#can you tell who she likes the most in this group

[teddypoi-qd]

{ID - Series of tweets from @/grumpwitch about working in a public library:

"Things I have learned about the general public whilst working at the library: 1. A huge number of people under 20 can't face clocks, having grrown up with only digital ones.

2. Many people don't know how to spell "library." It's in our email address. This causes problems.

3. A disturbing number of young people don't actually know how book-lending at the library works. They assume it costs money! Teach your children about libraries!

4. Crime and thriller are basically the same thing in many cases. In fact, we have doubles of books because of that.

5. People use hidden codes like asterisks to mark which books they've read! The system will let you know if you've already borrowed something! Just ask.

6. If an automatic door breaks, people will walk into it instead of reading the sign at face height.

7. Libraries are a godsend for blind and deaf people and not just for audioboks. They can come for help with filling out forms and getting directions.

8. Some elderly people go through books at a TERRIFYING rate. They are to be feared and respected. 9. Some people are so afraid of computers that they will come to you with a query and then become upset if you offer to look it up on the compute instead of in a book.

10. Some poeple have never, ever used a telephone. Especially older women. Their husband did it for them.

11. The DWP fuck over everyone but especially the most vulnerable and I haven't met a single library worker who hasn't helped struggling library users with food or phone calls or even a cup of tea when it's cold and they can't afford heating.

12. The Job Centre regularly lie to people and like to tell them that they can get services at libraries that simply do not exist. We will try our very best to help you get what you should have been given at the Job Centre.

13. Most banks assume that everyone has an email now. In fact, some people have trouble proving they exist at all without one.

14. Library folk are good folk. We do this because we are passionate about it. We have to be.

15. Libraries aren't quiet anymore. They're community hubs now. They may have quiet study areas but most libraries are bustling with activity. Between kids' classes, singing and memory groups for those with Dementia, crafts sessions and noisy office equipment, don't expect silence.

16. Libraries remain the only place where you can spend hours in a publically-accessible building without being expected to spend money. Parents come to entertain their children for free on wet days. People in poverty come for a warm place to sit. Libraries are a haven.

17. Some people will go their entire lives only reading 2-3 authors but still have enough material to read a book every month. (See also: Danielle Steel, James Patterson, Clive Cussler, etc.)

18. A library lives and dies by the staff on the counter. You can have the best funding, all of the books and tech in the world but you'll only get footfall if your staff go above and beyond. Sometimes even that doesnt work, though and it's frustrating.

19. We're funded based on footfall. I've seen staff cry because we lost a youth group to a private hall that has fancier facilities like a cafe. We need all the footfall we can get.

20. Staff are hitting their head against walls volunteering to create events, classes and groups only to have them shot down because local councils don't understand social media or want to charge for it. I can't overemphasise just how much unpaid work staff do.

21. Most of the facilities are only working because staff pay out of pocket to get things working. My manager bought a new laminator when we couldn't afford one. She buys in colouring materials for kids. We sometimes bring in our own stationary. We even buy lightbulbs in.

22. Authors don't like to visit little libraries because they don't get paid. Bookstores often pay.

23. The "sexy librarian" trop has actually done a LOT of harm and has caused countless incidences of sexual assalt by men who can't tell the difference between porn and reality.

24. Old ladies keep libraries in business. Old ladies who read are the best. Old ladies who can tell you exactly which page features the most gruesome murder scene are the very best.

25. Library staff ALWAYS want to know what you thought of the book. We want to know what to recommend to others!

26. I'm not supposed to have favourite library users but I do: I love library couples, who bicker over each others' reading tastes or share books and then argue about the themes. I also love the autistic kids with special interests. I will crawl over hot coals to get you a book about the specific type of train you are interested in, tiny child. I will listen to you tell me about it in great detail. I will try to remember for the next time you come in.

27. The single best moment, for me, is when a library user graduates from Young Adult to Adult and suddenly the entire library is open tothem! They can read anything! No more tiny teen section! All of the classics! Sci fi! Horror! They often get overwhelmed.

28. And finally, because I've spammed you long enough and because my typos are mounting up, remember this: Library staff can overcome many challenges but Book Gods help you if you deprive us of caffeine. You don't want to see what happens then.

END ID}

[bbadandboujee]

SOLAR RETURN CHART OBSERVATIONS ݁ᛪ༙💋

mk cus…why is nobody making solar return observations anymore? like you deadazz?? lmk if y’all want a part 2!

OBSERVATIONS:

libra rising: YES YOU WILL CHANGE YOUR ENTIRE AESTHETIC! literally i went from a fucking bum to a whole baddie! i feel like with this placement your skin gets very clear very pretty! you’ll also be interested in anything dealing with the arts, like for example drawing & music, new people will quite literally know you for being attractive/beautiful, however nobody talks about how your butt gets fat with this placement? like lowkey before i had this placement i was shaped like a door fr.

venus in the 6h: ultimate glow up!! especially with your health! going to the gym, or just intaking in foods that are healthy and nutritious! with this placement i feel like you’ll most likely attract many suitors, and also it’s definitely up to you if you wish to pursue them. could have a gym crush with this placement, also intuitively i got that going to museums can be therapeutic for you, or simply listening to music daily could also be therapeutic too. also going to therapy with this placement could be beneficial for you.

