#and i wish him all the very best at everything.

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[pastafossa]

Do you think Matt would make a good dad?

THIS IS AN INTERESTING THOUGHT.

Ok, so.

On the one hand, I think a baby would be a special kind of hell for Matt. The smells. The chaotic sleep schedule. The heavy care needs when Matt is already busy as fuck between the law firm and Deviling. The sounds, oh god, the sounds. Babies crying are designed to be impossible to ignore, to hit a specific pitch that sets off every alarm bell in your head. With Matt's senses, that'd be absolute nightmare. Even happy screams are going to hit those poor eardrums of his like a gunshot. And on the emotional side, Matt's got... a lot of self-loathing and trauma he'd struggle with, along with a heaping dose of fear that his very touch might taint his child with the same darkness he struggles with every night on the streets. As a result, I don't think he would think he'd be a good father.

However.

That last bit is why I think, if he did wind up with a kid, he really would be pretty good at it. Why? Because he'd try. He'd fucking try with everything in him, and he'd do whatever it took to make it work. He's not going to run and abandon you and his kid, he's not going to tap out when things get hard (and they will), and he's not going to be a dad that says he's 'babysitting' while you're gone. When he's able to be there, he's in, 100%. He's no stranger to walking laps around the apartment at night with his baby held against his chest, the child dozing as he sings hymns or practices his opening statements, because sometimes the low, rumbling sound of his voice beneath their head seems to be the only thing that allows his child to sleep. He never hesitates to change a diaper or do the feedings. He's the dad who reads all the books with you during the pregnancy, the dad who goes with you to the parenting classes, and seeks out advice from various folks in the Nelson clan (along with Foggy who, due to being born into a massive family encompassing no less than 628 family members at last count, can give a fairly thorough lecture on the mechanics of baby care. Foggy also ensures the child is inducted into the Clan upon their birth so that the Clan can give Matt and you a break when needed).

He'll move heaven and earth to avoid fucking things up, to avoid letting Stick's abusive voice and influence come slithering out of his mouth. There will be no cruel comments about 'the devil in you' when the child is angry, not like what Matt heard from his own grandma. That stops with him, even if he has to build the dam himself by hand. His child will have all the support Matt wishes he had.

Despite his best efforts, he does make mistakes. It's true, and unavoidable, which you'd have to remind him of regularly - 'Parents are mortal, Matt.' There are moments he would miss due to being so busy, moments - especially early on - where the noise or sensory input would become too much and he'd have to retreat just a little. He'd beat himself up for it every single time, and he'd have to work through that too, this reminder that no matter how hard he tries, he'll never be perfect.

But overall, just like with Jack, any child of Matt's would grow up knowing that they're loved from start to finish, and there'd be nothing they could do that would ever change that.

[d3lly1000]

I finally watched Sonic 3!!!!! (IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST EXPERIENCES OF MY LIFE)

I had been holding back so I could talk without worrying about spoilers, but I think I can now comment on my general opinion of the movie.

There will be spoilers, so you have been warned!

I’ll admit that I found the first act a bit rushed. I understand that they had a lot of characters to “reintroduce” and new ones to add (especially Shadow), but I felt a bit lost with what was happening—it was really convenient how the script handled a lot of things just to get to the point.

For example: Shadow attacking in Japan with no real explanation, Rockwell quickly finding Sonic and the others. Even Commander Walters showed up just to explain what happened in the past, only to die unexpectedly right after. Even though he's not a particularly memorable character, I felt like his death didn’t carry the weight it should have, even for Team Sonic who witnessed it.

There was also the fact that a lot of what happened in the first act had already been revealed in the trailers and TV spots, which kind of deflated my excitement, knowing what was going to happen. But as I said, things were happening so fast that I couldn’t process all the information right away! XD

I have to say, I absolutely love the interactions between all the characters. The relationships and how they were developed felt so unique to me. I’ve always had the headcanon that Knuckles, Tails, and Sonic acted like siblings, and in the movies, I got to witness that in a meaningful and very loving way (shoutout to Tails saving Sonic and Knuckles protecting them, my boys <3).

One of my favorite scenes is definitely the argument between Knuckles and Sonic, as it really shows their maturity. It shows how much they are changing with each movie, which is so valuable to me because it demonstrates that the characters are really learning from their experiences. In a franchise, this deepens their moral journey and enriches who they are — it’s truly wonderful.

Speaking of siblings, I can’t not talk about Maria and Shadow. Right from the beginning, I could already feel the heartache hearing Live and Learn in an acoustic version. I think for fans who know how iconic this song is for the franchise, the idea that MARIA COULD HAVE BEEN THE ORIGINAL COMPOSER of it (at least in the SCU) hits so hard.

The narrative of Shadow talking about Maria always moved me, and the film managed to emphasize what she meant to Shadow in such a sweet way. Seeing the scene where Shadow recalls the day of the accident and then carrying the Eclipse Cannon gave me chills.

The parallels between Sonic/Shadow and Tom/Maria were something I was really looking forward to! The franchise often makes these types of comparisons between characters, not just in the games but also in the movies. As I mentioned before, I think this makes everything richer — it gives you a new perspective and helps you understand the complexity of characters by revisiting the "same memory" through a different person. I love when they do that!

ABOUT THE FIGHT SCENES, ALL OF THEM. I was breathless! I have to confess I was cursing A LOT during the third act. It was so epic, something you wouldn’t even think you'd see! Super Form battles were such a great concept for the situation, seeing Sonic get so angry really fed my fan dream of seeing him want to destroy everything XDD. Shadow literally crushed him, both physically and mentally. He REALLY IS THE STAR of this movie. The whole year was his. And he delivered in every possible media!

((I screamed so much when they did the pose, Live and Learn, it was so epic.))

Jim Carrey’s performance is always amazing. I’m still stunned at how naturally Gerald and Eggman felt together. It really seemed like a completely different actor, and that’s insane! I think the only thing I wish we’d seen more of was scenes between Gerald and Maria in the past, but who knows, maybe they’re planning something for a "Shadow solo spin-off."

The light shines, even when the star dies. – I was already emotionally losing it inside, there were just so many things to process.

AND THE POST-CREDITS SCENE HAUSFHSAIFHGVSNUHGUSAHGUSAH

OK OK I’M >TOTALLY< NORMAL ABOUT MY BABIES

Literally my two FAVORITES showed up. METAL WILL BE THE MAIN VILLAIN, I have so many theories and DEFINITELY it will be an adaptation of Heroes and CD. I CAN'T WAIT to see him in action, the whole Artificial vs. Natural thing is something that really resonates with me in the rivalry between him and Sonic.

AND HAUSHFUASFHUASFH AMY MY GIRL!!!

She’s so cool, she appeared in SUCH A UNIQUE way, the cracked moon in the background, revealing herself by taking off the hood... I can’t wait to see her in 2027... I need it so much aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I definitely loved the movie a lot. I still want to rewatch it in English since I saw it dubbed in my language, but I think I’d give it an 8.5/10 or 9/10! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS MOVIE!! I’m still shaking remembering the action scene sahufzahghaghs

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well :)

Could I have cuddling HCs with candy, night terrors and LJ? Ty in advance!

I love writing fluff like this, I hope you enjoy <3 Me casually making new LJ lore while writing this :p

Terrors:

It's rough in the beginning, I'm gonna be honest. You are this man's first for everything because when he was living on his own, his own person, his own ruler, he did not care about relationships at all, so he doesn't really understand anything except the barebones basics. The first time you ask him if it'll be okay to cuddle, he tries to think back on how Candy cuddles you (which he can barely remember because he feels embarrassed just watching you guys from inside Candy's mind), and he says that if that's what you wish, you may cuddle him. You've come very far in your relationship with Candy and Terrors at this point, so you naively assume this should go easily, but your assumptions are soon proven wrong. Terrors lays down first, on his back stiff as a board, and waits for you to join him, and you do, curling into his side, but he never moves. He stays that way for a while, to your amusement, and it takes many, many snuggle sessions for him to loosen up. Once he does, gradually wrapping an arm around you, and then two, and then holding you close to him, cuddles with Terrors become much clingier. They're firm but incredibly warm and protective. He prefers to keep you flush and tight against his chest, his arms trapping you there securely, only letting you go when you ask. He always feels he still might be doing something wrong, so he's still a little tense, but he can't deny that feeling your warmth so softly against him is a treasure he wished he'd been indulging in with you for far longer, and these days he's more than willing to cuddle you if you ever ask for it. He gets to the point that he wants to ask you himself, but he's too shy, so he tends to hover around you in a way you come to learn means he wants to snuggle you immediately.

Candy:

Candy's cuddles are nothing to sneeze at. This man is clingy in the best ways, incredibly warm, and all-encompassing as a lover, so of course he gives some of the best cuddles you'll ever indulge in, and he's pretty much always in the mood to cuddle up to you, so you're never starved for his touch. While he's quite brazen and forceful as a person, he's nearly the opposite when you first start cuddling with him at the start of your relationship until he learns what you like. He's all soft smiles and gentle words, wanting to go at your pace to not overwhelm you with his large body and stronger touches. He lets you worm your way into his arms however you'd like to, and once you do the same thing enough times, he learns what you enjoy, and always settles into the right position, readily scooping you into his arms and nuzzling into you to his heart's content. I think Candy prefers to pretty much absorb you into his body with his preferred cuddles. He likes you snug against his chest, his arms around you, your legs intertwined, his torso covering yours as he leans over you so he can cover you with his body. It makes him happy to be able to cover you and hold you so closely, so confined in his body that you've got no choice but to be completely smooshed against him. The type of partner to say they want you inside of their body when you're cuddling so you can just become one being. He tends to surprise you with snuggles when you've been together longer, as he definitely recharges from your touch and just wants to have contact with you all the time, and he's so warm and soft that you can't help but want to constantly be snuggling him yourself, so you tend to never refuse him. Candy is always happiest when he has you wrapped up in his arms.

LJ:

Another resident snuggle bug like Candy, Jack is always down for snuggles, and he's not shy about asking for them either. He's the type to just lift you up and take you away from whatever you were previously doing so he can just carry you off to bed and cuddle you whenever he gets particularly lonely. The only thing that might seem like a drawback about Jack I would say is that due to his mechanical nature, he doesn't have body warmth, so he tends to start off cold in your cuddles. During the summer it's awesome because he can cool you off from the heat outside, but not as pleasant at times like right now, during the colder winter months. However, as the executive owner of this blog and canon, I've come up with a situation; I think since he was originally made for children, that he probably has an internal heater (like a heated blanket situation) to warm up and be more pleasant to be in contact with. Meaning, that Jack can heat up his body to whatever temperature you want, which I suppose actually gives him a lead over others if he has time to heat up! So, when it's really cold, he starts heating himself up in advance, so when you get home he's already warm and ready to go, ridding you of any biting cold you had outside. His preferred cuddles I often write him with are you laying on top of him, his arms wrapped snug around you, your face snuggling into his neck. He likes feeling the weight of your body on top of him, as it makes him feel content and loved, knowing he's got you right here, safe and sound in his arms. I haven't mentioned it in a while, but Jack is able to make a calming purring sound when he's happy, and you can bet your butt he's constantly making that noise when you cuddle, calming both of you down and relaxing you.

[lune-moon-nuit]

I completely, 100% agree with the theory that the cliff scene from Season 1 is being utilized in Season 5. Even before finishing the series, when I saw that scene for the very first time, I truly paused, perplexed: how could a 12-year-old boy be so desperate that he would actually end up jumping off a cliff? And I was genuinely astonished to see that the general audience either forgot about this scene entirely (in the worst cases) or simply summed it up as, "He sacrificed himself for his friend; he’s so heroic."

Sure, from that perspective, it’s heroic... but when you look at the bigger picture, you see a 12-year-old child who has clearly been bullied his entire life, whose best friend has disappeared, whose lifeless body was found and even had a funeral. Despite the faint hope offered by the mysterious girl with supernatural powers, whom he met the day after his best friend’s disappearance, she ran away, and he couldn’t find her again. This crushed any remaining hope of finding his friend alive. At this moment, the most likely explanation for Will’s "death" was either a homophobic hate crime or suicide, given that Will was bullied for being—or appearing to be—gay. This mindset was normalized and widespread, even among Mike’s conservative parents.

To top it all off, the bullies who had humiliated and hurt him and his friends continued to insult Will (missing and presumed dead) with homophobic slurs and threatened to harm Dustin by aggravating his disability to force Mike off the cliff. Mike, at this point, literally believed he was worth less than Dustin’s baby teeth. Let that sink in. Viewed this way, it changes everything, doesn’t it? It becomes much less heroic, doesn’t it?

And let’s not forget that the fall was deadly—there was no question about it. The water at the base of that cliff was where Will’s body was found. Mike had no idea that El would be there to save him. He deliberately jumped off the cliff, fully aware of the outcome. He heard the second bully realizing it was going too far and trying to reason with Troy. He heard Dustin pleading with him not to jump. Even the existence of his friends and family wasn’t enough to activate his survival instinct. He jumped off a cliff at 12 years old, knowing full well he wouldn’t survive. That act wasn’t heroic; it was suicidal.

This scene is, in truth, evidence that Mike has been depressed and suicidal since Season 1—that losing hope of finding Will alive caused him to lose his will to live. Numerous analyses have already done an excellent job explaining why Mike’s character in Seasons 1 and 2 feels so "different" in Seasons 3 and 4, so I won’t delve into that here. But it’s clear that puberty, combined with the increasingly concrete realization of what he feels for Will as a teenager in rural 1980s America, and his overwhelming guilt toward El—whom he cherishes but feels responsible for—have amplified his depression.

