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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.”

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care.

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

(Lovelies from my "Everything" tag list. If you want to be tagged on Priestly stuff specifically, check out the Tag List link in my bio.)

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

#Code Red #10 Inch Hero #Boaz Priestly #Boaz Priestly x reader #Boaz Priestly x female reader #Boaz Priestly x you #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles #Priestly x reader #Priestly x you #Priestly #Priestly x female reader #zepskies writes

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pinecipitation · 8 months ago

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Hey again, friend! Your fics are amazing, thank you so much! I'd love to request some headcanons about Allan, Charlie, and Pim! This is for a gender-neutral reader who's new as a smiling friend or receptionist, with a mutual pining scenario. (CONTINUE TO SLAY, LOVE YOU LOTS)

HELLO FRIEND!! thank u so much for your support, we gang fr,, AND CONTINUE TO SLAY TOO!! sorry for the wait, I was quite literally fighting for my life the past few weeks 💔

SMILING FRIENDS X GN!READER

word count: 900+

authors note: you can clearly tell who’s my favorite, good lord a bitch can monologue about Alan

warnings: none I think! mentioning getting drinks with Charlie, but that’s where it ends

Choose your own adventure!! Boss totally forgot to give you an assignment today, who do you shadow?

ALAN

- new Smiling Friend? ur put to inventory immediately

- as he’s seen hanging out more around the building, if you choose him you’d probably be helping reorganize a thing or two

- Alan wouldn’t be too social at first or really remember that you’re meant to be helping him, but he’ll get you your own little clipboard to follow him around with

- eventually he starts to admit he really appreciates the help, seeing as you caught on quickly with the little tasks he does every morning

- gets to a point where he clocks in and can feel a little peace knowing he has someone to share the dailies with

- or is he just happy to see you? does he like the help or the company?

- you’re super nice, getting coffees and drinks for everyone at the office before you come in to work, and he grows to look forward to them

- not because of the energy drink in the mornings, no, but because he’ll see you cheerfully hand him his beverage with your usual “For you, Alan” and a wide smile

- funny part is he doesn’t even like that drink, but my god does he force it down his throat whenever you’re nearby

- Charlie would pick up on it, starting to say something like “Alan, dude, don’t you hate that flavor of-“ before he gets pushed out of frame, a wide but guilty smile on Alans face as he looks over at you

- and as a receptionist? Alan would be the one getting *you* drinks and snacks

- he wakes up, gets the drink he knows you like, parks, and hypes himself up in the parking garage to say anything other than hi to you

- does he? no

- not when you look at him so gratefully, one hand stretched out as the work phone is lodged between your ear and your shoulder

- not when you smile ear to ear, mouthing a very ecstatic“thank you” before getting back to the phone call

- he can’t do anything but give you an awkward pursed smile, heading to the elevator quickly to clock in and start his day

- he really curses himself out on the ride up, mentally groaning and hoping to try again tomorrow

- really thinks all hope is lost until he finds a little post it note stuck to his clipboard, a small yellow paper

- “Thank you for the coffee :) maybe tomorrow I can pick you up and show you a few more that I like?”

- cafe date secured

CHARLIE

- Unapologetically can’t keep his eyes off you when you walk in the break room, the Boss behind you telling everyone your name and what you’ll be doing

- tries to nonchalantly point to himself and say they could always use the help, drowning out Pims hellos and claims on them working well together and not needing a third

- you couldn’t be happier, excited to go out and experience first hand what they do

- Charlie the whole time just tries to play it cool, his hands in his pockets as he pretends to be mysterious as Pim happily does what he does

- but as a receptionist? good lord he’s down there ALL the time

- always hanging out around your desk, keeping you laughing and spilling joke after joke when he’s free

- will always lean on the desk when he clocks in, sort of loitering but it’s okay because you never mind

- “Can I go home early if I flirt with the receptionist?” is his NUMBER one go to

- will definitely ask you to get drinks later, always putting it off like it’s a coworker activity to get to know each other

- you say yes of course, watching him walk away and fist pump to himself as he gets to the elevators and you can’t help but laugh

- night out date secured

PIM

- new friend opportunity lets GO

- super excited to have a new addition to the workplace, would probably be the one to bake cookies or get little decorations around the break room before you get there

- and exactly that he does, making sure to help you stay as welcome and invited as you can feel

- over time you join him and Charlie on more adventures and assignments, Pim always walking beside you and just enjoying having someone more upbeat to talk to

- as a receptionist? he will go out of his way to gift you small things to add to your desk

- maybe one day it’s a little magnet, maybe some nice colored pens, a picture frame, he notices little things you like and gets you gifts that match

- he sends them to you all by leaving it on your desk while you’re not there though, maybe a little note or in a bag that you can correctly assume was Pims doing

- until one day where you catch him on his walk out of the building, him turning to come to your desk as you call out for him

- you ask about all the gifts, him embarrassingly admitting that he thought he’d give you things to make your desk seem more “home-like”

- you just smile and tell him you enjoy the gifts, but next time to hand it over when you’re at the desk so you can properly thank him

- all this Pim could handle, but the small wink you gave him at the end before you clocked out was what really turned him red

- reception desk date secured?

#pine smiles ⍋#smiling friends #smiling friends x reader #alan smiling friends #charlie smiling friends #pim smiling friends #pim pimling #charlie dompler #alan red #smiling friends charlie #smiling friends pim #smiling friends alan #pride month #smiling friends fanfic #smiling friends allan #allan smiling friends

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shyamanuensis · 24 days ago

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let go - m.r (his pov)

i suck at male pov - but i enjoy it. anyway, here we go. unedited. don't come for me xo

You had called to let me know that you’d broken up with your boyfriend.

Again.

It wasn’t the first time I’d received a call like this – a strange familiarity in your choice of words and lack of climatic emotion. I’m for hell sure it won’t be the last time either. Knowing your ways, your wants, your quirks; how you’d go above and beyond to throw yourself headfirst into relationships only to drown somewhat peacefully into the toxicity of what you’d delved into in exchange for a temporary solution to romantic isolation. I loathed it. Hated everything you did and sort after for satisfaction when really, if you just asked – you could have had anything you ever wanted.

The trip from mine to yours is quicker than I remember. Maybe it's because my mind is consumed in overthinking about what I’m going to find when I get to you – perchance it's because I’ve run a dozen redlights on the way over, but the danger, the fines, the chaos I’m causing is worth it to see you. Your apartment door is unlocked; presumably that way because of the last person who left the place. He’s a dick. I could have told you that. I tried to – honestly, but you wouldn’t listen.

The sound of running water half concealing tears is coming from the bathroom. It’s always the bathroom. Not that I’m surprised. That place outside of the bedroom is like your sanctuary. Like your garden of Eden. Both your heaven and hell whenever somebody else is in there. A sacred fucking space. The doors ajar. You’re staring into your vanity mirror with an expression akin to someone lost looking for answers and a mixture of dry tears and salty sobs have stained the makeup on your face. You look breathtaking. Stunning. Worth a million galleon more than whatever that prick has convinced you you’re worth.

You’re not wearing much – it’s obvious that the fight, the breakup, happened midway through you getting ready for date night. Typical. Every Thursday without fail regardless of whoever at the time you were seeing. We’d always gossip about them on a Friday morning. By gossip, I mean you’d talk, and I’d just listen. I’d always listen. Your voice always had the capability of intoxicating me more so than red wine or whiskey ever could.

Oh, how I fucking craved, throbbed, ached for a touch of your silhouette. To appreciate your waist. To want to run my hands tenderly across your thighs that were painted by the glow of the moon which etched in drawing delicate shadows all over the bathroom. Your chest was perfectly stuffed into that lacy red push-up bra you had convinced yourself was a quintessential addition to any outfit you wore for a boost of confidence. Not that you needed any – shit, there I go again; you’re gorgeous.

I was aware that you couldn’t see me; watching in silence as your fingertips grazed across your skin – neck, shoulders, arms, stomach; making an inventory of all the little insecurities you could find, create, hate. The grace of your movements reminded me of times you’d try to force yourself into jeans too tight or dance around in ever long and flowing skirts and shirts because of the way you’d convinced yourself that you hated yourself – what you saw. Seeing you though, in front of that mirror; in nothing more than lady luck red material covering your most intimate secrets so looked so bare, so wilful, so innocent, so lost, so needed; just for a single touch. It killed me.

I could see the trophy like mark that prick of an ex left down the right side of your cheek – how it almost ran the length of your jaw. Something which to remind you that you’d be running back to him in no time. It made my blood boil, it made my throat dry, it caused my breath to knot, I saw red – I saw you. Knuckles rapping at the bathroom door, I called your name out with a one, two, three tap. Your eyes shifted into focus, you reached out to grab the closest towel off the rack that you could reach and wrapped it around yourself timidly. Like there was a doubt that I’d judge for what I saw. What you presented. This would never be the case. Ever.

“Hi…”

The single word you managed to get out was almost inaudible, but I could tell what you were saying because of the way your lips moved. I could read them in the dark if I needed to. I offered to stay the night, to keep your company however you weren’t ready to respond, barely ready for the question. I considered trying to back out of the equation, the situation, the dilemma but couldn’t. Not when you wandered over. Not when our lips met. Not when my body and mind instantly gave into their own defeat. I hate the fact that I know what you want. Someone to keep you warm. Someone to keep you safe. Someone to keep you close. Someone to be there, to hold you – to never let you go.

“I’m sorry--.” Your words were choked. Eyes bloodshot. Breath warm. “Don’t be.” It was the same thing I’d said only a few weeks ago. I’d be like a broken record always on repeat. “You didn’t have to come over.” “Just wanted to make sure that you were okay. It’s kinda what friends are for....”

You fell against my chest for a moment. Arms wrapping round my waist. A hold as light as a feather. It lasts for no longer than it takes for me to register what’s happening. You whisper something about needing to get dressed. I respond and say that I’ll make us tea. Black, one sugar, bag left in the teacup. We’re about to kiss again. I can just feel it. Platonically. It’s always just as friends – never more; but the way your hand skims down my shirt; your other snaking through my hair tenderly before you gaze up. Our exchanged look one of hopelessness – you step back, step away, turn off the faucets, sigh, walk out of the bathroom, into the apartment; walk away, I swallow hard. The heavy exhale that is paired with it a eulogy to the chance we just had.

I let you go.

I should have kept you there, but I let you go.

#harry potter #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #slytherin #slytherin x reader #slytherin boys

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mononijikayu · 5 months ago

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and love is a kaleidoscope — gojo satoru.

“I don’t need more than that. Even if it isn't enough, I’ll tell you it's enough.” he said softly, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. “I just… I miss you.” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with the things you both weren’t saying. You wanted to tell him you missed him too, that you hated the distance between you, but the missions, the constant fight—it had become a wall between you, one that you didn’t know how to tear down. “I miss you too.” you finally admitted, your voice small and tired. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

WARNING/S: pre-hidden inventory arc, post hidden inventory arc, domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 8.5k words.

NOTE: i feel like every time i ponder if genmei (you) is bisexual or pansexual, i go in the drawing board and think that really doesn't matter. yuki and you go way back, you had something to do with how she managed to get away with not being consumed by tengen. and you were yuki's first love, i supposed. but that's a story for another time. satoru by this point feels like his connection with you matters the most, because he feels secured about his relationship with suguru. but of course, you wonder because there's a difference with how he needs to converse with you vs just going purely with what suguru says. but i suppose that's just how obvious it was, their fracturing relationships. anyway, i hope you enjoy this little treat!!! I love you all <3

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YOU HAD JUST GOTTEN THE NEWS ON YOUR WAY BACK. The dimly lit infirmary of Tokyo Jujutsu High buzzed with the faint sounds of healing techniques being employed and the distant murmurs of the staff tending to the injured.

The air was heavy with the scent of antiseptics, but it was the sight before you that truly made your heart race—a scene you had dreaded since the moment you heard about the mission. Ieiri Shoko looked at you in the face, with a weary look. You had never seen that look in her eyes before. Your eyes scanned the room and your breath was blown out of you.

