#and of course i wont say names because that would be shitty but also i dont want them finding this and starting something

[mbat]

dude its twice now that ive tried to play origins multiplayer minecraft servers that happen to be mandatory roleplay for some reason and its just wild that they like, want you to come up with a whole entire person before even playing, especially with worlds that feel... bare bones as fuck, from the information they give

like they give an origin story of the world and maybe like one or two sentences on the races or cultures, and then theyre like 'okay now give your character an entire in depth personality, backstory, family history, job, life goal, childhood dream, credit card number-'

like... with what info ?? with what basis??

the second one ive joined isnt as strict as the first one, seeing as i joined the minecraft server before i even realized there was character applications, and no one really paid me any mind at all or acknowledged me

but there was one i joined like 2 years ago that you had to get your application approved before gaining access to the server, and they direct you to their wiki for reading up on the world and stuff... but again, bare bones as fuck. and i exaggerated before slightly, but fully seriously they asked me 'oh, and where did your characters origin come from? their grandparents getting infected? how did they become this way' and its like. DUDE I DONT KNOW, WHO CARES. WHO WILL ASK ME THAT IN THE ROLEPLAY??? like where am i supposed to even get any of this shit from, the two paragraphs you typed about the world origin story??

i didnt finish the application because that was stupid and it wasnt worth it imo. shame, cause the custom origins were cool, but theres always other origins mods and servers

like... i guess other people work different from me, cause clearly these servers have people in them that somehow came up with functioning characters, but that aint me. if i make a character in a game, their personality and story comes to me while im playing, through their experiences and appearance and the choices im given in the world.

and also literally no one is ever going to fucking ask 'lol so how did your bloodline get mutated?'

[himynameis4]

Adult Byler Teacher Headcanons

They both teach at the same school, maybe even same district.

Will teaches art, namely Drawing & Painting I & II, as well as AP Art & Honors Drawing for Production & Design. (He also was dragged into making props for the school musical, and started/runs the school’s GSA. Mans is SWAMPED)

Mike teaches AP Language & Comp, Creative Writing, Honors English 9, and English 11. He also runs the school’s Literary Magazine, Newspaper, and Yearbook clubs. (Mans is similarly swamped)

(They’re both considering starting up an AV club & a D&D club, but where they’ll find the money or the time, they got no clue)

Will was the reason Mike first explored teaching. Mike had taken his dad’s advice & become a business major, because it can be applied to lots of jobs & is a good way to get a job quick, but… yeah, he fucking hated it.

He ended up taking one of the education courses Will was taking, trying to fulfill some credits & figuring having a class with Will would make it bearable… and then he fell headfirst into teaching

They were hired at the same time. They student taught together, too. A wave of retirees meant most of their colleagues were new blood, like them, and… well, there was A Lot of relationship drama among the staff. It was like a freakin’ soap opera. (Did my high school have a lot of interpersonal staff relationship drama? Yes, why do you ask?)

Will & Mike came out when they got married, because Will wanted to change his last name. By this point, Will was already running the school’s GSA. They hadn’t been very public about their relationship, having been there for The Sanders Affair Of 2006 (and the subsequent divorces, marriages, and affairs that came from said affair) & making the mutual decision to keep their personal lives private… but as their district became less conservative, they hadn’t exactly hidden it, either.

Their friends on the staff all know, & some are close enough friends to get invites

Will had gone by “Mr. William” for the vast majority of his career, so it wasn’t a huge shift for his students or anything.

Mike’s nickname is just “Wheeler,” a similar sign of affection—at least, to his face.

(His students call him “Hot Wheels” behind his back)

(Will is well aware of this, & endlessly amused)

Will’s hair has gone entirely grey. (Lonnie’s genetics, rip). Post-covid, he uses blue light glasses… unlike mike, who needs glasses full-time. (Will teases him about this quite frequently)

Mike finishes growing his hair out, but ditched the bangs. He’s one of those teachers who always has his hair in a severe ponytail (he likes manbuns, too, but you wont often see him with one bc We’re At Work, Will, I Must Be Professional)

They Do Not Talk About The Mullet Era

Or The Bowl Cut For The Entirety Of The Childhoods

They have matching rings, customized replicas of the One Ring bc they’re both geeks. They’re engraved to say “crazy together” in elvish. Technically these were their engagement rings… and also the rings they used when they got a domestic partnership, and also the rings they used in their wedding ceremony. For a long time, they wore them like necklaces tucked under their shirts (bc the Mike in the Math department & Sydney from Social Studies are MASSIVE gossips, and also bc LoTR is iconic & these two are cheesey af),

They started wearing them openly when Will changed his last name, though.

Will & Mike are the teachers who let students eat lunch in their classrooms. The ones who invite them in during free periods. The ones who hear about the shitty chem teacher, the asshole ex, the awful divorce, the toxic friend group, the impending move. They’re the ones who collect & display dozens of senior photos, whose hands cramp from writing yearbook messages, and the ones whose students will remember years later. They’re the ones who keep in touch—they get wedding invites and scattered letters and life updates.

Because they’re the ones who remember what it’s like to be 14, 15, and feeling like the world was about to end. They remember the bullies. They remember the isolation. They remember how awful it feels to grow apart from the people you used to hold dear, and how much they hated high school.

It’s why they love being teachers, exhausting as it is. They’re the adults they didn’t get in high school, despite their parents’ best efforts—they get to be the support they desperately needed. They get to watch their kids grow, and its so, so satisfying to know they’re giving the kids better than what they had.

But most importantly? They’re happy.

[rikkami]

Just screaming into the void, don't mind me

Spending time with her post breakup has been both extremely miserable and cathartic, its great to know I still have one of my best friends to turn to whenever I need her, but being with her rends my soul apart. Our relationship started as a hookup in my open relationship and lead in to a poly, so even tho we aren't dating anymore, we still sleep in the same bed when im over, we still watch Twin Peaks while cuddling and she keeps teasing me like one would their S/O. Yet she is adamant about also not loving me that way and not feeling any attraction to me anymore. I showed her a picture of me in the dress i bought because I was very happy about looking pretty and her first comment was meh. Which apparently was because the photo was not taken well and not due to me, but of course I'll take it as such initially. She's had to change our plans about seeing each other 3 or 4 times in the past 2 weeks so it feels like she's avoiding me but also doesn't say so when im asking if she's okay and if she wants to see me and she does still keep saying yes. Granted she's also very neurodivergent and has hard time with socializing with people so I know a lot of it is her not understanding tone and social cues. This all on top of the one thing that gives me most body dysphoria: Having been out as a trans woman for a month, and then being broken up on because she's come to terms about being a lesbian. So every time the thought occurs to me that she doesn't love me like the way she initially thought she would, its because she wont see me as a woman, and I'm afraid she never will (which obviously is just an irrational fear). Telling her all this, she said well its the reason we broke up but there were other things she didn't like about me, and she wont tell me what that is and its killing me. We were supposed to meet today but she delayed it to tomorrow, and then delayed our tomorrows meeting to tomorrow evening and not after her work like I initially thought it would have been. Its all just so much, but also I don't think I can be without seeing her for a while because she's the person who I feel like truly understands me. and her calling me by my new name etc gives me gender euphoria like nothing else. In the end, I know I need to move on and just stop thinking about all this because we ain't a thing anymore and just treat her as a friend. But its not easy when she did say its only sexual attraction (and the other things she didn't like which weren't deal breakers if only i knew what they were..) and if with my transition starting at some point she starts feeling those feelings towards me again we could try to start again. I just want to time skip a few years, away from this shitty apartment, away from this part time job, to that happy future I know that awaits me at some point. I just want to be happy again. With her and without her.

[imagedescribed]

[ ID:

Image 1:

Official artwork of the Omori characters posing together. All of the characters are colorful except for the protagonist who is depicted entirely in black and white.

Images 2 to 4:

A Twitter thread by Melon Kid @ animegirlcrimes that reads as follows:

fuck it whatever ill just air out my grievances now i dont feel like carrying this shit anymore

i joined the omori team in 2019, i remember being invested in production right away because getting paid to do dev work on a game i like is basically my dream

(1/whatever)

i went kinda crazy on it, i worked harder than i ever have in my life. i did not spend a second on the clock even slightly dicking around, i would regularly work like 12-18+ hour shifts just because i wanted to

people would leave for the day, come back in the morning and see me still working. by some divine miracle i somehow kept that up for like a half a year. i felt totally fine the whole time. i was flying bro

my smarter friend sensed something was wrong and tried to pull me away from work but omo resisted because at that time i was like her golden workhorse. anyway, fast forward to the 6 months later and i crash and burn out of nowhere i am straight debilitated

a lot of that was my own doing, of course, im under no illusion about that. but when it happened, omo suddenly started treating me like garbage. she didn't believe me, said i 'just didnt want to work anymore' and demanded a doctors note and i was like are you fucking serious

she would guilt me into keep working as hard as i did before despite the blatant toll on my body and say she expected better of me and would constantly downplay my illness

i felt miserable physically and emotionally, she made me feel even worse about it. and its like, this feels really shitty but fine it is what it is.

forward again to release, im really excited about the launch of the game. i put so much energy and emotional investment into this project, the thing i love the most about dev is seeing the game release and watching people play and enjoy the game

right before the game launches omo pulls the rug from under me and suddenly comes out to say she's taking back the royalties she promised earlier in the year. it soured the entire fucking launch. i couldnt even enjoy the one thing i spent a year working on and looking forward to

she goes on to say she put my royalties to a vote and said 'i thought you deserved it, but everyone else voted no :(' what kind of manipulative bullshit is that excuse me

first of all you are my boss, you know best what i contributed to the project, second you are a millionaire and i am fucking poor is this a game to you, third youre gonna throw the whole staff under the bus too? what the fuck is this

the worst thing is, i know someone who was fucked over by omo WAY MORE than i was. i wont name them (at their request), but i got like... basically the lite version of her fuckery and even THAT was personally devastating to me

i actually made a post like this shortly after omori released, but the entire team banded together voltron style and begged me to take it down and because im fucking weak i did

im STILL fucked up by the burnout i gave myself. im sore all the goddamn time, it didn't use to be like that. sure, my fault. i own it. but to treat me like shit and act like im just lazy? actually fuck yourself

oh, AND i dont show up as a member of the dev team on either their game website OR on wikipedia even though i show up in the actual game credits like 3 different fucking times?

thats interesting i wonder what thats all about

some other grievances: it was my suggestion to implement the survive at 1 HP mechanic for omori cause i could already tell players would get annoyed if they lost because he got mobbed by rng. wouldnt you know it, this also shaped the final battle to be as impactful as it is! wow!

the omoli character in blackspace was a thing that i pitched to omo and whose dialogue i wrote, it made me unreasonably annoyed to then see that character get used in promotional material for the game

you know that (in)famous aubrey school fight sequence? THAT WAS ALL ME BABEY. the base concept from omo was 'theres a bunch of aubreys because sunny has a crush' and i cooked up the scenario you see now and evented that whole sequence

(trying really hard to think of a game whose moral involves the guilt of hiding the truth of something wrong you did)

(and also explores the concept of being stressed out for being treated poorly despite working so hard for them)

/end ID. ]

One of the developers of Omori recently shared their experiences in this thread about the treatment they had to go through during the development of the game. They're going through a rough patch at the moment. If you liked Omori, I think you should help Melon Kid out if you can!!

It's disheartening to hear that someone on a team was mistreated. Games are a beautiful medium, but the people who make those games come first. We've all got to work hard to ensure better environments for devs, and that starts with making sure they can get back on their feet!

[svnoohe4rts]

Hello! I love your headcanons and was wondering if you could write one about Sunghoon when he gets jealous?

i haven’t given u guys anything for what feels like weeks so i threw this together ,,, i blame my writers block of its shitty, also thank u so much for ur kind words anon <3 i hope this is what u had in mind !! nsfw, minors do not interact

დ SUNGHOON WHEN HE GETS JEALOUS !

this poor guy has no idea how to control the feelings bubbling up inside of him when he sees you getting closer to someone else

more specifically when it comes to his own friends

sure, he loves the fact that you get along with his friends and he loves seeing you grow more and more comfortable around them

but why did you feel the need to hang around jay more than any other of his friends?

i feel like sunghoon is the type of guy who has absolutely no idea how to tell you how he’s feeling

no matter what it’s about

it could be the smallest thing and he has no idea how to put his feelings into words

of course he’d find it hard to tell you how he feels about you hanging out with jay

so whenever jay comes over and he spots you hugging him a little too long as you greet him

he just stands there watching from afar as he fiddles with his fingers; trying to suppress the feeling of jealousy

because why on earth was he even feeling jealous?

jay is his best friend and you’re his girlfriend

he knows nothing would ever happen between the two of you

but sunghoon is a possessive guy

and seeing you get close to another man?

it just doesn’t sit right with him

especially when he spots jays hand lingering dangerously close to your butt as he hugs you goodbye

now, sunghoon knows deep down that his friend probably didn't even notice the way his hand almost brushed against your ass

but the thought of someone else touching you in places where only he's allowed to touch you just makes something inside of him switch

remember when i said he’s bad with words?

instead of telling you, he decides he would simply just show you instead

pulls you into his room the second jay leaves

lips hungrily attacking yours

immediately grabbing your ass

''you belong to me, you know that right?''

‘'only i can touch you like this''

you would notice right away that he was jealousbut decides not to say anything, he was about to fuck the living shit out of you so who were you to interrupt that?

definitely spanks you as he pounds into you from behind

‘mno one could ever make you feel this good, you hear me?''

leaves tons of hickeys all over your body 

including in the places where everyone would be able to see them

‘’let's show everyone who you belong to, hm?''

‘'tell me who's making you feel good''

‘mi want you to say it baby, tell me who's making you feel this good''

wont stop until you're practically screaming his name

and that's all he needs to feel satisfied, knowing that it’s his name you're screaming 

and not jays

will literally act like nothing ever happened afterward

''hoon?''

