#anyway that’s not a loss to me. bang bang

[hertl]

eagles players and fans out here acting like it was a hard fought win as if they didn’t play 4th string “can’t catch a snap” josh johnson, one arm brock, and qb rb cmc with extra help from the refs 😭 have some shame

[sharkieboi]

actually re: Neverafter but just re-read the rewrite I did of Little Red Riding Hood for my Fairy Tales class and i was a fucking genius for it

[justaboutsnapped]

i should make a nico or brocedes playlist with just fall out boy songs it's completely doable and it will be so funny

[hopefullyababe]

anyway. if anyone has like. advice. on how to make everything feel less dull. and actually enjoy the company of people i like. id um. appreciate outside input.

[solelifauna]

But You Belong to Me (You Belong to Me) - (Yandere Jason Todd x Reader) Sneak Peak!!

Hey guys! I just thought I'd post a sneak peek for the upcoming yandere Jason Todd x Reader fic. It isn't much but hope y'all like it!

[Exerpt]

Heavy rain pelts down onto your frame, coveted in all black; what a bleak day it was, but you guessed the weather was befitting the occasion. There are three other people standing next to you also dressed in black. There was a hand on your shoulder (you don't know whose though, and you can't seem to care either), most likely in place to comfort you, or to try at least, but you couldn't focus on anything else but the too small coffin being lowered into the ground.

It was mahogany, a deep brown casket with gold details, something fancy. You knew if Jason were alive to see it, he'd hate it. He likes–liked red, he would have wanted a red one. But no, he was busy being lowered into the ground instead. Tears streamed down your face but you couldn't bring yourself to wipe them. What good would it do you? It was raining anyway.

The funeral comes to a close, although you're not sure when (how) time passed so quickly, leaving Jason, your best friend, the boy you loved, buried six feet under. You don't know what to do, you don't know what you can do. You just stand there, unable to move. He's dead. He’s dead. You’ll never see him again, he’s dead. You'll never sit on the couch with him arguing over his book of the week, he’s dead. You'll never get to stay up and watch the stars with him, he’s dead. You'll never get to tell him how you really feel, he's dead.  

It's only when Bruce, his father, gently tries to guide you to the car you came in, you break. You lash out, twisting away from his hand as you trip over yourself trying to get to Jason’s headstone. Bruce and Dick, Jason’s older brother, exclaim in surprise and then follow after you. You collapse on your knees near the freshly lain dirt, sobbing with your full chest.

You could hear Bruce and Dick stop a couple of feet away from you, unable to comfort you in their own grief. That was fine though, you're not sure what you'd say or do if they tried to. They let you have your time with him, knowing it was just as difficult for you as it was for them, but as time ticks by another hour has passed and you’re still kneeling by his grave, no longer crying, but still unmoving. 

You stared blankly at his headstone, still trying to realize that he wasn't coming back. When you feel someone grab your shoulder this time, you know it's Alfred. And you know what he's going to say to you, the words you’ve been dreading to hear.

“It’s time to go Miss (Y/n).” Alfred says gently, his own voice filled with grief at the loss of his grandson.

You don't say anything, your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Alfred only sighs, before taking his leave. Good. Nobody was taking you away from here. A couple more minutes pass when you hear another pair of footsteps headed towards you. Bruce.

“(Y/n),” Bruce calls softly, yet voice still rough and raw from his own sorrow, “It’s–It's time to go now sweetie.”

You don't even turn around from where you were sitting. “No.” You say firmly.

Bruce and Alfred exchange a look. 

“Miss (Y/n),” Alfred starts, “ you’ve been sitting out in the rain all day. Wouldn't you like a change of–”

“No!” You shout out this time. You flinch back from the sound of your own voice, and you could tell Alfred and Bruce were taken aback by your behavior as well. 

With a sigh, Bruce decides that he'd come get you himself, any longer out here and you'd be sick for a week. His hands come around to grab you, to pull you up and you scream, kicking and fighting your way out of his hold.

“No! No, I wont leave him! I'm not gonna leave him! Let me go!” You cry, banging your punny fists against Bruce’s chest. He doesn't even flinch, he just holds you and lets you cry, kick, and scream. 

“Please let me go! He–he doesn't like being alone, I promised him–I promised I'd never let him be alone.” You cry out again, your voice fizzling into another sob as your fussing stops. You just stand there, slumping into Bruce’s arms, sobbing once more.

He doesn't say another word, he just brushes your tears away and leads you towards the limo where Dick was already situated. Alfred sits you down into the limo, making his way to the driver's seat. Bruce slides in next, eyes aghast and tired, clearly haunted by the loss of his youngest. Dick is turned away from the rest of you in a similar state. The car starts, heading towards the manor.

It was a silent and short ride over, nobody daring or having the strength to say anything. The vehicle comes to a stop, everyone numbly piling out the door and into the Manor. Dinner would be forgotten tonight as everyone went to their own respective places to continue grieving. Bruce, to the Batcave; Alfred, to the Library; Dick, to patrolling the streets of Gotham (knowing that if he stayed in the manor, he’d end up breaking something); and you, to Jason's room.

You crumpled onto the maroon carpet, gazing around his room, hoping that you'd see him pop up and tell you it was all a joke. But he wouldn't. You saw his mangled body. You knew that he was never coming back. What's even worse, is that you could still see Jason’s unfinished math homework lying on his desk, the paper slightly crumpled from when he would undoubtedly grip and erase out of frustration. Mrs. Delaurier’s algebra II homework would forever remain unfinished.

You promptly break into tears once more.

[I want to preface that the reader is NOT adopted by Bruce Wayne!]

[champion-of-love]

eah texting hcs

the charming siblings have a groupchat ofc and dexter is the admin

their gc photo is a blurry picture of their dad midsneeze and they got it from a stock photo website. their dad has tried to sue the photographer's company but lost the suit and it's the trios' favorite photo.

the gc is mostly them sending memes to each other, accusing each other of taking their stuff, or passing messages from their parents to the intended sibling (the charming castle being so massive and all)

their gc names were just their names at first til one day dex got so pissed at daring that he changes his brother's nickname to 'demanding' charming

darling laughed so hard she saw stars and made her twin promise to never change it back

darling's nickname is 'dueling' charming

dexter's nickname is 'dismaying' charming

(he picked it out himself, and daring and darling shared a concerned looked at the other when he did.)

the wonderlandians also have a groupchat. lizzie, maddie and kitty and eventually alistair and bunny

to match all their names, alistair happily changed his nickname to 'allie' and lizzie gave the loudest snort at it

their entire chat is in riddlish and other wonderlandian dialects and theyre happy they get to practice their native tongues even if they're away from home

maddie's messages are sometimes so nonsensical (so wonderlandian) that the kookiness can sometimes short out their mirrorphones

cue to kitty dropping by lizzie and bunny's rooms warning them to not open the groupchat for a while so they don't short out their phones

kitty never warns alistair though, because she thinks it's funny.

alistair just opens that chat with no suspicion and gets flash-banged by maddie's texts and has to spend the rest of the day with no phone, a little hearing loss and dark spots in his vision.

the pink squad also have a groupchat. cupid, briar and hopper, my beloveds.

briar is the admin and the groupchat moves at the speed of light

cupid and briar text rapidfire and send gossip, memes, selfies, screenshots and etc and react as fast to each others' messages as well

hopper wakes up to a massive backread that he has to spend half an hour in the morning catching up or he won't understand what they'll be talking about in lunch

they use that chat to plan events they want to go to and to send photos that they took during the event itself

their gc pic is a group photo of all of them posing pretty cool in front of a mirror during true hearts day (their first party)

they manage to get humphrey to encode some special features into their chat so that:

(a) briar's phone can send a message if she falls asleep alone somewhere to broadcast her location so any one of them can go to her

(b) hopper's phone can also send his location if he becomes a frog and there's no one to turn him back

(c) cupid's phone also sends her location. not because she physically needs help, but because she gets lonely (being further away from home than all of them).

briar and hopper always take this seriously and arrive with hot chocolate, cupcakes and hugs.

anyways this series has been dead for years now but thinking about these kids always gives me the feels and i had to talk about them

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Slip of The Tongue - Toge

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, smut,

A/n: back to make up for Kinktober day 6! Dubcon.

Word count: 1.5k

Read on ao3.

It had been a simple slip of the tongue, a mere faux pas, but the consequences had been explosive. 

“Fuck me,” Toge had said ― groaned more like, in frustration, promoted from his third loss at Mario kart against you. 

You turned toward him just in time to see his eyes widen, the realization of what he had done living there. 

Toge’s watery voice washed away all reason in your mind as you flung yourself at him, arms around his shoulders, and planted your lips over his. 

Toge had dipped under your weight, falling to the floor by his side as your hands plucked feverishly at his clothes. Toge had opened his mouth to gasp only to invite the aggressive wet of your tongue to brush and lap against his cursed one ― 

Your hands traveled south, curled around his belt ― 

Toge had torn his head away from you ―

“NO!”

The word, imbued with cursed energy, rippled over the room like a sonic wave. At his mercy, you froze. Toge's eyes darted across your face. His hands angled you back to your knees and off of him. 

The clouds obscuring your eyes waned. You blinked. 

“What?” Your brows creased. “What... What happened?”

Toge's answer came only in the hanging of his head as his hands shrunk away from your shoulders. You studied his face as realization came over yours. 

The last few seconds relayed in your mind. “Oh, god ― Toge, it’s okay ― I'm ―”

"Salmon." Toge scrambled to his feet and passed the door before you could halt him. 

You hadn't seen Toge since that fateful night, surely avoiding you. 

You sighed as your fingers dragged fog from your mirror. You knew he would blame himself. It was his fault; typically he knew better, the severity of the damage he could cause with a simple word always at the back of his mind. But three nights ago, he had 

You didn't care. You just wanted your friend back. 

“Does anyone know where he is?” You asked in the Jujutsu University lounge. 

Yuuta and Panda froze. Yuuta swallowed, toying with the hilt of his sword. 

“I ― um ― I don't know, (Y/n),” he said. 

You crossed your arms. “You're a bad liar, Yuuta.” 

“He's not lying,” Panda said. “Truth is, we haven't seen Toge in a few days. Not even a single text.”

You straightened your back. That was strange. Toge was a chatterbox in texts, what with it being the only safe way he could truly express himself. “What? Not even a meme?”

“Not one.” Panda shrugged. “He’s fine. I’m sure of it! You know how he can be sometimes.”

