#but it is VERY funny how they have like a million characters and still manage to have obvious favorites lol

[electric-plants]

i love this event i love how the traveler had like two flirty moments with lyney and childe in the archon quests and hyv immediately had to remind us how down bad they are for xiao in waterborne poetry lmao

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

wc: 7.4k

summary: you teach gojo how to love. 

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent

a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 

.

.

.

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

.

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.

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 

During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.

You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 

You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 

His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon). 

.

.

.

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 

Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today. 

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 

You hum in response. He does make a point. 

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 

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.

.

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 

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.

.

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to. 

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 

But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 

.

“Are you okay?” 

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed. 

Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes. 

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 

“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 

“I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 

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.

.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.  

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 

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.

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“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you. 

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 

You break the silence. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 

Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken. 

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 

“I can’t.” he speaks softly. 

What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. 

You think you want to cry. 

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees. 

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 

“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile. 

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 

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.

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 

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The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you. 

“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 

“Like me, right?” he winks.

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing. 

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 

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.

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 

During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same. 

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.

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it. 

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 

“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee. 

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. 

So you wait. 

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

.

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 

It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 

Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 

.

It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 

But it doesn’t come. 

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true. 

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[chobani-flip]

rec list of awesome bucktommy fics #1 of ∞

ok. so here's some fics ive read that i loved and i need everyone to read and love as well. more such lists to follow over the summer

Like a Music That's Been Transposed by @faillen

“Hey there, stunner,” Tommy murmured against his mouth once they’d pulled away. “Stunner?” Evan asked, smile bunching up his cheeks. “That’s a new one.” “Mhmm,” Tommy said, pressing a kiss to one of those lovely red cheeks. “You like it?” Evan ducked his head, “Yeah, that one’s uh. That’s pretty good.” His eyes cut back to Tommy and his mouth twisted into a thoughtful moue. “I don’t really have any for you.” “Eh,” Tommy said. “I’m not a big endearment guy.”

Or: Tommy grows into his name.

it is so good, you guys. such an excellent tommy character study.

The Machinery of the Body by @firehose118

Tommy takes one look at the wonderstruck expression on Evan's face after Tommy kisses him that first time and he knows he wants to take Evan apart under his hands like an engine and make him purr. He wants to slowly and carefully clean every rusty bolt Evan never knew he had and put him back together better than he found him.

it is horny and tender. they just care about one another so much 😭😭😭

the skin that binds you by @tiltingheartand

He must make a noise of some kind, because a second later he feels a hand very carefully combing through his curls. Too carefully, actually, although it does feel kind of amazing anyway. “Feeling okay, baby?” Well, good news: at least hearing Tommy’s voice doesn’t make anything worse. “Not really,” he manages, once he unsticks his lips from each other, refusing to move from where he’s got half his face pressed into Tommy’s neck. “Feel like death.” “That’s not as funny as you think it is,” Tommy says, but he’s hugging Buck around the shoulders while he says it. (Buck wakes up with a migraine. Tommy takes care of him.)

they are so good for each other and to each other 😭😭😭

Couched In Metaphor by @alchemistc

BUCK AND TOMMY GO COUCH SHOPPING! THERE'S ALSO EDDIE AND HE IS A GOOD FRIEND! the couch is a metaphor but it's also just a couch and buck and tommy are written so excellently here. i ADORE the way this author sees them and writes them

Your Midnights by Summerunderthesea

He still hadn’t been able to find his footing with Tommy. To find his cool, or to even be able to fake it so that he at least came across as somewhat smooth. At least a bit less of an idiot. So idiodic, non-cool, non-smooth Buck replied with an ‘uhh’. Then, eventually, ‘Yeah. A bit.’ --- A collection of midnights that Buck and Tommy spend together.

a progression of buck and tommy's relationship. so niiiiice.

while you arranged flowers by @newtkelly

Tommy’s eyes catch his and Buck is taken aback by the state of them, blown so black and glassy. He always looks so tongue-in-cheek, like he’s in on some joke and waiting for everyone else to catch on. He doesn’t look like that right now, though. Tommy’s composure is waning—the guy who takes on the world with a million dollar smile and a statuesque cleft chin and flies choppers to Vegas on a whim and into Cat 5 hurricanes to help old friends and kisses clarity into men who thought they were finished figuring themselves out, that guy is just as much a slave to his desire as any mortal man, and Buck is winded by the fact that he’s played any part in that. — Buck’s got a wedding date, but as far as today goes, he’s also got a regular one.

you might have seen the post where i shrieked about another fic of newtkelly, well read this one too. the way they write is so thoughtful and skilled???? shoo, go read!

little by little by @mediawhorefics

a madney wedding coda. it is brilliant. it is beautiful. AND ALSO, the author has an excellent taste in user names. GO READ MEDIA WHORE'S FICS! i shout in the marketplace and i am well heard by all.

Come Fly The Friendly Skies by @rcmclachlan

have you tried to imagine how the initial introductions between buck and tommy during the choppernapping went? no? yes? well, i guarantee you that this brilliant HILARIOUS piece of writing is going to surpass your greatest expectations.

allow me to quote one of my favourite lines at you: "We know you have many options when choosing airlines, so thank you for choosing Kinard Air. Let's begin the boarding process."

yeah, i know if tommy was any cooler of a cucumber that salad would be frozen! isn't it wonderful?!

im also gonna need you to read

@middyblue 's AU where buck works as a Scientist alongside karen and meets tommy when the lab blows up.

THIS IS THE SERIES HERE!!!! THERE ARE TWO FICS (SO FAR) WHOLE TWO FICS!!!!!!! AND IT IS BRILLIANT AND I LOVE IT!!!

Buck's clipboardy-ness is directed towards science! tommy is absolutely turnouts over helmet into him!!!!

ALSO! ALSO!

these are the fics that i keep seeing on rec lists (but that's because they're really fucking good and if you haven't read them yet, do yourself the favour of getting right on that.)

my heart's an autoclave. by @bucktheally

an outlier that should not be counted by @dadvans

prescribed burn by @wakeupnew

you know what actually? all of the authors above? (and any others i mention in the future?) go do the following:

click on subscribe ON THE AUTHOR'S PROFILE

[sterkeyra]

Voltage - Side Character Election 2024 Results

Voltage hosted Side Character Elections over the last few weeks. You were able to vote for your favorite side characters of plenty titles. There was a Part1 (Kyobashis father won!!) that decided on merch for the side characters and this Part2 enabled for the Top10 to get stories for themselves!

1st place gets a longer special story (would have gotten a CG they got 1.5 million votes :') Rip we missed out)

2nd and 3rd get a special story

4-5th get short special stories

6-10th will get mini episodes

Anyways here's the Top10:

**[Koi100] Side Character Election results!** These 10 side characters will receive stories.

1st will get a longer special story 2nd & 3rd will get a special story 4-5th will get a short story 6-10th will get an episode

1st place: Takeru Momose (HLITF) 2nd place: Hayato Miyayama (HLITF) 3rd place: Toru Kyobashi (Kyobashis dad) (MPD) 4th place: Daisuke Chiba (HLITF) 5th place: Mitsuharu Kyogoku (RMD) 6th place: Ryosuke Inui (KBTBB) 7th place: Zach Thompson (MK) 8th place: Jinguji Sonpoku (WDCK) 9th place: Daisuke Agasa (MPD) 10th place: Eito Ichinomiya (KBTBB)

You can find their votes below and the rest of the rankings! There were very interesting prompts for each character - some felt like fanfiction, a bit trolling or interesting character depth 👀

Momo finally gets a story and it's about falling for him instead of Tsugaru 🙈 I wonder how they'll handle his GF ahh. Still i'm so happy! The rest of the Top10 is promising too. Finally Jinguji, Mitsuharu, CHIBA, and Miyayama!! Its so funny how they even had Furuya and Tomohiro and offered a redemption arc for them 🙈 Blood Moon and Kasatsubaki sounded like the actual plot of what their routes would have been like if they wouldnt have gotten cancelled. I wish they were ranked higher!

Also Chaen! Would have been an interesting yandere story. We'd need an animal mascot or villain election!

I also don't get why Plusts manager or overall got so few votes. It hurts 🥲

[asgardianhobbit98]

Four for Valentine: Week 2 "The Letter"

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / Reader

Characters: Dwalin, Thorin, Gender Neutral Reader

Important Tags: written from Dwalin's POV, romance, angst, death, alcohol consumption, grief, love, redemption, healing

Words: 1146

Summary: When Dwalin attempts to heal his grief after the Battle of Five Armies, his finds himself not just grieving Thorin but also his sibling. But in the depth of night, ghosts come to life, and Dwalin finds that the letters are more healing than he originally thought. (I really meant for this to be fluffy but then my brain made it bittersweet instead because apparently angst is all I can manage today)

Written for my "Four for Valentine" event 🩷

My dearest y/n.

They are calling it the Battle of Five Armies: a Historic event, it seems. I certainly won’t be forgetting it. And I will make damned sure no Dwarf ever forgets it either. Just like I am making sure that no Dwarf ever forgets Smaug’s taking of the Lonely Mountain. Two points of important Dwarven history… and two moments in my life I would rather forget than remember. But it is crucial I don’t forget. If people remember it feels like people also remember you. Both of you.

My brother said writing down feelings is better than cutting down Orc filth. I still disagree. But I can’t deny that it helped me greatly when I lost you. It will certainly help me greatly now that I have lost him.

I loved you. You were my sibling, how could I not? But even if you had not been my family, I think the two of us would have gotten along well. You were funny in a way I didn’t really get, but which others seemed to find endearing. Thorin certainly found it endearing. More than he dared admit.

You see, I found a letter of his in his belongings. I didn’t mean to rummage through his things. It fell out when I was moving it. So don’t come yelling at me from the rocks now! And I only read it because it was addressed to you.

I hadn’t read your name in so very long. Maybe it was the already present grief, but I suddenly grieved you once more. I had to. Because when I read his letter to you, I saw the life you could have had if I had just been quicker in getting to you. That damned dragon!

He is dead now. Smaug. Revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I thought.

You would have had a life with Thorin. I know it. Because he wrote so. He loved you. Dwarves only love once. He was more devastated than he admitted to any of us. I knew he slipped away from us for a long time after the fall of Erebor. I knew he grew quiet. Distant. I never in a million years thought it was because of you too. I thought his family, his people… And here I was grieving you in front of him, burdening him with my own shite.

Yet, he never once said a word. He simply supported me.

He loved you.

You could have been his. He could have been yours.

Maybe this is for the better after all. If you had been here, you would have had to grieve him. The loss of Thorin is one I do not know how to handle.

I wish you were here to help me.

Perhaps the two of you are there in the afterlife, living among the rocks of Erebor, reunited at last.

Stupid.

Dwalin put the pen down and crumpled the letter in his hands with a little more force than necessary. He threw it aside where he watched it land among all the other attempts. Alone in a room in Erebor, finally home, Dwalin thought he might find some solace in a successful quest. But everything felt wrong.

With a sigh, he moved over to his bed and simply… drank himself to sleep, like he usually did. It helped with the nightmares, it helped with the grief, and it put him right to sleep. It was a win win, really.

Balin hated watching him do it, but Balin wasn’t around at the moment. He was on his way to Moria to continue furthering their people’s wealth; to try and retake the mountain. Meanwhile, Dwalin was still stuck in the past, in his grief… doing nothing with his life… or so he thought, at least.

…

As the darkness engulfed him, a restless sleep devouring Dwalin, he found that the alcohol actually did very little to help him. Rather than steering him onto a path of just dark, dreamless sleep, Dwalin found himself suddenly standing in his room.

Actually, that wasn’t the best description on where Dwalin found himself. He was in his room, yes, but he was sort of… standing by his bed, watching himself sleep.

It was a weird position to be in, and for a long time, Dwalin did nothing but stare at himself.

Had he died?

Was this the afterlife?

But no, he was breathing… Snoring, actually. It was a rather pitiful sight.

There was a strange humming in the background. As if someone was singing, but it wasn’t one person. It was a vibration so loud it sounded like a thousand people humming. It was peaceful, almost recognizable. As if Dwalin had always heard it in the background whilst walking in the mountain, or out and about.

But he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The humming was interrupted by a little shuffle in the room behind him. He turned, finding it rather difficult and slow to do so, and watched…

You.

And Thorin.

Both of you looked ten times better than you’d ever done alive, warm peaceful looks on your faces at all times. The two of you were picking up Dwalin’s attempts at writing a letter to you, reading them with your heads held together, arms locked in a loving touch…

“Y/N?” Dwalin asked, staring at his sibling with pure… shock. And Thorin, his king… “Thorin?”

