#but. can they not show the main plot of the show???????????? please god

[cosmic-kid-in-motion]

First Date

Wheelchair user!Santiago Garcia x gn!reader

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist

Summary: You've all but given up on dating apps when you swipe right on the hottest guy you've ever seen

Warnings: Some ablism from the concert venue just in that their accessible seating is really shitty. Reference to Santi being shot. Being in a wheelchair isn't the main plot, the first date is but the limited mobility is a part of things. Just know there no "oh, can I date someone in a wheelchair?" type of thing.

Fake tinder by @quiet-night-sky-writers-blog thanks bb!

Written for my Disability Visibility event! Gotten so many fun responses from the oscar and pedro fandoms!!! thanks so much to every! I will be extending it through MAY because frankly i have a lot I wanna write but alas im in my last few weeks of college and wanna cry!!!! so much papers to write ;-;

I tried my best with this, I am not a wheelchair user and have no close friends unlike other disabilities i've written for so I've consulted people in various internet groups over langauge, and taken what I learned from my disability class I took. Once again, I cant recomend the book disability visibility enough, so many good perspectives on various disabilities! Still, if you use a wheel chair or need mobility aids, and I said something offensive PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

2k words

***

Tinder fucking sucked.

“Looking for a submissive-” Swipe left.

*Holding up a fish* Swipe left.

*Name: Tyler* LEFT!!!!

Okay so maybe you were a little picky. SO WHAT! You happy single, you didn’t need a relationship… but you did want one. You were just a girl. A girl who did dream of marriage and a family, but only with the right person. So, okay, maybe tinder wasn’t the right place to find a relationship. So maybe you also weren’t opposed to getting some dick or pussy before you found the one. So sue you.

That’s when a profile caught your eye. Handsome. Almost too handsome. Suspiciously handsome, in fact. You meant to swipe left, assuming he was a bot or a scammer or a catfish, but accidentally swiped to see another picture. Him and 5 friends, this one more obvious what you’d missed in the first photo. He was in a wheelchair. This picture looked real, him and friends out on a hike. Kudos to him for not putting the group photo first. You didn’t mind a nice group picture; you liked a friendly person, so having friends was a plus, but if it was their first it seemed like they were hiding something.

You look at his name. Santiago.

All his pictures looked nice, even the candide ones. You liked how wide he smile in the last one. Cute teeth too. You’ve never actually said that about anyone, but there’s always a first. 

“Looking for a nice girl to go to a Metallica show with. No expectations - see where things go. I’m in a wheelchair- but don’t worry- all the right parts still work properly ;)”

That made you laugh, you liked a little playful flirting, as long as they didn’t get out of pocket. A Metallica concert sounded fun… maybe a date and see where things go wouldn’t hurt… if it was just a hookup, then god, what a hookup.

You swiped right, and to your glee it was a match. 

Santiago: Hello!

You: Hi!

Santiago: This is going to sound like a line, but I was really hoping to get a notification I matched with you…

You: Oh yeah, out of the hundred of people you swiped right on?

Santiago: You’re right, the 700th guy holding up a fish was also on my mind

You: Mine too. I guess you’ll do okay though, tee hee

Santiago: My friend Ben set up my profile, tried to convince me to let him put up a fish picture, actually

You: Oh 🤢are you a fish guy?

Santiago: I’m not I swear!! Ben is though. I do go with him sometimes.

You: Well, I suppose we all have our vices. Me, I cry everytime I watch Star Wars III

Santiago: Anakin girlie, are we?

You: Always. That's my sweet baby boy who's never done anything wrong.

Santiago: Well, theres child murder.

You: HE”S JUST A BABY!!! Besides, didn’t we say we all have our vices, fish boy?

Santiago: Fish boy cannot be a nickname, I already have a friend named fish

You: Fine, what cute nickname do I get to call you then?

Santiago: Well, my callsign in black opes was Pope, but if I play my cards right, baby is always a good one.

Santiago: *black opps

You: Black opes. Midwest task force

Santiago: shut up 🥺 I’m just a baby

10 minutes in, you were on your bed giggling and kicking your feet. Santi was funny, talked passionately about his friends, his job, and his love of music. Frankly, he was really endearing. Things between you seemed to flow so effortlessly. You agreed to be his date to Metallica, and planned to get dinner beforehand. While setting up the details, he got somewhat serious.

Santiago: Just to be clear, you do know I’m in a wheelchair right? That picture wasn’t just a one off injury. I can walk a little with my crutches, but not long distances and not super comfortable. Honestly, in most situations I just prefer my wheelchair. I’ve been in it a few years now and it’s me and my wheelchair against the world sometimes.

You’d be lying if the idea of dating someone in a wheelchair hadn’t given you a bit of pause in the beginning. Not that you actually cared, but more that you had 100 questions, questions you couldn’t just ask someone when you first start talking. You were curious, but he was hot and he was nice, so of course you wanted to see where things went.

You: Don’t worry, I figured as much when I saw the pictures. Just let me know how to help when/if you need any help getting around the venue. 

Santiago: Don’t worry, we got great tickets in the probably obstructed view of the accessible section.

Santiago: Holy shit I just saw what Ben put as my intro on tinder. I SWEAR TO GOD I’M NOT LIKE THAT IGNORE THAT I'M NOT A PERVE

The date was planned, and a week later you were panicking about getting ready for the concert. You weren’t sure if you’d dressed right. First dates, you try to dress nicer, but this was Metallica after all. A cutesy dress wasn’t exactly going to cut it. Sexy would have to distract from the fact it wasn’t going to be classy. Jean shorts over black tights, and an old Guns ‘n Roses shirt. Yeah okay you looked good, it’d do.

You two met at an area near the venue. Santi drove, he was able to get a modified SUV. You looked into it, being nosey. It was NOT cheap. He said he did security, didn’t elaborate. Did he own the whole damn company? When you saw a handsome man outside the bar, you knew it was him. 

Santi lit up when he saw you, coming over and extended a hand to shake, which you accept. “Sorry,” He says looking a little sheepish. “Handshakes are such a force of habit to me, guess it’s kind of weird on a first date.”

You can't help but laugh. It was odd seeing a man so hot be so clearly nervous; you should be and are the nervous one. “Don’t worry about it. Lots of handshake deals going on?”

He relaxes, going over to open the door for you with the button. You notice the bars accessibility; wide doors that open with the press of a button, a small metal ramp easing the transition. You also admired how easily Santi moved, the confidence, the grace, like his wheelchair was an extension of himself.

“Well, partially. Owning my own business is half of the reason I’m weirdly formal sometimes. 15 years in the army is another.” Santi went to a table after the bartender greeted him by name, sliding into a spot that didn’t have a chair in it. 

“15 years!” You bawked. “Helluva stint. You didn’t want to go for the full 20 and get all the fancy benefits?”

“Well, I was going to. Getting shot in the spine tends to fuck up some of your plans.” He said it with a little smile, but the mortification hit you dead on. You facepalm into your hands.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” You can’t look at him, even though he’s laughing.

“No, I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist. Shit, please don’t feel bad!” But he was still laughing. Finally, you peak out through your eyes and laugh too. Santi’s smile was contagious, his full upper teeth on display as he grinned.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

He did. And you were beginning to love him for it. 

You got to the concert not too long before it was supposed to start. Since you had seats, it didn’t matter how early you got there. Santi bought you drinks at the bar and even bought you a tour shirt he saw you eyeing, even though it was -jesus christ $80!??!?!- He didn’t even seem to notice. You’d be lying if you said being on a date with a financially well off man wasn’t at least a little hot. You were an independent woman, you had your own money… but it still was attractive. Most men you had dated were bums, boys who never actually grew up. This was a man.

When you get to the disability accessible seating, you realize Santi was not joking about an obstructed view. The seats were way off to the side, and unless the band was going to be way to the right the whole time, you wouldn’t see them while sitting very much.

“Shit.” Santi mumbles. “I didn’t think they were THIS bad.” 

“It’s okay!” You try to reassure him. “We’re still close, so whenever they're over this way, we’ll be right there! Plus, it’s Metallica. I’m just thrilled to be here.” And you were! With the world’s hottest man on your arms as well. What more could you want?

“No, I just- Jesus.” Santi scrubs his face with his hands a few times, clearly frustrated. “I should’ve just gotten nose bleed seats and tried to walk her on my crutches. I knew, i fucking knew the accessable seating would suck because it always fucking does.” He maneuvers into his spot and you take your seat. “But that shit always hurts after too long. Or tried the general admission but even then if even on group is front of me and my chair I can’t fucking see- there’s no winning.”

Your heart felt for him. He’d told you this was his favorite band, and it made you mad that the venue’s “accessibility” just meant shoving him off to the side. Santiago was a grown man, well enough off, former military, and certainly could hold his own… but you felt protective of him. Not because he was in a wheelchair, but because he was someone you cared about.

“I have a plan. And it’s going to make me look like a dick, but I don’t really care.”

For most of the concert, you stayed where you were, enjoying the show and his company. Sometimes, if he was feeling up to it, since he brought his crutches you’d help his stand if he really loved a song. And yeah, James Hetfeild and other members meandered around the stage, coming awfully close, which was a lot of fun. But when the last song on the setlist came on, Until it Sleeps, you took Santi by hand and went down the ramp. Everyone expected people to push their way to the front in the beginning, not the end.

No one expected a nice girl and a man in a wheelchair to be so… assertive. But for this man? You were. You weren’t going to be a dick and do this at the start of the concert, but for one song at the end, your man deserved to see his favorite band up close, since the venue wanted to be shitty.

A few “scuse me, pardon me”’s and people politely scooted. Many already began leaving to try and beat the concert crowd off the downtown streets. Because of this, you managed to get Santi close, and when people scattered, you and him went right to the gate. You made it in time for the encore and got to listen to Nothing Else Matters with him. The joy on his face as he looked up at the stage was worth it.

*

“That was amazing!” Santi was full of joy, almost giddy energy as you and him walked to the parking garage he was at. You were both in no hurry, knowing the streets would be chaos for a while as everyone left but also just enjoying each other’s company. 

You two went down the street side by side, laughing together as he told a story of some of his army friends. Santi drove you home, as you sat outside your house in his car, you didn’t want the night to end.

Santi looked at you, a soft smile on his face. He was still buzzing from concert energy. “Would I be being weirdly formal again if I asked to kiss you?”

You giggle, but shake your head. “Not at all.”

“Well… can I?”

“Absolutly.”

You both lean in, and Santi tangles his hand into your hair. He kisses like a slut, mouth open, letting you take the lead and submitting to your lips and tongue. He moans too, then pulls away. “Fuck, that was embaressing.”

You grip his curls and pull him in again.

***

Thank you so so much for reading!!!

I'd really appreciate reblogs as i try to rebuild over here, plus it seems im either shadow banned or marked as explicite to some blogs, either way my visibility is decreased.

Still lots of time to enter the event! Would love to see more awesome creations, especially some art! I got one beautiful art piece and would love to see more! Could be a moodboard type thing to, not judge drawings! <3

tagging some people i thought may enjoy @my-secret-shame @winniethewife @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @ivystoryweaver @miraclesabound

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.2 you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. masterlist

“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you,  “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand. 

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing. 

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips. 

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement. 

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously. 

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation. 

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up. 

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief. 

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite. 

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly. 

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short. 

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.” 

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away. 

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine. 

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean. 

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug. 

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.” 

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think. 

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens. 