Gojo Satoru lay on one of the beds, his usually vibrant expression now dulled by pain. His left arm was heavily bandaged, blood seeping through the cloth, while deep cuts marred his torso. Geto Suguru, just a few feet away, appeared equally battered, his face bruised and swollen, eyes closed as if he were trying to shut out the world around him.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and a wave of panic washed over you. “Satoru–kun! Suguru–kun!” You rushed to their side, your hands trembling as you reached for them. Satoru’s gaze flickered to yours, a flicker of reassurance in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by the pain etched across his features. Suguru’s lips curled slightly in a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, we’re fine… just a little banged up.” Satoru managed, his voice hoarse, but it did little to assuage your fear. You heard that he was stabbed in the throat and that concerned you the most. You could see the blood dried soaking the bandages and the shadows under their eyes. Panic turned into a cold grip around your heart.

“No, you’re not!” You barely managed to keep your voice steady as you felt your chest tighten. “You’re injured! You shouldn’t have gone on that mission at all….This should have been my mission, I told them so….”

“Gen–senpai, we’re….we’re alright.” Suguru whispered, but you can tell that he wasn’t alright. Everything about him was out of place, shaken and beaten. Exhausted. Broken. “Really.”

“You…you don’t have to lie to me, Suguru–kun.”

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the chaos, the frantic pace of the other healer staff in the room as they worked to clear out the equipment. You turned back to Yaga–sensei, who stood nearby, his expression stoic, but the concern in his eyes mirrored your own. The more you looked at him, the angrier you got. If he had decided to fight against the decision by the higher ups, by Tengen–sama, then maybe….just maybe — he wouldn’t have that look on his face.

“I’m willing to take the next few months of missions for them.” you blurted out, your determination taking Yaga by surprise. Your exhausted eyes lowered. “They can’t go back out there like this. It’s too dangerous. I can handle it; I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Yaga looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “You know the risks of this to you. You’re already doing so much….” he said finally, his voice low and serious. “Principal Gakuganji would be displeased—”

Your eyes looked up and narrowed. “So? He’s always displeased with me and my so-called insolence anyway. Let him get angry.”

“Genmei, if you were serious—”

“I am. I never joke around about things like this. You know that too well.” you insisted, crossing your arms defiantly. “I won’t let them put themselves in danger again while they’re like this. They need to rest and recover.”

As Shoko continued to work on Satoru and another worked on Suguru, you sat down beside them, taking one of Satoru’s hands in yours, squeezing it tightly. “Just hold on, okay? You’ll be alright.”

Satoru’s eyes softened as he gazed at you, and for a moment, the pain seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of your presence. “You really worry too much, Gen–senpai.” he said, a small, teasing smirk trying to break through despite the pain. “But I appreciate it.”

Suguru shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open. “You’re taking the missions?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with concern. “You shouldn’t have to carry that burden alone, Gen–senpai. That’s not something that you should concern yourself about.”

“I can handle it, Suguru–kun.” you replied firmly, forcing a smile despite the tears threatening to spill over. “You both need to heal. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of while you rest.”

Satoru and Suguru exchanged a glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Then Satoru looked back at you, his expression serious. “Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? You can’t push yourself too hard either, Gen–senpai.”

“I promise.” you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe.”

As the medical staff and Shoko continued their work, you stayed by their sides, your heart swelling with a mix of fear and determination. You mouthed a thank you to Shoko, who nodded at you. She didn’t want to talk about it, not yet. But maybe soon. Not everything had to be continued in words. And so silence remained.

YOU WERE GOOD AT NOTICING THINGS. And yet, you didn’t notice this before it was too late. It was subtle at first, so faint that you almost didn’t notice it. The way Satoru would flinch, ever so slightly, when your hand brushed against his.

How Suguru's usually calm and confident demeanor would flicker off with hesitation whenever an argument arose. He would immediately snap and tell you to drop it off. It was small enough to ignore in the beginning, but as the days turned into weeks, the changes became impossible to overlook.

You couldn’t find yourself to come and visit them today, even if you were on campus. As you sat at the edge of your staff room, you sighed as you smoked out your French cigarettes. You had just gotten back from a mission and now you couldn’t fall asleep.

You shrugged as you kept staring at the soft glow of the setting sun filtering through the window, the weight of the growing distance between you, Satoru, and Suguru pressing down on your chest like a vice. They were right there, just within reach, but they felt so far away.

Satoru had always been the one who reached out, pulling you into his orbit with his magnetic energy. He was the one who would tug you close without a second thought, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, his touch playful and comforting. But now… now he barely touched you at all.

You remembered the last time you tried to hold his hand. It was a small gesture, one born out of habit more than anything, but the moment your fingers brushed against his, you felt him pull away. He tried to cover it up, laughing it off with a joke that was too sharp, too brittle. But you saw the flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you or how you feel. You knew he did. But something had changed. Something inside him recoiled from physical contact, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, it was impossible not to feel the sting of rejection.

Suguru, on the other hand, had always been your anchor, the one who brought calm to the storm. When things went wrong, he was the one who would sit with you, listen to you, face the problem head-on. But now, whenever there was even the slightest hint of conflict, he would retreat, closing himself off from you in ways that were so unlike him.

The last argument you had was over something small—an errand left undone, a moment of miscommunication—but instead of addressing it, Suguru had simply walked away. No discussion, no confrontation. Just silence. And it hurt more than the argument ever could have.

Ieiri Shoko pushes the door to your room open without knocking, her usual nonchalance on full display as she steps inside. The familiar smell of tobacco clings to her, the faint scent of cigarette smoke tracing behind her like a signature. She waves at you, smiling.

"Hey." she greets, tossing a small box of cigarettes on your desk. "Can I have one?"

You glance at her, then at the cigarettes. A brief hesitation flickers through your mind before you shake your head. "Shoko, I can't give you one."

She snickers, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she takes a seat on the edge of your bed. "Yeah? Like you didn't start smoking at my age." She pulls one out for herself, lighting it expertly and inhaling deeply.

You sigh, realizing she’s got you there. The years have passed, but that particular truth hasn't changed. "Fine, fine. Just one." you mutter, reaching over for a cigarette. "But don’t act all smug about it."

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, the soft crackle of burning tobacco the only sound for a moment. You take a slow drag, letting the smoke swirl lazily in the air between you. You wonder why Shoko was already up — but you knew better than to ask. She probably hasn't slept yet either. Knowing her, she’s studying up for her RCT with some of the other healer focused sorcerers. You sighed. You were in no position to tell her to go back to sleep.

"So... how’s Geto doing?" Shoko asks after a while, her tone casual but with an undertone of concern.

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the air as your thoughts drift to him. "He’s... managing. It’s not easy, but we’re working through it. I think he's finding his balance again, little by little. There are still tough days. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don’t. If we do, sometimes he snaps. But no more than usual, I suppose.”

Shoko nods, taking another drag from her cigarette. "Yeah. That makes sense. And Gojo?"

"Satoru–kun…" You pause, unsure of how to summarize the mess of emotions tied to his name. "He’s still overseas, doing his thing. Same old Gojo, honestly. But there's something... I don’t know. I worry about him sometimes."

She blows out a slow stream of smoke, eyes narrowing slightly as she considers your words. "Gojo’s always been hard to read when it comes to his own well-being. He hides it well. Guess that’s why we’re all stuck worrying about him."

"Yeah, I suppose so." you agree softly, feeling a pang of concern settle in your chest. "It's like he carries everything but never really shares the weight."

Shoko chuckles lightly, her cigarette burning low as she stubs it out. "Guess we all have our ways of dealing don’t we? But at least we’ve got each other."

You nod, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the tray. "Yeah... we do."

At least that’s what you hoped.

The more they withdrew, the more you found yourself pulling away, too. It wasn’t what you wanted. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to reach out, to grab hold of them, to bridge the gap that was forming between you. But each time you tried, it felt like you were met with walls that neither of them were willing to break down.

You found yourself spending more time alone, avoiding the spaces where the three of you used to be so comfortable together. The living room, once filled with easy laughter and teasing banter, felt too cold, too empty.

The kitchen, where Satoru used to steal snacks from your plate, now felt like a place of quiet avoidance. Even your bedroom, the sanctuary where you’d all shared late-night talks and quiet moments, seemed foreign now.

And they didn’t seem to notice the way your distance mirrored theirs.

Satoru still cracked his usual jokes, but there was an edge to them that hadn’t been there before. He seemed more focused on keeping up appearances, hiding behind his sarcasm and grin, as if pretending that nothing had changed would make it true. Suguru, too, was quieter, more withdrawn. When you tried to talk to him, really talk to him, his responses were vague, his eyes distant, as if he wasn’t entirely present in the conversation.

It broke something inside you.

You wanted to ask them what was happening. Why Satoru couldn’t stand to be touched anymore, why Suguru avoided confrontation like it was a plague. But every time you opened your mouth to ask, the words got stuck in your throat. You were afraid of what the answer might be. Afraid that acknowledging the growing rift between you would make it real in a way that was irreversible.

So, you stayed silent. You put on a smile when they were around, forced laughter where it didn’t quite fit, and pretended that the distance didn’t hurt as much as it did.

But late at night, when you were alone in bed and the silence was deafening, you couldn’t stop the ache in your chest from spreading. The realization that you were becoming a stranger to the two people you loved most in the world was suffocating, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, they were slipping away from you.

You knew you couldn’t keep pretending forever. Something had to give. But until then, all you could do was watch the space between you grow wider, feeling more alone with each passing day.

YOU RARELY DRINK NOWADAYS. Not because you can’t, but because you had too many vices already. And it worried your mother a lot, how the alcohol had changed you as a person. You would not give up the cigarette, not yet. But giving up the drink was easy. But there were days where it was hard to keep that promise.

Today was one of these days.

The air was cold and still, the kind of night where even the wind held its breath. The Mikoto family tomb stood silently under the pale light of the moon, a forgotten place tucked away in a corner of Kyoto, where old memories and ancient grudges rested.

You staggered through the entrance, the alcohol heavy in your veins, numbing everything except the ache in your chest. Your breath hitched as you made your way deeper into the tomb, past the grand marble slabs of ancestors long gone, until you reached the place where the weight of your heart seemed heaviest.

Fushiguro Toji.

His name was etched onto the stone beside your father’s, a simple marker for a man who had lived his life in defiance of everything. Of the Zenins, of fate, and of you. The bottle of sake in your hand swayed dangerously as you stopped in front of his grave. The cold stone of the tomb pressed into your back as you collapsed in front of it, your fingers trembling as you poured some of the drink over his grave, a bitter offering.

“You…” your voice cracked, the alcohol giving it a sharp edge. “Why did you have to do the things you did?”

Your chest tightened as you stared at the name on the stone, blurred by your drunken haze, by the tears that you didn’t even realize were already streaming down your face. “You could’ve come to us! You should’ve come to us, Toji. You didn’t have to… you didn’t have to ruin everything.”

Anger boiled in your veins, mixing with the hurt, with the deep sense of betrayal that had festered inside you for so long. Toji had been family, in some strange, fractured way. You looked up to him in your youth. He was the brother you never had. You missed him, you longed for him. He was a missing piece of your family. And yet he decided that he didn’t want to have that.

He could have sought refuge, he could have swallowed his pride, but instead, he had walked a path of destruction, dragging everything and everyone down with him.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” you demanded, your voice rising as you clenched the bottle tighter. “You knew the Zenins were trash. Us who left, we were all we had! You knew! My father—he would have helped you. He would have protected you, taken you in. You….you were like a son to him. You knew that! We could have given you a real home, a place where you didn’t have to keep fighting… but no. You had to—” Your words broke off into a sob, your breath ragged as the weight of your pain crushed your chest.

You leaned forward, your forehead resting against the cold stone of his grave. The anger was still there, burning beneath the surface, but now, all you could feel was the deep, aching sense of loss. “Why did you choose pride over everything else? Why, Toji–niisama? Was it really worth it? All the blood, all the pain…”

The tears fell freely now, soaking into the ground beneath you. You had carried this hurt for so long, this question that you had never been able to ask him in life. Why couldn’t he have trusted you, trusted your family? Why had he chosen the hard path, the one that left him broken and alone, when he could have had something better?

You slammed the bottle against the stone, your frustration bubbling over. “Damn it, you fool!” you cried, the sound echoing through the tomb. “You could have had a family! You could have been safe. Your…your kid would have been fine with you and us!”