‘'hm?''

''were you really that jealous of jay hugging me?''

‘'jealous? who do you take me for? especially not over some stupid hug.''

the red marks on your ass and the hickeys covering your chest tells you otherwise though

[xoxo-teddybear]

Bakugou’s daughter brings home a Boyfriend

Bakugou x wife!reader

Ft. Bakugou’s daughter

Warnings: fluff, lowkey Crack, sexual mentions, small angst, cursing, Bakugou being such a dad

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

A/N: This is one of my favorite types of Bakugou. Domestic father Bakugou!! So bc of that fact, this piece was born. Hope you enjoy!

Bakugou as a boyfriend? Bliss. Bakugou as a fiancé? Heaven. Bakugou as a husband? Euphoric

Bakugou as a dad?.......he sure is something

Don’t get me wrong, Bakugou would be the ultimate dad

Baby crying in the middle of the night? Sleep love, daddy’s got it. Baby needs a bottle? He can warm it up with his hands. Baby’s feeling bored? Look at these mini fireworks in his hands!! Katsuki’s got it all

But that’s a baby Bakugou

Bakugou with a teenager

oOf

Katsuki’s teen will be either one of two things

His best friend

Or his mortal enemy (whom he still loves endlessly)

His 16 year old daughter, Katsumi, was both

And yes they loved each other very much, but they also got into battles on who could cook dinner better, who Y/N loved more, hell, when y’all came back from a restaurant THEY FOUGHT OVER WHO MADE IT TO THE FRONT DOOR FIRST

But this battle? Y/N might just let them Kill each other...just this once

——————————————————————————

“WHO THE FUCK IS THI-“

*SMACK* (thx Y/N)

“Daddy, this is Izuru! Izuru this is my lovely mother and that’s my shitty dad that I love so dearly!”

Katsumi definitely inherited her guts from the Bakugou’s

“Nice to meet you Mr and Mrs. Bakugou!”

Ah man, here we go

Silence. Pure, awkward, scary, silence. And of course Y/N’s nervous twitching HOPING that her dear husband doesn’t murder the green haired boy. As the young couple stand infront of the doorway smiling, the older couple is staring at them, one in nervousness, and the other in shock. (I’m talking Denki going 4 million volts shocked)

“Well.....Welcome Izuru! I knew you’d be coming over soon but I didn’t expect it tonight. It’s lovely to meet you,” Y/N ever so kindly said once she let out a sigh.

Her husband almost got whiplash from how fast he turned to look at her. “Knew?!? You knew about this kid?? And didn’t bother to tell me?!??”

“Well if I told you, you woulda stopped this meeting from happening ya jerk!” Y/N visciously explained.

“YA DAMN RIGHT CUZ-“ silenced with another smack from his wife. Y/N sure learned a lot from Mitsuki. “Please come in you two, I’ll start dinner.”

As the young couple sat in the living room speaking, the older one was in the kitchen preparing food. Well one of them was, the other was too busy burning a whole into the poor boy’s body with just his eyes.

*SMACK*

“Ow.” Continues to stare

“Suki stop that, you’re gonna scare the poor boy.” Y/N said.

“GOOD. I DONT WANT SOMEONE LIKE HIM CONTAMINATING THE BAKUGOU LINE!” The blonde dramatically yelled.

“Contaminating? Love, we don’t even know if they’ve had sex. I doubt he’s “contaminating” anything any time soon.” You said with attitude.

Bakugou just stared at you know with the same look.

“Hmph!” And turned to look back at the kids.

“HEY!” Bakugou screamed.

“Heyyyyy~” Katsumi replied.

“No not “Heyyyy~,” Katsuki began and replied with a girly impersonation of his daughter as he walk towards the couple. “I mean, HEY, as in have you had sex with this kid?” He sternly asked.

“KATSUKI OH MY GOD,” Y/N screamed as she dropped something in shock.

“.......Yeah, so what?” His daughter replied.

Y/N wasn’t even mad. She already knew. She could tell. Mother’s instinct I guess.

Katsuki was fuming.

“NOPE! NO! THIS RELATIONSHIP WONT GO ON! YOU’RE TOO YOUNG TO BE HAVING SEX!” The older blonde screamed while looking at the now blushing green haired teen and his rebellious daughter. And Y/N was just giving him this...look.

‘What a fucking hypocrite’ you thought to yourself.

“How old were you when you fucked mom?”

(ITS QUIET AINT NO BACKTALK)

Pure and utter silence.

Katsuki started stepping back from the couple while facing them and nodding his head. “.....use condoms,” and walked back to his deceased wife.

As dinner is placed on the table and everyone takes their seats, Katsuki can’t help but stare at this boy. Why does he seem so familiar?

Everyone just ate and talked. Grades, school, when did y’all meet, how long has it been? The usual. But Katsuki remained silent while thinking. And then..it clicked!

Katsuki slammed his hands on the table and stood up from his seat looking at the boy across from him. “What’s your last name?!”

Izuru was nervous because he was well aware of who Katsumi’s father was and how her father’s relationship with his own father was kinda iffy.

“M-Midoriya sir.” He nervously stated.

Katsuki saw red.

“DEKU?!??????!!!!!” He screamed

“Oh come on Katsuki! Like that wasn’t obvious!” You said rolling your eyes.

“There is NO WAY IN HELL I’m gonna let the Bakugou line be contaminated with Deku’s genes! Our family line only brings in the best of the best!” Katsuki proudly and loudly stated.

“So what am I?” Y/N asked.

“The best of the best! You were and are the perfect one for me Y/N! You know this, I know this, everyone knows this. And look at what we created-“ he was interrupted by his wife.

“A mini you?”

“A MINI ME! And who wouldn’t want that?!”

“Dad.” Katsumi said.

Now that caught Katsuki off guard. For the past 16 years, Katsumi has always been a daddy’s girl. She never called him “dad,” ew. She said “Daddy,” or “Shitty dad.” As Katsuki turned to his daughter he could see the look in her eyes.

“.......you really wanna be with this kid?” He asked.

“I really do.” Katsumi said while grabbing onto Izuru’s hand.

“...Ok then. You can be with him.” Katsuki calmly said.

Katsumi excitingly got up and ran towards her dad’s seat giving him a hug.

“Thanks daddy,” she said while giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Dinner continued on as normal as it could. Katsuki was just gonna have to learn how to let go.

Later

As the married couple got ready to sleep, Katsuki was hanging outside their balcony.

“What was up with you Blasty? I haven’t seen that kinda Katsuki since UA.” You jokingly said as you went to stand beside him.

“You’re not scared?” Katsuki asked.

“Of?”

“Katsumi. She’s growing up. She has a boyfriend now. That girl is having sex! She’s not daddy’s little girl anymore.” He sadly said.

“That’s what this is about? Katsumi growing up? Suki, this was always gonna happen. She’s in her prime teenage years. She’s 16! A lots gonna start happening.” You began.

“I know that but-“

“But nothing Katsuki. You can be scared of her growing up, I am too, but we can’t be so scared that we try and stop her. You just have to know that Katsumi will always come back to us no matter how old she is. And she will always, always be a daddy’s girl. Her entire world revolves around you Katsuki, but we gotta let her go at some point. We have to let her grow. That’s how the best of the best are made after all, right? It’s what we look for in a Bakugou.” You finished.

Katsuki couldnt do anything but smile. You were right. He knew you were. And he was willing to let his little cub grow.

“......You’ve gotta stop interrupting me when I talk.” He laughed.

“And you’ve gotta stop saying the dumbest shit in the world.” You teased back.

He pulled you in for a quick peck and just held you there in his arms. He was so glad he had you to keep him grounded. You’re the best of the best after all. It only makes sense.

“Daddy?” Katsumi walked into her parents room, unnoticed.

As the two broke the hug to see their daughter, looking a little timid, Katsuki spoke.

“Katsumi, hey princess. What’s up with you.” Katsuki asked as he walked towards his daughter.

“You’re not...disappointed in me, right? You know, for who I chose to be with. I’m sorry if I chose Izuru but I-“ this time, it was Katsuki who interrupted.

“Hey hey, no of course not baby bear. I would never be disappointed in who your true feelings pulled you to. I don’t want you to apologize for anything when today I caused most of the trouble.” Katsuki said while wiping one of his daughter’s stray tears.

“You know I’m never gonna leave you guys. Right? I’m gonna grow up but I’ll always want to have a close relationship with you and mom. I love you guys, and I’m not going anywhere.” Katsumi said.

“We know Katsumi. And we love you too. And we’re far from disappointed in you. We are so proud of the young woman you’ve become today.” Y/N joined in.

Katsumi ran to her mother and gave her the tightest hug, and Katsuki couldn’t help but stare at his two girls. His world. His entire reason for living. All right there in his arms as he pulled them in for a bigger hug.

“Thanks you guys. Well, I’m gonna head to bed. I’ve got a date with Izuru tomorrow and I don’t wanna be late.” Katsumi began walking towards her parents door until Katsuki called her.

“Hey baby bear,”

“Yeah?”

“Izuru. He seems alright. He’ll be good for you.” Katsuki admitted.

“Yeah. He really is. He’s the best of the best after all. Reminds me of someone I know.” Katsumi said while leaving the room.

Yeah. Katsuki will be just fine.

A/N: Sheesh. This kinda sucked but I did this in my literature class sooo....it’s still credible work since I was writing, right? Yeah..?....No?...yeah ok. Anyways, HOPED YOU ENJOYED IT BEAR CUBS🧸💗

P.S. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!! And I PROMISE I’ll get better and produce more work. Feel free to leave requests!

[welllpthisishappening]

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible. 

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims. 

Whatever, really. 

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies. 

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though. 

She’s positive about that, at least. 

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie. 

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect. 

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers. 

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the  oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate. 

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why. 

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does. 

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too. 

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really. 

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so. 

She’s happy for Scarlet, really. 

They won the game. 

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks. 

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier. 

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse. 

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times. 

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers. 

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five. 

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold. 

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day. 

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face. 

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go. 

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously. 

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person. 

And yet. 

He sticks his hand out. 

It’s disarmingly earnest. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date. 

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind. 

She takes his hand. 

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later. 

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work. 

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably. 

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason. 

When the Yankees make the postseason. 

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face. 

Much like the goddamn fireworks. 

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault. 

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either. 

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened. 

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions. 

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off. 

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them. 

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand. 

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information. 

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that. 

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter. 

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart. 

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least. 

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs. 

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted.  An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open. 

They both jump.

So, that’s something. 

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume. 

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there. 

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works. 

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of. 

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being. 

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her. 

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be. 

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby. 

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected. 

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed. 

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead. 

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together. 

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first. 

She does her very best to memorize the movement. 

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable. 

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself. 

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division. 

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate. 

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him. 

Emma included. Emma, especially. 

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins. 

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then. 

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now. 

Got drafted, technically. 

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back. 

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.  

[summercurial]

probably not the most responsible (or perhaps even moral?) thing to post this on here but im. idk kind of spiralling so why not.

warning for like. some serious sadposting personalposting selftalk nonsense.

so, im prone to feeling trapped and freaked out and wanting to break up with people. its like, a thing i do, so id been experiencing the thought "fuck, should i break up with aidan?" on and off for like, months now.

yesterday was valentines day. i suggested we get lunch at a diner. i had this thought beforehand, when i suggested this, that we hang out we end up just cuddling or having sex, and not really talking, or if we do talk its basically just boring small talk type stuff. so i thought this would be a good chance, to yknow, really assess our talking ability. and fuck, it was just small talk, the whole time, the drive and the diner and the drive back it was like. idk. we couldnt break through, we couldnt click. and its been almost two years! of course with a 2 month gap, and then a 4 month gap, for canada, but still. we should have closed this distance by now

so anyway we have some good sex which was nice and all and then he leaves and i think about it and i think hard about it and i realize *fuck*, im gonna break up with him. and i dont like. idk, i wont want to break up with him exactly, but i also dont want to stay with him. this far in i shouldnt be so judgemental of him, there should be stuff i really admire about him, and there just...isnt, really. hes so damn nice and im such a bitch but i cant just pretend im not, yknow?

so anyway yesterday i hugged my mom and started crying, about this whole thing, because i havent learned a thing since i was 16 i guess and think i can trust her

and then last night he texted me drunk saying he wanted to talk about his gender stuff, and today when he came in i couldnt stop crying (i dont entirely know why. school has been hard. i reread TNC. the whole potential breakup situation), we cuddled and i cried into his sweatshirt and felt like shit and i managed to get it under control enough to ask him what he wanted to talk about gender stuff, and apparently his therapist says he should talk about with me, and that he should come up with a fem name for his therapist to use during sessions, and fuck like. idk. im...attracted to masculinity! idk, fuck! like. i have enough neurosis around this stuff that i really dont think i can date another trans girl, but apparently when he talked about his gender stuff with his ex she freaked out and thought he was trying to break up with her and it fucked him up and FUCK i dont want to fuck him up even more, but i cant like, induce attraction i dont feel yknow? and also like, being attracted to the masculinity of someone who doesnt want or like it makes me feel shitty, so. fuck.

i feel like it sort of. idk it sort of fucked us that we got together at the beginning of the pandemic? like thats not a super healthy environment for a relationship to form. hes been the vast majority of human contact with people other than like my mom

i cant tell how much wanting to break up with him is legit and reasonable and how much is me being self destructive per usual

so um. yeah. that aidan situation is not great. also im going back to canada in a little over a week

[lookwhatilost]

I just saw a fucking DOOZY of a post on Facebook. I can’t repost it because it is, I’m not even kidding, twenty fucking eight images long. but it’s public so I’ll link it here.