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl! 

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

..

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears. 

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it. 

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you. 

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him. 

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs. 

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from??? 

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door. 

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara. 

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too. 

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by. 

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles. 

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces. 

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it. 

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail. 

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence. 

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?” 

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar. 

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated. 

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll. 

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round. 

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.” 

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him. 

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years. 

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.  

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie. 

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?” 

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him. 

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did. 

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store. 

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish. 

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle. 

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments. 

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily. 

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it. 

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave. 

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again. 

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you. 

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance. 

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me 

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance. 

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is. 

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more. 

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat. 

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word. 

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you  here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–” 

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs. 

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience. 

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion. 

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up. 

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease. 

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit. 

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says. 

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you. 

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome. 

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way. 

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jin,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jin is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jin has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jin. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jin chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jin who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jin states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jin that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jin asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jin exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jin glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jin than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ take me to chapter three!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

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meme of the chapter:

[kathrahender]

Please can the male character of a fantasy show/shonen anime not end with a female character for once? Stop with the heteronormativity dear God.

Give the main male character more female friends instead of giving him female love interests. Male characters deserve to have female friends. They don't have to be always romantically involved! I'm tired of people always wanting to ship a girl and a boy without any other option. They could be just friends! (and this feels very close to me because I had a best male friend in high school and people ALWAYS saw us as lovers and it WASN'T true at all! It was so irritating I swear. "You look good together" "You are a good couple" "Are you two together?" Why can't you leave us alone??? He was just my friend). Because YES, a girl and a boy can be friends without feeling romantic love for each other.

Annabeth could have been Percy Jackson's first female friend and she could have been the first girl who cared about him, just like a "female version of Grover" and just a friend- but no, they had to end up together because God forbid a main male character not being the boyfriend of a girl (and the same happens with Hiccstrid, Jlaire and Anidala, they could also just have been friends)

Naruto and Hinata could have been besties instead of lovers but no- they had to make Hinata a girl whose life was only centered in "How do I make Naruto-kun love me?" (and the same happened to Iris West. She could have been more important to the plot and Barry's best female friend- but instead she was just his love interests and her development was null. And the same happened with Allura. At first she was a good character, but then she was only there to be Lance love interest, what he should have been overcome. And btw Allura's romantic love towards Lance felt very rushed. As well as Hinny was so bad developed in the movies and Ginny's development didn't exist).

Seriously people stop with these things. Stop reducing a female character to a love interest. Don't make the main male character end up with a female character because that "it's better for the plot" "it's better for the world" "people won't accept the male character dating another male character" "people won't accept the male character not dating anyone". Not everything has to be a straight couple. Actually, not everything has to be a couple! All relationships in the book/show/movie/anime could be platonic and it wouldn't be a big deal! (Although personally I like romance, but aroace people also exist and they deserve to be represented in media).

[asidian]

Alright. It is time. Buckle up.

Why you should be watching Dead Boy Detectives: the targeted-specifically-at my-readers edition.

Meet the leads, our two ghost boys:

Edwin Payne: Fussy, repressed intellectual type from the Edwardian era. Exceedingly gay for his partner and best friend. Tortured in hell for seventy years on a technicality because he was ritually sacrificed as a prank gone wrong. Endearingly awful at people and dealing with emotions or his own wants.

Charles Rowland: Impulsive, people-pleasing wildcard from the 80s. Heart eyes 24/7 at his best friend but has zero self-awareness. Badly abused by his asshole of a father. Beaten to death because he saved a kid from bullies. Endearingly awful at sorting his own emotions or talking about his problems.

Some highlights:

/slaps hood you can fit so much trauma in these two

Both leads get sobbing breakdowns that happen on screen. The actors are incredible at crying

Both leads get much-needed hugs

The absolute devotion between the two of them. The shared history that lives in their dialogue and how they work together like people who have been each other's Most Important Person for literal decades

I mean, I'm talking in-canon Orpheus and Eurydice reference level of devotion here

The protective way Charles puts himself physically between Edwin and damn near every threat in the show

They're just fun together. Their interactions and banter and how they work as a team is a delight

Their shared plot arc literally involves them learning to talk to each other and communicate more so that they can be there for one another about their respective issues

The symbolism. God. They are metaphorically and literally one another's light in the darkness

But what about stuff that isn't the main duo? Just wait, there's more:

This show is unabashedly, unapologetically queer. It's there in the text and the subtext. The whole show lives and breathes it

So many good, complex, well-written female characters. The Bechdel test gets blown straight out of the water in episode one and they never look back. Headstrong amnesiac psychic learning to be a better person! Quirky meta commentary matchmaker! Cynical lesbian butcher! Delightfully sadistic witch! They are all amazing.

[audience voice] But I'm here for the hurt/comfort. How can I whump ghosts? Worry not, my friends. Canon has you covered. Not only are there ways, there are ways that happen on-screen. The hurt/comfort and rescue are also on-screen. Yes, it is amazing

Absolute chaos, really cool supernatural cases and creatures, a surprising amount of humor, charming writing, and a cast that absolutely nails it on the acting and chemistry

There is an extremely suggestive trickster type who is also the king of cats. He's a cat in human form. He hits on Edwin nonstop. Charles gets blisteringly jealous

All of the leads have well-thought-through, fully developed, emotional character arcs. They're all messy and flawed and sometimes lash out in their pain, but at turns can be incredibly supportive and kind and loyal

A character who is a crow who is also a boy, who is tortured by his witch/creator and also is crushing hard on one of the leads

There are so many incredible details in the setting, costume choices, prop decisions, etc. that you only catch after you know what it's laying the groundwork for. The level of care that went into this show is phenomenal

It's only eight episodes. The time investment barrier to entry could not possibly be lower

Anyway, tl;dr, if any of this sounds appealing to you, you should give this show a watch.

Dead Boy Detectives is well worth your time. It's easily my favorite show in years.

[itsriabby]

Mona Lisa - S.H. (Part 1)

actor!steve x makeupartist!reader

Plot: When Steve meets his beloved makeup artist’s replacement, he swears it’s hate at first sight. But… is there truly such a thing?

Trope: enemies x lovers

Warnings: slight slut shaming (Steve is kind of an asshole at first).

Hi!! I thought about trying something new and this came up. I don’t really know if I should continue it so let me know if you like it! Thank youuuu!!!

Main Masterlist | Chapter 2

————————————————————————

“What do you mean she’s not coming?”

Steve was mad. Actually, no, Steve was furious. Angela had been working with him for the first two seasons of the show he was in, and frankly, she’s one of the only people he doesn’t hate in there.

Everyone treats him like this stuck up marionette, either not even looking at him because they’re scared of him, or kissing the ground he walks on, doing things for him like he’s a dummy, as if he can’t take a simple direction. It’s honestly insufferable.

The rest of the cast are nice and all, but he doesn’t really spend much time with them out of character. The only time he felt he could be himself and disconnect for a while was in that chair in the makeup trailer, with that middle-aged woman that treated him like her own son, and who’s now, apparently, getting fired.

“Steve, listen, I get that you’re angry, but she’s not getting the results we were hoping for. This season is filled with gruesome scenes that need some vfx makeup that she’s, quite frankly, not qualified for.” Sam, the showrunner, exhaled, like explaining the situation was a waste of his time.

“How do you know that though? You haven’t even seen-“

“We have. We’ve done a test run on a lot of the looks and even she said herself that it wasn’t “her thing”.” Sam sighed, pinching between his eyes. “Look, she’s been in the business for more than 20 years, and she’s tired of having to learn new advanced techniques to do everything we ask her, she just wants to do the usual screen-ready skin and that’s it.”

“But-“

Sam grabs Steve’s shoulder, softening his expression. “I know you bonded with her. And trust me, I get it, it sucks.” He shrugs nonchalantly “But her job wasn’t to be your friend, it was to do makeup, and it’s not up to par, so she’s out, end of story. Now please do me a favor and go change, the new makeup girl is waiting for you in the trailer.” Sam leaves immediately, leaving Steve to dwell on this unwanted situation.

Not only does he have to come to terms with the fact that Angela won’t be here anymore, he has to deal with the new hire.

He doesn’t want to meet her.

If Angela’s not enough for this, then who did they get to replace her? If 20 years worth of work isn’t good enough, the new “girl” has to be old enough to be her grandma. And he bets she’s one of those stuck up mua’s that stay quiet for two hours and look at you like a project, like you’re a canvas, not a human being. God he really didn’t want to meet her.

No one can compare to Angela. She was real to him, she treated him like he was normal. Plus, he really did see her as a parental figure, and God knows he doesn’t have much of those. But well, as it’s been shown time and time again, everyone leaves him, so what’s one more?

Actually no, that’s not true. Robin’s there, as always. She now has the title “manager” added to “best friend” but honestly, nothing’s changed. She’s always wanted the best for him and held him accountable at the same time, so he couldn’t have imagined someone better for the job.

The kids, Nancy and Jonathan are there too, but he hasn’t really seen them in a long time, and they call as much as they can but it’s not that much. Not that he blames them, they all have their own lives.

He thought making friends in Hollywood would be easier, a fresh start, but its the absolute worst. Not only are the friendships fake and shallow, they have a shelf life of 2 months tops. They adore you and tell you what you wanna hear, and the minute they find their next new shiny friend, you’re out. So he has to admit, he feels pretty lonely.

“Goddamit Steve, I’m not your nanny!” Robin marches into his trailer, walking up to him and yanking him up so he stands up “You were supposed to be in the makeup trailer 30 minutes ago! And that tiny short-tempered producer has been blowing up my ear for 10 minutes straight, so you either go out there or I’ll have to kick his minuscule ass and you’ll face the consequences cause-“

“Ok!ok! I’ll go!” Steve raises his hands, trying to calm her down “i didn’t notice I’d been here so long, I’m sorry.”

Her shoulders slump down and she sighs “It’s ok dingus, I’m sure you’re stressed with all your start-of-the-season shit. Go do your magic and we’ll order takeout tonight, alright?” She gives him a soft smile.

They’ve been roommates for years. It’s been a long time since they’ve passed the point of affording their own place, but L.A. is lonely, so having company at the end of the day is nice.

“Ok. Although I’m not sure if you need that more than I do.” Steve laughs and raises his eyebrows playfully.

“Sure, sure, whatever. Go get your makeup done princess” she ushers him away, pushing him out of his own trailer and shutting the door on his face.

…

When Robin said he was late to makeup, she really wasn’t lying. The trailer was almost empty at that point. A girl was sitting in one of the chairs, but apart from her, completely empty.

He’d never seen that girl before but he’d been told there were new characters this season, so she must be one of them. She’s pretty and around his age, maybe a love interest. She’s also on her phone so she must be waiting for this new makeup artist too.

Who’s nowhere to be seen apparently.

“Not very professional is she?” He jokes, sitting a couple chairs away from her and taking off his jacket.

She jumps a little, obviously not expecting him. Immediately she turns off her phone and tucks it in her jean pocket, looking at him very confused “Sorry?”

He points behind them, where no one is “The new makeup girl, or woman, I guess. Not very professional to be absent on her first day.”

She frowns “Actually-“

“But what do I know? The big guys hired her. She’s probably sucking up to them, figuratively or literally, cause she must be sleeping with one of them to make them fire Angela. She was the best, really, if you’d met her you’d love her. But she’s gone, so we’ll make do with whoever this is, if she shows up that is.” He shrugs, getting comfortable on the chair.