He feels obligated to love El as she wishes to be loved because she sacrificed herself to save his life, but he knows he has failed to love her the way he "should," even though he deeply cares for her. While Will being alive has given him one less reason to jump off a cliff, it hasn’t changed the fact that he places no value on his own life. This is evident in how recklessly he endangers himself to protect the people he loves (fighting the Mind Flayer, standing up to Billy, exposing himself to gunfire in Season 4 during the shootout at the house to clear the way for others).

I also won’t dive into Mike’s low self-esteem and insecurities, as these have been repeatedly pointed out and are particularly clear in his own words during the van scene (before Will reassures him). But all this is to say: this scene would be perfect to use in Season 5—not only as a memory Vecna could exploit against him but also as a way to remind the audience of this moment. It would finally highlight all the pain Mike has been carrying silently and hiding from everyone in the series and the audience by internalizing all his emotions.

We need to see Mike undergo a catharsis—potentially triggered by Vecna—to show the depths of his suffering and the factors fueling his depression: his love for Will, his internalized homophobia, his fear of losing Will, his fear of losing El, his fear of losing his family’s love, his self-hatred, his guilt for hurting both El and Will, and his sense of never being good enough despite trying so hard to help those he loves while being completely lost himself.

It’s time for the audience to finally see things from Mike’s perspective and realize just how much he’s been bottling up, only for the pressure to make everything crack. Mike needs that breaking point, the moment where he finally lets it all out, so he can begin to heal and move forward. So he can find himself. So the audience can rediscover him. So he can rediscover happiness—and love, too.

(2/3) Stranger Things/Labyrinth Theory: MC Escher's Relativity Prediction (LONG)

PART TWO IS REAL?! (sorry for the wait, i got busy). As I was saying in part one, I think there's a chance that the climax of Mike's arc in Stranger Things will parallel Sarah's from the movie Labyrinth.

In the movie Labyrinth, Sarah had exactly thirteen hours to rescue her baby brother Toby after accidentally wishing for him to be taken away. In the climax of the movie, she finally spots him crawling up (and down) a trippy ass staircase.

As one of Sarah's last challenges within the Labyrinth, she runs throughout this maze trying to catch up to her little brother. The laws of gravity and physics do not apply here. At one moment, little Toby might be crawling across the ceiling, in the next he might be catching a crystal bouncing up a flight of steps.- fandom wiki

In Labyrinth, the setting of the “endless stairs” scene is based on M.C Escher’s ‘Relativity’.

Which is foreshadowed earlier in the movie, by a poster hanging on Sarah’s bedroom wall:

And as you know from my earlier post, I think this MC Escher poster hanging in Mike's room, was a reference to Sarah's from Labyrinth.

Because it could potentially foreshadow a Snowball/GoblinBall parallel going down in season 5. (read theory: here)

I ended part one on a cliffhanger (cue uncontrollable laughter), by hinting that Sarah's "Relativity" poster might ALSO relate to a potential s5 Mike scene (the cliff). Because, based off of pure unadulterated vibes, the "endless staircase scene" from Labyrinth seemed like the perfect opportunity to visually parallel Mike's Cliff Jump to Sarah's Staircase Jump...

AND GUESS WHAT, THE VIBES WHERE PROPHETIC OR SOME SHIT, BECAUSE IT TURNS OUT THAT A POSTER OF RELATIVITY IS ALSO HANGING IN MIKE'S ROOM?!😱WHICH MAKES THIS THEORY (SLIGHTLY) LESS RANDOM?!

(thank you to @strangerchicka for telling me this, because when i originally paused to screenshot Mike's room, he was covering it LMAOOO)

Not only that, but it's hung directly underneath the notorious One Way Sign pointing directly into Mike's closet. The one way sign isn’t just pointing into his closet, though, it's also pointing at a mirror. Maybe this is because the upside-down is a mirrored version of the other side? In any case, its Suspicious as hell. So, hear me out:

What if the scene of Mike jumping off the cliff comes full circle in s5.

because it’s the only way (?)

Which leads me back to Labyrinth:

The Climax:

the final confrontation between Sarah and Jareth happens in the Relativity-themed room. When she finally reaches the top of the staircase, she looks down and spots sweet lil baby Toby.

but lil homie is contemplating life, staring into the abyss. He's looking over the edge of what appears to be a pretty steep drop.

When Sarah looks down and sees Toby...she JUMPS.

which successfully breaks her out of the spell!

According to multiple credible academic sources (LitCharts and Reddit) Toby the physical embodiment of Sarah's own childhood innocence👼

Which got me thinking: What if the baby is the physical embodiment of Mike’s childhood as well? In other words, what if the baby parallels s1 Mike, and Sarah parallels s5 Mike

(Disclaimer: If you think I sound like a crazy person rn....you're absolutely right. I'm fully aware of my own confirmation bias, and I recognize that, while it's fun to speculate, we really shouldn't expect any of this to actually happen. It's impossible to accur-

YOU THOUGHT BITCH, the voices are back and louder then ever! :D Before escaping from their basement, the Duffers told me (in cryptic riddles ofc) that the cliff scene WILL be brought back in s5, and that they will do it through either time travel or memories. Working backwards from this (highly classified) information, I came up with a few potential scenarios which could be used to write this in:

SPECIFIC S5 CLIFF SCENE PREDICTIONS:

1: MEMORY/ILLUSION: The baby is s1 Mike, and Sarah is s5 Mike. When Mike sees his s1 self on the cliff within a memory/illusion, he has to jump off the cliff again in s5, as it's the ONE WAY to break out of the illusion.

2: TIME TRAVEL TOMFOOLERY: Somehow, going back in time causes Mike to die on the cliff in s1. For example, if El never escaped from the lab in the first place, she wouldn't have been there to save Mike on the cliff in s1 (although he prob wouldn't have in that situation in the first place, but just ignore that for now). If changing the past is THE ONE WAY to stop Vecna, this might mean in s5, Mike is forced to watch s1 Mike jump off the cliff with no one there to save him. (This scenario doesn't seem very likely to me atm,idk why)

MY FAVORITE IDEA?!:

3: TIME TRAVEL TOMFOOLERY: This one is kinda edgy, but the writers almost made El mercy kill her mom in s2, so how crazy is it REALLY?

OKAY. So what if the ONE WAY to stop the end of the world, is go back in time and change things, but Mike unexpectedly dies as a result of this?

What if in s1, Mike still jumps off the cliff despite the bullies never threatening Dustin's teeth in the first place?

Let me explain: if time travel tomfoolery DOES have to go down in s5, then that means they might never meet El or get involved in any supernatural antics.

Meaning that in s1, Mike would't learn the truth about what actually happened to Will after his body was found in the quarry.

The Cliff overlooking The Quarry is the key to all of this.

Why? because if Will's "body" was found in the quarry, then the leading theory as to the cause of his death would probably be this:

Police would suspect that Will was either:

A: hate-crimed/pushed off of the cliff

B. committed sewerslide via jumping

In this altered timeline, Mike might still watch Will's body get pulled out of the quarry. Only this time, he would falsely believe that the cause of will's death was his sexuality.

Police would probably tell him that Will died as a result of the town's homophobia:

and this isn't a crazy assumption to make in the 80’s, which is why Hopper kept pressing Joyce about Will's perceived sexuality. It is a significant factor to consider, if being gay caused his death.

Ted knows this same thing, which is why he subtly implied to Mike that Will's disappearance wasn't shocking to him:

This implication wasn't lost on Mike either, who was understandably upset by it. One can only image how he'd react if it turned out to be true...oh wait,

What if after he finds out that Will "jumped" into the quarry, Mike jumps too

I think Mike's decision to jump will remain unchanged in this timeline, despite Dustin's baby teeth never being threatened. This reveal would reframe the s1 cliff scene, by giving his choice a more profound underlying cause

Only this time when Mike jumps, El won't there to save him:

Which might be why Mike was paralleled to Romeo in s4. Because just like Romeo, what if Mike tragically dies by his own hand after finding out about Will's fake "death" and seeing the body

(someone send me the Montegue image to inset here, i'm feeling lazy)

This scenario would conveniently add a whole new layer of meaning to this joke made by Ted in s2:

“So if your friend jumps off a cliff, you’re going to jump too?”

Might this line be yet another classic case of reverse story telling antics within Stranger Things???

no, cause hear me out! Reverse Storytelling is literally how they constructed Mike and Will's entire relationship! Which suggests that reframing prior seasons and Mike himself will be a pretty major focus of the final season.

If this joke is only supposed to be fully understood in reverse it would make a lot of sense because, as of now, it’s a pretty mid joke. Considering that Mike jumped off of the cliff to save Dustin's baby teeth, the dramatic irony only applies to the fact that Mike also "jumped off a cliff". The implication that he jumped "because his friend did" doesn't even apply to the s1 cliff scene!( I’m the comedy police, and your under arrest!😡👮‍♀️)

UNLESS this joke is actually in reference to the season 5 cliff scene😨Because in s5, Mike jumps off the cliff after finding out that his friend Will did!

Side note: If they can't figure out why Mike dies when they go back in time, maybe the ONE WAY to prevent his own death will be to realize WHY he still jumps (bc he loves will+his internalized homophobia). And so the one way to survive might actually be to admit his true feelings by coming out of the closet to the party/himself! GODDAMNNNN that would be such a cool freaking twist! (Not the unaliving himself part. actually, no yeah that part. I just mean the idea would be creative, but don’t get your hopes up. IF this does actually happen, I doubt Mike would actually stay dead. The duffers are WAY too pussy to kill him off fr, so don’t worry!👍)

Who do I need to bribe in order to get the writers to see this??? because NOT using Ted’s throw-away line to set up the most legendary case of foreshadowing and time travel fuckshit in the history of the universe would be SUCH a missed opportunity!!!! It would simultaneously shed a light on Mike’s internalized homophobia, PLUS demonstrate his love for Will since s1?! just a humble suggestion! 🤷‍♀️(i'm dead fucking serious).

4. Mike has powers: Mike was the one to freeze time in the upside down and/or make it look like Hawkins, not Will. He's the "babe with the power". I'll explain why I think this could be a possible in Labyrinthgate part 3. If the ONE WAY to resolve everything, is to take control of his powers by accepting himself/and coming out of the closet, ig the cliff scene could play into somehow by visually symbolizing Mike's internal struggle ? (link to theory here later)

5. ALTERNATE DIMENSION ANTICS: The baby is s1 Mike, and Sarah is s5 Mike. THE ONE WAY to get back to the other side/upside-down, is to jump off the cliff again, because the water becomes a portal (Bc of Donnie Darco LMAOSK I’ll explain later💀it doesn't make much sense, but i'm still gonna write a theory about it just for funzies . I'll link it here at some point)

Mark my words, something VAGUELY close to at least ONE of these scenarios WILL happen in s5. And that's a connect-dots7 promise🫵. (i'm talking out of my booty hole rn)

Also-

Reframing to the cliff scene in the final season makes sense from a writing perspective:

I mean, Mike jumped off A CLIFF. He was ready to DIE over some baby teeth?! Get real🥱Even if this was the original intent of the scene back when it was first written, there's definitely potential for the writers to reframe it now. Considering the direction Mike's arc is taking, it's a wee bit suspicious how after season one, this event is never brought up again (aside from Ted's cheeky lil joke). Almost like the writers are leaving the door open to potentially revisit it later perhaps??🤨🤨

The GA still needs to be convinced that there was evidence of Mike's internal struggle from the very beginning, which the cliff scene could be utilized to do. Considering that his POV has become increasingly hidden from the audience, it leaves the door open for Mike's character motivations to be "rewritten" in s5. To me, reframing the s1 cliff scene seems like THE PERFECT opportunity to also reframe his character’s perspective. The cliff scene is one of his most memorable scenes in general, and a key moment of characterization for Mike in s1. Also: him readily jumping off a cliff is lowkey sewerslide coded?🤨and if he’s struggling mentally that’s a lil suspicious. just sayingggg🤷‍♀️ btw, that isn’t to say necessarily that Mike jumped off the cliff in s1 bc he was actually just sewerslidal (unless option 3 ends up happening lol). It could also (pretty easily) just be re-framed, or paralleled with s5 Mike, in order to visually allude to/symbolically represent his internalized homophobia. I don’t know how exactly, but (for example) I could see Vecna spelling out for the audience Mike's internal struggle, and info dumping Mike’s secret feelings while a memory of the cliff scene happens, kind of like when Vecna exposed Max for her conflicted feelings about Billy. (this would be kinda bad writing tho imo, so I hope not. I kinda just really want option 3 to happen tbh😗)

More Potential Foreshadowing (Mike/Water)(watergate?!?)

I already thought another cliff scene was a possibility (before all this Labyrinth delusion started), based off of the water imagery surrounding Mike throughout s4:

link to that here

idk guuuuys...something something about all that water symbolism around Mike really makes me of the quarry, since it’s one of the only significant bodies of water in the show. It's also literally the setting where both Mike and Will briefly "died" in s1, cementing it as a pretty significant water themed setting for both of them, but especially for Mike. Of course, the water symbolism might also foreshadow him drowning in Lover's Lake. (more on that later maybe?)

Along with this, I also think that Mike's death will end up referencing Artax's in the Never-ending Story. If Will is Bastian, and El is Ateyu...then who's Mike?

HE'S THE DAMN HORSE. Arguably the most iconic scenes in the Neverending Story is when that depressed horse Artax drowns. (just tryna think outside the box guys, idfk)

the end! hope you liked it!