Both of you looked up at him. But it was you who answered Dwalin: “I like your letters. They make me happy.”

Dwalin must have looked quite dumb as he simply stared in shock, because suddenly you began to chuckle. That chuckle… He’d missed it.

“My dear Dwalin,” Thorin said, “you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Both of you chuckled a bit at this.

“You both are…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “Yes, quite. But that doesn’t mean we’ve left you.”

Thorin nodded along. “We’re always with you. In the rocks that make up your home. In your memories. And we’ll be waiting. Until you’re ready.”

You smiled. Thorin smiled.

…

And far too soon did that ‘dream’ end because suddenly Dwalin woke up with a start in his bed, looking around the room, searching…

He pushed away the bottle of alcohol. His heart lighter, and went back over to the crumpled up drafts of a letter.

Okay… he thought to himself… I’ll keep writing if it makes you two so damn happy.

Chuckling for the first time in a long, long time, he wrote at least twenty long letters in the candlelight, telling the both of you everything that he wanted to. Because he missed you both, and he loved you. And if you two really did read his letters, then he was going to keep at it until he was sure you both knew just how much you meant to him.

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!

reblog and comment = love and support 🥰

[mylittleredgirl]

previously on mylittleredgirl: [four seasons of m*a*s*h] [six weeks of screaming about margaret houlihan]

i have now finished season five disc one and a bullet point recap is due! [yeah there's more screaming in it]

bug out was a fucking DELIGHT

god i was so worried though when klinger had to trade all his dresses i was wailing internally. what if he just wears fatigues forever!?!??? but it's all okay!!!! that tassel mod dress he has on in "the abduction of margaret houlihan" healed me ten times over. his outfits have been 🔥 this season.

such a mix of really dumb slapstick comedy and "oh god the war is Right Here" drama and little character sweetness... love it.

and the family reunion happiness at the end!!!! god bless. i left my body for like thirty-six hours.

i really really love the tone they're striking with frank this season. they've walked back the cartoon villainy of late season four, so he's once again a relatively harmless clown. i breathed a huge sigh of relief. he's soooo much more fun this way.

margaret's engagement: bonkers. delightful. she's unbearable. there is so much wrong with her. i want to study her in a jar. i will never shut up again.

with this put together with some bits later in the disc (including that cut scene crayon joke lmao), did she somehow manage to trade DOWN from frank? is that even possible??? it's either that or this new dude is actually just The Exact Same Guy, but now she'll be the fool wife at home instead of the beloved mistress.

i mean personally if i were louise burns i'd be very happy for my dumbass husband to fuck around on the other side of the world for as long as possible while i enjoy the $35,000 house and two cars without him, but for someone like margaret who is far more interested in being wined and dined than running a household, this... may not be the field promotion she thinks it is.

hawkeye rising to frank's defense and him and b.j. enabling frank's little takedown of margaret at the end felt very real. sure, in the grand scheme of things, margaret is Annoying and frank tried to have hawkeye executed last season, but bros before hos.

okay how FUNNY would it be though if the "little redheaded nurse" frank planned to seduce was baker-from-the-nurses, because she would have scratched frank's eyes out for trying and not felt bad about it

and actually, that's a plausible backstory for the extra bad blood between her and margaret, too??? oh yeah. that definitely happened.

i actively missed frank/margaret as the disc went along though. maybe the show had stretched the tension of that relationship as tight as it could go, and it's nice that they get to do new things... but they're so funny and awful together and i miss them sharing scenes!!!

i really assumed - like frank did lol - that they would continue to rabbit around together, only now she would also get to string him along with the jealousy game, but...... well, i'm glad it's still hanging out in the background of the narrative, anyway. i live in hope that they will slip and fuck and it will be soooo messy.

FUCK is it possible i shipped that for real???? god. i don't know if my family name can bear this dishonor.

out of sight, out of mind...

...has taught us the very important lesson that hawkeye is 9000x more annoying without something to do (annoying to everyone else i mean!! not to me. i will happily watch him annoy everyone.)

him asking b.j. to visit him a million times a day 🥺

i'm almost satisfied now by the "doctor-experiences-the-role-of-patient" theme that i didn't get in "hawkeye." i suppose hurt/comfort fic can take it from here.

however i'm totally satisfied by how sweet it was to see everyone taking care of him!! and how much they love him!!

lt. radar o'reilly... devastating. i mean funny and delightful but it's mean!! so glad that boy is back in stripes. however they could have at least promoted him a little for his trouble. sergeant o'reilly???

i have already said more about the nurses (post here) than ever needed to be said. and yet. i'm quite sure i could say more if pressed

the abduction of margaret houlihan

........ will i never be free of colonel flagg episodes 😞

i love the continuing evidence that she has invested time in learning korean, and i really really really love the slow expansion of our perspective to include like oh yeah. there's a village where people live full time and it's literally right here.

imagine if after the war she becomes an ob nurse...

on the one hand, how do they not make frank do gun handling training. on the other hand they probably don't because it always ends with stitches and an accident report.

i sometimes wonder if mash was like jury duty for asian actors in the 70s. you probably won't get to say anything but they call you up and you just have to go.

dear sigmund!!!!!! this is another episode where people were staring at me through the window so i'll comment a little more:

the fandom's favorite guy sidney freedman deserves that crown. what a weirdo. talk about a busman's holiday for a psychiatrist to come to the 4077 for a vacation and psychoanalyze everyone. but for fun!

i really don't have a proper sense of the geography at play here because he really does like. just come by to play cards once a week. and drives through a war zone i guess to do it? he has probably sacked out in the swamp before when the air raid situation changes but this time he just... doesn't leave.

and aaaa!! margaret took her very special episode about How To Make Friends to heart!!!! she joined the poker game!!!

she had plenty of time to work on that lesson though because the jeremy bearimy time shenanigans are in full swing here at the 4077. we went from midsummer in 'the nurses' to a bitter cold march two episodes later.

i always kind of assumed the mash weather was loosely inspired by real human weather, but no, in fact the actors just have to randomly suffer in parkas or getting sprayed in the face to look sweaty in alternating weeks regardless of the surrounding conditions.

SUFFERING for their ART

also jfc b.j.!!!! dunking frank in cold water in freezing temperatures is a serious health and safety concern my dude!!!!

i'm afraid b.j. is still not beating the little brother allegations, he has just aged up from innocent baby to fucking gremlin

(i should confess that my little brother diagnosis is guided by the fact that in my complex family and housing history i only ever lived with "brothers" younger than me, and never older ones. but the innocent baby and prank gremlin stages are real.)

i made a note here of "margaret randomly drinking gin in the swamp now!!?!??" like the poker game was one thing, people could strong-arm her into that while she feigns protest, but ma'am WHO are you and what have you done with— and then the next note is "oh good she's still insane"

potter named his horse sophie <3 also he's collecting granddaughters, i think the count is up to 3 now. or baby sherry is experiencing a temporal anomaly of her own!

the letter radar wrote to the dead guy's parents and potter reading it... fucking ended me. please let harry morgan do serious bits more often, it's outstanding and far too rare.

it's not surprising that frank's wife changing (wearing pants! doing activities!) would stress him out, and not just because he's a dick. any of them would struggle with their families growing without them, because that means they can Never Go Home to the life they left!! (e.g. trapper losing it because his girls were getting older.) but it is kind of fascinating that he loves both his wife and margaret, and even said mid-fever that he wanted them to be friends, but he also wants them to be NOTHING alike.

all in all it's understandable that sidney would check in to the no boundaries motel to have his poker buddies shake it out of him, but he could also have taken his leave somewhere with indoor heat. so he's as crazy as the rest of them. <3

also they're not his patients he's just observing them like zoo animals so forget confidentiality he's absolutely gonna write a book about them someday.

mulcahy's war: i don't know why i have been misspelling his name with an 'e' the whole time because it was literally in the end credits of almost every episode for four seasons.

oh god he's so precious i don't talk about it enough. playing poker for orphans. feeling like he doesn't do enough while potter thinks he has the hardest job. that unrelenting positive regard for everyone. always with that little grin.

that little grin in FULL PLAY as he sneaks out of the house to go off to war when dad's not looking

radar should never be sent on a mission where people are bleeding when will they LEARN

corporal cupcake deserves every medal he gets!!!!

frank's foot fetish becoming his one true medical specialty is just. i don't know what to do with this. good for him??? do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life???

speaking of unrelenting positive regard, margaret's policy of nurses never talking back to the doctors in the operating room sure has taken a hit. i realize this is about frank being an intolerable ex, but i choose to believe that the detente between margaret and her nurses has turned the O.R. into a pvp zone. the next time hawkeye tries to seduce a nurse over an open body, he's gonna get wrecked and margaret's just going to shrug pretty and look the other way.

in conclusion: season five is soooo gooooooood!!!!! can't wait for disc two!

[mychlapci]

okay finally i can go off anon now that we're not being horny!!!!

you have no idea how much of a problem i am going to be for you >:]

right one of the characters i find to be infinitely fascinating in terms of how the fandom looks at them is rung. like for me, rung is a socially awkward aroace autistic. his reason for being in psychology/psychiatry beyond just wanting to understand himself (which is also a reason i think he's autistic bc one of the main symptoms is an inability to understand one's own emotions) is because he wants to make connections with other cybertronians without the social pressures of dating or interfacing.

i think the whole "primus has game" jokes are genuinely really funny because y'know he's literally god, but i do think that in a good ending of the lost light, where rung managed to survive and explore himself through the aspect of godhood, i think he'd find, with his memories restored, that loving other cybertronians on a romantic level is odd to him

he's got these vibes from those around him that this new knowledge, the knowledge that he is literally the being that so many of them prayed to in times of anguish, makes it difficult for them to interact with him in the same way as before. i do still think he'd have genuine connections with nautica, skids (because fuck canon he's living), and megatron.

those three in particular work so well on a platonic level with rung. megatron is someone who i think would find a lot of solace in discussing philosophy and ethics with literal god, also though the lens of the fact that i bet megatron has loads of religious trauma since the functionalists justified their actions through their worship of primus

nautica, being from caminus would also work really well with a newly godhooded rung. like caminus is a heavily religious society as well, arguably more religious than modern day cybertron and i think she and rung would discuss the science and perhaps some of the earlier days of rung's existence together.

and skids. well i can't really see skids seeing rung any differently. i think the two of them are in a queerplatonic relationship. they enjoy each other's company very much.

the idea of rung living to understand his godhood is something that's been bouncing around in my brain for a while because of one of my oc's.

to put it bluntly, this oc, malware, was a former guard of the senate, picked by alpha trion to serve and protect the prime's and their legacy. she's pretty old (roughly 7 million) and when nova prime left for the stars xey suffered a rather intense psychotic break that eventually devolved into her becoming entrapped in a very long series of delusions where primus himself was watching xeir every move.

she ended up betraying the senate and joining the decepticons, where xeir delusions eventually spiraled from primus watching her, to the literally embodiment of the decepticon cause controlling xem. she was friends with damus prior to the war (due to xeir studies of chemistry which he found interesting) and when the DJD got formed she ended up joining as the first helex.

TLDR; malware ends up defecting and starts having regular therapy sessions with rung, alongside a nice dose of antipsychotics. and when the war ends xey join the lost light.

and this leads me to the idea and concept of mecha who have been having therapy sessions with rung having to struggle with potential religious trauma from knowing that the guy who've been talking your religion problems over with is actual god himself. fucked up and evil

i don't think rung himself would really view himself as good interestingly enough. he's shown throughout the series to be a very shy and socially awkward individual, to the point that he can hardly believe the stories that rewind and chromedome tell him about his alternate universe self.

rung is such an interesting character to explore through the lens of having to know that he likely never got to fully understand himself and his backstory before dying and being essentially forgotten by everyone in his life.

it makes me sad to think about because i think rung, of all characters, should've gotten to see a new cybertron. imagine a version of the bad ending where rung, fully understanding his position as a god tries to steer his people towards a brighter future, one where he can help those who truly need it through therapy and proper medication

hopefully this doesn't sound like nonesense. i just love thinking about complex platonic relationships and as much as i'm a shipper, i wish i got to see more platonic rung with the other members of the lost light

just realised i don't gotta cap this off with my anon tag lmao

Rung... I don't think about Rung often enough. But to be honest, I don't necessarily ship Rung with anyone, and i am definitely very fond of imagining him in deep platonic relations with others. We know he's a bit unethical, hehe, making close friends with your patients probably isn't advised, so I really like that edge about him. I always saw him as a bit of a bleeding heart of sorts. He'll go beyond standard procedure to help out his patients...