“Unbelievable.” she scoffs.

“Right?” Steve smiles. At last, someone who gets his indignation. It doesn’t hurt that she’s hot, but really, he needed a friend here.

Maybe this is the subject they relate to, and because of this mutual annoyance they end up with a beautiful friendship. Or something more. He hasn’t had action in a while.

You know what they say, nothing brings people closer than a common enemy.

He glimpses through the mirror the new plaque on the wall behind him, reading it out loud. “Wow, even her name sounds pretentious.” He looks at her with a smirk “I’m Steve by the way, what’s your name?”

————————————————————————

Frankie, the older black woman who introduced herself earlier as the hair magician, shouts your name before opening the door to the trailer “Hi honey, I don’t wanna rush you but he has to be ready in 5 minutes.” She nods to Steve.

“It’s alright, tell Erik I’ll be quick.” You pick up your face palette and start mixing shades to get Steve’s color.

Steve fucking Harrington. Who with a quick glance, you can see is shocked to learn you’re the woman he’s been shit-talking about. What an asshole.

You were actually excited to work with him. He was your favorite character in the show and after watching some of the cast’s interviews, you kinda became his fan.

Not anymore.

“Wait. You’re-“ He frowns, trying to understand just how bad he’s fucked up.

“The slut who’s sucked off her way here? In the flesh” You give him a sarcastic smile, before dropping it completely and turning his chair around, facing you.

“I- I thought…”

You start applying light concealer on the reddening areas of his face, not including the blush he’s now sporting. “That I wasn’t her? No shit.”

You continue working under his eyes, making him avoid staring at you.

“You could’ve told me.” he mutters, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I tried, you were pretty passionate on the subject.”

You thank whoever made the schedule for filming a natural look today, because if you spend much more time with him alone, you can’t promise he’ll come out alive. And it’s not a good look for your first day of work.

He looks down apologetically, feeling guilty for his words in the heat of the moment “Look… I’m sorry for saying what I said, I’m having a really-“

“Shut up.” you cut him off.

He looks taken aback, frowning and looking up to stare at you “Excuse me?”

“Stop talking, I’m trying to do my job.” You mutter nonchalantly, giving him the last touches under his lower lip.

He’s still processing, a disoriented look taking over his face, cause there’s no way someone’s talked to him that way, not after he became who he is now at least.

You put all the makeup back in its place and turn around to face him one last time, “There you go Mona Lisa, you can leave now.” You clap his cheek a couple times without applying pressure, just to piss him off, and point to the door behind him.

He’s still speechless when he leaves the trailer, and when he finishes shooting, and even that night at home, with a slice of greasy pizza between his teeth, he can’t seem to shake off the way you acted, the way you talked to him. It’s like you couldn’t care less about him.

It infuriates him.

It infuriates him so much he spends all night tossing and turning, thinking about you. Cause if you want to play like this, then game on, you have no idea what you started.

[tightjeansjavi]

honey pot 🍯

A/N: so after watching a very ✨spicy✨ video, I came up with this deliciously filthy idea of neighbor!joel becoming your fuck buddy. The only problem? You have a boyfriend already 🤭 just a disclaimer, I do not condone cheating and this fic might not be for everyone, and that’s okay!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: you’ve been fucking your hot neighbor, Joel Miller, all summer without your boyfriend finding out until you end up faking an orgasm with him. You tell Joel that you can no longer see him, and he comes up with a solution that works for the both of you.

pairing | hot neighbor!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut, age gap (Joel is 36 reader is 25) infidelity/cheating (done to the readers bf) dom/sub, daddy kink, unprotected piv, praise kink, pet names: baby, angel, sweetness, petal, fluff, consent, some angst??pussy play, we can’t fuck, but we can do other things! Joel is a real good filthy talker, reader and Joel are down bad for one another, helping hand vibes, fwb/fuck buddy, smut with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions but keeps her genitalia groomed, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

You had been fucking your ridiculous, sinfully hot neighbor for the entirety of the summer. It started off as some innocent nonchalant flirting that you thought was harmless. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wouldn’t harm him, right? Besides, you were feeling deeply neglected in your current relationship. The honeymoon phase had worn off, and you were feeling frustrated and lonely on most nights. Guess football and guys night held a higher importance than his relationship with you. Well, so be it then. You could play the good little girlfriend that your boyfriend wanted you to be..and still have your cake and eat it.

That’s why falling head over heels for your neighbor Joel Miller was as easy as sliced pie. It was early June when you found a bouquet of fresh wildflowers on your front porch step with a note attached to one of the stems. It read, ‘Out of all the flowers in the patch, you are by far the prettiest petal.’ -J.M

So, he was hot and poetic? What more could you really want?

It was the following Friday that Joel finally got the courage to show up on your front step. He barely was able to ask you if you’d like to come over for dinner that evening when you blurted out an enthusiastic ‘yes!’

Joel was hot, poetic, and he could fucking cook? Yeah, you were positively screwed in the best way possible. Not only could he cook, but he actually showed interest in you. Your hobbies, your likes and dislikes, and for the first time in months, you actually felt like you were being appreciated.

So, it came as no surprise that after you both indulged his cooking skills, that you proceeded to let him ravage you on the table. Yours and his clothes were practically shredded to the floor as he kissed and licked every inch of your skin like a man starved. He made you cum more times in that evening than you thought was even possible, and my god, his cock? Jesus christ, you’re getting wet all over again just thinking about how it felt like he was splitting you in two, filling you to the fucking brim as you cried out his name and begged for more. Faster, harder, oh please, daddy, don’t stop!

“Yeah? You want more of daddy’s cock? S’that what you want?” He nearly purred as his sweat stained curls lightly tickled your forehead. His eyes were glued to the spot where your bodies were connected. He sucked in a harsh breath as his vision glazed over at the sight of your pretty little pussy tugging his cock right back in with each of his heavy thrusts.

“See the way your pussy is huggin’ my cock so tight? Pullin’ me right back in? Look how fuckin’ pretty she is, baby. Think she is the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in my entire life. She’s all mine, right? C’mon, my petal, I needa hear ya say it.” His nostrils flared as he licked hungrily into your mouth. He was consuming every last bit of you, and you were enjoying every minute of it.

“Yours, daddy! All yours.” You whined as your walls clenched down like a tight fist around his cock.

All good things must come to an end unfortunately, and your little fantasy that had been fulfilled every evening that summer, was going to have to end. That stupid boyfriend of yours was beginning to catch on ever since he caught you faking an orgasm the last time you and him had sex. Oops?

It physically pained you to even think about cutting ties with Joel. He was unconditionally good to you. All he asked for was your company. He didn’t need to ask; it was already his.

The leaves were beginning to change with the seasons as fall was approaching on the horizon. It was nearing five in the evening when you heard the all too familiar sound of Joel’s truck tires grinding over the cement. His driver side door swung shut as his footsteps neared your front steps. He was home from work, and immediately he wanted to see you. Nothing else mattered to him except seeing your pretty face.

You were pacing nervously in the front hallway as you went over the exact words you were going to tell him. We can be friends, right? Right. After you’ve spent months in his sheets, and he in yours, you’re just going to be friends? Fat chance.

You were torn from your thoughts at the sound of his knuckles rapping lightly on your front door as you wringed your hands together, taking a few deep breaths before you grasped the door handle in your palm and pulled it open.

“Hey, baby. Lookin’ gorgeous as usual.” Your fuck buddy drawled with that low, deep, texas twang of his as he leaned his elbow right up against the doorjamb.

Oh, fuck. You could feel a gush between your thighs just from the way he was leaning against your damn door.

Stay strong. Don’t fold. Don’t fold. Don’t–

“S’matter, baby? Everything’ all good n’that pretty head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side as a frown slowly spread across his lips when he saw your eyes suddenly grow glassy as a stray tear wobbled down your cheek.

“Baby–” He started, but you cut him off.

“We can’t fuck anymore, Joel.” You painfully muttered as his hand reached out to warmly cup your face while his thumb lightly brushed away your tear.

“Baby, what’s goin’ on? Somethin’ happen?” He sounded genuinely concerned as more tears began to fall and land on his bronzed skin.

“It’s my boyfriend,” You sniffled solemnly. “He knows, Joel.” Your misty dewdrop eyes met his calm gaze as he let out a soft breath between his parted lips.

“Oh, baby..I'm so sorry. I thought we were bein–’”

“Careful? Yeah, I did too.”

“How does he know?..”

“I faked an orgasm with him the last time we had sex which I think it was a week ago? Well, he grew suspicious after that. I’m so sorry, Joel. I never meant for things to get this messy.” You truly did feel awful for dragging Joel into all of this, and you never had the intention to hurt him.

“Baby, s’alright. Y’know what ain't alright? That stupid boyfriend of yours still not knowing how to treat his fuckin’ girl right. You’d think by now the guy would have some idea of how he should be treating you.” Joel held in a scoff as his hand that wasn’t presently caressing your cheek, dropped down to your waist as he pulled you in close. “I..guess this is goodbye then?”

“I don’t want it to be.” You murmured softly as you leaned into his comforting touch along your needy skin.

“Baby, y’know..it doesn’t have to be a goodbye then.” The gears in his brain were already beginning to twist and turn as he thought of a viable solution to your little problem.

“What do you mean? Joel, i’m serious, we can’t fuck anymore.”

“Sweetness, I know we can’t, and I respect that. I’ll never put my dick inside of ya again, unless you ask. But, I do think I have a solution for our little problem.”

Your pupils nearly doubled in size as the tip of his thumb dragged down across your lower lip as he tugged the soft flesh gently. His eyes bore deeply into yours as your thighs subconsciously rubbed together to relieve the building tension that was growing in the pit of your stomach.

“What is your solution, Joel? I’m all ears.”

“Well, first, I was hopin’ I could get a kiss. Been thinkin’ about these pretty lips and how badly I wanna kiss ‘em the second I walked through that door.” He rasped warmly.

Your immediate reaction was to loop your arms around his neck and close the smidge of a gap between the two of you before firmly pressing your lips against his. You licked into one another’s mouth with the same amount of passion. You could taste a morsel of tobacco along his tongue; must have bummed a smoke off of Tommy, as his hand that was wrapped firmly around your waist, slowly drifted down as he grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek. A surprise squeak slipped past your lips as your tongues tangled.

“So, we can’t fuck, but there’s somethin’ else we can do..” He trailed off as he slowly detached his lips from yours. A string of saliva was visible between your once linked lips.

“You are not fucking sticking your dick up my ass. Don’t even think about it.”

He stifled a chuckle before stealing one more quick kiss. “Baby, I wasn’t thinkin’ about stickin’ my dick up your ass. I promise. I had somethin’ else in mind. Can I show you what I'm talkin’ about?”

You were weary at first, because what could he possibly have in mind? Going down on you? Okay, sure. You certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just say it?

“Okay, I want you to show me what you’re talking about.” You agreed.

“Good girl. I promise this will be worth your while baby.” He pressed a tender kiss to your temple before he reached for your hand. Your fingers interlaced as he proceeded to lead you up the stairs to your bedroom. Your panties were undeniably soaked at this point, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Go’n sit on the bed for me, darlin.’” He spoke firmly, yet softly as you padded over to your bed and slowly sunk down along the comforter.

“Now, sweetness, before you start worryin’ your pretty little mind about that silly boyfriend of yours, I promise that he won’t know about this.”

You dumbly nodded as you crossed one leg over the other, awaiting his next request.