You would not be fooled, especially when you had an idea of where Toge had gone.

It was a place he and you had discovered and claimed for yourselves, one fateful evening exploring the city. 

The weight of Toge’s disappearance weighed on you as you approached the warehouse. Doubt and worry held your stomach taut. What if you were wrong? Maybe Toge hadn’t come here after all? 

You had to check. You walked inside, caution slowing every step. 

“Toge?” 

Quiet.

BANG

You startled; it was muffled, and most likely had come from several rooms over. You swallowed. You didn’t sense a curse ― not yet, anyway.

You followed the source of the sound, trembling down a series of stairs until you came to a lower, darker area of the abandoned warehouse. 

Sitting on the ground, faced away from you. 

“... Toge?” You murmured. You hardly had to ask; you knew.

Toge spun. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, as though sleep had eluded him for days.

“It’s okay …” You walked toward him. “Please, just tell me what happened ―”

He shot his arm out as he stumbled away from you.

“Toge, please ―”

He turned away. Vaguely, you wondered why he did not voice to stop you. Silence was all you were met with as you approached.

You reached out. Just the slightest bit of skin between your finger and his neck touched ―

He grabbed your offered arm and you fell against his lips.

Shock overcame you as Toge’s hands cradled your face. You opened your mouth to speak only for his tongue to bridge the gap and find yours. He opportunized your shock to part your mouth with his tongue. Your eyes widened as he sucked your tongue, rutting into you. You had done all it took to ignore the thought of Toge’s lips on yours since that, and now your diligence was forfeit as his lips moved against yours with a fervor you struggled to match. Before you knew it you were against the wall, Toge’s greedy, frantic hands venturing your body, desperate for a slight of naked skin. 

“Toge ―” Something’s wrong with him. “Toge!”

No use; his mouth won over your words. He earned himself a gasp from you as his hips jutted into you, hands kneading into your breasts. You were so overwhelmed you did not feel the straps of your top come down nor the way your panties now hung past your skirt, hooked over your wobbling knees.

You understood now; he had kept himself away to protect you.

But no one could do that now.

It didn’t matter how your cunt throbbed with every touch, how saliva ran your mouth to taste him, have him splitting you open. You had to stop him.

“Toge, I ―” You trembled as he nibbled the skin. Already, you could sense the darkening of the bruises that would be left there. The hand on the small of your back held you in place as you squirmed. “I ― I don’t know if I want this ―”

“Yes, you do.” Toge licked the shell of your ear, heated breath on your lobe. “Of course you do.” A hand slipped in between your legs without ceremony, his fingers finding evidence of his truth. He met your eye, his collar low enough to showcase his smirk. His expression challenged you: See how wet you are?

You understood as his will lay over yours. Your cunt throbbed with gratitude as Toge played with your wet folds. You bit yourself as two fingers slid with ease into your heat. Pretty violet eyes remained glued to yours, dared you to deny, to lie.

You couldn’t lie to yourself. 

Again and again, you had dreamed of this since Toge’s slip up had allowed you to taste him for the first time. The night you had gotten just a taste. Why couldn’t he have put his morals aside for one night? Why couldn’t he have just let you finish the job ―?

Now, Toge scissored you from within, palm rocking into your clit as you whined into his shoulder. Your arms came around him to keep him close. He panted beside you. A third finger tickled your folds before letting itself in to be eaten by your cunt. You reddened; juices leaked down your inner thigh. You rocked shamelessly against his fingers, hungry for the length of them along with his palm brushing your sensitive clit. You drew blood on your lip as a tightening behind your abdomen ―

Toge withdrew his fingers and you whined against the cold emptiness. He brought his fingers to his mouth to lick and suck your juices from them, a moan stuck in his throat as he savored your taste. 

Another blink and you were on the ground. Shafts of sunlight from the poorly-boarded up roof warmed your skin as Toge toppled you. You shivered as the trails his tongue made left cool tracks over your heated skin. How long would he be like this? Panic jolted you, arched you into Toge’s frenzied hold. No one knew the two of you were here. And he wouldn’t let you go. How long would the effects of whatever Toge faced last? How long would he use you? The fearful thrill went straight to your aching cunt.

“Don’t move.”

Your body obeyed. Toge knuckled your panties and slid them down to bunch at your ankles. Toge faced you as he settled himself between your legs, beautiful violet eyes dilated by madness. Already, his hips rutted against you, erection probing you ― alleviated only by Toge freeing his cock and with a growl fixing to enter you.

Toge slipped a thumb into your mouth as he sank into you. “Suck,” he ordered, voice watery and reverbed ― and hoarse from the squeeze of your walls. He whined as you suckled his thumb. Your body bounced with his quick, unfiltered pace. Toge kissed down your jaw, pants huffing against your skin.

“Aah …” His face strained. Slap, slap, slap went his hips into you. He forced your hands over your head to possess you fully. “So good …!”

You were too worked up to withstand his bestial pace. Toge licked the shell of your ear before slipping his tongue into your canal ― 

“Cum.”

He ordered it, but he didn’t need to; you were already convulsing around him, his voice command adding another layer of chaos to your climax, doubling it, tripling it. Your eyes rolled back as your screams were muffled with Toge’s mouth. Your cunt overran with warmth but, as one command overcame the other, you wrapped arms and legs around Toge to prevent him from leaving.

When you were too weak to hold Toge to you, he pulled out. He stared at you from above, flushed face, spittle ran down his cheek. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes.He surveyed the damage he had done.

And, apparently, felt nothing as he dragged you by your legs toward him to ruin you again.

[ellecdc]

Hi!! I saw your requests were open and I’d love to take a shot with one!

So I have a partner that I’ve been with for almost a year and it wasn’t until the last few months that I’ve realized how toxic and horrible the relationship is. So- I was hoping that I could request a poly!marauders x reader (starting platonic and then romantic?) and reader has a partner that’s really toxic and the boys help the reader figure out how to break up and take care of herself (or themself/himself!) and then once the reader and the partner break up, the marauders take care of reader and then eventually admitting their love to reader and etc etc etc you take away the rest!!! Thank you so much!!!!!! I love love love your work!!!!!!

ok first of all: if you haven't already, please dump them? they're not worth it babes. if it costs you your peace - it's too expensive thank you for your request; hope you love it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: brief mention of previously toxic relationship, grief over end of relationship

You knew this was for the best, but it didn't make it any less painful.

It'd been about a month and a half since you and your...ex broke up, and exactly 12 days to the minute of no contact. Your mind was still reeling from the previous few weeks since you'd decided to finally end things before you finally blocked their number.

It proved to you that you had done the right thing; they were not good for you, and they're behaviour only proved that.

So why did you still feel so incredibly wrong?

You felt a mixture of things. Overwhelming grief at not only the loss of someone that was a huge part of your life, but also grief over the loss of everything you ever hoped your life would be with that person.

You also felt guilty; guilty for ending things (even though it was the right thing to do), guilty for spending so long trying to force a relationship that wasn't meant to last, and guilty for falling in love with the potential that someone had - which only left both of you disappointed.

It was probably overkill to have turned your phone off completely, but after blocking their number, you couldn't help but jump every time your phone went off - thinking, hoping, dreading that it might be your ex. You also couldn't handle scrolling through instagram to see all of your other friends, happy, smiling, in love, and not feeling like their world was falling to pieces.

Your pity party was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. You were considering ignoring it when a less gentle knock followed which you recognized to be Sirius'.

"You don't have to bang, Sirius." You could hear James chide quietly as you unlocked and swung the door open.

The somewhat terse conversation ended abruptly as the three figures beamed at you: James widely, Remus kindly, and Sirius cheekily.

"Well hello, gorgeous!" Sirius cheered at you as he pulled you into a quick embrace.

"Uh, hi!" You said back, though your voice sounded higher than usual. When was the last time you'd used it?

"Mind if we come in?" Remus asked gently before James and Sirius were shouldering their ways into your apartment anyway.

"Uhm, yeah. Sure." You said as you followed them in.

James pulled you into his side as Sirius made himself at home on your couch and Remus sat at your kitchen table. "How've you been, sweetheart?" He asked.

You blushed at the nickname and ducked your chin to your chest. "I'm alright, James. How have you guys been?"

"Miserable." Sirius answered immediately. "Completely miserable without our favourite girl around. It's been too long."

"You don't have to apologize," Remus interjected as you began to defend yourself. "We just wanted to check in, that's all."

You smiled at the three boys, suddenly very self-conscious of your apartment and your outfit - neither of which had been tidied nor changed in the last few days.

"Come sit with me." Sirius said as he patted the couch beside him and then opened his arm for you to sit under.

You moved towards him obediently and he quickly pulled you in tight to his side and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

"So, what can we do? Can I help you tidy?" Remus asked enthusiastically.

You immediately shook your head no as your eyes widened in horror. "Absolutely not, no. Thank you, but honestly, I'm fine."

Sirius groaned as he leaned to whisper into your ear conspiratorially, you startled and turned to face him, only to have your noses centimetres apart.

"Listen, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret: Rem here has been just sick with worry, and it would really make him feel better if you let him feel like he's helping you." He stage whispered as he motioned toward the said worried boy with his head.

Had you not been so shocked by the lack of distance between you and Sirius, you may have seen Remus gently roll his eyes at Sirius' theatrics.

"Help the poor sod out, give him something to do." He encouraged you with a salacious wink.

"I, uhm... I guess I've been meaning to catch up on the dishes?" You stated as a question, grimacing at the days worth of dishes in your sink.

Remus jumped up happily throwing a "Got it!" over his shoulder.

"What about me, gorgeous? Anything I can do? Maybe laundry?" James asked eagerly.

"You are not doing my laundry, James." You answered bluntly.

"Got it, got it. Okay, maybe I can clean your bathroom?"

Somehow, that was worse.

"Okay, you can do my laundry." You acquiesced.

James whooped, actually whooped, like a cartoon character before he started down the hallway he knew lead to your bedroom.

"See? Look how happy you made them." Sirius said as he kneaded at the flesh of your thigh with his hand.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What's your job?" You asked.

You suddenly felt like it was the wrong question when Sirius' grin grew exponentially. "Oh, I get to sit here with my favourite girl."

"We're taking turns, Pads!" James called from down the hallway.

"Semantics." Sirius muttered before he turned his attention back to you.