I mean, religion in transformers has always been kind of iffy, but it's okay we can fix that. The fact that Rung's godhood has not been discussed more is kind of a crime. I would have loved to see people interact with him knowing he's Primus. Maybe some, who have really been hurt by religion, struggle to separate Rung from the religion that caused them trauma - i mean, Rung had nothing to do with that, but it's difficult to think about Primus, who, if we assume they view him the same way we view god, should be almighty and all-seeing and know that he'd done nothing.

love that you snuck in your OC. we are being self-indulgent in this house today‼️it is very curious to think about someone with such a deep, horrible issue with Primus and godhood and finding out that the therapist that helped her out was god himself. I mean, what's that mean for someone whose greatest fear for so long was the thought of god watching their every move... (sorry if i'm butchering OC lore, i'm just rambling on along bc i don't wanna read my philosophy assignment for today)

I honestly could never really gleam Rung's relationship with Cyberton properly, but it would be so interesting if he took a leading role in making it better. I feel like everyone who went with the Lost Light kind of... "ran away" though, y'know, in search of something brighter than the ruined, dead Cybertron they've left behind. Finding out he's Primus, Rung might feel a sense of duty and responsibility to come back and help out...

[littleshysheep-at-da]

here with my report on master of the labyrinth, 27 days post-launch. it's just below average.

it's a slog to get through dailies, and it takes and hour or more to level up each day.

the longer i look at the events, the more i realise how predatory they are.

it's easy to see the P2W aspects, especially when i, a ~7 million powered little spider, am being beaten by 3m power spiders with skill not fitting their power.

i'll continue playing, just to see how far a free to play can get. i'm level 91 right now, and i need level 100 to get arachne. at my current pace of 1 level a day, i'll be there soon enough.

Tumblr has seemed to have a weird delay with Notifs cause I saw this in my inbox before seeing the Notif for it? So sorry is this replay is late.

Thank You for the Report!!! 🫡 I’ve actually been keeping up with Playing it myself (though I’ve only just passed Level 60 cause there isn’t really Gameplay and gets a bit boring so your patience is quite impressive!) and I did actually mean to give an Update on it after Playing for a Month but my complete lack of sense of time means I have no idea how long it’s been lol.

And on the actual Report, you are SO CORRECT. It’s just very light on Gameplay and the Gameplay it does have is kind a slog (I do get… weirdly into the mining though). It’s like still super cute, though I still think some of elements are too generic and not actually related to KumoDesu, but yeah it’s just kinda… it.

I still Play because Blorbos On Demand tm (and I never get that for KumoDesu!!! I still need someone to rip and the Chara Models and Assets fr), and I’ve actually have been keeping up with it Daily but I haven’t been trying to max things out or anything. I’m lucky to be VERY resistant to FOMO so their Paywalling hasn’t gotten to me and I’ve also remained F2P (aside from the literal 1 cent to Bind Account). I mean I do admit to not really understanding the point of AFK Style Games (which I’m pretty sure Laby is lit just a Re-Skin of a Previous Game) but it is weird that it both has so many tabs but also not much to actually do.

Also you said it but yeah PAYWALLED AF. I mentioned this before but KumoDesu had a Collab with The Ants: Underground Kingdom fought before they Released Laby (interest check maybe?) and it is also a Ridiculously Paywalled Game. I will say The Ants has the benefit of being geared more towards being a Resource Management Type Game (which does make sense for running an ant hill honestly) so it has slightly more Gameplay than Laby (but not as many of my Blorbos…). But yeah in both you can’t go 2 seconds without them Advertising SOME Pack for Blah Blah Blah (but in The Ants I Cheated it by jointing a high Ranked Gulid with a lot of whales who are also super nice). Like bro… I just want to Scout my funny Characters and put them Ships together😭 I literally Play Laby just to try and get my Babies…

I did manage to get Halloween Fei as a F2P! But I haven’t got any of the other Event Outfits/Charas thus far! Ganbatte homie! We’re in this together!

[ethereal-engene]

future husband | sangyeon

pairing: bf!sanygeon x fem!reader

genre: humor, slice-of-life, and fluff // warnings: brief mentions of food, drinking, and cursing… and 2 suggestive lines

summary: A dinner date in celebration of Valentine’s day with your boyfriend leaves you two to recount your first encounter with each other.  // wc: 1148

note: I hope everyone had a good valentine’s day !! AHHH LESS THAN WEEK UNTIL TBZ CB, oml the highlight medley has me gone, it all sounds so so so so good! Enjoy & please reblog with feedback if you liked it! also @sungbeam​ 😏 it’s here (I hope I did soft sexy sangyeon right 😭 & also good luck on your exams again Jiayou !!) 

“Sangyeon. If I had known we were going to eat here, I would have dressed nicer.” You half-heartedly wail while staring at your boyfriend. Everyone knows Sangyeon cleans up very nicely and is always so handsome. It would be unlike him to not dress his best especially for a date with you. Even though, personally speaking, you like him best when he’s wearing less. 

He chuckles and watches as his eyes crinkle the way they always do whenever he laughs. “Well if I told you, it would have spoiled the surprise. Besides, what you’re wearing right now is stunning. If we were in a couples contest, we would win best dressed.”

Even when his words of flattery annoy you, it always manages to get a smile out of you. “Sweetheart, flattery will get you nowhere in life.” Your hands find their way into giving him a pat on the back. They only get a few pats in before he takes your hands to hold them. “Well, it got me you. So I would say it did get somewhere.” All of the while said with a teasing smile and tone.

“You’re fucking insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you still love me for it.” He shrugs his shoulders as he leads you to the table for tonight. Your eyes roll when you hear him say that. And of course, he pulls out the chair for you like the gentleman he is. “Didn’t know that I could get your eye to roll outside of bed too.” A gasp is let out before you try to gather your thoughts to respond.

“Did Sunwoo give you some of his water to drink today? It’s been like three years since we started dating and never in a million years would I have guessed that I would hear anything like that come out of your pretty little mouth.” It only takes a minute or two for Sangyeon to realize what he said to you and attempt to excuse himself from the table because he’s flustered. “No, no. Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s a bit out of character but they’re funny.”

“It just slipped out so easily, I’m so sorry. Maybe I’ve been spending too much around Sunwoo and Kevin. They’ve been speaking more nonsense with each other lately and yeah.” Your head falls back in laughter. “Oh lord, I know. I’ve seen their conversations from Deobi online. I can’t say I’m not surprised by Sunwoo but Kevin too? But then again, Kevin’s a wildcard so I’ll admit, I’m not too surprised.” With your hands on top of each other, you softly squeeze his hand to reassure him that he’s fine and really it’s not a big deal.

After ordering your food, Sangyeon animatedly talks about their comeback. Based on everyone’s reaction, they’re really excited for it to come out. You love hearing him talk. His voice is so soothing.

“I’m sure that this comeback will be successful. Eric is back with y’all and you guys worked hard for this comeback. Deobis won’t let you down and neither will I. Fighting!!”. Reassuring him will never not help put his heart at ease. He’s always super thankful for your support. As more time passes, your food gets placed and is ready to be eaten. Unknowingly, you both ordered the same dishes as your first date. Only after a minute goes by before Sangyeon’s light bulb turns on as he remembers something.

“Babe, don’t you remember how we first met? God, what an unforgettable moment that was.” He even starts to chuckle before continuing. It only takes a minute for you to remember and you start to laugh along with him. “I can’t believe I said that to you. To be fair, I still think that what I said is true.”

As if on cue, you both get ready to re-enact the scene. You had gotten out of your seat to take a seat in front of him while he was sipping his wine.

- start of flashback -

“Do you know who you look like?” You teasingly ask and for him to nod his head no. “You look like my future husband!”

With that, he’s left frozen because he’s never had someone try to flirt with him that boldly, much less in front of his friends. Oh yeah, he wasn’t out having dinner by himself. He was out with some of his members. If you must know, it was Jacob, Hyunjae, Eric, Younghoon, and Kevin. A quick kick under the table from Kevin to Sangyeon is heard. An attempt to get him to respond to you as the silence is taunts them. A fake cough from Eric whisper yelling him to “ask for her number or something, hurry up hyung!!”

It’s hilarious seeing this pan out because you’re still there as if you don’t see and hear all of this happening. “Oh yeah, well you look like my future wife. Let’s call it even but I guess we can’t really call it even unless we exchange phone numbers.” He hands you his phone and watches as you gracefully enter your number into his phone. When you give it back to him, he expects for you to hand your phone over but you don’t.

“I know you’ll call me so why bother? Also good save lover boy. Almost thought I was going to be left hanging there.” You get up from your seat and with a click of your tongue, you take your leave. Not even getting very far before a hand reaches for your arm. In doing so, he pulls you back and with his soft smile “Even if I did leave you hanging, I’d be there to catch you.”

“You smooth motherfucker. I knew you had it in you but you still got some work to do before you really catch me.” As expected, he didn’t know what to say next and before he even realized you were out of sight. Staring into the distance like a deer caught in the headlights. Hyunjae was the one to call him to come back. It’s safe to say that you were the talk of the table until the dinner ended.

- end of flashback -

“Your confidence struck me like lightning that day. You wouldn’t believe how red I was after I went back to the table.” You’re sipping while listening and it takes a lot in you not to spit it out from laughing. “Oh, lover boy. I could imagine it. Gosh, you’re still as cute and lovely. I still think you look my future husband.” His eyes find yours and they light up like a million stars in the night. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s heard that, it will always make his heart flutter.

“And I still think you look my future wife. God y/nnie, the things you do to me. I love you so much!”

Heh, the ending is a bit abrupt but I’m ngl I like how most of this turned out so I’m not too bothered by this. 

BUT AH SANGYEON?? man is really husband material. I’m so excited for the kylo x tbz video/episode. As always, please reblog this with your feedback or send me an ask/dm about what you liked about it. They mean so much to me and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I liked writing it :)

please support your favorite fanfic writers and content creators <3 take care

signing off with love

- ash 

[yakuzacanons]

Hi, sorry for my bad English, I'm still learning to write in English. So I was playing The Sims 4 and I automatically remembered posts about what it would be like if the boys played Minecraft and Roblox, so I asked myself: How would each of them feel and react playing The Sims 4? I'm a new follower and I love your posts!

YES this is so cute omg, also to anyone else sending asks I SEE THEM I will get to them, I got like 35 of y'all in my inbox and I LOVE YOU ALL just be patient, thank you mwah. Anyways, the headcanons below da cut, here we go.

Kazuma Kiryu

Fascinated by The Sims. Mostly watches the kids play it, but they end up roping him into playing eventually. Needs some help at first, it takes time to learn the ropes, but he's pretty good at picking up on it. Says things like "Ah... I see." a lot. Out of all the games the kids have shown him, The Sims seems to stick the quickest.

Majima Goro

Takes a million years in character creation alone. Like decorating things or dressing the people up. Total chaos lord, if something catches on fire in game he just gets confused. A lot of saying "What do I do, c'mon, tell me!" really quickly and loudly. Talks to his Sims, says things like "Darn it, I told ya to go HERE."

Akiyama Shun

Makes his Sims hit on everyone. Actually a bit of a chaos gremlin but only in games like The Sims specifically. Once he realizes that game is basically him making a bunch of tiny people do funny stuff, he will proceed to do exactly that. Will always pick THE most styling outfits for his Sims.

Saejima Taiga

Squints a LOT, especially when trying to read options in the charater creation menu or when a Sim has choice bubble pop up. When he sees a Sim isn't happy, he says things like "Huh? Didn't I just feed ya?". His first playthrough is super messy and the house he builds is totally not functional so it'll take him a few attempts to actually get going in the game.

Tanimura Masayoshi

Honestly the most basic of all the boys at Sims. Plays it straight, pours in exactly a reasonable amount of hours, struggles an average amount. It's not his most favorite type of game to play and he prefers to watch others play it as he finds their choices more interesting than his own.

Ryuji Goda

He's all about that house building, babey. Probably ends up building himself some monstrosity of a tower and is like "Look what I made!". He actually kind of likes The Sims a lot once he realizes it's supposed to be a little chaotic. This makes him actually relax more, whereas with other games he can get a little frustrated when something unusual happens.

Nishikiyama Akira

Probably the most likely to make his Sims look like himself and/or people he knows. If not people he knows directly, then something like a celebrity or famous character. Pretty good at matching his Sims to people's appearances, although he mostly cares about the character creation than anything else. Might not even play the game beyond making characters honestly.

Daigo Dojima

Very precise gamer. House has to be spick and span, all the Sims have to be happy before he turns the game off. Fond of the decorating or dress up aspects and likes to see his Sims make friends or start relationships. Treats it more like a dating sim than anything.

Mine Yoshitaka

Sort of like Daigo but he treats it like a business management Sim. His Sim is going to be the very best like no one ever was. Won't really tell anyone he plays the Sims as it's kind of his guilty pleasure game. Prefers having as few Sims as possible in one game so it's easier to manage them all.