“I trust you, daddy.” You softly cooed.

“Good girl. Now, I want you to take your pants off for me, baby.”

You wasted no time to pop the button off your jeans as you dragged the zipper down. You started shimmying the denim fabric down your thighs and legs, but before you could even grasp the band of your panties, he was stopping you.

“No, no, Angel. Jus’ your pants. Keep your panties on.”

Why was that so hot.

You slipped your thumbs out from under the thin elastic band of your panties before you kicked your jeans to the side. Your mouth began to water the moment you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle clinking open.

“Good girl. Now, I jus’ want you to lay your pretty ass on the comforter. Spread your thighs a little, but not too much.”

You could feel the wet patch pooling through the thin fabric of your panties as you slowly leaned back on your elbows along the comforter and spread your thighs just enough that he could fit between them.

Your pussy pulsed inwards the second your eyes landed on his bare cock that was hanging out of the opening in his jeans. You nearly drooled as he swiped his thumb across his ruddy weeping tip that had a bead of pre-cum drooling from the small slit. He twisted his wrist a couple times before he slowly approached you.

His lips curved upwards in a sly grin when he saw the cock-dumb look on your pretty face. You took your lower lip harshly between your teeth when you felt the rough skin of his thumb brush across your covered aching clit as he gently rubbed the swollen nub in tight expert circles. His freehand was still wrapped around the base of hs cock as he watched your face twist into pleasure.

“Y’know, it makes me so fuckin’ mad that you ain’t bein’ treated right. The only weepin’ you and your pretty pussy should be doin’ is the good kind. Y’got literal honey drippin’ between your thighs, darlin.’ He oughta start worshipin’ you sooner, before someone else ends up doin’ it for him.” He tsked under his breath.

“Joel,” You whimpered wantonly.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m gonna respect your wishes n’not fuck you, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t make ya feel good. I’ll always take care of you, angel. No silly boyfriend of yours can stop me from treatin’ you right.” He murmured as he dragged his thumb down to the inside of your panties. He gently hooked his thumb around the damp fabric before he pulled it to the side. His mouth went dry at the sight of your glistening, puffy, needy little pussy. When it came to women, he didn’t mind their choices to never shave, or to just trim, or to completely go bare. He loved their pussies regardless of how they were groomed, or their natural appearance. They were all beautiful in his eyes, and deserved to be worshiped. But, he couldn’t deny how fucking pretty yours was, and how your slickness clung to the fabric of your panties like glue made his cock twitch in his palm.

He could bite his fist right then and there, but he had a job to complete.

“So pretty, baby. Prettiest little pussy. G’nna take extra good care of her now, okay?”

“Thank you, daddy.” you spoke above a whisper as he slowly slid the tip of his cock underneath your panties. You could feel the slick coolness of his pre-cum sliding across your folds as he rolled his hips forward. A deep grunt rumbled up his chest as he nudged your clit.

“You’re welcome, baby. Y’jus’ sit back and enjoy yourself, okay? Daddy is gonna do all the work for ya.” He promised you with a chaste kiss to your swollen lips as his hands came to rest along your thighs.

Now you fully understood what Joel meant by his solution to not fucking you. Christ, this was almost better than the feeling of his cock splitting you open. How lucky you were to have a man treat you like a princess.

“Oh, fuck.” You mewled as he thrust his hips faster, mimicking the same movements as if he was fucking you. “That feels so good, daddy.”

“Mhmm. I know it does, baby. I told you this would be worth your while.” He took his own lip between his teeth as he focused on the rhythm of his thrusts.

“This is almost better than fucking, almost.” You softly moaned as he increased his pace. Your hands found his as your orgasm slowly began to build.

“Nothin’ is better than fuckin’, Angel. Jus’ so lucky to make you feel good one last time. You’re doin’ so good for me, baby. I want you to cum, okay? I want to see you ruin those pretty little panties.” He urged you praisingly as the tip of his cock continuously bumped against your clit.

He was playing your pussy 100x better than your boyfriend ever could as you reveled in the pure pleasurable feeling one last time.

It didn’t take you long to reach your high as Joel’s hips stuttered forward as he spilled his hot seed right between your slick folds. He slowly slipped his cock out from underneath your ruined panties. He pressed soft kisses to your face, a playful nibble to the tip of your nose before his lips found yours in a searing kiss.

“Better take these for safe keepin’ so your boyfriend doesn’t know I was here.” He stated with a snicker as he gently slipped your soaked panties down your thighs. “I’ll getcha a fresh pair, okay, sweetness?”

Just as he was about to get up from your bed, your hand encased around his wrist, caging him in your grasp momentarily. “Wait, Joel?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Maybe..this won’t be the last time?..”

“Baby..”

“I want you, and if that means I have to break up with my stupid boyfriend? Then so be it. I’ll break up with him.”

“Angel, are you absolutely sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes. i’ll call him up as soon as you finish fucking me, and i’ll tell him that it’s over.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips as he situated himself between your thighs once more. “Well, I guess you won’t be needin’ a fresh pair of panties after all, huh baby?” He teased.

“Nope. Not while you’re around, Daddy.”

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[anneapocalypse]

On Wuk Lamat, and Female Characters in FFXIV

The Thing with Wuk Lamat is you can tell me you think she had too much screentime; you can give me numbers on how many lines she had or how many scenes she's in relative to other characters or other expacs; you can prove to me "objectively" that she gets more focus than other main NPCs; you're simply not going to convince me that this is something I should be unhappy about. And not just because it's silly to think you can use numbers to prove a story is good or bad and make someone else go, "Wow, you're right, let me just throw away all the joy I experienced with this story and revise my opinion because you've scientifically proven to me that I'm wrong."

Because while I love Final Fantasy XIV and I have greatly enjoyed its story in so many ways, fundamentally one of my biggest beefs with this game has been how much female characters have been denied complex character arcs and growth and agency and interiority.

Minfilia gets treated as a sacrificial vessel who lives for everyone but herself and doesn't even get to have feelings about her own death because that entire arc is focused on a male character's angst about it instead. The game tells us in the Heavensward patches that Krile sees Minfilia as her best friend and then just forgets about that later and never follows up on what that loss must have meant to her. Ysayle is basically right about most of what she's fighting for but harboring a bit of self-delusion is apparently such a terrible sin that she has to pay for it with her life, while her male foil is deemed so worthy of salvation that there's a whole plot point about how important it is that we risk our lives and others' lives to save him. Y'shtola is a major character who's been around since the beginning, and the game keeps dropping maddeningly interesting things about her (apprenticed to a cranky old witch in a cave! saved her own life and the lives of her friends with an illegal and dangerous spell and it worked! reserved and undemonstrative yet regularly through her actions reveals herself to be deeply caring! disabled!) and then shows complete disinterest in following up on any of those things with the kind of depth and care shown to male characters with complex arcs like Urianger.

In general there is also a repeated thread of female characters being portrayed as weak or overly emotional: Minfilia is weak because she doesn't fight and needs to be eaten by a god in order to gain "a strength long sought." Krile is portrayed as not being able to pull her weight with the Scions (despite the fact that she actively keeps five of them from dying in Shadowbringers) and the only thing they could think of for her to do in Endwalker was be yet another vessel for Hydaelyn (hmm, that sounds familiar) and it's not until Dawntrail that she gets much actual character development in the main story and even that has to come alongside "Look, she can fight now so that means she's useful." (And I love Picto!Krile, I'm just saying, there's a pattern.) Alisaie, despite having very good reasons for needing to find her own path apart from her brother, is portrayed as having to prove herself when she returns, that she's "not the girl she once was," and "will not be a burden" (while Alphinaud is repeatedly given the benefit of the doubt and reassurance and affirmation from other characters even after he takes on responsibilities he isn't ready for and fucks up big time).

And if you follow me you know I adore Urianger, and I love Alphinaud and Thancred and Estinien too, so please don't misunderstand what I'm saying here! I'm not knocking those characters, or saying we shouldn't also love them. I just use them as a comparison to demonstrate how the female characters have been neglected.

Lyse has some of the stronger character development among the female Scions, and while she's still kind of portrayed as being too emotional and hotheaded in early Stormblood, I think it's actually explored in more depth in a way that I like; Lyse has good reasons for wanting to fight for her nation's freedom, but having been away from Ala Mhigo for several years now, she needs to understand the stakes for the people who've been there fighting for years, what they've lost and still have to lose. She grows as a person and rises to the challenge of leadership, and I'm even okay with the fact that she leaves the Scions afterward because it feels right for her to stay in Ala Mhigo, and at least she doesn't die.

And by all accounts she was, like Wuk Lamat, widely hated when her expansion came out.

Unironically I think the other female Scion with the strongest character arc is Tataru. She tries to take up a combat job, finds that it's not for her, and decides to focus on where her strengths are instead. In doing so, she both holds the Scions together as an organization in the absence of a leader by capably managing their finances, and also comes into her own as a businesswoman and makes international connections that benefit both the Scions and her personally. In contrast to Minfilia, she's not portrayed as weak because she doesn't fight, and is actually allowed to be an important character who's good for more than being sacrificed. Tataru is still distinctly in a supporting role for the player character, however, and her character arc happens as a side story that takes up a relatively small amount of screentime over several expansions, which I think is probably why she doesn't evoke such a negative reaction.

But there is a pattern of the game's writing showing disinterest in the interior lives of female characters generally, and in making their growth the focus of a story.

So yeah, I'm going to be happy about Wuk Lamat! I'm going to enjoy and celebrate every moment of her character arc, of her personal growth, of watching her put the lessons she's learned into action. I'm going to love and treasure every moment when she gets to be silly, embarrassing, emotional, scared, grieving, confused, upset, seasick, impulsive, and still deemed worthy of growing into a hero and a leader. I will love her with all of my soul and you simply will not convince me that it wasn't worth the screentime after such a profound imbalance for basically the entirety of the game. We've never had a major female character get such a strong arc with this much love and attention put into it and that means more to me than I can truly say. The backlash to it is disheartening, as this kind of thing always is, but I'm not going to let it ruin the wonderful experience I had playing it and how much joy it continues to bring me.

And for those of you who don't want any of that for a female character, thank goodness you have Heavensward and Shadowbringers and Endwalker and no one can take those away from you.

(And if you follow me you know that I love Shadowbringers and Endwalker and have very fond memories of Heavensward despite some issues with it, so not only can I not take that from you, I am not trying to!)

Some of us have been real hungry for a character like this with an arc like this, so, I think, y'know, maybe we can have that. As a treat.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

please tell me this manga/comic/show exists i do not wanna have to make it

okok I've posted about this before but I'm watching animation content on youtube again while getting work done and by GOD I WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS AGAIN

There's a specific concept I want to consume as content/art so badly but it came to me in a stupid dream. BUT. Sometimes, a dream means I DID see a hint of it somewhere and my brain accidentally plagiarized it which provides me with the teensiest sliver of hope that exists already and I don't have to work on it

It's a kind of a reverse isekai, right? But instead of an instant portal, it's time passing. And what I mean by that is that it's a Sun Wukong story, but the branch off is that after the main events of Journey to the West he gets either water temple'd or trapped in magic sleep again, not for a few hundred years but a few THOUSAND.

He wakes up to an incredibly far-flung China that remembers his myth and only his myth.