The basic premise: some man and some woman are dating. She wants to get married and have children and he obliges. Time goes on, guy is burnt out from work and kids and Bitch Wife™ wont let him decompress on the computer without nagging him. She complains she doesn’t get enough attention to her friends and they give her the “dump him, sis” speech. She ends up cheating with a rando who DMed her on social. They divorce and she lies to their kids, says he doesn’t have time for them because he’s dating someone new and the divorce is somehow his fault. He has a friend suggest online dating and he’s confused about how weird and petty dating websites are. He tells kiddos he misses them and they’re like “whatever dad we know you have a new gf and don’t care about us anymore”. He confronts her and she says “blah blah it’s probably true”. He gets infuriated with the support she gets on social media because she’s the one who’s in the wrong.

I always wonder about the legitimacy of stories like this tbh. There’s definitely context missing, even if this woman cheating and framing the events of the divorce dishonestly to their kids. Like, this is almost a perfect mirror image of my parents splitting up.

Actually I think it was worse in my case because I was around 13 years old when my parents’ marriage was on the rocks. I went onto my moms computer so I could upload and post some pictures I’d taken with the camera I’d recently gotten and found… evidence. Honestly that was one of the worst moments of my life because I saved my allowance for fucking TWO YEARS to buy a dslr and I was so excited to share my first pictures I’d taken with it. It was important to me and I upload them only to find pictures of a man named Shannon’s hideous looking penis on iPhoto. This man was also dumb enough to send nudes with his face in them which is… certainly an infidelity choice. I told my dad about it and he said “fuck that” and filed the divorce paperwork the first chance he got. My mom was unaware of my role in this. still is because I never told her this and my dad would never put me in the crosshairs of this because he knew she was abusive to me –he actually pressed charges against her for it once. based dad. only one who ever stood up for me. i love him so much. But she 100% was in a crowd where her friends were waxing poetic about divorce and tried to tell me and my brother all this heavily, heavily framed stuff about our dad to win us over. We didn’t bite because, like, she’s a bitch and a liar. But attempts were made. She ended up dating an absolute urethra of a man around half her age for a while. My dad did the online dating thing, met my stepmom through it, obviously married her. My mom is presently chronically lonely, but has always had her breakup decision validated, probably because she hasn’t entirely been honest about what actually happened.

So the described course of events could have more than a kernel of truth about it. But the reason why there was so much tension between the two of them in the first place is because my dad’s parents and siblings really, really did nothing to couch how much they disliked her. He wasn’t inclined to stir the pot, so he didn’t really push back with the issue. I’m not sure if the child abuse stuff was kind of a open secret amongst them, and I know she’s a terribly unpleasant person. But I can be compassionate to how shitty it is to be in a position like that and how bad that is for a marriage, even though my opinion of her is below the dirt and always will be, even if I play civility with her now. She’ll never have my forgiveness, but I can call a spade a spade.

But I get sketched out when people present this as a totally uncomplicated universality. The intentions. Feels like it’s being used to service a point about feminine duplicitousness and bizarro-world arguments about family court and child custody. Abusive women exist, certainly, and their modus operandi tends to differ from that of abusive men. If someone presents a story like this as a vent post, fine, whatever. It’s your profile and I’m not a cop. But “this is so true and happens all the time” is… Um. Not a thing I trust.

[willowbird]

For the prompt thing, could you do 2 for au, 4 for trope and 5 for prompt with andreil?

Hogwarts au, meet messy, "you have the emotional capacity of a brick"

Dearest anon, how did you know that I have been literally aching for an excuse to do something with a hogwarts au?

For context, because idk if I'll be able to explain it in the ficlet, Andrew and Aaron have been raised by their real father, Joseph Minyard, and his wife, Betsy Dobson, since the twins were seven. Andrew instinctively retaliated against an abuser with magic when he was in foster care, bringing him to the attention of whatever the US's ministry of magic is called (I forgot). They found his dad, who is a British wizard, and also discovered Aaron's existence. The twins, upon meeting each other and finding out they were wizards, chose to stay together and go with their dad rather than risk potentially being separated in whatever system the US magic people has for orphaned magic kids.

(look, I've been thinking about this A LOT okay?)

The following scene would take place the summer before the twins' fifth year. They are fifteen, Kevin is sixteen, Neil is fourteen.

Please be aware that all these characters are a lot younger and significantly less traumatized. I mean, shit still happened to them, but they all get rescued from their abusive home lives a lot earlier than in canon.

---

Andrew Minyard had lost a bet.

It was a really shitty bet, and Andrew should have known at the time that he was being fucking set up. But, well - what was it that broody fucker always said? Oh. C'est la vie. Or something. Whatever.

Point being, Andrew made a stupid bet and then he lost and it was really his own damn fault. Now he was stuck going to stupid Kevin Day's stupid house to play stupid broom-ball over summer break when he could have been basking in the wonders of muggle efficiency like television and air conditioning. What made it worse was that his mom had been so damn delighted that he was going over to a friend's house, too, and Andrew didn't usually have it in him to smash her hopes and dreams when she was so genuinely happy for him.

So. Here he was, broom in hand (because if he had to do this he was at least going to suffer with the familiarity of his own fucking broom), staring up at obviously haunted creaky old manor house that Day apparently lived in.

"Great," he grumbled to himself. "Just.. great." Andrew did not like ghosts, did not like them one fucking bit. They always wanted to chat you up and had absolutely no respect for personal space.

The longer he delayed, though, the longer Day was probably going to force him to participate in his bullshit "training camp", so Andrew straightened his shoulders and trudged up the cracked stone staircase that lead up the hill to the front door of the house. The very second Andrew had both feet on the dilapidated front porch, one hand reaching for the knocker, the front door began to swing slowly open. You know, as they were wont to do in creepy old ghost-infested houses owned by wizards.

Without waiting for a welcome (because the door fucking opened for him, that was invitation enough), Andrew strolled inside. He didn't even flinch when the door slammed shut behind him.

(Okay, maybe he jumped a little bit. Just a little.)

No one was waiting for him in the foyer, because of course that would be too easy. At least the inside of the house didn't look as abandoned as the outside did. On the contrary, the foyer was well-lit and free dust and cobwebs. It opened up into a round sitting room that looked lived-in rather than haunted, personal affects strewn about here and there in vaguely organized chaos and family pictures on the mantle above the fireplace.

This, Andrew had learned quickly upon his introduction to the magical world about seven or so years ago now, was fairly common when it came to magical families living in and around muggle neighborhoods. Sure, there were wholly wizarding villages, but not a ton of them. Most of the magical community had to coexist or at least peripherally exist with the muggle one. With the work of a couple of charms and a heavy dose of aesthetic, a magical family could live comfortably without the muggles looking too closely - and even if they did look closely, it was the haunted old house at the end of the street so strange things were bound to happen around it, right?

Homey as it may be on the inside, it was still actually haunted, though. Andrew had a good sense about ghostly lairs and this was definitely one of them.

Heaving a sigh, Andrew moved through the sitting room and ventured deeper into the house. The sooner he found Kevin, the sooner he could leave.

The rest of the house, Andrew swiftly found, was an uncanny combination of the haunted image it presented to outsiders and the cozy haven of the front sitting room. The hall leading off the sitting room was normal when you looked down it heading away from the sitting room, but when Andrew looked back over his shoulder it was like looking into something out of a cheap horror film (of which Andrew had viewed many, much to his father and brother's chagrin, but his mother liked to critique them with him).

Andrew checked each door he came across. Some of them were locked. Some opened into perfectly normal coat closets and bathrooms. At least one of them opened onto an actual cemetery where a bunch of ghosts were playing croquet. Andrew quickly shut that door before any of them tried to talk to him.

It was when he came to the staircase, however, that he finally started to get somewhere. Voices could be heard when he hit the first landing, but they completely vanished when tried to move beyond it - either further up the stairs or out into the hall. Turning to inspect the walls, Andrew realized that one of them wasn't actually a wall at all, but an illusion -- his hand right through!

"This is getting ridiculous," Andrew grumbled to himself as he stepped through the goddamn fucking wall.

He found himself in a wide, clean hallway bathed in the bright sunlight that was streaming in from the skylights placed every few feet. From one of the open doors a bit down the hall, Andrew could finally make out the words of what was obviously an argument.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to your bloody school, Day?!"

"You can't just not go to school, Neil! The Ministry will have your wand, and then where will you be?"

"Oh come off it, do you really still buy into all that regulatory shit? They can't track me if I'm not a student unless they have an open warrant out on me. I could turn the corner store into a giant anthropomorphic pig that pisses coffee and they wouldn't know it happened until the story hit the local news, and even then they'd have a hard time tracking me down, considering those lazy twats barely even know how to read let alone track a rogue wizard."

"Galloping Gargoyles, Neil. Where in Merlin's name do you come up with this shit."

"It's called an imagination, Day. I was able to foster one while not being indoctrinated into the sheep-brain miasma that is Ministry-approved wizarding society."

This 'Neil' was getting more worked up as he spoke, spitting out his words like he was crafting a very pointed hex. There was the scuff of footsteps and a shadow fell across the hall as someone stepped toward the hall. "I'll be leaving now, thanks. Have fun being institutionally programed to fit the conservative mediocrity."

A larger shadow blotted out most of Neil's. "You can't just go, Neil!"

There was a scuffle, then a short kid wearing oversized robes stumbled into the hall. "Try and bloody catch me then, you lumbering infant of a Bandersnatch!" And then the kid turned and bolted down the hall -- right toward where Andrew had paused to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Now, Andrew was all ready to step aside. This was none of his business, after all. If this mouthy kid wanted to run away and join the circus or something, more power to him. He, also, thought school was a nightmare. But then Kevin stumbled out into the hall and shouted, "Andrew! Block him!"

And, well. Look. This was all fucking Kevin's fault. Kevin and his stupid cross-House quidditch club and his obsession with running drills. It was also Nicky's fault, for forcing them all to go so they could bond or what the fuck ever the purpose was. But Kevin shouted 'block!' and Andrew had spent two years as a beater and one year as a keeper and, well, reflexes kicked in.

He blocked.

Except, he had spent two years as a beater, and he was holding a broom. So.

His arms moved on their own, and it was a mighty, vicious swing. The next second the kid was flat on his back, gasping to try and catch his breath. Kevin loped over on legs too long, shooting Andrew an appreciative grin that Andrew kind of wanted to punch off of him.

"What.. the.. actual... fuck..." the kid - Neil - wheezed from the floor.

Now that he was officially drawn into this mess, Andrew allowed himself to indulge his curiosity and slung his broom up against one shoulder to approach the fallen boy. He felt a little bad (okay, more than a little), so he figured he'd offer him a hand up at least. Except, when he got to the kid and looked down he was shocked to find just about the prettiest boy in the whole Nimue-cursed universe.

(Andrew's gay awakening had happened when he was twelve years old. The keeper of the Gryffindor quidditch team smiled at him and told him he'd make a pretty good beater. Andrew had tried out for his own House team the very next week, and it had all been downhill from there.)

Andrew cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something cool and unbothered, because that's what you did when you met someone pretty and wanted to impress them. Instead, like the utter dork that he was, he said, "Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."

"What the fuck is a Weasley?" the sharp, pretty boy on the floor shot back through gritted teeth, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Kevin's obnoxious shadow fell across the both of him and he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Don't mind Andrew, he remembers everything he hears and has a tendency to regurgitate random lines from other things when he feels awkward or anxious."

"Don't mind Kevin," Andrew followed up conversationally, "he's an insufferable know-it-all with a tendency to overshare and force people to play stupid broom-ball when they should be having a perfectly air-conditioned summer break."

"You emotionally wound me."

"You have the emotional capacity of a brick, don't try me Day."

Kevin rolled his eyes. Neil honed in on Andrew with eerie intensity. "You have an air-conditioner?"

Aha! Mission accomplished: cute boy impressed.

Andrew smirked. "Yup." He popped the 'p', feeling quite good about himself, his earlier bumble placed in the back of his head where he could obsess about it later.

Neil's narrowed eyes scanned him up and down, then relaxed, the blue of them bright and intelligent. He looked like he was figuring something out about Andrew but Andrew had no idea what or why. It took some effort, but instead of squirming he met Neil's gaze full-on. After a long moment, Neil seemed to have made a decision. He pushed himself up to his feet and nodded. "Alright then. You play quidditch?" He gestured to Andrew's broom with the jerk of his chin.

He hadn't noticed it earlier because he'd been so fascinated with the argument itself, but now that he could focus on Neil's voice, Andrew realized that there was something of about his accent. It wasn't that it seemed fake but more that it... it reminded him of his own, back when he'd been younger and had only been in England for a couple of years. He remembered being teased for it, and getting into a lot of fights because of that. Well, he remembered getting into fights because Aaron was also teased, and no one picked on his brother but him.

"I thought you were going to run off and join the circus." Andrew arched a brow.

Neil wrinkled his nose. "No. I'm still not going to your stupid castle school." He paused and looked from Andrew to the broom back over to Kevin and sighed. "But... one or two games of quidditch before I go can't hurt."

Kevin looked overjoyed. He grinned at Andrew and Andrew supposed that they really must be friends now, because he felt quite pleased about that.

"Great!" said Kevin. "Let's go! We should be able to get in some warm-up rounds before the others get here!"

"Others?" Andrew and Neil said with identical inflections of disdain. The sound of an echo startled the both of them and the looked at each other. Then, Neil smiled.

Andrew supposed a day without AC playing stupid broom-ball wasn't so bad after all.

Fun little prompt things

[redorich]

Out of This World

Niki watches despairingly as her new roommate, one Mr. Wilbur Soot, once again pours water into his cereal. He seems to prefer it that way; Niki can’t help but wonder, not for the first time, whether her roommate is a literal alien from outer space, or just the weirdest motherfucker she’s ever met.