Tatsuo Shinada

Best Sims player to watch in a livestream of all the boys. Total goofball, tons of "What's this option do?" and general fucking around and finding out with his gameplay style. Makes the most random looking Sims. Naturally comedic when he plays it. Tries super hard to romance other Sims though.

[sylpheedz]

In Memory of Jeysen Perez Lyons (1996-2022) & Akira Toriyama (1955-2024)

    This is actually quite late, but I'd like to take a minute to pour one out for a very good friend of mine who took his own life two years ago now, and a man who's creativity touched countless young lives all over the world.

Eulogy below, puttin' it under a Read More. Warning, it does talk about s**c*de and if you're not going to be okay after reading about it, probably don't read it then.

I'd like to start with Toriyama-sensei (right). 

    Akira Toriyama captured hearts of millions every with stories of friendship, growth, and gloriously, ridiculously intense anime action since 1984. He was the man behind art of the Dragon Quest games, and most notably, Goku, the character that would inspire countless to always surpass their limits and giving their very best...or something like that. 

    I'll admit, I was never really a DBZ fan myself. Never did get with the hype. I'd catch it a few times on old Toonami, but it just never really captured my attention the way it did for so many others. Never even really made the discrepancy that it was anime, it was just another cartoon to me as a kid. 

    But the funny thing is, you don't even really have to be a DBZ fan to still be affected by it. While I never really watched the show itself, I was exposed to it by the animations by fans it inspired, specifically Super Mario Bros. Z, a fanfiction sprite animation series by one Alvin Earthworm where Sonic and Shadow team up with the Mario Bros. to fight Mecha Sonic for the chaos emeralds and prevent him from destroying any more worlds. There was that and Nazo Unleashed, which was a flash animation that used frames of the show for its fight scenes, which was the rawest shit ever to me as an adolescent. These animationss' fight scenes, which were very heavily inspired by Dragon Ball Z, are what inspired me to practice my art and work my way up towards animating.

    So while there may have been a few middle men involved, but even my creative mind's been influenced by Toriyama. And for what it's worth? I'm thankful for the madness he's given me. All the AMVs and fight scenes I concoct in my head while either laying in bed unable to sleep or taking a shower. Who knows. Maybe I actually will watch the show just for some ideas on animation techniques.

    While I may not have personally been as enamored with DBZ as everyone else, I knew someone very closely who was an absolute madlad for it.

    His name was Jeysen Lyons (middle), and he's probably one of the best friends I've ever had in my entire life. Hell, maybe even the best. I met Jeysen back in my very first year of middle school, along with Masatoshi and Chris, my first real friends after having spent my elementary days ostracized among the other kids to the point of suicidal thoughts. 

    He was a really funny kid, dirty jokes galore and could quote entire YouTube Poop videos from memory (and we had some much raunchier shit back then lmao, it really was a different time from today). It was always more fun when Jeysen was around.

    After graduating middle school, I found it harder to keep in touch. I'd always get so engrossed with my own life that I could never really keep up with old friends like I'd want to. Never was good at keeping up. But there were still some summers where we could get together at his mom's apartment for his birthday, July 10. Eventually, his mom found work in another state, and they had to move to Mississippi. After that, I hadn't heard from him for a while. I don't remember how, but at some point I managed to get ahold of Jeysen's Steam account and could talk to him from there, and we friended each other on Discord. It was always so much chatting with him online, though sometimes he would some concerning memes, which wouldn't be surprising considering he lurked 4chan.

    On that note, it seemed like he absorbed the sentiments regarding us queers as probably a lot of 'channers would normally have, ranging from "don't be publicly visible" to "just need to be shot". Once my egg cracked, it became one of those things that were more...complicated. And thanks to that, I wasn't sure how to tell him about...well, me.

    I wasn't sure how he'd react. Would he accept me while thinking me stranger tan he thought? Would he have still considered me a friend but disrespected my identity openly? Would he have completely and totally hated me, moving forward? I wanted to tell him, but I always got too nervous whenever I tried, so we'd just end up chatting, which was always still fun, but I so badly wanted to break the ice with him at some point.

    Other than that, we'd even talk about each other's personal projects, like my Revolutionary Vanguard Minerva, and his Perfect Universe, which is about a high school boy that gets caught in an alien war of good and evil and attains god-like power in the midst of it, and has to try to keep it from driving him mad. I always thought it was an interesting premise. I wish I asked him more questions about it.

    At some point two years ago, Jeysen contacted me sounding...exasperated. Panicked. I told him that whatever was happening, he could talk to me, and that I'd be there for him whenever he'd need me. But after I said that, he just said he'd be fine, and then left.

    Fast-forward to days later, in the middle of calling my representatives about another horrendous internet bill that came back, I tried talking to Jeysen again, as I was a bit worried. I got a response, asking me if I was "M". I asked them to clarify, and they asked if I was [deadname]. I said yeah.

And they told me they were his mom, and that Jeysen had died.

    I thought it was a really strange prank at first. I even got angry, told them to knock it the fuck off. But then I looked up his name, and sure enough, there he was, in an obituary.

I couldn't believe it. Jeysen really did do it. I lost my best friend. 

I lost my brother.

    From what his mom said, he was frantic about something involving "docksing". I'm thinking she meant doxxing. It sounded like at some point Jeysen caught the attention of somebody who knew how to get people's info, and that sent him into a panic attack while they were already trying to transfer him to different medication for bipolarism. 

    His demons got the best of him in a moment of emotional instability, and he was finally pushed too far, and now he's gone.

    It...still doesn't feel real. It still feels like I could just reach out to him, right now, on this chat client like usual and start talking to him again. Maybe it'll never feel "real" to me. But it is. My boy is gone.

    His mom assured me it's not my fault, and I know it isn't. But I keep replaying scenarios in my head, where maybe if I'd just...been the one to approach more, maybe he wouldn't have done it. If I'd taken more time to ask him about his day, ask him about Perfect Universe, to watch DBZ or other anime with him...

    If I'd just gone out of my way to spend more time with him... Maybe I could've made him stay. Maybe I could've saved him. Maybe, maybe... I could go over all the "maybes" in the world, but it wouldn't change the reality that he is not here anymore. Not a day has gone by where I haven't thought of him at least once.

    And this is actually why Toriyama's death hit me harder than other deaths. I actually started crying when I found out. It felt like I was losing a part of my bro, in a way. Which is probably silly, that's a whole-ass other person, another individual. It's not like DBZ is going to stop being a thing because he died. I have no doubt is probably as immortalized in Japanese and probably even worldwide culture as Astro Boy. Actually, more than Astro Boy. Atom's admittedly a little more niche...

    But the worst part? I never got to tell him. I never gave him the chance to reject me, but I also never gave him the chance to accept me either. Now I'll never know. I'll never know whether our friendship was flimsy and fleeting or made of iron. I'd like to hope it was, personally, but... 

    Either way, I'll always miss him. Life's much duller without my brother with me. I have so much that I want to talk to him about. So many new ideas, so many new things I wanna do with my life, now that I'm finally going through my transition journey. But I guess that'll all have to wait till I'm up there with him.

He'd better be up there. 😠

Lemme tell ya, folks. 

If I go up there and find out the Big Boss in the sky put him in the incinerator for "being a quitter" when he was already in inconceivable pain that caused him to take his own life? 

He is catching these fucking hands of mine. I don't care if I'm gonna lose, it's on sight for doing mah boi like that. 👿🔪

I will dive down to hell and fucking claw my brother out of the lake of fire myself if I have to.

But in all seriousness, if I could go back in time, even if it meant I had to start my life completely over, I wouldn't even blink if it meant I could see my brother again. I can only hope he's in a better place right now.

...Or ol' man God and I are gonna have to have some words. 😡

[skrs-cats]

I have reread sunrise (the first actual wc book I've ever owned) and it's been WILD reliving a few of my memories with all the made up stuff I've accumulated in brainrot over the three, now I have all these thoughts that I have to vomit out. Aka a REALLY LONG incomprehensible ramble post abt the ending book of po3. Mostly about lionblaze though. I'm sory

*IDK how many times I've mentioned this, but chapter 1 starting out w lion leaving the df for good and beating tigerstar in a fight ALWAYS makes me wonder how things would have been affected if he just straight up went for the killing blow. I've only ever read books 1-5 once, so I don't have the best memory, but I think it's interesting to note that tigerstar managed to actually injure him, and lion was scared that if he died here he'd be dead for real, and then lion was surprised to see the wound when he woke up. I'm just wondering if these facts were first introduced here or if I just have tunnel vision towards this book (which is also true)

*'lionblaze always knew there was something wrong between him and ashfur' no shit bitch 😩😩😩😩😩 and then there's lion wondering if cats suspect him as ashfurs killer, something to do about everyone realizing how they never got along. and NOW I'm thinking about lion ending his df dream w tigerstars blood on his paws, and how that might have made the READERS suspect HIM to be the killer (leafpool prolouge chapter contributing to this supicion seeing as lion is also her kit) Only to end as a red herring when Holly is revealed to be the girlie w mascara running down her face (u can't see it clearly but my point stands)

*interesting lines about ashfurs death that I think about regarding what a warrior means for the clan (nonverbatim):

-'Ashfur never mattered this much when he was alive'

-'Ashfur's murder now made the clan determined to make him into a hero.'

*lion is posited to be the brave one of the three, in regards to physical danger and such. I am taking this character trait and cranking it up to a million

*I forgot smoky and floss existed :( IDK if they're still alive in the latest arcs but I hope they're doing ok

*brambleclaw trying 2 be nice to his kids and tell them that they can confide in him bc clearly they're all hung up about something but being denied it is funny and sad to me personally. He didn't talk w Jay, just as leaf didn't talk much w lion in this book, but I think it's given an interesting ending when in the end, its officially revealed even squirrel didn't tell him of the truth, which ends their relationship for the most part. I really do wonder how well he could have taken this if he was in on the secret from the very start.

*outside of that they sure do like to crank up the dramatics and mention bramble / squirrel as their parents any chance they get so that the three can be Emo about it like. 'THEYRE NOT MY MOTHER/FATHER.' 'WHATEVER SKILLS WE HAVE DIDNT COME FROM YOU.' 'WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH? WE'RE NOT EVEN KIN!' last one is abt leafpool which is honestly a lot. I think.

* one of the saddest parts about this book was how lonely they made purdy 😭😭😭 this poor old man. I'm glad they brought him back to the clan. But also I think they just forgot about him bc for someone being so vocal in defending Sol, he was outright just not mentioned when it was revealed Sol 'escaped'

* more lines that I think about regarding clan cats (also nonverbatim)

- Clan cats' instinctive distrust of outsiders

- why do clan cats have to think they always know what's best?

* Sol. He's just there to me ig.

* I liked jingo. I hope she's doing ok even now

*criminal how this book barely has any sibling bonding w the three when that is my blood sweat and tears. Maybes that's why I got so obsessed w the three of them being happy together bc I was STARVED.

* honeyfern 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

* call it the thunderclan bias in me but I was sorta annoyed when the three other clans walked in and told them that they should get rid of Sol or else. But also thunderclans reaction to Sol seemingly having run away is like. Giving back stolen candy to pre schooler vibes. Or something. This makes no sense I'm sorry

*I think it's interesting that Jay and Holly manage to find out who their mother is thru their own way. With the former deducing it on his own (I actually enjoyed the detective esque work he did in doing it) and Holly straight up asking leafpool. So now I propose lion being informed someway or other thru SQUIRRELFLIGHT BC I WANT FOR HER TO TALK W ANY OF THEM AND THAT LION FIINDING OUT THRU HIS SIBS WAS SO BORING OKAY I WANT HIM TO HAVE A SHOCKING REVELATION TOO-

* ahem. Also can I mention Holly confronting leaf abt who their parents were and leaf thinking it was about ashfur is so unbelievably ????? KHADHD, I'm not saying it was bad. but MAN. Talk about awkward huh

* anyways. When they all find out that leaf is their mom and then squirrel and leaf are mentioned to have looked at the three in the same familiar expression they have always had; love. And that line hurt me as much as Holly refusing to acknowledge or listen to it and running away. Lion and Jay werent against listening to what their 'mothers' had to say, but they loved Holly more than to just let her go on her own

* I always blabber about how they should have tried to talk thru their issues but man. They tried multiple times. They tried so hard. I'm not gonna specify who but they tried.

* Holly and lion changing their view of Sol in opposite ways in the two instances they meet w him is interesting but also a bit confusing. The last time we get a pov of lion is when he helped Sol escape so we don't really get a clear idea of his own thoughts anymore w everything after. That's why I can't help but just think abt him I guess

* reading Hollyleaf spiral more and more into her grief and despair sure was something.

