#by babies I mean fics

[godofthecheese]

Ao3 is down but I thought ahead and opened a bunch of tabs with the entire fic on and downloaded all the fics longer than 30k.

I must stock up for the cold, cruel times that is ao3 going under for maintenance.

[qoldenskies]

i think its so funny when people take the way donnie acts at face value even though its a horrible lie because he's a horrible liar, while understanding leo is bullshitting very well despite him actually being GOOD at bullshitting. many such cases

[keferon]

This is a cybertronian. He’s 2 hours old so we made him look like a child. A lil baby robot. All cute and basically just like a human kid. <- the thing I see everywhere

This is a cybertronian. He’s 2 hours old but he looks like a grown ass adult, strong just like an adult and can already transform into a jet even though he has just one brain cell and no fucking idea how to fly. <- the thing I desperately hope to read about one day even though I haven’t seen it to be properly explored even once

[restingdomface]

I genuinely just cannot fuck with fics where A-Yuan isn’t part of WWX or LWJ’s life. Like. That’s their baby. Give them their baby. He deserves dads as much as they deserve to bury him in the garden and grow him into a big radish to feed bunnies. They deserve their A-Yuan.

[fuji-sen]

Monachopsis; SAGAU Creator!Reader Headcanon

Monachopsis: the subtle feeling of being out of place.

c/w: angst, homesickness, slight cult genshin impact characters.

synopsis: The adrenaline and excitement had worn off, what replaced it was a sense of detachment and the feeling of homesick-ness slowly building up. No longer feeling joy at being treated like a God in your favorite game, you could only feel that subtle but persistent feeling that you did not belong there coupled with the sadness and grief at your past life.

divider credits: @enchanthings

✨ you wonder how things became like this, perhaps it was because you were constantly detained and kept inside a lavish palace, unable to see the outside world.

✨ or perhaps it was how your acolytes treat you.

✨ they did not harm you, but they might as well have all together.

✨ they treat you so full of devotion and reverence. Their touches stiff and light never holding you for longer than it is necessary, their manner of speech was always formal, never jovial even the bard of Mondstadt had a more serious and deep persona when it came to you.

✨ although their goal was simply to respect you for you were their supposed Creator, that very devotion towards you became the very wall that separated you from them.

✨ you could not get close to them, you could not pass that damned relationship between a Creator and a faithful believer.

✨ Furina had been closed to you at least, perhaps because she understood your plights. However your relationship seemed sinful in the eyes of the other acolyte.

✨ you no longer were able to see the cheerful girl.

✨ Buer or Nahida who's ability to read minds and the hearts of people worked on you, but it seemed she had learned from Fontaine's leader, she did not get close to you, however she left more sincere gifts for you.

✨ handwritten letters, books with annotations, even Aranara's were given to you on the guise of being servants.

✨ speaking of gifts, wealth, gems, lavish furniture, clothes made from the rarest fur and the softest silk had been presented to you. At first it made you overjoyed, to received the things you had long for, to become rich and wealthy.

✨ now seeing the pile of untouched presents all you could feel was cold, it was impersonal really. The clothes did not suit you, the gems and gold were useless for you could not even go out to spend it, the furniture as well for it was too big for you to used by yourself and you lacked the friends to even sit together with and have a chat.

✨ however upon seeing your favor towards the dendro archon's gifts, they tried to follow in suit. Yet their letters were simply filled with compliments of your visage, poems and tales about how great you were, talking about you as if you were a historical person they had studied and were doing a greatly embellished report on but never truly getting to know you.

✨ to fight off the feeling of sadness that began to wallow in you, you asked for them, desperately, "treat me as your friend, if you truly love me as your God then treat me how I want to be treated." you'd say.

✨ they looked at each other, before carefully and hesitantly agreeing.

✨ now you felt guilty, they spend their times on you. Chatting with you, telling you stories.

✨ you feast together, with food made by Xiangling and other characters.

✨ but even as they surround you, their conversations became white noise to you and the food seemed tasteless under your tongue.

✨ you did not feel like you belong among them. especially with that nagging voice in your head, snickering and whispering that 'they aren't your friends, they're just acting like it all because their precious Creator begged them to.'

✨ In the past, or your past life, doing something for yourself, by yourself seemed like a chore. The mundane chores, your job, studying even, but now that seemed like a luxury with the title of God.

✨ they did not ask you to do anything, you did not participate in state of the nation addresses, you could not change laws or fight for the people. . at least they didn't let you.

✨ you could not even clean your own room or dress yourself, Noelle took care of the cleaning, Chiori took care with choosing a set of clothes each day for you to wear like you were a kid and Xiangling did the cooking.

✨ It left you with nothing to do, like you had no purpose other than sitting still and looking pretty like a piece of decoration.

✨ Nobody disagreed with you even, nobody argued with you, they were like yes-men. God you began to miss your parents and siblings, you missed your classmates/coworkers, you missed working, you missed being your own person!