[royal-chandler]

temporary/maybe permanent title is winter interlude. written for the lovely @caressthosecheekbones ✨

--

Henry is certain that he's only just fallen asleep when he’s nudged awake, Alex’s soft scratched voice at his ear and his hand giving Henry’s wrist a slight squeeze. Henry’s answer to his name is a long groan. 

“Hen, baby. Can you wake up for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

Henry groans once more and burrows further into the pocket of warmth that’s been conjured from sleep, their thick cloud-like duvet, and Alex’s arms. He keeps his eyes shut and silently, drowsily wishes for Alex to concede. And of course, no such luck.

“I’ve got an amazing idea.”

“That for some ungodly reason can’t wait until morning?”

“It’s uh,” Henry feels Alex slightly shift away, imagines that he’s checking the nocturne glow of their bedside clock, “one thirty-six right now so technically...”

“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”

“Come on,” Alex draws out. He shakes Henry some more, as if he can transfuse enthusiasm through vibration or using Henry like a ketchup bottle that’s been sitting too long. “Come on, we’re losing starlight. Let’s get a move on.”

“Christ, Alex, what for?”

“It’s stopped snowing. We should go sledding.”

Henry snorts, incredulous in the quiet. “Fuck off.”

Clearly Alex has gone bonkers because there is no way on earth that Henry is dragging himself out of bed to charge down a hill of snow on a plastic death trap in freezing temperatures in the middle of the night. 

*

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Henry says, trudging through snow that’s at least twenty five centimetres deep at the rear of the White House. 

At Henry’s side and tugging him and his sledge the last bit to the crest of the hill, Alex says, “It'll be fun.”

“Ah, yes.” Henry nods. Editorialised with bone-dry sarcasm, he continues, “Whenever I think about fun, frostbite is the first thing that springs to mind.”

“It is nowhere near cold enough for that.” Alex brings up their joined hands. “Plus, you’ve got your little cute gloves on. You’re good.” 

The Aztec patterned gloves are secondhand from Alex, dug out of a closet cubby as he had pointedly made sure to mention that they were a gift from his abuela when he was thirteen and no longer fit. 

Alex had also emphasised that Henry didn’t need to give them back. That it was a transfer of ownership. And they are very nice, the fingerless sort that convert into mittens. The yarn stretches comfortably and the pouches slip over Henry’s fingers just right. 

“Everything will be fine,” Alex promises. He reaches out and clicks on Henry’s headtorch. His already lit grin is brilliantly illuminated. “Trust me.” 

“There’s no question of that,” Henry returns. “I only ask why this couldn’t wait for the daytime? You know, how it’s normally done.”

Alex simply shrugs, his grin gentling into something flagrantly affectionate. “Because right now it's like the world is just us.”

And fuck, what is Henry supposed to argue against that?

*

“How are you winning?!” Alex drags his sledge behind him with one hand and wildly gestures with the other. “You didn’t even want to do this. I did not plan on you winning.”

Above him and at the top of the hill already, Henry props an elbow on his now vertical vehicle that’s planted in the snow, watching Alex with amusement. His boyfriend is exceptionally precious when he pouts. “My being reluctant to sledging doesn’t mean I’m not skilled at it.”

“Best of seven,” Alex huffs upon arrival. 

“You have a problem. The terms were already agreed upon.”

“You scared?” 

Alex then proceeds to emit the noises of a fowl.

“Resorting to primary school tactics, are we?”

Alex only lifts his brow, his expression dancing with challenge.

“I'm going to need some proper motivation, darling,” Henry says, sliding on a smirk.

“I could be a victim of clichés and offer mind-melting sex if you win but you get that all the time anyway.”

Henry breaks into helpless laughter and agrees when he finds the cold air to do so. 

“So, instead, how about the next time I’m at the palace I take you up on those horseback lessons finally,” Alex says. 

“Truly? You’ve always seemed—uncomfortable around them.”

“Well they are huge, intelligent beasts that can buck me off and launch me god knows how many miles an hour into the air.”

“Dramatic." He pauses, shaking his head. "Really, Alex. You don’t have to.”

“You love it and it’s something we can do together. I’d like to try it out,” Alex says and he sounds sincere. “If I don’t enjoy the experience, I won't be shy about it.”

“And if you win? What do you want?”

“Here’s where I do get pervy."

"Of course."

"I win and you let me buy you a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson and you wear them for me.”

“Nothing else, I’m assuming.”

“Anything else would get in the way, Henry.”

“You’re on.”

*

Minutes and minutes later, victory is Henry’s and he graciously accepts Alex’s request for a final run, plopping down on the front of Alex’s sledge when he makes a grabby motion for Henry, his legs open. Their combined weight rips them downslope, easily the record of the night. They’re a powdery pile at the bottom when they come to a stop short of the treeline with a sharp turn and tumble off the sledge. 

“You alright?” Henry asks. 

“I should be asking you. You’re the one who cushioned my fall. Am I smothering you?"

“It's all fine for now, love. You’ll be nursing my aching bruises later.”

“Obviously.” Alex animates the line of his brow. “Just call me the love doctor.”

“Won’t be doing that, thanks," Henry comments. Using his teeth—due to most of him being trapped under Alex—Henry yanks back the pouch of his right mitten. He assesses the snarled wreckage of Alex’s hair that’s been freed of the headtorch and clumsily combs through it with chilled fingers. There’s a small scratch by Alex’s temple. Henry thumbs away the paper-cut thin trace of red and finds Alex’s perfect eyes. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”

“Me? Never. I lost,” Alex insists, sweetly leaning his head into Henry’s touch. His adoration is spotless if not his honesty. “Life rolls on.”

Henry considers calling Alex out but a shiver distracts him, stalls his tongue. 

Alex’s arms around him tighten and with their physical arrangement, it’s plenty awkward. It’s also loving. He ridiculously presses a kiss to Henry’s wintry-wet palm. “Cold?”

Spellbound, Henry murmurs, “A bit, yeah.”

“I’ve got a way to get you warm,” Alex shares quietly. 

*

Henry moans and licks at his lips, chasing the flavor off his mouth. “This is sinful.”

“I know,” Alex says after a long sip from his UT mug. “Nothing beats Mexican hot chocolate.”

“And the amaretto? Ugh, chef’s kiss.”

“Discovered that little addition four Christmases ago.”

Henry smiles at him and eats another mini marshmallow. “The man’s a genius.”

“Yeah, my ideas aren’t all shit that will have us needing Icy Hot the next day,” Alex replies, his gaze dropping to where their sock feet share the spindle of a kitchen stool.

Henry lightly kicks him. Kicks him again to get his full attention. “Tonight wasn’t shit.”

“No?”

“No.”

Alex sighs, abandons his drink to rub at his stubbled jaw. “Snow felt like—like a fresh start. A renewal, I guess. Getting rid of yesterday. I know it’s not that easy, that it doesn’t work like that and it’s fucking stupid—”

His heart sore and swollen, Henry closes the distance that parts them, hushes Alex’s doubt with a slow and open kiss. He kisses past the cling of sugar and spice, until it’s clean. 

“I love you,” Henry says. His words are only a fraction of what he means but he knows Alex can read the spaces between. Thank you. It helps. You help.

“Love you still. Love you always.” Alex curls into him, his hand over Henry’s knee. 

He’s there. He’s there, Henry knows because he can read Alex’s spaces just as well.

--

please forgive any mistakes. i read over it but it was written very quickly. also, i’m fairly sure there are no hills behind the white house. the grounds are pretty flat but for some reason this fic insisted on being there.

[fridaysmind]

IDW Starscream x reader part 2 (end)

Just over a week without writing and already someone looking for me. Humans is such an impatient animals, lol. Scenario: Your lover has chosen someone else. Or did it just seem that way to you?

They had become much friendlier in recent days. The two of them used to have a hard time communicating, like hissing through dentoplates at each other. Now he's summoning her to his private office, giving you the task of keeping away from the place for the fourth time in a row.

Starscream is perpetually busy, rarely responds to your messages, and generally stays out of sight. Neither does Windblade. And here she is, snacking in the common room and happily making small talk with you. Despite the strength of all your inner acrimony towards your direct competitor, you good-naturedly discussed many things until you smoothly moved on to the topic of falling in love.

"Love is dedicated to books, poems, paintings, not only in our culture, on almost every planet, it's so adorable in my opinion, have you ever been in love with someone?" and Windblade stammered at your question.

Sipping from her cube and wiping a drop of fresh energon from her lips with an elegant movement of her slender fingers, she smiled meekly, examining the blue liquid with half-closed optics. It's enchanting…is this what you look like from the outside when you're suddenly immersed in dreams of your lover's caressing touch? But Windblade raised the gaze of her optic to you, surprising the sudden tenderness in it.

"You know, I think you'll understand me, I so need to tell someone at least, it's hard to keep it to myself."

With an intriguing start, she set the container on the surface of the metal table, folded her arms and coughed.

"I wasn't planning on falling in love at all. It's scary with the unknown, but there's nothing like it. It's like weightlessness spreads through my frame from one glimpse of expensive optics. I'd put the whole world to the servos just for one beautiful smile, you know?" she looks away as she speaks, then she burns you with that tenderness again and you feel that sadness come up to your spark.

You understand. Oh, how much you understand her words. How many nights you've spent with him together, dreaming of capturing his lips, how much you wish his optics, his wings, his cockpit, everything, belonged to you alone. And you see not just a femme across from you, but your own reflection, realizing that the anger is receding.

You think Starscream knows what's best for him. How can you hate her now, after such a confession? So tender and sincere. Your upper limb reaches out, wrapping around her wrist.

"I understand you more than anyone. That someone is extremely lucky to be loved by you out of all the applicants. Nothing could be more beautiful than love, especially when it's so pure." and you smile kindly at each other.

It wasn't long after your dialog before the formers at court began to whisper that the leader of Cybertron was preparing to choose his mate. You smiled sadly at these rumors, leaning back against the corridor wall at times, desperately imagining what these guys were saying about him and you. You've already accepted a lot of things as they are, Starscream isn't just some mech. It is written into the very culture of the seekers that it is a disgrace to associate and breed with the wingless. How foolish of you to even think that the chief representative of Vos would go against tradition. But the wings are the only problem, aren't they? If you had another pair of limbs on your back, surely he'd consider you a contender? You'd hope so. Life and routine are getting harder every day, your meals and recharges have decreased, and the worries have taken their toll on your health.

After many cycles, Starscream finally made time for you. As soon as you bumped into each other in the corridor, he gave you a glance and, frowning, asked you how you were feeling. You didn't seem to look well due to stress and didn't even notice, but you brushed off his questions, citing work and a little sickness. His red optics stared back at you in concern.

"Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor? You have the best doctors on this planet at your disposal, any ailment will be cured in no time, just snap your beautiful fingers dear" his voice is so sweet, like a hot treat outside in the cold cities of the planet. Will this bird sing to someone else and not to you? You nodded negatively.

"I'm feeling much better now, there's nothing to worry about, was there something you wanted to discuss with me?"

Seeker abruptly remembered why he had come, his wings abruptly rising and falling back to their original place.

"Yes, that's right!" he shook his frame slightly and smiled triumphantly.

"There's a special event coming up, one of the most important events in my life, and not just mine. I vitally need your presence, I've already sent you an invitation with the date, please prepare yourself properly," he squinted at your body, causing the embarrassment already frozen from the long lack of attention. "There won't be many formers there, but I really want everything to marvel in beauty at this moment. No refusals accepted, I won't hold the meeting without you!"

He didn't say more to you, so smoothly passed you onward, like a swan floating on the surface of the water, and disappeared into the long corridors. Taking a deep breath and exhaling heavily, you opened the invitation on the datapad. The venue, the date, the time, everything was in place. The rest of the information, even if it was a little more specific, was simply missing, but maybe it was for the best.

A fashion and beauty figure once said: "The dimmer your spark, the brighter your polish should shine." And you're going to stick to that idea right now. You are, for the first time in a long time, finally taking an oil bath. Hot, almost scalding hot. As if punishing yourself for something, you sink into it up to the top of your helmet and sit up straight again, removing the excess from your faceplate. Your preparation for the event is meticulous. Every curve, every notch, every detail is perfect. From the reflection, a fresh and shiny you stares back at you. Examining yourself from every angle, you felt the spark ache again, but you didn't let it fill your processor any further.

You're here. The last obstacle before the inevitable is the iron door. One step and the mechanism will work, automatically opening the passage further. Ventilating again, it's time to go in, you can't be late.

The small room is perfectly cleaned, smelling almost sterile. The lighting is spotty, atmospheric, and there are shiny decorations on the walls.

The first thing you see is Windblade. Standing next to her is Chromia, excited a little. Primus, how long has it been since you've seen her? The last thing you notice is Starscream at the window, watching the passing traffic, the burning lights of the high-rises, and the glitter of the first stars appearing in the sky. The view really is beautiful, and you're not just talking about Cybertron behind the glass.

You stand up next to two friends. A thought comes to your helmet. Maybe he and Windblade called each best friend as a witness. Of course. Are you really going to watch your nightmare come true?

Mech turns gracefully towards the three of you, the city lights softly illuminating his figure from behind as he smiles. Not a smirk, not a grimace, no, it is an unaccustomed soft curve that speaks of genuine pleasure. You stare at his figure as if hypnotized. Reminiscent of your best dreams, Starscream thrusts his manipulator with an open palm in your direction and your optics soften, but there is no counter-movement on your part.

