteau au Chocolat. The new Street Fighter game, maybe.” His fingers snap together. “They want Laputa.”

You forget your hand is still in his until it’s given a light squeeze, Satoru nervously fiddling with your fingers while he mulls over what to say next.

“Bottom line is, birthdays with the clan suuuuuucked. And then, as I got older, I grew tall enough to outrun those stupid goons watching over me. So I’d run straight to Suguru’s house, drag him to the station, and from there, we’d go to that one pastry shop in Shinjuku and buy every cake on display. We’d eat till we both got sick—hah, you wouldn’t think his stomach was this sensitive with all those curses he gobbled up, right?—and then a few years later we met Shoko, and she’d put out her cigarette on my share.” He hisses like a distressed cat. “Then we met you”—another squeeze—“and those were the best birthdays of my life. Back when we were all together.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t think I could have that again.” He cuts you off. “But you said you got everyone together, and while some of us are no longer here, a lot are. This is good. You did well. I’m relieved, really. I’m happy.”

By the time Satoru finishes talking, you find yourself at a loss for words, blankly staring at his unaffected expression. It’s easy to forget how vulnerable he can be in those rare outbursts of sincerity; easy to forget that the one branded as the strongest is a person who cries and breaks too, and even easier to let yourself be deceived by that happy-go-lucky attitude. But as a smile begins to take shape upon your features, you can see where he’s coming from.

You are relieved.

“What are you smiling for?” Satoru asks in the same manner you did earlier.

“Nooooooothing!” You shamelessly steal his line. “Just thinking about the sorry look on your face when you realize there’s no chocolate cake.”

“You evil witch!” He proclaims, mouth hanging slack and forefinger pointing in accusation. “Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t buy candles either!”

“Actually…”

You take hold of his finger before he can protest any further. Not that he wants to when both his hands are enveloped in the warmth of your smaller ones, childishly swinging by your sides. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Arms overlapping as you both step closer, chuckling at a joke only your eyes seem to know.

“About that kiss.” You begin, laughing again at the small, exasperated mhm your boyfriend lets out, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the high neck of his sweater. “Are you still feeling cold?”

“So cold.” Satoru wiggles his shoulders as if he’s truly shivering. “Warm me up before the cold hand of death takes me away. Pleaseeeee.”

You aren’t one to deny him. Tiptoeing forward, you crane your neck so you can reach higher, while he bends his knees to shorten himself, meeting you halfway. Heavy breaths are shared as your noses brush together. The subtle notes of bergamot on his clothes blending with the wintry crisp in the atmosphere. Eagerness tugging at his bottom lip.

You might not be one to deny him, but you definitely are the type to tease him.

“Why don’t you do it? Why should I be the one to kiss you?”

“Wha—because I asked you!” Satoru quips.

“And?”

“And I have Senpai rights. Plus you didn’t pay boyfriend tax this morning, and come think of it, you didn’t wish me a Happy Birthday either!” He gasps like he only realized that just now. He builds his entire case around it. “Birthday Boy demands it. You have no choice but to give in or you’ll be cursed for your next seven birthdays!”

“But I thought you didn’t like your own birthday.”

“Baby!” Satoru finally breaks, his voice reduced to a high-pitched whine. “Even so, you can’t be mean to me on my own birthd—”

His lips are warmer than yours when you nullify the distance, conveying the softness and fruitiness of your stolen chapstick. A smirk is written on them, bitten away as you drag his hands closer to your body, foreheads bumping together and sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. He giggles into your mouth, whispering how hot he finds it when you take the lead—moaning at the way your tongue presses against his, and disregarding the three sets of footsteps that enter the scene.

“Sensei!” A somewhat recognizable, albeit squeaky, voice calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Way to ruin the surprise, Itadori!” Another, angrier, squeaky voice scolds.

“Idiot, you just said there was a surprise. And I told you both to go easy on the hellion.” The last of their group tries to deadpan, somehow sounding more ridiculous than his peers.

“Pft—F-Fushiguro!” Nobara and Yuji laugh in sync, too preoccupied with poking fun at their classmate to notice your form erasing itself from existence behind Satoru’s back as he turns around to face them.

“Yuji! Nobara! Megumiiiii!” His tone is colored with a falsetto when he addresses his favorite (target) student, prompting the duo to keep harassing him with countless pokes at his confetti-laced spikes.

Your plan to use poor Megumi’s torture as a decoy to flee the premises goes to waste as your hand is held out in the open, with Satoru showing you off to them like the big prize at the end of a wrestling match.

“Oh, future Mrs. Gojo Sensei!” Yuji is the first to acknowledge your presence; the effects of the gas are all but worn off as he timidly waves at you. “I didn’t know you were here! What brings you to school today?”

“That’s quite the title, Yuji. Told you to just—ugh!—call me by my first name.” You struggle to pull your wrist out of Satoru’s grasp. You lose. “Also, no need to keep playing charades. He knows.”

“You told him? Then what was all of this for?” Nobara comes forth, a pink balloon dramatically deflating in her hands.

“Actually, I figured it out myself! Aren’t you proud to have such a smart teach—”

“No!” Two out of three shout in unison. You almost do so yourself.

After their back and forth escalates into a full-blown debate on who’s more intelligent, Satoru or Megumi’s shikigami (the results to be announced on a future episode of Are You Smarter than a Toad?) and happy birthdays are wished, Yuji asks the one question you feared answering the most.

“Sensei? Miss Y/N? What were you doing out there in the cold?”

Their own curiosity beats Megumi and Nobara to the classroom as they stall their entrance, with Satoru being the first to hit the buzzer.

“You see, Yuji, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they—ahahouch! Love really does hurt! It hurts so badly!” He yelps as you stomp on his foot hard enough to cripple an average man.

“Don’t you dare use me as a test subject for the talk, Satoru!”

“What talk, darlin’?” He smiles coyly, not losing the chance to brag. “Oh, you mean the talk about how you fell victim to my charms and couldn’t wait till we were alone to kiss me? Guess I still got it, despite the extra candle on the cake.”

“Aww!”

“Eww!”

“Gross!”

The reactions vary.

“You’ll get another candle lit up in your memory if you keep spewing shit like this!” Your attempt to step on his shoe is countered by his technique.

“Hey, no cursing in front of my precious students!” Satoru chides. “We’re supposed to set an example for them, not taint their innocent souls!”

“Satoru!” With a tremendous roar, the door flies open, startling the three students to jump behind their teacher and you to follow suit.

Principle Yaga stands by the frame, his authoritative tone coursing through your body as it recalls every punishment he ever subjected you to. The soreness in your calves from running laps around school for being late. The dryness in your eyes after surviving one of his excruciating educational VHS tape sessions for being “cheeky” and the ache in your fingers from scrubbing the gym floors squeaky clean—courtesy of being caught sneaking back into the dorm with tousled hair in the dead of night.

You almost feel sorry for Satoru acting as the wavebreaker for the incoming tsunami, but then you remember how the majority of your crimes were incidentally committed in his name and wish him good luck. He deserves whatever earful he gets, possibly something along the lines of “Sixteen minutes late? Are you trying to break a world record?”

“You think Gojo Sensei will die?” Yuji whispers. “He’s at that age when a lot of celebrities die, right?”

“He’d better not! I didn’t bring any funeral wear with me.” Nobara answers back.

“Can’t you read the room?” Megumi rasps. “Plus, that’s the 27 Club you’re talking about. Gojo Sensei has outlived that.”

“Didn’t take you for a clubgoer, Fushiguro.” The two of them snicker, prompting Megumi to sigh as he again points out their idiocy.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru bravely puts himself forward, your line of defense falling apart like a house of cards you’re made to support on your own. “Are you here to wish me a happy birthday? How thoughtful! Guess it’s true what they say: People mellow down with age.”

