#but presumably canon compliant

[raayllum]

Strictly speaking, Katolis' branch of the Five Sisters doesn't really believe in Hell (that's more of a concept in Del Bar or Neolandia) but Opeli can feel the itch of hellfire under her skin, as some kind of strange magic—dark magic—wraps round her skin and blankets her from the blaze. Her hands turn dark, veins looking full of molten lava than blood. Like a demon.

It could only be Viren's dangerous work, and Soren's reasonable one by proxy—the guards had taken Viren's staff with little trouble and then sealed it away in the dungeons, and only the Captain of the Crownguard had the key—and she hopes, she prays, that Soren hasn't—

Take good care of Hat.

She tucks the tiny glow toad into a fold in her robes, away from the burning heat of her skin, and notes that they will have to return for the animals as soon as they can as the spell doesn't seem to affect them. In the meantime, they have to get everyone out.

She ushers large groups over the bridge, disperses her novices to help, the girls young and crying and clinging to their faith. It's practical to have them help, but Opeli does it also she can count their heads and make sure none—that only two (two! Clara, and Marja)—are missing.

Katolis is still smoking by the time the sky darkens, people flooding into the town of ordinary people, of their friends and families and strangers. She is working to organize who will sleep where, how safe it is for their fiery skin and luminescent eyes to close and rest in wooden houses (there has been enough fires) when—

"Opeli."

Something in her crumbles at the sound of his voice, the steadiness of his hand on her shoulder. Just earlier today he'd saved her life, and she hadn't even had time to thank him, before—

"Soren," she says, and then blinks rapidly.

He looks almost ghostly under his armour in the moonlight, his yellow eyes staring into hers. She can't quite see him clearly like this, everything a bit more hazy, and the heat radiating from them. She's been asked a thousand times if the spell is permanent, and the one at the Final Battle had eventually faded, but—

He goes back to the castle with her afterwards, for her novices' bodies. They manage to find Marja, the girl's face ashen, the spell not reaching her in time. Opeli folds her hood over the young face and performs last rites through tears while continuing to search, straying to the same patch of rubble over and over, and—Opeli can surmise he's looking for his father's body and baring that, his ashes.

"The spell," Opeli says as she approaches him from behind. It's the first time they've really spoken beyond the necessities, as she places a hand on his shoulder. The blue in his eyes is just starting to return, and so are tears. "It fades in time, doesn't it? It won't be like this—feel this way—forever."

Soren's lips twitch. He nods at her, grateful and quiet. "Not forever," he agrees, and they exhale air to mingle in with the smoke. Their shoulders brush as they lean on each other, ever so slightly. "Just a very long time."

[writingonthemoon]

Love when you gotta take a sidequest while writing a book to segment out and mentally stage an entire shakespeare play purely because The Idea™ was too good and now the second half of the book is entirely different from how you planned it

Anyways, Hamlet played by a set of twins and Ophelia and Horatio being played by their friends that they have homoerotic tension with throughout the entire narrative. And the final duel being the Hamlet that split off from the original until he is killed, when he is replaced by the real Hamlet (the Only Hamlet, if you think about it) and then our survivor being ignored, left alone on the stage to bow separate from the others, not returning at curtains because he simply never existed... Just a thought

[megwritesriddles]

Your Champion ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 16 - Shower sex. Reader waits for Draco in the changing rooms during his match, ready to celebrate with him when he wins, and celebrate they do, in their usual fashion.

Tags: Shower sex, P in V, Handjob, Semi-public sex, Established relationship/Friends-with-benefits, Miscommunication, Cocky!Draco, QuidditchPlayer!Draco, Not canon compliant, Cliffhanger (minor).

Word count: 2.6k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Surprise!! Two fics in one day!! This is short (ish) and sweet!! Hope you like it mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The game was louder than usual. The stands were more lively, the buzz of the players as they flew by amplified somehow by the stakes of the game. Even in the player's tent, it was nearly deafening. You sat on the bench under Draco's locker, reading your book, waiting. You were interested to know how the game was going, but Draco had asked you to stay in the tent and wait for him, so you did. 

You and Draco were… undefined, even though everybody knew there was something going on. As you’d walked into the tent with him earlier today, not even for the first time, other members of the team had wanted to make comments, but Draco had told them in no uncertain terms to keep it to themselves. He wasn’t shy of you in the slightest. Before walking out onto the pitch, he’d given you a kiss and a playful smack on the ass. He was never shy to let people see the two of you were involved, but the way you were involved was never discussed between you. You had decided a while ago to just interpret it as friends with benefits to prevent yourself from being let down. Draco had asked you to wait for him in the tent when you last saw him, telling you he’d want to ‘celebrate’ when Slytherin won.

“And if you don’t win?” you’d asked softly, his arms tightly around your waist. He scoffed at you. 

“Oh, we’ll win,” he grinned, placing a kiss on your lips. “And if somehow not, then I’ll need you to comfort me,” he smiled slightly softer. It’s these little glimpses of vulnerability that keep you running back to him. You live for them, every drop of his true self he gives you just keeps you addicted. Which is why you sit for potentially hours alone in a tent that smells lingeringly sweaty for him to finish his game. You’re lucky your book is interesting. 

It’s the final match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Stakes are high, even higher for Draco as it’s his last game at Hogwarts and, more importantly, his last game against Harry Potter. He has something to prove, and for his sake, you really hope he proves it. You don’t care much about your house, but you care about him. Slytherin hasn’t won the cup, even if they win this game, but for Draco, this match is bigger than that. He has to prove himself over Potter, it’s an odd compulsion he’s always had. He insisted you had to be in the changing rooms as you’re his good luck charm, which you had to admit, while cheesy, had really enticed you. 

There’s a massive eruption of cheers, you try your best to guess which house they’re coming from, but you’re unsure. From your position near the ground, you can’t hear the commentary over the roar of the crowd so you’re unable to figure out what’s happened. You slowly close your book on the bench beside you and wait. There’s a chant forming, still obscured to your ears by clumsy timing, but slowly and surely it morphs into the word ‘Slytherin’. They’ve won. You smiled to yourself, cheering on your own in here feels silly. You slump slightly against the lockers, having won means the team will be out there celebrating for the while, talking to the school newspaper, being forced, with little luck presumably, to shake hands with the Gryffindors. You resign yourself to wait, but quite quickly, the fabric of the tent parts and Draco bursts in. He looks smug and he’s grinning wide, so you grin back. He comes over and picks you up with ease, clearly hopped up on adrenaline. You wrap your arms around his neck, giggling at his excitement.

“We won, love,” he tells you, even though this much is obvious. He presses a hard kiss to your lips before withdrawing again. “Fuck, you somehow look even more hot than when I just saw you,” he chuckles.

“That’s all the dopamine speaking,” you laugh softly, caressing his neck, his chest currently out of reach due to his quidditch uniform. “Aren’t you supposed to still be out there?” you question.

“Yeah, but I needed you, what are they gonna do? Kick me off the team? That was my final game,” he dismisses, holding you closer and kissing your jaw. You giggle a little.

“I suppose not,”

“Come on, I need a shower, love,” he carries you over into the shower room, gently setting you down by the bench. He makes quick work of his quidditch gear, but it still takes a while. Once he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, he dives for you. He kisses all over your neck, his hands sliding under your t-shirt and onto your back, caressing gently. “My good luck charm,” he hums against your neck. “You did me well today, I really showed Potter,” he hisses the last word and you almost laugh at him, but frankly you’re too used to this. He helps you to strip down, his hands absolutely everywhere on you. You take turns until you’re both stark naked. He is already half hard with anticipation, grinning lazily at you. You hear some of the other team members entering the tent and he guides you to one of the shower stalls so that you’re out of view. “Remember to be quiet for me, okay?” he grins cheekily. He turns on the shower and the stream of water crashes over you. It’s initially cold and you jump into his arms instinctively for warmth. He chuckles lowly and holds you while the water warms, seeming unphased by the icy shower falling over him. His wind-tousled hair becomes saturated with water, slicking down onto his forehead. He kisses your neck at a leisurely pace, rubbing his hands over you to soothe away the goosebumps until they’re finally gone. 

“Do you wanna wash first?” you enquire in his ear, otherwise you would have needed to shout over the pounding of the water in the enclosed space. He nods in response, stepping back and retrieving some soap from the magical dispenser. You watch him as he scrubs himself down, his lean body highlighted by a long tough quidditch season. He keeps his eyes on you too, enjoying the sight of your wet glistening body. He’s seen it many times before, but he never seems to tire of ogling. It’s slightly flattering, but it also makes you want to roll your eyes. He grins, sensing your annoyance. 

“What? You’re stunning, love,” he coos, leaning in to press his lips to your ear. “Making me hard just by standing there, no other girl can say that,” he nips your earlobe, leaning back to wash the last of the soap off of himself. He’s right, he’s much harder than he was when you entered the shower, his body knowing what’s coming, or rather, who is coming. He’s back on you in mere moments once he’s sure he’s free of soap. One arm settles around your waist, holding you close, the other takes your wrist and guides your hand to his erection. “You wanna spoil the victor, don’t you?” he teases against your ear. “I think I deserve it, and you’re always so good at it,” you roll your eyes again at his cocky behaviour, leaning up to kiss him as your hand wraps around his length. He hums in pleasure. His hand remains at your waist, slowly sliding down. You know where it’s headed, but don’t object. You pump his length gently in your hand, keeping a slow pace to start, aware that you can’t get him too loud where you are. His free hand cups your jaw as he kisses you, open-mouthed and desperate.

“You’re excited today,” you mumble teasingly against his lips. His hand squeezes the flesh of your rear. It’s a miracle he hears you. 

“Been thinking about you the whole match, surprised I was able to win when all I was thinking about was you,” he admits, softly sucking on your bottom lip. You slightly tighten your grip on his cock and he groans quietly. Your motions speed up ever so slightly, you add a little twisting motion as you go, one you know he loves. He holds you tight against his lips, using the kiss to muffle the needy noises escaping his lips. You thumb his tip gently and he bucks into your hand, another groan escaping him.

“I thought it was me that was supposed to be quiet,” you taunt, still working your hand in the way he loves. He grunts. 

“Brat,” he grins. “I’ll have you struggling in a second,” he promises between choked sounds. He reaches down, gently removing your hand from his cock, which is now weeping pre-cum. You know what he’s about to do, but somehow it shocks you anyway. He grabs your waist and spins you around, pressing you against the cool tile wall of the shower cubicle. His hands brace on either side of your head, his body pressing into your back. “Be quiet for me, won’t you, love?” he teases, kissing your cheek lingeringly before reaching down to align himself with you. You bite your lip, moaning softly as he runs his tip up and down your folds. You can tell without looking that he’s smiling his arrogant little smile, but it hardly matters to you when he’s rutting so deliciously against your clit. “While everyone’s distracted by the celebrations, I’ll take you to my room and please you nice and proper, yeah? A thank you for being my lucky charm. Eat you out until you cry? Do you like the sound of that, love?” he taunts. He knows you like the sound of it, you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. You whimper your soft agreement. “And then tomorrow, you can spend the day pleasing me, your champion, can’t you?” he prompts, grinding against you deliciously. “Can’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale shakily. 

“I can have you all to myself tomorrow, all day, a perfect Sunday," he muses, kissing the crook of your neck. You whine, pressing back against him needily, the thoughts of what the two of you might get up to exhilarating. It’s not often you spent the whole day together, and you were surprised it was what he wanted, rather than basking in his victory with the team, but you were happy to comply. 

He finally begins to sink into you and it’s sweet relief. You bite your lip hard to keep quiet, wanting to moan out a string of colourful expletives to demonstrate how amazing this feels. He pants harshly against your ear, bottoming out and staying still for a little while. In this brief pause, you hear distant voices, a reminder that, though enclosed from view in these four walls, you are not completely alone. He braces against you and starts to pump his hips. You don’t need much warm-up since you’re quite used to his cock by now from months of taking it, but you’re still squeezing him the perfect amount and he makes sure to let you know through the soft growls leaving his lips. He rocks faster against you and it’s a battle to remain quiet, but you have no choice, even if you’re sure people have noticed your discarded clothes on the bench and put two and two together. His hand snakes down, rubbing gentle circles on your clit, you’re grateful for it, but you always wonder if it’s really a selfish action, as it makes you clench around him and his breath shudders with each clench. With him, it’s probably a bit of both, a favour for you, perfectly calculated so it benefits him too. You spread your legs a little more so he has better access to caress you. For the most part, the patter of the shower water against your skin and the shower floor drowns out the slap of skin against skin, but you hear it, travelling up through your body. If Draco hears it too, he doesn’t let it slow him down even slightly. He’s relentless in chasing his release, pressing firm kisses to your neck and shoulders, each a promise of a more relaxed experience later, a promise to lavish you in ecstasy, now and later. He’s mumbling something, but you can’t hear it, it’s not frantic enough to be an announcement of his orgasm, so you let yourself ignore him. The coil in your belly tightens and tightens until it’s almost painful, your whole body going tense. He realises it and speeds his fingers up on you, fucking into you faster. 

“That’s it,” you hear him coaxing over the various noises clouding your senses. “That’s it, love, you’re right there,” he whispers. The coil in your belly snaps in an instant, forcing you to bite down on your lip hard. You close your eyes in ecstasy, feeling your body pulsing pleasurably, tingling all over. Your legs shake and Draco holds you up as he rams into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his seed all over your lower back. You feel the warm liquid land on your back only for a moment before he shifts you under the spray of water to wash it away.

You gasp for breath in his arms and he does the same behind you, both overwhelmed by your first time together in a little while. Draco had recently confessed that he no longer touches himself as he has you, but with last-minute practice, the two of you have been apart for a while. It’s oddly flattering to realise from the intensity of his release, that he’s still using only you as an outlet. He wipes your back gently, making sure you’re free of his cum before loosening his grip on you carefully. He’s worried you’ll collapse, it happened once, and he’s been overly careful since. You stand shakily on your own two feet. He guides you around so you’re facing him and then wraps his arms around your waist. 

“I reckon I’m the champion at that too,” he grins smugly. You roll your eyes, leaning into his arms as he pecks your cheek and pats your ass affectionately as if to say ‘good job’.

“Merlin, your ego has been so inflated by that match,” you chuckle.

“And you want to stroke it,” he mutters the double entendre cheekily. Another glimpse at his genuine self, less vulnerable this time, but still true and seldom seen. You gently smack his chest and laugh at him and he laughs back. He turns off the shower and you listen. It’s mostly silent outside, you wonder idly how long you’ve been there together, and how obvious it might have been to the others what was going on. Draco seems unbothered, cracking the door to the cubicle and checking the coast is clear before ushering you out. He brings you a towel from his locker, which has been housing two towels since you began whatever this was. Once you’re wrapped in it, he smiles at you. “My beautiful good luck charm,” he murmurs, pushing your wet hair from your neck to press a few kisses there. 

“Oh shut up,” you giggle, slightly flustered. It was moments like these that really made you want to ask him what you were. He was always so sweet and tender after sex, it felt like something more than it probably did.

“No really,” he insists, pulling you closer again. “I wish we could just apparate to my room, but I suppose I don’t mind showing you off in the common room first, showing everyone those cute little marks on your neck, especially Potter! Hah! Imagine his face, I won the match and fucked you all within the hour, he’ll be green with envy,” he traces the few soft pink spots on your neck, chuckling to himself.

“People might think we’re dating,” you dismiss a little, though you find his comments amusing. He tilts his head at you. 

“Aren’t we?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[meowzfordayz]

when you grab their chest — akaza, douma, muzan, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen

Author’s Note: pardon the ridiculously long title. 🥴😂 “Fem!Reader” applies to Tengen only.

when you grab their chest — akaza, douma, muzan, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen

Akaza x Reader, Douma x Reader, Muzan x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader, Uzui Tengen x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: dark humor, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Suggestion Fulfilled: I have a request😤 I recently read a certain ass slapping fic which I adored could you do a similar fic with the same characters +giyu and Douma with the reader coming up from behind the and squeezing their man tiddies

~faqs~

I 100% would’ve used MAN TIDDIES in my title, but figured Tumblr would hide this post from tags if I did, so I went w/ “chest” instead 😆

Also, some of these are canon compliant — Muzan, Kyojuro, Giyuu

While others are set in modern au (alternate universe; modern setting) — Akaza, Douma, Tengen

AKAZA

Immediately tenses

#noice 😌😎 after all, the man is ripped

The more Akaza tenses, the more you wanna squish

Except, it’s kinda hard to squish pure, flexed muscle ?? 😔

“Akaza, my love, could you relax?” 🥺

He’s still confused, but my love automatically has him at your beck and call, so-

He relaxes

*gleeful squeal* 😍 *squish squish* 😍

Aaand he’s tensed again

If you actually take the time to explain yourself, then he’ll be absolutely embarrassed flattered

Lowkey decides to do an extra 100 push ups daily, just bc he’s so darn in love w/ you 😭

DOUMA

Douma’s been waiting all his life for you to grab his moobs

So like

He’s one happy camper !!!!! 😌🥳

“all his life” = since he met you

As for “moobs”? I had to, just once 😃

Slowly flexes them so he can hear your amazed gasp 😍

“Are you drooling?” he smirks

“Fuck off,” you scowl

You try to withdraw your hands to wipe away your incriminating drool 😒🤤

But he doesn’t let you 🤪

He squeezes your wrists, grinning widely to himself, “Don’t leave me.” 😇

“But I’m done,” you grumble, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades (you’ve already accepted your fate 🤠)

“I’m not,” he retorts, “Not even close.” 🤗

Translation? Douma wants you to massage his pectorals

#pretty pls and ty

MUZAN

Once again, I’m presuming you’re a demon, and Muzan’s immediate reaction is to slice off your hands 💀

Thank gosh for regeneration! 😮‍💨

You’ve gotta quit surprising him 🤪

I mean

Yeah

He enjoys when you touch him 😅

BUT, he has a reputation to uphold, and being startled by your random displays of physical attention doesn’t exactly help 🙃

The implication that he lets his guard down w/ you (bc how else could you ever hope to genuinely startle him?) is making me feel things 😭

“Do that again, and I won’t be so forgiving.”

The faint dip between his brows has you thinking otherwise 🤭

“What if I ask first?” 😉

You’re treading on thin ice 😬

His eyes flash, “Pardon?”

Good thing he’s close to cracking too 😌

“If I ask to touch you?”

I’ll kill you “You wouldn’t.”

WeLp

He didn’t say No 🤗

(obvi consent’s a must, but in this specific context mutual flirtation’s strongly implied and also it’s literally Muzan)

“Oh!” <— Kyojuro exclaims, cheerful as ever ☺️

“Hello there,” he chuckles, smiling at the feeling of your body pressed against his back, “Are you checking something?”