You were brought out of your trance by a nudge to your shoulder. You turned your helmet to the side in surprise, Chromia's faceplate opposite clearly expressing mockery.

"Come on, did you fall asleep?"

Your consciousness returned to you, you blinked in incomprehension. What? You have to come up?

Still in the same incomprehension, you place your manipulator in his and seeker’s fingers wrap around yours like a wild vine, sending a stuttering vent. Your optics collide.

"There are too many things I wish I could say them to you, and I will certainly say them. Right now, I just want to express my gratitude for all the many millions of years you've been my most reliable shoulder. Of course, I'd be ruler of Cybertron without the support," Starscream smugly ran his palm across the top of his helmet, causing Chromia's optics to roll up. And you silently stare at him, at his facial expressions, at the optics burning brighter and dimmer, trying to figure out where he's going with this. "But with you, things have not only gotten easier, they've gotten considerably more pleasant. Rewinding the long snot, I'll finally ask already, are you willing to be the conjunx of this planet's magnificent leader?"

Silence. Mouth wide open, fingers trembling, your processor refusing to analyze the meaning of his words. Your gaze swings between everyone in the room, they look amused by your reaction. Moisture approaches your optics as you cover the bottom of your faceplate with both hands and shake your head negatively in disbelief. Starscream's wings droop in fear, do you refuse?!

"N-no…?"

With the first drops already rolling down your cheeks, you throw yourself around his neck, pressing your cheek against his breastplates and almost choking with happiness and tears, causing Starscream to exhale in relief and stroke your back. You whisper yes to him, and again. And again you say 'yes' as those present clap happily. You caress yourself against him like a sun-warmed cat. Is it real? Does he love you? Does he really love you? You smile and can't stop babbling 'yes, of course yes'.

"But why…" you sobbed, turning to the femmes. "…were you invited too?"

"I wish I knew why I'm here…" Chromia shrugs in response to your question.

"Because I have a similar offer for you." Windblade takes her friend's faceplate with both manipulators, and presses his lips to hers in a kiss, startling both her and you. The puzzle in your helmet comes completely together and your lips stretch into a bright, happy smile.

Warm, long fingers grip your chin as Starscream wipes away the clear marks on your cheeks and gives you your first kiss. A sweet feeling blossoms in your spark as your breastplates make contact and your manipulators wrap around his graceful neck. All pain and all fear have left your frame, you ventilate frantically, swearing to Primus that you will give him to no one now.

And let the ritual of joining sparks be broadcast to every corner of the world, let everyone know that you finally belong together

@skittyhugger, impatient bunny

@alexandraibis, lover of beauty

[coffeegnomee]

do you have any blindfold brother thoughts i may be cooking but ive been in lifesteal circles for barely five minutes so i may be making shit up

Well now I'm interested to know what you're cooking.

I have only fragmented thoughts on the blindfold brothers. especially as a duo.

They're so Unknown. Because Flame can profess undying loyalty to Mane.. but will he follow through? Will something come before that? Will the allure of something Fun overtake basic loyalty in a similar way Zam and Mapicc are devotions but will similarly be willing to be against each other?

And Mane is so fast and loose with his loyalty, but so far has not really gone against Flame at all unless you count putting Flame above Flame when he was blowing up spawn, telling Pangi he would take up the mantle of blowing it up if Flame didn't get his fight. Even if Flame was willing/wanting to stop blowing it up. He doesn't put Flame's wishes first, but he does put Flame first, choosing what he believes is best for Flame over what Flame says he wants.

And Mane stepped back from being against Mawn when he found out Flame was on Mapicc's side; he was willing to fight Flame if need be, but he didn't end up having to do it.

Flame stands by and watches (or joins attacking) as any other of his loyalties gets attacked by Mane, putting Mane above anyone else, and he told Mapicc he refused to fight Mane if it came down to it.

And yet. Flame back when he died said everyone was kill on sight and Mane slyly asked if that included Zam, to which Flame said, no of course not Zam.

And yet we know he did go against Zam just a few weeks later, and now completely did a torment arc (day) against him. All with zero provocation from Zam except Zam objecting to Flame blowing up spawn. It swapped on a dime when Zam went from neutral innocent cute pacifist at spawn to possible adversary. And has stayed adversarial since. So Flame is capable of being loyal for one month and when the situation arrises that is good enough, he will break that loyalty.

So where they might end up is completely untested, which I find fascinating. Both have such different and unique perspectives about the server, Mane going for BBEG who never dies who has a reason for everything he does, while Flame more goes for wanting his short term video idea and is more willing to jump onto someone else's idea and do what they want to do rather than being the BBEG himself. Flame is more social and willing to show up in person, while Mane is paranoid about traps to a degree even more than Flame, is hesitant with the yap, and more wanting to be mysterious (though this might be changing)

Both exhibit a soft spot for the chunguses, though Flame (esp with like Pangi) is more loyal as support and negotiation, while Mane is more giving of hearts and killing others for them and coming to defend them in person (mane was more around for Zam early season than Flame was).

Flame has a tendency to be very worried about his image, defensive over it, while Mane is willing to risk the embarrassments (being Flame's lawyer, being the BBEG and more or less seeing it through)

They're simultaneously attached at the hip and one unit together and completely unique and nuanced players. I'm just excited to see how they end the season and where they start s7 as because that is going to tell So Much about who they are as lifestealers.

[writingforaliens]

I have been summoned!

Lily Taverel, better known during her Blackstaff days as "Tav", met Gale roughly 15 years before the events of BG3, when the two were the equivalent of grad students. Quiet and shy at first, Lily found her first real friend in her academic rival and officemate, and, over time, she revealed to Gale many, if not all, of her secrets: her loneliness, her neglectful, abusive parents, her pain and fear of being last. She even showed him her true self: Lilyseah Mithrellas, a half-elf who kept her features carefully obscured by an enchantment. And like most autistic nerds, they overthought their relationship constantly, leaving a lot of feelings unconfessed. When they finished their studies, Lily left for her "post-doc". Though they wrote each other often, and even visited each other with regularity, they continued to rationalize themselves out of any confessions or actions. Perhaps it was fear of the way they were just so made for each other, that nothing could be that perfect, that kept them apart, perhaps it was their inability to read people, perhaps it was the fear of driving away the best thing they'd ever known.

Around four years before BG3, Gale's letters stopped being addressed to "Lily" in favor of "Tav" before ceasing entirely over the course of the next year. Despite pleading to know what she did wrong and apologies for whatever it was, she never heard back. So, for the next three years, she tried over and over and over again to stop loving him, to little success.

She locked those feelings deep, deep in her chest, hoping they would someday shrink enough to be bearable.

When she helps Shadowheart pull a person from the half-functioning portal, the last one she expects to see is Gale Dekarios, the man that both she and his mother believed dead in some godsforsaken corner of the realm. The very same man that she'd been attempting to find on his mother's behalf.

And she's pissed.

Lily's already had a trying day, and he simply walks back into her life like her heart hasn't been shattered and now stomped on. Like he doesn't owe her an explanation. But, truth be told, despite her every wish to stay angry because he should deserve it, because he should beg her forgiveness, she can't stay that angry at him for long, not when they can still predict each other's movements and thoughts. Not when he still makes her laugh. Not when he comes to her and asks if she has any enchanted items.

And especially not when he finally apologizes and explains everything to her right after.

It's a fast, easy tumble from there to where they were years ago, an even easier tumble from there to quiet confessions on the cold floor of a Sharran temple, and, despite a small breakdown when Lily is forced to confront some more of her traumas, easier yet to a proposal and a pledge to each other not a day after the death of Ketheric Thorm.

They are legally married by the magistrate of some tiny town between Reithwin and Baldur’s Gate, at the last possible minute before the office closes--much to the frustration of said magistrate--with Tara being their only witness.

It takes some convincing, but Lily eventually agrees to a celebration in Waterdeep, and Gale gets to show off his wife, the one that almost everyone expected was coming at some point and no one is actually surprised by.

A Tav who knew Gale before. A Tav who might have loved him before. Before Mystra, before the orb, before his whole world came crashing down. They know him to be precise, logical, unrivalled in his craft. Then he disappeared. But who was Tav? They might have been a colleague, that sense of satisfaction they felt after his downfall suddenly vanishing as they really look at him for the first time. An old “friend” – they got drunk together down at the Yawning Portal once, counts as a friend, right? Did something else happen? Really, they don’t remember much at all, but the way they tiptoe around each other may be enough of an answer. A former lover, cast aside over his need to please a Goddess, finding themselves face to face with him again after years, unable to deny that same old spark. Doesn’t matter – whoever Tav was, whoever they are now – Gale certainly isn’t the same. How strange it must have been for both of them to have such different views of each other compared to their other companions, who only know this version of them. So imagine Tavs reluctance when they start feeling those butterflies. Imagine Gale, who will never be the same again – who is terrified because he will never be the same again – so desperate to give Tav a glimpse of his former glory, only for them to love him the way he is.

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x uhh…self insert-ish but i don’t wanna use my name

a/n: i crashed out last night so i started to write. - there is very little specific characteristics other then scars as those add to the story

Friendship Bracelets

The classroom hummed with quiet chatter as the teacher droned on about the symbolism in some book you hadn’t bothered to read. Your attention, however, was fixed on the boy beside you—Damian Wayne. He sat upright, his sharp green eyes focused on the blackboard, though his pen twirled idly between his fingers. Everything about him screamed precision, from his perfect posture to his neatly tied tie, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you leaned closer to him.

The classroom was bathed in the soft hum of students pretending to pay attention, but you were too focused on the boy sitting next to you to care about the lesson. Damian Wayne sat stiffly, his sharp green eyes fixed on the board, taking meticulous notes as if his life depended on it. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and he carried an air of detachment that most people found intimidating.

Not you, though.

You nudged his arm with your elbow. “Hey, Damian,” you whispered, keeping your voice low to avoid the teacher’s glare.

“What is it?” he replied curtly, barely sparing you a glance.

“You’re my best friend,” you said with a small smile, leaning toward him slightly.

That made him pause. His pen stopped moving mid-sentence, and he turned his head to look at you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. “What?”

“You’re my best friend,” you repeated, your tone earnest. “And I was thinking, you know, since we’re best friends, I could make you a friendship bracelet. What do you think? Maybe green and black to match your vibe?”

For a split second, his expression softened, and you swore you saw a flicker of something like fondness in his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a smirk that made your chest tighten.

“A friendship bracelet?” he repeated, the faintest hint of mockery in his voice. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean—”

“That’s…ridiculous,” he cut in, his tone sharpening. “What use would I have for a childish trinket like that? And why would I need a bracelet to prove our so-called friendship?”

You blinked, his words hitting harder than they should have. “I just thought it’d be nice,” you said softly, your fingers twisting together. “It’s not about proving anything, Damian. It’s just…something people do to show they care.”

He scoffed lightly, his gaze returning to his notebook. “If you have time to waste on pointless crafts, perhaps you should focus on improving your other hobbies instead. I’ve seen your drawings—they’re average at best. Maybe channel your energy into something more productive.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t trying to waste time,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t respond, his attention already back on the board as if the conversation was over.

“Never mind,” you said quietly, pulling back and staring down at your scarred hands. The classroom felt colder now, the warmth of your earlier excitement draining away.

You turned your attention to your notebook, pretending to take notes even though your vision blurred slightly. You told yourself it didn’t matter—that it was just Damian being Damian, and you should’ve expected this. But somehow, it still hurt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw him glance at you, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t look up. You just kept your head down, wishing you hadn’t said anything at all.

The rest of the day was painfully awkward. Damian hadn’t said another word after shutting you down about the bracelet, and you didn’t try to talk to him again. Usually, your conversations filled the gaps between dull lessons, but now, silence stretched between you like a chasm. You wanted to bridge it, but your pride kept you rooted in place.

When the final bell rang, you stuffed your books into your bag and stood up quickly, avoiding his gaze as you slung the strap over your shoulder. Just as you turned to leave, Damian caught up to you in the hallway, his strides as purposeful as always.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice as sharp as ever.

You stopped, not because you wanted to, but because you didn’t want to seem like you were avoiding him. “What?” you asked, turning to face him.

“Are we meeting at the library after school?” he asked, his tone unusually formal. You usually studied together after class, a routine you’d fallen into months ago.

You hesitated, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “I can’t today,” you said. “I have people coming over.”

His brows furrowed. “People?”

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly feeling defensive under his scrutinizing gaze. “Guests. My dad’s friends, I think.”

Damian’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And you didn’t think to mention this before?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you replied, frowning. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s unlike you to cancel plans without warning,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Who are these ‘guests’? And why are they more important than our study session?”

“They’re not more important!” you snapped, your temper flaring. “I just can’t hang out today, okay? Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because you’re being evasive,” he shot back. “And I don’t appreciate being treated as an afterthought.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening with frustration. “You’re acting ridiculous. It’s one day, Damian. I’m not abandoning you.”

“You’re dismissing me entirely,” he retorted, his voice low but cutting.

“Are you jealous or something?” you asked, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Damian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer. That silence said enough.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You know what? Forget it. I���ll see you tomorrow.”

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could respond, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you got home, the house was quiet except for the sound of the television murmuring in the living room. Your dad was sprawled out on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he flipped through channels. He looked up when you came in, his face lighting up with a warm smile.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, muting the TV. “How was school?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, kicking off your shoes and heading for the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called, sitting up. “That’s your ‘not fine’ voice. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said, pausing on the first step.