✨ it was beginning to eat you up at this point,

✨ to the point you had became overwhelmed with sadness.

might make a mini-headcanon series for this or an actual series revolving around this idea/angst.

do you want a series like this tho? it'd be heavily angst and might just have a bad ending or good ending.

[lukazade]

Your honour.... your honour please it's raining... it's raining.. let them have a little romance...... come on your honour please.....

Snippet of the fic you're never going to see (but that this art is based on) below!

It's just a fluff piece, timkon, nothing exciting happens, you lack the context. They're just making up after an argument. Oh also it's a bit cringe. But if you've read any of my writing (it's not often, but it's on the page here and there) you'll know I'm very cringe.. 😔

After he's showered, Tim comes to sit with him on the bed, the air of the van still a bit too quiet. Things got too heated, even the unrelenting downpour couldn't douse them. Tim's hand sets upon Kon's, tentative, and Kon doesn't push him aside. After all, on the way back, they both realised it was a pretty stupid argument. But then again, weren't they always. "Sorry I rushed you." Tim's voice is a sigh, barely audible over the rain against the window. "I'll make it up to you, I'm the reason things went wrong today." Of course he's blaming himself, Kon thinks; that's their favourite couple's activity. He gives Tim a strained smile, fighting the urge to begin another circle of no, it was my fault more, and get them into another argument. They're both too stubborn - it'd help more to do something productive now that they both feel more inclined to listen and apologise. So instead of that, he takes the towel from Tim's shoulders, lifting it to his still-soaked hair, gently rubbing the water from it. He could use TTK, to dry them both immediately, but Tim likes this sort of thing. He acts like he could live without it, but Kon really doesn't think he could. And, just as expected, Tim's shoulders steadily deflate. Kon feels his own do the same, relieved. "I wasn't mad, Tim. I just get overwhelmed sometimes- you know that- and I don't think things through very well once I'm in that zone. I just mean, well, I don't mean to-" "I can't believe you're stealing my lines." Tim cuts him off, with a small, sorry face. "You don't need to overexplain. I really am sorry." "Me, too." He nods. "And I think I was just mad because it's rained for a week straight, actually. No sun makes me cranky." He offers a cheeky grin. "You're annoying, but not that bad." Tim rolls his eyes, and leans just a touch forward. "You're an idiot." Kon doesn't really want to take the bait, but how can he avoid it if Tim adores cliché? "I'm your idiot." Tim brushes a hand up his arm, the room feeling warm and cosy again. "And if it wasn't the sun's fault that you got upset, I-" "Tim." "What?" He snorts. He can never just accept Kon's easy outs, can he? "Fine, fine. I'm--" He stops himself before he says he's sorry again, flushing. Kon tries not to laugh.

[royaltea000]

You’re my baby, say it to me

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[losver07]

this is them meeting sirius btw

[romatito]

i felt like drawing and decided to do some little refs for my pirate au....... tell me how joão just. continuously ends up being my fav to draw 😔🫠

(+ a bonus feli lol)

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[chronologically-challenged]

I think this fandom is too normal about Petronille. WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S ONLY IN HER LATE TEENS/EARLY 20'S WHAT DO YOU MEAN?????

Like like!!!! We don't have a timeline on when Bonnie and Nille ran away from home, but it HAS to be when Bonnie was really young. Bonnie doesn't seem to remember their parents well at all, and the most we hear about them is that they were "mean". So like!!!! Depending on how old you see Bonnie (10-12ish) and how young you think the two ran away, that could range from 5 to 9 years give or take.

Thats!!!! A range!!! At the oldest Nille (say 24) she was 18 or 19 when the two ran away, which is an adult but still pretty young, but the youngest range????? Hello??? If Nille is 19 now, she could have been as young as 11 when she took Bonnie!!!! What!!!!

I don't think that's the case, but still??? If we take the average of those two, Nille would be 16!!! 16!!!!! And taking care of her sibling basically on her own!!! Nille is a kid who had to grow up too fast and take on the world to make sure Bonnie and her could survive!!! Nille's probably been fighting a good chunk of her life for their happiness and that doesn't even ACCOUNT for the abuse their parents messed her up with. And then after EVERYTHING basically sacrificed herself so Bonnie could have a chance to live from the King's Curse!!!!!

And after all that!!!! Suddenly, she's offered protection from 4 random adults who also adore her sibling and want to take care of the both of them??? What do you do with that??? Do you even BELIEVE that??? Can you even trust that someone else than you could be trusted with your baby sibling? That you can let someone else take that responsibility. The responsibility that you took on with your whole heart and soul to the point you made sure that even if you basically DIED for all that mattered, at least Bonnie would have a chance.

You've been asleep for months and woken up in a new reality where you're not your sibling's whole world anymore. They've changed. You weren't there for it. These people Iove Bonnie so much. But do they know them as much as you do??? They weren't there all this time!!! You should know your sibling better than anyone here!!!

And yet. Yet...