“Mhm,” you grin, “They’re still here!” 😇

“My pectorals?” his head tilts, “Of course they are?!”

He’s ~a little oblivious, okay? 😃

“How about you hug me from the front?” he suggests gently, “That way I get to hug you too!”

😭😭😭

He’s so precious

How could you refuse?????

Spoiler alert: you can’t

GIVE THE MAN HIS HUG 🥺❤️‍🔥

Spoiler alert: you give Kyojuro his hug, and it is very cozy 🥰

A tad sweaty + suffocating, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world 🥺

Shocked 😵‍💫

Giyuu’s inner monologue: ????? What? Is? This?

Giyuu’s outer dialogue: *still as stone*

“Giyuu?” you immediately remove your hands, scurrying to his front side, head tilted w/ concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfort-” 😕

“You didn’t,” he interrupts quietly, finally grasping his bearings, “It was…” aaand now he’s blushing, “... nice.” 🥺☺️

Your nose scrunches, relief relaxing your shoulders as you nod sheepishly, “I’m glad I didn’t freak you out too much.”

“Mhm,” he smiles reassuringly, “You freaked me out,” gently guiding your palms back to his chest, “But not too much,” winking shyly at you, “The perfect amount, in fact.”

HELP !!!!! CAN YOU JUST CAN I  FWIBEIUVLNSOUEJGBWO;GNS

Suave, sexy, knows-what-he-wants, isn’t-afraid-to-tell-you, will-even-go-after-it-himself Giyuu has entered the chat

AnD I AM HERE FOR IT 😭😭😭💘

LOUD LAUGHTER

You can feel it through his tiddies 😆

“Envious, my dear?” 😉

Okay

Presumptuous much? 😒

But alllso 🙄

“If you could share…” you pout, “Gimme just a lil?” 🤗

“You’re welcome to work out with me,” he chuckles fondly, flexing for you, “These could totally be yours!”

You sigh, “Tengen, pectorals and breasts aren’t the same thing.”

“I know that,” he shrugs, patting your knuckles reassuringly, “Your breasts are perfect, and I’m happy to coach you and your pectorals if you so desire.”

You decide to test the waters 🌊

“What if my pectorals get bigger than yours?” 😏

Tengen immediately drowns you 🌊💀

“Not a chance.” 😐

And then he tacks on, a tad nicer, “But you could certainly get very big pectorals.” ☺️

“Just not bigger than yours,” you grin 😏

He nods grimly, “My ego would pop.” 😔

“And that would be tragic.” ☹️

“Indeed,” he squeezes your hands (which remain splayed across his chest), still basking in your touch, “I appreciate your understanding.” 😖🥰

(fyi, if your pectorals did get bigger than Tengen’s, then he’d: survive, be super proud of you, and beg to know your workout regimen)

[enteringdullsville]

I got bored so I made a thing. Modern Nick AU featuring a handful of the child protagonists, a chibified SpongeBob being their chaperone? A summer camp setting, perhaps? With everyone save for Danny, Jenny, and Dora having their ages fudged to be closer?

Sure, why not? From left to right:

Sanjay Patel

He may or may not have snuck Craig into his cabin, and Craig may or may not have started charging people for “sage advice from the talking snake”

Sanjay’s a relatively good kid but kind of a hellion. Manny spends much of his early life in a moral dilemma. Having them be partners seemed like a logical decision

His bowling pin head was really hard to adapt to my usual style without utterly mangling his face, but I think I did alright

Manny Rivera

He’s wearing the boots and scarf from his El Tigre costume

Bessie thinks he’s the coolest thing, but his and Danny’s egos clash almost immediately

This presumably takes place after he’s settled on heroism, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a troublemaker

April O’Neil

She’s quite possibly the only person getting any actual work done in camp

She’s ostensibly the least insane person in the group, but she’s prone to egging on the others’ antics and starting bets on how much things will escalate

Her age has been dropped a couple of years, so she’s often with Lincoln foiling Dora’s whole escape artist routine

Tommy Pickles

Still on his filmmaker career from All Grown Up! He has a lot of footage of a lot of things in a lot of places

Normally mild mannered and agreeable, but being given “strict orders” instantly makes his good mood vanish

His mind tends to wander when he’s bored, and it has no regard for its curfew

Lincoln Loud

He’s a weeb canonically, so he’s been given a vaguely animesque appearance

Whatever camp this takes place at, I can guarantee at least one of his sisters had been there prior. Since most of the characters here are the Everyman type, Linc’s cunning and trickster attributes are played up a bit

Has no regard for the fourth wall. Tommy has no clue what he’s on about and thinks he’s insane

Aang (Just Aang)

Whether or not he can bend is based purely on what’s funniest at the moment, especially since he and Dib make it impossible for this to be canon compliant

He’s definitely living in an AU with a less horrific backstory. Less responsibilities, less issues

Wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he’d definitely give a wasp a warning shot if it was being a jerk

Danny Fenton

Danny, and only Danny, is actually a little older here. He and Jenny are the counselors. Lucky them.

Doesn’t even bother with the secret identity since Bob’s the only one dense enough to not connect the dots

Being able to turn invisible is really helpful when Dib has questions he doesn’t feel like answering

Jimmy Neutron

There he is, officer. That one’s the ringleader

Aang’s existence is a constant source of frustration for him since he can’t come up with a scientific explanation for all…that

He’s right off the heels of Nicktoons Unite and is wondering when and why SB became so serious

SpongeBob SquarePants

The only adult we see at the camp for some reason, and the only nonhuman besides Jenny

I messed up his scaling, he was supposed to be small enough to fit in someone’s hand, hence his overly simplified design. That’s the height he is in-universe

Ironically and disproportionately strong. Not Jenny’s level, but about as strong as he is in Unite…without being adjusted for size. In other words, he can easily pick up and throw the campers like rag dolls

Jenny Wakeman

The only nonhuman kid at camp, as well as the oldest/youngest at 16/5

She’s the one thing stopping land bears from tearing the camp apart

She’s justifiably a little wary since she’s not exactly nature proof, but all the kids think she’s the coolest thing

Timmy Turner

A closer look at him reveals three familiar looking trinkets shaped like a wand, wings, and a floaty crowny thing

He doesn’t need magic, anyway. He’ll make everything possibly go wrong his own way

He and Bessie butt heads almost immediately; Timmy’s fine with one hypercompetent overachieving Girl Scout in his life, but he does not need another

Ginger Foutley

Usually found with fellow artsy types Rudy and Lincoln

Riddled with anxieties and restless leg syndrome. She comes of as brooding, but she’s just introspective

Since April’s a menace, she’s the actual least insane camper

Eliza Thornberry

It took her a bit to realize SpongeBob could actually talk to begin with and that everyone else didn’t have the same power as her. In fact, there’s a non-zero chance there are a bunch of animals from assorted Nick shows that are screaming in the background constantly and it’s messing with her head

I gave her just the one braid to make her distinct from the other Elizabeth in the cast

She slips in and out of her father’s mannerisms. SMASHING!

Rudy Tabootie

Mysteriously disappears to parts unknown it’stheChalkZone every now and then when he needs to blow off some steam

I find it funny how stylized I made everyone else while Rudy’s just slightly taller

SpongeBob sees a lot of himself in the kid. Rudy doesn’t know how to feel about that

Dora Marquez

Y’know, I added her as a joke, and she immediately became my favorite

She’s the youngest kid at her canon age of seven, so she’s coddled by everyone else. She HATES it, given that she’s been adventuring on her own for the longest time, so she’s a lot more cynical than usual. Easily the biggest departure from the norm

Constantly tries to escape supervision in favor of wandering the wilderness, but the talking cheese won’t let her

Arnold Shortman

He doesn’t know how he ended up as the “cool guy”, but he’s not gonna fight it

Appears detached and aloof, but he’s more likely just dissociating

Always seems to know what he’s doing to the point of parody. As smart as he is, I must reiterate he’s just improvising

Dib Membrane

Eliza, Rudy, and especially Timmy aren’t too keen on hanging around him for very obvious reasons

The fact he’s with people who are reasonably sane this time around means he’s in much better spirits. Lincoln’s probably his best friend at the camp, although Dib’s still a loner

He and Jimmy always run the risk of killing each other if they talk for more than two minutes at a time due to differing views on magic

Bessie Higgenbottom

The kid most likely to actually listen to the inane drivel that comes out of SpongeBob’s mouth

Since she’s still working on the whole Mighty Bee thing, she’s all over Manny, Danny, and Janny

There are very few campers that aren’t at least a little intimidated by her

There were a few other characters I wanted to add like Nate Wright (Big Nate), Annie Bramley (It’s Pony), Mikey Munroe (Bunsen is a Beast), but I scrapped them for space.

I elected to only use one character per series, causing me to drop Korra, Sheen Estevez, Ronnie Anne Santiago, and Hazel Wells for being spinoff characters (especially since Sheen and Ronnie Anne were around before getting their own shows). It also forced me to remove Fanboy and Chum Chum from my initial plan entirely.

I additionally wanted to keep SB as the only organic nonhuman character due to the inherent absurdity of having him as the sole adult figure, which is why Dib and April represent their series rather than Zim or a Ninja Turtle and why I chose not to use Harvey Beaks.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 5.4k words]

Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things. You were just afraid.

In which, against the wishes of his staunchly pure-blood supremacist family, Ominis Gaunt befriends you, a naive Muggle-born Hufflepuff, and his life inexplicably changes.

Or, what happens when a pure-blood from an anti-Muggle family falls in love with a Muggle-born?

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: familial abuse, blood/ injury, torture, fantasy prejudice/ racism.

1: Strawberry Laces

He calls you Gibberish, because sometimes that's all you speak.

In first year, Ominis remembers crossing your path after the Sorting ceremony. You, a shaky little Muggle-born, near no knowledge of the magical world and its machinations, and the depths of its cruelty. You, who only enjoyed wonder in everything: every moving painting, the candles that floated untethered, and the way the air hummed with something else, something ethereal. He remembers hearing your distinctive voice in the foyer outside the Great Hall.

He remembers how you, somehow, managed to get lost.

Your upbeat curiosity pealed like a bell amongst the sombre tension of the first-year Slytherins. For some reason, your hair is what Ominis remembers best. Later he would find out it was thick, bouncy wild curls pinched into two pigtails at the side of your head, but the first thing he recalls is the smell, faintly of something saccharine.

"You're in the wrong place."

A pause, presumably as you realised he was addressing you. "Aren't we going to the form rooms?" you asked, that high-pitched voice like birdsong at dawn. It was hard to forget, given the nervous squeal you made when you were called up to be Sorted. It was already ingrained into his head.

"You're meant to be going to the Hufflepuff common room," he said, frowning. Form. What was a form? He pointed his wand at the Hufflepuffs heading the other way through the hall. "Your house is over that way."

"Oh!" You giggled, a sickly sweet noise, and headed over. "Thanks!"

How did you even get them mixed up? Ominis still doesn't know. He didn't think about you again until the next day, when term officially began Charms. By chance, he was seated next to you. That smell again, that voice.

"Have no fear, Master Gaunt," cheered Professor Ronen, "I will be giving you more practical assignments, so you don't have as much writing to do."

That was some consolation, he supposed. Practical assignments played to his best strengths.

When Ronen moved on to check Adelaide's technique, Ominis heard your chair squeak. Heard the hiss of your clothes as you peered over. Something rattled on your face – glasses.

"It's... Ominis, right?"

He pursed his lips, displeased at the interruption. "Can I help you?"

"You're an actual wizard?"

"... What?"

"I mean, you know, you were born into this magic thing."

A pure-blood, is what you meant. "Yes. What of it?"

"That's great, because I just wanted to know... erm... which way around does the wand go?"

That had to be a joke. "You can't be serious."

"S-Sorry, I swear I'm not pulling your leg." Pulling your leg? You laughed nervously. "It's just— my wand is a little crooked, and it doesn't have a handle, like yours— so I don't actually know if I'm holding it the right way up or not, and I don't want to blast myself in the face."

A wave of that saccharine soap again. Ominis wrinkled his nose and continued practicing Wingardium Leviosa. Swish and flick. "Can you really not tell?"

"No..."

You sounded genuine. Not joking.

Hmm. Never before had he really met a Muggle-born. He had no idea how naïve they were. How unprepared. Certainly, his family said they, and Muggles in general, were inferior, stupid, barely worthy to be at Hogwarts. Barely worth existing. But you weren't any of those things.

You were just afraid.

"It's the tapered point that's the end."

"They're both thin."

"Let me feel it."

You hesitated. "Feel— it?"

"Well I can't look at it, can I?"

Another moment of hesitation. An intake of breath.

"Oh!" You nearly blew out his eardrums. "Sorry. You're blind!"

"Well spotted."

"I didn't notice."

"I figured."

You made an indignant noise and handed it over. His senses immediately flooded. It was an intimate sensation, to hold someone else's wand, especially that of a near-stranger. To feel the springy wood beneath his fingertips, the coarse grains of the wood. A light wood, airy. He was no expert on wands, and certainly no Ollivander, but he'd been touching and feeling things long enough to recognise details most sighted people would miss.

Yes, it was crooked, an odd shape for an odd person. He drew his thumb up the wand's janky spine.

"That's the top." He held the handle and offered it back to you. "There."

"Brilliant. Okay." You took the wand back. Cleared your throat. "Here goes then. Wingardium Leviosa!"

Something shifted beside him. A soft fabric drew up against his leg, raising higher and higher, past his head—

"Wait," Ominis spluttered, "is that my satchel?"

"It didn't— oh!" Panic fluttered through you. "No, no, no! Stop, wand! Un-Wingardium Leviosa! Erm, Spellus Stoppus?"

He didn't know how you did it, but even when he told you the right orientation, still you managed to point it the wrong way, the tip facing the bag by his chair, and Professor Ronen had to instruct you on the correct way by using chalk to mark the right end – after he got Ominis' bag down from the ceiling.

There are so many things he still doesn't understand about you.

Weeks into first year, when he'd learnt to adapt to your strange, Muggle quirks, your funny language and unwittingly explosive efforts in other classes, the two of you were doing homework on the lawn with Ominis' Slytherin dormmate, Sebastian Sallow. Sebastian thought you odd, too, but he had more exposure to Muggles than Ominis did – certainly more than the anti-Muggle disdain he received at home – and quickly warmed to your jolly attitude.

"It's strange. My dad hears all the confectionary chatter from America. Apparently this thing called peanut butter is making waves over there now." You grounded the sugar quill with your teeth – Ominis could hear it like a second heartbeat. "Doesn't that sound disgusting?"

"It does," marvelled Sebastian. "Butter and peanuts? What a strange combination."

"I know!" You rolled onto your back – and Ominis caught it again. Your scent. So intrinsically tied to you that every fresh wave made him feel comforted somehow. "You can't just put those two things together!"

"Your soap," Ominis blurted, and the conversation paused so abruptly that his cheeks heated. "What is it? It doesn't smell like anything I know."

"Oh, yes." Your voice was contemplative, sheepish as you pushed up your glasses. "I brought it from home. It reminds me of my family. Smells like our confectionary shop."

That didn't answer the question, and by his expression, you knew it.

"It's strawberry laces! You know? They're strawberry-flavoured, and they look like laces..."

"What in Merlin's name is a strawberry lace?"

"It's a type of candy! They're chewy and sweet!"

"Are they laces for your shoes?"

"No! That's just the shape of them."

Sebastian leant over crinkly parchment. "Do you mean red liquorice?"

"Yes!" You belted it so loud Ominis fell back. "Sorry! Sorry, yes. Red liquorice. That's its proper name."

"Then why didn't you call it red liquorice?"

"... Because it's strawberry laces. That's what we call them. It's my favourite treat."

"But that makes no sense! Why not just call it what it is?"

"Is it a Muggle thing?" Sebastian asked.

"No." A beat. "Maybe?"

Ominis scoffed. "You talk so much nonsense I can barely understand you sometimes."

You spat out your tongue. "Oh yeah, Ominis Gaunt? Mister, I Cast Whoopy-Doopy-Goopy to make your Thingimajig Ringadingdong?"

He spluttered, exasperated. "I don't sound like that! That's— that's just gibberish!"

"... Wait, is gibberish an actual language? Because goblins speak Gobbledegook, so..."

Sebastian howled with laughter. Your naivety was kind of adorable.

"The only one who speaks gibberish here," Ominis said, going back to his wandwork, "is you."

"Hmph!" You enunciated your indignation with such purpose. "Then maybe I'm fluent!"

And you were. You still are.

Neither Ominis nor Sebastian let you live it down, and the effects rippled throughout the first years. Sebastian's sister Anne found you adorably strange and joyfully brazen. Your Hufflepuff housemates enjoyed your humour and shenanigans. Even outside of your mismatched little groups, others in the the year, like Amit Thakkar and Garreth Weasley, thought you were a hoot, the silliest Muggle-born they'd ever met. Gibberish was your native language, and they all agreed. Soon everyone gave you the nickname. At one point it became Gibby. You pouted at each mention at first, but you grew fond of it eventually – then wearing it like a badge of honour. You adopted it, made it your own.

And even into second and third year, when the magical world became more familiar, you were Gibby.

Of course, you were never Gibby when Ominis wrote home. You were never anyone. It didn't take Ravenclaw wisdom to clock that his friendship with you was never considered proper. Pure-bloods, you learnt as quickly as he did, were the superior blood-status, and Muggle-borns the dregs left to rot at the bottom of the scummy barrel. That Mudblood was a slur of the lowest calibre. Ominis was shrewd enough to lie by omission in his letters back home, when his parents demanded to know about his friends and alliances. He simply never mentioned you at all, and all your adventures were given to Sebastian.

That didn't stop them from finding out.

"Who is she?"

Father had marched him to his study, made him sit. Even though a fire roared in the hearth, the place was cold, a slick tar against his skin. Even in the plushest chair, a high-back velvet with curling arms, he was the most uncomfortable he'd ever been. Even though he was blind, he could feel his parents' gaze like the tips of a thousand knives, pressed to the soft flesh of his throat.

"She's— no one."

"Don't lie to me," snapped his father. His mother was silent but complicit, by the way she paced from wood to carpet to wood again. "Edwin Malfoy said his son mentioned you frolicking around the school with some Hufflepuff. A Muggle-born."

There was no way he could deny it. Damn Peregrine Malfoy. They weren't in the same year group at school; why did he have to mention you at all? Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? It had been three years already – what was another four?

Ominis contemplated what to say, urging his fingers to still, his toes to flatten. He could not betray his fear, betray the sudden rising heartbeat, the clamminess of his palms, nor the pure, unadulterated dread that roiled through him.