“Sixteen minutes late—”

The man’s mouth twitches furiously as an invisible countdown starts in all your heads, none of you expecting the situation to simmer down before it boils over.

“But I’ll let it slide this once. Happy birthday, Satoru. I’ve stopped hoping that the years bring you wisdom and fix your bad habits. It’s pointless; every year you turn more impudent than the year before,”—is that supposed to be a birthday wish or you getting kicks from throwing shade at me?—“but I wish they bring you happiness. I made this with you in mind. Hope it’s to your liking.”

You watch as Principal Yaga reveals a felt doll from behind his back, handing it to a repulsed Satoru, who makes no effort to conceal his personal feelings, let alone express gratitude.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to be?” He asks, shaking the doll so quickly you only catch a glimpse of its fluffy white tail and stitched black sunglasses—a cat?

“It’s you.” Its maker replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he has a name. Satoru, say hello to Catoru.”

Four of you share a look among yourselves, too stunned to say a thing until Satoru and his doll counterpart face you, the latter being held up by the scruff of his neck. Just like an actual cat.

“Do I look like this?” Satoru asks, and you all go quiet, with three hands simultaneously nudging you to represent them. Traitors!

“I mean, there are times when you do act like a cat—kinda?” Your voice is pinched up, hands moving frantically to dispute your words as your boyfriend’s face turns sourer than umeboshi. “But you look ten times—no, a hundred times more handsome! I promise! If anything, you resemble a—uh, Turkish Angora? Those are super beautiful!”

“You’d better get along.” Yaga warns. “I designed Catoru with a sweet tooth like you.”

“I don’t want a little mochi thief in my house!”

Yaga marches back into class without waiting to hear Satoru’s concerns about the impending depletion of his secret mochi stash. The kids tail after him, leaving you to comfort Satoru with a gentle pat on his back. “Let’s go inside, mm?”

The atmosphere inside the classroom is significantly more promising than what Yuji showed you on FaceTime this morning. All desks are pulled to the side in a rough T formation, with the spread of food you spent two nights making carefully put in order, from platters full of golden-crusted corn dogs and crispy chicken fingers to dainty cupcakes decorated with Konpeito candy and colorful mochi of every filling you could think of. Inumaki serves bar, and you’re pleased to see people returning for seconds, with Yuji waving his hands while praising your popping candy cake poppers to his taciturn upperclassman.

Balloons hang near the ceiling—a flag garland dangling from one end of the blackboard to the other. A gigantic birthday message spans across the surface, with smaller wishes sprinkled in abundance, some consisting of mere congratulations and others expressed with heartfelt emotion. You can easily guess who wrote what based on handwriting alone; Megumi’s by far the tidiest.

You knew leaving the decorations to Nobara was a smart choice. She knows it too. She doesn’t waste the chance to boast to Maki about it, the older girl twirling a bouquet made of lollipops between her fingers while gazing at the drifting clouds outside the window.

Satoru was right. This is good. You have every reason to be proud, too.

In the far back of the room, the adults have struck up a conversation with Panda, who snaps a picture of your entrance. The two party poopers—Ijichi and Nanami—look up from their quiet exchange.

“Satoru! You came!” Principal Yaga’s pride and joy steps forward with open arms, a party hat pulled taut between his round ears. “Congratulations on your birthday,” says Panda, planting two identical party hats on your heads. “Let me take a picture of the two of you. Couldn’t get an angle from back there.”

Your shoulders get squeezed as Satoru smooshes your faces together, the pointy tip of his hat nearly taking your eye out when he tries to steal a kiss from your cheek. You squint—and snap!

“Hey, can you take another? I think I wasn’t looking straight.”

“No do-overs!” Satoru interferes before Panda can even open his mouth. “Don’t worry! Getting a bad picture of you is impossible when you look perfect at any given time. Right, Panda?”

His former student glances down at the camera, letting out the exact same sound your computer makes when a Windows program crashes, and then rushing to mask it with a hearty chortle.

“Of course, Satoru! You got very lucky; Y/N is as beautiful as she is kind-hearted.” He shows you a grin that’s mostly teeth. “You know, she worked really hard for this party. We barely did anything ourselves.”

Not true; you all did your part…

Your eye is endangered once more, with his lips finding their target this time around. “That’s my vanilla caramel drizzle cupcake muffin baumkuchen pie to ya!”

That’s half your macchiato and half your bakery order, you argue silently.

“Shame Yuta couldn’t make it.” Panda continues. “Heard he’s down with a cold, though he did send you his gift via Maki.” A fuzzy thumb points at the closet-turned-gift-depository, where various bags and packages are stacked into a pyramid. “Anyway. I’ll let the two of you mingle. Come over if ya want more pictures of you taken. Got lots of props too.”

Your eyes follow as he returns to his post, spotting Shoko experimenting with a pair of groucho glasses. Nanami shakes his head disapprovingly, leaning back into his chair while Ijichi’s stutter is visible from where you and Satoru stand.

You glance up at him, a default smile plastered on his lips. Unreadable to others, but painfully obvious to you. The face he’s searching for is not among those present.

“Everyone seems to be having fun.” Satoru points out.

“Y-yeah.” You croak.

“Can’t believe you got everything down. Class looks like it did back then. Even the wobbly pom-pom on the party hats.” He squeezes the one on your head. “That caught me off guard.”

“Well, it would’ve been a greater surprise if you didn’t eavesdrop on my private phone calls.”

“That ain’t on me, sweets.” He whisks your hand into his and drags you onward. “Not my fault I was born with heightened senses. Better get used to it; our kids will probably take after me in that aspect.”

You shrug his comment off, watching as Satoru stows the cat away in the closet and dramatically dusts his hands off. “Another great addition to the world’s creepiest collection.” He grumbles.

“But Catoru is the cutest so far!” You object.

He is about to answer when a sound akin to that of someone choking has you both turning toward the makeshift buffet where Ijichi is downing water straight from the jug, his sunken cheeks a scarlet shade of red.

“Shit! He must’ve discovered the jalapeno poppers.” You bite your lips into a straight line, feeling somewhat responsible.

“Nice job!”

“It wasn’t my intention!”

Your plea of innocence doesn’t resonate with Satoru, who gives you a thumbs up before forming a cone around his mouth and shouting at Ijichi—chuckling at the hurried way the man searches for an escape between chairs and people.

“Ijichi! Oi, Ijichi! I-ji-chi! Over here! Come wish me a happy birthday!” He waves his arms around like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, declaring—unlike Tom Hanks—that he’s coming to him instead.

“Don’t go around terrorizing people, ‘Toru.” Your voice has him stopping his march to peck your lips.

“Promise I’ll be a good boy. You’re free to punish me if I’m not.” He smirks, finger-gunning you all the while stepping backwards in slow motion.

“You never are!”

“Hmm, that’s only because I’m the best. And you’d better prepare a handsome reward for when we get home, ‘cause the best always wins.” A flirtatious wink makes you question how many people listened in on your exchange, praying that the answer is none.

You take advantage of Satoru’s absence to pay a visit to your old friends, mentally counting the days since the last time you all gathered up. It’s been way too long—the beer you’d promised to catch up over turned into a distant fantasy.

“Gonna get yourself nauseous if you keep staring at that whirlpool, Shoko Senpai.” You plop down on the closest vacant chair, the bored brunette humming without lifting her eyes from the lemonade swirling inside her cup.

“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.” She states, managing to sound both mesmerized and disinterested at the same time.

“And? Seen anything yet?” You lean closer.

She retires with a sigh, dark circles looming below her hazelnut eyes. “Nothing yet.”

“How about now?”

Pulling your trump card—aka one of those miniature vodka bottles you specifically brought with her in mind—from your pocket, you pour a generous amount into her drink, reminiscing about the time she accidentally spiked Satoru’s soda and had him swimming on the floor.