* out of the three, jayfeather was actually the calmest in this book. Which is saying something, I think. I'm now taking this and making it my mission to have all the three of them as short tempered grumpy schmucks.

there's a lot more to talk about for me regarding these three, but I think I've used up all the words in my brain. My last thought though, is that after going through All That as an ending, it was really funny to just have this as a preview of the next book.

Also a bonus picture of what this book looks like too, sorry if it hurts u but it's testament to me on how much I adored this thing when I was younger </3

[bistaxx]

JINX !! tell me why you ship Quackity x Luzu and why you dont ship Quackity x Wilbur I need to know the Lore

Hiiiiiiiii Vin! oh gosh- I'll try to condense this as much as I can OKAY SO...

yeah I don't vibe with tntduo 😭- I already talked about q!tnt so I'll just explain about c!tnt instead:

Why don’t you ship it: The Fandom. Listen I hate saying it but it really is 90% of the reason why- I always try not to let annoying fandom stuff sour my opinions but like... MAN- Because like I actually did really use to enjoy /r tntduo fuck man I was shipping it back in October 17th 2020 after the moment in the button room and especially after the famous Niki's birthday stream like- idk I just liked the dynamic and the chemistry it was fun! I was even still shipping it when I first started getting really into the c!fiances and was hyped when Wilbur and Quackity met up again... but then. IDK- something about the fandom take on their dynamic just didn't click with me it didn't feel like the same characters I enjoyed ESPECIALLY IN REGARDS TO THE WAY C!QUACKITY WOULD GET TREATED- like GIRL- Quackity would not cave and be visibly annoyed or flustered by the first jab Wilbur makes hello-??? or the fanart that would portray Wil as like completely disregarding Q's personal space as this 'teehee funny flirty' thing like I HATED that shit- I also just hated how when I tried to look up c!fiances content I had to filter like 5 million tags to actually find what I was looking for because there'd be so many c!tnt fics that had the fiances tagged in them and 50% of the time it was just so Quackity could break-up with them for Wilbur 😭 I also just like got sick of seeing it everywhere when I wanted to find c!Q content it felt like it was inescapable and that people only cared for my favorite character solely to mischaracterize him in a ship I was quickly growing tired of... yeha I think that sums it up-

What would have made you like it? Um.. All of the above not happening LMAO-

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it? Like I said earlier I DID really like it and I have tnt shipping mutuals who do the dynamic justice even if I got super burnt out on it (shoutout to Thes)

... So anyway uh- SO LUCKITY-

(this will be a lot shorter despite how much I have to say about Luckity I'm just really tired rn SORRY 😭)

This will be about k!Luckity specifically cuz I rly don;t have much of anything to say about q!Luckity outside of finding Arinckity cute

What made you ship it? Started for the fluff and stayed for the toxic ship 😈- GOD Quackity and Luzu fucking outdid themselves with Luckity in Karmaland V like dude it's just so good- like looking back on it the writing was already on the walls that they were so doomed from the very start- like they somehow manage to be both "it's tragic because it didn't have to end this way" and "it's tragic because it was always gonna end this way." if that makes sense. But god at the start it was just so easy to overlook the blaring the red flags because they'd give us just enough hope that it'd end well only for the rug to get pulled during the elections and the whole dynamic get's flopped on it's head but now instead of cute fluff or funny flirting it's this Angry passion and resentment- from start to end they were devoted to each other whether in hatred or in love. The build-up and payoff were both just amazing even if I felt miffed about the ending of the arc at first I've since come to love it because really it's just the cherry on top of their tragedy leaving the possibility they could just end up doing it all over again yeah <3 They were The Moment yeah!

What are your favorite things about the ship? A lot of things but like- I love that they're sun and moon coded <33333 I remember associating them with sun/moon imagery before they took those iconic photos with the sun and moon and like I was so hyped when that happened <3 my toxic sun/moon boys yeah <3

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? Not really no- but HEY check out this web weave I made about Luckity that I'm still super proud of and debate remaking one day: X :3

[quill-pen]

Personally, I hate Valentine's Day for a variety of reasons, but I know Bess likes it. So let's think about her today with...

💌Valentines Through the Eras; A Timeless Scroogeverse Reminiscing

💝George Era:

Bess loves Valentine's, but not when it comes to celebrating it in school. The kindergarten Valentine's Day party completely ruined that for her when all her classmates tore up and threw her Powerpuff Girl themed Valentine cards away while laughing in her face.

Then of course she opened her own to find them all defaced with graffiti insulting her. Barbie in scribbled on facial hair and stink-lines telling her she smelled. Bratz with huge freckles, declaring how ugly she was. My Little Pony characters saying they didn't want to be her friends. Power Rangers, Spider-Man, and TMNT all boasting altered messages about how dumb, gross, and weird she was, and wishing her a bad Valentine's.

Along with the Valentine's were crumbled cookies, broken and ruined toys, half-eaten, sticky candies. Her Valentine's box was defaced with scribbled artwork of a large, brown smudge, labelled as "pOOp", as if she couldn't guess what it was meant to be.

Bess went home in tears that day, ruined box and all its contents in hand to show her mother proof of how mean her class was to her. Bea never believed her when Bess reported bullying stories to her. She didn't believe Bess even with the evidence. Or if she did, she didn't care, just like always.

It wasn't until George came over that night to take Bea out for supper and saw Bess' puffy eyes, tear-stained face, and the box that Bess received any sort of comfort: a promise that they would get a Valentine's Day do-over tomorrow, just the two of them.

And he held true to that promise, picking her up early and taking the little girl out for a special breakfast of any-flavored, heart-shaped pancakes. He gave her a big Valentine in the shape of the stuffed horse she'd had her eye on for a long while. He took her to the zoo and to the children's museum where he played with her. He took her shopping to get whatever she wanted: a new Barbie and a couple Barbie playsets, one big and one small. He showered her with affection and words of affirmation, telling her how pretty, nice, smart, funny, sweet, etc. she was.

George let his little Mudpuppy know she was loved, special, and wanted. He let her know she mattered, and she deserved to be treated with kindness.

From that Valentine's on, George always made sure he was around to help Bess play hooky on the day of the class party and take her out on the town to treat her.

Bess never knew what happened to her Valentine's boxes or Valentine's afterward because they were always gone from the classroom the next day. But she didn't care. Valentine's Day dates with George were a million times better than anything she could have gotten from her classmates.

Eventually, unfortunately, due to many factors of life, those dates with George ground to a halt.

Of course, Bess was a bit sad, but she didn't mind all that much with little siblings to love on and receive love from in turn now as well as George.

And George always still managed to get her something and/or treat her to a meal.

But still, Bess wanted to have a tradition like those all-day Valentine's dates again with somebody. Maybe make them romantic this time around.

💝Oliver Era:

When Oliver came into the picture, Bess thought, for a very brief time, that this was something that could happen with him. After all, they were officially a couple. Even if it wasn't a full day of celebration, even just a nice evening dedicated solely to them and their relationship, would have been amazing.

Bess quickly learned better on that first Valentine's Day of their relationship.

Oliver took her to breakfast in the same greasy little cafe off campus that he always took her to when they decided to eat out for breakfast.

Bess had never been a particularly picky person when it came to food or where she ate, but this place never failed to turn her stomach sour with anything she ate there. Oliver knew that, but always insisted on them going there anyway: It was "his spot" where he knew everything, everyone, and had "never had a bad meal". Bess begged to differ.

Knowing making a fuss would only upset Oliver and put him in a terrible mood the rest of the day, Bess endured, thinking maybe she could just have some yogurt with fruit and a coffee (that she'd turn to syrup with sugar to try and choke it down).

Oliver immediately changed that plan by insisting her order for her. "It's Valentine's Day, after all," he pointed out. "Let me treat my little woman." His smile was probably meant to be sweet, but it felt belittling and mocking.

Bess knew she should have felt anything other than the dread she did.

Her stomach was already churning by the time the waiter walked away with their order, both at the thought of the food coming her way and the way Oliver had kept referring to her as his "little woman". But that was true, wasn't it? She was his girlfriend. Why did it make her skin crawl?

"You do have money with you, right?" Oliver asked expectantly.

"I thought you were treating me."

"I did. I drove you here and ordered for you. And I'll cover the tip if you want."

Bess sighed and rolled her eyes, but made no further comment. They'd hardly been together six months, and she was already exhausted and exasperated with this boy. But nothing was ever perfect, right? Every relationship had its ups and downs and flaws. This relationship just needed some work.

After a breakfast of burnt bacon, undercooked omelettes, and half-raw hashbrowns dripping with grease that smells like fish, Oliver took her to class, promising something extra special that night. For some reason, Bess didn't feel so enthusiastic. Her already lacking enthusiasm drops even lower when Oliver refused to kiss her goodbye: "People are watching, Specks."

Unsurprisingly, it was right for Bess to feel wary of the night's activities: Oliver's "extra special" night was just inviting her over to his dorm to have a movie night with his buddies.

The movies? A marathon of bad, Valentine's-themed b-movies. All of them horror--Bess' least favorite genre. She had to walk out about 15 minutes into the second film (a Valentine's rip-off of the Halloween franchise with more gratuitous debauchery and a Michael Meyers stand-in dressed like Cupid... who still wore the weird mask for some reason?). Oliver didn't even realize she left--none of the guys did.

Bess went home and ended Valentine's Day alone (Debbie was out with her boyfriend) with no flowers, treats, cards, or even so much as a Valentine's text from her boyfriend. She quietly cried herself to sleep from the disappointment.

The years went by with Oliver and Valentine's Days never got better. Even when Bess tried to make something out of the day, it ended up being a complete disaster as something was never right according to Oliver.

Eventually, Bess just gave up on her dream of ever having a romantic Valentine's Day. Or a romantic anything, honestly. Perhaps romance just wasn't in her cards; maybe she didn't get to be swept off her feet and treated like a queen. After all, no one gets everything they want. "But I hardly ever get anything I want."

Their last Valentine's Day together wasn't even acknowledged. Admittedly, Bess waited all day to see if Oliver would make any sort of comment about how she didn't get him something, as she always went out of her way to get him a little gift or treat for the holiday, even when he never did for her. He never did.

What he did do, however, was "complain" to her about how he'd kept getting handed Valentine's and secret notes from bridal party members and wedding guests from the wedding he'd been second shooter at all day. "I just couldn't believe it--all these total babes just handing over stuff like that to me! I mean, I was all like, 'Ladies, please! I'm a professional at work here. Not that I'm not flattered, but I gotta concentrate on my art here. I don't have time for hookups in the storage closet." "Also you're kinda, ya know, engaged." "Hmm? Oh, yeah, right, whatever."

Bess gave up any hopes of ever feeling happy or truly loved in this relationship.

💝Gal Pals Era:

The first Valentine's in London was rough. Not only was Bess far away from home and family (that she knew well), she was also working.

Being kept busy in the maternity ward did help take her mind off of things, however, and there were a few beautiful little babies born that night. So Bess couldn't claim the holiday as bad one. (Though she did have to talk a father down from naming his son 'Valentine' as the mother was too out of it after surgery to do it herself but had made it clear on previous visits that she did not want that to be the child's name.)

That second time around though, was a much different story.

By the second London's Valentine's Bess, Connie, Addie, and Gal had all found each other, and the 1843D girls had bonded together tighter than a Gordian knot. They were bound to make the most of that bond.

Undeterred by the lack of beaus in their lives, the girls took it upon themselves to turn their first Valentine's all together into a celebration to be remembered.

"A Galentine's!" Connie had exclaimed one morning out of the blue. She'd come running from the bathroom with toothbrush in hand and frothy, minty lips. "Let's have a Galentine's! We'll all dress up for each other and go out together!"

The idea was a perfect one, and plans were immediately put into play. Bookings were made, new outfits were purchased, and work shifts were made sure to be filled in.

The evening of, after spending the afternoon sequestered away in rooms at the Dowager Countess of Calloway's (better known as Granny FeFe's) townhouse, readying themselves, all four girls presented themselves to both FeFe and their beloved landlord and surrogate grandfather Michael Pippersnipe, making grand entrances down the grand staircase of the Dowager's front hall.

According to FeFe and Pippersnipe, they had never seen more beautiful young ladies in all of their long years.

It was clear to see, they were being anything but facetious.

London has never known such celebration of sisterhood until that night. All four girls ate and drank their fill, danced and sang to their heart's content, celebrated both themselves and each other.

"A toast!" Addie declared at some time in the night, dashing a champagne glass to the heavens as though it were a golden chalice claimed in victory. Perhaps it was far greater than that.