"Listen; I won't make you talk about this if you don't want to, but I need you to know that we're here for you, alright? Like really, really here for you; whatever you need. I know you've probably convinced yourself that you're all alone and unloved. But we need you to know that's not true. You're not unloved, never could be; not with us around."

Your sinuses filled painfully behind your eyes as you moved to hide your face into Sirius' shoulder.

"What did you do?" Remus asked Sirius, sounding (gently) horrified.

"Just told her we loved her."

James came out of your room at Remus' concerned tones. "We're supposed to be making her feel better, Pads." He sighed.

"You are." You muttered from your place in Sirius' shoulder.

It was true; you had convinced yourself you were all alone and completely unloveable. If even your ex couldn't manage to love you, how would anyone else?

But with Sirius' arms around your shoulder and his lips pressed into your hair, James coming up behind you two and giving your hand a comforting squeeze, and Remus running to put a pot of tea on for the lot of you like that might be what stitches your heart back together; you certainly felt loved.

[crayons-and-glitter-glue]

I think about Sun and Moon's original versions a LOT, and I don't get why people say they're not expressive!

Or perhaps, I do, and I just wanna ramble. Anyways! Big ol warning for lots of talking, some fursuit gifs and analyzation of body movement.

So, they have flat, immobile faceplates, right? Technically, yes!some argue that this makes them immediately inert and expressionless and opt to enhance their expressions. And this is a-okay! Do what you like!

But as someone who used to be a costumer, and wears a fursuit on occasion,

(Sorry, I love this gif so much)

BUT! When in a mascot costume, fursuit, or any other costume with a mask over one's face, the performer has to learn how to move in order to portray the emotions necessary for character engagement with the audience! Whether it's exaggerated head bobs, using your hands to talk, or making everything a bit of a spectacle, even the way you tilt your FACE can affect how you look.

Even MUPPETS do this with their limited range of expression. And we can easily draw those conclusions of how the boys were programmed to act in canon!

Take Sun's default animation in the daycare, just standing there.

It's very obvious here what he's trying to portray, and who his programmed audience is- little children! When costuming around little kids, you wanna use big gestures, and get on their level because you can seem HUGE AND SCARY to them! You wanna get down towards the ground, make big sweeping cartoon motions, and make sure all your movements are ROUNDED- not jabbing, sharp, or sudden- so that the kid isn't ever surprised, but rather delighted by your performance as a costumer. I'll show you an example by the amazing performer, Temba the Bat! (Made by Toxicoon, I believe.)

Big sweeping motions, slow without being too spooky, and generally friendly motions while swaying the head! Looks kinda similar right?

Another point is, though, these exaggerated motions don't really... turn off when feeling other things. Sun and Moon don't have a customer service mode, and that's WILD to me that their programming requires them to act like this all the time. Exhibit B: Sun's pain in the transformation scene.

He's making such exaggerated motions and movements to INDICATE he is in pain or holding something back. He's gripping his face like something is trying to come out of it, and even dramatically falls backwards to indicate a loss of control in his body. Whether the way the fall looks so cartoonist was intentionally programmed in, I couldn't tell you.

And then... there's Moon.

This is SO cartoon villain sequel, isn't it? The hands tapping delicately on the surface, the exaggerated head tilt, all of it is so wildly exaggerated in such a smooth way to let you know "Ah! I'm in danger! Great!"

And yet... he still is low to the ground. Still in that pose of going after someone SMALL. Performing for someone small. His evilness is almost completely exaggerated and, dare I say, fabricated by his programming. Of course, the virus probably had something to do with it but LIKE! Look at that range of motion!

Idk what the point of all this is, I just wanna say: it's totally understandable to make the boys super duper expressive in the artistic, flat 2d styles i see a lot!

But man I do hope someone draws them biblically accurate while expressing something else because that would be hilarious to see Sun throwing a temper tantrum by banging his fists on the ground and flailing while his face is just

:D

[wellofdean]

I wanted to make a separate pose to big up these excellent tags on this post about how a show can be about misogyny when it's about men from @deangirlism101 :

#by virtue of watching the show long after it stopped airing and after years of exposure to the fandom#I've experienced a very interesting phenomenon wherein i went in expecting a very straightforward male fantasy#specifically in regards to dean#and was continuously surprised by how dean was around women who were actual characters and not caricatures#with caricatures of women dean also becomes a caricature of a womanizer#but with woman characters? with victims and friends?#dean is constantly paternal/brotherly#endlessly protective and respectful#in fact dean's utter lack of sexualization of the complex women around him in the first few seasons#kind of had me thinking he might just be straightforward gay#additionally it's interesting to point out that dean is the only one of the three winchesters who does not have a#''symbolic woman'' that drives his narrative#i.e. of the three winchesters he is the one who engages with the women around him as people and not someTHING to give him ''purpose''#which ties pretty well into his own role in his family being a typically femenine one#john endlessly relies on dean to serve the role of his mother yet he resents him when he does it so naturally#which from a queer lense is pretty much spelling out ''john can't put his finger on it but something (queerness) about dean bothers him''#anyways it just surprises me how#the fandom has perpetuated this image of the characters#and how#ironically#that image is the exact caricature dean so obviously puts on and we so obviously are supposed to KNOW he puts on

Some really nice points here, and bang on target:

Dean is not called to his adventure/journey because a symbolic woman dies like John and Sam are; he is put upon it by his father and his own sense of responsibility and love before he has the agency to choose. He wants his father's approval, his brother's love, and he wants not to be alone in a world of monsters...and...is HE a monster? A killer? Is everything his fault?

John resents Dean because what he needs from Dean (obedience, domestic work, emotional labour) is feminine. It's what women are for. Dean internalizes that resentment. Sam defies John and is driven by his own losses, and John can respect that, but Dean becomes the family repository of what they've lost. Dean is the eldest daughter who can never do enough.

John has chosen to abandon normal life and live on the fringes to pursue his revenge quest, and Sam is fighting to get back to the center -- left his family, hot girlfriend, Stanford Law, credit in the straight world, friends. But Dean? He has accepted that he will never be normal. He has accepted that he will always be a lonely, liminal weirdo who knows something terrible about the world that most people are spared from knowing.

Like:

If you leave Supernatural season 1 without realising that everything Dean pretends to be is pretty much the opposite of what he is, then you are not watching it right, full stop. The Dean Winchester he pretends to be is a character invented by a terrified, homeless, wounded little boy who doesn't know how else to protect himself.

Second, if you can't see how totally fucking queer all that is, I CAN'T HELP YOU. And,

you cannot hit that many nails on the head without knowing where you're swinging your hammer, and in conclusion, Dean was always deeply queered, and that was in the DNA of his character.

The truth is, that Dean is a very cohesive character. He is written and performed beautifully, and with intention. He is not an accident, he is an artistic creation, and he is excellently drawn. I am not "giving the writers too much credit", I am taking an Occam's Razor-type view of it, and coming up with the simplest explanation for what I see on the screen.

That said, if by some insane magic trick they managed to make Dean this queer by accident? It doesn't matter what they intended, because THE TEXT IS WHAT IT IS. I don't need the permission of the authors to see a church by daylight, and Dean is THAT OBVIOUS.

[fraugwinska]

What about the reader found and old radio, they thought the radio was broken but it's not, it's just antique.. when they play it at night time alastor broadcast was heard first they feel something is odd.. but they love to listen to his voice, heck they even like talking to each other, because of this encounter alastor talk about it to rosie, she was happy hearing alastor telling her stories but she feel odd when alastor mention that the person he talks to is a human, Rosie giving him advice to not fall for human because they're different species, and it will make him weak etc.

Alastor feel guilty and agree with rosie advice so he's stop contacting the reader from the radio, he thinks that the reader will be fine but no the reader take it personally.. they thought alastor don't want to talk to them anymore.. it drive them mad and lead to suicide..

So yeah angst :D

Oh Anon. What have you done.

I cried while I wrote that - it took two very good friends of mine to encourage me to post it (Thanks to @macabr3-barbi3 and @mysterypotatoink). But I think it's tragic and beautiful, and honestly - I'm kinda proud of it!

TW: Psychological Trauma, descend into madness, loss of self care and suicide - please take care of yourself and do not read if you aren't comfortable with any of the mentioned! MINORS DNI

Here we go.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Leap of Faith

You carried in the last box from you banged-up minivan. The old thing barely made it to your new home. A little cabin in the outskirts of New Orleans, a little off the grid and surrounded by the peaceful and whirring bayous of Louisiana.

A fixer-upper, just like yourself.

The online auction had intrigued you the second you found it, the photos were a bit blurry and you knew it was a risk to buy a place you've never set foot in, but something in you called you to get it. The price you paid was laughable, barely making a dent in your savings. Moving states sounded scary and impossible, but you felt oddly calm about it.

You didn't have a lot of stuff to move anyway. After all, you only lived with your late grandmother, and she never really cared for material things. Your parents left you at her doorstep, never to be seen again.

Caring for her in her last, sickness-ridden years had been a no-brainer - it felt like nothing in comparison to all she had done for you - but it also had been a bit lonely.

You had your friends, if you could even call them that, but you rarely saw them - guiding your nan through the last months of her life had been demanding and time-consuming. It had left you exhausted and emotionally unavailable, and after a while, calls and texts ceased, until it was just you and her. You felt lost, as if the world was slowly pulling away from you.

When she finally died, peacefully in her sleep, you felt sad, relieved and drained.

Detached from the city you lived in.

Lost.

So you decided to sell what little you inherited, except for a few sentimental mementos, and move away from it all. To start a new life, a happier one, finally one that was truly your own.

You took the final box inside, setting it on the coffee table and wiped the sweat from your brow. You looked around the little cabin: The roof had some spots that needed a patch, and the wood floors were a bit warped, but it was all yours. No more having to share anything with anyone.

The cabin came furnished, a lot of the stuff was old, but still usable. You figured that would change once you settled in and had a vision of what you wanted and needed to buy. The thought of thinking about no one but yourself made you nervous.

But a little excited, too.

The old furniture would do for the moment, but there was a particular piece that caught your eye: an old, vintage cathedral radio, sitting nestled in between a cracked wooden box and a tarnished, bronze candle holder in a bookcase that was a bit out of place in the tiny space. With a tilted head, you stepped closer to inspect it, drawn to it by it's unique character and beauty.

It looked as well-loved as it looked well-used, the mahogany a bit scuffed, the knobs a little worn from years of being turned. But there were golden details etched into the front, and you traced them lightly with a finger, strangely touched and intrigued.