What kind of a last name is Soot, anyway? She thinks to herself unkindly. At least he doesn’t leave dirty clothes on the floor for her to clean up like her last roommate did. But seriously, Niki can’t tell if this man is a crackhead or not.

“Niki, can you pass the salt?” Wilbur says, breaking her out of her reverie. Without thinking, she plucks it from the lowest shelf of the tiny kitchen cabinet and hands it to him. She regrets it instantly when he begins to salt his cereal.

Breathing deeply so as not to grab him by his bony shoulders and shout, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”, she flees the scene of the food crime. When Niki was in college, she was surrounded by people who asserted they had the world figured out. Atoms and gravity and wavelengths. But Niki knows that humanity is desperate to control the uncontrollable, define that which cannot be explained. Science, Niki knows, isn’t just throwing out what doesn’t fit, but rather taking all the data and asking the question, “Why?” So, she thinks, let’s consider the data. 

-------

Niki sneaks trepidatiously to the door to Wilbur’s bedroom. Who knows what sort of unholy, confusing mess he’s got in there, lurking in wait for its next unsuspecting victim. A pinch of guilt hits her. Yeah, Wilbur may be a lunatic, but an alien? Really? It’s a bit uncharitable of her to think such a thing. Shaking herself, she knocks on the door.

“Yes?” Wilbur’s voice carries from inside the room. “Come in.”

Steeling herself, she turns the doorknob with a sweaty palm and is faced with…

A bed. A desk with a computer on it. Two pairs of shoes lined neatly near the closet. Wilbur is taking off his headphones-- he was playing Minecraft. How… ordinary of him.

“Hi, Wilbur. Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted, uh, to see how you were settling in.”

Wilbur smiles his pretty smile. “Thank you. Quite unaccustomed am I to the comforts of-- apartments.”

What Yoda-ass kind of phrasing is that? Niki thinks. A figurine of the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters stares her down from its place on Wilbur’s desk. She meets its eyes warily.

“Oh! Noticed my Ghostbusters statuette, have you?” Wilbur says brightly. “I have more in my closet, if you should like to see them.”

Niki is filled with a sick sense of curiosity. Yes, she wants to see whatever insane thing Wilbur hides in his closet, but she also doesn’t. She idly wonders if Wilbur has ever read The Cask of Amontillado. She feels like he has. This is not comforting.

Wilbur doesn’t sense her hesitation. A small corner of her brain thinks it’s because he’s unfamiliar with human body language. Without pause, Wilbur opens the closet door, revealing…

Niki’s first thought is, where does he keep his clothes? Because the closet is filled with Ghostbusters paraphernalia. The entire. Fucking. Closet. It wasn’t even that great of a movie?? How much did Wilbur spend on this, anyway?

Her roommate misinterprets her blank uncomprehending stare as a marveling gaze. He puffs up proudly.

“Such a profound impact have these movies made! I am truly fortunate to have met a lass of such upstanding artistic caliber, that you should also enjoy the Ghostbusters franchise.”

“Thank you for showing me this,” she says slowly. “I need to-- water the dog. I mean, I left the stove on. At my friend’s house. Uh, see you later.”

She beats a hasty retreat, leaving her apartment for Eret’s place. Something whispers in the depths of her mind: Doesn’t one of the Ghostbusters movies have aliens in it?

-------

Orange is her favorite nail polish color. Eret paints the nails on her right hand in that soft warm shade of orange as he listens to her complain.

“Am I being irrational? Like, do you think I’m going too far?” 

Eret hums noncommittally, putting a little flamingo sticker on her index nail. “He does sound like an unusual person, but I don’t know if I would say he’s an alien.” 

Niki nods her head, since she can’t gesture with her hands. “Okay, yeah, sure-- but he puts salt in his cereal with water. He has a literal dragon’s hoard of memorabilia from shitty movies that came out like three decades ago. And his vibe is just...off. Like when I talk to him, he’s there, but his head’s drifting off somewhere in outer space. God, I’m the worst.”

Eret protests. “Hey, hey, you’re not the worst. Look. I don’t know why this dude is bugging you out so much, but you said he didn’t seem dangerous, right?”

Niki nods dejectedly.

“So, we can figure this out together,” Eret says with a flourish, screwing the top back onto the bottle of polish.

The tender moment is interrupted by Niki’s ringtone. It’s from Wilbur; speak of the devil and he shall appear. Gingerly, so as not to ruin the wet paint on her nails, she picks up the phone and puts it on speaker. “Hello?” she says, motioning for Eret to remain quiet.

“Ahoy, Niki! Wherefore are mine frog legs gone?”

“What?” Eret mouths at her. Niki doesn’t understand either.

“Sorry, Wilbur, what was that?”

“My frog legs,” comes the crackly timbre of a phone in an area with poor reception. “They are no longer in the refrigerator.”

Niki sputters. “Why did you have frog legs in the-- no, never mind. I don’t know what happened to your frog legs, Wilbur.”

The phone line repeats static to her for a moment as Wilbur pauses. “Interesting. Perhaps they walked away, as legs are so oft wont to do. Niki, would you mind dearly to purchase some more? And perhaps, be you willing, some condensed milk?”

Eret silently gags at the idea of frog legs and condensed milk together. Niki doesn’t blame him.

“Okay,” Niki says. 

Eret shakes his head at her, as though begging her not to torture herself like this. The moment Niki hangs up, the first words out of Eret’s mouth are, “That man is one hundred percent an alien. I am so sorry I ever doubted you.”

-------

With frog legs, condensed milk, and an Eret in tow, Niki enters her apartment the following morning with new-found assurance. The rest of the evening goes about as normal as it can, with Wilbur humming nursery rhymes and stirring a pot of, quite frankly, poison. Niki and Eret hide in the living room watching all the Ghibli movies until the only light left comes from the TV in front of them. The front door opens and the floors creak as Will enters. I thought he was in his room?

Eret seems to be on the same page as her. “I didn’t hear him leave,” he says, distant fear in his eyes.

Niki’s ears pick up a faint sound. “Shh!” she hisses. “He’s on the phone.”

Though the apartment is dark (the only light being the TV), Wilbur’s eyes glow like an animal caught on camera. Niki shivers. She only barely catches a glimpse before he ducks back into the entrance hallway, but what she sees unnerves her.

“Philza, calm down,” Wilbur says from the hallway as he takes off his shoes. “It is fine, she suspects not.” 

A pause. The other person on the line, Philza, is talking. 

Wilbur replies, “She was impressed with my Ghostbusters collection, you know-- Ghostbusters is a great movie, fuck off!”

Another pause. Wilbur sighs.

“Aye, I must admit you may have been right on that one. Pretending to be human is--”

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

Wilbur’s head peers around the hallway’s corner in a panic to see Niki and Eret. Niki is pointing her finger at Wilbur with pride on her face, and Eret looks as though he wants to be doing the same thing.

The two in the living room both flush a bit at the outburst, but Niki doggedly continues. “You’re an alien!”

Even though Wilbur’s phone isn’t on speaker, Niki and Eret hear Philza’s laughter from all the way across the room. Wilbur sputters and angrily hangs up the phone, before turning the corner to properly face the two humans. His eyes are actually glowing, it wasn’t a trick of the light, Eret observes. Of course, he also notes that Wilbur’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, and he looks about ready to jump out the window to run from them.

“I am… not an alien,” Wilbur says softly.

“Wh-- but you just said--” Eret says, then cuts himself off when Wilbur phases through the fucking floor.

“He’s a ghost,” Niki whispers, all the pieces clicking into place. Old English, weird taste in food, Ghostbusters are you kidding me. If Niki didn’t just watch her roommate evaporate, she’d be banging her head against a wall and asking her professors to revoke her degree.

Wilbur phases back up through the floor, much closer this time but still hesitant. He sits down a few feet away from the pair of humans nervously. He’s more afraid of us than we are of him, Niki thinks. Like the bears at the zoo.

“For many years, observed the living have I,” Wilbur begins slowly. “I wished to commune with them once again, as one of their own. My father-- Philza-- said unto me that I knew nothing of the modern era. I confess that he was right. Willst you cast me out of your home, knowing now of the spectre that I am?”

Niki tries and fails to suppress the amused quirk of her eyebrow. “How about this: Eret and I show you the ropes of being alive in the 21st century, and in return, you keep the frog legs on your side of the fridge?”

Wilbur smiles that pretty smile again. “Deal.”

-------

“Niki? What is an OnlyFans?”

FIN

[monday-headache]

Hey Simon! Thank you for the amazing ask <3 Right back at you:

I love that you're writing/arting about characters that have never met in canon (Gaige and Sasha, Fiona and Scarlett). What drew you to writing these characters together? And are there any more that you'd love to explore one day? :D

Hey Sarah, glad it made you smile. I want to have more interaction with the fandom so I’ll try to make this a regular, so please be free to send me questions whenever. I’d love to read your thoughts ;)

And Omg, that’s a fantastic question as well but, be aware, this is gonna be an essay as well.

Mhh where to start, where to start.

So first things first, My headcanon of why I think Gaige and Sasha would be best friends started a pretty long while ago, way before I even got gently pushed towards the Idea of really starting to write about it in the first place. Because you must know, even though Strays is my first longshot, it is also my very first fanfc I’ve ever written in like ever. So no matter how shitty, great or whatever it will turn out to be or how well others will be, Strays has and will always have a special place in my heart. And I’m not gonna rush things either, even when the fandom will die out, my Ideas for it will flow ;)

But yeah how it started. To put it simply Gaige was my first character In Borderlands ever that I played myself. I knew about the Lore of 1 and I’ve played 1 with a friend by the time it came out, but I played 1 myself AFTER I finished 2 So that may be a big reason, why I have such an open spot for Gaige. But also because she is fun, quirky extreme, punky, loves robots and tech... to put it simple a lot of traits I really love about a character. Her backstory with the science fair was so fresh and funny, and it may be one of my favorite spoken dialogue interactions heard over echo cassette’s

Then after Bl2 my love for Borderlands continued, played 1, played TPS and then... There was Tales, and by god do I loved Tales, and I hella still do. You probably know the feeling yourself. And with the love for the game, came a huge love for it’s cast. Like seriously I think besides Tector there isn’t really a character where I was going like, “ugh this one is trash” on the contrary. And besides my obvious love for the main 2 characters, there was a big love for the Deutagonist’s of this masterpiece. Namely Sasha and Loaderbot.

Loaderbot may have officially taken the spot for me as most favorite Robot in video game history ever (and Gortys for the most precious character ever). Like his whole segment of kidnapping them, forcing them to tell the truth, only to show how much he had grieved, how betrayed he felt and that he did all of tha  for his loved ones. Man say what you will about him, but damn he was written perfectly. I was blown away.

Secondly is of course, as you might have guessed it Sasha. I could go lengths for her too, how much I love and admire her character, how real she felt as a sister, a pandoran and last but not least as a human. Sasha felt to me like the most well rounded out character of the 6 (pls don’t hate me for it guys) From the punk rebellious attitude, to learning that she had an anti Hyperion pirate radio, that she used to broadcast bad things that happens in her neighbourhood, to her adapting her morals and learn that even in the most corrupt organisations there are still normal people struggling with their own life, and then progressing from it. And lastly after everything was at loss, the money the plan, she was willing to sacrifice her whole life for a dear friend/s, even on her dying breath putting both Rhys and her Sister at ease and in her last moments. Amazing.

Oooh boy and that was just the prelude to it all XD

After that I noticed a lot of similarities, between characters. Sasha and Loaderbot for instance are both pragmatic, put the lives of their loved ones over their own, love tech, are socially open people while holding back on information and emotion. Not to mention the scenes in 2 and 3 and also 4 and 5 where it is slightly hinted how well Sasha and Loaderbot work together, without sharing much words. So naturally the Idea was born that Sash and LB became quite close.

And the same goes for Sasha and Gaige. I was actually surprised that nobody (not entirely true, I saw one fanart of it) seemed to made that connection before as it was so obvious to me. So basically Sasha is a softer version of Gaige, in many terms. They both have a big heart for tech and especially guns. They both hosted a small radio broadcast that blew up in their region over night. Both are anarchist’s who spread the word for awareness, how fucked up the company war actually is. Both are not really good at their aim. Both call robots as their closes’t friends. Both share a deep hatred for Handsome Jack and his doings. Both fought a giant ass Vault Monster and nearly died in the process of doing so. Both got screwed up big time and now have a huge bounty on their head... So you see the list goes on, and honestly the more I write them, the more similarities I notice, both hc wise and canon wise. So there more I thought about it, and noticed similarites the more I fell in love with the Idea of them becoming close. And from there the Idea was born, that they probably met on a job ( the most likely scenario in the Borderlands universe). It had to be before BL3 of course, and to be after Tales naturally so that only put one timeline in the focus, Commander Lillith.

To be honest, I didn’t expect everything turning out so big. Like seriously I orifinally planed like 8k words or so. Now I’m dangling on the Idea of having 13 chapters and a big ass finally, a neat wrap up of everything and even a possible epilogue XD Yeah, that wasn’t what I expected either but damn do I love doing it.

Like seriously my headcanons only just gotten bigger and bigger. From a whole nebula system in the galaxy, to regions I created in my own mind for it, to even complex backstorys. Like why Sasha wears a headband, why she loves guns so much, what happened to her and Fi’s parents, why she was raised by her aunt, what does Felix have to do with it, Why Gaige has this kicks of both sudden depression and manical behavior. Why she’s so close to her dad, but her mom wasn’t even mentioned once (but teased), why she wanted to become a wedding planer, and why she is so obsessed with robots and margarita mix. I think one day, this thing will turn into a tabletop game or something XD

So estimated 20k words on my answer later and now we are going for my own created ship Scarleona. Don’t worry, as much as I like to gosh about that too, it wont take as long I prommy.