"It's— it's just Gibby," he forced out as calmly as he could.

"Gibby?" shrilled his mother.

"Not her real name," Ominis said quickly. "It's actually—"

"But she's Muggle-born?" his father demanded.

"Yes, but—"

"Have we taught you nothing, boy? Muggles, and their filthy spawn, are weak. Muggle-born magic is diluted, and therefore they are not worthy to wield it."

His mother was sobbing in the corner, like this extended hand of friendship he'd given to you, this supposed error, was grievous enough to tear a hole through her heart.

"Our bloodline is sacred. We are descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin himself! When you choose to associate with these disgusting Mudbloods," he spat the word, "you are sending a message that these interlopers can take our land, our magic and our privileges. They can encroach on what is rightfully ours. Did you know they used to burn witches? Even though, in every way, we are superior to them?" His father drummed impatient fingers on the marble mantelpiece. Each clack sent more and more terrified shivers down Ominis' spine. "A good thing Noctua went missing. Spending too much time with her addled you. Now we must have a more formal hand in your education."

Ominis didn't know how to respond to that. How could they say that about Aunt Noctua? "What do you—?"

A knock at the door cut through his words – Ominis immediately recognised the knock's low timbre. His older brother. Marvolo. Panic rendered him paralysed.

"Come in," called his father.

Ominis heard his brother's footsteps. Heard the cruelty of his smile.

"Is it time, Father?"

"Yes. Take him downstairs."

Ominis didn't speak. There was no point. Marvolo, of all his older siblings, was the cruellest, an exact replica of their father who despised Muggles and Muggle-borns, despised Noctua, and revered the family name and the bloodline as divine, rather than simply blood and sinew and a surname. His grip on Ominis' shoulder was hard enough to draw blood, curled into the muscle like claws.

They all went downstairs, silent. Ominis had never been to this part of the house before – sometimes, when the moon was highest, when he stowed quietly to the kitchens for a midnight nibble, he heard screaming. At first he thought it his imagination, the night playing tricks on his keen senses.

When he descended into the cellar, he realised for the first time that it was not the night's whims having their fun. The dark, after all, had never been so wicked to him before.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. A strong, tangy scent, coppery and unpleasant. Blood. He couldn't help a sharp intake of breath, which only left the taste on his tongue. The chill was second, as bone-deep as a tundra. By the echo of breath, the ceiling was low and poorly lit, for his father cast a Fire charm at the braziers besides the doorway.

There was a ruffle of cotton. A low murmur. Marvolo's grip ceased, and he roughly shoved Ominis forwards.

"Do you know what's in front of you?"

Tremoring, Ominis reached for his wand. In the time he'd bought it at Ollivander's, it had become something special to him. A way to navigate the castle, yes, but it was much more than that. Almost sentient. It seemed to know how he was feeling and how to react to it, just as it did now, pulsing like a wild heartbeat beneath his fingertips. At eleven he'd been sceptical of the phrase 'the wand chooses the wizard', but now he believed there was truth in it. His wand had shown him that magic was in the air, all around him – all he had to do was draw on it.

He reached out, trying to fit together the scattered pieces of feedback. The ruffles and strangled breaths and scratch-scratch of rope. The cold, as sharp as the ice they used to keep fruit and meat fresh. The overwhelming smell of blood and dirt.

"Is—" He shouldn't have second-guessed himself, not with his family present, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing, smelling, tasting, what he was potentially beholding. "Is that a person trussed up?"

"You missed an important factor," said his father. "This is no person. This is mud."

A Muggle.

The Muggle whimpered. There was some gag around their mouth, and yet Ominis deciphered every note of fear.

"But this is dangerous!" He went to hide his wand, but Marvolo's hand stopped him. "You shouldn't have brought—"

"We can do what we want," Marvolo said. "We're Gaunts, little brother, and this scum before you requires humbling."

Ominis swallowed bile. Perhaps errantly, your voice hummed in his mind then. Your laugh. He imagined hearing it. Imagined it was you tied to the floor.

"No," he said at once. "I won't do it."

"The Cruciatus Curse has been used to subdue our enemies for centuries." Pride flowed through his brother's words. "You should be overjoyed to have this opportunity. Your siblings and I were thrilled with our first Muggles."

They've tortured innocent people before. All his brothers and sisters – they'd all done it.

"But— I can't hurt them. T-They've done nothing wrong to me. They're just—"

"They are worms beneath our boots, and their very existence is an abomination." Marvolo gave him a rough jerk. "I taught you how to use Crucio."

Yes, but Ominis swore it was only for self-defence.

When he didn't reply, Marvolo spoke, "So cast it now, on the Muggle."

Ominis shook his head. Fear and panic ran his mouth dry. "I can't."

"You will, or so help me, boy, you'll be a disgrace to the family," muttered his father. "Cast it."

"No."

"Cast. It."

"I won't."

Marvolo's laugh rang out. "I didn't realise your spine was made of cotton, Ominis."

But Ominis was made of steel in that moment, for he couldn't imagine a better reason to defy his family than for the sake of Muggles and Muggle-borns. For you.

"I won't cast it."

"Then you clearly need some encouragement." And before Ominis could even process what that meant, Marvolo yelled, "Crucio!"

It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Pain, as he understood, was simply a reflex of the body to let the brain know something, somewhere, was wrong. A warning sign to cease whatever behaviour was causing it.

This was pain with no epicentre. There was no singular point that was bowing to the most pressure. This was all-encompassing and never-ending. This was his stomach and chest and heart, his brain and lungs, from the tips of his fingers to the knobs of his shoulders and knees and the ends of his toes. Every part of him, alight, doused in oil and set on fire through the concentrated rays of the sun.

Nowadays he doesn't remember that moment very clearly. The anguish was so great, he must've blacked out once or twice. Marvolo held it for a long time, longer than he needed to ingrain his foul teachings. All Ominis does remember is the pain, so acute that words fail to describe it, even to this day.

And the thought, back then, that his family could cause such pain, tore something inside him he would never be able to stitch back up.

When his brother released the curse, Ominis was curled up on the floor. Something wet lay beneath his cheek. Perhaps sweat. Perhaps spit. Perhaps blood, his own or the Muggle's. Perhaps even piss, for the curse had been too much for his bladder to handle. Every nerve ending on his skin was trembling. He'd let go of his wand somewhere in the room, and even now he couldn't sense it, like the pain had burned a hole where instead should be that bond.

"That is a Gaunt," said his father, pride sugaring his tone. "Your brother didn't hesitate."

Marvolo's voice was warm with mockery. "I have no qualms using the Cruciatus Curse on you, little brother, if it will teach you a valuable lesson."

What lesson could that possibly be? In the dizziness, Ominis couldn't untangle what the crucial moral was. It was a puzzle he couldn't solve, and perhaps never would.

"Would you like me to cast that on you again?"

"No!" Ominis managed to weep. He dribbled as he did, and shame burst through him. "N-No, please."

"Then get up," Marvolo hauled him to his feet, whether he was ready or not, "and cast it on someone who really deserves it."

Ominis is ashamed of the memory that follows. Sometimes he wishes he could alter it, pull it out of his mind like brittle thread and snap it into pieces, but then he wouldn't remember the valuable lesson he did learn that day. That his family were a cruel peoples.

And, as he raised his wand at his victim, that he was cruel now too.

"Crucio!"

Back near the end of third year, Ominis had found you climbing a tree on the school grounds. The wind was high and fretful – like his nerves, hearing you so far up, that carefree giggle carried on the current like bird's wings.

"Is that you, Gibby?"

"Ominis!" you chirruped. "You have to come up. The view is great!"

"I bet it's really swell."

"Sorry, sorry! I mean— oh, just come up! It's amazing, I promise!"

"You know you have a broom, right?" he called up, exasperated. "It's much safer than climbing trees! Where you could fall."

"I know! But this is all I've got back home, so I'd better get used—"

You let out a noise. The tree rumbled. There were four hard knocks that sent terror through him like lightning and a sudden thump on the ground like a knife to the gut. He rushed over to where you were crying out, breathless with pain. He'd never heard such a keening sound before, not in a physical, raw sense, where he could almost feel it himself. Pain that was almost too burdened to bear.

"Ugh, you're so foolish!" He nocked his wand skywards and sent out a flare. Hopefully someone would see it. "What have you hurt?"

You were in too much agony to reply – something had to be broken.

"I'm going to feel you, okay?"

You made a straggled noise he took for consent and pressed a hand to your arm. It came away wet. Blood. A broken and torn arm for certain then. You wheezed, too. Perhaps a broken rib. He pressed gently around, searching for the worst sources of pain through the leaf-ridden folds of your robes and shattered remnants of your glasses, but only when he reached forwards, felt the wetness around your upper lip and cheeks, did he realise you were choking from the blood of a broken nose.

He'd never felt a face before, not anyone outside his family. Yours was smaller than he'd expected. Your presence was so loud, so vivid, he'd expected you to match it physically as well. Even in the state that you were he could smell that sweet soap, and for some reason had the sudden urge to touch the rest of your face, explore how you were made, how the world shaped you.

"I'm going to staunch the bleeding." Instead he dispelled the thoughts and pointed his wand, enunciating as clearly as he could, "Episkey!"

A whip-like crack. You shrieked, but after a moment, your hysteria calmed, and he wiped the blood around your nose with his sleeve.

"I—" Tears filtered your winded voice. "I can't... move... my leg."

"It's probably broken too, like every other bone in your body," he retorted sharply. Good thing he'd had advance tutoring for healing spells. "I told you it was dangerous."

"I know," you bleated.

But his anger dissolved. There was no point rubbing it in your face. Whether he was right, or whether you had come down the tree perfectly well, you would've done it anyway.

"Can you last until someone comes to help?" he mumbled, lowering his tone.

"I can last."

"Good. I'll wait with you."

"Promise I... won't look into the light."

Ominis wrinkled his nose. "A sight joke now? Really?"

"No, no... it's a Muggle saying— never mind." A weighted pause. "Thank you."

He scoffed. "For being right?"

"Yes," you said softly, an admission. "But also... for being my friend."

Madam Blainey hurried over eventually and carted you away, cooing over your injuries, admonishing your actions, and Ominis stayed at your side until you drank every last acrid drop of healing potion, and you were fast asleep in the infirmary wards, at peace.

Even though you were silly, frivolous, an oddball who spoke fluent gibberish, he never wanted you to be in such pain again. He certainly couldn't imagine being the cause of it.

Which is why he swore on that day, after the Muggle had long since collapsed on the cellar floor, after his father and mother and brother delighted in his first successful cast of Crucio, that he would never again cause anyone such agony. Least of all you.

So in fourth year, he did his best to ignore you. To create a wide berth. And to find a way to escape his family.

He hung out more with Sebastian, even though his friend was slowly changing, ambitions growing. Both of them were equally matched in many things, like academics and opinions, and with Anne taking suddenly ill, trapped within the bindings of a unknown curse, Sebastian had his own demons about finding her a cure. They explored more outside – the countryside was huge, after all, and Ominis had always found the place intimidating for someone who couldn't see any of it. They lounged in the Undercroft more often – their own hiding spot to where they could escape the stress of school and home life and the increasingly pressing threat of a goblin rebellion. Mostly, Ominis went there to avoid you.

Sebastian quickly noticed you were missing from these adventures, though. Nothing much escaped his notice, even when his sister's illness consumed him – too shrewd to forget the giant girl-shaped gap in their homework brainstorming sessions, or learning questionable jinxes, or snacking on magical sweets. Ominis eventually confessed to what he'd had to do over summer – and what he would do to keep you safe.

"Very noble of you," Sebastian said, the wide, open walls of the Undercroft echoing his voice. "But you didn't have a choice."

"I did." Ominis shot at the dummy, again and again, to channel his frustration. "I chose to hurt that Muggle. I chose to cause them pain. And I couldn't have done it if I didn't want to."

"What else were you supposed to do then? Let your family hurt you again?"

"I should have! What I did to that Muggle... they're probably dead now..."

"Your family would've killed them regardless."

"That doesn't make it better!"

Sebastian yanked Ominis' shoulder, obliging him to stop, to listen. "You're being ridiculous. Your family forced you to hurt that Muggle. Now you're going to self-destruct an entire friendship because of them?"

Anguished panic stripped his insides raw, but he fought to contain it. "If they'll do that to some random person they found on the street, think what they'll do to her! My family isn't like yours, Sebastian. I can't risk Peregrine Malfoy telling on me. I won't."

Sebastian let out a singular, dark chuckle. "Don't you worry about Pretentious Perry. I'll sort him out." He exhaled, softening. "You ignoring Gibby isn't going to do anything but make you both upset. She's tenacious, and too loyal to us. She's just going to keep demanding an explanation until we give her one."

"Then she's going to be disappointed for a long time. Tell her whatever it takes to keep her away from me."

"You can't—" Sebastian let out a frustrated grunt. "You can't make me the mediator between you two."

Ominis turned back to the dummy. "I'm not asking you to. I don't care if you want to be her friend, but I won't. For her sake."

"Yeah? And what about yours?"

Ominis didn't have an answer for that.

He did manage to avoid you all autumn term. An excruciatingly difficult task, because teachers often paired the two of you together now – your chaos matching Ominis' order perfectly well. But he was cold to you, callous when you pried, outright mean when you demanded. You were as tenacious and loyal as Sebastian warned though. No matter what Ominis said, how rude he was, you never gave in.

Eventually the cold shoulder was all he could give emotionally. He was tired of drawing from the hatred that welled inside him, and turning it on you.

Over Christmas that year, Sebastian invited Ominis to stay with his family in Feldcroft, and Ominis agreed. So did the Gaunts, who knew the Sallows, albeit poor, to be a well-bred family, though perhaps less aware of Sebastian's more radical opinions on Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was good to see Anne, too – even sick, weak, body breaking down piece by piece by the curse, she was spirited and stubborn and filled the feminine void that was missing between him and Sebastian.

But she wasn't you. She could never replace you.

"Have you heard from Gibby?" she asked on one of her good days, when Solomon Sallow was mucking out the horses. She was tucked in bed still, wrapped in thick cloths and furs whilst the boys played Gobstones by the foot of her bed. "I miss her enthusiasm for Muggle sweets."

Before Ominis could speak, Sebastian declared, pouring on the smarminess, "They're not talking anymore."

"Oh?" Her curiosity was directed at Ominis. "Why?"

"We fell out," Ominis said through a clenched jaw, hoping his tone was enough to quiet Sebastian. "Nothing else to it."

"You and Gibby? Falling out? What did you do wrong?"

"Why do you assume it's my fault?"

"Because Gibby would sooner stake her own heart than argue with you."

Neither twin pressed, so Ominis didn't answer. Later that week, however, her prodding questions changed to sympathetic disagreement, and he suspected Sebastian gave her enough information to infer his reasoning. Unfortunately, Anne's thoughts on the matter aligned with her brother's, and though she frequently tried to convince Ominis of this fact, most of the time he couldn't stand to listen to it, and he simply walked out of the house.

She would never understand his decision. They did not have his family.

When Ominis returned to Hogwarts for the spring term, however, knowing Anne was partly right about leaving you in this middling state, he resolved no longer to hide behind feeble excuses. Sebastian was slowly seeking solace in the Dark Arts, something Ominis rejected vehemently, but even then there was safety with Sebastian's status that there never was for you.

He had to protect you by any means necessary. That meant it was time to end the friendship for good.

So it wasn't surprising when, on the first day back, he entered the Undercroft and found you standing there.

"Colloportus!"

The lock behind him clicked, the grille sealing shut. This infuriated him to no end – four years and your naivety still preceded you.

"You know I can cast Alohomora��?"

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew from his grasp, clattering somewhere to his left.

"That was excessive."

"Was it?" you challenged, coming up to him. Strawberry laces. "You've had the whole of Christmas to think about what a meater you've been, and I'm not going to let you start the silent treatment again."

Meater. Context was a useful thing at filling in Muggle-vocabulary-shaped gaps.

"How did you find this place?" he asked.

"I followed you, last term, when you were not talking to me."

"Why don't, for once, Gibby," he snarled, "you mind your own business?"

"You are my business!" you yelled – and there it was, the first inkling of pain. "Last year you were my best friend. You and Sebastian, and Anne too. Now she's sick and I haven't seen her in months, you refuse to talk to me and Sebastian won't tell me why!"

Ominis pushed out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. Sebastian had done a terrible job at warding you away. Yes, you had spent more time with other people in your year, like Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur, and Garreth, Leander and Cressida and even the new girl, Natsai Onai. But still you crawled back to him.

"Like I said, it's not your business."

"I'm not accepting that answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

"Is it me?" you flung out. "Did I say something wrong? Did you get fed up with me copying your homework? Or showing Natty around? I know you pretend to despise everyone in that house. Or maybe it's personal? Have I been annoying? Do I smell bad?"

You never smell bad. He opened his hand. "Give my wand back, Gibby."

To your credit, when he asked for the thing that helped him make sense of the world, you retrieved it, no resistance, and placed it into his waiting palm. The brief touch sent a pleasant, unwanted current tingling through his skin.

"Is it family?"

Ominis snatched his hand away. "No."

"It is. It must be. You stayed at Feldcroft all Christmas." You softened. "You know you can tell me anything—"

"Butt out, Gibby."

"Ominis—"

"No. Listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm tired of picking up the pieces after you. I'm tired of your clumsiness and your stupidity. I'm tired of holding your hand and coddling you. This world is cruel, and since you haven't learnt it yet, maybe you will now. You don't need me, and I certainly don't need you. So leave me alone." Then the word slipped out, unbidden. "Mudblood."

Your gasp was drawn out, a long inhale that sucked all the light over an arid horizon. Ominis immediately regretted it. He'd caused that Muggle physical pain, he'd been a silent bystander as you fell off that tree in third year, but emotional pain, the crossing of a line that could never be turned back upon, the shattering of your heart into pieces no spell could mend... that was worse than any Cruciatus Curse.

"T-Take that back," you demanded, holding back a sob. "Y-You take that b-back, right now!"

He didn't. All he did was turn around and cast the Unlocking charm. The grille lifted.

You sniffled. Tears splattered onto the stone. In that moment, your sweetness had been stolen, your brightness dimmed. All because of him.

"You're a beast, Ominis Gaunt," you yelled as the lift churned into motion. "I wish I'd never met you!"

And he left you there, knowing you were right.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [Amazing art by Giselann, Divider credit]

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Oct 30th

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1. So I suddenly forgot to bookmark this fic and now I am desperate to find it.