He raised an eyebrow, his arms folding over his chest. “You sure? You’ve got that look on your face. The ‘I want to punch someone but I’m too polite’ look.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself but shook your head. “It’s nothing, Dad. Just school stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about it. Otherwise, I’ll just keep watching this documentary about penguins. No pressure.”

“Thanks,” you said, managing a small smile. You turned and headed upstairs, letting the door to your room click shut behind you.

You dropped your bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your scarred hands as Damian’s words replayed in your mind. The sting of his dismissal earlier, the awkwardness, the stupid argument—it all swirled together, leaving you feeling raw and unsteady.

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “It’s fine,” you murmured to yourself. “It’s fine.”

But it didn’t feel fine. It felt like the kind of heavy you couldn’t shake, even after a night’s sleep.

The house was silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on your bedside table. You tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake the events of the day from your mind. Damian’s words still stung, though the anger had faded, leaving only an ache behind. You glanced at your phone on the nightstand, wondering if he even cared enough to try and fix things.

At 2 a.m., the screen lit up, the vibration startling you. You reached for it, blinking at the sudden brightness. A string of messages from Damian stared back at you, each one arriving within seconds of the last.

Damian Wayne:

I’ve been thinking about what I said earlier.

Damian Wayne:

It was unnecessarily harsh, and I regret it.

Damian Wayne:

You’re not childish or frivolous, Y/N.

Damian Wayne:

I don’t know why I said those things.

Damian Wayne:

The truth is, I didn’t hate the idea of the bracelet.

Damian Wayne:

Green, black, and red are my favorite colors.

Damian Wayne:

If you’re still willing to make one… I’d like that.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t like Damian to admit fault, let alone apologize. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Part of you wanted to ignore him, make him stew in his guilt for a little while longer. But another part—a softer part—knew you couldn’t stay mad forever.

You:

I thought you said they were hideous.

The response came almost immediately.

Damian Wayne:

I was wrong.

Damian Wayne:

They’re not hideous.

Damian Wayne:

I was being… dismissive.

Damian Wayne:

You don’t deserve that.

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to hold onto your frustration and letting it go. With a sigh, you typed back.

You:

Why’d you say it, then?

There was a long pause before he responded, and you could almost picture him hesitating, debating whether to be honest.

Damian Wayne:

I didn’t know how to handle it.

Damian Wayne:

You called me your best friend.

Damian Wayne:

That… meant something to me. More than I wanted to admit.

Damian Wayne:

I wasn’t used to it.

Your chest tightened, the ache softening into something else entirely. Damian was terrible at expressing himself, but when he tried, it was genuine.

You:

You really want a bracelet?

Damian Wayne:

Yeah.

Damian Wayne:

Only if you’re still willing to make one.

You stared at his last message, the weight of the day starting to lift as a small smile tugged at your lips. Damian’s words were never light; he chose them with care, even when he didn’t get them quite right. The fact that he’d taken the time to send you this many messages at two in the morning said more than he probably realized.

You:

Fine. But you’re wearing it every day.

Another pause, shorter this time.

Damian Wayne:

Agreed.

Damian Wayne:

Are we… okay?

You hesitated for a moment, but only a moment.

You:

Yeah, we’re okay.

His reply came almost instantly.

Damian Wayne:

Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The conversation ended there, but you stayed staring at the screen for a long time, replaying the messages in your head. Damian wasn’t one to open up easily, and you couldn’t help but feel a little warmer knowing he’d pushed past his usual walls to make things right.

Finally, you set the phone down and lay back in bed, your heart a little lighter as you drifted off to sleep.

The next day after school, you sat on the floor of your room with your bracelet-making supplies spread out around you. Damian’s words echoed in your mind as you sorted through the strings, picking out the perfect shades of green, black, and red.

Your dad peeked into the room, his eyebrows raising slightly at the mess. “What’s going on here? Did the art store explode?”

You laughed softly, glancing up at him. “I’m making something for a friend.”

His expression softened. “That the same friend who had you all upset yesterday?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, knotting a few strings together.

He stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really. We’re good now.”

Your dad studied you for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But you know I’m here, right? Anytime.”

“I know, Dad,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He smiled back, ruffling your hair gently before heading back downstairs. You returned to your work, fingers moving methodically as the bracelet began to take shape.

When it was finished, you held it up to the light, examining the way the colors wove together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was heartfelt, and you knew Damian would appreciate it—even if he pretended not to.

Tomorrow, you’d give it to him. And maybe, just maybe, you’d finally get to see him smile for real.

The next morning, you stood near the school gates, nervously fidgeting with the bracelet in your hands. It felt strange, standing out here and waiting instead of heading straight inside like you usually did, but you wanted to see Damian before anyone else.

You spotted him approaching, his usual confident stride and stoic expression somehow managing to look both intimidating and effortlessly cool. When his eyes landed on you, he slowed, his gaze flicking to the bracelet in your hands before meeting yours.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice calm but carrying a hint of curiosity.

“Hey,” you said, smiling up at him as you held the bracelet out. “This is for you. Like I promised.”

Damian looked down at the bracelet, the deep green, black, and red threads interwoven neatly into a pattern. He took it carefully, as if it were something delicate, and turned it over in his hands.

“This is… impressive,” he said, his voice soft.

You laughed nervously, tucking a strand of your wavy black hair behind your ear. “It’s not perfect, but I tried to make it match your colors. Do you like it?”

He slipped it onto his wrist, adjusting it slightly before holding his arm out to examine it. “I like it,” he said simply, but the slight upturn of his lips was enough to make your heart race.

“You’re smiling!” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, your own grin widening.

Damian glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, but the faint smile didn’t leave his face. “Is that surprising?”

“A little,” you teased. “But I’m glad. It looks good on you.”

Before you could overthink it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him in a quick hug. His body stiffened in surprise, but you didn’t let go immediately.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

Damian hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly returned the gesture, his arms resting lightly around you. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

When you pulled back, your cheeks were warm, and you realized you were blushing. Before you could say anything, you noticed the whispers starting around you.

“Are they hugging?”

“Y/N and Damian Wayne? No way.”

“They’re so close. I didn’t think he liked anyone!”

You froze, suddenly hyperaware of the stares and murmurs from other students. Your hands dropped to your sides, and you glanced down, your earlier happiness fading into self-consciousness.

Damian, noticing the shift in your demeanor, stepped closer to you, shielding you slightly from the prying eyes. His voice was low, meant only for you. “Ignore them. They don’t matter.”

You looked up at him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose. “Easier said than done.”

“They’re just jealous,” he said bluntly, his tone confident and unbothered. “Let them whisper. It doesn’t change anything.”

His calm, steady presence eased some of your nerves, and you nodded slowly. “Thanks, Damian.”

He adjusted the bracelet on his wrist, glancing at you again. “I should be thanking you. This is… meaningful to me.”

Your blush deepened, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment. The two of you walked into the school together, side by side, and while the whispers didn’t stop, you found they bothered you a little less with Damian by your side.

Lunch was supposed to be your time to relax, but the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. You sat at your usual spot under the tree in the courtyard, picking at your lunch absentmindedly. Damian wasn’t with you—he’d gotten caught up talking to a teacher—but that didn’t bother you. What did bother you was the group of girls approaching, their loud, purposeful footsteps and saccharine smiles making your stomach churn.

You looked up just as they stopped in front of you, their ringleader—a blonde girl you vaguely recognized from one of your classes—crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey, Y/N,” she started, her tone dripping with mock sweetness.

“Hi,” you replied flatly, already bracing yourself for whatever this was going to be.

“You know, we’ve all been talking,” she said, gesturing to the other girls behind her, who giggled on cue. “And we think it’s really… cute that you’re hanging around Damian Wayne. But don’t you think you’re, like, a little out of your league?”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

The blonde’s smile widened, turning sharper. “Oh, it’s not. We just thought you’d want to know what everyone’s saying. You know, about how weird you are.”

One of the other girls chimed in, snickering. “Yeah, like, what’s up with your arms? Did you fall into a shredder or something?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your scars—ones you’d spent years trying to accept—felt like they were burning under their stares.

“Seriously, though,” another girl added, leaning closer to get a better look. “Do you think Damian even knows about those? Or do you cover them up when you’re around him?”

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Shut up,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with barely contained anger.

The blonde smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, relax. We’re just saying he deserves someone who’s, you know… normal. Not some freak with scars and—”

Before she could finish, your fist connected with her jaw, the force sending her stumbling back with a shocked cry. Gasps erupted around you as the courtyard fell silent, all eyes turning to the commotion.

The blonde staggered, holding her jaw with wide eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she shrieked.

“Stay away from me,” you spat, your voice shaking.

“You’re crazy!” another girl shouted.

“Y/N!”

Damian’s voice cut through the chaos, and you turned to see him striding toward you, his expression dark and commanding. He stepped between you and the group of girls, his presence alone enough to make them take a step back.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his tone icy.

The blonde stammered, still holding her jaw. “She—she punched me!”

“And why would she do that?” Damian asked coolly, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.

“She’s psycho!” the girl behind her hissed.

“Or,” Damian said, his voice dangerously low, “you were harassing her, and she defended herself.”

The blonde’s face turned red, but she didn’t reply.

“Listen carefully,” Damian continued, his tone firm and unyielding. “Y/N is my friend—my best friend. If you think for a second that I’d tolerate anyone disrespecting her, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“But, Damian—” the blonde started, her voice trembling.

He cut her off with a sharp glare. “I will never like you. Ever. So do yourself a favor and leave her alone.”

The girls exchanged glances, their bravado crumbling under his words. Finally, the blonde huffed, turning on her heel. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

They scurried away, whispering amongst themselves, but you didn’t care. Your heart was still racing, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Damian turned to you, his expression softening. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, though your voice wavered when you spoke. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with people like them,” he said firmly, his gaze lingering on your arms for a moment before meeting your eyes. “They’re cowards who prey on others to hide their own insecurities.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words settling over you. “Thanks, Damian.”

He gave you a rare, small smile. “Always.”

As you both sat back under the tree, the whispers around the courtyard slowly faded, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.

After school, you and Damian walked to your house together, the tension of the lunchtime incident having long since dissipated. The air between you felt lighter now, with Damian keeping his usual calm demeanor, though he stuck close to you as if to silently remind you that he had your back.

When you reached your front door, you unlocked it and called out, “Dad, I’m home!”

Your dad appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His face lit up when he saw Damian. “Damian! Good to see you, kid. How’s school treating you?”

Damian gave a polite nod, his posture impeccable as always. “Good afternoon, sir. School has been… manageable.”

Your dad chuckled. “Manageable, huh? Sounds like a Damian kind of answer. You’re keeping Y/N out of trouble, I hope?”

“Actually,” Damian said with a faint smirk, “it’s more often the other way around.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing despite yourself.

Your dad laughed too, clearly charmed. “Well, I trust you two. Just don’t burn the house down while I’m gone. I’ve got to run to the store for a bit.”

“Got it, Dad,” you said, waving him off. As he grabbed his keys and left, you motioned for Damian to follow you upstairs.

Once inside your room, you dropped your bag by your desk and flopped onto the bed. Damian, ever formal, took a seat in your desk chair, observing the space as if cataloging every detail.

“You can relax, you know,” you teased.

“I am relaxed,” he replied, though his rigid posture said otherwise.

Rolling your eyes, you sat up and began unbuttoning the top few buttons of your blouse to loosen the collar. The moment you did, Damian’s eyes widened, and a faint blush crept onto his cheeks.

“Y/N,” he blurted out, sitting bolt upright. “I—I’m not ready!”

You froze, staring at him in confusion before realizing what he meant. Your face flushed crimson. “What?! That’s not what I was doing, Damian! That’s weird!”

He blinked, his blush deepening as he fumbled to recover. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it!” you said, burying your face in your hands. But then, despite your embarrassment, a small laugh escaped you.

Damian looked at you, his lips twitching as if he was fighting a smile. “You’re laughing?”

“It’s funny!” you managed, peeking at him through your fingers. “You thought—ugh, never mind!”

A quiet chuckle escaped Damian, and soon you were both laughing, the earlier awkwardness melting away.

As the laughter died down, Damian leaned back in the chair, his usual composure slowly returning. “For the record,” he said, his tone dry but tinged with amusement, “I should have known better. You’re not that impulsive.”

“Gee, thanks,” you replied, rolling your eyes but still smiling. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

Damian smirked faintly, his posture relaxing as he watched you. “You know what I mean. I overreacted.”

“You think?” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning back against your headboard. “You looked like I’d just proposed something indecent.”

He huffed, his cheeks still faintly pink. “It was an honest mistake.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Honest, huh? What, did you think I was just going to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Damian interrupted, his voice sharp but his expression more flustered than anything else.

You laughed again, the sound filling the room, and Damian’s shoulders seemed to loosen at the sound. It was rare for him to fully relax, but moments like this made you feel like you were peeling back layers of the stoic facade he always carried.

“Alright, fine,” you said, sitting up properly and smoothing out your blouse. “Truce. I won’t tease you anymore.”

“Good,” Damian said, though his tone was softer now.

The room grew quieter, the initial awkwardness now replaced with an easy comfort. Damian’s eyes drifted to the friendship bracelet still wrapped around his wrist, and he absently adjusted it.

“By the way,” he said, breaking the silence, “your dad seems… nice.”

You smiled at that. “He likes you, you know.”

Damian tilted his head slightly. “Does he?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “He’s always telling me how ‘polite’ you are, and how it’s nice I have someone like you looking out for me.”

Damian looked thoughtful for a moment. “He’s… supportive of you. That’s good. Not everyone has that.”