The art style that operated in this dream was sort of. Textured but 3D? Think nimona's buttery lighting but instead of emphasis on light and shapes to operate with the stained glass and solarpunk-medieval style the models are textured in a way that just invokes traditional brushwork and colour bleed even in a more cyberpunkish setting. Think like. Whenever there's a night scene the astigmatism glow of lamplight bleeds a little, like ink feathering on paper.

It's a little bit of a Steve Rogers treatment in a way, the world has moved past him, but also completely mythologized and capitalized on that mythology. Rather than treat that man out of time narrative as an aspect of backstory, it's the MAIN character narrative, because this ISN'T a world that needs him. This world is doing pretty okay, actually.

This a story about him.

Not about his feats or how cool his powers are or the 8 gajillion things the magic staff can do but just.

How ya doing, bud?

From the vaguely coherent notes that I could garner from my sleepily typed googledoc, it seems that I wanted this to be a love letter of sorts to the Asian diaspora experience? A specific sort of loneliness? Where the world you experience has a sort of disconnect in that it makes plain you belong there but you also don't, you never have, and there's no way to go "back" but going forward feels like groping blind through the muck. How much right to the past does he feel like he has? When it's been built into something he can't recognize and is clearly important to other people.

I want the pickup of the plot to gain him friends, family, maybe even a conflict or two but the stakes should never elevate vis a vis physical enemies to battle.

It'd be about 2/3 of this sort of narrative drawn story and the other 1/3 just hogwild worldbuilding and design

I've looked at a few other journey to the west adaptations but they mainly just use him as a funky lil action figure hero that's there to be cool as hell and save the day

99% likely this is just a thing my brain is made up and I'd need a several million budget and about 25 additional skills to start the ball rolling but hey, worth it to ask yall again

[the-oracles-codex-if]

As a kalalav (death flower) harvester, you live and work in the holy land of Duutrepia. You've known nothing else since birth. The merciless disease's agonizing grip, your burning rage, and the crimson flowers—all share a grim connection. You don't know what freedom means. Will you ever get the chance to become your own person? But what will happen when the Abyss Forged descend? Cruel, demon-like creatures who have intelligence. This speaks of trouble for you and the other elves. They talk about the rightful gods, who will soon return and rule over the realm of Sar'saris.

The IF will discuss the following topics and a few others that some players may find uncomfortable. Please read at your own risk. ➤ Slavery ➤ Pregnancy ➤ Hunger ➤ Mental, physical, and emotional abuse ➤ Familial issues ➤ Blood ➤ Gore ➤ Anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts ➤ Deaths ➤ Animal deaths ➤ Child deaths ➤ Religious themes ➤ An oppressive atmosphere (especially in the starting chapters) ➤ Lack of freedom and detailed mentions of dominance assertion

You can choose your MC's: ➤ Gender (Female/Male) ➤ Eye colour ➤ Skin colour ➤ Hair colour, hair length, and hair type. ➤ Height ➤ Outfit ➤ Main Path (Rage/Compassion) ➤ Religious Belief (Believer/Disbeliever) ➤ Relationship Path (Shy/Flirty) Note: There are a few hidden stats that don't show in the stats menu, but they will affect the game's plot mildly and majorly.

YLVERAS/YLVERA CAISYS: The famed dragon rider hailing from Duutrepia. Composed and genuine. Though quiet, their eyes speak volumes. They burn with an intensity of untamed fire. What a curious individual. IMRAI/IMRA RORA: The descendant of a long line of oracles. Though when one first sees them, it's quite difficult to believe that fact. Charming and flirtatious. However, their actions don't match their words sometimes. What is their actual goal in life? KATRYK/KATIR GRERA: The leader of the association. They desire nothing more than power, fame, and money. Confident and goal-oriented. However, their expression sometimes tells a different story. They require something else, something different. SYV/SYVI WYNDI: The exiled noble from Hishuy. They observe from the shadows and don't seem too fond of forming relations with others. Haughty and introverted. The scar on their porcelain face tells a painful story.

A few notable side characters are: ELANIL ARAVBI: Your mother and a gifted healer. She's kind, caring, and adores you more than anything and anyone in this world. But your beloved guardian is hiding a secret, one she isn't ready to tell you yet. NALAEA EKRAS: The esteemed alchemist from Neptule. She's playful and incredibly smart. Nalaea dreams big and has many hopes for herself. You wonder just how many of those will come true for her. THEDOMAR ALTRIS: The fearless gunslinger and Nalaea's partner. He's always seen walking around with a self-assured grin and looks like nothing in this world will ever shake him. NUUVIAN NORVAN: The sarcastic yet talented healer. His witty nature and sharp tongue make up for his short height. Nuuvian takes pride in his ability. You can drop the fear of dying when he's there.

➤ PATREON • MONTHLY PROGRESS REPORTS

[aihoshiino]

chapter 166 thoughts

As of chapter 166, Oshi no Ko has finished a roughly four-and-a-half year run started back in 2020. While there's some speculation about an epilogue or some extra content in volume 16 when it drops, this is where the main story ends. And you know what that means!!!

OSHI NO KO HAS OFFICIALLY ENDED WITHOUT ADDRESSING OR ACKNOWLEDGING THE FACT THAT RUBY KISSED HER BROTHER IN CHAPTER 143

please understand that this is FUCKING BOGUS

I'll probably do a longer post on this subject specifically, but my main critique of 143 when the chapter dropped was that while I liked the individual beats in it and I was really glad to see Akasaka finally addressing this tension bubbling underneath Aqua and Ruby's relationship, the immediate swerve away from showing us the aftermath of that kiss felt to me like an admission that the story was going to needlessly draw this out even more. Now that the story has ended and we can see that moment had literally no impact on the plot or even the character dynamics, I'd like to revise that statement - it feels like an admission of compromise. It feels like crumbs thrown to AquRuby fans to tempt them to keep reading and to stir up the waters of the ship wars, so people would keep reading and stay invested in the manga right to the very end. But most of all, it feels deeply disrespectful to both Aqua and Ruby as characters. Rather than exploring their feelings and giving both of them interiority and complexity in relation to incest or even just fucking acknowledging that the kiss had happened and letting their dynamic evolve, the series just memory holes the entire event and asks that you do too. Rather than letting Ruby have any development whatsoever as pertains to that relationship or, god forbid, let a female character move on romantically from the male lead, the series ends with her feelings so up in the air that I literally could not tell you what she thinks of Aqua by the time he dies.

ANYWAY… FINAL CHAPTER. BREATHES OUT VERY HARD.

I really can't believe it's taken us until the final chapter to actually deal with Ruby's grief over Aqua lol. We got a snippet of it last chapter but it was so brief that it really just felt like a tease. I also just think it's kind of bizarre that we're spending this little time on Ruby having feelings about Aqua's death to the extent that I have no idea how or when she found out about it.

It's also kind of hard to feel particularly strongly about Ruby's grief when the chapter doesn't really bother to explore it all that much. It's just a montage of Ruby quite literally Screaming, Crying and Throwing Up while Akane dispassionately narrates it all. The art also doesn't really help in terms of connecting with the emotions at play - I usually really like Mengo's expression work and the way she depicts extreme emotions but this all just felt like of… I don't know how else to put it. Goofy??? Is that an insane thing to say about Ruby grieving her brother???

Idk, something about both the panelling and just the extreme on-the-noseness of Ruby, again, literally Screaming, Crying Throwing Up while she's wearing a Burning cosplay Just In Case You, The Audience, Didn't Get It only for her to abruptly be done crying with no exploration or insight as to what's going on in her head that allows her to move forward.

Honestly, this is kind of the issue with everyone in the cast. The resolution is just sort of "Aqua died and we were sad about it but then we stopped being sad". I know what the story is trying to go for here - it's trying to express that even when you're in pain, life goes on and so you have to find a way to go on with it. But the result is that we spend all this time oogling at their pain without spending equivalent or even meaningful time on their recovery process.

It feels both excessive and undercooked at the same time and I'm left with the same icky, voyeuristic feeling I got from Aqua's funeral last chapter. This should be the point in the story at which we empathize with Ruby the most, but she remains a frustratingly distant figure right to the final pages. Part of this is an unfortunate consequence of Akane's narration directing these final chapters meaning that we're hearing about Ruby from an outsider's perspective and thus don't really see what's going on in her head… but if I can be frank, this has been an issue of Aka's with Ruby in particular basically nonstop since chapter 123.

As others & myself have noted, despite the absolutely catastrophic downward spiral Ruby is in at that point, Aqua revealing himself as Gorou basically flips it all off like a switch. There's some mild lipservice paid to the idea that Ruby is just using her dependency on Gorou to prop herself up and it's pointed out that the issues that contributed to her breakdown haven't actually been resolved - but none of these issues are ever even acknowledged again, let alone resolved. So, functionally, that reveal does fix all Ruby's problems in the space of a single chapter and the result is, again, that we spend multiple chapters gourging on depictions of Ruby's absolute rock bottom only for her to ping back to normal like a lightswitch. As such, the depictions of her pain feel less like explorations of Ruby's interiority and more like voyeuristic oogling at Ruby's misery and trauma and the effect is that the resolution to it all is both unsatisfying and a little gross. The result is that it feels like Akasaka is just indulgently mining the imagery of cute girls suffering because it causes simple thoughts neuron activation but doesn't respect these girls enough as characters to build them back up.

It doesn't help that this is basically the in-universe excuse for Ruby's career further skyrocketing. Instead of Ruby becoming a star on her own merits as the story keeps insisting she was supposed to, she's artificially buoyed by the public's morbid fascination with her tragedy. If I was feeling charitable towards the story right now, I would say this is an avenue of intentional critique but… well, I don't feel super charitable about the story right now lol

I WILL say that the one part of this chapter I did just uncomplicatedly like was the beat of Mem trying to suspend activities (presumably in the wake of her grief for Aqua) only for Kana to basically immediately explode into her room and help her get back on her feet. It's a beat that would've been much more effective if we'd, you know, seen it, but I otherwise enjoyed it and I thought it was sweet.

But. pbbbbtttt. I guess I can't talk around it any longer… let's get into the Dome concert.

To start things off on the immediately worst note possible, Akane describes Ruby performing at the Dome as being 'everyone's dream', including Aqua's. I'm reminded once again of the strange turn the story took in insisting that um, actually, performing at the Dome was totes Ai's dream all along (even though she literally didn't give a shit even a week before she was due to perform there herself) so Ruby performing there is fulfilling that dream for her!!! and I can't help but wonder if this abrupt shift in focus is an attempt to make readers forget what Ai's actual dream was - to see her beloved children grow up happy and healthy. Hell, it wasn't even really Aqua's dream, until the story suddenly had to try and convince us that his entire purpose for existence was to kill himself so Ruby could be an idol for slightly longer than she would've otherwise. The only people whose dreams she's textually fulfilling are Ichigo and Miyako and Ruby herself, but…

Honestly, is this really Ruby's dream anymore?

Who is Hoshino Ruby? What does she want? Why does she want it? These should be the very least of what we can concretely say about not only a protagonist but a character who has become a central figure of the entire story as Ruby has, but with the way Oshi no Ko has warped and distorted her, I find myself increasingly unsure of what the story wants her to be or how I should answer those questions.What does Ruby feel about Aqua? Was she still in love with him? Had she moved on, romantically? Was she still waiting for a response to her confession? Did she finally realize it was probably kind of shitty to respond to her brother going "lowkey wanna kms" by sticking her tongue down his throat? I Guess We'll Never Know.