You don't know what to make of this. You're happy Bonnie's safe. You're terrified you don't recognize the new parts of them that have shown up without you being there.

Your sibling lives in a whole new world now. They love you. They would come back to it just being the two of you if you pushed it.

But if you do, you're not sure Bonnie would ever forgive you for it.

(Are you seeing my vision??? Do you understand why I'm not normal about Nille????)

[harrywavycurly]

I am begging y’all to hit reblog on fics you like. Leave a comment if you’re comfortable. Tell the author how you feel about it in the tags, in their inbox, or anything because too many authors are leaving because they don’t feel appreciated.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ]

This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.

She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.

But it'd been almost a week since then.

The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

That counted for something.

Not much, but something!

..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.

There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.

She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.

So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.

Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.

Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.

She really didn't like it.

There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.

She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.

She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.

That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.

Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.

But he wasn't.

He was out running her nation, instead.

And what was she doing? Nothing!

She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.

Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.

Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.

..She wasn't ready.

What was she supposed to say?

Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?

She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.

For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.

Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.

It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Focalors?"

The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.

She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.

"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"

The silence is deafening.

She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!

"Lady Furina?"

Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.

"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.

Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.

Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Why aren't you killing me?"

The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.

She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.

"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."

The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.

He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.

..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?

How unfair.

"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"

She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.

..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.

She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.

For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.

Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.

For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.

Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.

She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.

She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.

She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.

"Again."

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 7: congee   

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru & reader, ieri shoko & reader, extreme friendship, swearing, fluff, gojo being really whiny this chapter, gojo calls you babe.

summary:  a healthy satoru gojo was already annoying, but a sick satoru gojo is almost unbearable. shoko comes up with a plan, while you and gojo learn about the things that you have in common.

wc: 5.2k

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

“oh my god, gojo.” you deadpan, shaking your head. “cmon babe, answer the question.” he whines between a mouthful. you roll your eyes, abruptly moving to get up. ughhh. why did he have to tease you all the time? his dull eyes widen at the prospect of you leaving, “nononono, okay – okay, you don’t have to answer … just stay, please?”

ieri shrugs off her covers in a huff, irritation oozing from her restless body as her phone dings yet again. groaning as she got up, she snatches her phone from her desk, the brightness from the phone making her squint. she mashes the call button with disproportional aggression –  it was way too early for gojo’s bullshit, even for her.  “what the fuck do you want? do you know what time it is?” she spits out, hearing gojo’s familiar huff on the line.  “’was just textin’ you, boo! you didn’t have to call, that was your choice!” ieri rolls her eyes at this audacity, noting that his usual baritone sounded strange. “i cant sleep when all I hear is constant dinging, dude!” ieri deadpans, she hears gojo sneeze, her eyebrows raise. “why do you sound like that, satoru?”

“uhh, like what? handsome? hot? attracti–“  “no, you sound sick.”  “no im not, I never get sick.” he snaps, “if you just wanted to hear my voice, shoko –“

a mischievous smile full of realization stretches across ieri’s face, “oh shit – you’re sick aren’t you?” “don’t be an idiot, i’m not sick – i don’t get sick.” he grumbles.    “is a little cold knocking out the gojo satoru?” ieri teases, sitting back down on the side of her bed.  “i swear, you’ve been hanging out with me and suguru too much – “   “heh, were you up all night thinkin’ about your cute babe? is that why you got sick – ” her voice lights up with glee at the prospect of teasing gojo.    “hey!” gojo nearly shouts irritatingly, “you know that isn’t true, sto–“

“oh man so it is true, I fucking cant wait to tell suguru –”

“shokooooo!! just shut up and listen! i’m just tired is al–“ gojo interrupts himself with a coughing fit, in time with ieri’s snickering.  

 “okay, don’t come to class, gojo. you’re actually sick I can already tell.” ieri grimaces.

“aw, are you worried about lil ol’me?” he answers voice hoarse, sounding more and more congested by the minute.  she scoffs, “ugh gross, no. I just don’t want to get sick. stay away from me.” ieri hangs up before gojo could whine. she lies back into bed with a heavy sigh, a healthy satoru gojo was annoying, but a sick satoru gojo was diabolical. he was going to make this everyone’s problem.

gojo satoru: ur so rude to me, u need to fix that ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) (5:11am)

ieri shoko: wow bitch after I was going to get you soup later?  (5:12am)

gojo satoru: ( ˶°ㅁ°) ! nvm u r my fav don’t tell sugu ily <3 <3 <3 (5:12am)

ieri shoko: see that’s what I thought go sleep now srsly (5:13am)

gojo satoru:   (⸝⸝⸝･ᯅ･⸝⸝⸝)◞♥︎ (5:14am)

ieri takes a screen shot of the text message, glow illuminating her tired face – oh this will come in handy someday. diving back into her plush mattress, ieri’s thoughts move back to gojo, confident that he was pouting miserably in his room. she shuts her eyes with an amused scoff at gojo’s dramatic antics. rolling over into a more comfortable position, she quickly conjures up a wicked plan before falling back to sleep with a grin on her face.