Something in his tone caught your attention, but before you could ask about it, he glanced around your room, his sharp eyes landing on the stack of books by your bed.

“Are you still reading The Odyssey?” he asked, clearly redirecting the conversation.

“Yeah,” you said, letting him change the subject for now. “But it’s taking me forever. That language is so dense.”

“Perhaps I could help you with it,” Damian offered. “My mother insisted I study classical literature extensively. I could explain the parts you find difficult.”

Your eyes lit up. “Seriously? You’d do that?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay, but only if you don’t turn it into a pop quiz,” you teased, earning a small smirk from him.

As the two of you settled into an easy rhythm, the earlier awkwardness felt like a distant memory. For all his sharp edges and guarded demeanor, Damian had a way of making you feel seen, even when words weren’t enough. And right now, that was more than enough.

The evening light outside your bedroom window began to dim, casting a soft glow across the room. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, your notebook open, Damian sitting beside you with his arms crossed, a rare look of concentration on his face. The comfortable silence between you was interrupted when Damian cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice quieter than usual. You turned to look at him, noting the slight shift in his posture, the subtle nervousness in his usually confident demeanor.

“Yeah?” you asked, tilting your head.

Damian shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tapping lightly on the bedspread. “I… uh… I need to tell you something.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his tone. He was always composed, so this was something new. “What is it?” you asked, your voice softening.

“I’ve… been meaning to say this for a while, but…” He paused, eyes avoiding yours for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts. “I—” He took a breath and finally looked at you, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours. “I think I… I love you, Y/N.”

You froze, your mind racing as his words sank in. Damian Wayne, the boy who was always so controlled, so guarded, was confessing to you? It took a moment for your heart to catch up with your brain.

“I… love you too,” you whispered, your voice a little shaky, though the words felt completely natural coming out of your mouth.

Damian’s eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth as if to say something more, but you didn’t give him the chance. Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if you both were unsure of what this moment meant. But it didn’t take long before the kiss deepened, a silent agreement between you both that this was what you wanted. Your heart raced, and you pulled back just slightly, breathless.

Damian blinked at you, still processing, his face flushed, but there was a genuine smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You kissed me first,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

“I thought you’d never get there,” you teased, your smile matching his.

Damian shook his head in disbelief, but the smile never left his face. “I should’ve known you’d be the one to make the first move.”

The next morning, as you walked through the school gates with Damian by your side, it felt like something had changed in the air. The way people looked at you—more specifically, how they looked at the two of you—was different. Whispers followed in your wake, but now you didn’t mind.

Damian, ever the stoic figure, seemed unaffected by the attention, but you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as you held his hand. The warmth of his fingers entwined with yours grounded you, and for once, you didn’t care about the prying eyes.

As you reached the entrance of the school, a few boys from your grade approached you, their casual expressions betraying the curiosity in their eyes.

“Yo, Y/N!” one of them called out, nudging the others. “So, what’s the deal with you and Wayne?”

You blinked at him, a little caught off guard by the question. Damian didn’t even look at them, his jaw tightening slightly, but he didn’t pull away from you.

“Yeah, I thought you two were just friends,” another boy chimed in, clearly trying to get a reaction. “Didn’t see this coming.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Damian, his grip on your hand tightening slightly in a protective manner. But instead of feeling irritated or nervous, you felt a strange sense of calm.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you said simply, looking the boys in the eye with a confidence you didn’t know you had before.

The boys looked at each other in surprise, clearly taken aback. “Wait, really?” the first one asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Damian Wayne? You two are together?”

Damian’s lips curled into the slightest of smirks, the way he always did when he was amused. “Why does that surprise you?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was a certain edge to it.

“Well, I guess we didn’t think you were the type to… you know,” the second boy said, trailing off, clearly uncomfortable now. “But hey, congrats, I guess.”

The group of boys exchanged uncertain looks, and after a moment of silence, they nodded and walked off, leaving you and Damian standing together.

You looked up at him, still holding his hand, and felt a wave of warmth wash over you. “That was… weird,” you admitted, your cheeks a little flushed.

Damian’s smirk turned into a small smile as he glanced down at you. “It’s fine. Let them gossip. It’s none of their business.”

You nodded, feeling a little more confident than you had before. As the day went on, more people began to notice the change between you and Damian, and soon enough, whispers turned into stares. But you didn’t care. Not with him by your side, holding your hand, his presence the reassurance you needed to face whatever came next.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and you took your usual seat next to Damian, the day feeling as normal as any other. You were still adjusting to holding hands with him in public, but his quiet, steady presence next to you made the whispers and stares from before feel insignificant. However, as the teacher began calling roll, you noticed someone new entering the classroom— a girl with long, wavy brown hair and striking features, her eyes scanning the room as she made her way to an empty desk.

“That’s the new girl,” you whispered to Damian, who glanced up at her before returning his gaze to his notebook.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Damian said, his tone a little colder than usual.

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could ask anything further, the new girl was introduced by the teacher.

“Class,” the teacher began, “this is Jessica. She’s transferring here from another school, so please make her feel welcome.”

Jessica flashed a bright smile as she took her seat, which just happened to be next to Damian. You could feel the shift in the air almost immediately. Damian’s usual cool demeanor seemed to stiffen, and his posture straightened, becoming more rigid.

The class went on, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Every time Jessica spoke to Damian, his replies were short, clipped, and distant, but there was something in his eyes that unsettled you—something that felt a little too familiar.

It wasn’t until after class, when everyone started packing up to head to the next period, that the situation became more apparent.

Jessica, her eyes glinting with an almost smug confidence, leaned over the desk toward Damian, her voice sweet but with an edge. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Damian?”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest at her tone, but you kept your mouth shut, watching the interaction unfold.

Damian stiffened, his face unreadable. “Not long enough,” he muttered under his breath.

Jessica chuckled, as if she found his discomfort amusing. “Come on, Damian, don’t be like that. You know I didn’t leave things on bad terms.”

You couldn’t help but notice how her hand brushed against his arm as she spoke, a deliberate, almost flirtatious gesture. The entire scene made your stomach churn.

As the conversation continued, you noticed something that made your heart skip: Jessica’s eyes flicked down to the bracelet on Damian’s wrist, the one you had made for him.

“Oh?” she said, a smirk creeping across her lips as she leaned closer to inspect the bracelet. “This is cute. Who gave you that, Damian?”

Your chest tightened at her tone, but before you could say anything, she turned her gaze to you, a cold smile forming. “Oh, wait,” she continued, her eyes narrowing in recognition. “You.”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as her words took shape.

“Did you make that for him, Y/N?” Jessica’s voice was dripping with sarcasm now, her smile turning cruel. “How sweet. You really think you’re… what, special to him? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Damian’s body tensed beside you, but it wasn’t until Jessica’s next words that you saw the anger flash in his eyes.

She chuckled darkly, her gaze flicking to your arms, where your scars were faintly visible under your sleeves. “It’s adorable, really. A girl like you thinking you can actually hold on to someone like Damian. Look at you. What do you even have to offer?”

The laughter that followed was harsh, almost bitter. “You’re pathetic. No wonder you’ve got all those scars on your arms. Probably another way to hide how ugly you really are.”

You felt like the world was collapsing around you as Jessica’s words cut through you like knives. You could feel every inch of your skin burning under the weight of her cruel words.

Before you could even respond, though, Damian’s hand shot out, grabbing Jessica’s wrist tightly and yanking it away from his arm.

“Enough,” Damian said, his voice low and icy, the anger evident in his features.

Jessica was taken aback, her eyes wide for a moment before narrowing again. “What’s the matter, Damian? Can’t take a joke? Did you forget who I am?”

“I don’t need reminders,” Damian spat, his grip tightening slightly on her wrist. “And you will not talk to her that way again.”

Jessica seemed momentarily stunned by his sudden intensity. “Oh, really? You’re defending her?” she asked, her voice mocking.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Damian said coldly, turning to you. He reached for your hand, his expression softening as he looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Your heart ached, but you nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m fine,” you said, though your voice shook a little.

Damian’s gaze didn’t leave you as he stood up, leading you out of the classroom with a protective air. He didn’t let go of your hand as you both walked down the hallway, his presence a shield against the world.

“Damian, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, feeling guilty for causing such a scene.

He shook his head, his jaw set. “She had no right to say those things. No one has the right to treat you that way. You’re not pathetic, Y/N. You never have been.”

You swallowed, your heart swelling at his words. “Thanks, Damian.”

As you reached the exit of the school, the sound of whispers and stares followed you, but this time, they didn’t bother you as much. You knew Damian was there, and that was enough.

After school, as the final bell rang, Damian turned to you with a slight hesitation in his usual composed demeanor. “Y/N,” he began, his voice unusually soft. “Would you like to come over to my house today? I… I thought we could hang out.”

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. Damian didn’t often extend these kinds of offers, and you’d never actually been to the Wayne estate. “Sure, I’d love to,” you said with a smile, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

“Good,” he said, his lips curving slightly upward, though he tried to hide it behind a faint frown. “I’ll have Alfred pick you up.”

“Alfred?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is he really that formal?”

Damian’s smirk returned, but there was a certain warmth in his eyes. “He’s just… proper. But you’ll see.”

A few minutes later, you were standing outside the school gates, the crisp air of late afternoon making you wrap your arms around yourself as you waited. You weren’t sure exactly what to expect, but the thought of spending time at Damian’s house felt strangely thrilling.

Alfred pulled up in the sleek black car, his ever-dignified presence bringing an instant sense of calm. He smiled warmly when he saw you.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/N,” Alfred greeted, opening the car door for you. “It’s a pleasure to have you join us at the manor.”

You slid into the car, feeling a little out of place but grateful for Alfred’s kind demeanor. Damian joined you, the car pulling away smoothly from the school grounds.

As you drove through the city, the atmosphere between you and Damian felt lighter, almost like a new kind of understanding had settled between you. You could tell that he was a little nervous, but it was different than before—this time, it wasn’t the weight of his usual guardedness. It was… something else.

After a short drive, the car pulled into the grand driveway of Wayne Manor. You couldn’t help but stare at the sprawling estate as it came into view, its towering spires and vast grounds almost intimidating in their size.

“You live here?” you asked, incredulous as the car pulled to a stop.

Damian nodded, unbothered by your astonishment. “Yes. It’s… large. But I’ve gotten used to it.”

As you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all. Alfred led you inside, and as you entered the mansion, the atmosphere felt oddly homey—despite the wealth and luxury surrounding you.

“Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said, turning to lead you both into the living room. “Master Bruce will be joining you shortly.”

You settled onto the large couch, your nerves calming slightly as you looked around at the tasteful decor. Everything seemed meticulously arranged, as if the mansion’s beauty was only outdone by the care with which it was maintained.

Soon, the door to the living room opened, and in walked none other than Bruce Wayne. He was dressed in casual attire, a far cry from his usual formal wear, yet his presence was undeniably commanding. When he saw you, his face softened into a warm smile.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Bruce said, extending his hand.

You took it, smiling back at him. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce chuckled, his eyes glinting with something amused. “Please, call me Bruce. Damian talks a lot about you.”

You blinked, surprised by his statement. “He does?”

Damian, who had been standing nearby, immediately stiffened and turned a shade of red you rarely ever saw. “Father, you don’t need to—”

But Bruce just smiled knowingly, cutting him off. “Oh, he does, believe me. He’s been telling me all about his… friend,” Bruce teased, the playful gleam in his eyes making both you and Damian blush.

Damian scowled, his arms folding tightly across his chest. “You didn’t have to bring that up.”

You, on the other hand, felt a little warmth spread across your cheeks at the comment. “I, uh… I’m glad to hear it.” You cleared your throat, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s nice to be here.”

Bruce chuckled softly, clearly amused by the tension between you and his son. “I’m sure Damian’s been a good host. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. Alfred will bring us something to drink shortly.”

Damian grumbled quietly to himself, but when you glanced at him, you saw the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was clear that despite his usual tough exterior, he was a little embarrassed by his father’s teasing.

You sat on the couch, feeling the weight of the situation shift. Bruce sat down beside you, continuing the conversation as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His easygoing nature made you feel more at ease in this unfamiliar setting, and for a moment, it felt like just another casual hangout—despite the grandeur of the place.

“Damian’s mentioned that you’ve been getting along quite well,” Bruce said, his tone light. “I’m glad to see him… opening up a little.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t protest this time. Instead, he simply leaned back into the couch beside you, crossing his arms with his usual aloofness, though his eyes flickered toward you occasionally, a soft hint of something more in his gaze.

After a while, Alfred entered the room with drinks for all three of you. He set them down on the coffee table with his usual impeccable grace before stepping back with a nod.