"A toast to the bonds of sisterhood and friendship! Such loves are often overlooked and underestimated to be lesser than most. But it's been made clear to me in this year of trials and tribulations, of ending the old and beginning the new, that sisterhood and friendship are some of the most powerful and wonderful bonds the world has to offer. After all, what is a friend? A single soul, dwelling in two bodies."

"Aristotle," Connie remarked with a soft smile.

Gal chortled: "'n' t'at's why she be t'e writer."

Smirking, Bess stood and raised her glass as she began reciting: "I'll be there for you when the rain starts to pour. I'll be there for you, like I've been there before. I'll be there for you, 'cuz you're there for me too."

She cast a goofy smile around the table. "The 'Friends' theme song."

The table broke into fits of giggles and good natured groans at that. And then everyone was raising their glasses in toast. "To sisterhood!" The sound of crystal glass clinking together tinkled out through the night.

A night made for lovers and romance taken over by the love and joy of found family.

It was truly a Valentine's never to be forgotten.

And I think we're going to stop it here because, I know me, and I know when I dive into the Wolf era it is likely to get long and graphic.😅. So we'll just wait on that, and keep this cute and wholesome for now!

@rom-e-o I will probably dive in at some point to actually turn Galentine's into a fleshed out ficlet at some point, so if you want to add ideas, go right ahead.☺️

[shmaptainwrites]

[CH.9] New Doctor on the Block

Chapter 9: Second Chance

Pairings: Hawkeye Pierce x fem!Reader

Characters: Hawkeye Pierce, B.J. Hunnicutt, Father Mulcahy

Summary: B.J. encourages Reader to talk to Hawkeye about how she really feels

Warnings: mentions of death, insecurity

Note: And that's it! The last chapter of the first installment! I hope you guys enjoyed this and stay tuned for book 2!

Series Masterlist - NDotB Masterlist - Two's Company Masterlist

“What happened to you?” B.J. asked, walking into the mess tent the next day for breakfast. “You look terrible.” 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” you stared solemnly at your uneaten breakfast and coffee. 

“That’s funny,” he said sitting down. “Neither did Hawkeye.” 

“B.J. I’m not in the mood right now for any teasing,” you rubbed your temples and closed your eyes. 

“Not teasing,” he said. “I’m serious, what’s going on with you two?” 

“Maybe ask me later,” you mumbled, “Here take my food I’m not hungry,” you slid the plate over to him and got up to leave the tent when the door opened and Hawkeye stood in front of you. 

You both stared at each other for a moment before you gathered your senses and stepped aside so he could pass. He did without much of a glance in your direction and you quickly scuttled out of the tent. 

When Hawkeye came to sit at the table with B.J. and Father Mulcahy, who had since joined him, B.J. didn’t waste a second in interrogating his friend. 

“What was that?” he asked. 

“What was what?” Hawkeye picked at his powdered eggs and looked up tiredly at his friend and the priest who shared their table. 

“I believe B.J. is referring to your interaction with Captain Tomasson,” Father Mulcahy interjected. 

Good thing I’m not the only one concerned about this . B.J. thought to himself. 

“It’s nothing,” Hawkeye said, placing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. “Just a very simple case of my actions coming back to haunt me. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he ate a couple more spoonfuls of breakfast before standing up. “I’m due in post-op.” 

B.J. shook his head and sighed when Hawkeye left the table and turned to Father Mulcahy. 

“Any ideas on what to do, Father?” 

“None at the moment,” he shook his head. “Perhaps they both need some time and prayers. I know Hawkeye will come to talk to you about it.” 

B.J. asked about you. 

“That one you might have to corner, but give her some breathing room,” he suggested. “She should share when she’s ready.” 

“What if she’s never ready?” 

“That’s the million dollar question,” the Father sighed and B.J. ran a hand across his face, he had a feeling the next few days were about to suck more than they usually did. 

—

As per B.J.’s assumption, the next few days were nothing short of hell. It was as if to you, Hawkeye had fallen off the face of the planet and Hawkeye was doing a pretty good job himself pretending you weren’t there when he wasn’t distracting himself with games, practical jokes, and booze. 

The whole team could feel the shift, It had almost gotten to the point of affecting their work. 

“Hey, what are you doing? You need to clamp that first,” B.J. remarked while he assisted you with a surgery. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” you shook your head. “My head’s just not here.” 

“Your head hasn’t been here for a while now,” he commented. “After our shift, we’ll take a walk. Just you and me and that’s not a suggestion.” 

“Sure I can’t take a rain check?” 

“You’ve been rain-checking me for over a week.” 

“Alright,” you sighed. “Clamp, please.” 

“Yes, doctor,” the nurse passed you the instructed tool and you managed to finish that patient with only a few minor hiccups. 

There were still a few more wounded that needed to be tended to so you prepared to be an anesthesiologist for a bit while B.J. took the reins. You took one of the last patients and then washed up side by side with B.J. dreading your walk. 

“You look like you’d rather be slicing open another soldier than out here with me right now,” he chuckled. “Am I really that bad?” 

“No,” you shook your head, “but your questions are.” 

“And what do you think I’m going to ask you?” he shoved his hands in his pockets as you trudged along the compound. 

“About Ben,” you chewed your lip. 

“Bingo,” he nodded and looked down at you. “What happened that night? I’ve tried asking but Hawkeye won’t talk to me either. You guys are my friends and this place is already lousy enough without you two not talking to each other.” 

You stayed silent.

“So? Come on, spit it out.” 

“He kissed me and I freaked out, okay?” 

B.J. nodded his head. “Ah, I see.”

“What? That’s it? Just ‘ I see ’?” you asked. 

“Well, why did you freak out?” 

“I-I…It’s hard to explain,” you looked down at your feet. 

“Try me,” he shrugged. 

You thought about it for a minute, trying to see what words you could use for it to make sense. 

“A terrible thought, but let’s say Peg passed away,” you started. “You have to take care of Erin, she’s your top priority and providing for her is the most important thing.” 

B.J. nodded, following your train of thought. 

“You’re heartbroken that Peg is gone, obviously, but over time your heart aches a little less, then a little less, then a little less, until finally, you think you start to feel something other than ache. But you can see right in front of you is that same situation that took Peg away from you in the first place. Would you risk it? Just because your heart felt something other than pain for a little while? Just because maybe, just maybe you thought she’d make you happy again?” 

B.J. was thoughtful a moment before responding. 

“I think I would risk it. And I’m not just saying that,” he assured you. 

“Why?” you asked. 

“Well, why don’t I put it this way,” he said, taking a turn in your seat. “If you could go back and change life so you wouldn’t have met your husband and wouldn’t have to go through losing him, would you do it?” 

“No,” you didn’t hesitate to answer. “I wouldn’t trade the time I had with him for anything in the world.” 

“So what you’re saying is if you love someone, or even think you could love someone, maybe the hurt is worth it because you’d still have whatever little time you were able to have together?”

You let out a shaky breath and chewed on your lip before admitting, “B.J. it scared the crap out of me. How the hell am I supposed to make up for that? He probably hates me now.” 

“Why don’t you talk to him first and find out,” B.J. suggested. “Hawkeye Pierce is a stubborn man, set in his ways, but I don’t think I’ve seen someone more successful in getting him to change his mind. Unintentionally at that.” 

You nodded your head slowly. 

“Why don’t you go over to the swamp now? He should be there alone, Frank has post-op and I’ll stay out of your way for a while.” 

“You sure Beej?” you asked. “We just pulled a long shift, you're probably exhausted.”

“I’m not as exhausted as I am hoping all this gets resolved. I’ll sit in the mess tent for a while and drink some coffee. Don’t worry about me too much.” 

You nodded your head again and turned to go towards the swamp before turning around and tapping B.J. on the shoulder, causing him to look back and allow you to give him a hug. 

“Thank you, B.J. You’re a good friend and I’m sorry I’ve been a bad one.” 

“Don’t mention it, and you haven’t been a bad friend, just subpar,” he teased and you let out an airy chuckle. 

He wished you luck before you turned off to go quickly get changed and head over to the swamp. It was late so you wore a pyjama shirt and pants and pulled a housecoat over yourself to keep warm from the slight breeze outside. 

When you came to the door of the swamp you knocked three times on the door. 

“Just a minute,” you heard Hawkeye inside. “Alright, come in.” 

You opened the door and saw his back was turned to you, taking some laundry off a clothesline. 

“Ben, can we talk?”  you asked, stepping inside. 

“Talk,” he nodded slowly. “We haven’t done that in a while.” 

“No we haven’t,” you agreed. “C-Can I sit?” you asked, pointing to the stool. 

“Please,” he nodded and sat across from you in his cot. “So what was so urgent you had to come and disturb my laundering?” 

“I wanted to apologize,” you said simply. “For how cold I’ve been this past week, for…for the way I reacted that night.” 

“Wasn’t exactly the standing ovation I was hoping for.” 

You chuckled a little, nervously, and scratched the back of your neck. 

“You were right, m-my worries and concerns didn’t have to do with my lack of faith in you. I think I was too caught up in my past to see what my future could look like.” 

He raised a brow and you continued. 

“And I think I like the look of it with you in it. I-If that’s still something you’d want,” you added quickly. 

“What about all this fear of uncertainty? Unless I missed something we still can’t control everything that happens in this war otherwise I’d be in Maine and you’d be in New Hampshire.” 

“A good friend made me realize that the time we have with someone, however short it might be, is still worth the hurt we might feel if it ends.” 

“B.J.?” Hawkeye asked and you both laughed and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like something B.J. would say.” 

“Maybe we can start things out normally?” you suggested. “Set the scene, anywhere in the world.” 

He thought about it for a moment before settling on, “Dover, New Hampshire. A bar off the corner of a street, near the hospital.” 

You smiled and stood up to go and sit next to him. 

“Hi, I saw you from across the bar.” You offered him your hand. “I’m a single mother of two, I work as a trauma surgeon in the ER at the hospital down the road. My husband died in the Korean War and I’ve been wondering if I’d ever get a second chance at what I had with him. I think you’re my second chance.” 

Hawkeye smiled and took your hand. “Hi, I’m Ben Pierce,” he said, “and I’d love to be your second chance.” 

“You sure? I’ve got a lot of baggage?” you joked.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of trunk space,” he assured you and you both laughed. “I’ll take you to the movies tomorrow and prove it.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” you agreed and shook on it. 

You both stood up and Hawkeye walked you to the door, but before you left he asked you a question. 

“Can I give you a kiss goodnight?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Oh no reason, just once a girl gave me a cup of tea and in return, I gave her a kiss and she freaked out on me. Just wanted to make sure,” he teased. 

“I’m never gonna live that one down am I?” 

“I dunno, let’s see how well you do with this one, then we can talk,” he took your face in his hands and you looked up at him with the first sparkle of hope in your eyes that you’d had since your husband died. 

He leaned down and closed the space between you, your arms pressed against his chest. 

When you pulled apart he looked at you with a cheeky smile on his lips, 

“Now I’m really not going to be able to say no to lunch with your family when we get back.” 

“Ben, you always know what to say, don’t you?” 

“It’s a gift,” he shrugged. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you stepped up on your toes and pecked his lips. “Your tip.” 

He gave you a small peck back, “Your change. Goodnight.” 

“Yeah, goodnight,” you smiled and stepped back, giving him a small wave before leaving the swamp and going to let B.J. know his tent was now danger free, but you were sure the lovesick smile on your face did more than your words ever could.

Tags: @montyfandomlove @robin-the-enby

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Conversation (Part 10 of Alley Cat)

Image credits: kissthemgoodbye.net / Amber Kipp / Nathan Dumlao

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem! Reader

Word Count: 5701

Summary: Matt Murdock and Reader have a conversation.

Warning(s): Awkward flirting, thirsty Reader, frank thoughts about sex and sexual acts, referenced character death, referenced ableism, hurt/comfort, cat antics

Author’s Note: This turned into a beast. It took longer to write than I expected as after I wrote the first draft, I realized the muses had presented the events out of order. I wasn't expecting both horniness and angst but here we are.Hope this was worth the wait.

Can also be read here

Series Masterlist is here.

The Conversation

by Shiori_Makiba

You poured yourself a cup of coffee. You were trying not to worry that you had completely misread the situation. It was hard. Because it was past midnight and there was still no sign of Daredevil. As you doctored the coffee to your liking, you once again tried to tell yourself that you were worrying about nothing.

Maybe he was just busy. That Houdini had managed to escape while you were in the shower. Usually if he wasn’t intercepted, that meant Daredevil was busy. You hadn’t heard more sirens than usual but that didn’t mean it wasn’t rowdy out there. It could just mean that said rowdiness wasn’t happening that close to your apartment.