It takes one sip for Shoko to liven up, a sudden jolt of energy coursing through her veins as she reaches out for the bottle.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You chuckle. “Big praise coming from someone who actually saves lives.”

“Big words coming from people who openly drink in front of underage students.” The man to your left observes, absentmindedly picking at the tentacles of the octopus sausage on his plate.

“Kento! You made it!” You tip from one side of your chair to the other, arms dangling empty as he dodges your hug. “Having fun?”

“Please stop acting like him. I know the years in his company have caused your twisted personalities to merge, but the world is already wretched enough with one Gojo Satoru around.” He munches on the “good part” of the dissected octopus, discarding the tentacles inside a carefully folded napkin.

“But to answer your question, whether I’d rather spend my Friday afternoon explaining to everyone I know that the man in the picture dancing inappropriately with half-naked models in Ibiza isn’t me but a look-alike or sitting here, chaperoning a bunch of kids and making sure no one kills themselves, then yes. It’s not as horrible as I expected. And you’re as good of a cook as I remembered.” He wipes his mouth. “But I’m still clocking out at 7 sharp.”

“Come on! I did what I had to do to get you here!” You giggle, experiencing a little of the same rush Satoru feels when he’s poking fun at Ijichi. Oh no. “I am glad you’re enjoying the food, at least!”

A sound viler than any curse’s wail pierces through your ears as a TV cart is dragged into the room. You recognize it as Yaga’s old torture device—those five-hour black and white tapes gleaming menacingly on the lower shelves, with an unknown machine piled atop the cassette player. You aren’t sure what its purpose is until Yuji connects a microphone to it.

“Everyone—ah, ah, ah! Can you hear me?” The boy dabs a palm against the microphone, sounding loud and clear across the room. “Fushiguro, can you hear me? Fushiguro—ah, ah, ah!” The last of his ah’s interrupted by Megumi’s calling him out in front of their live audience.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to Gojo Sensei’s birthday party! I’m Itadori Yuji, and I’m happy to have co-hosted this event with Miss Y/N.”

A couple of heads turn in your direction, Satoru’s among them. It’s easy to make out his silhouette when he dwarfs everyone around him—Principle Yaga on his side and an antsy Ijichi lurking behind them.

“I enrolled in this school a little over a semester ago by accident.” Yuji continues undeterred. “Back then, I didn’t know any more about curses than the next person. Not that I do now.” He scratches through his hair. “Honestly, it was a lot to stomach, especially the part where I get to share my body with another. I was told I’d be better off dead, and I did die once. I was supposed to be dead, but then Gojo sensei gave me a choice, and I’m here because of that choice. More than a helping hand, he’s been a guiding light to me, and on behalf of all of us, thank you, and Happy Birthday!”He bows. “I hope you have a good one!”

Yuji holds out the microphone for Satoru, the two of them sharing a high five with an affectionate pat seeing the boy off.

“Thank you, Yuji, for this wonderful speech!” Satoru grins, evidently moved by his student’s words. “Everyoooooooooooone! Give it up for the man of the hour, the one and only, the most incredibly handsome and magnificently strong sorcerer known as Gooooooooooojo Saaaaatoruuuu!” His body twists in a pirouette, peace signs and heart signs flying everywhere as he lands with a finger pointing at where the imaginary camera would be.

Unsurprisingly, no one is impressed. Cricket sounds almost audible.

“Wow, okay. Tough crowd, I guess.” His lips comically jerk to one side of his face, his tone turning nasal before switching back. “I won’t bore you with individual thanks and other useless formality crap.”

He smirks at the way your mouth rounds a silent gasp. Nanami notices too, posing a question you shrug off.

“To cut it short: first-years! You’ve all proved yourselves as worthy sorcerers and worthier humans. As a reward, I’m proud to announce your reward in the form of a—c’mon guys, drum your desks a little!—luxurious, one of a kind, ten outta ten, uniquely planned field trip by moi!”

“Is it Paris? Are you taking us to Paris?” Nobara dreams out loud.

“Sensei! How about Universal Studio? I saw them post their newest churrito flavor on their webpage.”

“Can I sit this one out?” A gloomy murmur begs.

“Great thinking, Yuji! Unfortunately, Nobara, we won’t be going overseas this time, but, Megumi, you’ll definitely want to reconsider once you hear our destination, which iiiiiis—excitement is free, everyone!—Parque Espana!” Satoru claps for his suggestion.

Three dejected faces say pass in unison, with only Megumi daring to complain about Satoru taking him and Tsumiki to the theme park every second Sunday when the two were younger. You remember that. Some times you’d tag along, and you’d all grab ice cream while staring at that humongous roller coaster the kids were too short to ride.

Undefeated, Satoru directs his attention to the second-year students, the three of them loitering by the chip bowl. His tone turning grave, “Second years, I’m honestly very disappointed in all of you. In our two years of knowing each other, you never thought to throw your favorite teacher a party for his birthday. You’re lucky I don’t have the authority to drop you a grade, but still. You fail!”

“Fish Flakes!” Inumaki expresses his supposed disagreement.

“Huh? You never even told us when your birthday was because you didn’t want us knowing your real age, you blindfolded idiot!”

“Maki, not now!” Panda anxiously gets in her way. “Cool it!”

“You should have figured it out yourselves.” Satoru toots. “Moving forward! I’d like to give my special thanks to the moon of my life, my sun, and my stars.”—you knew watching Game of Thrones with him was a very bad idea—“Y/N! Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy; everyone knows how much we love each other.

It almost feels like you have the limelight shining on you, with every person eagerly awaiting your response. You gulp hard, whispering so that only Nanami can hear. “You were right. Please save me.”

“What is it, Buttercup? You already have my heart, but if there’s anything you’d like for me to do, then now is the moment to say it.” Satoru smiles sweetly, his voice dripping with honey.

“Actually, there is. Can you put me down?” You kick your legs around while he hoists you up in bridal style, your unjust abduction having occurred in the blink of an eye.

“Anything and everything for you!” He kisses the top of your head, holding you close to him even after letting your feet touch the ground. “Alright, that’d be all! I hope everyone gets to have the time of their lives. Now, let’s get this party started!” He throws the microphone up in the air.

Nothing happens.

“I said, let’s get this party star—whatever.” Satoru gives up half-way through raising his arm again. “Yuji, play something fun!”

“On it!” Yuji salutes him, and the two of you walk away from the blackboard.

A faint sigh echoes behind you, its relief cut short as Satoru grabs the microphone once more. “Ah, right. Ijichi, I’ll see you in my office on Monday. I’d wear a headband if I were you.”

“I’ve c-committed a mortal sin, G-Gojo!” Ijichi struggles to say, uncertain of the crime he’s being accused of, yet hopeful for Satoru’s forgiveness.

“You are such a menace!” You throw a playful punch to his chest once he sits you on his lap, away from the eyes of people gathering around the karaoke machine, and close to Nanami, who departs with a disgusted scoff.

“You love me for it.” Satoru’s lips press softly against yours, incapable of hiding his smile when you pull his face in for another kiss, the tight squish of his arms making sure you’re going nowhere.

“I do.” You affirm, rubbing your nose on his. “I love you.”

“How much?” His eyes crinkle fondly.

“Hmm, like, a lot?” You giggle, your fingers absently brushing through the trimmed hair on the back of his skull. “Enough to spend half a lifetime by your side and still find you the most incredible person in all of creation.”

“Wanna spend the other half too?” His breath on your cheek colors your skin red, your eyes momentarily lost between shades of blue.

“Come back with a ring, Shit-toru.”

“That’s not the way you talk to your future husband!”

“He’s here? With us? Right now?” You gasp, frantically looking around, until Satoru forces you to face him with a thumb on your chin, his other hand squeezing an innocent touch around your thigh.

“Satoru!”