But he hadn’t. And now, he lay here, next to your father, in a cold, silent grave, while you were left standing in the wreckage of the life he had refused.

The alcohol had stripped away your composure, leaving nothing but the raw hurt, the years of wondering what could have been, if only he had been able to put aside that stubborn, destructive pride. Your voice was quieter now, trembling.

“Why couldn’t you let go of your pride? Why couldn’t you come to us?”

The tomb was silent, offering no answers, no closure. Only the stillness of the dead.

You wiped the tears from your face with the back of your hand, but it didn’t matter. They just kept falling, spilling out all the hurt, the anger, the love that had been twisted into something unrecognizable over the years. Toji’s grave remained still, his choices set in stone, and you were left there, alone with the weight of it all.

“I could have saved you, nii–sama.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “We could have saved you.”

But it was too late. The man who had stood tall and unbreakable in his pride was now buried, his name carved into the stone, the answers to your questions buried with him.

TSUKUMO YUKI’S OVERABUNDANCE OF MESSAGES WERE QUITE TOO MUCH. But the more you ignore her, the more’s going to go and continue her cheeky messaging. So the moment she sent you her location, you went there as you finished your mission. You can file the report tomorrow, you supposed.

The pulsating rhythm of the music hit you like a physical force the moment you stepped into the nightclub, lights flashing in dizzying colors, shadows shifting in every corner of the packed space. The beat was loud, relentless, but it did nothing to shake the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin.

After three months of endless missions, your body had moved beyond exhaustion into a state of numbness. Sleep was a distant memory, buried under the weight of six missions a day, the faces of cursed spirits, and the suffocating silence that followed each exorcism.

You stumbled toward the bar, the world blurring slightly around the edges. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of being completely, utterly alone despite the crowd. The bartender shot you a glance, but you waved them off, searching for the one familiar face you were here for.

Tsukumo Yuki.

It didn’t take long to spot her—leaning casually against the bar, her golden hair catching the light as she turned her gaze toward you. She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as you approached. But behind her usual teasing expression, you could see something else—concern, perhaps, or something heavier that she wasn’t showing.

“You look like hell, Mei-chi.” Yuki remarked, her voice cutting through the noise as you finally collapsed onto the stool next to her. She grinned. “I thought you would dress up for me.”

She’s called you Mei–chi for a long time, maybe longer than you could remember. Kaiko kept telling her off about it. But you just let her be. She called you her ‘light’ after all. She ordered you both drinks without asking, sliding one toward you. You ignored it for now, instead fixing her with a tired look.

“I just came from a mission, Yuki.” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “Or five. I don’t even know anymore.” The words came out slurred with fatigue. “I can’t dress up for you, sorry.”

“Yeah, I heard, you know?” she said, her smirk softening into something more serious. She leaned closer, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “That’s why I’m here.”

You frowned, blinking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m worried about you. Well, I always worry about you, Mei-chi.” Yuki said simply, her bright pinkish–doe eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ve been hearing things—how you’ve been taking on six missions a day, running yourself ragged all over Japan. You haven’t slept properly in months, have you?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yuki, seriously, this is—”

She cut you off with a shake of her head. “I’m not here to lecture you, Mei-chi. I just wanted to see you. That’s enough to halt my research for a bit. You’re more than enough reason, always.”

The weight of her words hit you harder than expected. You had always known Yuki to be focused, obsessed even, with her goals and research. But to hear that she had paused all of it just to check on you—it made something tighten in your chest. You purse your lips into a flat line, your eyes not leaving her own.

“I’m fine, Yuki.” you said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow. You took a long swig of the drink she had ordered for you, the alcohol burning its way down your throat. The lie lingered in the air between you, and Yuki didn’t bother trying to hide the disbelief in her eyes.

“Are you? Or are you just going to lie to me again through your teeth?” she asked quietly, her hand still resting on your arm, warm and steady against your skin. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re anything but fine.”

Her words cracked something open inside you. The exhaustion, the relentless pressure you had been putting on yourself, the weight of every curse exorcized, every mission completed—all of it felt like it was crashing down on you at once. And now, here she was, this person who always seemed so untouchable, so above the chaos, sitting next to you and telling you that she cared.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you looked up at her, meeting her gaze head-on. The alcohol was starting to hit, your mind fuzzier, but her presence was clear, grounded, like a tether in the storm of your exhaustion.

“Because I care about you the most.” Yuki replied, with no hesitation in her voice. The sincerity in her words made your chest tighten, your throat constrict with emotions you weren’t ready to face. Her hand slid from your arm to your hand, squeezing it gently. “But don’t you know that already? Or do you need a reminder?”

You stared at her, the noise of the club fading into the background as her words hung between you. You wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, you took another long drink, the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of everything inside you. It was easier that way, easier to drown it all out, to let the numbness spread.

Yuki stayed by your side, patient, her eyes never leaving you. She didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, she was just… there. And for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to lean into that presence, to let someone else carry a bit of the weight you’d been holding onto.

“I appreciate it. You should know that.” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the music. “I really do.”

Yuki smiled softly, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I know.”

Drink after drink, you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth of the alcohol, into the comfort of her presence. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, the distance between you two vanished. The lines blurred, and before you knew it, your lips were on hers.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if you were both testing the waters, but then something broke open between you, a flood of pent-up emotions, exhaustion, and longing. The kiss deepened, and suddenly, the world around you ceased to exist.

You didn’t remember how you got back to the hotel. Everything was a blur of heat and tangled limbs, of whispered names and shared breaths. It was a desperate need to forget, to feel, to lose yourself in something—someone that wasn’t the constant burden of your responsibilities.

When you woke the next morning, the early light creeping through the window, you found yourself in bed beside Yuki, her golden hair spread across the pillow. For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of last night sinking in.

You hadn’t planned for this. You hadn’t expected it. But somehow, in the quiet hours of the night, you had found something you hadn’t realized you were looking for.

Yuki stirred beside you, her eyes fluttering open as she turned to look at you. There was no regret in her gaze, only quiet understanding.

“Morning.” she murmured, her voice still soft with sleep.

“Morning.” you replied, your voice rough but steadier than it had been in a long time.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe.

WHEN YUKI LEFT, YOUR LIFE RETURNED TO ITS DAILY PATTERN. The quiet of your apartment in Kyoto was a rare luxury, a silence you had grown unaccustomed to after months of constant missions.

It was one of those rare days off, but even then, you couldn’t relax. Your mind was still racing, still thinking ahead to the next mission, the next cursed spirit that needed to be exorcized. The dim light filtering through the curtains gave the space a muted, almost serene feel, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside you.

The soft knock at the door startled you, breaking the quiet. You sighed, already knowing who it was before you even opened the door. When you did, there he stood—Satoru Gojo, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place, but his cerulean eyes told a different story, something more subdued, something that softened his usual bravado.

“Hey.” Satoru greeted, his tone lighter than his eyes. “I’m glad to finally see you.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorway, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You should go home, Satoru–kun.” you said quietly, your voice devoid of its usual warmth. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He tilted his head, not moving from where he stood. “I could go home, that’s true.” he admitted, shrugging. “But I wanted to see you. I’m staying here, just so I can spend time with you.” He stepped inside without waiting for permission, his presence instantly filling the space as if he belonged there.

You sighed again, closing the door behind him. “You only have a few minutes, then.” you said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I have to leave. There’s another mission soon.”

Satoru’s expression faltered, but only for a moment before he plastered on another playful grin. “A few minutes, huh? Well, I’ll take what I can get.”

He wandered around your apartment as if inspecting it. It changed the last time since he visited. But you were quite certain that he knew that already. He just doesn’t care about it now.His gaze kept drifting back to you, his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, but you could sense the tension just beneath the surface.

You sat down on the couch, folding your arms over your chest, trying to put some distance between you. “You know I’m not in the mood for this, Satoru–kun.” you muttered, not meeting his gaze. “You should be resting, not chasing after me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to rest, Gen–senpai.” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. He took a seat beside you, not too close, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “Maybe I just want to see you. It’s been… a while.”

Your heart clenched at his words. He wasn’t wrong. It had been a while since you had seen each other, since you had shared any real time together. You had both been buried in missions, in responsibilities that seemed never-ending. And now, even when you had a sliver of time, you were already thinking about leaving again.

“Satoru–kun…..” you began, your voice wavering, “I don’t have time for this. For us. At least right now. You know that.”

He didn’t respond right away, just stared at you, his usual cockiness replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. “I know you’ve been busy.” he said slowly, looking you in the eyes deeper. “And I know I’ve been… distant. But I’m here now.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve starting to crack under his gaze. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, seemed a little dimmer now, weighed down by the same exhaustion you felt. You wanted to tell him to leave, to walk away and forget about whatever this was, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, you looked away, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “A few minutes. Just….a little bit more, okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours, a touch so fleeting it almost wasn’t there. But it was enough to make you freeze, to make you feel the ache in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore. He didn’t push, didn’t try to hold on. He just let his hand linger for a second before pulling back.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with the things you both weren’t saying. You wanted to tell him you missed him too, that you hated the distance between you, but the missions, the constant fight—it had become a wall between you, one that you didn’t know how to tear down.

“I miss you too.” you finally admitted, your voice small and tired. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Satoru’s smile was sad, a rare expression on his usually carefree face. “I know it doesn’t. But for now… can stay here for a little more? Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t push him away either. The two of you stared at each other in silence, the sound of the ticking clock the only thing filling the space between you. The weight of your responsibilities still loomed large, but for a brief moment, in the quiet of your apartment, you allowed yourself to forget.

Just for a few minutes.

The soft clink of your lighter echoed in the quiet room, breaking the stillness as you lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. The smoke curled lazily into the air, swirling around you in a haze as you moved around, packing some essentials into a worn duffel bag. The apartment felt heavier these days, the walls somehow closer, as if the weight of everything that had happened had pressed in on you both.

Satoru was back. He was healed, physically at least, but something in him had changed. He had grown quieter, more serious. The once carefree, arrogant smirk that used to greet you was replaced by a grim focus. His obsession with Jujutsu had deepened, consuming him in a way that was hard to watch.

He stood by the window, his back to you, his posture tense. His gaze was distant, fixed on some point far beyond the cityscape, lost in thoughts you couldn’t reach. It had been like this for weeks now— Gojo Satoru in the same room but feeling a thousand miles away.

You took another drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before slowly exhaling. The bitter taste grounded you, kept you awake, kept you from getting lost in the same fog that had swallowed him.

“I don’t like seeing you smoke, Gen–senpai.” Satoru’s voice cut through the silence, soft but firm. He hadn’t moved, still staring out at the city, but you could feel the weight of his words. “It’s bad for you.”

You glanced over at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “It keeps me up…..you know that.” you muttered, flicking the ash off into the tray beside you. You didn’t want to get into this—not now. Not after everything.

He finally turned to face you, his pale blue eyes catching the dim light filtering through the curtains. His glasses sat perched on his nose, shielding his gaze, but you knew he was watching you closely. “Just do coffee jelly, like you used to.”

You smiled at him softly. “It’s not enough, Satoru–kun.”

In a few quick strides, Satoru closed the distance between you. His fingers wrapped gently around the cigarette in your hand, not pulling it away, just holding it there, his touch light but firm. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, and you glanced up at him, meeting his gaze.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Satoru removed his glasses, setting them aside. His bright blue eyes were clear now, piercing, full of a raw emotion he had been hiding behind his usual aloofness.

“I’m sorry.” he said, his voice quieter than before, but more real, more vulnerable. “I’m sorry I ignored you. That won’t happen again.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the tension between you heavy and thick, the smell of smoke still hanging in the air. His apology hung there, an unspoken plea behind it. It wasn’t just about the cigarette. It was about the distance, the silence, the way he had shut you out.

You sighed, long and heavy, and without a word, you crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. The glowing ember dimmed and died out as you turned away from him, continuing to pack your things.

“I just needed time.” Satoru continued, his voice soft but insistent. “I’m trying to figure everything out, but I know I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have.”

You paused, your hands stilling over the bag, but you didn’t turn to face him. “You’ve changed.” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re different now. Obsessed.”