“really, suguru?” you moan as you watch him take some of the bok choy from his own bowl before placing it into yours. “I said that I was okay!” shooting geto a pout.  “stop being such a fucking–“

“hey, you literally just ate one piece.” he judgementally comments as he meets your challenging eyes, silently encouraging you eat more.

“I can serve myself!” you huff as you lean your chin on your closed fist.

“yeah, how are you gonna kick his ass tomorrow if you don’t eat enough?” ieri teases, eyes on her phone.

“I can pin him without it!” you mumble, catching geto’s amused head shake. you easily take a bite of the vegetable courtesy of the big mother hen seated next to you, playfully knocking your knee to his.  

geto really worries too much.

as you swallow the last bite of your bok choy, you look around the table, eyes settling briefly at gojo’s empty chair.

“satoru still feeling like shit?” geto asks catching your loaded gaze, to which ieri groans as she puts her phone down with a clatter. “idiot has a fever but doesn’t want to rest,” ieri says between a mouthful of rice, “he fucking woke me up at 5AM today!” while suguru sighs, mumbling “yeah sounds like him. when I brought him medicine a few hours ago, he was just playing games on his phone.” geto rolls his eyes. “ah shit – that reminds me, i actually should go pick him up some soup or something after this.” ieri sighs, drumming her nails on the kitchen table, “ughhhh yaga wants me at the morgue in 40 minutes though.” you wrinkles your nose, “I never know how you can eat and then go straight to doing… what you do.”

shoko shrugs nonchalantly, taking a bite of the sauteed pork. “mhm, you get used to it.”

“you’re still eating, though – I can go pick it up? I have to grab something from the combini anyway.” you suggest.

“mhm? you sure?” ieri mumbles, still focused on her meal. “if you wait a couple of minutes I can go with you?” geto suggests. “nah suguru it’s fine, you’re still eating anyway and you have a mission in like 2 hours.” you say quickly taking out your phone to check the time. “what were you going to get for him, ieri?”

“oi! how many times do I have to tell you, it’s shoko!” she throws her crumpled napkin at you, earning her a sheepish smile from you.

old habits are hard to break. and you were stubborn.

though you haven’t been close to her for a long time, you liked ieri. she was outwardly straightforward, smart and determined. ieri had a bluntness to her that you found refreshing albeit a bit harsh at times. often balancing gojo’s playfulness with an iron fist, she would steamroll him and geto when their mischief got too far or more often than not, encourage it when she thought it would be entertaining to watch. like that last week where gojo and geto tried to steal all the clocks at the school, but ieri suggested instead that they turn back all the clocks in the school 2 hours back because she wanted to get more sleep. unsurprisingly she got what she wanted.

but inwardly, you knew ieri as being understanding with a kind forcefulness that you found charming. recently she got into the habit of pushing you to hang out with everyone when all you wanted to do was rot in bed. she’d complain that you were being a “boring old man” and that you should “start acting your age with them,” recently she would even arrive at your door with takoyaki and magazines promising a night new founded laughter. 

her friendship was coarser than geto’s, encouraging you to make mistakes with the background promise of helping you pick up the pieces while berating you for your stupidity. she was the type of person that would have your back but would yell at you if you were making a stupid decision– she fought for you even if that meant fighting against the moronic version of your past self.  friendship was generally a new thing that you were getting used to, but with ieri’s friendship you felt lighter.

“the congee with ginger and chicken broth or something. it’s good for his congestion.” she answers as you take out your phone to type in a note. ieri’s eye catches the silvery gleam of your phone charm dangling from your hands, a knowing smile reaches her lips.

“y’sure? I won’t be that much long – “ geto starts before shutting up immediately as ieri’s foot violently wacks into his shin under the table, earning a repressed grunt.

 “... you good, suguru?” you ask, settling your phone down on the kitchen table. you meet his violet eyes, eyebrow cocked.

“he’s fine!” ieri answers sweetly. geto’s eyes narrow at ieri before she meets his questioning gaze in exasperation. oh my god, suguru – look at the charm! large light brown eyes directing his annoyed gaze to the table. looking at your phone adorned with a familiar silver star, his sly mouth hides the beginning of a shit eating grin, understanding immediately colouring his features. ah, I see.

stretching your neck to the left, you get up with a huff. the chair behind you slightly screeching as you move to collect your dirty dishes and wash them in sink.

“alright, I’ll see you guys later then.” you add brightly, whiping your hands before glancing down your phone screen opened gojo’s contact. quickly slapping your phone closed.

“be safe later, suguru,” you say patting his shoulder, catching his reassuring grin before walking out of the room.