This is how it goes, it was a modern au and wei ying and lan wangji is in an arranged marriage due to the lan elders forcing it because wei ying was baoshan sanren grandson. Lan wangji and wei wuxian co exists with each other without getting in a way of each other, lan wangji first interest or crush is nie huisang but he rejected him because he likes Jiang Cheng and I don't know the rest of it. It was mpreg and wei ying adopted a-yuan. @lanwuxian0725

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2. Hi, I'm desperately trying to find A) a fic where WWX dies and then LWJ plays the guqin until his fingers bleed and brings WWX back to life and Lan Huan is horrified but doesn't interfere and when WWX comes back to life, he asks LWJ to promise not to do that again but LWJ silently doesn't promise. Please do you know what fic this is

B) Also second fic im trying to find: one in which WangXian keep getting remarried to each other as WWX ages and then after he dies he comes back as a ghost and says, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, let's get married again @boneshriker

2A)

FOUND? a song you've never heard by arahir (G, 4k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, Presumed Dead, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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3. Hi I’m looking for a fic were Lan Qiren goes to the Wen indoctrination in lan Zhan place were he ends up fighting the murder turtle with Wen Ruhan they defeat it together. Ruhan also ask Wen Cho how is he so stupid his mother wasn’t . @cfox96

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4. Good Evening! I'm in desperate need of some help finding a particular story. I don't remember a whole lot but: •wei ying & wens make a deal to live in gusu lan land•wei ying must be cleansed & returned to sward path•they almost kill him...which he thought that's what they wanted•they didn't...they didn't "mean" to hurt him even though they where told otherwise.• I believe wangxian is endgame

I hope this is helpful enough, thank you!

-Beth @carey-roza

FOUND! 🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)

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5. hii i would like to find a fic and its been driving me crazy! i remember it was like the 'only one bed' trope except it was wwx who kept on trying to make it happen but when they finally got to their accomodations there were two beds and his plans to seduce lwj kept getting foiled. i think at one point he purposefully spilled wine on the bed? @f1sh1ng4gl0ry

FOUND! Wei Ying's Very Good And Not At All Likely To Fail Plan Of Ultimate Seduction by craftyTrickster (luoxiaobai) (M, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Implied Sexual Content)

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6. Hello! Could you all help me find a thread fic? I think wangxian were exes in this one. I think they both have tattoos that are supposed to be for each other. They're on vacation at a resort or something and wwx is by the pool or by the beach and lwj keeps trying to see if he can sneak a look at the tattoo. I think the end has a beach scene where they confess to still liking each other and lwj reveals that he got the tattoo a day after the break up. I can't remember what the reason for the break up was.

FOUND? Twitter fic by anaphoricae

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7. Hey its me again! thanks for the help last time. A) there is a fic that randomly crossed my head where WWX grew up with Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan, maybe after he defected from YunmengJianng or something i am not sure, but he gets similar title as XXC & SL. Thank you very much in advance φ(*￣0￣)

B) Hey! Nice to meet you again, there is a fic i am searching for long time, I remember only one scene i hope it works, there is a change in yunmengjiang and JFM YZY were thrown off from sect leader seat? not quite sure about that, and Lotus Pier was searched thoroughly and they found pheonix type creature that YZY imprisoned in Lotus Pier so that it obeys her and her son. idk for sure what was other content. thanks in advance @vbhardwaj-reads

7A)

FOUND? Frost moon’s sun by RenaFair (T, 116k, WangXian, XXC/SL, Slow Build, Childhood Sweethearts, Angst and Feels, Fluff, Family Feels, Canon Divergence, Mentions of Smut, Attempt at Humor)

7B)

FOUND? Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 260k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP) Canon divergence + TGCF crossover, Hualian raise WWX as their little prince, Not Jiang friendly at all, the phoenix is found tortured at Lotus Pier bc YZY is a massive b*tch in this

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8. Hello dear mods, I am looking for a fic that for what I remember go's like this madam yu find wei ying playing dresses up with Jiang yanli and thinks to punish him with the constriction of the female of the time but he Excelles at it then comes the time to study at cloud recess and he decides to catch him shelf a husband that is a second son that second son is Lan Zhan @androgynousbelievergarden

FOUND! 🔒 Aunt Knows Best by retired (misbehavingvigilante) (M, 10k, WWX & YZY, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Character Study, Crossdressing, Dysfunctional Family, Gender Identity, Fix-It, Sexism, Trans WWX, Good Parent YZY)

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9. Hello! For fic finder please: I am looking for a fic which heavily featured the Xuanwu of Slaughter scene/cave. WWX wasn’t there for the fight, but he did go and help rescue the trapped heirs after. I think WWX might have been a rogue cultivator, and he made a name for himself by helping: he was known as the Savior Of Muxi Cave or something similar. The fic went into graphic/gory detail about how the disciples died in the cave, and there was a sequel about WWX and the survivors going back to the cave to collect the body parts and swords of their fallen clan disciples. @gloriousclotpole

FOUND! Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing)

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10. Hi! First off thank you for all that you do! Can you please help me find a fic? This is a hard ask because I don’t remember a lot of particulars.

One of the main components of this fic focuses on the fact that Wei Wuxian really likes and prefers Lan Wangji. This fic observes how many people compare Lan Wangji to Lan Xichen and find him lacking because Xichen is much more sociable. I think Wei Wuxian even mistakes Xichen for Lan Wangji at some point and then is disappointed when he gets closer and sees Lan Xichen.

I think at least part of it is in Lan Xichen’s pov where he is pleased to see someone so devoted to his brother. I also think this fic mentions how most people consider Lan Xichen the prettier Twin Jade but Wei Wuxian absolutely thinks Lan Wangji is prettier. If I remember correctly this fic was complete when I read it. Thank you for your help! @kjwaikiki

It’s not this one (although it is a good fic). The one I’m talking about took place in Gusu and I think they were still cultivators.

NOT FOUND! The Twin Jade Problem by bonyenne (T, 23k, wangxian, LXC&LWJ, modern, college/university, humor, miscommunication) sounds like the fic where wwx thought that lz and lwj were the "twin jades of lan" and lxc was the older brother but mixes them up completely. I cannot for the life of me remember the fic title, but let me go have a look!

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11. Hello fellow mods!! I don't know if you guys can also help with thread-fics on twitter(X😐) but i will still ask just in case. So it was starting with wei ying and his friends making a bet like "text lan zhan from a fake account to see if he would cheat" and when wy did that lz started to like that person too (bc he was similiar to wy) and felt guilty. I remember him crying and talking with wy, getting really mad and dissapointed when wy says that he was just testing him, that it was just a bet. Them having a break up(?) bc of that and making up. I don't have much hope but i would be really happy if someone could find it, thank you in advance!! @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou

FOUND? Twitter fic by cheerywhiskey And the extended version on AO3: hundred and one by cherrywhiskey (T, 20k, WangXian, College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Happy Ending)

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12. Weird ask, but I am hoping for closure to mourn. I see in my bookmarks a fic was deleted. I had written in the notes "rating due to WWX alone time in the tub ;)" I assume that means it was rated Mature and they didn't have sex but WWX was thinking ab it! It was also tagged Wei Ying POV. It it was bookmarked 5/14/2021 so it was published before that. I'm pretty sure it was canon era, tho I couldn't say why.

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13. Hi! I think this is count as a fic. I’ve been searching for the fan story art about wwx de-aged then Lwj took back his husband to Cloud Recessess. I remember LQR thought Wwx and Lwj had a child together (as the de-aged wwx looks like wwx 😂).

I hope you can help me find it. Thank you!

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14. Hello! I’m looking for a 3zun fic that I fear has been deleted. (TW Sexual Assault) It was a gender bent cnc fic where Xichen was dealing with extreme purity culture and asked her girls to just force her, all worked out beforehand, and they pretended to break in and hold her at knifepoint? It was so good and sweet at the end but I can’t for the life of me find it! Thanks in advance!!

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15. Hello! Back in search of another fic. It was canon divergence where Wei Wuxian was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren and he and Lan Wangji were friends due to him traveling before the lectures started in Gusu? I think Wei Wuxian had some sort of run in with Jiang Fengmian or Jiang Cheng in the end, but I can’t remember anything other than that pls help

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16. Im looking for a fic where wei yong and the wen leave the cultivation world and settle somewhere like Thailand and after some years sects are looking for his help @theladylily

FOUND? 💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect) Wei Ying & the Wens don't head to Thailand but they travel to the "Undying Lands" and come back to help the cultivation world

FOUND? After All I Drifted Ashore by lingering_song (T, 4k, WangXian, WIP, Canon Divergence - Ambush at Qiongqi Path, Historical, Mutual Pining, Cultivation Sect Politics, JGS Wins, Meeting Again, Wen Remnants Live, The Cultivation World gets exactly what they wanted, But oh nooo they're not having a good time about it :), POV Alternating)

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17. Fic finder: I’m looking for a modern au that had a funny scene where wei ying used a dildo to take a dent out of his car and got caught by lan zhan. I don’t remember anything else about it but that scene

FOUND? Elevator Pitch by relenafanel (M, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Elevators, meet ugly, Crack, Romantic Comedy, Demisexuality, one-sided banter, Mutual Attraction, inappropriate use of a dildo in a PG way, somewhere in North America probably, Hand Kink)

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18. Hi, i'm looking for a wangxian fic where they get togeter during the war and eventually live together at Cloud recess, and Lan Xichen is like what good friends, and just think they are sworn brothers or somehing and eventually Lan Wangji has to tell him that he and Wei Wuxian are like married.

Please help, i've been looking for days. @herebedragons02

FOUND! happy not knowing by plonk (Not Rated, 16k, WangXian, Canon Era, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship)

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19. hi!! i hope you guys are well!! i don't know exactly how this blog work (i read the pinned but I'm afraid i misunderstood smth 🥹) but i hope i got it right and didn't clown myself 😭😭 sooo I've been searching for a fic for the past two days and i can't find it for some reasons? and i thought you guys may be my heros and help me 😭🙏 if I'm not mistaken i think it was inspired by tangled/rapunzel, wwx was locked in koi tower i believe? and he had long magical hair if I'm not mistaken and he had a crow as a pet, i can't remember exactly how lwj found him but i do remember that lwj took him to an inn afterwards and people gave him weird looks and i think later lwj got injured becs someone tried attacking wwx i think and wwx healed him (?) and they had the journey of going go the village that had a festival (where they light lanterns but i can't for the life of me remember what the author called it 😭) and I'm not sure of this part but either they both ride the boat and have a cute moment or lwj tells wwx to ride it w/o him and he investigates smth in a nearby temple and i think jgy was there 😭? the ending is the part that goes very foggy to me and i genuinely can't remember it's name or the author's name but i believe it was yllz wwx and i think it was rated M? I'm literally blending my brain in the blender but there ain't any more juices coming out I'm gonna tear the walls 😭😭😭 i have a feeling it got taken down or deleted but i don't wanna lose hope :(( thank you in advance and I'm SO sorry for the HUGE rant/explanation forgive me gusy I'm near my breaking point 😭😭😭

FOUND? may have been the rivers start to sing by fruitys but, if so, I believe it's been deleted from AO3.

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20. Hello, I'm looking for a MDZS fix-it/watching the future fic. Lan Sizhui is LW and WWX bio child, Lan Jingyi is JC and LXC Bio child through duel cultivation. Juniors are showing the future. No one believes they are parent child until they pull their parents swords. JC and LXC relationship was kept secret in the future due to the political climate I don't think it was explained. I think Madam Yu and Fengmain was being bashed or bad parents. Please help me! @megdbrew

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[niki-phoria]

I had an epiphany 🧐 maybe a gn reader x chishiya based on the song "won't say I'm in love" from hercules? I'm craving for stupid chishiya not realizing he has feelings for reader djdmdm

at least out loud / i won't say i'm in love

pairing: chishiya x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 959

includes: canon typical violence, mostly canon compliant, kinda ooc chishiya

a/n: thank you for requesting !! this loosely inspired by this prompt list by @dumplingsjinson

summary: chishiya is cold. calculating. he doesn't let emotion cloud his judgement or get in his way. so why does he feel like this around you?

chishiya’s heart is racing. he’s never felt like this before. each beat sends a sickening, suffocating feeling throughout his chest.

his mind races. his grip is tight around your forearm as he pulls your body towards the center of the car and further away from the danger. you cower behind the vehicle as the king of spades fires another round of bullets in your direction. chishiya curses. in a life or death situation, your body has instinctively done the worst thing it could - freeze.

“y/n,” he calls when the gunfire ceases for a second. you force yourself to look up, only relaxing slightly when his dark eyes meet your own terrified gaze. chishiya frowns. he wants to magically take you away from this situation. he wants to wrap himself around you and protect you from the games and the king and the players - even at the expense of his own health. he wants to keep you safe. “we need to keep moving. come on.”

you swallow your fear, sparing a quick glance behind you before you nod in agreement. chishiya relaxes his grip around your arm before he takes your hand into his own. he pauses when you intertwine your fingers with his - a familiar, foreign feeling overtaking him for a second before he quickly brushes it off.

“chishiya!” kuina’s voice cuts through the chaos. she’s a few cars away from you; her own back is pressed against a car for shelter. “y/n!”

behind her, you can just barely make out the bright yellow top usagi wears. arisu kneels beside her, occasionally popping up from behind the hood of the car - presumably to check if the king is still there. you’ve pushed yourself up onto your feet when chishiya glances at you again. a silent question passes between you: are you ready?

your hand doesn’t leave chishiya’s - even when you both successfully make it to the relative safety of kuina’s car. he ignores her questioning glance at your interwoven fingers. the sound of screeching tires prevents any potential teasing before a car door swings open. “get in!” ann yells.

usagi is the first one in, quickly followed by kuina and arisu. chishiya freezes when he notices the sound of a piece of metal hitting the ground and rolling towards you. 

“that’s not good,” he mumbles. your questions are cut off as he pulls you away from the bomb and helping you take shelter behind the remains of a wall. “get going!”

“chishiya! y/n!” kuina yells through the open window before the car begins speeding off again. he wraps his arms around you, tucking your head against his chest as you both brace for the impact of the grenade going off. 

it explodes in a beautiful spectacle of concrete. the ground shakes beneath your feet. asphalt rains down on you - scratching small cuts into your skin and tangling into your hair. your ears ring. your hands tremble.

“y/n!” chishiya’s voice breaks you out of your trance. you blink at him once. twice. times. “are you okay?” 

his voice is so soft you’d almost mistaken it for nervousness - though you know better. his hands feel warm against your skin. his arms are still wrapped around your waist. your own arms are still wrapped around his shoulders. there’s an almost invisible tint coating his cheeks.

“yeah,” you nod. “yeah, i’m okay. are you?”

he simply nods in response. chishiya scans the area for a second before his gaze lands on a nearby building. it looks like an average convenience store: posters hang in the glass windows, shelves line the stores filled with a variety of different food and makeup and over the counter medication, and a small cashier’s counter is just barely visible from its place tucked away in the corner. 

“come on,” he says, gesturing towards the shop. he can feel his face burning when he unconsciously wraps his arm around your waist to support you. “we can hide in there.”

a sad ding leaves the bell above as you enter the store. the feeling in his chest returns when he helps you sit down on the ground, leaning back against the wall for support. he freezes when you reach up, gently pulling him down until he’s close enough for you to press a fleeting kiss against his cheek. 

“thank you, ‘shiya,” you smile. 

it feels like his breath has been stolen from his lungs. he wants to kiss you. he wants to pull you into his arms and never let go. he wants more.

it terrifies him - more than the king of spades; more than the other players; more than the games. but it’s exhilarating.

chishiya feels like he’s in a daze. like something is pulling him towards you. he leans in until there are mere centimeters between you. 

“can i kiss you?” he finally murmurs.

you don’t respond. instead, you follow his lead, leaning in to gently press your lips against his own. it’s softer than chishiya was expecting - almost nervous as you pull back only a few seconds later. his eyes flutter open for just a second to gauge your reaction before he leans in again. 

his lips are surprisingly soft when he presses them against yours. this time the kiss is deeper. more passionate. like you can’t get enough of each other. like you never will.

chishiya is panting softly by the time he pulls away. he allows himself to be vulnerable; lets himself feel affection for what feels like the first time ever. 

resting your forehead against his, you reach up to tuck a stray strand of hair out of his face. looking into your eyes, brushing his thumb against stray dirt sticking to your cheeks, he smiles. 

chishiya’s heart is racing.

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my aib masterlist <3

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT. I hope this message finds you well. I am sending all the good vibes and we'll wishes your way! ♥️♥️♥️ I hope you've had a wonderful summer.

I'm such a big fan of your work. Lioneheart is amazing and has stuck with me for such a long time.

I was wondering if you had any other stories you'd like to explore one day (even if you never get the chance to write them.) Whether it be fanfiction or original work, I was just curious because sometimes I feel as if I have hundreds of stories inside that I could tell, and I am not sure how to pick just one and see it to completion.

First of all, thank you! This is a fun one. I have a few enduring ideas for longfics I may or may not ever write (i.e., ideas that would have been projects already if I didn't have an ongoing longfic). I don't get stuck in them mostly because I try to remind myself that the idealized story you imagine when a concept occurs to you will never actually exist as it does when it's unshackled by the constraints of execution. What you'll get if you actually sit down and hack it out is (1) a real and imperfect piece of writing, and (2) the satisfaction of having written it, which is by far the more reliable source of motivation, if we're being honest. That being said, here are some ideas I've always wanted to explore, if and when I finish Lionheart:

I've always wanted to write a longform canon-divergent Tomione fic about Tom Riddle's 7th year at Hogwarts. Big honking political melodrama ft. the original Knights of Walpurgis, a Triwizard Tournament, and realistically functioning time travel (hence why this one's always been kicked down my list of projects, because writing a time-travel plot is like running through a minefield made of trampolines). I've already got character concepts sketched out for the Hogwarts cast — sooooo many fun ideas for the teenage Walburga. But I'd still need about a week of solid fic preproduction on the plot alone before I was ready to boot up and start writing, and it'd take at least 250k words — closer to 300k, if I'm being honest about myself. So this probably won't see the light of day anytime remotely soon, if ever.

A canon-compliant Dramione war fic, diverging from the Malfoy Manor chapters in Book 7, picking up from a speculative thread I read once about what would happen if the war didn't end after Voldemort died at the Battle of Hogwarts. I've always thought it would be fascinating to see who Hermione and Draco would become if they were actual soldiers in the war (and my disappointment with how Book 7 handled the "war" of it all has been established). That being said, Book 7 of Lionheart will probably give me a lot of similar ideas to chew on, so I don't know what my appetite for this one will be once I'm finished with it.