“I know, I know.” he admitted, his voice steady but lined with exhaustion. “I have to be. Jujutsu… it’s all I have left to keep this world in check. If I’m not strong enough, who else will be?”

You closed your eyes, taking a breath to calm the swirl of frustration in your chest. “You don’t have to do it alone, Satoru–kun.”

“I know that too.” His voice softened, and you could hear him moving closer, his presence a warm but overwhelming force behind you. “But I don’t want to lose anyone else. Not Suguru….Not you. Especially not you.”

His words cracked something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you turned to face him, your eyes locking onto his. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with everything you weren’t saying.

Satoru’s gaze softened, and without hesitation, he stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between you. His hand brushed against your arm, a touch that was meant to be reassuring, grounding, but instead, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I won’t ignore you again, don’t worry.” he repeated, his voice a low promise. “I can’t afford to.”

You sighed, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. “Just… don’t lose yourself, Satoru–kun.”

He nodded, his expression still serious but with a flicker of his old self breaking through. “I’ll try.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to believe him. Just for now, just for this moment. You couldn’t predict what would happen next, but for now, at least, he was here. With you.

The quiet stretched between you like a chasm, uncomfortably familiar in the way it pressed on the spaces that once held laughter and ease. Satoru stood there, looking at you with a mix of uncertainty and something else you couldn’t quite place. The tension, though subtle, hung heavily in the air.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if the answer could break whatever fragile connection remained between you.

You looked at him for a long moment before shaking your head. “No, I’m not mad.”

His gaze softened, but you could see the hint of relief flicker in his eyes. He always feared the worst in moments like this, despite the bravado he carried like armor. “Good,” he breathed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“But….” you continued, your tone steady but carrying the weight of unspoken expectations, “I just hoped for more from you.”

Satoru didn’t flinch at your words, but his face hardened just a fraction. He stood there, absorbing what you said, before giving you a slight nod. “I know.” he said quietly. There was no argument, no defense, just a simple acknowledgment.

You sighed, looking down at the floor, the quiet filling the room once again. You weren’t angry, not really. Just… disappointed. You had always seen Satoru as something more, something larger than life, someone who could shoulder the weight of the world and still be the person you needed him to be. But the cracks were showing, and they were starting to feel too deep to ignore.

“I just…” You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Your mind wandered to Suguru, to the growing distance you had sensed between him and Satoru. Something was off. You didn’t know what exactly, but you felt it. And it made you feel like you were on the outside, unable to help either of them.

“Have you talked to Suguru?” you asked suddenly, your voice sharper than you intended. “Asked if he’s really fine?”

Satoru’s expression shifted, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Suguru’s fine, you know that.” he said, his tone dismissive, as if the question itself was unnecessary. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

You frowned, your stomach twisting at his nonchalance. “Are you sure?” you asked quietly, searching his face for any sign that he might understand what you were getting at. But Satoru just shrugged, his easy confidence never wavering.

“I’ve seen him. He’s fine.” he repeated, this time with more certainty. “Just exhausted, you know? He’s back to his missions.”

But you weren’t convinced. Something in Geto Suguru had been different lately, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was the way he avoided certain conversations, or how his smiles didn’t reach his eyes anymore. Whatever it was, you knew it wasn’t as simple as Satoru made it out to be.

You looked at Satoru, feeling the weight of the silence between you again. You weren’t sure what to say. How could you explain what you felt without sounding like you were imagining things? And yet, the growing distance between all of you gnawed at your gut like an ever-present ache.

Instead of pushing further, you just sighed and shook your head. “I hope you’re right.”

Satoru watched you for a moment longer, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out what you weren’t saying. But he didn’t push, didn’t press you for more.

For a moment, the tension between you and Satoru lingered, a thin thread that neither of you seemed willing to cut. He stood there, quiet but expectant, as if waiting for you to say something to fill the silence. You glanced at him, then back down at your bag, your hands absentmindedly fidgeting with the zipper.

Everything about this, it was like a kaleidoscope. A pandemonium of colors, colors you see and don’t want to see all at once. It was just that way, you supposed. Your world, it is more colorful with all these colors in it. And slowly, you were just waiting, Waiting to find out more. To see more. To reach for it.

“Maybe you should ask Suguru if he wants to come eat with us sometime. Shoko too. I heard….her RCT teacher is brutal with work. We can relax together.” you said softly, breaking the silence. The thought had been nagging at you for a while now, ever since you’d heard the rumors—both of them skipping meals, barely taking care of themselves. “I’ve heard neither of you are eating much lately. You and Suguru.”

Satoru’s expression shifted, a small frown creasing his brow. He didn’t deny it, didn’t argue, just let your words hang there for a moment before giving a slight nod. “Suguru’s… he’s been busy.” he murmured, his voice distant, as if there was more to the story than he was willing to admit.

“Busy or not, tell him to come. I can cook and….” you continued. “you both need to eat. My day off is tomorrow, so I’ll cook zaru soba.” You glanced at him, gauging his reaction before adding with a small, lazy smile, “And I’ll bake cookies too.”

Satoru’s frown eased, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, you saw a hint of the old Satoru—the one who’d light up at the mention of food, especially if you were the one cooking. He loosened up, his posture relaxing slightly as the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, genuine smile.

“I missed you/” he admitted, his voice soft but sincere. There was a vulnerability in his words that made your heart ache. He had always been good at hiding behind jokes and bravado, but in moments like this, the cracks showed, and you could see the real Satoru underneath.

You sighed, the sound heavy but not without warmth. A lazy smile tugged at your lips as you reached for the cigarette you’d left in the ashtray. You put it between your lips, not lighting it this time, just holding it there as you looked at him.

“I missed you too, Satoru.” you said, your voice quiet but filled with an honesty you hadn’t allowed yourself to express until now.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes softening as the tension between you both seemed to dissolve, if only for now. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was filled with something else, something familiar and comforting.

Satoru stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the lighter you had set aside. For a brief moment, his fingers lingered on yours, a small gesture that spoke louder than words. You didn’t pull away.

“We’ll talk to Suguru. Shoko’s pretty easy to convince.” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “And… I’d like that. The soba and the cookies.”

You smiled around the unlit cigarette, feeling the weight on your chest lift, just a little. “Good.”

As you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, the familiar weight of another mission ahead pressed on you. You glanced at Satoru, who was still lingering by the door, watching your every move. There was something in his eyes—playful, yes, but tinged with something deeper, something almost like reluctance to let you go.

“You heading out already?” he asked, his tone casual, but you could hear the disappointment beneath it.

“Yeah…The sooner I finish, the faster I can go home. I can buy the ingredients for tomorrow in the morning too.” you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag.

Satoru shifted from one foot to the other, hesitating for just a moment before blurting out, “I’ll tag along.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “No, you won’t.”

But Satoru, in typical fashion, wasn’t ready to take no for an answer. He pouted dramatically, crossing his arms as if you had just denied him his favorite treat.

“Why not? I wanna come. I’ll even take pictures and send them to Suguru and Shoko.” he added with a childish grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Gonna make them jealous.”

You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” You tried to hide the amused smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Satoru could see through it.

“Insufferable? Me?!” he gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded. “I just missed you,” he whined, his voice taking on that exaggerated, almost comically tearful tone that he often used when he didn’t get his way. “Is that so wrong?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing as you made your way toward the door. “You’re such a child, Satoru–kun.”

“And you love it!” he called after you, his grin widening. He trotted after you like an eager puppy, his energy somehow never fading, even after everything the two of you had been through.

You stopped at the doorway, turning to look at him one more time. He stood there, still pouting, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something vulnerable beneath all that playfulness. You sighed, shaking your head as you smiled lazily.

“Go home, Satoru–kun.” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that betrayed your words.

But even as you stepped out the door, you could hear him calling after you, still determined, still wanting to be near you, as if afraid to let you slip away again. And despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that no matter how much you resisted, Satoru would always find a way to stay close.

epilogue

It was one of those rare weekday afternoons when the world seemed to slow down, a precious day off for Satoru that he intended to make special.

While you were out picking up Megumi and Tsumiki from school, he had taken it upon himself to surprise you by cleaning your office. With Satoshi strapped snugly in a baby carrier on his chest, Satoru moved about the space, a little clumsily, as he picked up stray papers and tidied up the scattered toys that somehow always found their way there.

As he cleaned, he noticed a drawer slightly ajar and, out of curiosity, pulled it open. Inside lay a treasure trove of memories—old photographs that instantly transported him back in time. He reached for a stack, and as he did, Satoshi, fascinated by the colors and shapes of the pictures, began reaching for them with tiny, eager hands.

“Hey, little guy, not so fast!” Satoru chuckled, stumbling slightly as Satoshi’s excitement threw him off balance. In his haste to keep the baby from pulling the pictures out of his hands, he ended up dropping a few, and they scattered across the floor.

One photo landed face-up, capturing a younger version of you, Suguru, and Shoko, all grinning wide and carefree, the sunlight casting a golden hue over the moment. Another showed a laughing Kaiko and Namie, arms thrown around your shoulders. Satoru felt a warmth spread through him as he admired the faces of your past, each picture telling a story of friendship and laughter.

As he knelt down to gather them, he couldn’t help but smile at the nostalgia. “How nostalgic youth is, hm?” he mused aloud, glancing at Satoshi, who cooed in response, as if he understood the sentiment. “Glad you agree, little dawn.”

Just then, the sound of the front door creaking open signaled Megumi and Tsumiki’s return. They came bounding in, backpacks slung over their shoulders, chatting excitedly about their day. When they spotted Satoru on the floor surrounded by pictures, they exchanged curious glances.

“What are those?” Tsumiki asked, peering over at the scattered photos.

You entered just in time to hear her question, a smile blooming on your face as you knelt beside Satoru. “These are some old pictures!” you explained, picking one up to show them. “This is me with some of my friends.” You pointed at the smiling faces in the photo, watching as your children leaned in closer to get a better look. “Then me and Satoru with everyone we love.”

Megumi studied the picture intently. “You all look so young then,” he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice. “And happy.”

“Yeah, we were.” you said, your voice warm with fond memories. “We had some good times back then.”

As you sorted through the photos, Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but beam with pride, watching you share your past with the kids. You pointed out Kaiko and Namie in another picture, explaining who they were and how you had all met. The joy in your voice was infectious, and he felt a swell of happiness just being there, part of this moment.

“Wow, you were cool back then, too!” Tsumiki teased, giggling as she spotted a particularly silly pose you’d struck in one of the photos.

Satoru joined in on the laughter, his heart swelling with love for the life you had built together. “I’d say you’ve only gotten cooler.” he said, giving you a playful nudge. “And to think I get to be here for all of it.”

Megumi snickered. “You’re still as lame as back then.”

“HUH!? Megumi! You think of your dad as lame!? LAME!? Darling! Our son thinks I’m lame!”

You laughed. “But….Isn’t that the truth, Satoru?”

“That’s not true at all!” Your husband decried, pouting heavily in response. “I can’t believe it, even you?”

“You make it easy for me to think that way, dear.”

“Now that’s just flat out rude!”

“Gen–san, where was this?” Tsumiki excitedly asked. “Isn’t this a theme park?”

“Ohhhh, that’s the first time we brought Satoru to Parque España! Satoru, didn’t you cry at how you got to ride the Pyrenees?”

“It was terrifying, you knew that!” He blushed, recalling the memory.

Megumi blinked and then grinned. “Gen–san, tell us more!”

“Okay, okay~”

“Darling, don’t tell the kids about my uncool moments!”

With the excitement turning to you telling stories about the pictures, Your son Satoshi wanted to go eat some snacks — so Satoru went to the kitchen with him. Satoshi was gurgling happily in the carrier, Satoru felt an overwhelming sense of contentment.

Moments like this, no matter how rare or brief, just surrounded by family, reminiscing about the past, and sharing laughter—were everything he could have ever wanted. In the warmth of your smiles and the joy of your children, he found a sense of belonging that filled his heart to the brim.

“Life is pretty great, don’t you think?” he said softly, catching Satoshi’s eye and sharing a smile that spoke volumes. Satoshi giggled. “Hm, I’m glad you think so too, little dawn. We’ll have more and more!”