“Scared your future husband will see us?” He throws his head back, laughing at your panicked state. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight him for you. And win. After all, I am the strongest.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he did it! He said the line with only—”you glance at your phone—“six hours left before the day ends, what an amazing record!”

A shrill screech fired from the other side of the room interrupts your banter, the microphone turning into a lethal weapon in Panda’s massive palms. The students appear to have divided themselves into couples, fighting over who gets to go first until Inumaki takes the initiative with a rap song—or, more accurately, sings over a rap song, as the only words in his roster revolve around onigiri ingredients that are mentioned nowhere in the lyrics.

“Stop hogging the mic!” Maki attempts to steal it, backing away as the boy teases to unzip his collar. She knows better than to push her limits while unarmed.

Panda still gets in the middle. For precaution, you assume.

“Reminds you of something?” Satoru comments on your riveted attention. “They’re just like us. How we once were. Young and full of dreams.”

“Nah. You were always a horny bastard.” You slap the inappropriately placed hand away before you get up and sit where Nanami was previously stationed. Poking your tongue at his devastated expression.

Conversation between the two of you is kept to a minimum after a different tune begins blasting from the speakers—Yuji and Megumi take over the stage with Takada-Chan’s most recent success, one of them performing the vocals to perfection while the other merely mumbles yeah’s whenever the song calls for it. Next are Nobara and Maki, the two girls belting out to an anthem of empowerment that has the boys in the room gulping uncomfortably among themselves.

The mood shifts completely when Yaga pours his soul into an 80’s power ballad, his raspy voice transforming into the smoothest velvet, complemented by Panda’s harmonies. Even Satoru praises his old teacher, cheering him on from the bleachers with a makeshift napkin-banner.

You don’t realize your boyfriend’s gone until you see him with the microphone in hand, bending the cable as he makes quick gestures for the floor to empty, performing what is possibly the cheesiest, most romantic love song ever written, and ushering you to join him once he drops to his knees—quite literally at your feet.

You ruffle his hair and shove his goofy expression away. No matter how charming his singing voice may be, he’ll never get you to sing in public. Similar to how he’ll never catch you admitting how loudly your heart beats in your chest, despite the fact that it’s written all over your face.

God, you hate this man. So much that part of you wishes you’d spent his birthday like you did every other year—tangled in his sheets and kissing till you cannot breathe.

As soon as the karaoke session ends, Megumi and Yuji exit the room to bring in the cake, with Satoru jumping them for a thorough inspection. The dessert is inspired by one of his favorite confections. Handmade mochi bites are spread evenly between three layers of fluffy strawberry cake, the entire enterprise covered in fine red bean paste and topped with vanilla buttercream, strawberry cutouts, and, of course, more mochi in a light pink shade to recreate the world’s largest daifuku.

You lost count of how many failed attempts it took to create your own recipe from scratch, but the look on Satoru’s face is better than any payment you could possibly ask. He struggles to find a word that describes his feelings—phenomenal being the one he ends up using. Definitely better than chocolate cake. Perhaps even on par with the legendary Laputa.

Everyone gathers anew for the birthday boy to blow out his candles, awkwardness sweeping through the crowd as, one by one, you come to the conclusion that there is no available lighter.

you search through your pockets for a lighter, finding none. Shoko’s unhealthy (and supposedly cut) habit comes in clutch, with the brunette handing Yuji the keys to her office. The boy sprints outside at full speed, idle chatter put on pause as the TV starts playing on its own, the song selection window traded for a relic of the past.

“Is this even working?” A young Shoko taps the camera, tilting her body at a curious angle. Short skirt rolling up.

“Probably not. That shit’s ancient, but feel free to test it! Maybe try showing it something funnier, like your pant—”

Horny bastard. Right on the money.

“Cut it off, Satoru.” A voice makes both you and present-day Satoru shudder, its owner taking the camera from their friend’s hand to shoot footage around the gym. “Yaga Sensei told us to use this to document the Goodwill Event, not film amateur gravure.” The frame shakes once more. “Looks good to me.”

“Pft, what’s the point?” Satoru flicks a pebble at the camera. “So he can make a quick buck out of me destroying those brats? The outcome’s already decided. Now turn this thing off. I wanna lay under the sun without some junk in my face.”

The camera zooms in on him splaying his limbs on the grass, possibly near the track field, based on the slight hint of red inside the green.

“The only junk in your face is your face itself.” Shoko deadpans, making him chase after her while Suguru continues filming them until they turn into a pair of flickering dots.

“These two.”

The world is turned upside down as a close-up of his bang takes over the screen. Realizing that himself, he pulls the camera further away, cat-like irises shining like pure amber under the sunny sky. You’ve missed their warmth.

“Preparation for the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Day 1.” He declares, and the screen goes black in an instant, white noise reigning over the space.

Your hand seeks Satoru’s on its own, the faint sound of his name dangling from your parted lips, both your breaths catching in your throats. He’s left gawking at the screen, reciprocating your touch with shaky fingers that try to anchor him to you. It’s safe to say this was not part of your plan.

“Weird. Thought it’d be one of those old workout tapes.” Nobara reveals herself as the culprit behind the incident, ejecting the tape back into its box and later standing with her hands pinned to her waist. “Gojo Sensei, I recognize you and Ieri, but who was that third person in the video? Bangs Guy.”

Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one to have absolutely no information on Suguru. Aside from the adults, the second-years were all present during last year’s attack, and Megumi knows whatever has slipped from Satoru during his stay at the Gojo clan’s compound.

Nobody rushes to respond; all of you tuned in on Satoru even though only Shoko, Yaga, and you are directly gazing at him, his face contorted with a pained grimace he tries hard to disguise.

“Geto Suguru was—”

“My best friend.” Satoru grins at Principal Yaga’s attempt to help him, grasping your hand more confidently as he confronts the girl. “Geto Suguru is my best friend.”

“Huh. Guess there’s hope for everyone.” No one’s left with any courage to laugh at Nobara’s poor attempt at a joke. “Where is he now—”

“Senseiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” A voice gains volume as the door bursts open, Yuji pouring into the classroom with the lighter held over his head like it’s the Olympic flame. “I g-got th-the—” He tries to breathe, ending up only saying, “Fire. Wish. What. Miss?”

“Yuji!” Satoru makes you follow him to the door. “You’re right on time! And no, you didn’t miss anything. Just stories of the past.”

“Stories?” Yuji wipes the sweat off his forehead. Still very much exasperated. “But I…like stories.”

“I know you do.” Satoru’s eyes settle on yours, the clamor in his eyes hushing for the first time in years. “But birthday wishes are meant for a future that’s yet to be written.”

“Thank you!”

Appreciation falls from your lips as a long-drawn yawn, every second you spend huddled under the kotatsu’s warmth begging to lull you to sleep. Today was a long day. So long, it feels as if it spanned an entire lifetime.

Satoru plops down beside you, the neckline of his sweatshirt diving low over his collarbones as he chugs his share of hot cocoa. Yours remains untouched while you switch between the same two movie options, incapable of picking one over the other.

“What do you have for me?” He asks, running his fingers over the ceramic rim. A melodic string instrument-like sound is induced.

“Okay so. Got the cult classic Sixteen Candles, which we’ve probably watched more times than Molly Ringwald had to practice her lines for the role, and I also have La Boum, in case you’re feeling more adventurous, and I don’t know. Frenchy, maybe.”

“Hmm, I mean. When you phrase it like that…”He acts as if he’s seriously contemplating his choice, only to snatch the remote from your hand and choose La Boum. He smiles slyly, curling near your chest. “It’s what you obviously wanted to watch. And I always choose, so.”

“Forfeiting your birthday boy rights?” You hum, tenderly combing through his freshly washed white strands. He smells just like his cake, you think. “Be careful. There are still nine minutes left before your birthday’s over, and you’re robbed of your rights for an entire year. Think you can make it?”