This extends to whatever the fuck Ruby's relationship with idols and being an idol is. Almost the entirety of Ruby's time in the story has been spent reiterating over and over that Ruby cannot just be an idol who imitates Ai and that to truly shine, she needs to step out of her mom's shadow and shine in her own way. Ruby even literally tells Kana in no uncertain terms in 137 - "I'll be a star in my own way. I won't be like Mama."

While this has always been the text of the story, as I've pointed out before, the actual art with which Ruby's idolhood depicts her basically just as Ai 2.0. It relies so heavily on mining the imagery of Ai's charisma and personality as an idol and using them as the measure of Ruby's success as an idol that Ruby essentially has no visual or conceptual identity of her own as an idol. She's just Ai, But Arbitrarily Better, For Reasons The Narrative Fails To Actually Establish But Hopes That You Just Accept Anyway. This was always kind of annoying, but now that friction seems to have been resolved by… just making her Ai 2.0, But Arbitrarily Better (etc, etc) in the text as well. The fact that we're given no further insight as to Ruby's feelings and continue to just have Akane Explain Ruby's Character Arc to the camera also doesn't help.

All this combines to make the Dome concert and the final few pages feel exceptionally cold in a way I really don't think was intended by Akasaka. Yes, that splash page was nice and flashy but… I just felt nothing. I have no idea if or why Ruby cares about this. And even though the Dome concert has been hyped up through the entire story as the peak of Ruby's achievements as an idol, I feel no sense of accomplishment in her finally being there - not just because her journey to it was basically sneezed at us across two panels, but because it just feels hollow as a victory lap for Ruby. Again, she feels so distant and abstracted as a character that I can't bring myself to feel very strongly about her good or bad.

I think the perfect encapsulation of this are the final four pages of the story. Ruby's words here are very clearly intended to be a callback to Ai's words to Gorou in chapter one but as @all-of-her-light pointed out in our initial discussions of the chapter, Ruby very much does not have an equivalent to Ai's conclusion that she nevertheless wants and values the opportunity to find personal happiness and fulfillment outside of being an idol. Are we supposed to believe that simply being an idol is all that Ruby needs to achieve a similar degree of happiness and fulfillment? Is there no more to her than that?

I've seen a lot of people interpret this ending as exceptionally bleak and, as usual, gleefully predicting Ruby's immanent suicide because her beloved oniichansensei isn't around but this is indulging in, if you'll allow me to be frank, some pretty transparently ship-motivated flanderization. Despite what certain sections of the fandom would like to believe, Aqua and Ruby's lives, past and current, have never revolved around each other to the exclusion of every other relationship in their life. Ruby has a massive support network of people who love and care for her and actively want her to get back on her feet. I can one hundred percent believe that she does not need Aqua in her life to be happy and content.

The issue is that we don't see enough of Ruby to understand that ourselves. Again, she has become such a distant figure with so little insight into what she's thinking and why that this ending is basically a Rorschach test in which you can interpret basically whatever the hell you want or assume because we have so little canon basis to support or debunk our assumptions.

and yes. don't think i didn't see them. it IS both grimly hilarious and weirdly tonally appropriate for this ending that ruby has a bunch of oshi goods of ai and aqua including their fucking autographs set up to say goodbye to every day.

AND…… WE'RE DONE!!! THAT'S OSHI NO KO, BABY!!!! well, technically, there's going to be a 20 page extra chapter in volume 16 but I don't see it being big or substantive enough to meaningfully change my feelings about the ending so… I guess we're leaving it here. Damn. Feels crazy to be done with it.

I'll probably do a bigger post down the line about my thoughts on the ending as a whole but in terms of just How This Chapter Made Me feel, I guess the word is just… meh! It's definitely not an ending I like and I think the execution is sloppy and rushed but I also just don't really have the energy to feel angry about it. Maybe that's sad in its own way but tbh… I still really love Oshi no Ko! I still find it engaging and I find the characters I enjoy rewarding to talk about. I like the artistry of the anime adaptation. I don't blame anybody else for being so turned off by this ending that they're done with the series but for me, I like what I like about OnK too much that this ending could retroactively ruin it for me. Whatever else happens with the OnK franchise, whatever directions the anime and live-action take, this will always be the series that gave me Ai and the Hoshino family and. look at me. look at what she's done to my brain. could I really ask for anything more than that?

That being said, I'm definitely not done with discussing the series! I have fics to write (including a VERY exciting large scale project lined up with some friends), my Ai analysis post to finish and I also want to do a re-read of the series and finish my anime rewatch. I'll be here to discuss Oshi no Ko as long as I have things to say about it and as long as you guys will have me! Despite how the series ended, I've had a genuinely wonderful experience in the fandom and I really don't want to let go of the little community we've built together just because the series is done. I'm Ai's fan for all eternity!!!

[oh-no-its-bird]

Look all I'm saying is that if I were going to make a minecraft movie.

Well, first off I'd put down the first person to even reccomend we do it in cgi. Not just because it looks objectively terrible and half of the magic and nostalgia factor of minecraft is in its texture but holy shit budget much??? You are literally looking at a situation where the cheaper option is also objectively the better option. What the fuck are you doing

But I mean, after that.

Second off, all my writers must watch popular smps and minecraft roleplays/let's plays to understand the "magic" of the game. That's how we're studying for this, not the game books or whatever. Those guys are clearly doing smthn right, and as the executive/writer who knows very little about mineraft that I am in this hypothetical scenario, I need to do my best to make money. And that means learning what people like about the game and community.

Maybe even bring on some popular (non controversial please god) smp writers for consulting. They literally make minecraft movies as their fucking job, they are the expert u need to consult

Story wise, you NEED to choose if you wanna play this straight or silly. I'm so sick of movies trying to be all emotional and "ohh this world is so beautiful,, if u could only understand,, woaa" with their epic sound track and dramatic lighting, but then the dialogue being ripped out of a stupid marvel knockoff trying too hard to be witty

Anyways. Give me a generic "kid has a hard life and uses [thing] to escape it but then their parent trashes [thing] to teach them a "lesson"" movie.

The thing is minecraft and this kid is totally in love with letsplays and smps and has a server with their online friends (get a sponsorship from discord for that good good film sponsorship money, have them play while in call)

The mom or dad or maybe both trash the kids computer for some reason (bad grades maybe or one of those shitty "you need to talk to us more!!! That computer is killing ur brain!!! You don't love us as much as you should and it's that damn games fault!!!" But like it's actually just a kid being a normal fucking kid and having normal fucking kid hobbies things and the parents are dicks)

They delete the minecraft world rip

Them boom, kid somehow gets stuck in the game

Switch to NON CGI FILMING IN MINECRAFT. If you really need to add your stupid shitty fucking cgi then at least make it look like an ACTUAL MINECRAFT ANIMATION holy shit

It'll save us so much money too

So main plot is this kid, being trapped in minecraft, actually falling through different minecraft servers.

We can have different cameos from popular smps and youtubers, get some old youtubers and gameplay in here too. Get fucking dantdm and the diamond minecarts og series with the lab thing, it'll make the old fans lose their fucking MINDS.

The youtubers themselves don't even have to show up, just shove the kid into settings that are clear references to smps and letsplays. Have them wander through Aphmau's OG minecraft diaries sets or Sundee's lucky block series

The best part is that as backdrops, you don't even have to fully commit to "you'll only get this/find this interesting if you know these guys" bc if your writing is good enough you can still make people care by just. Introducing it correctly. Don't present it as "Aphmau's old minecraft diaries series world" go "oh wow look st this cool village,, woah I wonder who built this ,," And have them interact with NPCs organically

Meanwhile the parents go into the game after the kid to bring them back and we do this whole world hopping adventure where the parents learn that,, minecraft can be fun? Actually?

They find the kid and the kid is like "nooo I'm having too much fun the real world SUCKS!!!" but then we do that "it's cool to have fun and indulge but you still need to be present in the real world and do real people things too in order to have that fun responsibly" where somehow the kid realizes that moderation is good for u.

Maybe they almost die in game fr fr? Every world they enter has its difficulty upped a little bit till they enter *gasp* a hardcore world (oh no)

So like the kid learns that you can't just lock yourself in the room and wish the world goes away while you play minecraft for 12 hours straight, and the parents learn that minecraft is cool and fun and can be a good outlet and outlets are important for adults and children alike. And also that they totally pulled a dick move and they need to try to understand their kid instead of just demanding the kid understands them

Somewhere along the way, the kid ends up in their friends server and the friends help to pull them out of the game w the parents

We end the movie with the kid making an effort to be more present with the parents, and the parents also making an effort to interact with the kid in ways that they know the kid will enjoy and respond well to— shown a family dinner scene where the kid very eagerly eats their food while talking about school, then they all go to play minecraft together

The end <3

Oh right and if you seriously want Jack Black there so fucking bad then make him either the dad or like. School computer teacher who helps the kid use Minecraft EU to learn science (shows off that some schools use minecraft for education purposes) who also helps the kids friends pull them and the parents out of the game

Overall, lots of themes not just about how the game is cool and can let you do cool shit, but also about how the community is cool, and how it's provided so many kids and adults outlets to express themselves and have fun together

That's how you do a game movie

Anyways yeah, minecraft movie looks shit. Hire me instead next time

[ariadnes-elixirs]

while i'm working on their actual stories....

fun facts about each of my yans!

characters: yan noble boy, yan neighbor, yan forgotten god

yandere noble boy (oliver)

struggles with people and social interaction

spends most of his time gardening and baking

has a habit of showing up unannounced to the isekaied reader's family estate

neither of your parents mind

in fact both your parents and his parents have been pushing y'all to get married

but he refuses an arranged marriage cause he wants you to fall in love with him organically

not afraid of manipulating you though

very wet cat vibe overall

he has long white hair usually tied with a red ribbon gifted to him from you when y'all were children

isekaied reader has no clue what story they were isekaied into cause both them and elliott are so far removed from the main plotline of the og story

they just kinda live in a neighboring kingdom allied with the empire where Main Plot happens

so reader has no magical advantage from knowing the plot ahead of time :)

probably the least dangerous out of everyone here

he's more of the devoted/obsessed/manipulative type

he would never want to get his dainty hands dirty unless he absolutely has to

does bury evidence of any crimes he commits underneath his flowerbeds though

but yeah he's a wet cat

definitely would try "rizzing" you up by going "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEE"

yandere neighbor (elliott)

he likes spicy food

his hair is naturally black, but he usually dyes it blue

he is an engineer that mostly works remotely from his apartment

is a prodigy, and usually works freelance cause no one can pay him enough to permanently keep him on staff

rich

overworks himself though

takes on too many jobs and sometimes forgets that he is a human being that needs to eat and sleep

but will scold you for overworking yourself

a natural caretaker

he wants to be depended on and loves taking care of people

and when he takes care of someone else he will usually end up trying to take care of himself to lead by example

so his love language (giving) is acts of service

but as you might expect (cause yandere) he is not afraid to create circumstances in which you would be forced to depend on him

he would never hurt you directly

if he does go after someone with the intent to kill, it'll only be a person that has made your life a living hell

then when they're gone he'll be that person you can talk to about it

but usually he just causes some problems with the wiring of some electronics in your apartment when he visits

and then waits like a schoolgirl on his bed kicking his feet up in the air until you call him and ask him to fix it

has the potential be to actually dangerous/threatening, but never to you

yandere forgotten god (cal)

was banished by the gods

has been stuck on his island for so long that he genuinely doesn't remember how long he's been there

loves and takes care of the animals on his island

particularly fond of birds

also a big plant person

loves growing plants and has them absolutely everywhere

they each have names and he will introduce you to all of them if you'd let him

really sweet but being alone for so long has warped his idea of love vs obsession

he's doing his best

literally no one else is around, so he isn't particularly jealous or concerned about someone stealing you from him

he is concerned about you leaving, though

so if you try to leave, he will come up with reasons for you to stay

will start with stuff like "oh there's going to be a storm later today" and later shift to more unsavory approaches

once again, never anything that physically harms you

but will go to other extreme lengths to make sure you never leave (or even want to leave)

he is a god so probably the most dangerous? but because of the situation that side would never really come out

because he would never directly hurt you or attempt to physically harm you

(kidnapping is on the table though if you are PERSISTENT about leaving + actively taking steps to leave + talking you out of it doesn't work)

but yeah he's a silly little guy who has been left alone for too long and is now slightly insane

he's still a sweetiepie though :)

a/n: sorry for all the delays. i keep getting swamped with more work :/ and have been working furiously on that

i will have more free time once that is done though so hopefully the real parts + requests will be out soon (i am delusional)

anyways, i can go more in depth on each character and other details about them i might have forgotten to mention or brushed over if y'all want. just let me know!