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acepalindrome · 11 months ago

Text

SDV QoL Mod Recommendations

(1.6 Edition!)

Some years ago I made a big list of some of my favorite Stardew Valley mods, because I am a mod gremlin and there are so many fun and cool things you can do with your game! Modding has changed a lot since then. Some of the old mods have been abandoned and aren’t compatible with 1.6, and lots of new ones are popping up all the time to help keep this 8 year old game fresh and interesting! So I’ve put together a list of mods that currently work with 1.6. Since there are so, SO many mods, I’m just going to list quality of life mods for now. Let me know if you guys are interested in recommendations for expansions, cosmetics and other fun stuff!

Firstly, if you’re new to Stardew modding and don’t know how to start, I highly recommend checking out Salmence’s How to Add Mods video on YouTube. He walks you through all the steps and makes it very easy to get the hang of it! And without further ado:

The Mods

UI Info Suite 2: I’m new to this mod, but now that I’ve got it, I’m not sure how I lived without it! It does so much! It shows your daily luck, any birthdays, if it’s going to rain tomorrow, when tools are ready with Clint, when the traveling cart is in town and more! It also shows the range of your sprinklers, scarecrows, bee houses and junimo huts, and if you mouse over your crops, it shows when they’re ready for harvest! Super useful, and the daily icons are small enough that they don’t feel intrusive. I usually get all my mods from Nexus because it’s easy and reliable, so I had put off trying this one since it’s only on GitHub. I absolutely should have tried it ages ago.

NPC Map Locations: Shows where everyone is on the map. No more running around trying to figure out where someone is to give them a birthday gift! This is an essential mod for me, it’s such a simple but good improvement!

Look Up Anything: This one basically eliminates the need to have the wiki open in another window. Virtually everything in the game can be clicked on to give you more information. Mouse over Shane and press a button to see his birthday, how many hearts he has and how many points to the next heart, and all loved and liked items (with items you have on hand highlighted!) Select the hardwood in your inventory to see how many you have total (including storage you don’t have on hand,) everything it can be used for and how many you need for each thing, so you know how many you need! Almost everything can be selected to give more information!

Visible Fish: Useful AND pretty! It shows all the fish currently available to catch swimming in the water, so you don’t spend ages trying to catch something that doesn’t spawn at a certain place or time! Also it just looks really nice. I love seeing the fish in the river when I’m just passing by!

FriendsForever: Eliminates friendship decay, so people don’t hate me if I forget to talk to them for half a year! Also works on animals, so I can ignore my pigs all winter and they still love me.

To-Dew: You can make a to-do list that will appear on the screen and can be marked off as you complete different tasks. No more will I take a trip to town for seeds and forget that I also wanted to donate to the museum and give Caroline a daffodil! You can also set items to be reoccurring on certain days of the week, if you want to remind yourself to look for forage on Saturday, or make Thursday your designated day to empty and refill your kegs. Very customizable! I also like to make lists of all the seeds I want to buy every season.

TreeTransplant: Robin can now move trees around your farm just like she moves buildings! I’m really bad at planning my tree placement, and it’s so frustrating to have to cut down full grown trees to change my farm layout. Now you can move trees anywhere!

Fishing Made Easy Suite/Combat Made Easy Suite: I love these mods over others that make fishing/combat easier because you can decide the exact degree you want to make things easier! You can make fishing anywhere from 5% easier to 99% easier, if you want to just take the edge off the difficulty, or make it impossible to fail a fish. You can take just a little less damage from monsters to make the Skull Cavern less daunting, or become unkillable and oneshot everything. They also have options to do fun things like put legendary fishing in fish ponds or craft magic rock candy. You can also make things harder, if that’s what you want!

Automate: Machines can pull items from chests, process them, spit them back out into the chest and pull in the next item automatically, without you having to do anything! It can be a little op early on, but it’s super handy when you have a million machines to keep track of. I especially like it for things that have shorter processing times. I can stick a chest of ore and coal next to some furnaces and let it do its thing! Or put a bait machine, recycle machine, crab pot and chest all together. The crab pots will empty and refill every day from the bait generated by the bait machine, deposit fish and trash into the chest, and any trash will be processed by the recycling machine! There are tons of fun ways to combine different machines!

TimeSpeed: Lets you stop, slow or speed up time! You can select time to freeze at certain locations (I like time to stop when I’m inside a building, like in old farming games,) set time to move slower or faster in general, or press a button to change it on the fly!

That’s all I have for now! Links will be coming in a reblog because tumblr is weird about posting links sometimes. Let me know if you’d like recommendations for other kinds of mods, like cosmetic mods, expansions, stuff that adds items or changes dialogue! I love to share the cool mods I find!

#stardew valley #sdv #long post

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ghostboneswrites2 · 1 year ago

Note

Lots of love if you write this, and lots of love if you don’t!

Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?

Note: this is a cute idea! I might write a different version of this one later <3 not sure how I feel about it. This ended up a lot more angst and has a lot more of an argument than I originally intended tbh

Another note: I usually write in past tense but this one has both past and present tense. It’s lightly proofread but I apologize if I missed any errors in past vs present tense!

Summary: Every since he first saw you he’s seemingly had it out for you. All that frustration comes to a head when you have to go rescue him from the side of the road.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Daryl bring a Dickson, profanity, TWD typical non graphic violence, guns

Daryl stepped into the RV for a gun, shaking his head with annoyance at the sight of your failure. Well, multiple failures. See, you started with a standard Glock, but the recoil spring in that one was too hard to set in place. Then, you switched to the Beretta, where you found your current firing pin spring issue.

Daryl stared down at all the bits and pieces sprawled on the table in front of you.

“Y’gon’ take every damn gun apart ‘til we ain’t got none when we need ‘em?” He complained. You glared.

“Well, excuse me if taking apart guns to clean them wasn’t my hobby of choice before shit hit the fan.” You shot back.

That day was the beginning of a long standing feud between the two of you. A feud that was frankly one sided. You never had a problem with the smelly hunter. In fact, you often made meager attempts at impressing him or even going as far as to be friendly. Unfortunately, you were always met with rude snark and bitterness.

One time, at the CDC, you had a little too much wine with dinner. You were stumbling through the hall, attempting to find the room you had previously claimed, when you had the misfortune of walking right into Daryl.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” You giggled.

“Damn it.” He grumbled with an annoyed sigh. “Can’t ya watch where the hell you’re goin’?”

“I’m sorry, really—“ You tried to apologize again but he had no intentions of hearing it.

“Don’t drink if ya can’t handle yourself.” He snapped. “Got the dead roamin’ the damn earth and you get shit-faced the first damn chance ya get!”

In your drunken, emotional state, you sniffled and cried quietly to yourself that night. Why was he always so damn mean? You missed your friends and family so much, and you couldn’t even bare to think about your cat.

When Sophia got lost everything was worse. You’d offer to help with the search and you’d always hear the same response; “I already got one little kid to look for. I don’t need two.”

You also tried to console him when Sophia’s body came staggering out of that barn.

“You’re a great tracker, Daryl. We were all just too late.” You’d say.

“Ain’t no we! You didn’t do shit but stay back and twiddle your fuckin’ thumbs! Get on somewhere. I don’t need your caudlin’.”

When the farm fell, he’d always snap at you for lagging behind the group when you were on the move. You couldn’t help it. You were so tired and hungry.

“Keep up, damn it. Can’t afford to keep slowin’ down!”

When you were all clearing the prison, he wouldn’t even let you shoot.

“Jus’ stay back and hit the fence. Distract ‘em. You can’t shoot for shit.”

Since then, you reasoned to just avoid him. You’d never met anyone who could make you feel so bad about yourself. You decided to stop asking yourself why he hated you. You weren’t going to try and change it anymore. You were just going to exist the best you could, as far away from him as the prison yard would allow.

Which brings us to now. Inventory is your main task at the prison. Some people make it hard. Carl never checks out his weapons, nor does Daryl. But with Carl losing his mom and Daryl being such an ass, you never say anything. You just make notes on the weapons they’re most likely to take without telling you.

Beth sometimes grabs formula without letting you know, but taking care of a baby is hard work for a teenage girl to be doing full time. You have no intentions of nagging her. So, as usual, you just check your inventory every day and report to Rick or Hershel, usually the latter.

When your inventory is done for the afternoon, you decide to find Carol and help her with laundry. Maggie is on the tower today with Glenn, so she’s all by herself out there scrubbing everyone’s smelly clothes.

“Hey. Need some help?” You ask her, pressing your lips into a thin smile. She returns the same expression and nods.

“Please? For such a small group we sure go through a lot of clothes.”

“No problem.” You say as you get down on your knees and begin scrubbing and ringing out a pair of jeans. “Jeez. These really stink.” You mumble. Carol giggles.

“Daryl.” She sighs.

“Does he ever shower?”

“I mean.. never would be a strong word. Rarely, though, that might be the accurate description.” She jokes. You chuckle.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Rick asks as he approaches you. You look up from Daryl’s stained jeans. “Could you take a car out to the main road? Daryl’s broken down out there. He can’t carry all those supplies back.”

“Me?” You raise your eyebrows, tossing a quick glance to Carol. If anyone is accustomed to your strained relationship with the archer, it’s her. Daryl would often complain about you to her, and she’d just as often give you a reassuring pat on the shoulder when she’d notice his harsh treatment.

“Well, yeah, if ya don’t mind.” Rick nods. He is a little more oblivious to how rude Daryl can be toward you, but he isn’t blind to the visible tension the two of you share. He just assumes it was never that serious.

“Um.. Sure.” You shrug. A pit in your stomach is already festering, growing bigger as it feeds on your anxiety. You had been very successful at avoiding Daryl since you’d been at the prison. The only solace you find is in the fact that you had grown more confident since you guys found this place. Being in charge of inventory gave you a much needed sense of control. From there, you realized just how much you really did have control over, and soon enough the scared girl you once were had become a productive young woman. Now, you have to put that confidence to the test, facing the man who kind of stole what little faith in yourself you had to begin with. You vow to yourself that today will be the day you stand your ground to Daryl Dixon.

You brush off your jeans and accept the keys from Rick before making your way to the vehicle parked near the gates. When you start the engine, Carl drags open one gate, then the other, and you head out. You notice Daryl right away when you make it to the main road. He’s smoking a cigarette, leaned up against the red truck he had taken into town.

You can’t help but wonder why he was on a run by himself to begin with. It isn’t like Rick to send anyone off on their own. Then again, knowing Daryl, it’s not that hard to figure out why he might be a solo kind of guy.

You pull the car up beside the truck. He glances up at the vehicle but immediately looks back down at the ground when he realizes it’s you. He makes sure to seem indifferent.

Instead of letting his lack of a greeting (or gratitude) phase you, you just step out of the driver’s seat and pop the trunk open before approaching the bed of the truck and beginning to transfer all of his loot into the car. When the trunk fills up, you resort to packing the back seat.

By the time Daryl finishes his cigarette, he notices there are a few more items still in the truck. He huffs and impatiently grabs the three items, shoving them in the back seat and slamming the door shut, mumbling something about you taking your sweet time.

“What was that?” You speak up before sitting back down in the driver’s seat.

“Move over. I’m drivin’.”

“That’s not what you said, first of all. And no. I drove here just fine, I can drive back.” You roll your eyes.

“Quit bein’ difficult damn it! I’m tired. Been workin’ all day out there riskin’ my neck.” He snaps.

“I’ve been working too.” You shrug, sitting down and starting the engine.

“Scribblin’ on a clipboard ain’t nothin’ like what I do.” He argues, still standing by the driver side, waiting for you to give in and let him drive. You won’t, though. You won’t cave in and bow to him like a puppy with its tail between its legs like you used to. He lost the privilege of your kindness — or maybe cowardice — a while ago.

“Actually, I woke up and spent two hours on the fence impaling skulls, then I helped Hershel hoe the ground for spring crops before I scrubbed the common area of the cell block on my hands and knees. Then I did inventory, then I washed your smelly ass jeans. So, no, I don’t just scribble on a clip board.” You correct him. “And, while we’re on that subject, you’re supposed to check out your fucking weapons. Would make the scribbling part a lot easier for me.”

He clenches his jaw and his fists at your insubordination.