You were certain the old thing didn't work, but when you plugged it into the nearby socket, static erupted from the speakers, making you jump back. You had to smile, though.

Tonight, you wouldn't be alone. You'd have this little device and a little music for good company.

***

"I'm home!" you announced to no one in particular, as you closed the door behind you, your hands full with overfilled grocery bags full of necessities, waiting to fill your empty cabinets.

The day had been hot, but a welcome breeze of the impending night break cooled the inside of your little cabin a bit. With a quiet grunt you set the paper bags down at the small kitchenette. Your groceries were quickly dispersed, and you put on an apron you saved from your grandmother as you got started on dinner.

You hummed as you cut vegetables and boiled water. It had been a long time since you had cooked, really cooked, your nan wasn't much for eating and had no problem living off of simple soups and toast. When you opened your fridge to get some butter, your glance fell onto the radio.

A little music would be nice, you decided, and you walked over, cleaning your hands on the red, frilly cloth around your waist before you turned the dial. The soft sound of static made you hum in contempt - yup. Still works. A little turn to the left, and the room was filled with a soft jazzy tune, the melody a bit grainy, but you didn't mind that at all. You returned to the stove, swaying your hips to the beat as you worked. The music made you feel at ease, and for a moment, the world seemed to be just right.

Just as the onions began to brown in the pan, the song faded out to a voice. You turned your head to the radio, intrigued by the unusual, eccentric accent of the host. It reminded you of the old, vintage films and recordings your grandmother had been fond of - wasn't it called 'transatlantic'?. Whatever it was, it made you smile.

"Now wasn't that a kick in the head, dearest listener? I sure hope you enjoyed the little musical interlude, but it's time to return to the real show! As usual, my name is Alastor, and you are listening to the best jazz, blues and swing music that Hell has to offer!"

You blinked, a little puzzled and yet amused. "Sure is hot as hell today, strange man in the radio.", you mumbled, chuckling as you stirred the bell peppers under the caramelized onions.

"Today we have a very special guest joining my humble broadcast, it seems. Pleasure to meet you, darling, quite the pleasure!"

"Oh who? Me?" you asked, looking theatrically over your shoulder with batted lashes, shaking your head over your own silliness. You weren't used to talking out loud to yourself, or even really thinking out loud. You were always alone, after all, but the little pretend-play was fun. You laughed a bit, waiting for the host's guest to speak.

"Of course you, little dove. Who else would I mean?"

You gasped, and nearly dropped the spoon as you whipped around, eyes glued to the humming, orange glow of the radio in the dim darkness of your living room.

"What's that? You're surprised, my dear? Don't worry, you're not the only one! This is a first for me, too. Never had a human join my program. I must say, I'm quite intrigued! Tell me, what is your name?"

Your eyes grew wide, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. You took a hesitant step backwards and hit the hot stove, making you curse under your breath. Was the heat finally getting to you?

"Don't be shy now, darling. I'm not gonna hurt you, cross my lil' old, blackened heart."

"I-I'm..." you began, swallowing as your fingers tightened around the wooden spoon. "My name is..."

"Yes?"

"I'm... crazy.", you mumbled, rubbing a hand over your face and chuckling a bit. You were just going insane, that's all. Must be the stress, combined with the intense heat. And lack of a companion, a tiny voice reminded you. Yes. Must be.

"Hello crazy, this is Alastor." The host laughed, together with a canned audience.

"Alastor...", you repeated, realization settling in - this wasn't a joke, or a trick of your mind.

"At your service, my dear.", the voice cooed. "Now, I believe you still owe me your name..."

***

You weren't crazy.

Or if you were, you didn't mind. Not with Alastor by your side - or, to be exact, in the radio on your bookcase.

After two weeks of ignoring the cursed radio after unplugging it in a wave of panic on your first night, your morbid curiosity got the better of you. You plugged it back in, and turned on the dial. Just once, you told yourself, then never ever again.

And that's how the two of you got in contact with each other once more. Alastor was as chipper as the first time you heard him, and after a bit of back-and-forth, he promised once again not to harm you, and you shared your name with him. The rest was history. He was very pleasant company. For a demon from hell.

You wouldn't classify the conversations you had with him as a real friendship in the beginning, but you did talk. Occasionally. Mostly in the evenings, when you cooked dinner: He'd ask you about your day and would pry eagerly for a little bit of gossip or new information about the modern New Orleans. When he let it slip that he lived in this very cabin in the 1920's, you weren't stopping with questions about what it was like back in his days, which he, in return, answered generously and enthusiastically.

The first few times he would try to coerce you into making a deal for your soul, casually sprinkling the offer into his small talk, but with enough blunt refusals and a few more days of radio silence (pun intended), he dropped the topic and seemed content on just talking. You, in return, found yourself relaxing into his charming company, your brain happily engaged with trying to wrap your head around him, or better, you tried to come to terms with it.

Weeks passed, and turning the radio on in the evenings became less of an occasional lapse of judgment but more of a routine you were looking forward to. You could tell the Alastor felt the same, his banter became less tense and acted, and a little more genuine.

It made your heart swell in happiness, that someone out there seemed to appreciate your company – even if that someone wasn't human.

Apprehension became amusement, and fascination became friendship. Oddly enough, you found common grounds in a lot of things: A love for cooking and good music. Preferring books over films. Red wine over white. A shared aversion of vulgarity, and appreciation for good manners.

Your nights were cut shorter and shorter, you would spend hours chatting on and on, until the deep darkness of night disappeared into a shade of blue on the horizon. Neither of you minded, at least that was what you thought. Alastor never ended the conversations with you. Either you had to say your goodbyes, or you would just fall asleep after hours of talking on your couch, and awake with a pained back to a shut-off radio. Then, after you'd realize that you would have a whole day ahead of you without hearing his voice, the loss would make your chest ache.

Two months into the 'thing', which was still a strange concept you could barely comprehend, the truth of the matter dawned on you: You liked him. Not just because he was a surprisingly amicable voice coming out of your vintage radio, a lively constant in the uneventful life you had made for yourself in Louisiana - he had become important to you, irreplaceable, even. An essential element to your life. You couldn't imagine how you'd gone so long without him, and yet, here you were, lost without him, scrambling through the hours until you could talk to him once more.

"Something on your mind, darling? You're awfully quiet today."

You held your fork and knife still above the salmon you had just been about to eat. It was the first meal of the evening in a long time where you weren't spending the entirety of the preparation time speaking to him, lost in thought about your blossoming feelings. He had gotten excellent at reading you like an open book - you should've gotten used to it after a couple of weeks of him catching on to every little change in your demeanor and knowing just what to say, when you were feeling happy, upset or nervous.

"Oh, um... no. It's nothing Al. Work had me in a wringer today."

"Is it your co-worker Susan again?" You could basically hear his eyes rolling, making you chuckle. "That name must be cursed, every single soul with that name is a menacing pain."

"Maybe,", you muttered, nibbling on a piece of the roasted fish. "This one is mostly just an ornery old bitch."

"Taking the words right out of my mouth, dear." he laughed.

There's was a comfortable pause, with just a gentle background noise of his ever-playing static and an easy, melodic tune coming from his program.

"Is that really all that preoccupies that pretty little head of yours?"

You blushed, picking at the food with your fork. "Bold for a guy who's never seen me to assume my head is pretty."

The radio crackled with pops and feedback. "Bold to assume I can't see you whenever I want, little dove." he said, his voice strangely deeper, tinged with something you didn't catch at the shock of his words.

"You... what?"

"And I can most assure you,", he purred out of the speakers, "pretty is a well fitting word to describe you."

He hummed in approval when your cheeks gained color, as if he knew his comment threw you off guard and made you turn a lovely shade of pink, but it didn't make it any less enticing.

***

"Alastor, if I didn't know better, I would say you have become smitten with this mysterious gal you're blabbing on and about."

Rosie giggled, hitting his shoulder in a playful, friendly swipe. "When will I meet her? Come on now, you can't hide her forever. Or are you afraid she'll like me better?"

She laughed, and Alastor forced a toothy grin. His long time friend was the only one he talked about you with, and he knew she was intrigued whenever she could smell a blooming dalliance, especially with a notoriously abstinent bachelor like himself. Normally, he would laugh at that thought with a healthy dose of mockery, but he found himself to be less and less aversed at the thought - if it would be you. Impossible, of course.

"Nonsense, Rosie dear, nonsense,", he chuckled, taking a large sip from his coffee cup, a heavy hand bringing up a plate stacked with finger sandwiches. "And I'm afraid you won't meet her for a long time, maybe never. Humans seldom traverse to hell in their lifetime, and who knows if the little darling will take on the trip downstairs?"

Rosie coughed in her tea, her blackened eyes wide in shock. "Human? It's a human girl you've been courting here? Oh, Alastor, you old fool."

Alastor scrunched his nose, "Talking, Rosie, talking is all we do. And yes, she's a human. I don't see the quandary in that. It's just a little fun."

"Well,", she huffed with a small, thoughtful frown. "I would've hoped for a little more sense in you." The tall demonesse set down her teacup with nimble fingers.

"You may not call it courting, but if it quacks like a duck, it's a duck, love." Rosie ignored the indignant look Alastor gave her. "You know as well as I do that such a connection is dangerous to entertain. Humans are fragile and fragile things tend to break. And when they do, the owner mostly follows. You need to break this connection off."

Rosie gave him a sad look as his ears flattened against his head. She would've been more than happy for her oldest and dearest friend to have a partner on his side, someone good and honest who really cared about him, maybe loved him even, as unlovable as he was. But she had to protect him from the silly idea of possibly falling for a living, breathing and supposedly untarnished soul, and the heartbreak that would surely follow. "Don't make the mistake of breaking your heart, dear friend." she smiled, a tint of melancholy hidden in the red of her lips.

"I think it's far too late for that."

She offered a handkerchief, but Alastor waved her off, his smile more faint and close to a frown than she's ever seen.

***

The first day where nothing but static noise came out of the radio, you were irritated but just thought: 'Maybe Alastor has something to do'.

The second day of static you grew concerned. 'What if something happened to Alastor? Was he okay?'.

On the third day, you were panicked. 'Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore! Maybe he met someone in hell, someone that he could talk to whenever he wanted and not through an old, dusty radio?'.

"Please talk to me.", you whispered into the empty room. Your knees were pulled to your chest, and you sat on your couch, eyes fixed on the radio in the bookcase. Your eyes stung with the tears threatening to spill. "Please, Al. I miss you." You shook your head, chuckling sadly. It had only been 3 days, but they'd felt like an eternity. The world had seemed silent without Alastor's constant chatter.