“shoko, that fucking hurt.” geto hisses dramatically after ensuring that you’ve left. his chair moving back with a screech as he rubs his shin, shooting ieri a questioning look. “do you keep rocks in your shoes or something, god.”

ieri sighs. “you know what’s more painful? watching those two idiots! ugh, they need to figure their shit out.” ieri groans reaching across the table to steal a sauteed carrot out of geto’s bowl.

he chuckles, a warm sound reverberating around the corners of the room. “knowing them though, they probably don’t fully know it themselves.”

“yeah, fucking six eyes my ass.” shoko grumbles, taking an aggressive bite out of some broccoli. geto picks out some of the vegetables from of his bowl, chopsticks moving them easily into ieri’s. “give them some time.” ieri takes out her phone to type out a quick message to gojo.

ieri shoko:  you can thank me later  (5:43pm) gojo satoru: for what? ( •̀ - •́ ) FOR WHAT? ????  shokoooooooooo  (5:45pm)

you shrug your long scarf off with a sigh, juggling the bulging plastic bag in hand. your rosy cheeks sting from the cold, you huff to keep your hair out of your face. you sigh before knocking on gojo’s door gently. “gojo?” you call out, knocking louder. foot now tapping impatiently, rolling your eyes “gojo! dude, I brought you foo– you know what, i’m coming in,“ turning the handle, your eyes widen at the sight before you.

gojo was sprawled out diagonally on his bed, limbs falling in different directions like he had just fallen from the sky. his dark blue comforter half on him, an arm propped up cover half his face, dark glasses discarded somewhere, offending eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunched up sadly. the cold sunlight outside, streaming in from his half-opened window illuminates gojo’s white hair, the messiest you’ve ever seen it. he looked like pathetic fallen mop.  

“gojo?” you whisper, moving deeper into his room, his foot twitches at his name. placing your scarf and plastic bag on his messy desk filled with volumes of manga, stray pens, packs of opened digimon cards and this week’s half finished homework. if you looked closer you saw that he had some rather impressive doodles of curse -hybrid yaga on it and what you thought was a fox version of geto. on the corner of the desk was a small bottle of cold medicine and a box of tissues, probably evidence of geto’s visit earlier in the day.

“gojo..? hey?” you hesitantly move closer to his still figure, the rise and fall of his chest catches your eye. you hated the break the peace, but he had to eat so you gently shook his shoulder.

“mhmmm, hey babe…” he mumbles voice deep and scratchy, blue eyes squinting at you, still tinged in sleep.

“i brought you something to eat, have some before it’s gets cold.” he rolls over onto his front with a groan, speaking into the pillow. you sigh, ill prepared for an even whinier gojo. “I cant understand you when you’re mumbling.” “mmprfff don’t wanna. s’too bright, hurts my head.”

you move across the room to close the window and shut his blinds, “yeah dumbass, the blind are open,” you scoff. moving back to his desk, you rustle through the plastic bag of food, pleased to see that the congee was still hot. retrieving a spoon, a bottle of hot green tea and some napkins as you approach gojo’s bed with purpose.

“don’t be mean to me – im dying.” he hoarsely whines, sniffing.  “you’re not dying, don’t be a drama queen.”

he sneezes loudly, shaking his frame.  “alright, can just sit up? you’ll feel so much better after you eat...”

“m’not hungry.” he plops back into bed, turning his back to you, shrugging his comforter over himself to counter his slight shivering.

you sigh heavily, small hands rubbing your eyes, “i’m not feeding you, c’mon.”

he mumbles noncommittally – a strangled noise between a whine and a grunt– he dramatically adjusts his thick comforter around his strong shoulders. you narrowed your eyes to take in gojo’s appearance - he really didn’t look so good. he was paler than usual, his usual rosey cheeks void of colour, his messy hair, slightly sticking to his clammy forehead.

“gojo, please?” you ask, voice tilting up. “you have to help yourself too, y’know?” you add quietly, a strange softness in your tone that he barely recognizes. turning his head he meets your eyes and for a second you see his eyes shine a little brighter.

he sighs, moving up to lean his back against the headboard, legs crossed, pouting up at you, his hair ruffled like a sad cockatiel. you turn around quickly to hide your giggle at his childish expression and helpless state, instead busying your hands with the plastic bag.

“careful,” you mumble as you place the plastic bowl of congee into his clammy hands, dipping the spoon into it. “it’s hot.” he murmurs his thanks with a sniffle, allowing the warmth of the plastic bowl to ease his discomfort in his body. the fact that you were here – in his room – was a big comfort that he couldn’t deny.

after you watch him carefully swallow a few spoonfuls in approval, you look at him with a frown on your face. “you know why you got sick? because you didn’t wear a warm enough coat in sapporo.” you nag.

he weakly grins “yeah, because I was warming you up on the floor, maybe next time it should be the other way around, eh?” you breathe in sharply, cheeks burning at the memory of you how woke up next to gojo in your hotel room in sapporo last week. his soft breathing comforting you, his right arm was out stretched welcoming your smaller frame as you settled comfortably by his side. he was warm but your cheeks burned even hotter when you remembered gojo’s yelp as you accidentally smacked in the face in surprise as you struggled to create some distance. Gojo was too close for your liking. you sighed in relief as your alarm you had set on your phone went off, a loud disturbance snapping you back to reality and saving yourself from the awkward discussion. you had hoped he wouldn’t bring it up again.  “i’d rather swallow a curse.”  you deadpan, shuffling your feet, crossing your arms across your chest.