Durmstrang AU. This one's barely a fic concept so much as it is a mental moodboard — I just want to worldbuild the hell out of Durmstrang. And the international wizarding world, generally. It's a delicious sandbox.

A longform canon-compliant fic or series of fics about the previous generation of Blacks (Sirius/Bellatrix/Narcissa, namely). If you look at the books, there's a huge amount we don't know about the fall of the Blacks. I always found it bizarre that the sisters and Sirius seem to be the only ones left by 1995. No one else has a claim? No one else from this all-powerful wizarding family wants to step in and claim this big honking townhouse in the middle of London? Or its attendant fortune? Dude, what happened? Also, we don't see nearly enough of the Black family melodrama in canon. They lose 4/5 children of a generation in the span of almost single decade. And then (presumably) all of their parents die in the span of another. Goddamn. Just imagine the character work you could do there.

A No Chosen One/Voldemort Wins (The First Time) AU where Hermione never gets her letter, and meets Draco much later in life as a self-taught witch. The dynamics I have in my head for this are really enjoyable, and it would be a chance to finally write Hermione POV, plus the Draco I've cooked up for this universe is [chefs kiss]. I also just love the idea of Hermione as a feral witch-child running around muggle London. I love it a lot.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (III) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The school year begins and all seems lost when Undersecretary Umbridge is assigned as the new DADA professor. That is until Hermione and Ron approach Harry and Y/N with the idea to form Dumbledore's Army (Regulus disapproves, naturally).

Part II / Part IV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Cursing, Not Canon Compliant

The talk with Sirius and Co. was tiresome. Actually, talk was a lenient way to put it, it was much more of an interrogation. Apparently, Sirius and Kreacher got into a spat (what a surprise) and the house elf let it slip that you had "found Master Regulus".

Hermione and Ron tried to dissuade Sirius from making it into a big deal, but alas they were unsuccessful (not to mention they wanted answers as well).

Luckily, Sirius had very little faith in Kreacher and you only told him that you found old photos of Regulus, and Kreacher happened to stumble upon your discovery.

Kreacher was very willing to corroborate your story in order to get back in your--Regulus‘, good graces.

For now, your explanation satisfied the others, but you knew that Harry had an idea that there was more to the story than you were letting on. Fortunately, Harry had always been a loyal friend and he wouldn't push you to tell him anything if you didn't want to.

It seemed you had a penchant for finding reliable friends.

Regulus was displeased with the turn of events and looked ready to scold a mournful Kreacher, but opted to just let out a disgruntled sigh.

"It doesn't matter anymore, I knew you'd be able to take care of it." Was what he told you after Kreacher left with a grateful cry.

Summer receded off the coast and autumn began to roll onto London, first painting the trees in kaleidoscopes of oranges before bringing tides of cool wind.

Your fifth year at Hogwarts was about to kick off and you were practically bouncing around at the prospect of being able to bring Regulus with you.

"Harry's hearing went just as I presumed it would."

"Oh? Looking to take up a post as Hogwarts Divination Professor, Reg?"

The boy merely rolled his eyes, deciding to grace you with the gift of an answer despite your smart mouth.

"It was obvious that Fudge would aim to discredit Harry. But, Dumbledore is quite the political force, and many are still willing to side with Harry even if they think he's lying about the Dark Lord. Harry may not feel it though. Bad press will always stand louder than uncertain support."

Ever the intellect.

"I guess so. Harry's still riled about it, but there's not much he can do since he was cleared of his charges. Merlin forbid he was expelled. I can't even imagine how dismal Hogwarts would be without everyone's favorite lion."

You continued to pack away your textbooks in your school trunk, murmuring tiredly under your breath at the idea of the inevitable increase in workload and the studying for O.W.L's.

"Are you excited?"

"Reg, you do understand that we face a new threat every single year, correct? Of course I'm excited."

There was no sarcasm in your tone, and you were being completely honest. Threats to your life would only serve to teach you further about the constraints and possibilities of magic. After all, you were certain the Dark Lord would stop at nothing until you were all dead, so you might as well learn as much as you can in the meantime.

"Just be cautious."

"Are you getting soft on me, Reggie? If you keep going I might think you actually care for me."

"Don't be daft, you know how I feel. Now, don't forget about the pouch I gave you."

You weren't going to antagonize him because you were almost certain he did care for you, but you weren't sure if you'd live long enough for him to actually tell you.

Reaching for the emerald green pouch laid atop your bed, you eagerly pulled it open. You never got the chance to examine its contents due to being interrogated by Sirius, but you were sure it was something important because of Regulus‘ insistence that you take it with you.

Reaching inside, you feel around the velvet interior until you feel something cool press against your fingertips.

Pulling it out, you gape as you realized it was a ring. A thick silver band with two snakes wrapping around it.

"Reg?"

"It's a gift. It was the ring I usually wore around in my youth. It's charmed to heat up when someone tries to use legilimency on you or when you're near poison. It served me well, now it will help you."

You twirl the band around your fingers and a small smile paints your lips as you try to suppress the burning in your eyes.

"Thank you Reg. I'm touched that you trust me so much with your possessions. I guess now I really have no excuse if I die."

"Exactly. So try your best--no, you have to live." His eyes were hard with conviction before they softened again when you nodded, "Good. You should put it on later, Sirius will definitely recognize it."

You couldn't find it in yourself to move on from Regulus‘ gift, even now as you were weaving around people.

The ring pressed gently against your chest as you walked with Harry down King's Cross, your new precious item was hidden away underneath your shirt on a necklace chain.

Regulus was tucked away inside your jacket like usual, the rectangular frame occasionally hitting against your ribs as you moved.

Sirius was paces away in his animagus form, too reluctant to let Harry leave with a simple goodbye at the door. You were happy that Harry had such a supportive adult figure in his life, but a part of you couldn't help but want him to leave quickly so you could slip on the ring.

The dog-man quickly trotted into an empty seating room, Harry leaving your side to talk to his godfather. As Moody and Tonks guarded the doorway of the room, you opted to give the aurors a brief nod before making your way to the platform first.

You admired them both to a varying degree, but you couldn't quite warm up to Moody after your Fourth Year debacle with his death eater imposter.

It was still hard to get the image of him, or rather the image of polyjuice him, making Neville uncomfortable in class.

Navigating your way around the swarm of people, soon you found yourself on the familiar platform.

Reaching into your shirt, you pulled out your necklace chain, twirling it around your neck before unclasping it and sliding Regulus‘ ring out.

It was a pretty thing, and you found yourself imagining the two snakes on the band as you and Regulus.

Propping your trunk up against one of the brick pillars, you fix your necklace before slipping the ring onto your left index finger, spelling it to fit you.

Thank merlin for magic.

Raising your hand up towards the sky, you observe the way the sunlight reflects off the silver. As you continued to admire it, you realized that someone's stopped beside you.

"Merlin! Harry?!"

The boy in question jumps at your exclamation, the distant look in his eyes being drowned out by realization. It was apparent that he was only present enough to recognize you in the crowd, but too lost in thought to realize what was going on.

"Oh, sorry. Should we board now?"

Without waiting for an answer, he reaches behind you and lugs your trunk behind him, starting to get lost in his head again as he walks towards the train.

As the both of you sit and wait for Hermione and Ron, he wordlessly reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded photo. He hands it to you with a forlorn look in his eyes, watching as you carefully unfold the paper.

Are those?

As if reading your thoughts, he supplies you with a quiet answer, "My parents. And the Order."

"Fuck. From Sirius?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

Running your finger over the smiling faces of Lily and James Potter, you send a silent thank you for their sacrifice.

Your concern for Harry only ceased once you arrived at the castle.

Sitting down in the dining hall brought a surge of serotonin through your body. It was the closest thing you had to a home and being able to greet the cold walls and aged windows after every summer brought you great joy.

Looking in Harry's direction, you frown in concern as you see him eyeing the staff table in shock. Your confusion is swept away as a high-pitched voice cuts through Dumbledore's welcome speech.

A woman who was strangely reminiscent of a toad carefully made her way around the table and towards Dumbledore. From the way Harry began to furiously whisper to Hermione, you were certain that she was the reason for his sudden change in behavior.

Dumbledore and Snape looked faintly displeased with her interruption and your eyes started to hurt from the abomination of pink monotone that made her stand out.

You had an unfortunate feeling that the source of your fifth year misery had arrived.

And you were correct. Of course.

It had only been a week into your classes and you were seething violently, much like the rest of your friends.

"And do you know what she said Reggie?"

"What?" He mused in curiosity, his eyes alight at your foreign frustration.

"We're only going to be learning the theories! Because apparently if we know the theories well enough, the application of spells will just magically come to us!"

Your hands were flying around wildly as you recalled her words, your body bouncing around on your bed due to your gestures.

Regulus chuckled at your despair, eyes twinkling brightly like he had just received the best news of his life.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it off. I'm glad my misery is enjoyable to you, but I'm being serious! I just don't know what we should do! The DADA curse is really screwing us over here."

Seeming to take pity on your genuine distress, he begins to placate you, "Y/N, it's fine. I'll teach you if you want. Just tell me what spells and theories you're covering and I'll guide you."

Oh?

The grin that stretches across your face almost hurts and you fall back onto your bed, letting his offer run around your head with a content sigh.

"Y/N? Have you died?"

"Still here." Your answer comes out muffled as you bring your hand to cover your bright smile.

"Don't seem too happy, I'm a strict teacher."

"Yeah, yeah. Reg. I could kiss you right now! Seriously, thank you, you're too good to me."

Regulus doesn't respond to your words and he was sure that you weren't even aware of what you were saying, but he was glad you couldn't hear the way his heart was racing.

"No matter, just get some sleep."

"Hm? What will you do then? It's still pretty early."

"I'll just watch over you like always. Prop me up on your nightstand would you, I want to see outside."

"Yes, yes. Anything else you require my liege?" Your teasing is met with a deadpan look as you carefully rest his portrait frame against the stack of books on your nightstand.

"Y/N, sleep."

You let out an indignant huff and turn your body towards your bedside, facing Regulus as he begins to gaze outside your dorm window. Luckily, your nightstand was on the far end of the dorm room and would be out of view from anyone coming through.

"Goodnight, Reg."

"Sweet dreams, Y/N."

Luckily, slumber came quickly that night.

You should have known that your brief period of rest would soon be interrupted. It was basically the first warning that came attached to being involved with the Golden Trio. You just didn't realize that your peace would be disturbed the very next day.

"Are you positive that this is a great idea?"

"If Umbridge refuses to teach us, we need someone who will."

You stare at Hermione in consideration, "And that person is Harry?"

She nods confidently, her eyes blazing in determination. Clearly, they were going to move forward with this plan whether or not you were in.

"Okay. So Hog's Head then?"

"Yes. We can't possibly manage to keep this under wraps inside the castle walls. We'll come by and get you tomorrow."

"Merlin ‘Mione. I hope that this turns out well. For all of our sakes."

"It has to. Sirius said it himself, You Know Who is on the move."

Bloody Dark Lord and his murderous agenda spoiling your years of childhood.

There wasn't much that needed to be said after that and you both bid each other a quick farewell. You quickly headed to your dorm and let out a sigh of relief to see the room empty.

Plopping down on your bed, you flip open the charms textbook Regulus recommended, eyes darting around for a possible communication charm.

This was going to take forever, might as well get some help.

Fishing around your robes, you pull out Regulus‘ portrait and beam down at his unimpressed face.

"There's no way you're actually considering running along with that ragtag defense club now, are you?" Isn't he just pleasant today.

"Nice to see you too, Reg. Hermione's idea sounds interesting enough, besides friends need to support each other's endeavors."

Regulus looked like he was a few moments away from releasing a snort, but just shook his head. His neat curls jumped around his face and you had to stop yourself from getting too entranced by the sight.

"I suppose that makes sense, after all I would do the same for you. Though, you are already learning from me, no?" Regulus‘ words made your heart skip a beat, but you tried your best to play it off.

"Yes, and as much as I love Harry, you will always be my number one teacher." He looked all too pleased by your words and you shook your head fondly, "Don't let it get to your head though. Now, let's read through this book together, shall we?"

And as you both read through the pages of the book, you couldn't help but selfishly want more. You couldn't help but wonder how different everything would be if Regulus wasn't a portrait, but rather alive and well and attending Hogwarts with you.

It just added to your fury towards Voldemort. He had taken enough from the world, and you couldn't wait to drive a curse through him and live the rest of your life in peace.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite

[needlereads]

Makes You Unsteady

Bucky Barnes x agent!Reader

Warnings: fem!reader; anxious Bucky; soft Bucky; not canon compliant at all

A/N: oh boy, first time posting a Bucky Barnes ff. I've been scribbling these little interactions of Bucky loving a SHIELD agent, and finally decided dammit I'm going to post them.

He paused at the end of the hall. This was stupid. You were asleep by this time. What had he planned on doing, knocking on your door and disturbing you? You probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

Before James could turn back towards the elevator, he heard a click and the motion sensing hall light around the corner came on. Peering past the corner, he was surprised to see the very woman who had been occupying his mind, very much not asleep as he had presumed. You leaned against your doorframe, loitering for a bit.

What were you doing up?

You finally turned, your steps would take you further from him. He knew Darren’s room was a couple of doors down from you.

Your name escaped his lips before he could think properly about the consequences. You turned, squinted at him with tired eyes.

“James?”

“Where you headed?” He strode towards you, as if it was normal to be making rounds in these private quarters.

You rubbed your eyes. As he drew closer he could tell you were growing more alert, though still adorably dazed from a lack of sleep.

“Oh, just over to Darren’s.” Your best friend was always the default destination when you didn’t want to be alone.

“Is something the matter?” He didn’t usually try to pry. But he couldn’t just stand still and let you walk away, couldn’t bear to watch you seek comfort in someone else when he was physically in your reach and ready to give comfort himself. Maybe he was tired out of his mind too, to disregard his usual inhibitions, let alone the chance of you asking him why he was wandering the building barely an hour after getting back from a mission.

“You just got back. You’re early.” Your eyes climbed down his body and up again. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not.” Was it selfish that his heart glowed warmly to see you so concerned over his well-being? “Is something the matter? How come you’re up?” he asked gently again. Locks of bed-swept hair framed you face. His fingers twitched with the instinct to sweep them back and trace down you braid.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I could sit with you.” God what was he saying? “If you want, that is.”

“Yeah.”

James held his breath as you replied.

“I’d like that,” you said.

In your room, you both settled on your two seater sofa.

“Has it been like this for a while? Not being able to fall asleep?”

You shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I had a nightmare,” said, almost amused. “I don’t usually dream vividly, but tonight…”

He waited, hoping he wasn’t invading your privacy.

“It was the plane crash. The one my parents were in.” You had not been there for it, but your mind conjured images for you anyway. “As if I had been there too, like I had made my mom give up the window seat and then snuggled up to her side. I…was such a baby with her.” A breathy laugh left you. “Can’t even have the decency to be traumatized by something I actually went through. Like the burning building, or the explosion at the compound.” You didn’t catch his frown.

James swung his legs up, sitting criss-cross to face you. “Can I share something?”

You nodded.

“Sometimes in my sleep I feel like I’m falling and I can’t stop. It creeps me out and I can’t wait to wake up and stop falling.”

“The train,” you whispered.

He nodded. “But worse than that, worse than the nightmares about shooting on command, or the war battles that I don’t remember…I dream about my mom and sisters being killed. My mind convincing me that Hydra found them and shot each of them in the street, or that they drowned, or that they just…stopped breathing in their sleep.” He shook his head. “None of those things happened but I wake up and I want to throw up. I want to go back in time and hunt every Hydra piece of shit and kill them a hundred times over. I want…”

You stopped him with a hand over his metal one. “Don’t. Please.”

He was about to say he wanted to not wake up from his sleep either, and he could tell you had somehow heard those thoughts. He was pathetic, to break in front of you. He had no right to manifest such darkness in front of you. But your pleading eyes left him more breathless than the shame.

“Please?”

Anything, he would do anything you asked.

-*-*-*-*

He woke alone in your bed. Lifting his head towards the door separating your bedroom from the living room, covered with a navy blue patterned cloth. He made out your voice and footsteps on the other side. He really couldn’t be blamed for being able to hear you talking on your cellphone, especially when his name was brought up.

“- totally forgot to text you and then James and I both fell asleep. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad?”

A tinny laugh reached his ears. If he strained a bit he could hear the person on the other end of the phone. Probably Darren.

“I’m not. Just glad you didn’t try to ride it out alone. I was wondering when Barnes would finally make his move.”

You sighed, glancing at the door to your bedroom and stepping away, lowering your voice just short of a whisper. “He wasn’t – there was no move.”

Your friend uttered your name, exasperated. This wasn’t the first time he teased you about being in denial of love knocking on your doorstep.

“Hon, you deserve to love and be loved.”

“It’s not that.” You hesitated.

“Then what?”

You tugged at your hair. “Just…for someone who’s had so much taken from him, and who’s given up so much. I can’t…can’t ask that of him. I can’t be another burden for him.”

Darren was not happy with you. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. First of all, that’s not what you are. Second of all, it’s his choice to want you. Just like it’s yours to want him. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“I’m not denying it,” you said firmly. “But that’s all. Just a want. I…I can’t.”

You heard your name and whipped around to find James standing in the middle of the living room. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your breaths measured.

“Darren, I’ll see you later.” You ended the call.

James felt each pulse of his blood in his veins as he tried processing what he’d heard. He knew his hearing couldn’t be mistaken. The way you looked at him, with a quiet honesty, urged hope to bloom inside his chest.

“James.” You paused, and he swore the world slowed on its axis. “I…”

“You want me?”

You felt helpless under his full attention. His eyes searched you, so vulnerable and earnest. You refused to lie to him.

“Yes.”

Despite what you said to Darren, now, oh, your single word of confirmation sounded so clear and sweet to him.

“You think you’re a burden to me?”

He had quietly closed the distance between you.

You lowered you gaze. “I’m trying not to become that to you.”

He dared to touch his finger to you chin, encouraging you to look at him.

“Let’s agree right now, that you won’t refer to yourself like that again.” His palm curved around your cheek. He wanted to touch every inch of you.

He held you through the night. Not sleeping, and not tired; just relishing in the contact of your skin on his, your warmth bleeding into his.

-*-*-*

[hwadam-stories]

⊹ PHANTOM PAINS ⊹ PILOT EPISODE

(black!fem!) mea harper!reader x ceo boss!dhan tae-oh

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

I do not consent to my work being reposted, — stolen or translated anywhere else.

⊹ CW: long post, emotional cheating, unrequited love, depression, fluff, drama, etc.