Maybe he had gotten hurt again. You hoped not. Or if he had, you hoped that he had listened to the Night Nurse for a change and was resting. A delay wouldn’t do your nerves any favors but you’d rather he delayed your conversation than be the reason he tore his stitches or otherwise aggravated his injuries.

Maybe it wasn’t even his Daredevil side that keeping him busy. Assuming that you weren’t crazy and he actually was Matt Murdock . . . well, he could have a lot of legal work to do. Nelson & Murdock didn’t seem to have a paralegal on their team. Which meant they were doing all the research and writing themselves. You were intimately familiar with how long both could take. Maybe Page was assisting them on that front, assuming she had the training to do so. And the time since she might be too busy with her investigative work.

Even if she did assist them, they would still need to read her drafts and the cases she found for them before submitting any of it to the court. At least if they were sensible. Nothing against Page – you remembered her articles in the Bulletin and was sure she would do just as well on drafting motions and legal research. Just that Murdock (and Nelson if he was aware) were already risking their licenses enough. No need to risk Rule 11 sanctions on top of it.

The point was that being a lawyer (if he really was a lawyer) would give him plenty of reasons to be burning the midnight oil.

There were a myriad of other possible reasons. You didn’t know anything about his family. One of them could have an emergency of some kind. Or it could be something silly like he decided to take a nape before going on patrol and forget to set his time-to-fight-crime alarm first . . .

If you were right . . . Matt Murdock’s hair, in addition to looking very enjoyable to run your fingers through, seemed like the kind to produce incredible bedhead. You snickered. Imagining him trying to stuff that kind of fluffy mess under his helmet struck you as funny.

You were still snickering as you made yourself comfortable on the couch. You picked up the remote and started browsing through the streaming options. You had been watching nature documentaries earlier but had almost fallen asleep. You loved learning about animals but you almost always fell asleep watching them. Maybe it was narration. There was something rather soothing about a soft-spoken voice telling you about fish . . .

But you needed to stay awake so more nature documentaries were out. You settled on The Princess Bride. You had seen it a million times but figured that a million and one wouldn’t hurt. Despite the fact that you practically had the film memorized, it didn’t take long for you to become thoroughly engrossed in the story.

The sudden knock on the window made you jump. Heart pounding, you looked over at the window to see Daredevil standing on your fire escape, Houdini held in one arm. Immediately your heart slowed to a more normal pace. Seemingly aware that he now had your attention, he gave you a cheeky little wave.

It was a little tempting to leave him standing there for giving you a heart attack but that would mean leaving Houdini out there too. And that wouldn’t be fair to Houdini. Besides you had been waiting far too long for this conversation. So you paused the movie and went over to the window.

You unlocked and opened it. You were about to hold out your arms for the now familiar transfer of cat but paused. Houdini’s coat was messy. It looked like he had been rolling in dirt and there were tufts of fur missing.

“Houdini, have you been fighting?” you asked the cat. Who just meowed at you.

“Yes,” Daredevil answered. “With an another cat in an alley not far from my apartment.”

You sighed. “Hang on while I get a towel. I don’t want all that alley yuck all over my shirt.”

“No, you don’t,” Daredevil agreed with a slight grimace. Probably because he had said alley yuck all over his gloves and suit from carrying the cat from that alley to your apartment.

That gave you an idea. When your brother had come to visit you, he had forgotten some of his clothes. He was about the same size as Daredevil. And it was just a pair of sweatpants and muscle shirt. Which ought to be flexible enough for him to wear comfortably.

You detoured to your bedroom to retrieve the forgotten clothing, then went to the linen closet in the bathroom to grab a towel and some washcloths. Daredevil was waiting patiently on the fire escape when you returned, Houdini less so. You sat everything but the towel on the coffee table and went over to the window. There you accepted the transfer of Houdini into the waiting towel.

You stepped to one side of the window and said, “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

“As you wish,” he said with a little amused grin. Like he was making some kind of joke.

He swung one leg over the still, ducked his head down to move his upper body through the window, and then pulled his other leg inside. He moved with an easy, fluid grace. You tried not to be jealous about his ability to avoid tripping over his own feet as he closed the window.

As soon as window clicked shut, you felt the nerves you had pushed away earlier return. Up until now, this impending conversation had been mere potential. Something that may or may not happen. But now that he was standing in your apartment while you held your dirty cat in the towel, it no longer felt like a maybe. Like there was no avoiding telling him you were pretty sure that he was Matt Murdock.

You decided to distract yourself by attending to the necessary task of getting Houdini cleaned up and checked for injuries. You bent down and retrieved the washcloths before walking into the kitchen. You hoped that mess on his fur could be cleaned with a damp cloth. Neither of you liked it when you had to give him a bath . . .

“You don’t seem surprised,” Daredevil said.

“About what?” you asked as you turned on the kitchen tap and waited for the water to warm. Houdini wasn’t going to like the damp washcloth at all but he would like it even less if it was cold.

“Houdini fighting. Is that something he does often?”

“I’m not sure often is the right word,” you said. “But no, this isn’t the first time he’s come home after clearly being in a fight.”

“An escape artist and a brawler,” Daredevil said, sounding amused.

“Yes, you two have much in common,” you said which earned you a chuckle. You tested the water. It was warm enough and you wetted one of the cloths. As predicted, Houdini reacted to the cleaning with his usual attitude – lots of meowing and squirming.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m a mean mommy,” you said, forgetting that you had an audience until Daredevil laughed. He sounded closer than the living room.

You looked up to see that he had indeed followed you into the kitchen. There was something surreal about Daredevil standing in the same room as your collection of funny coffee mugs and various craft projects gifted to you from your niece and nephew.

“I meant what I said,” you said as you turned back to your task. Thankfully whatever that gunk was, it was cleaning away easily. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“I don’t want to get the ‘alley yuck’ on your couch,” he said.

Here was your opportunity. You took a deep breathe, gathered your courage, and took the plunge. “You can use some of the washcloths on the coffee table to clean off your suit or . . .”

“Or?” he asked.

“You can change into the clothes that are also on the coffee table, Mr. Murdock.”

You watched as the little amused smile morphed into a pleased grin. He reached up and removed his helmet. And there he was, Matt Murdock standing in your kitchen.

“Call me Matt,” he said smiling.

You didn’t know why seeing his face right now had such an impact on you. You had seen it at the office. But in the hallway, time had been limited and your eyes had zeroed in on that familiar mouth. Later, when you were signing paperwork, you sneaked glances but didn’t want Nelson to catch you ogling his partner.

Through he was so handsome, you were pretty sure that Nelson was used to people checking out his partner. If not outright undressing him with their eyes. You couldn’t be the only one whose eyes had been unable to resist the urge to rove over those broad shoulders, thick thighs, glorious ass, and that pretty mouth.

Maybe because at his office, his eyes had been hidden behind those red sunglasses. This was the first time you had ever seen his eyes. Big, brown eyes. Looking at those eyes, you just knew that he had a killer sad face. The kind that could make you feel like you had just kicked a poor, innocent puppy. That kind that no one could withstand because no one wants to feel like a puppy-kicking monster. Hopefully no one had informed him of this powerful weapon in his arsenal.

It was a good thing that his helmet covered so much of his face. Apart from the whole not wanting to get arrest and go to prison thing, he looked a lot less intimidating. Part of that was, without the helmet, he looked younger than he probably was. Which you guessed was early to mid thirties. You supposed he could actually be younger than that but when you tapped the rumor mill, no one had said anything about Murdock being the Doogie Howser of law. They mentioned his disability often enough that you assumed that teen genius would have come up.

Add in those aforementioned big brown eyes and fluffy brown hair, the end result was that he looked about as scary as a puppy. Maybe he would look scarier when he was angry. Or maybe you just weren’t the best judge of his scariness since he had never scared you.

Making you jump being a sneaky-sneak didn’t count.

You had been right about the hair. Helmet hair wasn’t the same as bedhead but it is still a delightful mess that your hands itched to bury themselves in.

Keep your hands to yourself, you told yourself sternly. Matt isn’t your cat. Or puppy. You can’t just pet him.

But you wanted to. Houdini, sensing your lack of attention, took the opportunity to squirm out of your grip. Your hands being free only made the desire worse. You wondered if you would need to literally sit on your hands to stop yourself from doing something stupid . . .

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, bringing your mind back to the present. Matt was no longer smiling, his hands fidgeting with his helmet. His shoulders were hunched, almost like he wanted to hide. His eyes were filled with uncertainty and a growing sadness.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” you rushed out. You were right to be worried about those eyes. That wasn’t even a full sad puppy face and you still had absolutely no resistance to it. “Just got lost in thought.”

“Oh?” he said. You were right about the eyebrow raising accompanying that particular tone. “About what?”

“Your hair,” you said. And because apparently your brain-to-mouth filter was disabled, continued, “It’s very fluffy. I want to bury my hands in it but you aren’t a cat. I can’t just start petting you . . .”

You clapped your hands over your mouth but the damage had been done. You groaned. That was easily the most embarrassing thing you had ever said to anyone, let alone a cute guy.

While obviously surprised by your word vomit at first, it was soon replaced with something else. Delight. It transformed his already handsome face into something indescribably beautiful. You felt yourself get weak in the knees. It wasn’t fair. He was already sexy. Why did he have to be pretty too?

Matt threw his head back and laughed. It sounded so cheerful that you couldn’t even get mad at him for laughing at you.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said between chuckles. “You are welcome to touch my hair anytime you want.”

“Really?” you asked.

“Really,” he confirmed before his smile shifted to something wicked. “Along with anything else.”

You blushed. You could think of several things. None of which were appropriate. Especially before the first date. Assuming he wanted a date from you. It seemed like it but maybe outrageous flirt was just his personality and all he wanted was more like friends with benefits.

You weren’t opposed to getting laid. You hadn’t had sex with anyone other than yourself in a long time. But you knew you wanted more than just sex from him. Even if it was good sex.

“Maybe later,” you muttered, forgetting for a moment about his super ears. Until his bark of laughter reminded you.

“I think I’ll take you up on that clothing offer,” he said after he got his laughter under control. “If you would show me where the bathroom is?”

“Sure,” you said. And, after a quick detour to the coffee table to grab the clothing, you lead him to the bathroom. And got a quick crash course on providing useful layout information to a blind person. Even one whose remaining senses had been enhanced to a superhuman degree.

While he sat down his helmet and started removing his gloves, you took out some washcloths out of the linen cabinet and set them down on the counter.

“Washcloths if you want to clean the alley yuck off of your suit,” you said.

“Thank you,” he said. He had already gotten the top of the suit was loose, offering a tantalizing glimpse of muscled chest. You felt your face heat.

“Y-your welcome,” you said and fled the bathroom. Before you did something like see if he was serious about letting you touch him anywhere you wanted. Keeping your mind out of the gutter was already hard enough without seeing him nearly naked. Assuming he was wearing something under that suit. For all you knew, he was nude under all that dark red leather and Kevlar.

And now you were picturing it. Again. You have got to stop imagining him naked. You were already awkward enough around Matt . . .

You jumped when you felt something brush against your leg. You looked down and saw Houdini rubbing against your legs. Little sneak. Well, you needed a distraction so you would stop thinking about Matt naked. Houdini was good at being distracting.

You bent down and picked up Houdini. You started petting him and used the action to check him for injuries. You hadn’t seen any injury when you cleaned him but his coat was pretty thick. It would be easy to miss something. Maybe because his earlier capture and cleaning, it didn’t take Houdini long to want to be put down.

And after you checked one last spot, you would do just that. Which Houdini complained about. Loudly.

“What are you doing to that cat?” asked Matt. You jumped and lost your grip on Houdini. Who wasted no time escaping. You sighed. He probably wasn’t hurt but you liked to be sure. Cat bites could be nasty.

“Trying to make sure he didn’t get bitten or something,” you said. “He is obviously cooperative and not a pain in the ass about it. Doesn’t remind me of anyone at all.”

Matt laughed but notably didn’t deny the accusation. “Would it ease your mind to know that I didn’t smell any blood on him when I picked him up and still don’t?”

“Yes,” you said, feeling relieved. You turned to looked at him walking up the hallway and felt your mouth go dry.

The good news was that your brothers clothes fit. The bad news was that they fit. The gray sleeveless shirt displayed his arms and all their muscular glory. You knew he had muscles. Anyone who went around punching crime in the face like he did had to have muscles. The suit hinted at muscles. Those hints were nothing to actually seeing it. You were mesmerized by everything from the big muscles of his upper arms down to the forearms covered in dark hair and the large hands with thick fingers.

You bit your bottom lip. You weren’t going to gasp or moan or make any other embarrassing noise. That heat you had felt earlier returned with a vengeance. Especially as your mind supplied you with heady images of those arms picking you up and tossing you on the bed. Those hands wrapped around your wrists, pinning your arms over your head while he . . .