“even like that super ugly one that suguru swallowed?”

“i’d swallow the ugliest curse.”  you retort immediately. gojo whines your name as he shoots you a dirty look in exchange for your too proud grin. “really, babe? that’s so rude. …what about that slimy one last week?” “you mean that gross slug thing that ieri said looked like you?” you snicker. he huffs, “it did not look like me! that thing had like 6 weird humps.”

“those weird humps were probably the reason why suguru threw up for like 2 days after.” “heh, he said it was one of the worst tasting. ‘member how he complained that it tasted so bad for only a second grade? then he ate all my melon gummies after.” you laugh at the memory of geto ferally tearing open the gummies and pouring them into his mouth to gojo’s incredulous’ gawking. “hey,” he sniffs. gojo pats the to the side of his bed, a silent invitation to sit. “you’re making me nervous just standing there, grumps.” he croaks.

you hesitate, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I swear gojo.. if you get me sick – “

“i wont!” he whines. “god, babe. cut me some slack.” gojo pouts. usually gojo’s dramatic pouts had no effect on you, you’ve seen them time and time again, his pouts almost a permeant fixture on his face. it’s efficiency fading with it’s increasing frequency.  but this time coupled with his low energy and his pale face emphasizing the dark rings around his eyes - you have the decency to feel a little bad.

you gingerly sit on the side of his bed, careful to not jostle his dinner too much. you watch gojo grab the spoon and gently blows on the rice porridge before bringing it to his lips.

 “… thanks.” he says meeting your eyes as he stirs around the congee with his spoon.

“hm?”

“for this,” he motions at his bowl of still hot soup.

 “s’okay. im only here because ier – uh shoko asked.”

he drops the spoon dramatically. “what, so you’re saying that you don’t care about me?” he coughs, tone sharp and wounded. “oh my god, gojo.” you deadpan, shaking your head.

“cmon babe, answer the question.” he whines between a mouthful. you roll your eyes, abruptly moving to get up. ughhh. why did he have to tease you all the time? his dull eyes widen at the prospect of you leaving, “nononono, okay – okay,  you don’t have to answer … just stay, please?”

you weren’t used to gojo asking you for things so sincerely. he must feel terrible to be this open with you. you study his face, perhaps you would be merciful today.

“you don’t really shut up, even when youre sick, eh?” you grumble.

gojo visibly brightens when you flop back down beside him onto his bed, lying on your back stretching out slightly with a groan. “nah not really, even when I was a kid.” he coughs.

“…did your servants take care of you when you got sick?”  you mention casually, picking at your nails. “mhm yeah, but I never really got sick that often.” he says thoughtfully. “they made sure I was always healthy, I had to take those shitty vitamins all the time. something about how important it was to train and fully harness the gifts given to you blah blah blah…”  

“yeah but when you did I bet everyone knew about it.” “what can I say? i’m kind of a big deal.”  

“more like a big pain in the ass.” he scoffs, placing his half full bowl of soup on his beside table. blinking slowly.

 “heh, I know you like this as–“

 “hey. finish your food. i walked in the cold to get that for you!” craning your neck to see how much he’s eaten.

“m’full.” “gojo. ive seen you eat like 6 burgers in one sitting, you can’t possibly be full.”  “don’t want it. i feel bad.” he whines softly, laboured breath, the mattress jostling as he lies down beside you.

you prod his shoulder, sighing. “at least take your medicine.”  “don’t want it. tastes gross.” he mumbles turning his back on you one more, shrugging his head into his shoulders as if to hide from you.

“just a few more bites –“ “nuh uh.” he buries himself in his comforter, moving it over top of his head.

you palm your forehead. you had to be patient. gojo was sick, he couldn’t help it, right?

“if you take it… I’ll give you a surprise.” you try, lips slightly moving up in approval as the blankets shift, his ears perking up. “… a surprise?”

“mhm. a good one.” gojo’s imagination runs rampant. he was never one for material objects, he got whatever he wanted when he was young. whatever he asked for - even mentioned in passing - it would magically appear the next day. but this was different. this was something from you. something with him in mind, whatever it was he knew that he would cherish it, pin it up on his wall so he could look at it every day if he could.  gojo knew you were thoughtful, he’d see the way you listened to ieri offhandedly mention her coffee order at break only for you to arrive to class with her perfectly made coffee the next week. gojo had recalled the time geto had mentioned that you had packed some of geto’s favourite homemade umeboshi onigiri for a mission with the excuse of “you always forget to pack lunch on early missions and I already had the ingredients.” gojo didn’t even know that geto liked umeboshi onigri. you were a deadly combination of quietly thoughtful and observant, but he noticed that you strangely went out of your way to refuse anything in return. perhaps his surprise would be a slice of cake or, maybe a pack of digimon cards! or maybe a promise to accompany him to jinbocho get some manga with him, something he’s been nagging you to do for weeks. but if he was being honest, he fostered a silly fragile hope that the surprise could maybe, just possibly be a soft brush of your lips on his cheek -  “take it or leave it. it’s a really good one, i promise.” promise? those are big words coming from you. you were never one threw around words so carelessly.