⊹ SYNOPSIS: Celebrating his niece's birthday at a restaurant, Dhan recognizes you from across the room as his past lover from five hundred years ago and is determined to stop at nothing to be with you again.

⊹ A/N: this is my first serious fanfic, feedback on this pilot (comments, messages & reblogs only!) will help me consider continuing it with motivation. Canon divergent / somewhat canon compliant to the MEA CULPA (2024) film by Tyler Perry with some crossover aspects thrown in. I hope you enjoy!

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Does Your Majesty wish to meet again in our next lives?" You asked, wrapping your arms around him.

"Of course, were you considering abandoning me?" Dhan replied, chuckling.

"Okay then, when the time comes, I'll be your master once more." You promised. "Your love. Your pain. Even your very last breath, please give them all to me."

"They are all yours, y/n."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

There was a time when those words meant everything to him.

A time when finding you meant everything to him.

But after his fifth life, Dhan had given up on his search and the phantom pains have haunted him ever since.

It was a pain that wasn't his, a pain that never faltered in reminding him of his failure despite the many times you two were reincarnated throughout the last five hundred years.

Your souls were connected after all and even though this pain has brought him a great deal of misery, part of him hoped you weren't feeling anything.

Presumably, because he was always reincarnated as a man, he assumed you would be reincarnated as a woman but other than that, he never really had any concrete way of finding you. It was safe to assume that since his ethnicity changed, yours did too.

Not that he particularly cared what race you were now, all that mattered was that he was reunited with you. But that promise has become nothing but a fleeting dream. A delusion Dhan couldn't completely let go of because this pain meant that you were alive, somewhere out there. Hopefully looking for him too.

In every lifetime after the first one, he always accumulated a great deal of wealth somewhere in his mid to late twenties under the name of Dan.

In this era, he was Dhan Tae-Oh, the boss of a CEO corporation in Korea and came from a long line of gangsters that reinforced the values of family and business to a rather high degree.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Tonight, he was celebrating his niece's 9th birthday and his sister-in-law's most recent promotion in the fashion industry.

His younger brother, Charles Kang, arranged everything at the finest Italian restaurant in all of Chicago, Illinois, called up Dhan three days before and here they all were.

"You know, we got lucky tonight." Charles set aside his fork and knife for a sip of wine.

"I initially planned to invite more people for Abby's dinner party but a larger group had already reserved a bigger table and I snagged us the only one they had left."

Now that Dhan gave it a second thought, Piccolo Sogno was unusually packed tonight and much busier than he had initially anticipated.

Even looking over his shoulder he could still see the glimpse of the same crowd he passed through, still waiting in line outside.

His assistant, Seon-woo, mentioned something about a on the rise celebrity artist being one of its more known customers over the last couple of years. No one Dhan had really heard of or cared to for that matter.

"Their celebrating their mum's birthday, I heard." Susan remarked, her posh accent gleaming through. She looked past her husband and over her shoulder, seeing the large the table behind them.

There were about five people and that one particular redheaded woman must've been the birthday mom. "Surely Abby won't mind sharing her special day when two cakes come out." Susan teased.

"You got me a cake?!" Abby gasped, beaming with a smile. "Is it a big one?"

"You can only have two slices, young lady." Susan tenderly pinched her daughter's cheek. "The last thing we need is you bouncin' off the walls at 2 o'clock in the mornin' on a school night."

Abby pouted and brought those puppy eyes straight to her uncle.

Dhan stifled a laugh, hiding that cheeky smile behind a half closed fist. "I'm sorry Abby, not even that can convince me to break your parents rules but I'll make it up to you when dessert arrives, I promise."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dessert was served in the form of a double stacked white and pink frosted cake decorated with strawberries and red icing for the words "Happy 9th birthday, Abigail!"

Candles were blown and nine year old Abigail Kang became tonight's birthday girl that the staff (and some nearby tables) sang to. Pictures were taken and there were smiles all around.

The gift that Dhan purchased was a reasonably expensive one but not something he would ever think to showboat about. He simply had some connections here and there and thought to put them to good use for the short time he was going to be in Chicago.

"All fourteen of Taylor Swift's albums!?" Abby squealed, wrapping her arms around her Uncle Dhan and squeezing him tight. "I love it! I love it! I love it!"

Dhan laughed nervously, patting her head and squeezing her shoulder tenderly. "Your arms squishing my insides make that explicitly clear."

Everything was going great. Dhan was feeling great.

That is, until things weren't great anymore.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dhan suddenly gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from keeling over on the floor of the restaurant.

His chest became uncomfortably tight and his head began throbbed with a splitting sensation.

The phantom pain had returned.

For the sake not wanting to make a scene or ruin what was already a perfect night, Dhan got his breathing under control, keeping some stoicism to his face to not alarm anyone.

The tightness in his chest seemed to lessen but the throbbing in his head wasn't going anywhere.

"Pumpkin, why don't me and you freshen up in the girls' room and leave the boys here, yeah?" As if on cue, Susan took her daughter by the hand and headed straight for the bathroom.

"Dhan." Charles sighed, addressing him in a somber tone of their birth language. Entirely oblivious to what his brother suffering with. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye but I'm really glad you could make it tonight."

He listened to his brother -- or at least tried to.

The words were being drowned out by a sudden ringing in his ears, leaving him momentarily stunned that it almost felt like the world around him was going to spin.

But he wasn't feeling nauseous from the alcohol or a sudden fever. It felt more like ... resentment.

It put a bitter taste in his mouth and made him clench his fist at the end of the table until his knuckles went white.

His brother hadn't done anything wrong and yet Dhan was being swallowed whole by the sensation, not knowing where to place it.

It's just ... if his brother wasn't the problem, then who?

"Oh look! Her Majesty, The Queen has finally arrived." A woman's voice cackled in the air.

She was an older looking caucasian woman with red curly hair and wine red lipstick, belonging to the group that booked a table for a total of nine and judging by what the already opened and nearly empty wine bottle, she must've had a bit too much to drink.

That's when he saw you approach the table.

It was you. It was really you.

His soulmate.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Don't worry son, your second wife will be on time." Azalia, your mother-in-law cackled, caressing the cheek of Kal, your husband.

His awkward shuffle of a smile made it crystal clear that whatever came out of her mouth tonight, he wasn't going to come to your defense anytime soon.

What can you expect from a man that holds his disrespectful mother over your marriage of three years?

What's worse is that Azalia had the nerve to invite the one woman she favored more.

Your husband's childhood friend, Jenna.

The same childhood friend that had become the topic of your marriage counseling session that your husband Kal had ditched midway through for this dinner party.

A session that you had to finish by yourself, making you the one who arrived late.

Jenna was a tall, light skinned woman with dark curly hair and a bright red dress with a V neck to show off a window of cleavage and a shortened skirt to show off her toned and slender legs.

And to add salt to fucking wound -- Azalia made sure Jenna sat next to your husband while you sat at the end of the table with your only friend and sister-in-law, Charlise.

"I'm sure you won't mind, y/n. You and Charlise probably wanna talk anyway."'

You looked at Kal, searching his gaze for something, any sign of him speaking up to his mother but to your utter disappointment he just let it happen.

You can only push down the intense feeling of resentment and agitation with a passive aggressive smile, taking your seat at the far end with Charlise.

This was going to be a long dinner to get through.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Apart from a brief exchange of words from your brother-in-law, Ray Hawthorne, and the couple sitting across from you, Charlise was the only saving grace at this table and frankly the only reason you kept it together as long as you did.

As much as you wanted to tear off that terrible red wig and burn it, you tuned out your mother-in-law whenever she made any more chide remarks about you.

Not much of a point in ignoring your husband, he was too focused on Jenna and giving Azalia one of the most expensive birthday gifts you had ever seen.

A silver and gold watch that you knew your unemployed husband didn't have the money for.

"Happy birthday mom, from me and y/n."

You scoffed in utter disbelief and stood up from your seat, grabbing your purse. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air."

"Oh, well you take your time. We're doing fine here." Azalia insisted, smiling from ear to ear.

Kal was on the verge of getting out of his seat, expressing concern. "I can come with you babe--"

"No." You snapped coldly, barely sparing him a glance as you waved him off dismissively. "I'll be fine on my own, thank you."

Kal frowned, lowering himself back down with a defeated expression. "A-Alright, just don't stay out there too long."

You sighed into the night air, hands pressed against the metal railing while the people behind you carried on with their evening under the lit up patio roof. Glasses clanking, people laughing, wine pouring and plates clinking.

All of it was just background noise to drown out one particular thought that you couldn't run away from.

Maybe it's time to put this relationship on permanent leave.

It's not a pleasant thought. It never was. You and Kal had known each other for eight years and had been married for the last three of them. You've had your ups and downs like any other couple and got through it but this? This was too much. His mother was too much.

But that's probably what SHE wants. The sooner you're gone. The happier she'll be.

You only stuck it out this long because you genuinely loved Kal and Charlise was the anchor keeping you grounded.

As one of Chicago's most successful defense attorney's alongside your brother-in-law, you had everything and yet nothing at all with how your marriage was starting to fall apart, on top of shouldering the numerous bills since Kal lost his job as an anesthesiologist.

God, where did it all go wrong?

"Having a rough night?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the deep and smooth voice of a man walking up beside you. The cool night's breeze washing over you both.

He was a tall and handsome man of Korean decent. The darkness of his long hair making the crimson color of his eyes seem as though he were some beast straight out of a fairytale.

Alluring eyes that stared into you with a hint of sincerity and invitation.

You can barely hold in a chuckle, crossing one arm over the other to let your wedding ring glint in the moonlight. "That would be the understatement of tonight."

He sees this and can't hide the smirk on his face. "I don't blame you. In-laws can be infuriating like that sometimes. Especially mother-in-law's."

The restaurant wasn't exactly that big in terms of table arrangements so it makes sense one's antics would be overheard when they're standing around the biggest table in the room.

You chuckle again. The tightness in your chest starting to lighten but your smart enough to keep up you guard to shut down any potential flirting, even the harmless kind. "Can you expect anyone to act cordial on their birthday? I've been here all night without a single drink of my own and tolerating her has been exhausting."

You certainly weren't the type to open up like this to a stranger of all people but it felt good. Yes, you had your friend, Charlise, but there was something different about this man. Something oddly familiar.

"Because she's acting like a cunt towards you and only you and you feel that if you didn't step out when you did you would've tore her a new one right infront of her favorite son and the entire restaurant?" He guessed your exact feelings with a cheeky smile.

You exhale a baffled laugh.

It's like he knew exactly what you were feeling.

"Oh, so you're a mind reader now?"

He raises his right hand, jokingly. "Guilty as charged, your honor."

The both of you laugh.

"Dhan."

"Y/n."

Dhan smiled, staring longingly into your eyes. "A pleasure to meet you, y/n."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Eventually, you were back inside the restaurant. Sitting comfortably beside Charlise and ignoring another passive aggressive comment from Azalia.

You had been gone for a solid eight, maybe ten minutes tops.

The dinner eventually ended and everyone was putting aside their plates and gathering up their coats and belongings while Ray generously secured the bill.

That's when the waiter approached with an expensive looking bottle of wine.

Ray dismissively waved his hand. "No need to send over anymore wine, sir. You can take that back, the dinner party is over."

The waiter shook his head. "I'm sorry sir this isn't for the table. I'm looking for a y/n, is there a y/n here?"

You raise your hand slightly to get the waiter's attention. "I'm y/n."

The waiter smiled at you, presenting the bottle. "Piccolo Sogno would like to formally gift you our most exclusive wine to enjoy right at home. On behalf of a generous courtesy from Mr. Tae-Oh, ma'am who wishes you a fine night. Thank you for you dining with us."

A bit stunned, you still accepted the bottle. That name alone already clued you in to who this was from.

Unaware of your husband's jealous gaze, you can't hide the smile on your lips as you read the note on the bottle.

A drink to wash away all your frustrations - Dhan.

[everparanoid]

Depths of Eternity Left Behind

Satoru Gojo x Sorcerer fem! Reader

On October 1st, 2018, you find Gojo crying in an empty classroom and you try to comfort him.

A story in which you are a Grade One sorcerer working alongside Gojo who falls in love with the man behind the overconfident bravado, but can't seem to get close enough to reach him beyond the limitless infinity that separates you.

cw: Canon compliant. Major Character death, Canon Typical Violence, Suggestive Content, Mentions of Pegging and Petplay, Mentions of death, Fluff, Angst. Major Spoilers for Manga, JJk 0 and season 2.

Word Count: 6.3k

Minors Do Not Interact

Spoilers below.

October 31st, 2018. Summary of the Notice from Jujustu Headquarters

Suguru Geto’s Survival was confirmed. We hereby declare the reinstatement of his death sentence.

2.  You and Satoru Gojo have been deemed accomplices in the Shibuya Incident and are hereby expelled from Jujutsu society. Following your confirmed death in Shibuya, you are to be wiped from all records. In addition, any attempt to free Satoru Gojo from his seal will be deemed a crime.

3. Masamichi Yaga is sentenced to death for inciting you, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto, causing the Shibuya Incident.

4. The suspension on Yuji Itadori’s death sentence is hereby revoked, and his execution shall be carried out promptly.

5. Special-grade sorcerer Yuta Okkotsu shall be appointed as Yuji Itadori’s executioner.

October 1st, 2018. Tokyo prefecture, Tokyo Jujutsu High School 30 days before The Shibuya Incident

“Sensei, good evening,” Itadori called out to you.

You had poked your head out of the door when you heard the young trio returning from their day out in the city. “Itadori, have you seen Gojo?”

Halting, Itadori’s face contorted in thought. “Gojo sensei?” His arms were filled with shopping bags, presumably Nobara’s. You wondered how his arms hadn’t given out from the amount he was carrying, but you supposed the vessel of the king of curses was a special breed. “Isn’t he on a mission?”

You cursed under your breath. “I thought he would be with you guys,” you said. “Yaga told me he returned earlier today.”

“Knowing him, he’s probably slacking off somewhere.” Nobara rolled her eyes, gesticulating languidly.

Itadori smacked his fist onto his open palm, jostling the bags still hanging off his forearms. “Have you checked--?”

“I’ll call him,” Megumi interrupted, quick to bring out his phone. His fingers dashed over the screen bringing up Gojo’s number.

You waved dismissively. If the kids hadn’t seen Gojo then something was wrong and calling him probably would ruin any chance of you had figuring out what it was. Gojo had a way of masking his problems in front of the kids. “No need, Fushiguro.”

Megumi lowered his phone. “Are you sure?”

“He is around here somewhere.” You smiled. “You guys have a nice rest of your evening.” You slid the door closed.

You found Gojo in one of the sparsely furnished classrooms. He sat slumped, his long legs man-spread, his head resting on the backrest of the chair, and his blindfold on. The setting sunlight pouring in through the open window bathed his white hair in a gentle orange glow.

You didn’t know if he knew that you were there. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge you. It was rare to catch the blindfolded man unaware—ever since the incident with the star plasma vessel and Toji Fushiguro all those years ago his defences had been ironclad. And yet there you were watching the strongest man you knew break.

His cries were hollow sounding. Too frail to be considered sobs of pain, but strong enough to express the tip of an iceberg of agony. From being in its presence, you felt an iota of the weight he carried on his shoulders.

It was fifty-fifty whether your presence would make him raise his guard again, putting on the front of the bubbly jester entertaining the court. However, you couldn’t just stand by and watch him cry.

When was the last time that he was told it was okay to be weak? When was he allowed to be anything other than the strongest?

Gojo was the strongest, that was a known fact. One accepted by everyone in the jujutsu world, even by the overconfident man himself. He was born into strength; it was his birthright.

Throughout the heavens and earth, he alone was the honoured one.

You knew this. It’s not like anyone would ever let you forget. It was why you both agreed you couldn’t be anything more than what you were. It was what kept your worlds apart despite how much you wanted to be a part of his.

Gojo is the strongest.

Other’s words echoed around your head like a mantra.

He was never weak. He could never lose. He was never afraid. He was Satoru Gojo. Six eyes; limitless; idiot; pain in the ass; love of your life… the strongest.

And he was alone, you reminded yourself.

                //July 2007

“Is that Satoru?” you asked, watching the usually aloof teen training alone on the fields. It was a hot day in July at Jujutsu High. Hotter than it had been over the last week, and so instead of wasting away in a classroom you’d buddied with Shoko to sit outside near the training grounds.

Shoko hummed in affirmation from beside you. With focused hands, she filled her cigarette paper with tobacco, holding the filter between her lips. She didn’t need to look up to know where you were looking.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“When is he not okay?” With dainty fingers, she rolled her cigarette. “Fuck this, I’m just going to buy pre-rolled next time,” she said. She licked the edge of the paper, sealing the cigarette. “Come with me later.”

“Sure,” you said absently, your attention failing to leave Gojo. Shoko could have asked you to rob a Konbini and you would have agreed. “He’s been doing a lot of missions alone since the failure of Tengen’s Star Plasma vessel mission... I haven’t even seen him hang out with Suguru.” Or me, but you don’t say that. This wasn’t about you. Even though you had been just as close with the two as they were with each other; not to the same strength level and ability to throw down, still, it was always the three of you—and Shoko occasionally.

Shoko shrugged, lighting her cigarette. “They’re big boys, they can work separately.” She took a drag. “Besides, I can’t imagine him needing backup anymore. Anyone else would be a hindrance.”

You outwardly agreed but couldn’t shake the thought that even the strongest person needed support. And Suguru was his right-hand man. They were inseparable like two sides of the same coin—yin and yang; only imbalance came if one existed without the other. It felt wrong seeing them apart. “Still—I should go and check on him.”

“Don’t,” Shoko said.

You stopped mid-way into getting up and looked back at her. “Why not?”

“Because asking Gojo to open up is like extracting blood from a rock,” Shoko monotoned. She crossed her left leg over the right and leaned back, taking another drag.

“Rocks don’t bleed,” you said.

“Exactly, rocks are weapons.” She tipped her head to the side. “That’s why you’re better off not going to him. Unless you want to be the one hurt, and news flash, I can’t reverse heartbreak.”

You looked away, guilt-ridden. It wasn’t a secret that you were in love with Gojo.

“Besides your form of empathy is about as kind as a slap,” Shoko added.

You hesitated. She had a point. You cast your gaze between Shoko and Gojo in the distance, divided. He whipped a pale hand across his sweaty forehead, his focus undisturbed. He looked tired, determined, and way out of your league.

“Fine, I’ll check on Suguru,” you said, grabbing your bag.

Shoko shook her head. “Out.”

“Again?”

“He’s on a mission alone.”

Alone.

The word rippled through you.

“Couldn’t one of us have gone along with him?” you asked. “We are here too.”