“I don’t know when you grew a smart ass mouth but I ain’t got time for it so quit your bitchin’ and move outta my seat.” He demands.

“Or you could stop wasting time and just get in the passenger seat.” You roll your eyes.

“God, do you ever stop bein’ such a damn burden?!” He shouts. You run your tongue over your teeth and nod.

“Burden?” You repeat.

“Yeah. A burden.” He drawls. “As in, makin’ shit harder for everyone around you.”

“Hmm.” You hum thoughtfully. “Okay.”

With that simple response, you shut off the engine, toss the keys on the ground beside him, and stand up. With your knife in your belt for protection, you start walking toward the woods. You realize that he is absolutely unbearable. You won’t subject yourself to even a five minute car ride with him.

“Where the hell are you goin’?!” He calls out after you. You ignore him. “C’mon, (Y/N), get in the damn car!”

By this point you’re blending into the trees and he’s losing sight of you. He groans and slams the car door shut, snatching the keys off the asphalt before he marches off after you. He swears when he gets his hands on you, he’s dragging you back by your ankles and cramming you in the trunk with the rest of the shit he looted today.

“(Y/N)!” He shouts. You sigh.

“Fuck off! You wanted to drive so bad, be my guest! Whole car to yourself!” You call back.

“Quit bein’ so damn—“

You whip around, eyes blaring with fury.

“So what? Burdensome? Annoying? Stupid?” You cut him off, recalling some of the insults he had bestowed upon you in the past. “I’m so fucking sick of you! All I ever did was try to be nice to you! And all you ever gave me in return was cruelty!”

You’re shaking now. He’s stopped a few feet away from you, silent as you unleash your pent up frustrations on him.

“You know,” you begin, not as loud and shrilled as before. “I didn’t even want to come help you. Because I knew it would be like this. I only came because I was asked to. So you wouldn’t have to try to carry shit back to the prison and go through more trouble. I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t try to be friendly or otherwise vexing. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t good enough. If my presence alone makes you so miserable, then I’ll walk.”

With that, you turn around and start storming back toward the prison.

“(Y/N)—“ He tries to protest but it just triggers another wave of anger.

“What?!” You throw your hands up. “What did I ever do to you?! Just leave me alone!” You shout, turning back to him. “Why do you hate me?!”

“I don’t hate you!” He fires back.

You scoff and cross your arms. “Sure seems like it.”

“Well if ya would just listen to me I wouldn’t get so mad!”

“I’m not your fucking dog, Dixon! I shouldn’t have to listen to you for you to treat me like a human being.”

“Treat you like what?” He scoffs. “All I ever did was try and look out for ya! Ya can’t do anything right! How the hell am I supposed to keep ya safe if ya can’t follow a simple fuckin’ direction?”

“Look out for me? How? By making me feel like shit about myself? Reminding me every chance you get how much you just can’t fucking stand me? You don’t treat anyone else like that. Nobody.” Your eyes are watering now. The rage is slowly wearing down into what it really is at its core: hurt. He hurt you time and time again and you always tried to make it right, even when you had done nothing wrong. Shit, (Y/N), get it together. Don’t let him see you like this.

“Well why the hell are ya so worried ‘bout what I think?” He asks.

“I don’t know!” You snap, turning away from him again. You hug yourself and sniffle. “Just leave me alone.” You beg quietly. “Go drive yourself back. I’d rather walk.”

He stands there silently, mouth opening and closing like he has words to say but can’t find them in his sea of thoughts. He doesn’t want to make you cry. He doesn’t even know why you piss him off so much. He does know that seeing you there, hugging yourself as your shoulders rise and fall with silent whimpers makes him feel like shit. He steps toward you slowly, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. You flinch at his touch and he retracts his arm.

“I don’t hate ya.” He finally speaks. When you don’t respond he realizes he has to continue. “I just don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

“Yeah, right.” You mumble. “All you do is hurt me.”

He swallows a dry lump. Is that true?

“I don’t mean to.” He insists. “I just.. Ya don’t belong in this world. You’re nice. Ya ain’t violent, you’re pret—“ He stops. Your ears perk up. Was he about to call you pretty?

“What I’m tryin’ to say is… Ever since I first saw ya I knew ya had to be looked after — kept safe. Ya ain’t like most people. I’d feel too bad if ya… If ya got hurt.” He admits softly. You turn your head a little, peeking behind you to try and catch a glimpse of him.

His hand finds your shoulder again and this time you don’t shrug him away. You sniffle and wipe your eye clean of tears.

“So you’re mean to me to protect me?” You summarize. He realizes how stupid that must sound.

“I just get frustrated when I see how vulnerable ya are. Can’t clean a gun and put it back together, can’t aim to save your life, can’t—“

“Couldn’t.” You correct him. “I couldn’t do those things, but I’ve learned how. You just haven’t been around to see it. Or encourage it.”

He nods. “‘M sorry.” He mumbles. “Maybe you could, uh, show me sometime.”

“Show you what?” You turn back to him.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. It’s a lot harder for him to speak freely when you’re actually looking at him. “What ya can do.”

“Oh.” You nod. “Maybe you could stop being such an asshole.” You suggest.

He smirks a little.

“I can try.”

Join the taglist || Masterlist

Tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck

#daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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seeingivy · 2 years ago

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sweet nothing

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: talks of grief, references to hidden inventory arc, satoru just being in love, megs + tsumiki babies

an: giving love to one of the best songs on midnights. also idk where I procured this emo at like 1 in the afternoon but here we are

You give him the book after the two of you settle Megumi and Tsumiki into bed, in the few minutes of peace you and Satoru get before you both nestle into your shared bed. You hike your knees to your chest as he picks it up, a confused look meeting yours when he reads the title.

“On Grief and Giving?”

“I took Miki and Megs to the bookstore today and I thought you might like it.”

“A book about grief? I’m not grieving.”

You look over at him - sparkling blue eyes rimmed with red, the usual sparkiness in his voice gone for the past few days, and no smothering, smushy cheek kisses every morning. You scoot over and he opens his arm up, tucking you into his side.

You whisper the words against his neck, your hands placed on his body, tracing out the lines of his biceps.

“He doesn’t have to be dead for you to be grieving him, Satoru. The person we knew is dead and the reaction is all the same.” you whisper.

Satoru frowns, his hand going back and forth on your lower back. You know he hates it, when you try to talk about it. When anyone does.

“Just read a few pages. See if it’s your thing or not, okay?”

He looks into your eyes for a few seconds before nodding, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. And when you leave to drop Tsumiki and Megumi off at school the next day, he reads the first page and promptly stops.

Grief stays the same size. Life begins to grow around it.

He thinks it’s stupid.

from y/n

you: don’t forget to bring strawberries home for froggy cake please!!

satoru: okay love. anything else?

you: that big fat ass

satoru: got it :D

you: you ruined it.

Tomorrow marks two years since Tsumiki and Megumi have been staying with you. And of course, in your ultimate corniness, you’ve convinced all three of them to make a cake with you. And because you can never say no to Tsumiki and Megumi’s suggestions, you’re making a strawberry froggy cake. Because Tsumiki wants to try to make a little frog with frosting and Megumi just wants to eat the strawberries off the cake.

He makes a mental note to drop by the store on the way home from his meeting with the higher ups and then his parents. Maybe buy some balloons or flowers or something to accompany the strawberries you asked for. He knows you said it was supposed to be a lowkey thing, just the four of you eating the cake together, but your annoyance doesn’t beat your surprised face, so he must.

Satoru stops by the coffee shop first, making it a clear point to be late to his meeting with the higher ups for a very stupid reason, and gets a sugary caramel latte. He can hear your voice in his mind - berating him for picking something so sweet - but persists anyway.

And as he leans against the counter, waiting for the cup with Satoru scribbled on the side, he takes in the shop, watching the people going around. He had never been too big on people watching, but it’s Tsumiki's favorite pass time at the park, pointing out people's silly outfits or how close and far they’re sitting away from each other.

He spots two little girls, making little beaded bracelets in the far corner while their moms both nurse a warm cup of coffee in their hands. They have their hands wrapped around the porcelain, like they’re sequestering the heat from the glass.

On the left, a young couple, nervously twiddling their fingers and cracking their knuckles as they make conversation - cheeks glazed pink and wobbly voices marking their conversation. They’re both dressed nicer than usual, clearly trying to impress each other.

And in the far corner, leaning against the chair, is Suguru Getou.

He nearly sprints to the other side of the shop when he sees him. Short hair, a man bun tucked neatly at the back with weirdly misshapen bangs and brown eyes. He can feel his heart racing, pounding even and the perspiration growing on his clenched fists as he moves closer.

And when he reaches their table, standing way too close and looking straight into his eyes, he realizes that this is not Suguru Getou. Instead, a kid that bears far too much resemblance to him. But his eyes are rounder, his nose isn’t as pointy, and he is not a murderer.

Satoru takes off and runs straight out the store, forgetting about his cup of coffee that’s getting cold in the pickup area.

Yaga and the higher-ups' voices drone out in the back, as Satoru wracks his head.

Why did he think that kid was Suguru? Suguru is dead.

And it only now occurs to him, that for all intents and purposes, he really does think he’s dead. But he knows he isn't because Satoru let him walk free. Because he had to clench his fists and swallow hard to walk away the last time he saw him.

But the man he knows is dead. Your voice is echoing in his head.

“Satoru, are you paying attention?”

“I mean, not really.”

They all pinch their noses and groan, starting the lecture he’s sure they were giving him all over again. And it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

We want you to take more missions, there aren’t that many special grade sorcerers available. We want you to spend more time teaching, you're not doing enough. A long list of we want, we want, we want.

And when the higher-ups trail out of the meeting, disdainful looks on their faces, he turns back to Yaga, who frowns at him. The question is on his tongue. He can’t bring himself to ask it.

Do you ever think you ask too much of me?

He understands. He tries to. That he is the strongest sorcerer, that there’s no one like him. That he may have infinity, but he knows they forget the inner parts of him aren’t untouchable. That he’s still a person, that he’s still soft.

Tsumiki’s shiny report cards make him beam with joy, fighting with Megumi keeps him up at night, and getting to hold you at night is the only thing that keeps him grounded sometimes.

That sometimes the smell of blood never leaves his nose no matter how hard he scrubs in the shower, that when he sees a boy who looks like Suguru, the wound he thought he patched over feels like it’s freshly bleeding.

But that doesn’t matter, because…

“You should be taking more missions. People are getting spread really thin.” Yaga says, clearing the dust off his desk.

…Because he’s the strongest.

As he drags his feet to the Gojo estate, he can’t help but survey the crowd as he walks there. Three girls with the same hair color as Getou, two boys with the same eye color, five people the exact same height, but none of them are Suguru Getou.

When he reaches his parents house, pulling out the long black chairs he uncomfortably sat in for hours as a kid, his mind wanders even farther when they start talking.

This time, he’s imagining. Daydreaming. What it would be like if he wasn’t the one gifted with the limitless and infinity. If jujutsu sorcery didn’t exist.

That he’d have more time, be more free to do what he wanted. Make chocolate pancakes with you every morning, before the two of you walk together to drop off Megumi and Tsumiki to school. You’d work normal jobs - maybe he’d still be a teacher, a normal one - while you would do something that was entirely too impressive. Like saving lives or writing books or working at a non-profit.

You would both go to Tsumiki’s first school dance together and take so many pictures that she’d walk away all embarrassed, red in the face. He’d go to every single one of Megumi’s baseball games, you’d both be the parents that are way too decked out, way too enthusiastic about their kid.

Satoru would help you collect vinyls and when Tsumiki and Megumi were long gone and the two of you would put them on and dance in the kitchen humming. You’ll get wrinkles at the same time and your hair would gray so the two of you would look like pale-haired ghosts together.

He zones back into what his parents were saying, their bored eyes glazed on him. And he doesn’t pay attention, because it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

They want him to be around more, because he should know how to take over the estate. They want him to meet with other clans, so he can help them with other deals. A long list of they want, they want, they want.

And he walks out, he wonders if his parents want the life he imagined for himself, the way he wants it for Megumi and Tsumiki. If that was the life Suguru would have lived, if things were different.