sensing victory in his hesitation, you move to get the medicine on his messy desk that geto had left there. shaking the pills playful, you glance at his hopeful face. sighing, he sticks out his hands as you cheekily deposit 2 pills into his large palm. he swallows the offending antidote, while you hand him the bottle of green tea to wash it down.

“now, where’s my surprise?” he says as you lie back into his messy bed.   “stick out your hand.”

obediently, he quickly reaches his hand out.

you smack you’re palms against his, in a shitty high five. you laugh in gojo’s face of betrayal. “ah, aren’t you the luckiest guy in japan, not everyone gets one of those from me.” but satoru gojo was a sore loser, he was always going to force your hand. he easily loops his fingers through yours, hands settling on top of the covers. your eyes widening ever so slightly at the sudden movement.

“so stingy with me, babe.” he comments under his breath. still holding your hand gently, his thumb moving back and forth on the back of your hand. he was warm, warmer than usual – maybe his fever was returning.

almost instantly you snatch your hand back, your senses coming back to you, mumbling something about how he was infected. in the warm lighting of his room, he relishes in the slight blush decorating your cheeks, his hazy grin shining the brightest of all. you frown lightly as gojo usual’s soft triumphant laugher came out as wheezy huffs. he sounded like he was getting worse.

crossing your arms across your chest, you turn slightly away of him as you take in your surroundings, trying to focus anywhere but the irritating boy beside you. it was your first time in gojo’s room. it was neater than you had expected albeit your expectations weren’t high. he had a shelf full of volumes of mostly shonen manga – but your eyes catch a few familiar romance manga titles pushed to the very edge of the shelf –  spines bent and well read. he had a comfortable looking chair piled with spare uniforms and that light blue hoodie you remembered he wore in sapporo.  he had a small tv in the corner hooked up to a game cube, multiple game covers stacked in a pile, probably where him and geto spent most of their time. despite all of the gojo’s little toys, his room was almost bare of any personal touches, no letters from home or photographs of the gojo estate or with his parents.

“was this taken at the beginning of the year?” you ask, eyes landing on a the sole photograph in his room: a photo of shoko, geto and gojo haphazardly pinned above his desk. “yeah, I think maybe 4 months before ya arrived? we really need to do an updated version with you in it too.” he murmurs, voice muffled by his arm covering his closed eyes. humming you take in the photograph, your eyes dart to  geto to the left, his sleek eyes closed with a soft grin on his face, head tilted towards a much shorter ieri. you almost laugh as you see that part of gojo’s head was cut off due to his height and probably fact that ieri was taking the photo, her smile bright, brown eyes sparkling. on the left gojo had his arms around geto while his right-hand flashes a peace sign as his wild smile echoes his slightly longer messy white hair blowing in the gentle breeze, his dark glasses perched on his face. this was probably taken around early summer last year judging by the lush green trees in the background. they looked so happy despite knowing each other for only a few months. it was strange to you how they could be so close in such a short amount of time. “…it’s weird isn’t it?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“hm? what is?” “having friends.”

it was almost irritating at how easily gojo could catch you off guard, always two steps in front of you. his reputation as the strongest shining true.  you turn your head to meet his tired half opened eyes. “.. yeah, it – it is.” “I had to get used to it too, but it’s fun though, right?” he grins at you, “suguru hated me in the beginning.” “suguru?” you laugh incredulously. “yeah he was so fucking particular about the stupidest shit. i got along better with shoko initially – she was more straightforward and she let me have her pineapple buns in the morning.”

“it’s probably because you’re cocky and annoying,” his eyes full openly your scalding comments.

“hey, I’m not an–“ “ – and you always get him in trouble.” you add thoughtfully.

“me?! he’s the one who comes up with half of the plans! laxatives in yaga’s coffee? suguru! the random evacuation last week because of flooding on the second floor? not me - suguru!”  he starts to chuckle but it turns into a cough, he settles into lie on his side to see your face better. “gotta admit, those were good though.”

“‘member when ya first arrived and no one was allowed to be left alone of the cursed weapons shed? yeah, exactly. not me! baby’s not so innocent, he definitely has some evil ideas, babe.” he sniffs, adjusting the covers to cover himself better.  

you snicker, that sounded right to you. you could see geto’s chaotic streak when he sparred with you, often yelling out random things to catch you off guard and annoyingly they worked. while geto was sly about his mischief, quietly fostering chaotic ideas and plans, gojo was boisterous about his chaos, wearing it proudly on his chest – they really did compliment each other well.