She coughed out a bitter laugh. “And I’ll what? Heal his mouth after he successfully does his job? He’ll be fine.” She stood and placed a hand on your shoulder, taking a final puff in the process. She blew out the smoke. “Like I said, they’re big boys. They’re just licking their wounds right now.”

You watched as she dropped the cigarette butt and stumped out its orange glow with her shoe.

“They’ll be fine,” she said. “Trust me.”

      /October 1st, 2018

You often forgot that Satoru was a human too. If you let the words of others, and even the words of the man himself poison you, you too might have been able to ignore that key detail. The only thing that worked to remind you that it was Gojo shouldering the responsibility of the world.

Throughout the heavens and earth, Gojo alone was the honoured one.

Alone.

He would always be alone. He was always alone. Amongst a crowd of people, he was alone. When he was with his students, he was alone. When he was with you and his other colleagues, he was alone. When he was in your bed on the odd times you both were able to sleep in each other’s arms after months of back-to-back missions—he was still alone.

It troubled you.

Despite being whatever you both were—bed buddies? Colleagues with benefits? Star-crossed lovers? You still couldn’t truly reach him. Nor could you fathom the depths of his loneliness or how heavy the head was that wore the thorned crown. It must have been agonising to be seen and acknowledged but not levelled. To be put on a throne you didn’t ask for and wield its power at unsatisfying levels against things that could only at best be considered insects, excruciating even. You imagined it was like holding back a scream of agony after losing a cherished one. Suppressing everything for the sake of not setting the world on fire—to not become the enemy.

But Gojo had no enemies.

        //December 24th, 2017

The sky was a deep azure gradating with the orange sunset forming pink and purple stained clouds the day Suguru Geto died. The stars were clear in the sky, and the air was crisp and fresh. It was a new day. Yet in those hours before so much had happened. So many had fought to stop the person you once called your friend. So many years of friendship, years of sitting in classrooms and shaking your head as he and Gojo goaded each other; years of catching the rebounds of their hoop sessions in the sports hall and laughing with them when they returned from their missions—were gone in a matter of hours.

It was just another day. Insignificant. Unsatisfying. There was no big bang, no screaming and shouting. It was just over.

You hadn’t been there when Suguru died. You hadn’t heard his last words or seen his face when Gojo killed him.  You didn’t get to see his smile again or hear his soft-spoken voice—the same one he’d use when he’d pat your head and call you kind for trying to stop his and Gojo’s fights, but ended up adding fuel to the raging fire because it was fun to watch Gojo pout. You hadn’t heard any of it, but Gojo had.

And he was alone.

“He’s gone,” Gojo said closing the door to the room in the morgue where Suguru’s corpse lay.  You caught a glimpse of Shoko adjusting her gloves and pulling the sheet over his face before you were completely cut off. “He won’t hurt anyone anymore,” Gojo said, his voice steady and empty.

“’Toru,” you said weakly, his nickname meek sounding on your lips.

He looked down at you, his lips pulled into a tight line like he was suppressing everything he wanted to say. If you could have seen his eyes behind the blindfold you were sure they were just as troubled. But you couldn’t because Gojo never showed weakness.

He is the strongest.

“I should have stopped him before—” he gulped, his fist clenching at his side. “I should have been there. I could have—.”

“Could have what?” you interjected. “Could have saved him? Could have talked him out of insanity?” You scoffed. “No, you couldn’t.” You knew it was the wrong time for tough love, especially when Gojo had willingly opened up to you, but you couldn’t meet him on his level. Your emotions were running too high—and you hated rehashing the past. And that’s all his words were doing for you. Restating not Gojo’s failure, but your own. “He killed his parents. He wiped out an entire village of people. He was prancing around like some born-again Buddha with an almighty saviour complex spouting nonsense about monkeys and mass genocide.”

Gojo remained still. He had no funny remarks or stupid grin. He was a ghost of himself. Before this in your eyes, Gojo Satoru had died once. It was after he returned from failing Tengen’s star plasma protection mission. And he never fully returned. It was like he was teetering on the edge; neither here nor there.

You knew he knew that you were right.

You were rarely wrong.

They’ll be fine, trust me.

You didn’t blame Shoko, or Gojo, or even Yaga. You blamed yourself. You should have been there for your friends. You could have been there for them… both of them. But you weren’t.  You were too weak. You weren’t Gojo or Suguru. You were you. Just another Grade One sorcerer growing alongside two Special Grade giants—watching them race on ahead and crash and burn without even attempting to catch up and put out the flames.

You didn’t have time to filter the words vomiting out of your mouth. “What? Do you think you could have brought him along on all those missions with you back then after Riko? Like he could have worked alongside you when you were acting like everyone was a burden?” You stood, pointing a single finger into his chest—not bothering to question that he was allowing you to touch him. That in front of you he had let his limitless technique down. He had met you midway and let you into his world just like you wanted, all because you were one of the last people he had whom he believed somewhat understood him beyond the bravado. “Have you forgotten that you alone are the strongest Satoru, not you and Suguru? Just you. And the moment that imbalance came—the moment you both realised that you were no longer equals—was when you could never have stopped him. If anything, you would have pushed him there faster.”

You dropped yourself back into your chair, burying your head in your hands. Tears fell quicker than you could stop them. And so, you let them and felt them soak your dark clothes.

Gojo didn’t attempt to comfort you or say anything for the matter. Instead, he stood over you as you sobbed—letting your tears slide off his loafers.

When your tears let up, and you finally were able to hear yourself think again you noticed the puddles on and around his shoes. You hadn’t known he was still there—that he had stood and let you say all of that to him, and not said a single word. Your eyes trailed slowly up his long legs, to his relaxed hands, his chest, and up to his blank blindfolded face, emotionless.

Dread incensed you, made your mouth dry and your eyes even drier. Guilt had you recalling everything and letting go of all your misplaced anger.

You’d said too much. He’d let you touch him, and you threw everything back in his face. All because of your selfish guilt.

“Satoru.” You didn’t miss how he flinched slightly at the word. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that. I am just upset. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right.”

His smile unnerved you; told you that you had fucked up.

“Throughout the heavens and earth, I alone am the honoured one.”

You went to touch his hand but were stopped inches away by his limitless technique. “Toru,” you pleaded, wishing that you could take it all back. That you could go back to who you both were before the world tore you all to shreds.

His fists clenched. “Only me,” he said.

And for the second time since you’d known him, Gojo Satoru died again.

    /October 1st, 2018

“I know you’re there,” he said.

You straightened, pushing off the door frame you took a hesitant step into the empty classroom. You had been so lost in thoughts that you didn’t realise he had stopped crying and had lifted his head, watching you through the blindfold.

Gojo lifted the rim of his mask. His unearthly blue eyes were tinged red around the edges and deep bags framed them. He gave you a weak smile—the gesture not leaving his lips. “You spyin’ on me?”

His tone didn’t hit when he looked so drained.

You slid the door closed behind you. You didn’t know why you did it. Perhaps you thought that some privacy would allow him the space to lower his guard. As if the flimsy sliding door could shut out the rest of the world, and let you in. “I came to check on you, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Check on me?” It hurt you how foreign those words sounded on his lips. He tilted his head, his already smiling lips pulling into a larger grin. “Did you miss me that much?”

You suppressed a frown. “Of course not, stupid.”

Missing would have been an understatement. Worried was more like it. Worried and pitied.

He laughed; the sound was a relief to your ears. Even if it was fake, you decided that seeing Gojo laugh was better than seeing him cry. You loved his laugh—his smile. You wondered how you could protect it. But the strongest didn’t need protecting. The strongest protected everyone else. That was his purpose. That was what he did.

Satoru Gojo alone was the honoured one.

“You love me,” he teased unaware of how true those words rang.

You did love him like how a sunflower loves the sun.

“When was the last time you slept?” You deflected.

“You sayin’ I look like shit?” He stretched his arms above his head, lifting out of his laid-back position. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t insult shit,” you said seriously.

He laid his head back again, lowering his blindfold over his eyes. “I was sleeping.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You stood between his legs. “You can talk to me.”

He remained silent.

“Or not, we can just be in silence. It’s nice not hearing you speak for once,” you continued, lightening the mood. Unfortunately, your best way of comforting people was not comforting at all. If past events hadn’t been an indicator, you’d never been good with empathy, and you didn’t claim to be. Most of the time you avoided heavy conversations because of how awkward it would be to not relate to or understand any of what was being said to you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to but if you had a choice you would choose to not participate. Unless it was for Gojo and once upon a time, Suguru too.

Gojo was like you in that sense, well you thought Gojo was like you, but it turned out you were completely wrong on that front. The selfish man was the most empathetic person in the world. Who else could understand the burdens of these young sorcerers and vessels but the tool of the jujutsu world himself? He was thrust into a life of assassination attempts and responsibility from the day he was conceived after all.

                //August 2018.

Principal Yaga gave you a curt nod as he passed you in the corridor. He was exiting the faculty room leaving you to enact your perfect plan on Gojo. It was a simple prank.

An easy one.

You had to wait for him to be mid-conversation with his guard down. This meant ignoring his texts enough that he would be too busy spamming your phone with inappropriate messages and stickers, to notice you sneak in outside of his field of vision to surprise attack him from behind. It was nothing compared to the horrors he’d pulled on you this week. Gojo had taken to pranking you, so it was only fair to return the favour.

You weren’t playful often.  You tried to present yourself as the dependable stable one out of you and Gojo for the kid’s sake, and the rest of the faculty's sake too. However, sometimes the man tickled your nerves just enough to have you unable to do anything else but retaliate. This happened to be one of those times. You had no malicious intent aside from the crippling desire to avenge yourself because unlike Gojo you weren’t trying to embarrass him in front of the kids. Yours would just be a little jump scare.

You darted forward, your arms open wide to capture him from behind only to fall smack bang into thin air, frozen by the pressure of the limitless space between the two of you.  Being this close, you noticed the fine hairs on his neck standing on end like a startled cat.

Was Gojo afraid?

“Failed,” he said cooly, stepping forward and releasing you from his invisible hold. “Ya should’ve tried a different approach.”

“How did you?” you asked, your words falling off.

He spun to look at you “Back shot? really? I know you can do better. If you wanted to peg me you could have just asked. I’d buy the strap-on and everything so ya don’t have to worry your pretty little head.”

You went to wack him but his limitless once again halted you. “It was going to be a hug, you freak.” You lowered your hand. “Besides, I’m sure you were shit scared just then—admit it.”

Gojo laughed and squeezed your cheeks, pulling and stretching your face like playdough. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m not,” you swat his hands away.

“You didn’t respond to any of my texts,” he said. His hand traced down your face before lifting your chin to look at his masked eyes. “Now that you’re here though, you can answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Are we on for tonight?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you held your focus refusing to give him another thing to annoy you with. “You’re really not going to explain why you’re sitting in the faculty office with limitless on? Utahime isn’t even here to throw stuff at you,” you deflected.

He wrapped his other arm around you, bringing you into a hold that was too intimate for school grounds. With a dip of his head, he brushed his lips over yours. When you went to kiss back, he pulled back, smirked, and then dipped down again. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy kissing Gojo. Any woman in their right mind would die to be in your position—fuck it, you over ten years ago would have died to be here too; alone with this gorgeous man. However, not even his lips or his curious hand slipping under your shirt and clasping your bra could distract you enough from the fact that even in an empty faculty room he was on guard; waiting for an attack—for something to disrupt his peace.

He broke the kiss, your residue lip gloss glistened on his lips. “I’m going to need compensation later for the emotional damage your failed assassination attempt caused me. PTSD is real you know.”

He manhandled your face with the hand still caressing your chin. The door opened and Nanami entered with a mug in his hands and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Gojo let you go at least letting you save some face. You reclasped your bra bashfully.

You brushed off your clothes. “Nanami.”

Nanami greeted you in return, setting his coffee on the coffee table and sitting on one of the adjacent sofas.

“Na-na-mi! Aren’t ya just the most respected man I was looking for? What do ya say we hang out for a bit and talk about the social and political state of the world?” Gojo grinned.

The stiff ex-salary man’s response was immediate. “No.” His attention moved to Gojo, who wore your gloss like a trophy.

Gojo turned to you and shrugged, sticking his tongue out comically.

You shook your head, wishing he would give the other man a break. Not everyone had a high threshold for Gojo’s buffoonery, and Nanami was one of those people.

“How about we go to this bakery they sell good kikufuku and we could—” Gojo tried again.

“No.” Nanami opened his newspaper.

“But—”

“Have you considered putting a leash on him?” Nanami asked you.

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Kinky, I like the way you think, Nanami. I’ll buy a leash and collar whilst we’re in town—it’ll be perfect for tonight.” He draped an arm over your shoulders and leaned down till his lips brushed the shell of your ears. “Would you like to be my pet?”

“I think Nanami was implying that you should control yourself,” you muttered, your body tense. You feared not only was Gojo probably serious, but he also now had discovered another avenue in which to stroke his raging God complex.

“But it would be more fun to control you,” he said.

Flabbergasted, you shoved him—well you tried to.

Gojo stepped back his arms up in surrender and limitless once again on. He laughed menacingly. “I’ll take that as yes.”

Nanami cleared his throat, aggressively.

 “I’ll get you a cute blue collar to match my eyes,” Gojo said to you. “I know how much you love them. That way when I am fucking you, you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your eyes widened. “You—”

Both disturbed and visibly disgusted, Nanami closed his paper, picked up his coffee, and evacuated the room.

Gojo gave you a fleeting kiss on your temple. “Na-na-mi! Wait for me.” He strode off after his junior, abandoning you in the faculty room. “I wasn’t done asking you whether you think this shirt makes my butt look too big. Hey! We’re going into town remember. Don’t ignore me! Na-na-mi~!”

    / October 1st, 2018.

Gojo’s chest shook gently as he inaudibly laughed.

You went to take a step back deciding that you had been out of your mind asking Gojo to open up to you, only to be stopped by his legs closing against your thighs trapping you in place.

 “You tryna leave me?” he asked.

“You weren’t speaking.”

“You said ya liked my silence,” Gojo said.

You scoffed. “I didn’t realise that now would be the time you would decide to take someone else’s advice besides your own.”

He raised his head to look at you, mask still in place over his eyes. “I always listen to other people’s advice; I just don’t always take it. And today happened to be a good day for silence.” He raised a finger, pointing upwards. “Can ya hear that?”

You stopped, waiting to hear something out of the ordinary. You looked around the classroom taking in the empty wooden space before turning back to see that stupid big smile once again on his moisturized lips.

“So not only are you taking other people’s advice but you’re also lying?” You shook your head. “That’s a new low even for you, Toru.”

He pouted and reached his arms around you pulling your hips forward. He hugged you like a koala, his head resting on your lower abdomen. “I’m just playing with you.”

“Play with someone else, you’ve expended my nice quota for the day.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

Gojo held you tighter. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You halted your actions. “For what?” you asked breathlessly. You didn’t need to ask, and he didn’t need to tell you for you both to know what he meant. Your hands remained by your side too afraid to touch him. Too afraid to do anything that might freak you both out and break whatever emotional domain you’d locked yourselves in.

“I’m going to die one day,” he said softly. “And I’ll remember this moment when death comes.”

You don’t speak; afraid that he’ll stop if you do.

You imagined the thought of his death soothed him in a way. It was the final frontier, and in both your line of work, it meant that you had been defeated. Bested. Beaten at your own game. It meant that you’d given your all and, in the end, it just wasn’t enough. That you as a warrior had fought with all you might and come out the loser. You’d tried. You’d been tested and you’d finally been chosen unworthy. You imagined that despite how much his words hurt you to consider, the thought of death at the hands of someone stronger than him would be an honour. A blessing. It would be the moment when Gojo Satoru, the enlightened one, finally could be human.

After all, death was the ultimate leveller—the unequivocal equalizer.

His grip loosened slightly as he relaxed his weight against you. “Then I’ll be allowed to rest without regrets,” he said. You don’t miss the end of the statement although it is whispered barely in hearing range. “And maybe I’ll be able to greet you both again on the same level, finally.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that?” you asked.

He chuckled. “A guy can dream, right?”

                // December 24th, 2018

“Satoru,” Suguru says, a bright smile on his youthful face. He appears to be about sixteen. “Long time no see.” He is sitting a seat away from Satoru in his jujutsu uniform. 

“Blegh!” A younger Gojo coughs shooting forward in his seat. The force of the action causes his circular glasses to slide down his nose.

“You couldn’t have held on a little longer?” a younger you asks, sitting beside him, also in your uniform. “I was rooting for you to make it, so, I could at least decay in my grave a bit more. Don’t tell me you missed me or something?”

Suguru calls out your name. “That’s not very kind of you, you didn’t even let him land.”

“He’s the one who hasn’t let me land. I only died in Shibuya less than two months ago. At least you got a year to compose yourself accordingly.”

Suguru nods in defeat, his smile remaining.

“Currently dying again here,” Gojo says between coughing fits.

You and Suguru pat Gojo’s back.

“You’re kidding me this sucks,” Gojo says. He slumps back in the chair, sighing. He doesn’t spare either you or Suguru a glance, seemingly annoyed.

Suguru hunches over and shakes his head. “Pretty rude thing to say right after seeing someone’s face.” He shoots you an exasperated look.

You respond with an unsurprised lift of your shoulder.

 Gojo scrunches his face. “I’ve always told my students.” He raises his fingers in quotation marks. “‘When you die, you’ll die alone.’ So please tell me this is just some ridiculous dream.”

You snort.

“Does it matter?” Suguru says.

“There’s nothing you can do about it either way,” you add, pulling his ear. “We are all dead either way, stupid.”

He swats your hand away and scratches his head. “No shit.” He looks perplexed. “Fuck, and there’s still all that stuff with his dad.”

“Megumi’s?” you ask. You’d sort of presumed he knew. “Thought you’d said you wanted to die without regrets?”

Gojo looks up at the high airport ceiling thoughtfully. “I asked Shoko to handle it.”

“Of course, you did,” you whisper. “Always a step ahead.”

A wistful smile appears on his lips. “Always.”

You begin to mindlessly play with the back of Gojo’s hair.

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

“So, how was the king of curses?” Suguru says segueing the question to the culprit of Gojo’s demise.

“Insanely fucking strong, and I could tell he wasn’t giving it all he had.” When your hand stops massaging the back of his head, he reaches back and takes your hand into his. “Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve won even if he didn’t have Megumi’s ten shadows.”

Suguru brows raise. “I’m shocked anyone could make you admit that.”

“I’m not,” you admit.

Gojo gives you a bashful look. He squeezes your hand in his.