Scarleona was created in a sudden urge while thinking about what happpend to Fiona while Strays happened. And similar to Gaige and Sasha, Scarleona was born from a dynamic. Especially of those from two Ladybosses with Silvertongue and speech 100XD Fiona and Scarlett may have become my favorite Fiona ship (no offense everybody) because of how well they play off each other. Fiona is a con artist, her whole life she was used to swindle, to play it cool and by ear, go with the flow, and expect the unexpected. So here core idea is that she is manupulating people by LYING to them.

Scarlett on the other hand is similar while also the complete opposite to it. She is backstabby, plays with her charm and most importantly she is dead honest while tricking people. In fact even so honest that people don’t even realised that they got tricked even though she told it several times before. And this dynamic is so fascinating to me. You see, Fiona has almost an answer an action for everything prepared, but the idea that her winning honesty, is mind puzzling to Fiona is so perfect. @michellespenscratchz wrote me a drabble several months ago and I think that line describes it just perfect

“So, let me see if I got this straight,” Fiona tilted her head inquisitively at Captain Scarlett. “You needed these Vault Hunters’ help to find this treasure for you. So you…just asked them?”

“That’s right.” Scarlett nodded, inspecting her hook nonchalantly.

“Even though they knew you wanted it for yourself?” Fiona asked.

“Indeed,” Scarlett replied.

“And they…” Fiona blinked, “…knew you planned on fighting them for it once they had it.”

“Of course they did,” Scarlett shrugged. “I told them as much.”

“You told them?”

“Yes.”

“And they helped you anyway?”

“Precisely.” Scarlett turned her hat against the blistering wind. “I fear I don’t quite grasp what about this is so difficult to grasp, Fiona dear.”

“Huh.” Fiona cast her gaze out across the expanse of Pandoran horizon. “I guess I just gotta–I dunno–rethink my whole life right now.”

So yeah, that was basically it. I kinda diagressed and didn’t want to hurt your eyes more looking at the long ass text, but please if you have some more questions to it, pls hit me. I love to gosh about it <3

And thank you so much <3 This was hella fun

[fallinforgyu]

🍨 anon here! after some debating I came to the conclusion that I just wont be able to keep a writing blog 😭 there'd be the pressure of trying to keep up and stuff, I also have an oc blog in construction so i just wanna focus on that but heres what I had so far :(

-----------------

“Come on sis you’re the life of the party, it wouldn’t be the same without you”

Sunoo had been whining and nagging you for the past hour, he had tried everything from trying to bribe you with a shopping spree to offering to do your chores for the rest of the month but you weren’t giving in. Slouching on his bed he finally gave up with a heavy sigh.

Your brother was organising a pool party, the biggest pool party of the year he says, everyone from your college is coming, the jocks, the cheerleaders heck even the nerds from computing club were invited. Usually you would be down for a party, smoke some weed, flirt and get dick, what's not to like? But this time you just weren’t feeling it, the same routine of getting dolled up and having all the makeup running down your face from fucking just seems… boring now? The thrill of having all the hunks trying their best to win your attention by seeing who could drink the most vodka just didn’t excite you anymore nor does the sight of their girlfriends green with jealousy fill you with pride like it did once before. You needed something different, something new but you don’t know what it is you want.

“y/nnie~ will you at least please think about it? pleaaase? I need my little sis to draw in the hunk-”

cutting himself off he stared at you with wide eyes whilst you pretended to be shocked. It was no secret your brother liked men, it became quite obvious when he straight up called his hook-up daddy while she was sucking him off, lucky for him she enjoyed it so nobody was hurt but Sunoo hadn’t slept with anyone since, scarred for life.

“uhh shit uhm i meant the hotties! t-the hot girls you know hehe” he managed to say, twirling his pink coloured hair between his sweaty fingers.

If he aint the biggest closeted gay i’ve ever seen

“I’ll think about it sun, I just- i’m getting bored of the same shit all the time, these parties don’t interest me anymore, like c’mon lets be honest the only reason half of us go is to get fucked but at this point i’ve already memorised what they’re all gonna do. First we makeout, he does some shitty foreplay then we fuck and I dont even get to cum, I HAVEN’T CAME ONCE DURING SEX SUNOO”

you flopped on the bed holding your head in your hands

“You know,” he sighed, “there's this guy in my basketball team, Heeseung. well technically he’s not really in the team I just say he’s in the team because he’s kinda like part of the group-”

“Just get to the point please sun” you whined

“Well he’s the ball boy, he’s not a nerd or a jock he’s kinda in the middle just a normal kid, he’s pretty handsome.. well that’s what the girls think of course! but my point is, rumour says he’s never been touched before, he’s never even been in a relationship”

You listened with intent ears, propping yourself up on your elbows

“...and?”

“Well I always see him sneaking glances at you when you visit me at practice, hell the poor boy got a boner once. He’s attending the party tomorrow, is that enough to interest you in coming?”

“...”

You felt a spark of excitement in your stomach

“What was his name again”

“Lee Heeseung”

—----------------------

It was the day of the party, the sound of people filling up your back garden enticing you to join in.

Nah i’ll only end up bored

Opening the curtains you stuck your head out the window which gave you a perfect view of the pool, Sunoo was right. The party really wasn’t the same without you, the girls who always attended the parties in hopes of becoming closer to you were trying to occupy themselves by taking tequila shots, the guys looked on the verge of leaving the goddamn place, none of the half naked people seeming to catch their attention. That's when you laid eyes upon a certain black haired boy, he was an average height, seemed just a little bit older than you maybe by a few months but what caught your eyes were his bambi like features. His fluffy hair barely concealing his beautiful doe eyes, they were twinkling with innocence. Something about him excited you, maybe this was the new thing you had been yearning for. From the corner of your eye you saw a familiar pink haired boy approach the man you had been unintentionally staring at

“Heeseung! how you been dude?”

…Heeseung? That’s the boy Sunoo was talking about yesterday?

You examined the boy once again, he was exactly how your brother described him as. Not a jock nor a nerd, he was on the skinnier side with a muscular build, biceps revealing themselves through his short sleeved white shirt, pecs and abs making a small appearance due to his near transparent clothes from lounging in the pool. Perfect. Just perfect

You took another small look at the boy, okay maybe you stared at him for a another minute or two

What the heck, fuck it

—---------------------

With a huff you opened your wardrobe and scanned through your swimsuits, making sure to pick out the most provocative outfit you could find. Something about this boy screamed “hard to get” so you made sure to pull out all the stops with this fit.

Twirling around in front of the mirror you scanned your figure, you were wearing a black high waisted swimsuit with an off the shoulder sheer bikini top. Very figure flattering if you do say so yourself, if this doesn't tempt the boy then you don't know what will

After some internal debating you finished off with applying a deep crimson shade of lipstick to your lips, and little diamonds under your eyes minus the mascara for obvious reasons. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror.

Damn I look hot… can’t wait to see this lipstick all over his di-

“SIS YOU GOTTA COME AND PLAY”

You heard Sunoo shouting from down by the pool gesturing you to come down, you looked over at where he was and there you saw the basketball team and a few others sitting in a circle playing what looks like spin the bottle but next to Jay (sunoo’s friend who you may have slept with once or twice) sat Heeseung, he didn’t look like he wanted to be there, the sight of two horny individuals eating each others faces off clearly making him uncomfortable

“huuhh guess I gotta go save him”

Quickly slipping on some pearl earrings you raced down to your backyard fixing your hair along the way.

----------------

might come back to it one day 😔💔

that's completely understandable, lovey!! writing takes a lot of time, and it's totally valid to not have room for it right now <3 BUT!!! this was such a great start to a story!! i want to be sunoo's sister SO BAD and corrupting innocent!hee is quite literally one of my favorite tropes ever 🥺💓 please let me know if you ever decide to pick it back up bby!! i'd love to read the whole thing if you ever finish writing it!!! 😚😚😚❤️

[renaerys]

In your opinion. What do you think a fic would have to include to make a realistic ppgxrrb story? A trope that's used in this fandom a lot is the boys being bad boys. Personally I never liked this trope only because they weren't bad boys they were evil. I really think people forget that the boys were made for the sole purpose of destroying the girls. That's not the same as being a bad boy. When they're presented as bad boys imo it makes the challenge of the couples getting together easier because they're not evil just rebellious. I feel that the real challenge would be them being evil and slowly but surely changing the narrative of the girls in their head despite what mojo or him would say and do. I can honestly say I've yet to find a story where the boys are evil and eventually start to change slowly but surely for the better.

I am interpreting this ask to be questioning the realism or lack thereof of using a “bad boy” trope to characterize the Boys. If that’s incorrect and I’ve misunderstood you, I apologize and please feel free to correct me!

I’m going to have to disagree with your interpretation that the Boys were ever evil. First of all, I think it’s impossible for any 5 year old to be evil, whether it’s the Boys or Princess Morbucks or whoever. “Evil” is a term I’d reserve for characters like Dick Hardly, or Him, or Mojo, to name a few. It’s the willful disregard for the safety and wellbeing of others often for selfish reasons, be they profit, death/destruction/for the lulz, or power (in each of those three characters’ cases). I have never once in canon seen the Boys characterized in this manner. Even when they first appeared, they went after the Girls because A) Mojo, an unequivocal authority figure and the first person they ever meet, told them to and B) they are shitty little boys who, as many shitty little boys are wont to do, think girls are gross and realistically probably would pick a fight on some level. 

Which brings me to my second counterpoint. In almost all of the Boys’ appearances in the show after that first episode (i.e., in their reincarnated versions), they are characterized as annoying little shitheads who like to play pranks, fart on each other, misspell graffiti, and generally be annoying little 5 year old boys. They possess the added nuisance of having Super powers, which of course makes the consequences of their messing around large-scale and often dangerous, such as when they threaten the structural integrity of Townsville. Recall that the Girls in the PPG Movie (which I consider canon) were also obliviously destructive in the name of having fun, not because they were consciously trying to cause harm. The Boys are basically just like that, and they have not been shown to grow out of it yet (they are 5 years old, we are not surprised).

That said, the fact that they are 5 means they can and will grow and change as they mature and get older, just like literally every person who has ever lived. And here is where my two cents on realism comes into play. Any characterization of the Boys, whether it’s as “bad boys” or “evil” or whatever, can theoretically work. What matters is the work the author/creator puts into the story showing us the specific life experiences that have profoundly shaped and influenced the direction of the Boys’ lives. That part, however, is the hard part and where a lot of writers/creators will struggle. So you want to write them as evil? Go right ahead! But I strongly encourage you to show us why they became evil. What mentors influenced them? What experiences did they have that pushed them down that path? And what does being “evil” even mean? Are we talking murder and mayhem? Are we talking something more small scale? You need to be able to answer questions like this in order to make it believable that the Boys have grown up to be evil actors. I also encourage you to keep in mind that it’s rare to find a realistic villain who is evil for the sake of being evil. Often, there are concrete reasons. For example, perhaps they lost a loved one and now vow to avenge them, inadvertently or carelessly killing or harming innocents on their path to achieving that. That’s evil, but it’s logical and realistic. 

I have other beefs with the bad boy trope that I won’t get into here, but I don’t think it’s fair to dismiss it or any other characterization as easy. It’s extremely hard to write a good bad boy trope, often because people miss the entire point of it and mistake it for romantic when it 100% is not. Tl;dr whatever your chosen characterization, you need to be able to back it up if you want readers to believe it and sympathize with your characters and their plight.

[nitewrighter]

23 McSombra on the run with baby Annie

23. Exhausted parents kiss 

Oh man I sure love Brian K. Vaughan’s Saga but with More Cowboys the McSombra kid AU.

Remember Billie? I miss Billie.

---

McCree toweled off his hands as he turned away from the sink, scanning around for any glasses or plates that had been left behind. Billie was still wiping down the counter, and had seemed to hone in on a bit of caked-on cheese or some other stubborn thing, not looking at him. There was a faint buzz of desert insects in the night just outside the kitchen window. 

“...so...?” Jesse’s voice trailed off a little.

“She’s a beautiful little girl, Jesse,” Billie shrugged, still not looking at him, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“It’s not about what I want you to say, it’s just...” McCree rubbed the back of his neck, “You raised me, so I dunno... figured you’d... know some stuff.”

Billie just had a short scoffing chuckle. “Guess you and her are really up shit creek then?” she said, finally turning her head toward him, “Most parents at your stage are up to their necks in unwanted advice.”

“Well it’s---”

“Complicated. I gathered,” Billie finally flaked off whatever was stuck to the counter and turned around to lean against it. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jesse. The fact that your mysterious lady friend--”

“Sombra.”

“The fact that Sombra,” Billie said the name with the clear frustration at still only being permitted to know Sombra’s pseudonym, “Actually decided to go through with it says more about how she trusts you than anything I could say. And she’s definitely smarter than you.”

McCree’s brow furrowed but Billie just shrugged.

“And what do you want me to say? You’ve pushed me out of the loop so many times for ‘my own safety,’ but now you made someone in the loop. Someone who is going to have this loop around her for her whole life. And I’m just gonna say this shit takes a village. Maybe if you let me in sooner, I might know what to tell you. Hell, you could’ve let her pop the kid out here!”

“It worked out--” McCree floundered a little. 

“Going through childbirth in the back of a goddamn car is not ‘working out,’ Jesse,” said Billie, flatly.

McCree nearly said, ‘They don’t call it the mother road for nothing’ but that had prompted Sombra to cover their infant daughter’s ears in the car and cuss him out half-in-spanish for 30 minutes while clearly delirious from dehydration, so he refrained.

“It’s amazing she didn’t start bleeding out, or get an infection,” Billie muttered, “Do you know what you would have done, then? Does that kid even have shots?”

McCree’s ears burned but at the same time color was draining from his face.

“You two can’t do this alone,” Billie went on, “Now, you both can stay here as long as you need--”

“I can’t put that on you--” McCree started.