A soft call of your name broke the reverie. You blushed when you realized that wasn’t the first time he had called your name either. Then blushed hard when you saw the smug smirk on his face. He knew. He knew you were checking him out and was very turned on about it. How did he . . .

A sudden and terrifyingly embarrassing realization struck you. It wasn’t just his hearing that was enhanced. It was everything. Including his nose. You had worried about his bloodhound nose earlier but that had been about smelling bad from various body odors. But what if he could smell things like pheromones? Or the slick pooling between your legs?

Seeing his tongue swipe across his lips made you wonder if he could taste it?

You buried your face in your hands, feeling the heat of your skin against your fingers. Every time you thought something dirty about him, had he been able to tell? Discern it from the racing of your heart along smelling (and tasting) you getting wet from those thoughts?

“A penny for your thoughts?” he asked. It was question but the tone was more of a demand. His voice had gotten a little rough, closer to the Devil than Matt Murdock. You peered between your fingers at him. He had stopped in front of you, his eyes landing on your chest. Anyone else and you would thought he was ogling your breasts. But Matt couldn’t ogle. Not with his eyes anyway.

But those eyes that were dark with hunger . . . and you looked down. And had to bite your lip again to hold back a sound. Those sweatpants did nothing to hide his growing erection and your cunt was throbbing with need. Almost against your will, you shifted closer. Just a little further and you’d be pressed up against him . . .

A strident yowl shattered the growing tension. You jumped back, startled. Looking behind you, you could see Houdini standing by his wet food bowl. Which was empty. When it was well past time for his nightly treat. Hence the irate yowling and the swishing tail.

Part of you wanted to angry at the cat for being a little cock-block. The other part was grateful for the interruption. Having sex, as enjoyable as it was looking like it would have been, might have set the wrong tone for this relationship. You wanted Matt to date you, not just fuck you.

Still it took more willpower than was pretty to step away from him. To turn your back and walk over to Houdini’s feeding station. As you spooned out the fishy food, you were hyperaware of Matt’s presence and his focused attention. Not wanting any further interruptions, you double-checked the dry food and water bowls.

That completed, you took a couple of deep breaths. And feeling a little more bit more in control of yourself, you turned back around to look at Matt. It looked like you weren’t the only one who managed to wrestle back some self control. His eyes were still dark but he no longer looked like he wanted to eat you.

You tried not feel disappointed about that.

“Um, maybe we should sit down,” you said, gesturing toward the couch.

“As you wish,” he said with a little twitch of the lips and slight lilt to his voice. Like he was making a joke . . .

Your eyes widened and you blurted out, “You’ve seen The Princess Bride?”

And immediately cringed. What had happened to your brain-to-mouth filter? You knew you had one. Otherwise you would have fired from your job ages ago after telling a client or one of your coworkers what you really thought about them and their unclear instructions and/or unreasonable demands . . .

“Yes,” he answered with a fond smile on his lips. “Foggy loves it and introduced it to me while we were at Columbia. I enjoyed it so we’ve watched it several times.”

You nodded. That would fit. Despite that hidden edge of sharpness, Foggy Nelson had seemed like a Princess Bride kind of guy.

“That explains a lot about The Man in the Mask,” you said,

“Does it?” he asked.

“Unless those grainy photographs have deceived me, your black outfit is very Dread Pirate Roberts,” you said. “Minus the rapier.”

“Disappointed?”

“A little,” you said with forced casualness. “The rapier is pretty cool.”

“Cooler than batons?”

“A stick just doesn’t have the same je ne sais quoi as rapier.”

“Inconceivable! Batons are infinitely cooler than rapiers.”

“Look, I’m sure your stick is very impressive . . .,” you started before stopping when he started snickering. Then you realized how your words could be taken and blushed.

“Most impressive, I’m told,” he said with a wicked grin. “I have also been praised for my skill in wielding it.”

You knew he wasn’t talking about the batons he used against criminals. You felt your blush deepen as you couldn’t keep your eyes away from the bugle in his pants. It hinted at a promising size and inevitably your mind recalled your fantasies. How you imagined he would feel inside you. Your cunt clenched around nothing. You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing your thighs together and squirm. It took everything not to reach down and start touching yourself. Or walk over to him and yank those sweatpants down . . .

Your eyes flicked up to his face and sure enough, that smug smirk was back. Along with that hungry look. His hands were curled into fists at his sides and his body was stiff with tension. Like it was also taking everything in him not walk over and start pulling your pants down . . .

Somehow you forced yourself to move away from him. To go to the couch and sit down like your cunt wasn’t aching with need. You tried to focus your mind on something other than sex. You didn’t even notice him moving until his weight settled on the couch. On the opposite end. That was good (It was bad insisted the horny parts of your brain). You weren’t sure you would have been able to stop yourself from straddling his lap if he had sat down next to you (horny brain insisted the only problem was that you both were wearing too much clothing . . .).

“So,” you said, trying and failing to prevent your voice was sounding breathy. “How about those Mets?”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Are you really asking about baseball?”

“I thought that’s what you were supposed to do,” you said, trying to joke. “Think about baseball.”

He chuckled. “I got told to think about Jesus.”

“That’s . . .” You paused and tried to think of way of describing it that wouldn’t be considered insulting. “A very religious answer.”

“Well, they were nuns.”

“Nuns?” you repeated. “Are you Catholic?”

“Guilty,” he said.

Somehow it fit. Of course, the blind ninja vigilante lawyer was Catholic. Only a Catholic would have the operatic level of drama needed to dress like the Devil to beat up criminals by night and be a criminal defense attorney by day.

He only laughed when you told that. But rather tellingly, he didn’t deny it.

After he got his laughter under control, he said, “I know you must have questions. You can ask.”

You plucked at the hem of your shirt. He was right. You had so many questions. Many of which even had absolutely nothing to do with sex or how he may or may not feel about you.

“I’m not sure where to start,” you admitted. “What was everyone else’s first question?”

“Are you really blind?”

You frowned. “Someone actually asked you that?”

“Several someones,” he answered. “Pretty much everyone when they discover that I’m Daredevil. For the record, the answer is yes, I’m really blind.”

“I never doubted that,” you said. “Please don’t take this the wrong way but pretending to be blind sounds like a lot of hassle for very little benefit.”

“Exactly,” he said. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Trust me, I’d rather people didn’t treat me like I’m made of glass. I hate that.”

You didn’t know what to say about that. You weren’t sure there was anything you could do say that wouldn’t sound like pity. But maybe he didn’t need you to say anything. Maybe he just needed you to listen and try not to repeat other people’s bad behavior.

“I can’t promise that I wouldn’t mess up,” you said. “I can only promise to try. Can you promise to tell me when I’m doing or saying something wrong? Or when I’m making bad assumptions?”

“I can do that,” he agreed. “I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Most people seem surprised that I can fight at all. But you don’t seem surprised. Why?”

“Oh,” you said. “I read an article once about blind martial artists while researching. Don’t remember much of it – it’s been years.”

“Are you looking for articles about blind martial artists?”

“Probably not,” you said. “I fall into these research rabbit holes where I started off curious about one thing but end up reading or watching something unrelated to the original topic because it sounded interesting.”

He gave a hum of understanding.

“One of those forays lead me to a documentary about this group of blind people who had learned how to echolocate. Again, it’s been a while since I’ve seen it so I’m probably not remembering everything correctly but I figured if someone with normal human hearing can do it, someone with your senses ought to be able to.”

He nodded. “I can. And that’s a large part of how I navigate my surroundings and fight. But it isn’t just echoes. It’s other sounds like heartbeats. And it’s differences in air pressure and temperature. Put them together all and with a little concentration, I can build a picture in my mind of what and who is in my surroundings. There’s no detail. Just shapes. But it’s enough that I can basically tell where, example, the table is. Or when someone is trying to punch me.”

“Sounds like a lot to process,” you said.

He shrugged. “I’m used to it. My world on fire.”

“Poetic,” you said. “Why fire?”

“Because those things? Air currents, temperatures, echoes? They aren’t static.”

“Like a candle flame,” you said, hoping you were understanding his metaphor correctly. “Sometimes they burn hotter. Or grew dim. Or flicker.”

“Exactly. The ‘flames’ I can perceive can and does fluctuate depending on the circumstances. Everything from the weather to how loud somewhere is can change the flames.”

You nodded, thinking carefully. As much as someone who wasn’t directly experiencing it could understand it, you think you might understand.

“You said it takes a little concentration?” you started. Encouraged by his nod, you continued, “Am I wrong to assume that things that affect your ability to concentrate impact this world on fire?”

“No, you aren’t,” he said. “It’s harder when I’m tired or I have a headache. And when I lose control of my filtering process and get overloaded.”

“Filtering process?”

“I get a lot more sensory input than I can realistically deal with,” he explained. “Before I learned how to control my senses, I would alternate between screaming and catatonic. The nuns thought I was either crazy or possessed.”

“You spend a lot time around nuns?” you asked. Even for a Catholic, that sounded odd.

“Catholic school,” he said. “And I lived at St. Agnes Orphanage until I was eighteen.”

“Orphanage?” you repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. “My mother left when I was baby and my dad died when I was ten. The rest of the family was either dead or wanted nothing to do with me, so I wound up at St. Agnes.”

“What happened to your dad? Was he sick?”

“No,” Matt said. He closed his eyes and his hands tightened into fists. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” you echoed, shocked.

“Yes,” he said. His eyes opened and they were filled with a familiar pain. The same pain you saw in your parents’ eyes when they talked about family members who died before you were born.

“He was a boxer. They called him Battlin’ Jack Murdock. Don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of him. He wasn’t famous. Never hit the big time. Just a local fighter but he was one hell of a fighter.

“We never had a lot of money. Unless you get to be a big name, boxing doesn’t pay all that much. My dad made ends meet doing low-skill construction work or other temp jobs that didn’t require any education. I never went hungry but I know that he did a few times to make sure that I didn’t.”

There was fierce, defensive edge to his voice. Almost like he was daring you to say that his dad was a bad father.

“But after my accident . . . things got harder. We didn’t have any health insurance and I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Then I needed specialized training to learn how to orient myself and read braille along with things like my cane. We got a lot of it of what I needed for free or a charity paid for it.

“But my dad hadn’t worked while I was in the hospital. Since the chemicals that had blinded me were radioactive, the doctors were afraid I was going to get radiation sickness. That is a slow, painful way to die and my dad didn’t want me to be alone if I started getting sick like that.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You slide down the couch until you were right next to him. Tentatively, unsure of how it would be received, you reached and placed your hand on his shoulder. The muscle was taut with tension. But he didn’t jerk away from your touch. Gently, you squeezed his shoulder before sliding your hand across back until you arm was draped across his shoulders. A very light hug that he could easily shrug off if it was unwelcome.

Apparently it wasn’t unwelcome. He leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder and nuzzling into your neck. You took the opportunity to wrap your arms around him and give him an actual hug.

After a few minutes of silence, he continued, “Even after I was released, he still wasn’t working as many hours as he was before. It was suggested that we sue the company that owned the chemicals and my dad did find a lawyer willing to take the case pro bono. But as I’m sure you’re aware, those kind of suits can take years to settle, let alone make it to court.”

You nodded.

“In the meantime, the bills were very tight. We were behind on rent. So when a man offered to pay my dad to start throwing his matches, he took the money. Boxing is a young man’s sport so when my dad started losing, people just thought he was getting old.”

Matt took a deep but shaky breath. His hands were clenched so tightly that the skin over his knuckles was white and the veins were in high relief. When he spoke again, his voice was tight with pain and anger.

“Then one day, he didn’t throw the match like he was supposed to. That man had his men beat my father. Then that bastard killed him. Shot him in the head and left him in the alley like he was trash. I heard the whole thing. I had just turned ten.”

Your heart broke for him. You wanted to say something but again, there was nothing you could say. There were no words you could speak or actions you could take that would make everything all better. All you could do was hold him and hoped it helped him hurt less.

You didn’t know how long you sat there on the couch with him in your arms, hands carding through his hair. You didn’t care. As long as he needed the comfort, he was welcome to it. Eventually the tension drained out of his body.

When you started hearing soft snores, you realized that he had fallen asleep. Unwilling to wake him up if you could help it, you slowly and carefully maneuvered the both of them until you were laying down with him mostly on top of you. It would probably feel embarrassed about it in morning. But that was a problem for Future You. Present You was tired and wanted to sleep.

So you closed your eyes and fell asleep.

Ending Note Hope no one minds me making Reader a fan of The Princess Bride.

Reader and Matt will talk more in Part 11, currently titled "The Morning."