“Will you be with me during those horrid days?” His voice turns muffled.

“Always. Now, before the movie starts and you ruin the fun with your excessive blabbing, how about you reach under the kotatsu for your gift?” You suggest, chuckling as his head lifts up, cerulean eyes shining with unfeigned surprise.

“Angel! You shouldn’t have!” Satoru beams whole as he drags the heavy box out, shaking it in an attempt to feel out its contents.

“You know that doesn’t work with me. C’mon. I’ll pause for you.”

He wastes no time to untie the light silver bow that ties the box together, taking, however, his sweet time to review each and every object placed within. Carefully, he lays everything out on the table, small gasps evading him at a constant and maturing into a full-on shriek as he spots that one rare Digimon trading card you bust your gut trying to purchase via private online auctions.

“I—um. I know it doesn’t sound too good ‘cause I’m your girlfriend and I’m supposed to know everything about you and what you want, but I really had no idea what to get for your birthday. So I decided to get you a bit of everything from your favorite things. You can blame me for weaponizing nostalgia later.”

You clear your throat with a quick sip of cocoa. Licking your lips, “Anyway. It’s really no biggie as you can see. I just bought off some trading cards, ported a few of your old favorite games to a current generation console—yes, Street Fighter included—and made you this silly beaded charm with our initials for your phone, since they are back in fashion.

“I know it’s not much, and you could buy those things at any given time, but—time is something you cannot buy, right? Your childhood, your youth. The so-called best years of your life. I wanted you to have that back, even if just for a day.”

It’s been minutes, and Satoru remains quizzically silent, to the point where the array of kisses aimed at your neck comes as a true ambush. You’re knocked to the floor, giggling and flailing while he shows you his affection in every way possible, kissing you, praising you, hugging you—loving you.

“H-Happy Birthday, Toru.” You repel his face enough to say. “Y-you know, a thank you would be nice to hear!”

“As if you don’t know what I’m about to say.” Satoru grins, holding your palms to his mouth. Kissing them one by one, repeatedly, and slowly. Multiple times each. “You are my childhood. And my youth. And the best years of my life—they are all you. Everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll live together.”

“How’s that for a thank you?” He chuckles, quickly breaking the tension with a final kiss on your nose. Perhaps the only part of you that’s not tinged red. “That being said…”

“You want to go for a quickie?” You sniffle against your will.

“See? You do know everything about me.” He reaches for the deck of cards with the swirly brown backside. “It’s time to duel!”

A/N: sorry for hastily written ending. had no time, oopsie!

[mae-i-scribble]

tonight i was thinking about orv’s theme about how yjh as a character, and to a larger extent people, will in some ways always be unknowable. (orv spoilers following, read at your own risk)

i feel like i’ve seen a few posts on here that somewhat take this theme to an extreme, leaning *hard* into that “kdj doesn’t actually know yjh like at all” which while on the right track, i feel completely misses the point. Orv goes out of its way to showcase that kdj actually understands yjh to a scary degree, even once they’re out of the early scenarios and the gap between kdj’s knowledge and yjh’s personhood grows larger, there are still things about yjh that *only* kdj can fundamentally understand. And I don’t think that the novel does anything to discredit that understanding, only says that there is much more to yjh. In the same manner, even if you’ve known someone for years, spent all your time with them, there can and will always be new things for you to learn about them. The danger that orv speaks of is trusting in that assumption, that your understanding will be enough and you don’t have to keep an eye out for more developments. That the person you know will forever stay the same. And this isn’t a kdj problem either, fundamentally a lot of the big disagreements that happen between kdj and yjh in the latter half of the novel are born from both of them misconstruing what the other is thinking, trusting that their understanding of the other is deep enough to base their judgements off of. (Post first murim destruction, divorce arc, yjh thinking kdj scattered his soul on purpose, etc.)

As always with orv’s themes, we can view it in a meta sense as well. Kdj’s understanding of yjh as a character is so complete that it’s nearly flawless- until the story begins to deviate and a yjh grows outside the parameters that kdj’s judgements are based on. Even before then, there was always more to yjh- but as readers, we can only understand a character as much as we see them. What you come away with from a story is your complete understanding, there is no growth outside of those boundaries because then it wouldn’t be an understanding of *that* character, you would be putting your own ideas and such into it. But talk to another person, and suddenly the same character you understand so clearly becomes someone else. Talk to the author, and they say something completely different. And can one truly claim to understand a character when the story will never talk about them in every conceivable way? What does it take to truly understand such a thing? Learning that 1863rd round hsy wrote ways of survival with such limited resources and knowledge on who yjh even is, and yet despite it all, still manages to write a story that captures so much of his essence. As orv readers, we know it isn’t everything- it could never encapsulate all of yjh, but the idea that even when one knows nearly nothing, you can still put on a facade of understanding.

We can get into a chicken or the egg argument with this, as 1863!hsy dictates how yjh acts with her writing, and that yjh in the 1863rd round is the one she comes to know before ever starting this story, but when it comes to this theme of the unknowable in the people around us, I don’t think this sort of debate is worth much. We know that yjh exists outside the story written, and how much of him is determined by hsy’s writing is negligible because no matter what, he always grows beyond it. Whether as 1864 or secretive plotter, it all comes back to that same point of there is always more to see within a person.

I don’t know quite where I want to go with this, only that I wanted an outlet for some of these thoughts inside my head, but one of the best things about this theme for me is how it answers itself. When the people around you become unrecognizable, what should you do? And orv says to reach out. To try. To understand. Kdj loses access to omniscient reader several times but always, always gains it back in orv (as far as i remember), because at the end of the day, he is not someone who stays trapped in his idea of who he knows yjh to be. Yjh too, even at the end of orv, is trying to learn more and more about kdj. Only when you are willing to hear out the other person, to learn about them every day, does this unknowable aspect become something less daunting.

[mokokone]

Since you do demon slayer and mononoke, can I request a demon slayer reader x Kusuriuri/medicine seller. I heard that he's a kitsune, and I saw that kitsure are equated to demons. So, like the reader is trying to kill Kusuriuri's, but he always manages to escape her attempts (kinda like a cat and a mouse game), and it slowly starts to become a relationship (Maybe he saves her from a strong Mononoke, its up to you lol). Of course you don't have to do this, love your work! ♥️♥️

A/n: This was fun to write. Though I did have a hard time trying to fit Kusuriuri in the Demon Slayer universe. I honestly don't think he would fair against Muzan and his demons since they're basically still humans and Kusuriuri only fights against Mononoke. I am also not good at writing something like a Tom & Jerry chase scenario so forgive me if this doesn't meet your standards.

Anyway, I hope you like, comment, reblog (only if you want to), and enjoy!

Encounter - The Medicine Seller x DemonSlayer!Reader [ᴍᴏɴᴏɴᴏᴋᴇ x ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ꜱʟᴀʏᴇʀ: ᴋɪᴍᴇᴛꜱᴜ ɴᴏ ʏᴀɪʙᴀ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱᴏᴠᴇʀ]

Your Kasugai crow had informed you hours ago to head west. You obediently followed its guidance, sprinting as quickly as you could until you arrived at the rural mountain village where a peculiar string of disappearances and murders had occurred.

During your investigation, you're informed by the residents that a mysterious man has been spotted roaming the streets after dark and leaving behind a number of strange ofuda (paper tailsman) on people's doors and was carrying a box on his back.

He had arrived like the wind, proclaiming to be a medicine vendor, and was last seen wandering down the old pine forest road.

Despite the fear that gripped the neighborhood, no one could say for sure who this mysterious man was or what his intentions might be.

You weren't too surprised. As a Kanoto-ranked demon slayer, you were certain that this so-called "medicine seller" is the demon responsible for kidnapping and killing people.

Though it's likely the vile fiend wasn't as powerful as a Kizuki member, you knew not to underestimate any demon─regardless of their rank.