When he makes it home, the sun is sinking into the sky against the house, the sky an array of golden hues. And when he pushes his key into the lock, he’s met with one smiling face and two grumpy faces.

You march over, flicking Satoru’s cheek as he moves closer to you, grabbing onto your hands.

“Those strawberries better be hidden in your pants or something.”

He feels his face pale as he remembers that in the loop of things he’s been thinking about all day, he forgot to get the strawberries for froggy cake. And the balloons and flowers and everything else he wanted to give the three of you.

“Satoru. We really wanted strawberry froggy cake.” you whine, reaching up to rest your hands on his face, squishing hard.

He reaches for your wrists, pulling them down from his face and looking down at your joined hands.

“Oh well, I’ll just go grab them with Megumi or something.”

He watches you pad back into the kitchen, not even phased by his shortcoming, as you place a hand in Tsumiki’s hair. She’s very focused on frosting her little frog in the center of the cake, her eyebrows knit in concentration. He makes his way in, leaning over the counter as he intently watches the three of you.

“What if we all go to the store and pick up strawberries?” you say, a hand resting in Megumi’s hair.

Megumi directs off of you and to Satoru, glaring at him.

“Did you seriously forget the one thing we wanted you to get?”

“Megs, don’t be mean. It’s always fun to go to the store together!” you respond.

“I’ll let you pick out anything you want, kid.” Satoru mentions.

Megumi gives him a satisfied smile, hopping off his seat to go yank his shoes on. Tsumiki follows suit and you give Satoru a glowing smile as you drag the three of them out, hands intertwined as you go to the store.

And at the end of the day, in the few minutes of peace the two of you get before the next day, Satoru’s staring at you, memorizing the curve of your nose and the shape of your eyes, and the way your hair falls against your face.

You bring a hand up, cupping the side of his face as you whisper in the dark.

“You okay, Toru?”

“What do you want from me?”

He watches you frown and pull back, your hand shaking against his face.

“Are you mad at me, Satoru?”

He brings his hand to the back of your neck, bringing you back closer. He’s resting his forehead against yours, savoring the warmth that gathers in the back of your neck on his hands.

“No. No, no. I just…I want to know what you want from me.”

He watches you scrunch your forehead, as you ponder the question.

“I mean. I’d really like it if you didn’t leave the toilet seat up all the time.”

He cracks a smile, rolling his eyes at you, as he reaches for your hand to bring your knuckles up to his lips. He leaves a soft kiss, noticing the sweet smile that spreads across your face when he does, and drops your hand.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N.”

“I mean. I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just small things, Toru. Like we should go on walks together sometimes in the evening, I think that would be nice. And we should watch all the Harry Potter movies together, like do a marathon and not sleep in between. And I’d really like a big diamond ring, circular cut, six pronged with a golden band.”

Your hands, still resting against his face, are now meshed in with a spray of salty tears and a whimpering Satoru. You instinctively bring him forward, tucking his neck into your face as he cries into your shoulders.

His tears are coating your neck as you run your hand through the white tresses of hair, whispering against his forehead. Imploring for what’s wrong. He doesn’t respond and the tears subside after a few minutes, his frame still shaking in your hold.

“I’m not that attached to a golden wedding band, Satoru. I can do silver.”

He laughs, pulling his face away from your neck to run his hands through your hair.

“Gold is okay. I like gold.”

“What’s wrong, Satoru? Tell me.”

“Nothing. I just- that’s really all you want from me?”

“I mean, yeah. What else would I want?”

Satoru leans forward, pressing his lips against yours as he nearly cries into your face again, hanging off the ends of your lips. And you’re not sure what it means, what any of it means, but you let him - cry into your arms, hold you through the night, and make you breakfast the next morning.

In truth, Satoru cherishes the fact that everyone may ask the world of him, but all you’ve ever wanted from him are sweet, sweet nothings.

When you wake up the next morning, padding into the kitchen to make breakfast, you’re met with a box of strawberries, a sticky-note pressed on top. I love you, written in Satoru’s scribbly handwriting.

Life has grown around Satoru’s grief. And it looks like you.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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blueishspace · 6 months ago

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Looped Sun 2

Loop #16

They didn't stop looping in time, but at least they had eachother. Grian had to admit that it was almost fun with Scar around, definitely felt less lonely with someone else to talk to.

Loop #19

It took 3 loops for Scar to suggest having some fun with this, spice it up. Grian hadn't expected stealing Martyns and Ren bit would be their objective this time but he didn't mind. Getting to be king and screaming "red winter is coming" was actually quite funny and being all shady in Last Life was nice too. As Secret Life comes to an end Scar whispers.

Scar: Alright alright, let me be king next time ok?

Grian laughs at the suggestion just in time for-

Loop #21

Grian had noticed soon that not every loop started the same exact day a while ago but he never expected to wake up already during Limited Life.

Surely things couldn't get weirder then that.

Loop #26

He spoke too soon. This time around he woke up as he was singing a piece of paper, a declaration of indipendence, while wearing a very weird blue american indipendence outfit together wih people he had never met before.

He just went along with it of course and fighting against a weird masked guy for indipendence had been a breath of fresh air but Scar was still missing and Grian was very confused the whole time.

Well until ...

Scar: Thank you Soot, however I think that I could run this country far better!

Grian: Scar? Where were you!? ... What are you doing!?

Scar: That's why I'm going to run myself! Vote for Scar 2020!

To be fair it took some times for things to go badly.

Grian: This is your fault you know that right?

Scar: Hey! Look! At least the country didn't explode or something-

*Boom*

Grian: ...

Scar: ...that wasn't me.

Loop #31

Grian: Damn I didn't bring enough tnt to rig the enchanter. How did I forget??

Scar: Don't worry! I got some!

Grian: Oh thank... where did you get it?

Scar: I kept it in my second inventory from last loop.

Grian: Your what?

Scar: We have a second inventory now! Didn't you notice!

Grian: I see it now ...how?

Scar: It keeps stuff safe from one loop to the other! Cool right!?

Grian: ... Like an enchanting table? But for loops?

Scar: I guess?

Grian: How are you not freaking out about this!?!

Loop #33

This time they woke up early, back in season 6! Grian doesn't understand why Scar doesn't care because he does! Why can't someone explain it to him for ender sake.

Loop #36

Someone explained it. He and Scar woke up somewhere completely different and it was confusing and scary but they finally got answers.

Grian: So our universe is part of a big big big tree?

Anakin: Yes, like every other.

Grian: And the tree is what, under maintenance?

Anakin: Basically.

Grian: And so we are stuck looping?

Anakin: You don't need to pretend to be calm, I can feel your emotions in the force.

Grian: So... we are stuck? Forever?!?

Anakin: Not forever forever, until the tree is fixed-

Grian: So possibly for billions of years!?!

Anakin: Some of the older loops have been going for trillions even.

Grian: ... I'll... I...need to think.

Anakin: I'll write some useful terms down so you can read them once you aren't... You know.

Grian: Guess I have all the time in the world to come to terms with it... Scar is going to hate that he didn't get to meet you.

Loop #37

Scar: ....soooo what you up to?

Grian: Memorising these terms Anakin gave us.

Scar: Ooh sounds...fun!

Grian: Every loop has an anchor, without it the loop can't exist. I tought I was the anchor but it's not possible because I was sent to a different loop last tims.

Scar: So am I the anchor?

Grian: You were missing for the first loops Scar... the only option that makes sense is that both of us are anchors. But even then...

Grian underlines the term "co-anchors" a bunch of times.

Scar: Does that mean I'll get to meet Anakin Skywalker?

Grian: Probably? One day?

Scar: Wooooho!

Loop #38

They were waiting for the moon to crash when Scar posed the question.

Scar: Do you think we can just... stop the moon?

Grian: Hmmm... I guess I never tought about it, why?

Scar: I don't know, just thinking.

Grian: I have an idea...

Loop #43

Scar: Grian what are you doing?

Grian: You remember how last loop started in s7?

Scar: ... Yeah?

Grian: I decided to keep something in my pocket this time around.

Grian took out a golden gauntlet with 6 colored glowing stones.

Scar: ... The button?

Grian: The button.

Grian snapped and the moon disappeared.. He then carefully removed and pocketed it again.

Grian: Well, I'm surprised it actually...worked...

Scar: But what happened to it?

Grian: I just made it really really small.

Loop #51

This was unbearable, Grian tought it was weird when this loops Timmy was acting like an incapable child, then he became worried when he saw that Scott was a pacifist who wouldn't hurt a fly, and then Cleo started burning down literally everything and he started to question his life choices. Everyone was barely themselves, it was like they had been replaced by very cheap imitations.

(Poor Grian had to walk into fanonland)

Loop #67

Scott Smajor liked to think he was often in control of the situation. Not many people liked that about him but if he died it was by his decision.

He didn't feel very in control at the moment, back in the Last Life with Grian and Scar being completely different from what he remembered them being... And he didn't like it one bit.

Scott: Ok ok, stop it!

Grian: What do you mean? We aren't doing anything wrong!

Scott: It isn't right! You are supposed to be in a team with Jimmy and Martyn and you Scar should be alone on a mountain!

Scar: ...

Grian: ...

Scott: ... Sorry that was-

Grian: You remember too?

Scar: New looper! New looper!

Scott: ...uh?

Prev Next

#trafficblr #hermitblr #traffic smp #hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scott smajor #looped sun au

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hopepetal · 1 year ago

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Decided to do a bit of writing for the first session of secret life! Very slight spoilers for Grian's first episode below! (I took a lot of creative liberty)

There’s something achingly familiar about the sand underneath their feet. The way it shifts as they make their way through the desert– not their desert, but that’s alright– in search of resources and food. The sun beats down on them from above, and Grian has to give Scar a warning look. Don’t even think about taking your shirt off.

Scar grins back at him, and if they had been allies, he would’ve ignored that warning look to playfully annoy Grian as he had done many a time back in their desert. But this is not their desert, and they are not allies. There is no blood-forged loyalty between them, no soulbond tying their lives together.

And yet, they had returned to the sand together, laughing softly at the awkward jokes that each other made. Drawn together by no one’s will outside of their own, Grian and Scar walk together under the desert sun like they are allies (they are not).

Grian’s feathers rustle as he notices a small grouping of cacti, hopping off of the camel with his stone axe in hand. His back aches slightly from the mildly uncomfortable ride�� he still liked llamas more. This, he tells Scar as he begins to carefully chop the cacti and scoop them into his inventory.

“I dunno!” he replies with a shrug, when Scar asks him why he doesn’t like camels as much. “Llamas are just more comfortable. And camels are really slow, I don’t know if you noticed that.”

Scar chuckles slightly, shaking his head. “This poor camel is workin’ his butt off to transport you back and forth, and look at how you treat him! Hatin’ on him, calling him names! You’re not too kind to your workers, G. Shame on you! Shame on you, I say.”

Grian rolls his eyes as he moves to collect the next cactus. “You’re so dramatic, Scar. I never said I hated camels.” The cactus falls, and Grian pushes it into his inventory with a little less care for the needles that prick his skin. “I just like llamas more. More comfortable on the rear, y’know?”

Scar scoffs playfully, tutting softly in disappointment. “I never thought you’d discriminate based on butt comfortatibilital–” He cuts himself off with a slight frown– “comforta– comfortability!” His lopsided grin returns to his face as he moves over to the camel and reaches up to gently pet its rough fur. “Don’t listen to the meanie, Mr…!” He pauses, looking over at Grian. “Any name ideas?” he asks, and Grian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Scar!” Grian pauses in his cactus gathering and turns to face the other man, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. “You shouldn’t start naming every animal you see. It’s the life series, for goodness sakes. You know it’s either going to die or be stolen, and what are you going to do when you retaliate and then no one wants to ally with you?”

Scar pulls his lips together into a frown, pouting. “That’s just not gonna happen! Just you wait, G– I’ll be so useful and kind to everyone on the server that they’re all gonna be my allies! Yes sir, Scar Goodtimes is going to be a friend to all this season!”

Grian laughs. “Can’t wait to see how that one turns out,” he teases. “You have a bit of a history of either going off alone, or only having one friend.”