“I am getting pretty goddamn tired of both of your ‘need to do this alone’ bullshit. It’s not just about you two anymore. And both of you clamming up rather than reachin’ out for help...” she huffed, “You know why gerbils eat their babies?”

 “Jesus, Billie--”

“Because they get spooked. Fear is an animal instinct, and it makes you fucking stupid, and being a parent is one of the scariest goddamn situations anyone can ever be in. Are you going to let that fear put your kid at risk?”

McCree glanced off. 

“I see the way you look at her,” Billie’s voice dropped slightly, “The way you look at both of them, and... it hurts so much because... there is so much more I should have given you---”

“I wasn’t your kid,” McCree said with a shrug, “And you were about a decade and a half younger than I am now, so--”

“So let me say this: I was young, and stupid, but also scared, stubborn, and proud... like you are,” her mouth drew to a thin line, “You’re a good man, Jesse, but this is when the ‘Lone Ranger’ shit stops working. You need to go back--”

“Sombra only let me in on her... project... when I dropped ties with Overwatch,” said McCree, glancing off.

“Is the baby the project--?” Billie’s eyes crinkled in confusion.

“Annie’s not the project, there’s this--look, I can’t get you involved---”

“Oh son of a--” Billie huffed, her head lolling down with exasperation, and the conversation dropped to a mutually frustrated silence before Billie looked back up with a steadying breath, “Jesse, if you can’t, in good conscience, let me get involved, then maybe have the decent sense to get back in touch with the people who have the firepower to make you feel less shitty about asking for help.”

“...I’ll talk to Sombra about it,” said McCree.

“She’s as much of a gerbil as you are, right now,” said Billie with a slight raise of her eyebrows.

The back of McCree’s neck prickled with frustration, but he remembered the sight of Sombra drenched in sweat in the back of 2057 Ford Mustang, his forehead aching after Sombra’s foot slid off of the headrest of the front seat and smacked him during a push, afterbirth staining the upholstery, and Annie squalling in her arms. The short laugh that fell out of Sombra then as she made eye contact with him and the way she didn’t even blink at the name ‘Olivia’ falling out of him breathless. The love in that moment, the sheer terror. 

Billie patted him on the shoulder then and it snapped him out of the memory. She gave him a soft, affectionate look, one he could still recognize from his own childhood, a knowing, lopsided smile he saw in Sombra’s smirk, sometimes. He glanced down, pressing his own lips together tight, and she leaned against him. Mindlessly he wrapped his arms around her. He had grown taller than her at 17, but she still stood up under the slump of his weight and squeezed him. She pulled back from the embrace and looked up at him before patting his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, cowboy, I know you will.” She nodded her head toward the living room where there was a faint purple glow against the walls. McCree gave her a nod and stepped out of the embrace, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Sombra sat cross-legged on the futon. Her hair was still damp from a shower, piled up in a topknot and several purple screens surrounding her. She was in a button-up flannel shirt, long enough to technically be a minidress on her, half of the buttons undone from the top and Annie crooked in one arm at her breast as she scrolled through the screens with the other.

“Is that my flannel?” McCree leaned on the doorway.

“Maybe...” Sombra said coyly, waving her screens away. 

“...so how much of that did you hea--”

“I dozed off for most of it?” Sombra glanced down at Annie, “Then titty monster here woke up and I’ve been a little occupied since. I’m probably psychic, y’know. Woke up before she could start crying.”

“Probably,” McCree said, slumping onto the futon next to her.

“Y’know, if you stayed in touch, maybe not every conversation you have with Billie wouldn’t be her dropping heavy shit on you like, ‘Take over the agave farm when I die’ or ‘I’m not sure who the hell your biological dad is’ or stuff like that.”

McCree snorted and draped an arm over Sombra’s shoulders, looking down at Annie, “Yeah, maybe,” he said. A long pause passed between them. “...but... she was saying some stuff that makes sense.”

“Like...?” Sombra’s eyes flicked from Annie to him.

“Oh, y’know, ‘Takes a village’ kind of stuff,” he shrugged, “You didn’t hear the part about the gerbils, did you?”

“Why were you talking about gerbils?” Sombra snickered a little.

“Eh ‘Responsibility’ stuff,” McCree said with a shrug, “Y’know I had gerbils when I was a kid so she had to guilt me about that.”

“Ah of course,” said Sombra before glancing over at him, “You’re so full of shit.”

“Yeah...” McCree slumped back to a reclining position on the futon and Sombra gently lowered herself down next to him, still nursing Annie, both of them staring at the ceiling.

“You know we can’t keep this up,” McCree said quietly.

“Please tell me she didn’t tell you to go back to Gibraltar,” Sombra closed her eyes.

“Well--”

“I knew it,” said Sombra as Annie broke off from her breast with a grunt and a burp. 

“We have a better chance with them than you think,” McCree looked over at her, “And... Annie needs shots, Olivia--there’s a whole buncha shit she needs that they can give us that wont be where the Eye can track.”

Sombra glanced down at Annie who had had lolled off to sleep between her breasts. She trailed a finger along a curlicue of Annie’s fine, dark hair before drawing in a deep breath. “...we get the shots and we leave,” she said after a few seconds.

McCree kissed Sombra on the temple. “They’re gonna love her,” he said, smiling.

“Ay que mierda-- they’re going to know she exists,” Sombra’s voice was filled with dread.

“Which... is a thing that happens with people... eventually,” said McCree.

“Not with me,” said Sombra, side-eying him.

McCree snorted. “I know you,” he said quietly.

“Do you?” said Sombra.

“Better hope I do for our li’l nugget’s sake,” said McCree, gently brushing a hand over Annie’s head.

“...when I wake up, we’re going over a list of approved nicknames.”

“Oh come on, you can call her titty monster, but I can’t call her li’l nugget?”

“When she’s on your tits, you can call her li’l nugget,” said Sombra, nuzzling her head into the crook of McCree’s shoulder and closing her eyes.

“Well I’m taking li’l nugget so you don’t roll over and squish her,” said McCree, gently taking Annie up off of Sombra’s chest.

“Mm-hmm...” Sombra murmured sleepily.

McCree pushed up off of the futon with Annie in his arms. She curled into him, not even flinching at the cold of his prosthetic arm.

“I mean it y’know,” he said quietly, taking Annie over to the portable crib Billie had set up for them, “They are gonna love you.”

Annie only stirred slightly as McCree set her down into bed. “Takes a village,” he murmured before shuffling out of his own jeans and flopping onto the futon next to Sombra.

[the-starless-sky]

A Day Off of Loitering and Investigation

A translation of the first chapter of Jujutsu Kaisen’s first light novel “Departing Summer and Returning Autumn” by Akutami Gege and Kitakuni Balad.

A Day Off of Loitering and Investigation

If we are talking about the few “definite things” in this modern day and age, there are only three at best.

That Mito Koumon[1] will win.

That Sazae-san[2] will air on Sunday.

And lastly, that Kugisaki Nobara’s shopping will drag on for a long time.

Because of that, when Kugisaki said, “I want to go see Ame-yoko[3],” Fushiguro had prepared himself for the outing that will surely take a long time. It would probably take around same time as when Gojou suddenly shows up on a Sunday morning and suddenly said, “Megumi, let’s go to Parque Espana[4],”.

What’s out of his prediction was that Itadori wasn’t too keen on going.

He had thought that a television-person like Itadori would show interest in famous spots like Ame-yoko, but he said:

“No, I have some place else I want to go.”

“Oh, that so. Then let’s meet up after.”

And then they all readily move on their own afterwards.

For Fushiguro who had accepted the natural fact that he would get stuck in the middle of Itadori and Kugisaki’s noisiness, it was as surprising as the fact that corbel pieces actually don’t contain that much iron.

Of course, Fushiguro also thought to make use of the situation and move alone.

He’d go home quickly - after all, he wanted to read the continuation of the book he’d bought the other day, and he also wanted to arrange his table’s drawer and his closet.

Even so, Fushiguro is a fundamentally earnest person.

A concern like: “is it alright to let Itadori, Sukuna’s host be?” kept crossing his mind no matter what.

When we’re talking about the area around Ueno and Okachimachi[5], it is a town filled with life and history.

In the hustle-bustle from the post-war market town that continued until modern day, strange ghost stories run rampant and there lies a possibility that not yet active curses are concealing themselves somewhere.

Moreover, it’s Itadori, a person whom if you let go from your sight will suddenly buy a shitty sunglasses, and who had said Tachikawa’s[6] “essentially Shinjuku”.

If Itadori, by chance, got lost and strayed until Chiyoda Ward[7], he’d just think of it as a lucky spot, and take Instagram-able photos in Masakadozuka[8].

That’s the reason why Fushiguro chose to move with Itadori, but... truth to be told, he’s very much regretting it.

“So like, Fushiguro, if you don’t have any interest in Akiba[9], why are you even coming after me?”

“Shut up, don’t think about it.”

“’Kay. I really want to go through all of Akiba at once, y’know.”

“Do you have anything you want to buy? There’s probably nothing but manga, games, and electronics there.”

“Eh, sight-seeing. Shibuya or Shinjuku is also okay, but the Akiba I saw on TV has this otherworldly feeling to it... or, more like, it gave off a theme-park kinda feel?”

“Is it?”

If you live within the metropolitan area, you probably wont feel it, but in truth Akihabara is a strange city.

The atmosphere outside the station is particularly unique. It’s filled with anime culture to the brim as a matter of course, but in any case the amount of information from the advertisements are nasty.

The overflowing signboards with smiling game characters gave the town a theme park-y impression.

If you were to give another example, then it’s the cosplayers that sometimes mix in with the tight crowd. Maids devoting themselves to attracting customers and handing out flyers. And when you think a rare foreign car is going through the streets, for some reason a giant robot’s large scale model is being transported by a truck.

Is it possible to suppress Itadori’s curiosity in such a town? Impossible.

“Darn, Fushiguro. The game centers are lining up like convenient stores.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s Akiba.”

“Darn, Fushiguro. The maid-sans kept coming enthusiastically.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s Akiba.”

“Whoa! Fushiguro! Is that an ecchi game? Isn’t that a billboard for an ecchi game? Uwaah, is it okay, that kind of huge billboard... Oh no, I’m still a minor, will I get scolded?”

“Shut up!”

It’s a fundamentally noisy city, but for Fushiguro, Itadori’s three times noisier.

There’s still a few hours until the meet up with Kugisaki.

If he thought about that, Fushiguro’s head ached. Unknowing of Fushiguro’s feelings, Itadori was nonchalant, without a care in the world.

“I’m glad Fushiguro’s with me. This area’s so messy I’d get lost.

”It’s better than Shinjuku.”

“Don’t force that Tokyo-sense on me. Vending machines where you can use electronic money on every door, Pepper-kun[10] in front of shops, a city on this level’s only Tokyo, you know?”

“No, there really aren’t that much Pepper-kun.”

“In Sendai, you can only see it in ‘Man-made Onsen, Toposu’[11], you know.”

“Don’t pull out local shop names like it’s natural. Where the hell’s that?”

“In super sentou[12].”

“Pepper-kun being in super sentou feels more culturally advanced, ain’t it.”

“Well, well, well, anyways, rather than alone, being together with someone who’s knowledgeable about the area’s definitely more reassuring. I’m still not good with subways even now, after all.”

“There shouldn’t be anyone getting lost around the Yamanote-sen[13].”

“Aah, there it is, the Tokyoite-sense. Naturally coming out like that.”

“In reality, you don’t get lost that much anyways, do you. ‘Cause you went here and there day after day.”

“Ah, Fushiguro. Let’s eat kebab, kebab.”

“Continue the conversation, damn it.”

Fushiguro had felt that Itadori and Gojou’s rhythm are quite similar, but now that he’s by himself talking with only Itadori, that feeling only grew stronger.

After all, conversational catch-ball with Itadori is, at most, on the level of dodge ball. For Gojou, it’s more on the level of hitting-only golf, or a batting center[14].

Come to think of it, today he hasn’t seen Gojou in the dorms nor school. It’s up to him where he wanted to be during his day-off, but now that Fushiguro thought about it, Gojou really is a mystery.

As he thought such things, he let Itadori’s words in through his right ear and out through his left, going into his “gloss over” mode.

After all, it’s on almost the same frequency as the city’s noise, so if he’d just turn off his awareness he could just process it as part of the background, environment noise.

If he were to respond one by one, he’d just get tired. Nobody would tell him off even if he put his brain in energy-conserving mode, anyways.

By the way, speaking from the results, this action of his would end up making his anxiety worsen.

“...Ha?”

When he came to, Itadori was gone.

Fushiguro hurriedly turned his head, and he barely saw someone with red highlight on their hair going into the depths of a game center.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Playing a game. Ah, are you talking about the title?”

“No way in hell, you special grade idiot.”

After climbing to the fourth floor of the thin and vertically long building of the game center, Fushiguro finally found Itadori.

In the fighting game corner, going in deeper. Away from the areas where people who seemed super serious about gaming gathers, in the retro game corner where one credit to play starts from 50 yen, there he was, that Itadori.

Moreover, he’s sitting in front of an especially boring looking game machine.

As he pouted, he explained how he got there to Fushiguro.

“I mean, you know, it’s not realistic wasting hours of time just walking around outside, right. There are a lot of game centers, so I thought, why not.”

“At least say something before steering away to the side.”

“I did.”

“...”

As Fushiguro’s the one who had glossed over Itadori’s conversations, while feeling a little bit awkward he changed the subject.

“By the way, what’s this game?”

“No matter how you see it, it’s ‘Battle Corporation Warrior, Business Fighter’ isn’t it.”

“I won’t know it’s ‘Battle Corporation Warrior, Business Fighter’ no matter how I see it.”

“It’s also my first time seeing it so I’m not really sure, too.”

The game Itadori chose looked extraordinarily boring it’s miraculous.