After all, even lower-ranked demons could prove to be formidable opponents if not dealt with carefully. As you set out to hunt down the demon behind the gruesome acts, you made sure to prepare yourself for whatever challenges may come your way. With your trusted blade and unwavering determination, you were ready to face whatever horrors awaited you in the shadows.

When nightfall came, you opted to patrol the streets and wait for the man to strike so you could slay him. You had already instructed your crow to call for backup immediately in case things were to go wrong.

You didn't survive in the Demon Slayer Corps for this long without a good reason. It was your duty to protect the innocent and rid the world of evil, no matter the cost. And you were more than willing to fulfill that duty, even if it meant putting your own life on the line.

Thus, the hunt was on!

At first, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and it was so quiet that you had to fight to remain conscious. Luckily, your time on Mount Fujikasane forced you to always remain on your guard while on missions.

Suddenly, the tap of wooden geta caught your attention, and when you snapped your head towards the sound, you saw a man with a purple bandana tied around his head and carry a strange box on his back.

The box reminded you of the one your friend Tanjiro Kamado uses to carry his little sister Nezuko.

His skin is very pale, his ears are pointy, and he has sharp canine teeth and dark blue eyes. His hair is dirty blonde and he is dressed in a vibrant kimono. Red markings outline the outsides of his eyes, with teardrop shapes underneath. He appears to be smirking, but it's actually because of a purple mark on his upper lip.

He, in fact, didn't appear to be human at all! Surely he must be the demon going around murdering people.

You gripped your katana tightly, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you stared down the strange man before you.

Before you could even think twice, your body reacted instinctively, fluid and precise, as you lunged forward with the intent to behead the perceived demon.

"I have you now, demon!" you declared, voice laced with a mixture of determination and a hint of bloodlust as you unsheathed your nichirin blade.

 It was a game of cat and mouse, with you relentlessly pursuing the stranger, driven by your conviction that this man was a demon that needed to be vanquished.

The stranger, however, seemed unfazed by your aggression, and with a brief glance, he turned and fled, disappearing into the shadows of the surrounding woods. Without hesitation, you gave chase, your feet pounding against the forest floor as you pursued the fleeing figure.

 As the chase continued, the stranger seemed to effortlessly weave through the dense foliage, his movements fluid and graceful. You, however, refused to be deterred, your determination fueling your every step.

 "You can't run forever, demon!" You shouted, your voice echoing through the woods.

 The stranger remained silent, focusing on his escape. You could feel the frustration building within you, your desire to catch the elusive figure growing stronger with each passing moment.

 Suddenly, the stranger took a sharp turn, disappearing behind a thicket of trees. You followed suit, your katana raised and ready to strike. But as you reached the clearing, the stranger was nowhere to be seen...

"Wh-what?" You quickly scanned the area, your senses heightened, searching for any sign of the fleeing demon.

"What is this demon you speak of?" Said a voice from behind you.

Startled, you quickly swung your sword back. However, the stranger skillfully intercepted your strike, effortlessly catching the blade between his index and middle finger.

"I'm afraid you must have me confused with someone else." With a quick flick of his wrist, he makes you lower your katana, and you can't help but snarl.

"I am not a demon, but a medicine seller," the stranger continued, his voice calm and soothing. "I am simply passing through," he tells you.

Despite his reassurances, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. The stranger's words seemed too good to be true, and his demeanor was too composed for someone who claimed to be innocent.

You scoffed, unable to contain your skepticism. "Yeah right. Are you seriously expecting me to believe that?"

The stranger's smile remained unwavering, and his expression betrayed no hint of offense at your disbelief. It was as if he had anticipated your reaction and was prepared to face your doubts head-on.

You stepped back, putting some distance between you two, before gripping and raising your katana once more. "With that appearance, anyone can see you're not human," you add, and you launch at him again.

The medicine seller was quick as he countered your attack with a weapon of his own. His blade was sheathed, with the saya (scabbard) being unlike anything you've ever seen. The hilt had the appearance of a komainu that's commonly found in Shinto shrines. And you could swear it clicked its teeth at you.

That's not normal.

You hesitated, unsure of what to make of this eponymous stranger who seemed to be more than meets the eye. However, you were finding it hard to believe his words.

"I understand your doubts, little demon slayer," the medicine seller said, his voice soft and suave. "But I assure you, I'm no demon, just a medicine seller, and my intentions are of no ill-will." He reassures.

"Besides, you should know not to ever judge a book by its cover."

"I..." You balk. "I don't trust you," you muttered, eyeing him warily as you tightened your grip on your own weapon, ready for any sudden moves.

The medicine seller merely chuckled. "Trust is a luxury not easily afforded in our line of work," he replied cryptically, his tone still gentle. "But rest assured, I am here to help, not harm."

Despite his reassurances, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. The Komainu hilt seemed to mock you with its silent gaze, adding to the mystery surrounding this enigmatic figure before you.

"However, if you wish to kill me, then I am afraid I'd have no choice but to defend myself," he warned, his eyes never leaving yours.

In one swift movement, his weapon clashes with yours, knocking you back some. You attempted to use your Wisteria Breathing technique to counter his attack, but he was already one step ahead, effortlessly dodging your moves with a smirk on his face.

You couldn't help but admire his agility and skill.

As your little fight of keep away continued, you couldn't help but wonder about the true intentions of this enigmatic man.

Was he truly here to help, as he claimed, or was there more to his story than met the eye?

The way he moved with grace and precision was a clear indication of his expertise in combat, making it clear that you were facing a formidable opponent.

Frustration started to consume you as you observed that he showed no intention of drawing his sword or harming you in any way.

"Are you affiliated with Kibutsuji Muzan?" you inquired, seeking clarity.

"Muzan...?" The medicine seller tilted his head, looking puzzled.

"Y'know? The Demon King?" You prodded, trying to jog his memory.

"Hmm, I never heard of him," he responded. "Is he Mononoke?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Oh wow, perhaps he is telling the truth about not being a demon, especially considering his unfamiliarity with Muzan.

You stopped attacking him and took a step back, feeling a mix of both relief and confusion. The medicine seller's genuine expression and lack of recognition of the name Kibutsuji Muzan made you question your assumptions.

Maybe he truly was not connected to the demons in any way. As you observed him closely, you noticed there wasn't a rank or number etched in his pupil, indicating that he's not a member of The Twelve Kizuki.

Despite his bizarre, non-human appearance, you couldn't help but believe him as you took your sword and sheathed it. The medicine seller, seeing this, puts his weapon away as well, tucking it into the obi of his kimono.

The tension in the air dissipated slowly as you considered the possibility that the medicine seller was not your enemy after all. His demeanor, now that you had stopped attacking him, was one of peaceful contemplation.

"So, you're not a demon?" You inquired.

"As I said before, I'm a humble medicine seller just passing through," he restated.

"Are you the one responsible for putting those strange tailsmans on people's doors?"

"Yes," he answered in earnest.

"Why?" You prressed further, wanting to understand his motives.

"To protect people from mononoke," he explained. "They're vengeful spirits that feed off negative emotions, do things like possess individuals, and make them suffer, cause disease, or even death."

"Oh!" You're surprised at this, as the medicine seller continues.

"I use my knowledge and abilities to fend off the mononoke until I can learn the spirit's shape, truth, and reason. Only then can I unsheathe my blade and kill the spirit." He said, gesturing to the seemingly sentient sword in his obi.

"So, you're like me but a ghost hunter?" You asked, now both intrigued and amazed, as stars twinkled in your eyes.

The medicine seller chuckles, "Sort of."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that the medicine seller was actually not a threat. The initial fear and tension that had gripped you just moments ago now seemed like a distant memory.

"That's so cool, Mr. Kusuriuri-san," you commented, and he smiled at the name.