It’s odd for you to see him be so openly vulnerable, but you like it. No, you love it.

Gojo looks down. “I feel kinda sorry for him,” he admits softly.

Suguru glances at you quizzically but you give him no reaction, allowing Gojo the space to continue. You’re not sure if he means Megumi or Sukuna or maybe both, but you decide to listen anyway.

“I’m no stranger to feeling isolated,” Gojo starts. “There was always this gulf between me and other people. Even if they adored me. You can admire a beautiful flower…but you can’t ask it to understand you.”

Suguru straightens in his seat.

Gojo lets go of your hand, scrunching his hand into a fist. “I put everything I had into tryin’ to reach him. To make him understand…all my physical training techniques I mastered… my explosiveness, quick thinking, and attempts at humor. I gave it my all, but it wasn’t enough. The loneliness that comes with unrivalled strength…the one who will teach you about love is—” he pauses, “I had fun.”

You place your hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He gives you a thankful nod. He releases a weak laugh, the mood lightening. “Sukuna wasn’t able to give me his all though. And I think that’s a damn shame.”

 “Consider me jealous, at least you had the satisfaction of going out with a bang,” Suguru says.

“Satisfaction, huh?” Gojo scoffs. “I guess my only disappointment was that you weren’t there to slap me on the back.”

Suguru laughs.

“But I guess I am glad I died facing a strong opponent. It’d have been embarrassing if I let some disease or old age get the best of me,” Gojo says.

“What are you a samurai?”

Gojo's eyes widen.

A sly grin appears on your face when you watch Gojo turn around to see a young Nanami and Haibara sitting behind you all. They begin to scuffle for a while mocking Gojo for his selfish mindset in life. You remain silent, watching him the way you always do.

Gojo is the strongest.

Those words still hold despite you both dying. His strength isn’t just about his physical prowess but his mental one. It is why you love him, you decide, even though it kept you worlds apart in life.

“What ya thinking?” Gojo whispers bumping your shoulder playfully.

“Nothing much,” you whisper back. You flip your hand palm up on Gojo’s thigh and he interlocks your fingers.

“Don’t look like nothing much,” Gojo teases leaning down to search your eyes.

You dip your head, watching your interlaced hands. “I’m just glad we’re all together again.”

You don’t look but you hear Gojo’s smile. It sounds like an endless blue ocean crashing against a yellow sandy shore. It feels like the sun warming you back to life.

Gojo lifts your hand and kisses the back of it. “Me too,” he says. “Which one are you choosing North or South?”

“Does it matter what I chose?” you ask not disclosing your choice.

“Maybe.” His gaze flicks to your lips. “Definitely.”

“When did you two get all sappy?” Suguru interrupts. “It’s disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Nanami adds. “I had to endure that. Trust me it gets worse.”

“Sounds to me like a whole lot of bitchless jealousy,” Gojo says, raising his voice over their declarations. “Personally, could never be me.”

 Haibara laughs. “I think it’s cute. Good for you, Gojo-san. Finding love despite your personality.”

Gojo grins and pulls you into his chest. “Thanks, Haibara. See, ‘least someone is happy for me.”

Suguru snickers.

Nanami rolls his eyes.

“I think that was an insult,” you say, raising a finger.

Gojo dramatically hushes you placing a long finger to your lips. “’m taking what I can get. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“When have I ever been? You act out of pocket all the time. Someone has to help Suguru humble you.”

Gojo shakes his head. “Betrayed by my girl and my best friend…that’s crazy. Not even in death can I catch a break.”

The airport fills with the sound of laughter.

And in these short moments, laying against Gojo’s chest encased in his comforting scent as he bickers with Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara, you feel like nothing is blocking the front of either of your eyes. Like in some absurd way, this is what Gojo meant. You know that even if these days fade… even if you’ve come to know his world, different from yours in the depths of eternity left behind…even now the blue remains—clear; in the summer colours that refract off your cheeks like crystals becoming one with the endless sea.

Gojo’s thumb brushes your cheek smudging away the tears. He says your name softly. “You cryin’?” He asks peering down at you from above.

You reach up and pull off his dark sunglasses. You see those blue eyes, glimmering like sunlight on water, or like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy that used to spill through the gaps between your fingers. And they’re staring straight back at you. Asking ‘Will we meet again?’

You nod, unable to say the words that are stuck in your throat.

But Gojo doesn’t need to hear it, a grin forming, nevertheless.

“Hey, Principal!” Gojo shouts looking up and spotting Yaga up ahead trying not to be noticed. “Thought ya said no Jujutsu sorcerers die without regret?”

   / October 1st, 2018.

You let your hand slowly move to his white hair, caressing the soft locks. “You know, you’re pretty weak for the strongest man,” you said endearingly.

“Maybe I’m pranking you?” he muttered. “Making ya let your guard down and believe I am weak so that I can get some. I am prone to lyin’ ya know.”

You hummed in disbelief. “What an unfunny lie.”

“What a sick twisted joke,” he agreed.

Thanks for reading!

KO-FI MASTERLIST

[dancingtotuyo]

Home | Part 1

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Frankie returns to you and your daughter.

Tags: Frankie Morales, Triple Frontier, Canon compliant, Frankie’s baby & his lady, fluff, angst, Dad!Frankie

Warnings: breaking & entering, gun, briefest illusion to drug use, illusions to death, some brief angst, let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: this is my first attempt writing Frankie. This idea came out of nowhere and I love it. Thank you to @wannab-urs for beta reading, adding commas, and the sweet comments! 🫶

Words: 938

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since he left. He told you a week. It’s verging on three. You stare at his side of the bed. You’ve had to wash the sheets since he left, but you’ve left his pillowcase. You bury your face in it, seeking the traces of him. Frankie’s scent is beginning to fade.

Tears threaten to form in your eyes. You fight with them. You can’t cry. He’s coming home. He has to come home. You can’t do this without him. You curl around the pillow. You need to sleep, but you can’t. Every time you close your eyes, you see Frankie dead in a ravine, on a mountaintop, or in an alley somewhere.

Layla stirs in her crib, drawing your eye. You’re quiet as her eyes blink open. Her tiny fists curl beside her ears. You expect her wails to fill the room, echoing how you feel inside, but to your awe, she stays quiet.

The full moon streams through the bedroom window, shining off of your daughter’s dark eyes. They remind you so much of her father’s. She stares back at you. Your little girl. Your perfect little girl, so much like her daddy with her big brown eyes and soft curls. His little Layla Grace.

He has to come back. He can’t leave you. He can’t leave her.

Layla blinks. Each interval grows slower until her eyes drift shut. Her breathing evens out. She has a soft snore. Just one more thing she picked up from her daddy. You’re not sure she has any of your DNA and you love it.

You’re tempted to scoop her up and lay her in the bed beside you, but that’s Frankie’s spot. You can’t give it up, even to your daughter. You have to make sure he has his spot when returns home.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out as Frankie’s comforting scent fills your nostrils.

You’re startled awake by the rattling of the storm door Frankie was supposed to fix months ago. Your heart rate skyrockets as you shoot up feeling dazed. The red numbers on your alarm clock read 3:09 am. The storm door rattles again, and then the backdoor squeaks open.

Your bare feet hit the hardwood. Layla is sound asleep. You open the nightstand drawer, quickly punching the gun-safe code. The metal is cool under your hands. It’s been a long time since you’ve held the gun, but the mechanics come back like riding a bike. You check the chamber and load the magazine.

The backdoor slams shut. You spare a glance at your daughter before quietly closing the bedroom door behind you. You use your bare feet to your advantage, avoiding all the creaky floorboards in your old home.

Something hits the wall in the kitchen making you jump. You catch a dark figure, presumably male, wrestling through your cabinets. It doesn’t make sense, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t allow for critical thinking.

You click the safety off, entering the kitchen. “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

His hands fly out, resting against the cabinet door. He lets out a tired sigh, something familiar in it.

“When I bought you that gun, I didn’t think you’d pull it on me, Sweetheart.”

Your chest tightens at the familiar timbre. The gun almost falls from your hands as you drop your stance. “Frankie?”

He turns around, eyes shining even in the dark. “It’s me, baby. I’m home.”

He eases forward, taking the deadly weapon from your shaking hands and disarming it. Placing the gun on the counter, he takes your hands into his, pulling you closer until his arms tighten around you. He holds onto you for dear life, both of you shaking.

Tears you’ve been holding in for weeks fall, soaking through Frankie’s jacket. His chest shakes, his tears mingling with yours.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He repeats it over and over like an oath to you and an assurance to himself.

“Please don’t go again. Don't ever leave me again.”

“Never.” He kisses your salty cheeks, your forehead, and finally your lips.

You feel like home. You are his home. His hand runs through your hair, keeping him anchored to reality. He’s here and no longer in the jungle of South America.

You pull him back to the bedroom, both of you in a daze. You’re still in disbelief he’s here and whole. You fall into bed. Frankie pulls off his clothes, hat landing on the dresser where it belongs. You catch his movements stiff from the exhaustion of traveling, but he’s smiling at you the whole time, drinking you in like water in the desert.

Layla's small cries emanate from the crib pulling Frankie’s attention. Immediately, he’s at her side, cooing soft Spanish to her as he picks her up with the familiarity only a parent has. Goosebumps travel over your exposed skin. Layla quiets immediately, looking up at her daddy with wide eyes.

He moves over to the bed sitting next to you. His Spanish continues to spill in a comforting cadence. You caress Layla’s brown curls, head resting on Frankie’s shoulder. It’s all the perfect moment of peace and rest.

It won’t last long. Layla will remember she’s hungry soon enough. Frankie may sleep tonight, but the nightmares will come. There will be tears and grief and fights, but Frankie, Your Frankie, is here, and he’s intact, at least physically, and your daughter will grow up to know her father. That is what matters. The rest will wait.

[lovelyrotter]

okay but i actually kinda wanna know ur take on stridercest being canon compliant O_O <- autism stare

oh hey i am also hitting you with the autism stare. ill try to get my thoughts down in a way that makes sense to more than just me hahaha

bear in mind that im an epilogue lover and i think Meat/Candy are really valuable pieces that further all of the characters and are also hard canon in the sense that we're looking at just 2 post-game universe outcomes out of an uncountable number (the book in the picnic basket representing post-canon fanfic). i think the characters actions in the epilogues make sense and are satisfying to me. yes even jane (i love alpha jane and i will not do her the disservice of 'cleaning her up' w/o showing her work for it. thats not how you depict a character who grew up with fascist programming). i could totally go on a whole tangent about this specifically but thats another post lol we'd be here forever and its also not stridercest

but okay. canon stridercest. under the cut cause it got kinda long

basically it has to do with the cherubs and how their relationships and mating rituals are pretty obviously incestuous leaning even though cherubs dont have the human concept of Siblings or blood family. the cherub who predominates will search across paradox space to mate with another cherub who closely resembles the cherub they predominated which is like textbook Freudian sexuality. theres a lot of Freud and Jungian stuff in HS imo even if im kinda [wobbly hand gesture] at the validity of these theories applied to real life and real people. but theyre super fun tools and lenses to use in fiction and i mean. gestures at all of dave

so the incest aliens cherubs. the whole reason why im talkin about them is bc Caliborn is so incredibly interested and invested in the Striders in particular. caliborn as both Lord English and Lil Cal shapes earth NOT OVERTLY but more so embeds himself in earth society, but again, the Striders lives in particular. dave is full of incest jokes. hes even apparently got a list of his friends arranged in order of how likely theyd incest-elope with each other (thank you epilogues for this amazing factoid). he seems to think about it often enough to, yknow, Do That. have a good solid think about that and construct an organized list about it. bearing in mind dave makes jokes about stuff thats a) bothering him, or b) generally camping out in his brain. hes not even really aware of it most of the time (as we see in one of the openbounds where hes all 'why am i thinking about puppets???' after seeing dirk for the first time in that dream bubble. he is thinking nonstop about dirk at that point and going off his only frame of reference for ANY dirk, which is his bro. his bro who was most likely deeply warped by Lil Cal)

sorry for the long blocky paragraph lol. but now onto the next thing

Caliborn as Lil Cal is the centerpiece in the beta strider apartment. dave cant escape him and beta dirk grew up with him. what the fuck do you do when youre childhood comfort item is also the most evil creature across all of paradox space? if youre a dirk you try to fight it. but how long can you keep fighting something like that. its safe to say that bro was affected by Caliborns particular brand of perversion and sfw kink. i dont think i have to say how insidious abusive and toxic he is about those things. and looking at the truth of beta bro (16yo alpha dirk) you can start to see just how warped beta bro became. beta bro is a false dirk (still a very Real dirk but not the Truth of dirk. beta bro has been toxified and made infinitely worse by an absolute evil influence over decades of life. in 80s fuckin texas. presumably in the system. anyone would be fucked up after that)

so for this analysis/theory im stating beta bro as a false persona. using jungian terms he is apha dirk's shadow

both dave and dirk live with a fake, carefully manicured version of their bros. they live with personas (or shadows of their guardians on the walls. hello platos allegory of the cave). they dont actually know e/o and they dont until the striunion

alpha dirk especially grows up embedded in the Public Persona Of Dave Strider 400 years post mortem and completely alone with unlimited internet access. hes a self admitted expert on his bro and we dont get to see a lot if any of his early childhood but i can hazard a guess at how much he clung to that persona of his bro. he fuckin idolizes dave. he LOVES dave. right off the bat he is in some kind of love with dave and i think if you try to argue against that then thats you slippin. i think youre a fool and have to reread homestuck because i wholeheartedly believe the striders loving eachother is part of the win state

once again this is speculation cause we get barely anything about alpha dave, but from what we already know about him im guessing this bro-persona is

achingly effortlessly cool

oozing masculinity (toxic or not, not really interested in categorizing that although toxic coolboy masculinity IS something the striders contend with & is an important facet in their lives)

a skilled fighter

a dedicated moviegoer (hes a director need i say more. this one is probably the only genuine thing about his on-screen persona)

and now lets look at jake. someone whos grown up on pretty much nothing but movies, whos doubtlessly been influenced by hollywood and its idea of gritty 'main character' masculinity through that, and who also clings to more old-school ideas of manliness (think victorian/edwardian era gentlemanly-but-loves-a-good-scrum kinda manly. moustache twirly with a monocle kinda manly. basically everything that grandpa harley is)

but okay lets look at what jake wants to be. lets take a look at his teenager persona

achingly effortlessly cool (his own 'hollywood star' kind of cool also def influenced by his favourite characters like lara croft who is indeed achingly cool. you see him succeed in inhabiting this hollywood star persona on earth c)

oozing masculinity (the old school manly mans-man kind)

a skilled fighter (two pistoles always. harder to aim cause you cant use a free hand to make up for kickback. that takes skill)

a dedicated moviegoer (again one of the only genuine parts about his persona. his questionable-to-wretched tastes aside. but bearing in mind that the SBaHJ movies are intentionally bad which is what makes them loop around to good. such is the nature of intentionally 'bad' art. jake fuckin lives in this perpetual bad-good art loop. okay enough with the art tangent keep focused man cmon)

because dirk has obviously way more contact with jake i dont doubt he sees through jakes own (admittedly way more flimsy) coolboy persona but the point still stands i think. different flavours but the same kinda guy. dirk has a type and i dont think its a stretch to say that hes looking for aspects of the bro-persona he grew up looking at in other boys, much like the winning cherub looking for the one they lost in the cherub theyll mate with

also wtf is with dirks obvious boner for dave chasing him across paradox space to decapitate him huh?? the last few sentences in Meat are about that very thing. he wants to fuc fight dave sooo bad. haha remember how the cherubic mating ritual is one of the most violent and long running spectacles in paradox space? i sure do

[saintsenara]

what are ur thoughts on all the young dudes man i gotta know

i've never read it, and i can't really see any situation in which i will. not only am i wolfstar-ambivalent, i'm also wizards-knowing-loads-about-muggle-pop-culture-ambivalent - so i'm very much not the target audience.

[although i'm not "what's going on in the 1970s"-ambivalent by any means, so there's that.]

but i suspect anyone who reads this blog regularly knew that - and so i also suspect [even though i wouldn't dare to assume this of you and your intentions in asking this, anon] that it might be presumed that i'm going to pop off about several of the phenomena all the young dudes has set into motion...

and sure, the contemporary marauders subfandom is not a space i'm interested in spending any time in - which is why i don't - but i think it's nonetheless worth saying something in defence of it.

all the young dudes deserves more credit than i think it gets in the fandom more widely - especially in those bits of the fandom which are more interested in canon compliance and canon coherence - for being a genuine pop-culture phenomenon. all corners of the fandom have benefitted from this - i guarantee that huge numbers of people who have returned to the harry potter fandom since 2020 have done so because they've read it [or, at the very least, heard of it], and i also guarantee that many of those people have gone on to make a home for themselves in spaces which seem to have very little in common with the marauders subfandom [such as canon-compliant jily or pro-snape spaces]. many of the things it does - especially the integration of muggle pop-culture into its worldbuilding - have clearly influenced how plenty of authors approach their own work, even if that work is otherwise removed from it in vibe. and its aesthetic is all over the non-fic aspects of fandom too - every "canon-compliant" moodboard or edit or playlist i've ever seen would fit well into the atyd universe. i think it doesn't hurt to acknowledge its influence - it doesn't mean that an author can't disagree with its approach.

[or: my view on all the young dudes is very similar to my view on taylor swift. i've never listened to a single one of her albums, i'm not sure i could name more than about five of her songs - and i don't think the five i can name are any good, i sometimes see flashes of the inter-swiftie discourse and it's like reading a text in a language i can only half speak - but i would be a fool to dismiss her broader pop-culture influence, including on musicians i do follow more closely, or the fact that the fandom which surrounds her is both sincerely interesting, not least from an anthropological perspective, and something in which people i like and respect participate.]

i also don't think the divisions between the marauders subfandom and other spaces are as clear-cut as is often made out. and i think that all the young dudes often gets used as a stick with which to beat this point - particularly because people in the marauders subfandom are frequently accused of not having read the books, and elevating atyd's interpretation of characters [especially sirius and remus] and events over the seven-book series.

that the subfandom elevates fanon and headcanon over canon is a legitimate point. but i think we should all get a fucking grip and recognise that this can disinterest us - or even annoy us - and still not be something any of us should think is that deep.

after all, like anyone, i've encountered people in fandom who write unrecognisable versions of characters, are completely resistant to the idea that their interpretation isn't correct, and believe that it's evidence of deep-seated prejudice to pair their faves with different people... and every single one is someone who believes that their approach is meticulously canon-compliant.

or - as the old adage goes - "people who live in glass subfandoms shouldn't throw stones at roadman remus".