It seemed like a fighting game, but the characters are mostly old men who looked like company employees, and everyone uses business suits properly that it’s hard to differentiate who’s who.

Even if it only costs 50 yen, Itadori’s resolution to spend money on this game is an amazing thing. Well, if he’s like this then guess he would eat Sukuna’s fingers, imprudently Fushiguro thought.

Without caring about such Fushiguro, Itadori seem to be running as usual.

He’s even looking for a competition.

“On the contrary, I’ll just ask you: you’re not going to play, Fushiguro? It’s a fighting game machine.”

“I don’t want to pay money for that kind of game.”

Even so, a fighting game machine is supposed to be played by fighting another person.

Moreover, to play an already-boring looking game like this alone just feels empty. No matter how much Fushiguro didn’t want to play, Itadori wanted to at least fight with him.

“What the heck, you’re running away? By the way, don’t tell me you’re actually bad at games, Fushiguro? You don’t have any confidence that you could win against me?”

“It’s not confidence I don’t have, it’s the will to play.”

“If you run away here it’d be treated as a loss by default, you know! Are you okay with that!?”

“Do what you like.”

“No, really, please! Then I’ll even pay for your share!”

“Are you serious? ...Sheesh.”

Losing to Itadori’s persistence, who’d even start to talk about paying - or, actually, Fushiguro just don’t want to see Itadori begging like that, so in the end he put in his own money and sat in front of the machine directly opposite to Itadori’s.

No matter what, a fighting game’s of course funner to play with two people.

As he felt deeply grateful for Fushiguro who’d finally relented, Itadori cheerfully started choosing his character.

“Then, I’ll go with ‘Company President Yamada’.”

“...Then I’ll go for ‘Chief Clerk Oosaki’.”

“What, youre going with him, the initial cursor character? Well, I guess he’d be easy to use, so it should fit a beginner like Fushiguro.”

“Didn’t you just say you’ve only seen this game for the first time?”

“Actually, before you got here, I managed to get to the third stage of the arcade mode.”

Anyways, finally the battle starts between the two of them.

“Eat this! The sure-win tactics I devised in fifteen minutes!”

“That’s a hell of a short training.”

Immediately after the battle starts, Itadori used the easy command, ‘Business Card Shuriken’ repeatedly.

The Chief Clerk Oosaki that Fushiguro controlled jumped up to dodge Yamada’s shurikens that comes in an equal intervals, surely approaching the latter. When one thought he’d turn to a strong kick after jumping in, he actually threw Yamada and forced him to the side, as he viciously beat the latter.

“Eh? Huh? Wait, wait, Fushiguro. Isn’t that a a command technique? That’s a command technique, right!?”

“...”

Small punch, small punch, medium kick, medium kick, and to top it off Fushiguro used the ‘overtime gauge’ he managed to fill with the hits, triggering a super special lethal move, ‘Overtime Rage Fist’.

Fushiguro scored a brilliant victory.

“What the hell!? ...Eh, Fushiguro, how could you use special moves? You’re good at this game?”

“No, the command chart is there above the screen.”

“So you’re cheating!”

“You’re actually not that good at games, aren’t you?”

“No, even I could win if I used commands! One more, one more!”

“The heck, this idiot actually put in multiple coins…”

Itadori who had battled it out with Fushiguro for around an hour, still lost in the end.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈« 

They both go down until the first floor’s UFO Catcher corner and bought a cola from the vending machine, engulfed by a sense of emptiness.

The feeling of aftershock left after the heat and enthusiasm cools down look very visible on their faces.

“Aah... why did I even spend 1000 yen on that shitty game...”

Fushiguro looked at Itadori, who’s currently hanging his head, with eyes that look like they’re looking at an idiot.

“If you’re satisfied already, we’re going out. You can kill time in game centers, but they eat your money.”

“That’s true... ah!”

“What? Just because you found another shitty game, I’m not going to play with you anymore.”

“No, that’s not it, Fushiguro, look, look at that!”

Fushiguro reluctantly looked at the direction Itadori pointed with narrowed eyes.

And then, his eyes widened in surprise.

“...Gojou-sensei?”

“Right?”

Truly, on the other end of the two’s sight is Gojou Satoru.

Rather, the only person who would walk inside a dim-lighted game center wearing an all-black clothes with a black blindfold can’t be anyone other than Gojou Satoru - it’s hard to think of anyone else.

“Eh... wait, Fushiguro, what’s Gojou-sensei doing?”

“Isn’t that an UFO Catcher? The ones where you could get snacks from.”

“Why? Is there a person who wanted to eat snacks so much they’d go to a game center alone and play an UFO Catcher by themselves?”

“Don’t ask me, how the hell should I know?”

“Ah, and he’s even giving up!”

“That’s fast.”

As Gojou pouted in discontent, he walked towards the game center exit with swaying steps.

Well, it was a hard to understand action, but perhaps it’s normal coming from a hard to understand person. Fushiguro decided to stop thinking too deeply.

But Itadori just couldn’t do the same.

“Okay, let’s follow him.”

“How’d it come to that?”

Itadori started to follow Gojou who had exited the game center. Fushiguro immediately drank his leftover cola, threw it in the trash can, and followed afterwards.

“I mean, don’t he look like he’s on his off mode? I feel like I don’t know what he’s up to when he’s in holidays or when he’s free.”

“And?”

“Of course we’re going to tail him.”

“Don’t say that so naturally.”

“I mean, in reality, don’t you feel curious, too? Surprisingly I feel like I don’t know Gojou-sensei that well. Of course, if you don’t feel like coming then you can just wait.”

“...”

In any case, despite all the conflicts the two had, they finally decided to tail Gojou together.

Gojou is a dependable teacher and a shaman they respected, for sure.

However, from the eyes of Gojou’s students, his frivolous personality, busyness, appearing in unexpected places at unexpected time, personal history, thoughts, and range of behavior, all point out to him being a man full of mystery. The figure of him nonchalantly walking around town was something you don’t see everyday.

In sum, Fushiguro decided to follow his curiosity.

He’s probably also very mentally exhausted from playing a shitty game with Itadori.

In any case, the two of them started to search for the figure of Gojou they had lost sight of.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈« 

Gojou was, surprisingly, easily found.

“Fushiguro, isn’t that Gojou-sensei?”

“...You’re right.”

The next thing they sighted was Gojou, walking around as he ate crepes.

Looking from the package, it’s from the rather famous crepe shop looking out the main street.

It’s one of those extra ones with cream, tiramisu, macaron, and even chocolate spray.

There it was, the figure of a 190 cm adult walking around as he ate crepes that look like the dreams of all children.

“That’s amazing, Fushiguro. It’s not something you can just do when you feel like doing it.”

“No, you won’t even think of doing it in the first place.”

“Is it some kind of a sorcery training?”

“If you can get stronger by doing that, everyone’s gonna just do it.”

As they keep a steady distance, the two of them tailed the adult chewing on crepes.

Even in the city full of wonders, Akihabara, the sight still look quite out of place.

After he finished eating the crepes, Gojou stopped still in front of a rather old looking store.

“...Vacuum tube specialty store.”

Fushiguro looked at the sign Itadori read with a dubious expression.

After thinking for a while, Gojou stepped into the jumbled-up looking shop.

“He went into a really maniac shop, didn’t he.”

A dubious-looking Fushiguro. On the other hand, Itadori tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“By the way, what is a vacuum tube? I’ve heard that name before, though.”

“It’s an electronic component. The ones you use in old radio or audio player.”

“Is Gojou-sensei an audio maniac?”

“No, he looked like someone who’d just use YouTube to listen to music, don’t he.”

“Aah, yeah, he does have that kind of image.”

As they spoke to each other, Gojou came out of the shore with a paper bag. It seems like he’d bought something.

“Oh no, we’re going to lose him!”

Itadori went after Gojou who had turned into an alley, and Fushiguro followed suit.

They were a little late and lost him for a while, but one minute hadn’t passed and they’ve already found the tall man clad in black in the middle of the crowd.

“There he is, Fushiguro. As expected, Gojou-sensei stand out a lot. He’s huge, after all.”

“He’s around 2 meters, after all.”

“He look like he’s really strong at basketball, don’t he?”

“I can’t imagine him playing basketball at all, though.”

“Relatable.”

As the two came into an agreement, they followed after Gojou’s steps.

Tailing someone while keeping a steady distance in Akihabara’s complicated streets is quite a hard labor.

Because he’s tall, Gojou’s steps are wide and he walks fast, it feels like you’re going to lose him when he drift into the crowd.

Next, Gojou went to a second hand audio shop and rummaged through the paper-jacketed analog recordings.

“Earlier you said some things, but don’t you think he’s actually an audio mania, Fushiguro?”

“No, I’m sure he’s not.”

“But he’s looking at Bach’s recordings!”

“Does he look like he has any interest in classical music? That person?”

“No, he look like he’d listen to alternative rock.”

“See? It’s definitely weird.”

For a while, Gojou rummaged through the recordings exhibited on a wagon, and after buying an old movie’s BGM collection long play record, he left the store.

As they tailed him, Fushiguro became more and more suspicious.

Fushiguro thought that perhaps it’s just them that had different images of Gojou and he’s actually a person with vintage hobbies in his private life, but soon he rethought and ended up with: “Nah, no way.”

After walking a bit unsteadily for a while, Gojou stopped in front of a store with a yellow signboard.

“Fushiguro, what’s that shop?”

“...Capsule toy. It’s the so-called gachapon[15] specialty store.”

“What? A gachapon specialty store? They exists?”

“They exist, that’s why it’s Akiba.”

“That so? Ah, sensei’s pulling a gacha.”

“I really don’t want to see the sight of a teacher I know rolling a 500 yen gacha. ...What kinda gacha is that?”

“Mushroom keychains, right? The real ones.”

“If he’s going to spend 500 yen anyway, couldn’t he just go to a supermarket and buy one?”

“You really don’t understand, huh, Fushiguro. It’s good because you can’t be sure of what you’ll get.”

“I don’t want to understand that in my life time.”

“Ah, sensei’s opening the capsule, I wonder what he got?”

“Looking at the lineup, isn’t it a poisonous mushroom? He looks really frustrated, after all.”

“Buhahahahaha, I guess you can’t eat that!!”

“No, you can’t eat mushrooms that come out of a capsule toy no matter what it is.”

Gojou unwillingly put the keychain in his pocket, and continued to loiter around.

When you thought he went to a computer store just to hold a mouse, he moved into an electronic store and tried on an electronic massager on his shoulder.

And when you thought he’d vanished, he’s suddenly inside a book store, free-reading a manga, and moved into a sideway to look at old games on wagon sale. He moved around according to his interests, wherever he wanted to go.

“...It doesn’t look like he has a specific purpose in mind.”

“Seems so.”

Itadori, now suddenly wearing a strength-measuring goggles toy, replied to Fushiguro’s muttering.

“Where the hell did you buy that?”

“In some second hand shop. I thought Gojou-sensei would be interested since he reads manga, too.”

“You’re really light on your wallet, aren’t you.”

“A man is a creature that uses their money when they think it’s the right time.”

“Was that shitty game earlier also ‘the right time’?”

“Ah, Gojou-sensei went inside a building. No, that’s wrong, I meant his ‘energy’ went inside the building!”

“You don’t have to correct yourself.”

“Oh no, we’re going to lose him. We’re following him, Fushiguro!”

“No, wait.”

“Gueh!”

As Itadori was about to step into the building, Fushiguro pulled his parka’s hood to stop him. It’s a very dangerous act, so don’t imitate him.

“You wanna kill me or something!? What’s wrong, we’re already this far in and you want to stop tailing him halfway?”

“You... don’t you see the building’s signboard?”

“Eh? ...... Eh!?”

Itadori looked up as he was told.

Reading the signboard written in a pop font, his expression turned into that of a flustered one.

――Angel Maid Cafe, “SHOW WARU☆Cupid”[16]

The rather maniac cafe located in the second floor of the building.

No, it’s not like it’s an indecent store or something. It’s an ordinary cafe with maids serving the customers, that’s all.

Even so, for normal people, it’s the kind of shop that needs a lot of courage to go in to. It’s even worse for boys in their puberty.

 “...... As expected this place’s a bit... no, even for Gojou-sensei’s level, this kind of place is really surprising.”

“Hey, his aim is probably this.”

The thing Fushiguro pointed towards was a poster on the wall. It advertised something like: “Authentic French technique! Exquisite pancakes that makes even patissiers groan!”

Indeed, that could be it, Itadori also nodded in agreement.

“This is definitely his aim, for sure. How much sweets is he planning to eat, anyways?”

“When he’s busy, Gojou-sensei tend to eat more sweets like these, after all...”

“Alright, now that the mystery’s solved, let’s stop tailing him. I mean, it’s embarrassing having to go in to a place like this.”

“That’s a clever decision for you.”

“――Welcome, Masters!”

“Eh?”

“Eh?”

A cheerful voice filled with business enthusiasm jumped out from behind them.

It was a veteran maid who had thought of them as - and admittedly they do look the part - ‘customers who are hesitating whether or not to come in to the cafe’ called them out, looking to make them the cafe’s source of income.

That’s right. Neither Itadori’s genius physical senses nor Fushiguro’s polished curse presence-sensing abilities could catch on the maid’s presence.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

‘Did I do something bad in my past life?’, Fushiguro thought.

While looking on in blank surprise, he was pulled into the maid cafe together with Itadori.

As they were brought in, they were made to wear angel wings and halo made of plastic and wire, said to ‘let them feel heaven when they’re here’. Both his outside appearance and his mental condition is dead.

On the other hand... 

“For first-time customers, we recommend the Precious Set - Mellow-mellow A~” [17]

“Eh... I see. Well, I guess for the first time it’s better to just leave it up to the staff. We’ll get two of the Precious Sets. With extra melancholy.”