When night fell for the fourth day, you were half asleep, eyes red and burning and tears still staining your cheeks. You talked for hours into the void of your house, the radio now moved to sit in front of you on the coffee table, growing more and more desperate as hours passed. Talking faded into pleading, and pleading into begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry...", you mumbled into the wooden furnishing, resting your cheek against the top of the machine, eyes slipping shut with fatigue and defeat. A dry sob slipped past your trembling lips, as your hands desperately grabbed the sides of the antique device.

"Alastor please, don't leave me alone here...", you whispered with the last of your strength, before your body succumbed to your exhaustion, your unconscious mind welcomed the darkness.

If you had stayed awake for just a moment more, you would've, maybe, heard the faint shuddering breath beyond the static rumble. But you didn't. So you had no chance at knowing that, Alastor, listening to every word, saw and heard you at your weakest, and all it did to him was stir the embers and give the blaze an opening for the flames of his anger at fate to rage.

Work had called, again. Susan of all people. Threats were made - either come back to work, or don't come back at all. You smashed your phone. It was useless anyway. What was the point without...

Alastor wasn't here, hadn't answered for seven days now. And you had spent the whole time talking, begging him to show himself, just show himself and tell you what you did wrong, just talk to you one last time and then you'd stop, if that was what he wanted. You became obsessed with the orange light of the illuminated screen, imagining the flickers were maybe signs from him.

You stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped almost anything, you just sat, in front of the radio, unmoving and unwilling to miss the smallest sign of his return.

Every single minute stretched into agony, and every breath that left your lips made a fresh tear roll down your paling cheeks, until your body couldn't produce them anymore. Then, you cried wordless whimpers and moans, even started praying to an unknown entity.

It wasn't as if Alastor owed you anything. It's not as though you thought the two of you were anything other than two kindred souls, one human, one demon, talking to each other. As a result, it wasn't like you had the right to anything from him.

It was strange to consider the connection the two of you shared: Something more than acquaintances, something closer than friends, and yet never fully crossing the line beyond it. The unpenetrable boundary dividing life and death in between.

Your eyes fell on a large, old crucifix on your wall, staring back at you with pity.

For the first time in days, you left the sofa, took it from the wall and burned it on your gas stove, watching the face of the nailed figurine slowly melt in the fire.

***

It had been eight days of excruciating, one-sided silence.

Eight days Alastor cursed his cowardice as he sat, red eyed with claws digging into his scalp, as he listened to you plead for him to talk - To answer. To do anything. Anything, but leave you alone, he heard, as if the words were spoken right in his ear.

Eight days of watching you slowly detriment from the eyes of the shadows he was able to manifest above, tugging on the very fabric of the world to move you, to keep your mind from going where it shouldn't go.

He kept telling himself it was for the better. His shadows murmured persistent reminders that he should find entertainment in your growing lunacy. He was the radio demon, after all. He shouldn't care if this wisp of a human were to perish, should laugh at your wails of agony and despair.

But Alastor never felt less like laughing. Your dried sobs and pained apologies for things you never did wrong in the first place filled his head, taunting and gnawing on him with feelings he thought he was unable to feel: Guilt and Regret.

It was as Rosie had predicted - he was becoming weak. But weakness was something that should be avoided. Had to be. He knew. Being weak, being feeble, would make him vulnerable, make him into the prey his cruel from already portrayed to the world he had to inherit. He couldn't allow it. Couldn't let his feelings for you bring him down to the levels of the sinners in hell he would tear apart and laugh while he did it.

That's why he stayed silent. Endured it, all of it, every word, cry and plea. Stayed invisible and silent, waiting for you to move on, forget him, shut off and leave the radio, never to turn the dial again. For your sake and his.

When the connection broke, on that eight day, Alastor could feel your resignation, your peace with which your pale hands gripped the electrical cord at it's base to pull. And he was suddenly filled with the awareness of something horrible, like a premonition. It set his already battered, aching heart in an ice cold grasp of dread.

His room exploded in green light as he expanded into his full demonic form, his limbs threatening to pull and burst at the stitches and his smile splitting his face almost entirely in half. He had to reach out, had to reform the connection to the radio one last time, even though nearly impossible.

You were about to do something he would never be able to forgive himself for.

***

Your car broke down just where it needed to. You took the radio out of the trunk, knocking the hood two times for a goodbye, the key safely in the ignition. Maybe some other poor soul would find and repair it, make happier memories with it.

You clutched the wooden device closer and started to walk. Indigo blue faded into black as you looked up to the sky that was sprinkled with glowing, shimmering silver dust, stars blinking in the unimaginable distance. There, but out of reach.

Just like him.

Your dry sob stung in your throat, but you didn't really feel the pain. Your eyes were fixed on the path to your final destination, right in front of you.

The Crescent City Connection Bridge was mostly abandoned by traffic at this time of night and provided just enough covered spaces to hide you from some foolish saviors eyes.

You didn't need to be saved.

You didn't want to be saved.

Because you were about to save yourself.

There was nothing waiting for you in the other direction than the one you were going. So, with slow but steady steps, you walked towards the middle of the bridge, settling on a place next to a metal pillar and looked over the railing onto the shimmering waters of the Mississippi River.

Alastor had told you about the river, how he loved to watch the steam boats floating on it from the radio station where he worked at when he was alive. The station was long gone, you didn't even find out where it had been in the first place, but you liked to imagine that you were looking at the same scenery now that he had been looking at when he peered out of his booth in his radio tower.

It made you smile through the tears... You were glad the end was somehow connected to him, even if it was most likely just your naive imagination.

It felt like the device in your arms was emitting static energy, prickling over your arms, hands and fingers as you caressed the mahogany wood gently, feeling as though the radio was shaking in your hands, trying to pull you back from the fenced ledge.

A quiet sob escaped your lips, turning into a giggle and into hysterical laughter. You sat down between the railing, and hugged the radio close, trying to breathe as you closed your eyes, resting your temple on the worn, warm wood.

"It'll be okay, Al.", you said quietly, your voice unnaturally hoarse and rough from lack of use and dehydration. "I'm coming. I'm coming to you.”

With one arm around the radio, holding it tight against your chest, you turned to stand on shaky legs, gripping the railing with one arm and, with one final glance at the stars above you you smiled. You heard sirens in the distance, and some people shouting from a sparkling streamliner passing under the bridge. Time was running short, so you didn't wait to put first one foot over the fence, then the other, taking a deep breath.

"I guess doves were always meant to fly."

And, with that, your body twisted, turned and leaped, falling as the light on the radio, firmly pressed against your heart, began to glow in deepest crimson and swirls of green.

Falling like an angel would descend from grace.

Part 2 for closure

[grotesquedarling]

All Yours.

Toby Rodgers x Werewolf!Fem!Reader

Summary: You are assumed dead, after going on a walk and not coming back. Toby finds evidence of the 'death' and thinks the worst. You return hours later, your ability to heal not working well. Toby helps you clean up, which leads to much more.

A/N: This is a one-shot for a story I am writing for Toby, where reader is a werewolf. If anything is confusing in this one-shot, God I pray not, it is connected to my story and things will fall in place as I post it! Divider made by cafekitsune! Please go easy on me, this my first time writing smut, or anything really, in about 2 years, due to writer's block, so things may be clunky.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, P in V, descriptions of violence and murder, no protection. (If I have forgotten one, please let me know!)

Word count: 3k

“Wh- What now?” Toby yelled. “Sh-she is d-dead!” He was getting worked up, stuttering more than usual.

Tim and Brian couldn’t do anything, nothing that would be helpful anyway, so they listened. They listened for so long they were to the point of ‘listening’. Which consisted of sitting in the room and dissociating while looking interested.

Toby was getting louder, pacing faster, unsure of how to handle the situation. “Are y-you even li-listening to m-me? SHE’S GONE!”

Before Tim or Brian could say anything, there was a loud bang on the cabin’s front door. As soon as all their eyes shot in the direction of the sound, the doorknob was ripped from the door, leaving a gaping hole where it once was. A few bloody fingers could be seen going into the hole to open the door.

The door swung open and there you stood, bloody and bruised. The three men looked at you in awe and confusion. 

“How-?”

“Don’t fucking speak to me,” you growled, “I am going to take a shower.”

Toby just stood there, unable to process the fact that you were actually alive, you may have looked like shit, but there you were, covered in blood and looking hotter than ever. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As the cold water started to run down your body, the dried blood and dirt washed away. The images of the people that had been mauled, maimed, and mutilated didn't go anywhere, though, as a matter of fact, they just lingered and kept replaying.

“Shut up! You stupid fucking cunt, just stay down. Quit fighting back, you won’t win.”

A hand grabbed your hair as you were being yelled at, dragging you over to the lake you had been brought to to be thrown in after being killed. The thought of not being able to swim crossed momentarily, it was gone as soon as it seemed to come. Staying conscious was getting harder by the minute, eyes trying to close and breathing was almost impossible.

Unsure of what to do, a last burst of adrenaline hit, right before getting dunked into the lake. Your hand wrapped itself in the hair of the woman holding you, and dragged her off the dock with you.

Fighting underwater was not as easy as one would hope for in this situation. All you could do was hold on to the throat of the woman trying to murder you. If you’re dying, so is that bitch. Time felt almost as if it was slowed, as you waited for the bitch’s partner in crime to try to help her, he never showed.

Even struggling was hard, but losing is something you were never okay with, you had to win, or not die. Finally, life seemed to have left the woman, but you weren't about to let her trick you. You pulled yourself above the water, dragging the woman with you.

Your hand scrunched a bunch of the woman's hair, and quickly, with all the strength you could muster, you smashed her head into the dock, probably a little more than what would kill her. She will not be coming back from that one, you made sure of it.

As you finished, you stood up and looked down, blood was everywhere, yours and your attacker’s. You had no time to worry about that though, there was a man, somewhere close, who also wanted you dead. Blood loss and pain seemed to start setting in as you reached the grass, knees bruising as you hit the ground.

“What the fuck did they do to me? Why am I not healing? And where the fuck is-?”

Dead. As soon as you saw something, or someone, out of your peripheral vision running off, you noticed the guy was way beyond dead. You gave the woman you left on the dock one last glance, there was absolutely no chance she was coming back, unless someone were to gorilla glue her brain back together.