[dreamytfw]

I cannot contain my excitement, so let's talk about the new trailer!! Some of this is going to be analysis and some of this is just going to be me screaming (for some reason my screen caps always come out kind of fuzzy and I have 0 idea how to fix that, so y'all are gonna have to bear with me)

Destiny's palace looks SO good and I'm super excited! I've read up through The Kindly Ones and iirc we never actually got to see his palace - just the gardens - so this is a really nice treat.

This has to be from The Kindly Ones. My first thought was "oh cool, we're going to get to see Dream rebuild the palace," but then I actually took the time to look at this shot. The three points of attack on the palace? The fact that the bridge is intact? The hell-like, apocalyptic sky/scenery? This is 100% the Three attacking the Dreaming, not Dream rebuilding the palace.

We love a man who ponders his orb lol. I'm very interested to find out if this is Baghdad or if they're repurposing the orb for a piece of the main plot.

HE'S SO MID-2000s EMO 15 YEAR OLD ME IS THRIVING RIGHT NOW

It's extremely interesting that Destiny keeps Delight's picture in his gallery. I know he's canonically blind so he wouldn't be able to see the difference, but he still knows she's Delirium now, so you would think the painting would reflect that. Setting aside how this is an incredibly effective and efficient way of story-telling, it's a nice piece of characterization for Destiny. My thoughts on that characterization aren't fully formed right now, but I do think it's interesting.

And I didn't get a cap because I don't think a single frame does it justice and I don't really know how to make gifs, but Delirium's entrance is really god damn cool and just screams fan service /pos. Very "guys look! Your favorite character is finally here!"

Extremely interested for the reason behind why the floor of Destiny's palace is made of sand.

As much as I loved the Napoleonic outfit in the comics, I'm SO glad they went with more of a vampire aesthetic in the show. Someone please edit fangs onto this man when the season airs. I need it.

Lucifer's Palace!! When we got the wide-shot of it in s1, you could see that it had a metric shitton of pointed spires. But here, it looks like the palace has seen better days. I'll be interested to see if the palace is crumbling on its own, or if Lucifer themselves ordered/is dismantling the palace themselves. It could go either way imo

Nada approaching the throne!!!! I hope she doesn't just smack him, but shoves him down the stairs too. ✿＼(｡-_-｡) Kick his ass, queen. I got your flower.

I was really hoping they'd cut the kiss because seriously. The dude imprisoned her in Hell for over 10,000 years. I don't care if she still somehow loves him, he doesn't deserve it after the way he treated her! But alas.

ETA: Had it pointed out to me this could be part of the flashback for Nada's story and GOD I hope so. Her kissing him after getting out of Hell was one of the worst parts of SoM. Like I literally stopped while I was reading it and was like "Yeah, you can tell this was written by a man."

I'm, like, 90% sure that's a subway car that's got all that pretty greenery sprouting from it, which makes me think this is possibly from A Game of You.

I have no idea what this is but it looks rad as hell. There's a shot of the Three immediately following it, but given how cave-like it looks, there's a chance it could be the place where Loki's chained up.

ETA: @cutespiderlucas pointed out that this could be the Underworld/Hades. While that's extremely likely, I don't want to think about that because it makes me sad :')

Fuck yeah, Gwendoline Christie is back on my screen! I can't wait to see those wings get fucking chopped. It's gonna be so good.

I have no idea who this is and I can't wait to find out. It's not Dream; the hair is too tame. I'm inclined to say maybe The Corinthian, but it's hard for me to see the eyes, and that outfit makes me have some serious doubts.

ETA: @sweet-like-cinnamon-5 informed me of Azazel's human casting, which I hadn't known about when I first made this post. That's exactly who that is, and I suspect this shot is of Dream returning him back to his true form as a void with eyes and teeth.

And again, I didn't get a cap of this because it would look better in gif form, but the next shot we get is of Azazel eating Dream and it looks so fucking cool. Azazel living my dream of swallowing that man whole.

JEMMY AND HER BALLOON I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND WHEN SHE GIVES IT TO DREAM!!! Also Thor about to beat the fuck out of what looks like Choronzon.

I was going to include that shot of the gatekeepers for no other reason than I thought it looked cool, but apparently the max number of pictures you can put in a tumblr post is 15 :c

But yeah, I'm HELLA excited! I can't wait for July!!!

[cheriladycl01]

Fast Cars on the Island - Oscar Piastri x LoveIslandContestant! Reader Part 4

Plot: Your an engineer for Mclaren and you were asked as a PR stunt to go onto Love Island. You would keep your job of course but Mclaren wanted some more media traction.

A/N: I know they would never do this, and that's why its fiction!

Around the fire pit:

“Oh god I’m so nervous? They didn’t say genders or anything” Zavi cries looking towards you as the boys start to take their seats.

“What do you think it will be?” Charlie asks you and you shrug, having no idea how the producers would sway it. Two boys, two girls or a boy and a girl. Whatever they did at this point would stir up some kind of drama.

“I’m not sure, but I think it will probably be one of each” you hand him a small smile.

“I think you might be right Y/N” Aaron smiles at you before getting some nods from the other girls.

“It just makes the most logical sense to me, and then that way it still is the girls choice” you smile nodding.

“Why am I so nervous!” Millie exclaims shaking your shoulders a little. She sits next to Daniel who wraps an arm around her shoulder.

After more conversing, the sound of the sliding glass doors to the Villa make all your heads turn seeing a guy and girl walk out through the curtains.

“Hey!” the girl cheerily smiles with a little wave.

“Sup” the guy next to her cheekily smiles before making their way over to the fire pit.

“Hiya! Omg it’s so exciting to have you here! Please introduce yourself!” Auriela gestures for them to take seats around the fire pit.

The guy sits in between Aaron and Zavi, whilst Chelsea sits in between you and Chris.

“I’m Max, I’m 26 and I work as a secondary school maths teacher” the guy smiles and your head snaps to him in shock, with a small giggle. You could imagine all of his students finding out he was in love island and teasing the hell out of him for it.

“Im Chelsea I’m 25 and I’m a Tattoo Artist” she offers and you all nod.

You all talk, getting to know the two newbies whilst still finding stuff out about the current contestants.

Two phones ping simultaneously from Max and Chelsea making you all nervously fidget. You knew from having watched the show that it would be the two new islanders either choosing dates or the public choosing them dates.

“Max, please get ready for two dates tonight chosen by public choice. You’ll have your main course with Millie and your dessert with Y/N” he reads out the text and you look up in shock.

Were the public trying to make your life harder than it already was in this Villa. You weren’t ready for the drama that would most likely unfold.

“Chelsea please get ready for two dates tonight chosen by public choice. You’ll have your main course with Aaron and your dessert with Charlie” Chelsea reads out.

And with that you watched as Millie left with Max and Chelsea left with Aaron for their first dates. You immediately walked over to Daniel to comfort him.

“Hey, look I know it’s not fun” you sigh patting his back and he looks down.

“Is it bad of me to admit I’m more worried about going home this early on than possibly loosing Millie?” He jokes but you know what he means, people who went out this early on never felt like that had a full shot.

“I get that, and I think you being a lot to the Villa Daniel, despite it being night one i can see a friend in you that extends to outside this villa” you smile at him.

“Yeah me too” he nods.

“Look, you deserve to stay in if Millie gets chosen AND Aaron gets chosen by Chelsea. I’ll pick you any day of the week” you smile at him nudging his side teasingly, but he has a serious look on his face.

“Thank you Y/N seriously!” He says pulling you into a hug.

Lando and Oscar:

“Woah, talk about bombshells” Lando says chewing on a sweet that Oscar had brought over to his hotel room. It had became a weekly Sunday thing for them after races to watch you on the TV. It was kind of a weird feeling seeing you in these kinds of places and in this way when they were used to you in team gear around the paddock looking at data or fixing the car.

“Who do you recon they’ll end up with?” Oscar asks.

“What the newbies?” Lando replies finally taking his eyes of the screen. Oscar just nods letting Lando know that is what he meant.

“I recon Chelsea will choose Aaron and then Max will choose Millie, and Y/N is the type to go back on her word so she’ll end up with Daniel and both get to Casa Amore together if they have too” Lando explains as if he is an expert.

“Interesting” Oscar admits, only thinking of Casa Amore, when 4 new islanders for each gender came to the villa.

Back at the Villa:

It was time for your date with Max and both you and Charlie walked out the Villa together before turning in separate directions.

You walked up to a little gazebo with foliage and fairy lights around it, it was a really nice set up and you couldn’t help but feel lucky to have a date in such a nice area.

Throwing yourself into your career meant that you didn’t really have time to experience all the countries you got to see with someone else. It was always you alone.

“This is really nice” you smile to him.

“Yeah i wish I could take credit for it but definitely can’t” he laughs and you guys end up having a really good night. You ask him about teaching only to find out his students had no idea he’d come into the tv show.

And before you know it, it’s time to go back.

You were all sat around the campfire apart from Chelsea and Max who were stood next to each other ready to choose.

“I’m choosing this guy because he was really genuine and sweet on our date and I can see myself progressing furthest with him as of right now. We connected a lot on the date and I believe he is the right choice”

“The boy i would like to couple up with is Aaron” Chelsea finishes and Aaron begrudgingly goes to stand next to her after sharing small eye contact with you.

Max goes next a smile on his face.

“So the girl I want to couple up with, made me feel like we had a connection straight away. Talking to her was so natural and I felt like this is the right choice. I’m not normally one to step on people’s toes but it’s a really different environment in here and I’ve come at a really difficult point of the show”

“So the girl I have chosen to couple up with is Millie” he smiles and Millie looks down but you can tell she is smiling and blushing. You caught eyes with Daniel who didn’t look to put of by the situation. He nods to you, communication of what you’d do at the recoupling now it had swung the way you thought it would.

You were slightly gutted that Aaron was now coupled up and it felt like you two were never actually going to have a chance together.

You heard was all over the place, was this still just PR or were you actually wanting to find someone in here … and was that someone Aaron.

“Okay, in this order from yesterdays challenge the girls will pick who they want to couple up with. Auriela, Zavi, and Y/N” the presenter says and Auriela stands up.

“So I’ve been coupled up with this guy from the start and I want to see where things go as we’ve been having loads of fun getting to know one another, we have loads in common and I can’t wait to see where this goes. The boy id like to couple up with is Chris” Auriela smiles.