Soon, you felt a twinge of guilt for attacking him earlier as you lean forward and bow. "Please forgive me, Kusuriuri, for trying to kill you," you apologized.

"I was quick to judge you without knowing the whole story," you added, feeling a sense of regret for your actions.

But the medicine seller simply chuckled and reassured you that he held no grudges.

"It's okay, little demon slayer. It is a common reaction when faced with the unknown," he reassured you, his tone gentle as always. "You were simply doing your job. I understand it's your solemn duty to protect humanity from this Muzan and his army of demons."

You blushed upon feeling his hand pat your head, a gesture that conveyed both approval and reassurance. In that moment, you felt a surge of gratitude towards him for his understanding. It was a reminder of why you had taken on the mantle of demon slayer in the first place—to safeguard the innocent and uphold justice in a world threatened by Muzan and his demons.

It seems both you and Kusuriuri share a common goal. You, a demon slayer, and he, a mononoke hunter, both seek to rid the world of dark forces that threaten the balance.

"So, what are the mononoke you're hunting, Kusuriuri-san?" You soon asked him.

"They are ikiryō (live spirits) and are the restless souls of the villagers who have been slaughtered by the demon you've been summoned to seek and destroy." He tells you.

"Really?"

"Yes," Kusuriuri nods. "The demon is their truth, but unfortunately, my abilities are futile against such a fiend. So, I'm in need of your aid, demon slayer. If you kill the vile demon, only then can I vanquish the ikiryō, so that they may find peace." He explains.

As you mulled over Kusuriuri's words, you realized the fate of the village rested in your hands, and the lives of the innocent villagers hung in the balance.

And so, with determination coursing through you, you smiled before agreeing to lend him your aid.

"Thank you," Kusuriuri murmured as he then informed you where the demon was hiding.

You were ready to confront the demon and bring peace to the restless souls.

[mask131]

What Oz could have been: The Great and Powerful

I first heard about the original script for Disney's "Oz The Great and Powerful" through a fan art of Theodora by the brilliant artist hwilki65 over at DeviantArt. The fan-art in question is gone now, but do not hesitate to go check the artist's gallery over at DeviantArt, he is one of the most thorough Oz artists of the Internet with tons of clever and beautiful takes on the Ozian world.

Everybody remembers Disney's "Oz The Great and Powerful", right? This Disney movie that attempted to be a prequel to the MGM movie, and yet couldn't really because Disney didn't have the rights? This VERY divise 2013 movie which was a big flop in terms of Oz adaptation? You remember, this thing which took a very cool concept of prequel, a lot of beautiful visuals and impressive visual effects and just... drowned it in cliche plot points, wasted opportunities and the most insufferable characters you ever met?

Yeah, this movie.

In his description for his fan-art, hwilki65 evoked the original scenario for the movie. His fan-art was of the "original" Theodora, not the one from the movie - and while the final product might seem like a simple cash-grab attempting at reclaiming the MGM heritage, these early drafts proved that the movie ACTUALLY started out as much more faithful to the Oz books and more sincere in its attempt at reconciliating the various Oz heritages into something new.

Of course, the idea of a better original version of the movie, that eventually was butchered into the story we can see today, was very intriguing. So I checked out the original script for the movie (but not after YEARS of searching it around, because it wasn't disponible online at first). And OH MY! The original scenario is indeed very different from the final movie, and quite better in term of overall quality! I did a full breakdown of this script back at my Oz side-blog (@witchesoz ), but to give you a taste of what we lost, and to encourage you to go seek this original scenario, here are some key points different from the final movie:

Oscar, the Wizard of Oz. In the movie? A selfish, greedy, womanizing jerk who starts out as the villain of the story, and his evolution arc is basically just him learning to be a decent human being. In the original script? He was such a positive character - in fact I will dare say he was a saner and cleaner version of Jack Sparrow. He was this kind-hearted, goofy, extravagant stage magician VERY good at his job (he was also a ventriloquist like in the novel, AND an escape artist/contortionist), but unfortunately unappreciated by the folks of 1900s USA, so he was forced to do snake-oil selling just to survive. He wasn't motived by greed or lust, but by his day-dreaming and ambition at being the greatest magician of all time, acclaimed by the masses - and the reason he played into "Yes I'm the Wizard of the prophecy" wasn't because of some girls or riches, but simply because Oz was the first place where his magic tricks actually impressed someone.

Remember this little winged monkey fella that Oscar saves the life of in Oz, and so the monkey swears a "life debt" to the wizard and becomes his funny sidekick? In the original script it was the reverse situation. Oscar was helped by a winged monkey, and thanked the talking animal for saving his life, swearing he had a "life debt" TO THE WINGED MONKEY, not the reverse.

In the final movie, when Oscar is in the tornado, he just whimpers and begs for his life. In the original script? He underwent a King Lear-like monologue, insulting the winds and defying the storm, insulting the tornado and daring it to kill him.

Theodora... Oh, Theodora! The character was originally designed as the very opposite of what she ended up as. She wasn't a shy, naive, nice girl - she was this strong, confident, majestic witch. Oscar didn't manipulate her like a teenage girl: she was the one who manipulated Oscar like a puppet by pretending to be a good witch and forcing him into the role of The Wizard of Oz. Yes I say "by pretending" to be a good a witch. Because originally, Theodora was a wicked witch FROM the start. She knew and was in league with her sister's evil plan. The only difference between the two is that Theodora, as the younger and less experimented sister, still had some humanity left in her - feelings of kindness and human decency that the wizard managed to "wake up" by just... being nice to her and treating her like a regular human being. There was the whole "I give you the music box" scene, but it was the reverse? In the original draft Oscar didn't lie, he just gave her a random music box as a gift for helping him in Oz, just out of kindness without expecting anything in return ; and that DID touch Theodora because indeed, since she is a wicked witch, she never had such a genuine gift out of pure kindness.

Originally we would have the backstory of the Cowardly Lion. Theodora, wishing to "test" if the Wizard truly had powers or not, secretely turned a rabbit into a lion, and had it attack Oscar while he was alone and presumably defenseless... Only for the Wizard to shoot it with a gun, causing in this rabbit-lion the fear of humanity.

Originally the servants of the Wicked Witches were the various terrible tribes of the novel "The Emerald City of Oz", monstrous outsiders the Witch sisters had Oz invaded with. The Growleywogs, the Whimsies, the Nomes (well rather the Gnomes)...

In the movie Theodora "turn to evil" is literaly just "Oh, a guy cheated on me, I'm heartbroken, let me nomnom on some evil". In the original draft? SO MUCH BETTER! Evanora, noticing Oscar had rekindled the last piece of goodness in her sister, first tries to convince Oscar he should kill Theodora because she is "in league with the wicked witch". When Oscar refuses to commit murder, Evanora tries to convince Theodora Oscar was trying to kill her... But Theodora doesn't buy it and, even though the Wizard knows she is a Wicked Witch, she still helps him escape Evanora in return for the kindness he showed her. And afterward, Evanora spends many, many scenes abusing her sister, at first verbally, psychologically, finally physically, to convince her to give up on the last of her humanity and enter a deeper, more monstrous stage of wickedness. Theodora does end up burning her skin due to the tears - but they're the tears her sisters make her shed with her torture. And Theodora resists' Evanora poisonous words, only to give up when Glinda causes a siege on the Emerald City and the Witches must prepare themselves to directly confront and fight Oscar.

And can we speak about Glinda? She was SO MUCH closer to the Glinda of the books! She was this majestic, beautiful and powerful warlord-witch living in a grand palace in the south, all on her own (because, since she is a witch, she literaly needs no servant). As soon as she saw Oscar, she cut through his bullshit and shoot down his dream of grandeur, because she knows what real magic is (all Witches do, but the Wicked Witches played along to better manipulate Oscar). She gathers an ACTUAL army of thousand of people to besiege the Emerald City ; and during the war she uses so much more her powers, bu unleashing blinding mists and huge snowstorms, and literaly stopping or unleashing the winds. Oh yes, and all possible romance between Oscar and her is also clearly made impossible when it is revealed that Witches cannot kiss humans - else humans DIE (which also puts Theodora's loneliness under a new light).