With both of them dead, you took a few minutes to lay in the grass, in the hopes that regulating your heart rate would start the healing process. It did not.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Tears fell down your cheeks as you sat on the floor of the shower, the back of your head against the wall. Pain was something foreign to you, considering your healing factor, but the healing wasn’t happening, not as fast as usual anyway. The pain was almost unbearable, but the feeling of possibly being dramatic due to never having to feel pain for long seemed to cross your mind.

Unaware of how long you’d be sitting under the warm water, you realized it had been at least 20 minutes. The water started to get cold, the change in temperature wasn’t a bother, considering you run hot anyway, but that meant someone would be checking on you soon, probably Toby. You two had gotten close recently, very close. Too close, according to Tim.

Keeping your composure under the cold water was getting hard, the adrenaline had worn off and everything hurt. Suddenly, you were hyper aware of every bruise and open wound you had, your legs hurt, your body ached, and breathing started getting hard again. A panic attack hit.

A heavy knock hit the bathroom door, and the door opened. The realization of how loud you were sobbing seemed to bring you back to reality. Trying to speak to Tim, who just slung the bathroom door wide open, was impossible at the time, the only thing coming from you were sobs.

The shower curtain moved to the side ever so slightly, Tim’s eyes met yours as you looked up at him, curled into a tight ball, knees against your chest.

“He wanted me to check on you first, can he come in?” Tim seemed to be hiding the worry he had for you, hoping that if he didn’t worry, Toby wouldn’t worry as much. That didn't work. Toby peeked over Tim’s shoulder to see how fucked up you were.

“G-get out Tim,” Toby shoved Tim aside and out the door. Once the bathroom door closed, Toby just stared at you for a minute, taking in the wounds that were not healing. “Why are you st-still bleeding? I th-thought you-.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the wall in front of you, unmoving as your head rested on your knees. Words weren’t coming easy, the panic attack seemed to subside, breathing still seemed to be a big task, and you felt mentally numb.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Toby crouching now and knew he wouldn’t go away without getting the information he wanted and making sure you were okay, and since being okay was not a thing at the moment, he would not be leaving.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and stare at me like that, you might as well get in.” You deadpan, eyes still glued to the wall. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

His eyes widened, “I-I,” he stuttered out, shocked by your offer. “I’ll h-have you know, I haven't ever s-seen you n-naked by ch-choice. You don’t l-lock doors.” He was flustered, but he wasn’t going to turn down the offer. He started to remove his clothes, and quickly.

While trying to stand up so Toby could get in the shower, stars filled your vision and put you right back on your ass and a little yelp left your throat. You leaned into the wall again, completely and utterly ready to give up.

Toby sat down beside you, both of you completely vulnerable, and seemed to be scanning the severity of the damage to your body. He was quiet, more quiet than usual, it was almost scary. His eyes finally made his way up to yours, tears started streaming once again. Never in your life had you wanted to be held so badly, you had always been able to be independent and take care of yourself.

With his eyes still locked on yours, the words ‘hold me,’ slipped from your lips. Without hesitation he pulled you into him, causing you to wince with how fast and rough the action was.

“S-sorry,” he whispered as he gently loosened his grip on you. His fingers started tracing the bruises on your arms, then stomach, then your thighs. Something about him having to be gentle with you for the first time, made you feel a way, you couldn’t tell what that way was, but it was nice.

Leaning into him was a lot better than leaning on that hard ass wall, as he continued looking over your body, you listened to his heart as your head rested against his chest, regulating your own breathing and heart rate.

Pain started to slowly subside, your chest was not as tight, and the anxiety had melted away. Healing still wasn’t happening, at least not fast enough, it only seemed to be slowly coming back, and being the most impatient person in the world it might as well just be not working.

“I don’t understand why I am not healing,” you thought aloud, “If you're done looking at my tits from over my shoulder, will you help me just clean up? I feel absolutely disgusting.”

Toby was flustered once more, and hid his face in your shoulder for a moment. “Y-yeah, I can,” he whispered before helping you up.

Being in such a vulnerable state with you was something he never thought would happen, at least not when you first met anyway. Something about the innocence of sitting with each other, naked in the shower, made him want more than that. He was craving you, in so many different ways.

His impulse control was in overdrive but now, he didn’t want to hurt you, he was supposed to help you clean yourself up. All he could think about, though, was having his way with you. His hands were a little shaky now, trying not to think about grabbing you and pushing you against the wall. That seemed to be the only thought his brain could manage to give him, he was getting frustrated.

“You know, as a werewolf, I can smell many different pheromones, and I-,” you were quickly interrupted before you could finish the sentence.

“Sh-shut the f-fuck up!” Toby practically shouted. “You s-stink and you need h-help showering, let me f-finish helping you.”

“How about I help you after this, then? If I’m not too sore anymore.”

The look on Toby’s face was of pure confusion, “with what?”

You shook your head, “Let’s just finish here first.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Toby caught on a lot quicker than you thought he would, you hadn’t seen him move that fast and sporadic before. He needed you though, and when you offered yourself to him, even with the state you were in, he was not going to let opportunity slip away.

Your healing seemed to be back to a semi-normal speed. All you felt were light aches and any open wound looked like a gnarly scar, but they were closed up and not bleeding. What more could someone ask for?

“What the fuck were you two doing in there?” Brian asked, but quickly took the question back. “You know, don’t actually answer that. You two share way too much information already. Pretend I never asked, I am leaving.”

As Brian walked away, Toby practically dragged you to his room. His excitement was unmatched. He has wanted to do this since you two beat the shit out of each other sparring, which was about three weeks ago. Something about you looking feral unlocked something within him.

The thought of you scraping your sharp canine teeth across his neck, bringing blood to the surface while riding his thigh was something he never knew he wanted or needed. He wanted to be buried deep in your pussy, he wanted to be between your thighs, he wanted, no he needed to have you in every way possible.

Toby couldn’t decide what to do first, his thoughts were racing as you stood behind him while he locked the door. Once it was locked, he turned to you and lost the little bit of composure he had left. He grabbed you and ripped the shirt you had just put on after the shower completely off your body, and pushed you down on his bed.

Now all that was left on you was your panties, his focus wasn’t there yet, though. His kisses were sloppy yet held so much passion. His hands seemed to wander your body as he started kissing down your jaw line and making his way to your collarbone.

A small gasp escaped you when his hands finally found their way to your breasts. The way he squeezed them made you think he’d been waiting for the moment. The way he held onto you in general made you wonder how long he’d been wanting this. You had to admit, you had also been waiting for this, the way Toby had been acting around you, the way his glances started lingering, or how you could hear his heart rate change slightly when he’d see you.

His lips were back on yours now, and he was growing more and more desperate by the second, he whined a little as he started grinding into your thigh. You smirked when you realized how needy he was. He took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You could tell he didn’t know what to do next, the way he moved, twitched, and whined into the kisses. Pulling away from his lips for a moment caused him to become confused, but when your hands moved down his chest and started pulling at his pants he realized you weren’t trying to get away, you were helping him. A giggle came from you when you saw the look on his face.

“Wh-what? D-did I do something wr-wrong?” He was slightly worried.

As you shook your head, your hands went to his hair and pulled back into a kiss. He seemed to melt into you. He was so rough, even while trying to not be rough, then there was you. So gentle and loving. Despite being some sort of monster, you were just so patient, it drove him crazy, he loved it.

“I, I don’t kn-know what to d-do first.” He stuttered through his kisses.

Deciding to take things in your own hands so he wouldn't have to decide, you flipped him onto his back. His eyes went wide, he forgot about your strength, he was not going to argue though. With you on top, he seemed to be in awe. The way you looked was angelic.

“Are you ready?”

All that came from Toby was a whine as you went to sit on him, but you were going slow, way too slow. His hands grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise you as he forced you down. He started grinding up into you, and moving your hips whichever way he wanted, there was no rhythm, just random thrusting.

Now it was your turn to whine. Your hands rested on his abdomen and your claws started to come out. A growl escaped you, as your hips rocked in a more rhythmic way, syncing with his.. The moans and little growls rumbling through you were almost enough to get Toby to cum then and there.

His grip tightened on your hips as he started controlling your movements again, very sporadically. You didn’t care though, you were close too.

“Toby, I’m…” was all you could manage before a warm feeling came over you and you were orgasming. Your head went back and your eyes shut tight, and with your pussy clenching around his dick as you rocked your hips through your high, Toby quickly found ecstasy after you.

A string of moans and cusses came from Toby as he rode out his high with you still on his dick. He didn't want you to move, not yet. His grip on your hips was so tight by now that his knuckles were white. It felt as if he was making sure this was real.

“F-fuck,” He managed to moan out. “That was s-so much b-better than any of the p-porn I’ve ev-ever watched.”

You giggled again as you rolled from the top of Toby to the side of him. You laid your head on his chest for a moment, just listening to his heart. You gently kissed his cheek, before throwing your legs over the side of his bed and putting on a shirt that was on his floor. You were almost certain it was not a clean shirt, you used it though, just in case Tim or Brian came in and saw you with absolutely nothing on. Not that they would ask you any questions about what you were doing though. They have learned their lesson asking that one too many times. 

“I don’t know how much longer they will be gone, but I have to pee. When I come back-”

“We’re fucking even ha-harder. I have s-so many th-things I want to try wi-with you.” Toby was very serious saying this, but laughed a little, until he heard Tim and Brian walk in through the front door. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything with you now, they would complain about the noise.

Brian was quick to speak as he walked in, “We’re back, please don’t be fucking in my line of sight.”

Tim shook his head at that statement. “I am going to bed, if you are fucking, do it quietly,”

“They are such party poopers. Looks like it’s bedtime at the old folks home. Whatever, you good if I sleep in here tonight? That couch is going to give me tetanus with those rusty springs stabbing me in my ass cheeks.”

Toby looked from you to his bed, and gave you a strange look. “Your bed is way more comfy!”

“H-how do you kn-know that?”

“I take naps in here when you’re out or whatever.” You spoke matter of factly. The two of you stared at each other, unblinking for about ten seconds. Toby sighed, and promptly made a small  space for you.

“D-don't make this a habit.”

“Sleeping in your room? We just fucked in your bed. Shut up.”

[ltash]

Make a wish

You celebrated your birthday with Ghost and TaskForce and you wished for nothing but him.

"To love is nothing. To be loved is something. But to love and be loved, that’s everything."