“sure, gojo –  but you’re the one who encourages his ideas.”

he pouts, but before he could retort he feels you shift closer to him to creep your hand onto his forehead, the gesture causing gojo’s heart to beat erratically.

“you’re really warm, dude.” gojo has to quickly swallow the purr that threatens to escape his tongue, as your hands brush his bangs out of the way, sweeping his scalp gently. with your soft skin tingling on his, he finds that he’s disappointed that your touch retreats too quickly.

“yeah, you look like shit,” you tilt your head back to get a better look at his flushing face, “you’re really red, are you feeling okay? ” you say, eyebrows furrowed, “do you want me to get you more tea or something?” propping yourself up on your elbow. with his eyes half closed he shakes his head softly, “nah, m’okay.” “then fully close your eyes, dude. try and get some rest. your body clearly needs it.” “don’t wanna. s’too boring.” you tsk at his at his stubbornness, noting that he was already drifting off.

he's so fucking stubborn.

he falls asleep gently and then all at once.  if you were held at gunpoint and you had to choose your favourite version of gojo it would be of the current one lying in bed.  in the daytime, gojo was constantly vibrating with excitement, a never-ending flow of energy overflowing from his over the top presence. you could sense his cursed energy if he was within a 10-foot radius. it was blinding and overwhelming, easily engulfing you, it’s strength powerful and overbearing – just like him. gojo. but here in his room, he was quiet and free from his cocky smile and smart tongue. in this light he was bathed in a gentleness that seemed entirely out of place with the honoured one. you thought it was almost selfish that you preferred him this way, softer, unguarded – weak. even gods have an off day, you suppose.  but lying on his bed while he felt so unwell, you couldn’t help but see him for what he really was – just a boy. a teenager who chattered about his favourite foods, complained about homework and wanted to hang out with his friends. satoru. this realization felt heavy, being with him in this moment, there was an unfamiliar pull you didn’t understand. Lying beside him drowning in his scent as you see his unguarded slow breathing, you’re more aware of his memories surrounding you, enclosing you in this space. to distract yourself, you decide to tidy up his room.

careful not to wake him for a second time today, you roll off his bed. collecting his container his half eaten food, you place the barely touched bottle of green tea on his bedside table beside the bottle of pills. finding his glasses on the floor you place them on his desk as you plug his phone in to charge, softly playing with the silver beads of his phone charm. after clearing his desk, you turn to adjust his comforter softly. gently you raise his blanket to tuck him into bed, ensuring that all his gangly limbs were covered. your eye catches gojo’s soft sleeping face, he way his lip juts out slightly in his slumber mouth slightly open, his fair eyebrows scrunching like he was thinking about something. did he dream? you wondered what he could possibly dream of when he had the world at his fingertips. you hoped that if he did dream, they were peaceful ones. you hesitantly reach out to touch his cheek, convincing yourself that you were just checking his fever. you were relieved that he wasn’t as warm as he was did before, silently enjoying the way his cheek felt on your palm. “get better soon, gojo.” you whisper, watching his face relaxing at your touch. sighing, you quickly retreat your disobedient hand as you move to turn off his lamp. quiet strides to move across his room before shutting his door gently. you were already halfway into your room when you laugh softly in realization:  you did care about satoru gojo. when did that happen?

snackies!tags: @starmapz @ghost-buddies

a/n: all hail queen shoko!!! i'm so glad to finally get to write her. this chapter had some intense friendship moments that were fun to write. hope ya'll enjoyed this thick juicy chapter - head image credit: Toradora! dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[angelbaby-fics]

Ooohh! Late night (maybe secret) milk and cookies fresh from the oven! 🍪🥛🍼

ooooh i love the idea of this.... and not just because i made milk & cookies tonight!!

maybe its past your bedtime but daddy hasn't turned off the tv yet, he can sense that you're just not tired yet, and not in a good way either. most nights when you stay up late its because you're far too energized to sleep, running and skipping and dancing around the house insisting you don't need to rest, until next thing you know you're half asleep being carried into daddy's bed... but tonight you're just angsty. you already had your nighttime bottle, you've been cuddling with your stuffy while a calm cartoon plays, but your brain is elsewhere, half small and half spaced out.

then you hear the oven beep on.

"come here angel, i got a surprise"

daddy takes a packet of cookie dough from the back of the fridge, high up on the top shelf where you can't even reach. he puts two squares on a metal sheet, one for him and one for you.

"don't tell... but these are dada's magic cookies. sometimes when you're already asleep, daddy makes a special cookie before bed as a little treat... maybe they'll work for you too!"

cookies are one thing, but a magic cookie? and right before bed?? you couldn't believe how quickly your night was turning around. your sour mood dissipates as the kitchen fills with the smell of sugar. daddy pours another bottle for you to wash down your cookie, and your tummy feels just as warm as your heart as daddy rocks you to sleep.