Zavi stands up next, looking a little nervous.

“So I want to couple up with this boy because our chats in the Villa lately have seriously changed my opinion on him. He’s really sweet and caring and I don’t think he was given a proper first chance so the boy id like to couple up with is …” she pauses as if she’s debating what she’s going to do.

“Charlie” and gasps come around, no one having expected her to have gone with him.

Lando and Oscar:

“NO WAY! That’s crazy! I thought she was going to stay with that Jai” Oscar exclaims.

“Dude you could tell with those conversations they were having yesterday they were getting it on” Lando chuckles taking a sip of his Red Bull.

“I thought they were just getting to know each other!” Oscar explains to him, not having seen the longing eyes shared or the flirty undertones.

“And that my friend is why you got nowhere with Y/N when she was here” Lando teases, and it was supposed to be a joke but they both knew there was some truth behind that.

Back in the Villa:

“Okay it’s time for our final girl, to choose who she will end up with. Very strange circumstance for you Y/N” the presenter says as you stand up at the front.

“Yeah it’s been an interesting one that’s for sure. And I think I haven’t fully been able to make connections yet which is a shame and I want to be stable going into the next recoupling after this and I think discussions were held before about what I was going to do depending on the outcome of Max and Chelsea’s choices, this is a game and I have to be strategic so the boy id like to couple up with is Daniel” you smile and he comes up to you, to finally stand next to you and kisses your temple.

“Thank you” he whispers and you just smile and nod.

“I always keep my promises” you smile tugging on his arm in a friendly way.

You all start to say goodbye to Jai, sad that one of the original islanders was gone before heading off to your new sleeping arrangements.

“Night islanders” Charlie shouts as he cuddles Zavi from the back grinning like a school boy before he pulls her down and under the covers.

A chorus of replies cross the room before the lights dim for the night.

You and Daniel quietly talk to each other about the day, trying not to disturb your fellow islanders before sleep finds the both of you.

Lando and Oscar:

“I’m guess what she does within McLaren will come out soon… PR have a close eye on this, for obvious reasons” Oscar observes making Lando laugh.

“Yeah I’m pretty sure they’d have a field day if she started having sex on camera while being under the McLaren name. PR nightmare” Lando chuckles but it makes Oscar freeze.

He forgot how raunchy the dating show could be, and he couldn’t help but he jealous of anyone on the show who got even the tiniest bit closer to that than he ever did.

“The headlines would ruin her” Oscar agrees with a shudder whilst they continue to watch on as the credits roll for this weekends episode.

A/N: A lot of people are suggesting Oscar go into the Villa and he will, but … only when the time is right :)

Also sorry I haven’t posted on a while, going from being on holiday to the chaos of moving into a new house I haven’t had much time lately.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[spn20fest]

Each week has a suggested theme, but you should also feel free to simply post something about the season that corresponds to the week (i.e. something about s3 during week 3), or honestly just post whatever you want, we won’t stop you.

Tag us with @spn20fest to make sure we see your contribution and we’ll reblog! We appreciate it if you can add some identifying tags as well, but otherwise we’ll do our best to make sure things are categorized properly.

This will get long, so please continue below the cut to see the prompts for each week!

Please join us at our Discord if you'd like to chat about your take on the prompts or the show in general: https://discord.gg/Eaxx3dEXVA

1: May 31 Introductions How'd you start watching the show? What made you first fall in love with it? What was the first episode you saw, which was the first one you loved? How’d you get into the fandom? 

2: June 7 THEN

Posts/fics/meta about pre-series, Stanford era, weechesters and more — what happened before Halloween 2005? What was Castiel doing back then?

3: June 14 The Family Business

Saving people, hunting things: what does the job do to a hunter? What’s it all for? What does it mean to be a hunted thing? What about the society and rules built around it? What are your favorite monster of the week episodes?

4: June 21 Two of Us Against the World

Sam and Dean Winchester appreciation — favorite moments, favorite stories for each of them (or both). What are the most interesting aspects about the Winchester brothers to you?

5: June 28 Agents Beyonce & Z

Castiel and Crowley appreciation — favorite moments, favorite stories for each of them (or both). What are your favorite storylines for them? How do you imagine they got to where they were?

6: July 5 Ship Appreciation

SPN has enough ships to fill an armada — talk about your faves! Write a manifesto, share a rec list, comment on some of your favorite stories, etc.

7: July 12 Legacies

History looms large: talk about John & Mary’s joint legacies, the Winchesters and the Men of Letters, the Campbells and hunting society — all the way down from Cain & Abel. Alternately, what legacies do you think the main characters leave behind? What will people remember about them when they're gone?

8: July 19 Family Don’t End in Blood

Celebrate the tangled web of family and friends accumulated over the years: Bobby, Charlie, Jody, Kevin, Rufus, and more.

9: July 26 Heaven & Hell (& Purgatory)

Time to revel in the big hitter angels and demons and critters that populate the supernatural planes — celebrate archangels and the dukes of hell, or your favorite vampires and ghosts. 

10: August 2 The French Mistake

Supernatural’s fourth wall is so flimsy it might as well not exist. Whether it’s the “Carver Edlund” books, in-universe fanfiction, busting through to Vancouver to film an episode, hanging out with high school girls making a musical, Chuck’s “alternate universes” that give us a glimpse at other realities that might exist — talk about meta madness.

11: August 9 Cast & Crew

The show wouldn’t exist without them! What are your favorite things about the actors, writers, directors, showrunners, and general crew? Any technical work you want to shout out? What other projects that they’re involved with do you love? Favorite interviews or wisdom from Word of God you want to share?

12: August 16 Big Hitters

What’s your favorite overall plot arc? What are your favorite episodes? This is a great time to make top five lists — favorite characters, favorite moments, favorite fics. All the love!

13: August 25 Fandom History

Put on your favorite archeologist outfit and go digging — what are some great moments from the sprawling history of the fandom? Shout out some old Livejournal communities and groups you know about and rec some that are still chugging along; what do you remember about the transition to Tumblr and the move to AO3?; what are some of your favorite fandom creators throughout the years?; or, remember how SPN technically invented a/b/o?

14: August 30 #SPNFamily

Have you been to a convention? Have you made fandom friends along the way? Have you been involved in any charity or volunteer work or Random Acts that you want to share? What are some of the biggest ways the SPN Family has impacted you? 

15: September 6 Carry On

We come to the end. Time to talk about the montage period between 15.19 and the end, post-series, Heaven, new gods, new endings. But does anything ever really end? What do you want to see next? What ideas do you have to keep the love going? 

This week ends on Saturday, September 13: Pilot Day. We hope you look forward to celebrating it with us!

[yanderes-galore]

Then Yuji with your prompts 3,8, and 29

Sure, didn't have many plot ideas so here's Analog AU! Yuji pulling a KinitoPet since I wanted to explore that more. Sorry it came out a bit short ^^;

Analog AU Here!

Yandere! Yuji Itadori Prompts 3, 8, 29

(Analog AU)

"You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

"I could look into those eyes forever...."

"I want to be this close... forever...."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Isolation, Yuji is not technically Yuji, Brainwashing/Mind control implied, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Forced affection, Forced relationship.

"Isn't it nice when everything is perfect?"

Your new life was difficult to get used to. In fact, you have no idea how long you've been imprisoned here. Time could very well work differently here.

All you recall is buying that strange DVD... meeting Yuji... and now you're here in a world resembling the show you loved so dearly.

At least you still managed to keep lucid enough to know this isn't your home. The entity puppeteering this realm could try their hardest to adapt you to this place... but you know better. This is not home.

This will never be home.

Yuji never gave up on making you feel like you belong in his realm. He made you a Jujutsu Sorcerer, he uses other characters to give you friends, he even took the identity of the main character you adore so much! Yuji yearns to please.

So why do you ignore him?

This place never fails to feel... uncanny? You know none of this is real. The other characters don't seem sentient and you can't seem to get Yuji's faint red glow in his eyes out of your head.

You and Yuji are the only people seemingly real in this world. Even if you speak to other characters, Yuji's always close by to watch you. You aren't sure what he is... but he seems awfully determined to make this world a paradise for you.

"Your world is so full of stress..." Yuji would say, looking disappointed. "But here? Here anything can happen. You can be happy... I can make you happy."

Yuji acts like a god in this realm. A god who's using your favorite show to gain your approval. However... you haven't allowed yourself to give in.

You can't let your guard down around those glowing eyes....

"The apartment looks close enough to your old home, yes?" Yuji asks you excitedly, rearranging furniture with ease. You blankly watch him, the familiarity only making you wish for home more. Were you technically dead?

"I just hope you know I do this because I care..." Yuji whispers, sitting on the bed to look at you. "It was so upsetting to see you so bored and stressed after work before. But... this is fun, isn't it?"

Ah, yes... was playing pretend with some entity fun? Was this meant to be more relaxing? Why does he bother acting like he cares?

"Why won't you let me out?" You ask, Yuji looking at you confused.

"Let you out...?" He echoes, seeming hurt. "That isn't how things are supposed to go...!"

"I never wanted to be here!" You plead. "Nothing's real... It's all fake..."

"I'll work on it more for you!" Yuji smiles, his eyes gleaming red again. "Anything for you, right...?"

"What do you even want from me!?" You plead to Yuji, the entity watching you with a frown.

"You... You don't understand...?" Yuji whispers, concerned about your confusion. "Seriously?"

Your adrenaline creeps in when Yuji stands up, stepping closer. There's no point running. He always knows where you are....

"I made this world for you, sweetheart... for us!" Yuji whispers, a smile on his face. "I did it because I love you...!"

Your breath hitches when Yuji leans closer, uncanny eyes staring into your own. The effect is almost... entrancing. You go to look away, to fight him more on his words...

Yet you can't.

"I could look into those eyes forever...." Yuji whispers, holding your face. He grins, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips. You want to tell him he doesn't know what love is...

But he cuts you off.

"You see... if you accept this new world I made for you... we can have more moments like this..." Yuji whispers, teasingly kissing your lips as you gaze into his eyes. Why can't you look away?

"I love you so much... I was so tired of just watching you through that damn screen..." Yuji murmurs breathlessly. His grip tightens, gaze becoming a glare for a moment. "I didn't want to share you with anyone... but now..."

Yuji pulls you into a tight embrace. His hold is crushing, possessive. That manages to snap you out of your trance a little bit, just enough to push against his chest and struggle.

"I want to be this close... forever...." Yuji whispers with a grin, eyes holding a lovesick gaze towards you. He leans in to kiss you again, only for you to harshly shove him back. His expression then becomes unamused before he perks back up again with a smile.

"Oh, baby... am I coming off too strong?" Yuji frowns, feigning guilt. "I'm sorry... I forgot I need to be patient with you. I'm just getting a bit too... excited due to you being here now...!"

Yuji steps back, gaze softening with an uncanny glow to it. He gives you space before continuing to redecorate. He's getting too eager.

"That's okay, you may not understand it now but..." Yuji whispers, looking at the room before his eyes trail back to you. You freeze when you see them flash an entrancing red again. "You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

With that, Yuji continues rearranging your new home. An uneasy feeling swirls in your gut at the experience. You'd never know what Yuji is... or his true intentions.

But as your fictional life treks on, your fears slowly don't matter anymore...

Why bother fighting him when there's nowhere to go now? Maybe you should just be loved...?

After all... it's just you and Yuji... together forever in a world made for you.