After Captain Price and his team finished breakfast, you settled in the living room. You brought the tea trolley over and made them tea, handing a cup and saucer to everyone.

"Thank you, kid," Captain Price said as you served him.

You gave tea to Soap and Gaz too. "Ghost, you want tea?" you asked.

"Sure," he replied.

You handed him a cup as well. "Yer hoose is braw, and it's right lavish an aw." Soap admired.

"English Mctavish." Ghost facepalmed.

"I said your house is lavish and its nice." Soap explained.

"Thank you. My father built it. I'll give you a home tour once you guys finish your tea," you offered.

"She is a master in archery aye. She has horses too. She can shoot an arrow right at the aim while riding a horse," Ghost added.

"That is impressive, Nora," Gaz admired.

"Thanks. I will show you how I do it," you promised.

"Oh, I forgot," you said, suddenly remembering. "I did some shopping and the bags are still in the car. Let me fetch them."

As you made your way to your car, Ghost followed you. "The guns you bought, let me take them inside," he offered.

You opened the car doors and took out the bags while Ghost grabbed the gun cases. Together, you walked back inside.

You handed over the bags to each one of them. "Soap, this is for you. Kyle, that's one for you. This one's for Simon and Captain Price," you said, distributing the gifts.

"Thank you so much, lass," Soap said rummaging through the bag.

"Are ye pullin' ma leg? how much did ye spend on thae things?" He asked.

"Well! That is none of your business. Gifts don't come with a price tag." You folded your arms on your chest.

"Thanks, Nora, but you didn't have to put in so much effort," Kyle added, looking genuinely touched.

"Thanks, kid," Captain Price mentioned, nodding appreciatively.

"Don't mention it. I went shopping and thought, why not grab something for you guys?"

Ghost placed the gun cases down on the table. "She bought these too," he added.

Ghost opened the gun and sniper cases in front of everyone, revealing the impressive weapons inside.

"Whoa! A sniper! Are you kiddin' me?" Soap exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "Whit will ye dae wi' a sniper?"

"I like snipers, plus Ghost is here. He’ll teach me before he goes back. He taught me a couple of days ago," you explained with a grin.

"Wow! This is one o' the best snipers in the world," Soap said, admiring the sleek design. "Thank ye so much."

"Yeah, Ghost recommended it to me, so I got it," you said, glancing at Ghost.

Soap looked over at Ghost in disbelief. "Weel, LT himself disnae hae a sniper like this. It's much better than the ones he's got."

You smiled. "Well, now he has it."

Ghost shook his head. "No, I don't. And I don't want it anyway," he said quietly.

Soap chuckled. "Yer loss, LT. This is a beauty."

Ghost simply shrugged, the rare softness in his eyes replaced by his usual stoic expression.

"Why? It's a gift from me to you," you said, looking at Ghost.

"If you had mentioned it when you were buying it, I would have never let you get it in the first place," Ghost replied. "It's too expensive."

You shook your head. "Gifts don't come with a price tag. Captain Price, please make him understand."

"Take it, Ghost," Captain Price said, nodding.

"I can't, Price," Ghost insisted, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Okay, then throw it in the garbage, will you?" You snapped, shutting the sniper case with a bang. Your lower lip started quivering, and tears welled up in your eyes as you ran upstairs.

"You broke her heart, LT," Soap said, his voice filled with disappointment.

You closed the door and fell face-first onto the pillow, tears streaming down your face. It was so embarrassing and disappointing at the same time. Your sobs filled the room, muffled by the pillow.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your crying. "Open the door, love," Ghost said in a gentle tone.

For a moment, you hesitated, your emotions swirling inside you, but then you slowly got up and walked to the door.

You opened the door, still feeling annoyed and hurt. "What do you want?" You said, your voice tinged with frustration.

Ghost came inside and closed the door behind him. He walked over to your bed and sat down, he pat his thigh and opened his arms for you gesturing for you to come sit on his lap.

For a moment, you stood there, conflicted, but then you slowly walked over and allowed yourself to be enveloped in his comforting arms.

"You cryin', love?" Ghost asked softly.

You wiped your tears hastily. "No," you replied, trying to regain your composure.

"Hmm, I see," he said, his gaze understanding.

"Why did you embarrass me in front of your team?" You asked, your voice tinged with hurt.

"You got it for yourself, love. That's why," he replied simply.

"I can get another one for myself," You insisted.

"Okay, I'll take it, but only on one condition," he said.

"What condition exactly?" You asked, curious.

"You'll have to take mine. I'll teach you how to use it. It's smooth in my hands," he explained.

"Okay, deal!" You agreed, offering your hand to shake, but he surprised you by kissing your knuckles.

"Come, let's go downstairs," he said, taking your hand gently.

"Ghost!" You called out as he turned to leave.

He looked back at you. "Yes?"

"Do you still have your navy blue uniform, the one you wore when I saw you for the first time?" You asked, still holding his hand.

"Yes, but why do you ask?" he inquired.

"Will you wear it for me on my birthday? You look so good in that. I'll unwrap you as my gift," you said, giggling at the thought.

"Yeah, sure, but get ready to explain why I'm wearing it to my team, especially Price," he chuckled.

"Leave it to me. No worries," you assured him, and you made your way downstairs.

"Did you change your mind, LT?" Soap asked as you entered the room.

"Yes," Ghost replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Good," Soap said, nodding in approval.

Meanwhile, you glanced into Captain Price's eyes, seeing a mixture of curiosity and intrigue reflecting back at you.

You led them to the back of the house where your horses were stabled.

"Meet Arther and Elfie," You introduced Soap to your beloved companions.

"Such bonnie horses," Soap remarked, admiring their beauty.

Next, you demonstrated your archery skills, drawing back the bowstring with precision and releasing it with practiced ease. Captain Price watched intently, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

"Remarkable," he exclaimed, genuinely impressed by your proficiency.

Ghost retrieved his sniper rifle and handed it to you. "Try it," he encouraged.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of the weapon in your hands. With his guidance, you took aim, your finger hovering over the trigger. The rifle trembled slightly as you pulled, but you managed to hit the target, albeit not as accurately as you had hoped.

"It's not easy," you admitted, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

"But you did well, considering," Ghost reassured you, his tone encouraging.

You smiled gratefully, grateful for his support.

As the evening descended, the cake was delivered, marking the beginning of your birthday celebration. Your house help had meticulously arranged all the decorations and table settings before bidding you farewell for the night.

Meanwhile, Captain Price took the opportunity to discuss their upcoming mission with his team, their voices low and serious as they strategized.

Feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, you retreated to your room to change into your birthday dress. The corset that came with it proved to be a challenge as you struggled to zip it up on your own. Frustrated, you knocked on Ghost's door, hoping for assistance.

He opened the door, and your jaw dropped at the sight before you. He had changed into the navy blue uniform, looking incredibly attractive in it.

"What happened?" he asked, noticing your expression.

You entered his room and closed the door behind you. "Simon, can you please help me zip my dress? I can't reach it," you requested, feeling a rush of embarrassment.

Standing in front of the mirror, you were almost ready, the dress clinging to your figure. He stepped behind you, his presence towering over yours. The corset accentuated your petite frame, making you feel even smaller in comparison.

His gloved hand brushed against the bare skin of your back as he took hold of the zipper, and you sucked in a breath at the unexpected sensation. Your heart raced as you felt the warmth of his touch, his closeness sending shivers down your spine.

He zipped up your dress smoothly, his voice breaking the silence. "You're good now," he said softly, his words lingering in the air between you.

"Thank you," you murmured gratefully as you turned around. He put his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up meeting his gaze.

"Ready to be be my good girl tonight. Will ya?" His masked lips touched your cheek.

You blushed and ran towards the door. Standing at the doorway you peaked a last glance at him. You exited Ghost's room and returned to your own.

As Ghost stepped out of his room, he encountered Soap making his way upstairs.

"Going on a mission, LT?" Soap teased, noting Ghost's uniform.

"Yes, birthday mission," Ghost quipped in response.

"Seriously! Why are you wearing your uniform?" Soap inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"Because she asked me to wear it," Ghost explained simply.

"Hmm, I see. She likes you in it," Soap remarked before continuing downstairs, leaving Ghost to ponder his words.

They all waited for you downstairs, their anticipation palpable in the air. With a final glance in the mirror, you made sure everything was perfect before slipping on your heels and descending the staircase.

As you reached the bottom step, you were greeted by their warm smiles.

"Here she is," Captain Price announced, his voice carrying a note of pride.

"Wow! Lass, you're looking so beautiful," Soap complimented, his eyes twinkling with admiration.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks at his kind words.

You couldn't help but notice Ghost's gaze fixed on you, practically staring. His intense scrutiny made you feel vulnerable, as if he was seeing right through you. Yet, amidst the intensity, there was a glimmer of admiration in his stare, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes.

"Make a wish, lass," Soap chuckled, gesturing towards the candles on the cake.

Closing your eyes, you made a silent wish. A wish for Simon to be yours forever, for his safety, and for him to return to you unscathed from every mission.

With a deep breath, you blew out the candles, the room erupting into cheers and the chorus of "Happy Birthday."

As you opened your eyes, you felt a rush of warmth and gratitude wash over you. It truly was the best day of your life after your father's death.

Captain Price stepped forward, presenting you with a small box. You opened it eagerly to reveal a beautiful, delicate metallic quartz watch nestled inside.

"Thank you! It's so precious," you exclaimed, touched by the thoughtful gift.

As you all enjoyed the cake and then indulged in dinner, Captain Price suddenly cleared his throat, directing his attention to Ghost. "Simon, why are you wearing your uniform?" His question caught Ghost off guard, but before he could respond, you jumped in to explain.

"Actually, I asked him to wear that for my birthday. I was curious to see him in uniform," you said, offering Ghost a reassuring smile. His eyes crinkled from behind the balaclava he was wearing, a silent acknowledgment of his amusement.

"Alright, gentlemen, want something to drink? Please, help yourselves," you announced, rising from your seat and making your way to the bar. You took out the glasses, giving them a moment to process the exchange.

Soap and Ghost then took the dishes to the kitchen while the rest of you settled in the garden, enjoying the pleasant evening. Soap, with his characteristic sense of humor, regaled you all with his silly jokes, eliciting laughter from all of you.

"Hey LT, what has five toes and is not your foot?" Soap said.

"What?" Ghost asked.

"My foot!." Soap said and burst out laughing.

You couldn't control your laughter too. Soap was so funny.