“You two make yourselves comfortable,” Alfred said, with a wink in your direction. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

As he left, you and Damian exchanged a glance, both of you now sitting in the kind of comfortable silence that only the two of you could share. You weren’t sure what the night would bring, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, you realized that, for the first time in a while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[misanthrapologist]

okay I have some stuff I wanna spout about nowhere and ivan himself now having the official lyrics and various translations. someone please listen to my ramblings.

starting off this song is clearly about him and his struggles about himself and his whole life. we see this overall from the lyrics and of course the cover.

if black sorrow was hopeless then this is beyond hopeless. the "this/that always happens to me" is just a clear sign right off the bat about this along with the "it's so typical, typical to me" it's it's obvious just how used to always being in these awful situations he is "that's just how it is" and how it'll always be, how it'll end "it's stained with blood" (can he stop that man you just jinxed your own pretty much suicide) he's always expected a death that's obviously not going to be that normal or say "happy" for lack of me thinking of a better word of a death, but it's okay, he's content with that cause it's what would've always happened no matter what. it's always how everything goes for him. fate sealed to an awful end from the beginning of his life.

the dream and hope slowly going from rose to purple to black once again shows this hope slipping away never to be fully back again no matter what. even if for a second he gains a bit of hope back, it's pointless. it'll always end wrong and it's back to his usual life. "wake up, wake up in my overwhelming daily/beautiful life. is it for real? an existence like dust, I can't stand to look at it, close my eyes and my mind" he's clearly unhappy with his life (to a point) and himself, preffering to look away, ignore it and forget as much as he can as to not stress about it anymore than necessary. it's easier that way rather than facing it or communicating about it at all. and we know how he is when it comes to all that. he's shit at it and doesn't know how to really do it so obviously that's what he does. the "is it for real?" is honestly kind of funny tbh. yet so meaningful. in a way it could mean that it's hard to believe what's happening and that it's better than anything he ever had in the slums or in general. maybe a feeling of unworthiness of these things in regards to the "beautiful life" line, since although not the best, again, better than anything he could've ever wished for. or maybe something else.

we already knew he does not like himself and is truthfully not confident. he certainly.attempts to be as we see from the act/personality he puts on but even then he ends it off with a way to slightly jab at himself as we see in his interview where when asked about his charm he says he has more flaws and his looks being "quite average". along with a mention about his teeth or rather tooth. here I'd like to mention the line "with that revolting tooth"/"with these disgusting teeth" this stuck out to me since it's very obviously him once again hating on himself. it's clearly a part many like/mention about him a lot. but it's him, who he is and of course he hates it. the constant descriptions of him from the team and himself being that he's "twisted" and variations of that further show just how deep this hatred goes. this feeling of abnormality and wrongness. the feeling you're so vastly different from everyone and needing to learn how to be normal and like the others in order to fit in and be liked. an act. one he's put up his whole life nearly down to his death before he does everything at the end of round 6. even in official arts of him being genuine in canon we don't see much except strong distress. which is so utterly fitting to how he thinks and is. of course he's distressed whenever he's alone and himself, putting on an act so different from himself pretty much all day every day of your life really takes that kind of toll on you. I don't blame him for looking so pissed off when he's alone it's stressful pretending to be someone who you're not, someone who you had to learn to be to survive, someone who you were forced to perfect to the best of your abilities to be likeable in some way, someone who may as well be their own separate person at that point. (I could go on and on but I have so much else to talk about my bad.)

"this painful wound that keeps getting worse, I become more and more numb to it" says a lot and could be referring to many different things. but why not everything? I see it as this reffering once again to his life as a whole and way of living as an act. after so many years, you get used to this the more you do it and the more things happen.

"In the dark city lights I can't find anyone, anyone, anyone" this could mean a variety of things really. having no one to truly relate to as a metaphor of sorts or just being alone in the past in the slums or both even. a lot if not most of these lyrics as seen tie back to the way he lives and thinks about himself, further making me believe this song truly is just a better, even clearer look at his true self.

now with lyrics I thought had one meaning even before the official release that just become less of a reach on my end that I'll talk about more broken up. "that's just the kind of kid he is, so laugh, laugh because he can't do anything" this one I immediately think about his issue about not presenting and being like everyone else having to learn to be "human" in a sense. (along with his again self deprecation being the one writing these and singing them) "can't do anything" makes me believe this even more since he didn't really know how to express anything considered human before being taught how to or being forced to teach himself for example how to smile. a basic human action everyone naturally knows how to do. but he doesn't. he had to learn and be forced to do things like that. observing people and picking up how to do things "right". "no one cares about him, there's nowhere in the world for him to rest, that's just how he is" again reffering to his true nature. feeling uncared for and "rightfully" hated in your own eyes. wanting to change and trying to change and pretending yet knowing it'll never truly be real or enough to feel something. "rest" here could either mean literally as in he doesn't get a damn break, never really had anywhere to go at all and has been alone his whole life or doesn't get a break from faking everything I mean with such insane security and obviously being under such pressure it's hard to fully put your guard down anywhere. though I won't say only one since I honestly think it could once again have many meanings, cause most things he says in this song can be taken in different ways that still perfectly fit with his character. "he's smooth, flexible, quite easy" and the rest of this verse coullddddd be reffering to his act. I think so at least. I already said how I feel about that no need to repeat myself.

that's a lot and honestly all I got without repeating myself for the rest I hope this was coherent enough and makes at least some sense. I just wanted to get all this out my system and if anyone has anything to add go ahead and uhbmy bad for getting a little personal but writing all this and thinking about it is honestly therapeutic?? in a way. I so awfully and deeply relate to this guy half the time I think or talk about him and his issues I stop and think about how I'm basically describing myself. he's truly such an insanely well written and interesting character I'm not wven surprised I latched onto him so much I don't even really know what I'm doing okay bye :3

[alessabriel]

Only one doll.

Summary: They found something to hold on to, to love and they won't let go, even if you want to run away from them...you never can (or so they thought).

Cw. Dark content, typical canon violence, gore, mental disorders, suicidal thoughts, dark CaitVi, dark romance (or worse), dead dove, divergence from canon at best.

"You just have to obey, okay? We don't like to hurt you," Caitlyn said in a soft, measured, controlled voice, looking at her with her one uncovered eye and cradling her chin, lifting her up so that their gazes would meet.

The doll can only see that face she loved one day, features that showed pure and sincere love at one time now staining so slowly with profuse, deep and terrifying darkness. Intentions that are not hidden in those eyes I once loved and intentions that intend to leave her disabled, at her mercy, at the mercy of both.

She lives in a hell coated in gold.

Fear begins to rise so fast, as the grip on her chin increases in strength and terror settles under her ribs enlarging until it occupies all available space, pressing her organs outward, pressing against her ribs so hard that they may well break under the weight of the doll's fear of them and it is impossible for her not to shed tears, to tremble when she hears that purposefully heavy gait.

"I-I'll be good, I promise" stammers the doll with pain breathing through her pores, tears pooling in her eyes but refusing to shed them until she feels a finger press against the bullet wound in her leg and the doll stifles a scream, pulling away from the sheriff's hands trying not to go crazy; she had tried to run away and had almost succeeded but a bullet in her thigh had knocked her down "I-I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear" the doll recites desperately trying not to throw up, not to look them in the face because that will destroy the only good memories she has of them; Caitlyn and Vi.

But they won't allow her that indulgence.

"Lift your head girl" Vi commands, her voice being soft but there is a steel underneath, a steel that could very well hurt that forces the doll to obey; she sits up lifting her head still on her knees in her room and looking at Vi with her eyes watering with tears "Will you do it again? Use your head silly girl you can't run away, we had already told you"

The doll only feels the bile in her throat, the voice she once adored and the soft eyes she once loved for how sincere they were, right now she wished to tear them out with her own fingers or her own to never see her again. He once loved her voice that whispered love in his ears, that assured him to love her as intensely as he loved the Sheriff, maybe it wasn't true and it was all a lie from both of them.

"We don't want to increase your punishments" she tried, again to sound kind Caitlyn but irony, mockery and sarcasm seeped into her tone.

She understood, and could only grit her teeth, holding back that will go like boiling lava inside her.

"But you're making us be mean to you Is that what you want?" Vi questioned, taking a few steps closer to the sweet doll kneeling on what was once a nice light red carpet and leaned down, staring at her; still everything she loved was still there, a little stained by fear but it didn't matter and she reached out her hand, touching that angelic little face sliding her thumb down her cheek brushing away the tears "Cait and I don't want to be mean to you princess, but you're making it hard for us Running away? You understand we were scared our little love would run away"

«as if they would care, you psycho bitches» thinks the doll but she would rip her skin to shreds before she would speak in front of them, she would rip her vocal cords out if she could so she would never speak to them and never have that pair of deranged women hear her voice again. But he forces himself, he forces himself and at will, with something tucked deep in the back of his mind where they could never touch anything he would always cling to; father and sister. She disconnected, she needed to do it because she could never run away from the damn Kiramman mansion, nor Piltover and she didn't want to endanger who is like an older sister to her, truth be told she was afraid of them and of herself, dad had not raised a weak woman but right now in front of an Enforcer capable of breaking a man's skull with her bare hands and a sheriff that could shoot you even from miles away, her survival instinct came into play.

She would live, and she would mold that damned jail with her bare hands.

"I-I'll be good, sorry for escaping" the doll whispers, her voice trembling before closing her pink iris eyes and shedding tears, beginning to sob for real letting go of the emotional anguish and that tiny part that still contained hope that they would realize what they were doing was so fucking wrong but that hope shattered it and went infinite in tears of faint pink transparency "I-I was afraid and I-I was dumb, sorry, sorry, s-sorry, s-sorry"

It would return that prison of theirs, one way or another.

[smilesatdawnmain]

Qi Xue

(I gave her a redesign!) As delicate as a lily, and as cunning as a viper, it’s never easy to know what is on this young lady’s mind. As cheeky and cute as her Dad, but as clever as her baba, she seems like the best of both worlds. 

Haoyu: There is a sense of exasperated jealousy when she considers her eldest brother. Being the oldest he is entitled to the thrown, the power, and the expectations to rule- all things she herself wants and KNOWS he does not. Still, there is a soft spot for her mellow and quiet sibling, who she oftens steals away to join her for shopping. As someone who is often listening instead of screaming his own opinions, there comes a sense of wisdom from him that she values. Yet, she also knows that he is a gentle soul. Too gentle in fact, that is easy to trick him. Which she does, often. With a bat of her eye lashes and pucker to her lips, she has him running tasks for her that she quite easily could do herself. And when he realizes later, all she needs to do is offer a little “I’m sorry, Gege (Elder brother),” and the man bends over backwards to forgive her. She wishes this world was a tad kinder to her Brother, even if she isn’t always. 

MK: Many often say Haoyu is the most like their Father, the Monkey King, but she would have to argue that it is Xiaotian that best holds that title. Haoyu may be their Father’s spitting image, but MK is the very essence of his soul. Overprotective, a bit conceited, lovable, cheeky, and someone you can’t help but love with everything you have. All her plans he’ll come barging in with “good intentions” and ruin all the progress she’s made. Xue would have a lot more suckers under her thumb if her big brother didn’t have this insistent desire to “be the hero”. And when he does realize he accidentally stopped one of her schemes her gives her the Baba speech of “I’m not mad. Just disappointed”. Such a pain… she supposed there was something admirable about it too however. Her brother was a charmer, and everyone knew it. Pretty like Baba, bubbly like their Father, all with his own MK adorableness. Shame he never uses all that to gain favor in the political world. 

Xiaohua: The “little flower” of the family. Being his name yes, she never felt it matched him as a person. He was smart. As smart as their Baba, with just a smidge of recklessness that their Father was known for. It made him unpredictable though, which was an asset in of itself. If she needed something done, and done right, he is the person she could go to. Need a precious gem stolen for 24 hours to use for a ball? He’s got it. Need to toss an ​​uncooperative asset into a pit until they squeal the info they had? He’s already taken care of it. Need to gush about crushes while dolling themselves up- Yeah, you go to Xiaohua. If there was one sibling she could turn to for anything, no questions asked, no judgment given, it was him. Now, if only he would just focus a bit more on his appearance and stopped dressing in the strangest clothes- then he’d be perfect! Alas, he was not, but it gave her something to do every morning as she critiqued his wardrobe and got him set right for the day. 

Sying: Her only sister. Of course, Rumble was her “Sister” for a time, but is now one of her many brothers. So… that leaves the one and only sister. It was hard sometimes being a girl in a male-dominated family. Though, many in the tribe are females, in their close blood-related family, it is only them. This means nothing to Sying, of course, as she never thinks of such trivial details. It was something to admire, Xue admits. They can’t talk about clothes, or gossip, or politics- they can’t even talk about boys for pete sake since Sying much rather prefers the fair maidens of the world. They have nothing in common as far as Xue can think. Yet, despite this, Sying rushes to her the moment any pretty-eyed lady catches her fancy. It makes Xue happy that her big sister values her opinion on the matter. Is even willing to stand still for a few hours while Xue uses her as a model for her latest clothes. Hardly close in hobbies, but close in the ways that truly matter. 

Savage: He’s an idiot, if she is honest. And she is nothing if not honest. She loves him, of course she does, but if she had the chance to just step in his brain and clean the place up, she would. He spends his days pranking others, which isn’t an unenjoyable pass time, but if he put even an ounce of that effort into something more constructive, he’d go so far. He knows nothing of politics, the ways their kingdom is structured, the tasks that is expected of him as a Prince- its infuriating! The fact that he would have claim to the throne before her is just-!!! UGHHH! At least he has learned lately not to even consider dragging her into his little pranks. He’ll wind up completely shaved from head to toe if he even tries. Still- he has his moments. She likes how cheerful he is. A blissful idiot, perhaps, but… sometimes a smile made the day brighter. He also always buys her a ton of sweets and treats, so he isn’t the worst allll the time. Just most of the time.  

Rumble: Xue does not understand how Rumble and Savage are twins. Put all the annoying muck to the left, and you’d get Savage. Put all the sweet fluff to the right, and you’d get Rumble. Sensible, quiet, creative- Rumble brings so much into the world with hardly a sound in return. Rumble sees beyond what is on the outside for who a person is deep down, which is something Xue struggles with sometimes. Baba says it is because of her age, and that it will improve as she gets older, but Rumble has been introspective like that since he was little. Probably because he himself felt different then what the world saw him as. She often thinks of Rumble when considering who she considers allies. “Never judge a book by it’s cover”. If Xue needs a sense of peace, she will got to Rumble. Rumble also doesn’t take anyone’s BS, which Xue appreciates more than anything else. 