“Understood, Mastereincarnation☆”[18]

“Eh, what’s with that cool sounding word. Is it German?”

“It’s English☆”

“So it’s English!”

Just like that, Itadori’s already talking normally with the maid.

Naturally cheerful people... or, more like, those with party-people tendencies, and people with positive, bright vibes usually do well in places like this.

On the other hand, earnest-by-nature people like Fushiguro have the most difficulty in situations like this.

Fushiguro could feel his heart dying by the second just by looking at the fact that he’s currently sitting across Itadori, wearing a pair of angel wings and halo.

“And hey, Fushiguro, it’s about the crucial thing, but...”

“What?”

“As expected, seems like sensei’s aim was the pancake.”

“......... Yeah...”

The most important part of this investigation, Gojou, had especially sat down on the seat by the window where you can only see the neighboring building, and has since started his tea time, eating the pancake in grace.

He wore the angel cosplay very naturally as if it was his uniform, yet the way he sipped his cappuccino look like he was from a hard-boiled novel. The way he made himself ‘at home’ was in a different dimension when compared to first-time customers like Itadori and Fushiguro.

On the other hand, even taking into account the fact that Fushiguro is still a beginner, he’s almost on his limit. If he could, he’d leave this place even a second faster.

“Oi. Now that we know Gojou-sensei’s true aim, if you’re satisfied then let’s get out of here.”

“Eeh, but I ordered already.”

“Just pay for it and get out.”

“But it’s not good if the food we ordered go to waste, right?”

“...Well, that’s true, but...”

Fushiguro wanted to leave the cafe even if it meant paying for nothing, but he’s a kind person in nature, so when he’s told something like that, he just couldn’t complain.

On the other hand, his eyes that look like the deepest gulf peeking into the night, started to look duller and duller. Once again, Fushiguro attempted to turn off his awareness.

Numbness is a safety device for the living. He must protect his heart at all costs - or else, it wouldn’t be strange for a curse to be born.

It was a stark contrast to Itadori, who, despite being restless, look like he’s excited to try out an attraction in a theme park.

However, the maid cafe’s true baptism starts from here.

“Here’s Precious Set - Mellow-mellow A~”

The true form of Precious Set that one couldn’t ever guess from the menu at all is actually an ordinary looking omurice[19].

On top of the plate was a panda drawn with ketchup - and, it’s most probably a coincidence, but it look like Panda-senpai so much that Fushiguro’s heart ached.

On the empty spaces in the plate was written words like ‘Precious...! Makes me feel frazzled...!’, but the only one actually frazzled here is Fushiguro.

On the other hand, Itadori’s already completely adapted to the situation.

“Well then, I’m going to ask for Masters to add on even more melancholy on the dish~”

“What should I do to add on the melancholy?”

“Please tell me one precious, melancholic, and emotionally moving scene from your favorite anime! If you can make me feel melancholic without telling me the title, you pass~”

“Eeh. Dang, it’s kinda hard to choose. ...Ah, then that one where the main character is a boy who really admires heroes.”

“Me too, I watch that, too. It’s one of my favorites~”

“There’s this character with an inferiority complex towards his father... and then there’s the scene where he remembered that he wanted to become a hero, and he finally used the ‘left hand’ that he never used. I like that one.”

“Ah~ That’s a definitive episode, that one. But the scene choice is too cliche, so try another one!”

“Ah, then another anime. The main character lives in the ninja village. At first he got ostracized by his friends, but then he grew up and there’s this scene where he’s finally recognized as a proper ninja and got tossed up high in the air by his comrades...”

“Ah~ that’s a really emotional scene, isn’t it~”

“And the part where the teacher, who was his only ally, looked at him and got moved to tears... it’s definitely something you can’t miss.”

“Ah~ you’re going in really on point, aren’t you~”

“The part where they said, ‘Right now, there’s a hero in front of me’, right?”

“I understand, I understand so well~~~~ That’s super extra melancholic, and because I feel hit right on the heart should I add on a topping for you?”

“Ah, so it’s that kind of system?”

“It’s a 400 yen a la carte menu, ‘Melancholy Potato’ add-on~”

“Wahh, that makes no sense――! So much carbohydrate!”

“Well then, let’s say it together: Emo――i!”[20]

“Emo――i!”

In a rather messy fashion, the potato was added on on top of the plate.

It’s definitely got that ‘refrigerated food’ feel, but it seems for an a la carte it goes for 400 yen. When you’re having fun you stop caring about such things, but Fushiguro was so bothered he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but to get bothered about various things.

And when he thought so, the tip of the blade is now aimed at him.

“This Master, too, together~!”

“Come on, Fushiguro, there’s topping there, too!”

“Okay, e――moi!”

“E――moi!”

“...”

Fushiguro didn’t reply. However, the event continued.

“Well, now that we have added on the topping, let’s take a cheki[21] with the dish. Okay, come closer, come closer~”

“Eh, there’s that kind of thing in this cafe?”

“Because it’s the Preciouse Set.”

“Heeh, I don’t understand at all but I see!”

“There’s this heavenly-feel, right?

“I dunno, is there? Might be.”

“...”

“Well then, excuse me for sitting beside you~”

“Eh, aren’t you too close? I’m a bit embarrassed about these kinds of things.”

“You have to experience this kind of embarrassment to be an adult, you know~”

“Is that true?”

“Yup, it is~ Here goes, cheki☆”

“Che-cheki!”

“...”

“Thank you very much~”

“Oh darn, this is so embarrasing! Wah, my face’s so hot! It feels like I just paid off a really important thing! Am I okay? I’m still a minor!”

“Kyaa~ You’re so innocent it’s cute~ Well then, the Master over there, let’s go.”

“After all, the type of closeness is different to that of a folk dance. Fushiguro, be careful! You’ll get embarrassed! Super embarrassed!”

“Please prepare for taking the cheki~!”

“Fushiguro, it’s gonna start.”

“........................ No.”

Echoed a fragile, feeble, delicate voice like that of a dying duck.

“............ I’m......... okay......”

Fushiguro has finally reached his limits.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈« 

“Aah, I unexpectedly ate a lot. But the taste’s kind of ordinary, wasn’t it.”

“The inside of my mouth’s dried because of all the potatoes.”

Thirty minutes passed.

Fushiguro and Itadori safely got out of heaven that took 500 yen to go in to.

“Fushiguro, I got the cheki we took earlier, you want it?”

“The next time you joke like that, I’m going to jam in paprika up your nose.”

“Isn’t it just something you don’t like! No, I understand, I understand that’s the limit to your harassment!”

“There’s a temple near Kanda. We’re going to burn the photos there.”

“Does it have to be in a temple!?”

“The only thing to do to cursed pictures is burning it for offering.”

“I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t know you were in that much pain!”

From Itadori’s perspective, Fushiguro always looked like he’s in a bad mood, but today, once again he got a look at ‘an actually angry Fushiguro’.

Now that it’s become like this, even Itadori couldn’t get into his usual rhythm.

A bit awkwardly, he thought of how to continue the conversation as he scratched his cheek - and then finally he decided to go back to the start of everything.

“B-by the way, in the end we lost Gojou-sensei, huh.”

“Yeah, but who cares about that.”

“Wa-waah, I wonder where he went......”

“What’s this about me?”

““Uwaaaaah!?””

The person who stepped into their somewhat awkward atmosphere in a suprising timing was Gojou, appearing from behind them.

Moreover――

“Go-Gojou-sensei! Since when were you behind us...... huh? Kugisaki’s here, too? Why?”

“Don’t ‘why’ me, you ass.”

Behind Gojou, Kugisaki shows up in a bad mood... or rather, full of malice and resentment.

For Itadori, it would be that another angry classmate shows up.

“Eeh... Even Kugisaki’s in a bad mood.”

“Of course I’d be. Because you guys loitered around Gojou-sensei, we...”

“Oh, come to think of it, Gojou-sensei, is it your day off today?”

“Don’t ignore me, you!”

Sensing that Kugisaki would complain in a more assertive fashion than Fushiguro, Itadori quite bluntly changed the subject.

Although, in the end, the subject didn’t change.

“No, I’m working as usual.”

“Eh? But you ate crepes and walked around town...”

“If you’re as busy as me, you wouldn’t have time to walk around town and making rediscoveries if not as you work, y’know. I might look like that but I’m actually doing my job.”

“And that is?”

“Looking for a dungeon.”

“...... Dungeon?”

“To use a different term, I’m looking for a nice cursed spot that could be used by the first years to acquire experience. In other words, I’m doing preliminary inspection.”

“.........Yes?”

The memories from when he’d first transferred to the Curse Technical College resurfaced on the back of Itadori’s mind.

That day, they were going to sight-see Tokyo, but in the end they had to participate in a curse exorcism recreation in an abandoned building.

Gojou continued indifferently.

“That maid cafe’s neighboring building’s mostly empty of tenants, but a strange rumor seems to have shown up on the internet, you see. And, because of the old record shop with quite a long history rented the place, the curse story’s credibility went up.”

“Ahh, that’s why you kept looking at the window despite there being nothing to see but the building.”

“Then, this is supposed to be a task for another day, but in a happy coincidence, the three first years are all present, so... ‘This is nice, I’ll just have them challenge it today!’, I thought.”

“Eh... eh!?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve moved around the amp abandoned in the building, played recordings like what’s written on the rumors, and other stuff to provoke the cursed spirit. So, you guys will be able to meet a very lively cursed spirit no problem!”

“......... Eeh...”

Itadori immediately moved his gaze towards Kugisaki.

He finally understood the reason for her face full of resentment.

In contrast, Fushiguro looked sharp and firm.

“Alright, we’re going.”

“Wh-why are you so eager!?”

“I feel much better doing this than going to a game center or a maid cafe.”

“Eh, what, you guys went to a maid cafe? Forget Itadori, but you too, Fushiguro? You look composed but you’re actually a lecher, huh, all of you!”

“It was inevitable.”

“What do you mean, forget about me!?”

“Who cares, let’s go.”

“That’s why I’m asking, why are you already in battle mode, Fushiguro!?”

“’Cause Megumi didn’t get the chance to show his abilities in the abandoned building the other day, he’s still all about it.”

“I’m not all about that.”

“No, your face clearly looks like you’re all about it.”

“You’re actually the type to hold a grudge for a long time, aren’t you.”

“Well then everyone, be careful on the way. I’m going to go eat age-manjuu[16].”

“You’re still going to eat!?”

“Let’s just go.”

“Don’t ‘let’s go’ me! Shit, good bye, my day off――――!”

“My Ame-yoko―――!”

From a day off gone wrong, being able to get in touch with a shaman’s ‘usual atmosphere’ helped Fushiguro recover quite a bit.

On the other hand, there are Itadori who had his satisfying holiday cut off, and Kugisaki who’d missed eating Ame-yoko’s specialty, Hyakka-en’s fruits[22].

Gojou saw off the three, noisily heading to exorcise the cursed spirit, with his usual light smile.

“Hm?”

Something fell off from Itadori’s pocket. What is it? Gojou tilted his head in question as he picked it up.

And the next moment, he burst into a laugh.

“Mm, hahahahahahahahahaha!”

Gojou couldn’t stop laughing as the image leapt into his sight.

“Ku, kukuku......... Aren’t they actually having the time of their life, those youngsters.”

80% of his smile was due to the strangeness.

20% of it was due to the pleasantness.

It was said that for some time, Gojou laughed with the picture of Itadori and Fushiguro with a maid wearing angel wings in hand.

Megumi-sama ♥ ♥ Please come again!!

Notes

(p.s. I'm not very sure about some of these, please do tell me if I got anything wrong.)

[1] Mito Koumon is the titular character (also a real person, his other name is Tokugawa Mitsukuni) of a period drama. Each episode always end with Mito Koumon, in a disguise, winning in a brawl against bad guys.

[2] Sazae-san is the name of an anime that has aired every Sunday since 1946 in Japan.

[3] Ame-yoko is an area in Tokyo famous for its shopping districts.

[4] Parque Espana is a Spanish theme park in Japan.

[5] Ueno and Okachimachi is also area in Tokyo.

[6] Tachikawa is a town in Okachimachi.

[7] Chiyoda ward is a special ward located in central Tokyo.

[8] Masakadozuka is the tomb of a beheaded hero.

[9] Akiba is the short term for Akihabara.

[10] Pepper-kun is a really famous robot from Japan.

[11] Onsen is a hot spring.

[12] Super sentou: sentou means a public bath, but in super sentou they have much more facilities than a simple bath, like sweets shops, terrace, and rest areas.

[13] Yamanote-sen is a railway loop line in Tokyo. It goes through famous places like Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Ikebukuro.

[14] It's a place with a ball machine (like Mechamaru during the baseball event) that you use to just... hit balls with a bat.

[15] That small machine you put in money and roll to get some surprises. Some of them are really expensive...

[16] SHOW悪 is, I think, a pun on 性悪 (shouwaru) = ill-natured.

[17] 尊みセット・エモエモ A. I'm not sure how to translate this (this whole maid cafe sequence is giving me a headache), but 尊い (toutoi) means precious. It's usually an otaku language when one talks about their favorite characters. エモ (emo or emoi) means emotional or melancholic. It's also usually used as an otaku language.

[18] かしこまリィンカネーション☆　= Understood-reincarnation. How am I supposed to make this work.

[19] Omelette rice.

[20] I give up. It's emoi. It's just emoi.

[21] Cheki is those polaroid pictures you take with idols, usually.

[22] Hyakka-en is a fruit store that's apparently very famous. Kind of expensive (but fruits are expensive in general in Japan), and for older fruits they chop it up and place it on a stick.

Honestly the novel is a treasure chest full of cute moments and amazing characterization information. I really love it - it’s probably my best buy. If you love Jujutsu Kaisen, you should really buy the book!

By the way, they’re going to release a second light novel soon.