"Your turn LT". Soap pointed towards Ghost.

"What do we call the fish who wears a bow tie?" Ghost asked.

You looked at each other's faces.

"Sofishticated." Ghost said.

Nobody laughed.

"What? Wasn't it funny?" Ghost said.

He was met with silence.

As the night grew late, you found myself sitting beside Ghost. His hand resting on the small of your back while everybody was busy talking.

He turned to look at you. Your blue eyes met with his caramel ones.

You stood up and went to stand at the door, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

"Aye! Come join us," Ghost called out, noticing your presence.

"No, you enjoy yourself. I'm going to bed now," you replied, turning around to head upstairs.

But before you could take another step, Ghost approached you and grabbed your wrist. "Hi, Lieutenant," you teased, your voice soft and playful.

You placed your hands on his chest, tilting your chin up to look at him. "Hell, if you put a bullet through my heart, I will spare you my life," you retorted, a smile playing on your lips.

You took the whiskey glass from his hand and placed your lips at the same spot he drank from and chug it at once.

You turned to go upstairs, but Ghost surprised you by grabbing you around the waist, causing you to squeak in surprise.

"Is everything alright there?" Captain Price's voice rang out from the garden.

"Yes, everything is fine, Price," Ghost replied calmly, his gaze locked on yours.

With a swift motion, Ghost lifted you into his arms and carried you upstairs, his strength both surprising and comforting.

"Your room or mine?" he asked with a playful smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Pic credit:

IG: Vehenan Virabelasan

[suspiciouscharacter1895]

I have something that has been banging around in my head related to Crowley’s apparent loss of memory. This is probably not original but I haven’t seen it articulated quite this way so I’m just going to write it out. Crowley has a few interactions with Gabriel where he is trying to remember things that Heaven “erased”. On one occasion Gabriel says - “I can’t” and Crowley says “Yes you can” with certainty. Another time, Gabriel says “It hurts” and Crowley says, “I know, do it anyway.” I have THINGS TO SAY about this below the cut.

I think we can take it as given that Crowley has had his memory erased by Heaven, as evidenced by him not remembering Furfur or Saraqael or why they decided to have gravity. If it was one thing, I would buy it as a throwaway but the lack of memory is so specifically and repeatedly called out that I don’t think we can take it as a coincidence.

It’s equally clear to me that he hasn’t forgotten EVERYTHING about his time as an angel. He remembers that he worked on a specific nebula in S1, he remembers going into battle, he knows that if he gets into Heaven he’ll be able to access top secret files. And you cannot convince me that he doesn’t remember Aziraphale in Eden. Aziraphale doesn’t know his *demon* name, so Crowley introduces himself, but Aziraphale never does the same because Crowley already knows who he is.

SO I have made the mental leap to conclude the following - Crowley had his memory wiped by Heaven when he fell, he remembered nothing just like Gabriel, and he FORCED himself to remember some parts of his time in Heaven. Meaning, he tried hard to remember, it *hurt* and he *did it anyway*. I like to imagine that he did so because he wanted to know who he was (which of course is reason enough) but also because he wanted very much to remember a friendship with a certain Principality.

When Gabriel had his memory wiped, he still knew he needed to get to Beelzebub. I believe that when Crowley had his memory wiped, he still knew he needed to get to Aziraphale. So he went through a lot of pain to claw back some of his memory. He didn’t get everything back, but he got something. We know Heaven didn’t wipe the memories of all the Fallen, so Crowley’s memory was probably erased (or I would argue ‘suppressed’ is more accurate because the memory is still there, he just can’t access it readily) because he was high ranking, but also because he *knew or saw something specific and significant*.

Upshot is, I now desperately need a fic that features Crowley fighting to remember himself. Does this exist?? Do I need to write it?? Anybody else have this train of thought?

[mononijikayu]

and love is a kaleidoscope — gojo satoru.

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

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

WORDS: 8.5k words.

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

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Genmei, if you were serious—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least that’s what you hoped.

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

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

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

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

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

It broke something inside you.

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

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

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

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

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

Today was one of these days.

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

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

Fushiguro Toji.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tsukumo Yuki.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need more than that. Even if it isn't enough, I’ll tell you it's enough.” he said softly, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. “I just… I miss you.”

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

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

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

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

Just for a few minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now that’s just flat out rude!”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, okay~”

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

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

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

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

[the-moon-files]

Aaaaa, hi!! I'm the anon who sent in the fairly recent ask with the Guide!Reader ideas (martial artist mention, Dehydrated Ganon, strength possibilities, Ganon not being able to escape from Guide!Reader's voice, etc)! I'm really glad that you liked my ideas so much!! 😊 I was so pleasantly surprised to see you expand on my discombobulated thoughts, haha! Thank you so much! ^w^ I loved reading them!!

I said that I made memes for the Guide!Reader/Space Orc concept, and now I shall deliver them >:D Firstly, I'm super sorry that I took so long to share these with you!! Life decided to kick me in the shins for a hot second 😭 And secondly, I made a LOT of images for this one,, Fair warning, this is going to take up a lot of space 😭 orz

But anyway!! Here are the text memes first:

Guide!Reader: We’re playing Scrabble. It’s a nightmare.

Wars: Scrabble? Scrabble’s great.

Guide!Reader: Not when you’re playing with Zelda, it’s not. She’s out here putting in words like “ephemeral” while I’m putting in “dog.”

☆

Guide!Reader: *pointing out Magic Powder* Legend, look, it’s the good kush!

Legend: …This is the Rupee Store, how good can it be?

☆

Ravio: Hi, welcome! Are you part of our Super Savers Shoppers Club?

Guide!Reader: No, I’m not.

Ravio: :D :) :| Oh.

☆

Legend, looking into a banged-up Water Temple: …It’s trash.

☆

Time, whenever Guide!Reader uses modern slang: We need IRL subtitles. What are you even saying.

☆

Guide!Reader: My Furby died in my arms when I was a child.

Hyrule, has no clue what a Furby is: I’m so sorry for your loss.

Guide!Reader: It wasn’t a loss. I had never felt more like a god.

☆

The Chain: *getting told off by Time*

Guide!Reader in the back: …

Guide!Reader: *starts playing the ukulele* 👁👄👁 🎸

Time: 🧍

☆

Four, talking about Guide!Reader: So, I’m interested in someone…

Dot: :D Oooh! What do they look like?

Four: *slow realisation*

Four: I don’t know

Dot: Wh

Dot: What do you mean you don’t know?

☆

Guide!Reader/Ganon, about hearing Guide!Reader every dang game: The universe has a sense of humour, and I respect the commitment to the bit, but girl please.

☆

Guide!Reader, to Link once they reunite with the Chain: Now… *puts hand on his shoulder* We’re back on our bullsh*t.

☆

Guide!Reader and Wild, meeting Sidon for the first time:

Guide!Reader: …Would.

Wild: Would what?

Guide!Reader:

Wild: (Name)? Would what?

☆

Wind: When you become famous you’re called a legend because your leg ends.

Guide!Reader: What? 

Wind: Your leg. It ends.

Guide!Reader: I’m not a linguist, but I think you’ve got it wrong.

Wind: Are you saying your leg doesn’t end?

Guide!Reader: I mean, at some point it does, yes.

Wind: Then what’s the problem?

☆

The Chain, waking up at dawn to get ready:

Guide!Reader and Sky, just trying to process being alive:

☆

Guide!Reader/Time: You need to get out of bed faster than this.

Sky, struggling: I’m giving it all he’s got, boss

☆

Guide!Reader at Ganon: Your anger amuses me. Please don’t find inner peace. Please.

☆

Guide!Reader, playing through LoZ game: *at an annoying NPC* Let me ask you a very fair question. What do you do successfully? Quickly. :|

Link, trying not to laugh:

☆

Hyrule, probably: I hate it when a recipe tells me to add two cups of onions. They don’t come in cups. They come in onions.

Guide!Reader, head in hands: Please

☆

Hyrule/Twilight, looking at two NPCs: Are they lovers?

Guide!Reader, who knows the lore: Worse.

☆

The Chain, enjoying Guide!Reader’s affections:

Legend: 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️

☆

Legend, defending himself from the “You like him” allegations from Wind: 🤸🤸🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

And now, onto the images- I hope you don't think the sheer amount of these memes is too excessive or anything!! 😭 /gen

Aaa and that's all the memes I've got! I hope you like them,,! orz

I'm also still pretty new to Tumblr, so I'm sorry if the format looks a bit weird,,

Oh, but also?? That last point you mentioned in your most recent post about the cultural differences between humans and Hylians on physical affection/touch?? I am VERY excited to see that,, 👀 👉👈 

U HAVE NO IDEA HOW IN LOVE W/UR BRAIN I AM RN

IM SO FUCKING ECSTATIC TO SEE THESE >>> ANYTHING IVE EVER WRITTEN U MADE MEMES??? FOR MY BS?????? DAOHGHOAKJSALKGFS;NDFKNDNFKJBDBFLN;

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

BLESS YOU, BEHEAMOTH SCREAMOTH MY BELOVED <3333

HAVE THAT HYLIANS V. HUMANS AFFECTION CULTURE POST HERE, THE ONLY PAYMENT I CAN THINK OF FOR THIS 😩😩 🛐 🛐 🛐

I LIED ITS TOO LONG, ITS GONNA BE A SEPERATE POST COME BACK AND PLS READ IT AS PAYMENT (but dont read the nsft/w if ur a minor)

BRO u got all the energy, and the dynamics i was pushing ilysm 🥺🫶

like the Hyrule = beloved agenda ive been pushing, bc i need more underrep links content, the way u carried the ganon eternally getting haunted by guide reader voice?? 10/10 ahdsfkhadl

AND WIND’S CONSTANT ENERGY OF A YOUNGER BROTHER LOOKIN U DEAD IN THE EYE LIKE “u kiss the homie (singular not even plural) goodnight?? Brother, that’s GAEY.”

u have no idea what this means to me, the impact, the understanding u have to have of my bs to make these, and how many posts youve read of mine?? im so sorry for ur loss w/my rough writing lmao

thats how you know youve made it tbh is if someone makes memes of smth u made, anyway day brightened, complexion clear, depression medicated, by this post

I HOPE BOTH SIDES OF UR PILLOW ARE COLD, UR PETS CUDDLE U EXTRA, U GET ALL THE GRADES/GOOD WORK SHIFTS U NEED

Peace out my beloved <3,

🌙