Bao: The only younger sibling Xue has, she feels they understand her best. All of Bao’s older siblings are her older siblings. Even know, despite being just a bit older, she can tell their parents look at both of them as delicate little things to protect. Bao is sweet. Eager to play with them all, eager to be like them- they are still figuring out who they are as a person. She however, feels she knows Bao a little better then most. On their own, Bao doesn’t show a lot of aptitude for fighting. They can sing incredibly well, and certainly has their Baba’s creative gene. As for their Father’s fighting prowess, that has yet to be seen… at least, that is what everyone else says. Xue feels she sees Bao a bit differently. They are showing early talent with a sword… with a bow… with a staff, a spear- you name it, if you put it in Bao’s hands, they pick it up very quickly. Then there is that Shade of their’s. Something about it feels different- and she has never seen anyone even get close to Bao with that thing around. Bao has power. Power that just hasn’t been realized at their young age. And she is so incredibly excited to see where it goes. It is a sharp tie between Bao and Xiaohua as her favorite sibling

Previous sibling Qi Rumble

Next Sibling Qi Bao

[1toreyouapart]

Exorcizamus

Summary: Life on the road, hunting the things that went bump in the night was a lonely life, admittedly. But having Ruffilo by his side made it all a bit more bearable. They had set out as children, led only by Jolly, to hunt the thing that had killed his best friend, and nearly them as well. Noah couldn't do it without him, honestly. Ruffilo was the brains and he was the brawn in the whole operation.

Adeline was a small town girl. Working to live and living to work. Until she found herself being hunted by the very thing her dad had always told her was just pretend. When the brothers save her, her understanding of the world is flipped upside down.

CW/TW: all things paranormal, death, swearing, smut (updated as it is written to include specific warnings), talk of religion, horror, demons. As always, if I forget anything please don’t hesitate to let me know!

Adeline

FIVE YEARS AGO

Terror seized her in its grasp as ice formed on the windows, the room growing frighteningly cold in spite of the heat being on full blast. Frantic she looked around, watching her breath puff out in front of her. There was something there in the room with her. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was there.

For weeks she had been experiencing weird things happening around her. Ever since she picked up that antique wardrobe. Lights would flicker even when there was no reason for them to do that. Things would fall over or just fly across the room. One night she had come home from work and heard footsteps. Literal footsteps.

And then there was the voices. Oh, God. The voices drove her insane the most. Faint whispers of her name here and there. At first so quiet and so infrequent that she thought she was going crazy at first. Maybe it was lack of sleep. But then it grew more frequent. And then louder. So much so that at times it was like it was screaming at her.

"ADELINE!" The voice screeched, shattering the windows in the room.

White hot searing pain erupted behind her eyes and she fell to her knees, grasping the sides of her head. It felt like her brain was going to explode. The scream she let out was inhuman. It sounded like something was clawing its way out of her throat.

Whispers of her name echoed around her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as quiet settled in. Normally she would be grateful for this silence. This time, however, it felt sinister. Like it was tricking her. Tears fell from her eyes, staining the floor underneath her. She just wanted it to stop. She would do anything for it to stop. All she wanted was peace.

Then she heard it. A loud rumbling outside. A voice calling to her from upstairs. Her breathing grew shallow, unsteady. It was taunting her. What could it want from her? Desperate for relief she rose to her feet once more, letting them lead her to the bottom of the staircase.

The front door started rattling as something outside banged on it, calling her name. She looked back at the door, recognizing a voice she had only heard just that morning. One of the antiquers who had shown up, asking her all sorts of weird questions about the wardrobe. Something about how it was a special one and they were willing to buy it off of her right then. At this moment, she really wished she had let them take it from her.

"Adeline, baby. I need your help." Her mother's voice.

Deep down she knew that wasn't her mother calling to her from upstairs. Her mother had passed long ago, before she was even a year old. Dad had told her it was a house fire that took her. That he was lucky to get her out before the fire overwhelmed the entire house. But she couldn't stop herself as her feet moved, carrying her up the stairs in spite of everything in her screaming at her to run.

Dread festered in her stomach as she crept down the hall, her terror growing with every step she took. She knew she shouldn't be following the voice, yet she couldn't stop. Closer and closer until she stood just outside her bedroom door. A room she hadn't slept in in weeks because of this.

"Adeline. Help mommy, would you?"

Sweat trickled down her back. This was wrong. Why was she doing this? She needed to run, for fucks sake. Not walking into whatever trap this thing had set for her. Yet here she was, opening the door to her bedroom, freezing in terror at what she saw sitting on her bed.

They had burns covering a good 80-90% of their body. Burnt bald patches on their head. The eyes weren't human. Instead this bright yellow as it looked at her, their grin cracking the burnt places on their face, fresh blood trickling out. Sure, they sounded like her mom. But this wasn't her.

"You-You're not my mom," she sobbed, her voice raw from screaming. Why was she here? What had she done to deserve this?

Adeline was vaguely aware of the front door banging open, someone shouting her name. Of their own volition her feet carried her into her bedroom, her hands swinging the door shut. Vomit rose in her throat as the smell of burnt flesh mixed with sulfur engulfed her, the thing pretending to be her mother now standing in front of her. She wanted to scream. To cry. Beg for help or mercy, she didn't know.

"Took me decades to find you, Adeline. Your precious daddy kept you hidden well. But I always get what's mine."

Something she couldn't quite place her finger on took hold of her. It wasn't fear or terror. Something much stronger. Doom. It was impending doom. What did it mean that they always got what was theirs? Why her?

Soon all she could see was those yellow eyes, right in front of hers. Consuming her. Staring into those eyes was like being eaten from the inside out.

Thundering footsteps up the stairs. Shouting. Her heart seized in her chest, her lungs no longer working. No longer pulling in oxygen. Her vision turned fuzzy at the edges, moments before she heard someone shout a name as her vision went black.

Azazel.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lacy1986 @concretejunglefm @ichoosetenderomens @dontwantthemoney @chey-h

[theside-b]

Awww See Your Love, I'm going to miss your weird and crazy energy. This finale really encapsulates the best (and worst) of the show, but if there was one thing that was consistent throughout the series, it was that unique Taiwanese flavor.

The final episode makes it clear that we are watching at least three different shows at once: a sweet romance between Shaopeng and Zixiang, an odd couple comedy with Feng Jie and Xin Jia, and a barely there sapphic storyline with Jessica and Shuhe. All with varying degrees of success. I'll start with my least favorite and go up from there: Whatever happened with Feng Jie/Jonathan was fun, I really had a good time with them, especially in the early rounds with the ridiculous assassination attempts and cat and mouse game they had going, but as time went on and the script didn't have much room for them and simply didn't know how to integrate Xin Jia into the main story, they lost the spark (I was a bit disappointed that we got the answer to what really happened in their "first night", I wish it had been kept a mystery).

We had Jessica and Shuhe for about three weeks - and 5 minutes of screen time - but it was enough to show clear potential, we never get saphic storylines in Taiwanese BL shows, so I was pleasantly surprised by their natural chemistry, the writing done for them was highly beneficial, avoiding some of the traps usually seen with this kind of characters. So it's a shame we didn't get more out of them, there was clearly a lot of potential here.

Now for the crème de la crème: Shaopeng and Zixiang… it was just… dare I say "perfect" might be the word for them. The writing, the direction, the craftsmanship behind the show, it was clear that the series revolved around them, and both actors stepped up to the plate and delivered easily two of the best performances in the genre. And I will single out Shaopeng's Jin Yun: simply the best acting of any Taiwanese show in 2024 (would go as far as to say one of the best in general television of the past year). Playing a deaf-mute character is no small challenge, but having a disabled character like him as the protagonist elevated everything, and in the hands of a lesser actor it could have been a disaster. Fortunately, he was more than ready, and while Raiden Lin's Zixiang did some heavy lifting, it was Shaopeng who kept the story moving forward.

This show was always deceptively cute and wacky. It often hid what it was trying to say behind silly visual gags and cartoonish sound effects, luring viewers into a false sense of security before delivering emotional punches that left everyone reeling.

With mixed results, I would say; many felt that the attempted assault scene with Shuhe was jarring and unnecessary — about that particular moment, I was a bit surprised that the audience was surprised, because Taiwanese shows often have a certain violent aspect to them, no matter how unassuming a show may be, and considering that we are talking about the team behind Kiseki: Dear to Me, it was to be expected.

If there was one aspect that never really clicked for me, it was the gangster subplot involving our beloved Nat Chen. Whatever they were trying to do here really felt disconnected from everything else and that is saying something, because the whole show was hanging by a thread.

After a series of shows that offered a very different taste (Unknown, The Only One, First Note of Love), this one goes back to Taiwanese BL roots and shares so much DNA with its direct predecessors (Be Loved in House: I Do, Plus & Minus, Kiseki) that it was somewhat refreshing. And after some stumbles and poorly conceived characters, Shaopeng stands as one of the greatest, if not the best, disabled protagonists a BL show has ever had.

(Also, where is my Taro and Kai cameo???)

[celticcrossanon]

Hi Celta,

Thank you for expressing how you truly feel about Camilla. I’m glad that she’s being revealed for the person she is.

I got into a disagreement with a tarot reader on here because I called out her bias against the Wales. Her opinion was that William and Catherine were destroying the monarchy because they’re lazy, don’t want to work, are on ego trips against the King, especially Catherine all of last year, and they don’t want to take on assignments as ordered (which I suspect has a lot to do with reconciling with Harry, and bringing him back into the fold). She wanted to nitpick every decision and ongoing project the Wales have, and every single one was baaaaaad and destructive. All of this amid the worst health crisis they are facing, I thought it was highly unfair.

I challenged her to look at Charles as POW and asked what HIS plans were for the monarchy at William’s age (42), when he was newly married to Diana. Besides playing hide the sausage with Camilla at her sisters estate, ruminating about plants and architecture, I’m not aware of what his long term plans for the monarchy were. His decisions about the Duchy of Cornwall I’m sure were based on solid financial advice given to him by the best advisors. He’s had the better part of fifty years for his Princes Trust and Duchy to gain value on the stock exchange. What were his future plans for continuation of the monarchy really?? She got angry with me, and instead of answering the question, she blocked me, and called me a Wales worshipper and being delusional about William and Catherine.

Here we are in 2025, Charles is King and things are falling apart. It seems to me no one was asking Charles the same hard questions being asked of William. There was no accountability then and throughout Charles’ life, yet some people ( I strongly suspect Sussex sugars) are turning the screws on William and demanding the accountability they never asked of Charles. All of this to say, if you can turn back time, can you look at Charles when he was William’s age now, and ask what were his plans for the long lived continuation of his line?? It seems that’s the point of the monarchy, and Charles seemed only into having the best time, and not on thoughts of future. The future has now arrived with a bang, and now Charles seemed only to be interested in status quo. If you fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

I wish only the very best for the Wales, they have their work cut out.

Hi AnonymousRetired,

I think my main gripe with Queen Camilla is that for me, she is not acting like a queen. All the gloating and self glorifying PR is not what a Queen does, at any time, in public, and neither is showing disrespect for the country's main religion, the one of which her husband is head. It's just wrong, and it rubs me the wrong way, and then I get blunt in my assessments as I'm too irritated to be charitable.

I know a lot of people like Queen Camilla, and I am glad that she has supporters. I don't blame people for liking her. I wish I could - I wish I still had the grudging respect that I had for her before she opened her mouth and showed what she was really like - but I can't, and that is all there is too it. I wish her supporters well but I can no longer be one of them.

Some royal watchers are biased against the Prince and Princess of Wales. I have noticed that. There is no point in arguing with them as they are not open to reason or logic in that area.

They have built up their own community and their place in that community by abusing and bullying The Prince and Princess of Wales, and they are not going to change now. Part of that abuse is holding one standard for the King and Queen that is filled with excuses for their behaviour, and another, much higher standard for The Prince and Princess of Wales, where everything they do is torn apart and criticised to the nth degree, especially if there was nothing wrong with it in the first place.

What those royal watchers say about others is what they are guilty of themselves - their comments are projections of their own behaviour.

I ignore them, as what they say is of no interest to me. IMO their comments are driven by dislike, if not hatred, and/or intense envy and jealousy, and I see no reason to engage with that.

Other royal watchers prefer to focus on The King and Queen, and that is fine. I have no issue with that at all. Everyone can follow their own interests on their own blog, and others can engage or not as they wish. There is always the option of scrolling by if you don't like what another person says.

As for accountability, that I think goes back to the media. They were fine letting King Charles do whatever he wanted and covering his activities in various ways, and the closer it got to the time King Charles would ascend the throne, the more flattering their coverage became. On the other hand, the media have a definite bias and against and, in some cases, hated for Prince William and Princess Catherine, because the two of them do not play the media's games, and the media takes it out on the couple in their coverage, including holding Prince William responsible for things that were never his responsibility in the first place and comparing him unfavourably to his father. Certain royal watchers have picked up on this trend and they follow it and apply it to everything done by Prince William and his wife.

Your arguments about comparing The King to his heir make very good points. My own preference is not to compare the two but to judge each one on their own merits. So far Prince William is winning in my eyes, but that could be my bias showing (every time I think King Charles has shown that he can be a good king he stuffs it up in some way, most recently by shoving Camilla down my throat).