Oh yes, and in the original draft, Oscar's development was actually him going from this ambitious daydreamer who only wished for a fantasy land to escape to, where he would be a great and acclaimed wizard... to him actually being fed up with Oz where everybody wants to kill or manipulate him, and dreaming to return to Kansas to settle down with those he truly love, and live there a mundane, quiet, normal life, as a regular man... Something he ends up being forced to give up, because he is needed to prevent the Wicked Witches from overtaking Oz, and so he literaly is trapped within his own dream and forced to give up what he realized too lat was what he wanted all along...

Seriously, the original draft for the movie was SO INSANELY COOL. It was still a rough draft and it had pacing problems, and some cheesy stuff that definitively needed to be cut, and also some weird phrasing that made it sound somehow racist sometimes? But outside of that, the characters and plot were truly so much better than what we got!

[saintsenara]

Sirius/Ginny? I mean, canon setting is 🫣, but an AU where Sirius lives or time travel AU?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i've had to hear a huge amount about sinevra [a hot ship name if ever there was one] over the past year or so because @whinlatter is a paid-up believer in its viability. and i must say...

i'm convinced.

the first thing to get out of the way is that ginny's clearly got a wee crush on dear ol' padfoot. she spends several of the scenes which take place in the summer of order of the phoenix trying her best to get his attention - albeit in a way which prompts visceral flashbacks to being fifteen - by showering his bff [crookshanks] with affection and doing all she can to seem cool and fun.

but when this initial mortification is out of the way, there are hints of a broader platonic compatibility [at least from ginny's perspective, sirius is undoubtedly hard-pressed to remember her name during the canon timeline] that could very easily transition into something romantic if an author so desires - particularly in a scenario where they've both survived the war.

which we can see most clearly in the aftermath of arthur weasley being attacked by nagini:

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" said Sirius angrily in his turn. "This is how it is - this is why you're not in the Order - you don't understand - there are things worth dying for!" "Easy for you to say, stuck here!" bellowed Fred. "I don't see you risking your neck!" The little colour remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm. "I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?" Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it.

ginny's acquiescence to sirius' point-of-view - even though she begins the scene taking the same line as fred and george - is really quite striking.

because - of course - it's due to her respecting his authority [noteworthy enough, since sirius' obvious depression during his confinement in grimmauld place reduces his authority status in harry and hermione's eyes].

but it's also due to the fact that she's one of the few child characters who ever really seems to get this idea of there being things worth - collectively - dying for.

harry - however terrified he is of voldemort and however dangerous he considers his mission against him to be - still fundamentally sees defeating the dark lord as something which is his responsibility and his responsibility alone. while he's upset to be excluded from the order in order of the phoenix, he stops caring about its work the moment he knows about the prophecy. he's shocked to learn that he must die in deathly hallows not just because this is shocking full-stop, but because he's never envisioned a scenario where he isn't the person delivering voldemort's death blow.

the divide between harry [and ron and hermione, to some extent] and the rest of the order when it comes to what the war is and what it means is a really interesting thread to unravel in all sorts of pairings [romantic or not]. and it's particularly interesting when thinking about his relationship - again, romantic or not - with both sirius and ginny.

it's striking in canon that the order never really seem to understand voldemort as anything other than a terrorist - which is to say, they never understand the more mystical aspects to the war and, especially, to his obsession with harry.

[many of the death eaters seem to be the same.]

this is the case for sirius. it always stands out to me how his only response to harry telling him about the vision he had of nagini attacking arthur is to ask whether he's told dumbledore - which directly contributes to harry's unwillingness to keep him informed about his occlumency lessons. he is similarly disinclined to tell harry anything about the prophecy - he may want harry to be told more about the order's operations than molly does, but harry doesn't learn anything which actually ends up being useful to his own battle against voldemort from him.

ginny, in contrast, is someone harry deliberately keeps at arm's length from the mystical aspects of his mission [even though, based on what she says to him at dumbledore's funeral, she's grasped these a lot quicker than sirius].

she is reduced to trying to do what the order does - running the hogwarts outpost of a conventional resistance movement while harry goes on his horcrux hunt [something harry never seriously considers to be worthwhile; he treats the story of her attempting to steal the sword of gryffindor as though it was all a laugh], while undoubtedly knowing that her contribution to the cause is minimal.

there are a lot of parallels there with sirius' experience in order of the phoenix. his depression is exacerbated by a feeling of uselessness - the only contribution to the order's work which he understands as worthwhile is an active one; he doesn't see the domestic aspects of the order's mission as valuable and he doesn't realise that harry needs his emotional support in grappling with the mystical side of his connection to voldemort.

i am really compelled by the idea of sirius and ginny bonding over this experience of being peripheral to what the war actually ended up being about, especially because each of them could offer the other the recognition that they did the best they could with the information they had [an act of forgiveness i think they'd be unable to offer themselves]. and i am compelled by the idea of this turning into something more.

i also think ginny would love a motorcycle.

[puhpandas]

MCR kill all your friends is soo beckory/gregory & tony

"well you can hide a lot about yourself" rab lying to tony (and ellis) about everything basically. being a normal kid and having parents and caring at all. especially in tonys case just lying and stringing him along

"cause you can sleep in a coffin but the past aint through with you" basically just like, everything with tonys dad being old news and the coffin line being about everyone putting it to rest, & "the past aint through with you" being tony never letting it go and letting it constantly affect him in the present and fuel him to solve mysteries

"cause its tragic with a capital T" just eveyrthing about Tony fr lmao. even in this scenario where he doesnt die the line fits his canon story. every single part of his character is tragic. can also apply to Gregory in this situation bc hes tragic af too

"cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends + and we all te together when we bury our friends" rab and vanny and the glamrocks and stuff after successfully stopping another person from getting too close to the truth by killing tony, his friend

"its been eight bitter years since ive been seeing your face" tony surviving the attack and spending a lot of time searching for gregory and ggy afterwards with no luck & it taking a long time to get leads & all that turmoil

"and youre walking away, and i will die in this place" tony in present time dying in the pizzaplex with gregory walking away

"sometimes you scrape and sink so low" can apply to both tony and rab with tony being in like the worst mental state ever and rabs reputation in tonys eyes being ruined by rab sinking so low as to kill to in tonys eyes just not get in trouble for hacking the plex

"im shocked of what youre capable of" the betrayal between tony and gregory with tony being shocked of what he did to him

"So, tell me all about your problems, I was killing before killing was cool" rab stringing tony along and listening to what he has to say and learning to understand him better than anyone else to keep him interested in him for cover, and rab also having been killing the entire time he was doing it + before tonys big ggy obsession

"You're so cool, you're so cool, so cool" tony liking gregory more than ellis and viewing him as higher above other ppl (because of the traits he shares with tony)

first half being a repeat of the era of tony searching for gregory with another year being added showing how long its taking and how crazy tony is. "youre walking away and i will die in this place" remembering the day gregory walked away from him and holding onto the memory with both hands to fuel him to search + nightmares and trauma, hes still mentally stuck in the pizzaplex experiencing gregorys betrayal

second half being tonys determination after surviving + escaping to get to the bottom of rab after he failed to take him down, PLUS gregory during SB after being freed at this point surviving his night at the pizzaplex

another repeat showing that tony is still in the trenches, with frustration being shown in the curse. pre meeting where they finally reunite after everuthing when tony is in the worst mental state of his life and gregory is traumatized from the pizzaplex. them metaphorically walking away in opposite directions from eachother but eventally finding their way back to eachother what would be post-song