Scar gasps in mock surprise, though the hurt that shines so briefly in his eyes is real. “Grian! You can’t just say that to a man! And you know that is not true! I had Cleo and Bdubs last season! We were family!”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so was boatem, and look at how we ended up.” He folds his wings behind his back as he turns back to the cacti, pulling his axe out once more as he begins to chop down the desert plants. He didn’t really even know why he wanted the cacti so bad– it wasn’t as if they were actually all that useful, other than some dye.

It was at this point that Scar realizes just what Grian was doing, and stumbles forward with a yelp. “Hey! Hey there! I’m not letting you get the monopoly, mister!” He struggles to pull out his axe before swiftly chopping into the base of the cactus. “I’ve learned better by now!” he crows, scooping the fallen plant into his hands. And for a moment, he pauses, and silence falls over the two of them.

Scar seems to consider something, green eyes darkening from memories. He cups the small piece of cactus in his hands, careful to not let the needles prick into his skin. He looks up at Grian, down, then back up again. The silence continues to ring.

Grian swallows, and the anticipation (fear? he thinks it might be fear) building in his chest makes him think that the stakes of this moment should be higher. That the number of lives should be lower. It makes him think that there should be a ring of cacti around the two of them, and that he should be gazing into red eyes.

But the eyes he meets are lime green. Wrong, but not red. The only cacti around are in Grian’s inventory and Scar’s hands. And the sand that shifts slightly beneath their feet is not pitted with explosions nor stained with blood. Grian realizes his feathers had begun to puff out and forces himself to calm down.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

Scar’s expression tells Grian he’s thinking the same thing. The silence crescendos into a deafening roar.

Scar steps forward, and carefully places the cactus down on the sand in front of Grian. “I’ll let you have the monopoly,” he murmurs, and Grian chokes out a laugh as he picks up the cactus and puts that into his inventory as well. Scar gives him a grin and breathes out his next question. “Can we still be friends?”

Grian slowly blinks, and looks up at Scar. He takes a deep breath. Then another. The silence does not ring; it screams.

Scar glances up and sees Grian there, staring at the cactus, and frowns. “Hey, G? You good?”

Grian blinks back tears, and nods. “...yeah. Yeah, I’m good. We can still be friends.”

Friends. Not allies. Neither were quite ready to be the latter just yet. But it was a start. They left that desert– not their desert, they’d never quite leave that– alive and feeling the light sting of cactus needles pricking into their skin.

#my writing #grian #gtws #desertduo #secret life #secret life spoilers #life series spoilers #trafficblr

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psiroller · 7 months ago

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My Boy (We Don't See Each Other Much)

a third fic request from unkat has reached me for some gamer au shenanigans. cool, i thought, nice low stakes goofin off fun time au. lets put some military industrial complex in there

cw: institutionalized homophobia, vague references to USAmerican military operations in the 2000's, gamer lingo

The raid was a resounding success by their guild's lax standards. Chilchuck managed to pull a rare light armor piece he'd been looking for, finally catching him up to the modern game; he was surprised by how much damage the standard grinding mobs were doing to him now, even if his defense was always going to be lower than the tanks and fighters he partied with. Laios landed the biggest critical hit he'd ever seen; the broadsword Chilchuck nabbed for him off the Auction House was working well for him. He was clearly still riding the high, humming the victory fanfare under his breath as he took inventory and milled about with Senshi, comparing the ingredients they’d collected, trading amongst themselves. It was late, though, close to Senshi’s prep hours. Marcille was fighting against the cozy lethargy that followed a glass of wine and swiftly losing. Falin had already logged out to take a shower and head to bed, stopping by Laios’ door for a hug goodnight.

Laios went right back to the desktop after he shut the door. He pulled his headset back on and heard the familiar sound of Chilchuck’s raspy inhale and then a long, satisfied exhale.

“Chilchuck!” Laios said, too eagerly. “You’re still up?”

“No, I’m fast asleep,” Chilchuck drawled. Laios snorted and threw a rock at Chilchuck’s head. It passed through harmlessly; neither of them wanted the hassle of dedicated PVP. Maybe Laios wasn’t as keen on roleplaying as Marcille and Falin were, but the roleplaying server had been a lot kinder to him than the standard ones he usually played on.

“You were right about the sword,” Laios tittered. “I really have to start doing the math instead of just looking at bigger numbers—uh, focusing on how sharp the blade is, I mean.”

Chilchuck coughed through a laugh, leaning away from the mic so that it didn’t blow Laios’ eardrums out. “I think some of the guides are a little out of date,” Chilchuck said, relaxed enough to drop character. Marcille was still nearby, though the AFK symbol appeared under her name; the elf she played nodded off, ears drooping. “Critical chance used to be calculated with this really convoluted system that also included timers, so there were only so many crits you could get in the span of a few minutes,” he went on. “They updated it recently so that you roll for a critical every hit.”

“Oh, thank God,” Laios said. “On a timer? How long did raids use to take?”

“Oh, upwards of four hours.” Chilchuck said casually. Laios sputtered. “I know, I know. I guess people had more free time back then… though with how people run multiple raids a night now, I guess it’s down to how committed you are.”

“So critical hit percentage is the thing I should focus on, then.”

“For your build, yeah.”

“Why does everyone recommend focusing on damage per second?”

“It’s a recent change, I think it got pushed out just before you signed up. They’ve tweaked it a lot, so people tend to get confused on how it works now, as it gets buffed and nerfed. Attack and attack speed used to be connected to the same value, so there are other ways you can focus on dealing damage instead of just right clicking the dragon and watching one of twelve timers tick down.” Chilchuck smiled and took another drag. “I think they’re trying to freshen things up a little. I like the changes.”

“Really? Everyone in the forums talks about how much they hate it.”

“If they’re old enough to be using the forums, they’re old enough to hate their favorite thing changing,” Chilchuck laughed.

“But not you,” said Laios. There was a warmth there that Chilchuck didn’t see a reason for.

“Eh.” Chilchuck’s ears burned under his headset. “Maybe a little bit. They don’t make shooters like they used to.” There was a pause. “Oh, right, you don’t like those.”

“Just the super hoo-rah military ones,” Laios breathed. “I can do Team Fortress 2. That one’s pretty fun.”

“Oh! I play that with—a friend, sometimes,” Chilchuck stammered. “Do you… I’m still kind of wired. I got a day off tomorrow. Do you—”

“Yeah!” His mic clipped. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wait, you don’t have a test tomorrow or anything, do you?”

“… No.”

“I don’t like that hesitation.”

Laios huffed and puffed and logged out of Dungeon Divers with little warning, but usernames were exchanged and soon Laios’ avatar (a dragon, what else) popped up in Chilchuck’s scant friend list, nestled between Dan and May.

“I didn’t think you’d be cool enough to play TF2,” Laios teased.

“Cool people play TF2? I thought it was all screaming toddlers.”

“There are a few of those, yeah,” Laios admitted.

“I played the original game. It was a lot different. I don’t really keep up with it these days, but…”

“No worries,” Laios chirped. “I’ll take care of you.”

Chilchuck felt something zip down his spine. “I’m not that bad.”

They played three matches with the usual late night crowd, and it was a miracle if Chilchuck could stay alive for longer than a minute or two, let alone get a kill. Laios, on the other hand, clawed up every scoreboard and sat at the top. He started with Sniper; Chilchuck followed him while waiting for his respawn timer to run out, flicking between first and third person views. He watched as opponents’ heads would pop like grapes the moment they touched Laios’ reticle, faster than Chilchuck’s eyes could tell his brain to move his fingers.

“Okay, maybe I’m pretty bad,” Chilchuck admitted. “Compared to you.”

Laios missed a shot and sputtered. “I’m concentrating…!” A Spy knifed him, and Chilchuck could hear Laios whack his mouse against the table in frustration. Chilchuck laughed.

“Relax, that’s your first one this round,” he teased. “Your reflexes are crazy. Maybe I’m getting too old for twitchy games like this.”

“The mechanics have changed a lot and all the tryhards are on,” Laios conceded, breathing out the annoyance. “I’ll switch to Heavy. Wanna be my Medic? I can keep more of an eye on you.”

Chilchuck sniffed at his demotion to pocket healer, but then at least he’d be getting assist kills. “Alright, fine.”

Many assist kills were had, and all was well. It was fun to watch Laios’ brain work, bobbing and weaving and jumping around. He played like May did, hyperfocused on the movement mechanics; Chuck’s wrists weren’t any good for that anymore, so he usually hung back to support anyway.

“So why TF2 and not Call of Duty?” Chilchuck asked between matches, lighting another cigarette in search of the now-elusive nicotine buzz. “Seems like you’re really good. You could probably go pro if you wanted.”

Chuck heard a rustling against the mic. Sounded like Laios fiddling with the thing, maybe rubbing his face. He heard a scratch of stubble.

“Eh. I just—don’t like the military aesthetic very much, or something,” Laios mumbled. “I, uh. I served, and it’s a little…”

Chilchuck coughed. “You served? As in, served in the army?”

“Yeah.” There was a chuckle from the other line. “What? Is it that surprising?”

“Well, you just never…” Chuck scratched at the nape of his neck. “You never said anything that made me think… I don’t know what I thought. You didn’t seem like the type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Laios snorted. “I was a good shot, but not a good soldier, if that makes any sense?”

Chuck wet his dry lips and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t lock into the next game, and the queue dumped them out. Laios didn’t reset it.

“So you objected? Conscientious objection? Is that what it’s called?”

“That’s what it’s called, but uh… it takes a while to get that done if you enlisted voluntarily. You have to plead your case for it. I thought about it, but I didn’t get the chance.”

Chilchuck swallowed dryly, then tapped some ash out into the ceramic tray Patty made for him many Father’s Days ago. “So you were kicked out?”

“Discharged, yeah,” Laios sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back, too. “Other than honorable.”

Chuck winced. “What did you do?”

There was that rustling again. “I, um. If you don’t ask, I don’t have to tell you.”

“Oh, uh. Sorry, I”—Chilchuck’s eyes went wide—"ohhh.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously? They booted you over a thing like that?”

Laios laughed weakly. “It’s in the regulations.”

“Still? When there’s, like, five wars going on?”

“Yep. I got a little pamphlet about it and everything. It’s rarer these days, and most people now get let off with an honorable, but…” Laios sighed. “My case was a whole thing. I didn’t fit in great with the rest of my platoon to begin with, and I maybe… I maybe misread some signals. You get bored out there, you know. Lonely. Got a little too close to my bunky…” Laios cleared his throat. “He let me down easy, but I guess he said something to somebody. I don’t think he’d go straight to the brass, he told me he wouldn’t, but someone must have overheard and that counts as credible evidence, so…”

Laios popped his lips with a click of his tongue. Chilchuck was frozen, ashes falling from the end of his cigarette into the crevices of his already dirty keyboard. The cigarette had almost burned down to the filter; money burning up in unsmoked nicotine. “I was probably going to leave anyway,” Laios said, to fill the silence. “I didn’t like being out there. If anything it kept me from being stupid and going AWOL. But if you talk to the VA—or my dad, heh—I might as well have.”

Laios wheezed. Chilchuck blinked some smoke out of his eyes and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Hang on, you were on active duty and they’re hassling you at the VA over healthcare?”

“Oh yeah. Anything less than a general discharge is going to get you some hassle. I’m still on general health insurance, lowest tier. I’m not on TRICARE.”

Chilchuck pinched the pressure point between his eyebrows. “There’s gotta be a way to appeal that.”

“There might be. But I’ve spent about 40 hours of my life on the phone with them since I got back, and I’m not keen on spending anymore.” Laios made a blech sort of noise, disgusted, a little childish. “I hate phone calls. Besides, they gave me some money for college, so it wasn’t a complete wash.”

“Small miracles,” Chilchuck mumbled.

“Yup,” Laios breathed. He drummed his fingers on his desk, loud enough to reach the mic. Then there were a couple rhythmic bongo slaps against the table, nervous. “Ready for another game?”

Chuck looked at his watch. It was 4:32 AM.

“Sure. Night’s still young,” he said, for lack of anything comforting to say. “Play Heavy again.”

“Okay,” Laios said, and there was a smile in his voice. So that was something.

#dungeon meshi #ficroller #fic preview #dunmesh gamer au #chilaios #laichil

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