uranus in the 12h: worse year ever, you could go thru something traumatic and your mental health won’t be the same. depending on where the ruler of the 12h is can tell you what’s bound to happen or what triggers it.

uranus transit the 12h: mk so ik this is a solar return chart post lol, but i needed to include this in here, having this in the transit chart can indicate going thru something spiritual, like out of this world, for some it can indicate that you will meet God and it can change your life forever. in my personal experience i’ve been having a lot of spiritual encounters, seeing a bunch of feathers in my mirror was one of them as well as seeing tiny light blue lights around my light bulb, as i was seeing them it would come for like 10 seconds and it would disappear, i’m still going thru this transit, if you have this lmk how it went!

uranus in the 8h solar return chart: TW: death i had this placement last year and my childhood friend died, it was so unexpected and shocking honestly, i remember i would cry like every now and then thinking about her death, the ruler of the 8h was in the 5h as well, and the thing that sucked was that she was going down a dark path, and i wished i could’ve been the one to at least talk to her bc we all need at least someone to talk to yk? after her death it was just hard honestly to take it all in. but may she rest in peace, i know she’s at peace now and that’s all that matters.

mars in the 11h: i was surrounded by fake people, multiple group chats outside of a damn group chat, people didn’t even like each other in the group, everyone was negative, bitches was delusional, and just ew like wish i could erase that part of my life omg?? i couldn’t even defend myself at that time either bc it was like i was only like 16? didn’t know shit about life or even friendships i was living in the moment fr, but yeah with this placement make sure to keep that eye out for selener..if yk yk lol. surround yourself with people who not only love you for you but who care about you, because honestly fuck them bitches who dislike you!! they’re not on your level fren.

9h stellium: you could travel or get into spirituality! also if the planets are beneficial you could do extremely well academically. you may learn something new overall, you’ll likely have a positive mindset, this is specific but you could have a mentor that gives you wisdom in life and you’ll never forget what they’ve told you, their words will always stick to you like glue.

mk thats it friend!! sorry if this was short 💔💔, but i hoped you enjoyed boo!

[meowo-owo]

Chishiya Shuntaro × fem!reader!!

(open for your inquiries~)

word count: 1639

Chishiya was always an observer. At medical university, he did not seek to make friends or join the team. He preferred to stand aside, assessing people the same way he studied anatomical atlases-carefully, coolly, with cold interest. Most of the students acted predictably: they were stressed before exams, formed friendship groups, fell in love, became disillusioned, and burned with ambition.

(Y/N) has always been out of this rhythm. She didn't just memorize the information - she absorbed it, trying to see a real person behind every line of the textbook. When the others were immersed in the competition, she helped those who were lagging behind. When someone lost hope, she found the right words. Shuntaro initially thought she was naive, but eventually realized that he was wrong. She wasn't simple-minded-she was strong. Her humanity didn't stop her from thinking logically, but somehow she managed to combine both qualities.

They were working at the same hospital now. Chishiya chose neurosurgery, following his intellectual curiosity, and (Y/N) became a cardiac surgeon, of course. She has always lived with her heart, literally and figuratively. Their working approaches were radically different: Chishiya was calculating, precise, and worked coolly, like a living scalpel. The girl is passionate, emotional, involved, always putting patients first, even if it required going beyond the protocols.

Despite the difference, they often clashed.

- You were particularly cynical today, - she said one day after surgery, taking a cup of coffee from the tray, - When you tell patients that "their chances are average," it doesn't really help.

- But it's true,- Chishiya replied calmly, lazily leaning on the counter.

- It's also true that the support of a doctor can help a patient struggle. Aren't you curious about what's going on outside of statistics?

- I'm interested in how the brain functions, not irrational emotions, - he retorted, but there was something like mocking recognition in his gaze.

She snorted and turned away, but she knew he could hear her. And, more surprisingly, sometimes he did change. Unnoticed. Barely noticeable.

The romance between them did not suddenly arise. There were no passionate confessions, no dramatic scenes in the rain. Instead, there were small moments. Chishiya always knew when she was tired, even if she wasn't complaining, and left her an energy bar on the table without a word. The girl, in turn, somehow guessed when he stayed late at the hospital and brought him coffee, even though he never asked for it.

— — —

There was a night when they both stayed in the hospital. The operation lasted longer than expected. All the staff looked exhausted, but (Y/N), although tired, did not lose her soft smile.

- You know that for someone who claims he doesn't care, you're too often there when you need to be, - she remarked, warming her hands on the cup.

Chishiya raised an eyebrow slightly, the corners of his lips twitching in a barely noticeable smirk.

- Maybe it's just a coincidence.

- Or..., - she paused, looking at him a little more closely, - You're just not as insensitive as you want to appear.

He didn't argue. Instead, after a moment, he moved his cup closer to hers, creating a space between them that became slightly less cold.

And that was enough. While.

— — —

They continued to work together, day after day, night after night. Their world was full of chaos: critically ill patients, emergency calls, hours without sleep. But in this chaos, they have their own rituals.

She always brought coffee, even if Chishiya said he didn't need it. Shuntaro always stayed by her side during her difficult surgeries-even if his presence wasn't required. He was watching her as intently as he had at the university, only now there was a barely perceptible warm note in his gaze.

But, of course, change does not happen without shocks.

/One night/

It happened during heavy duty. The patient, a ten-year-old boy, was admitted with heart failure. (Y/N) fought for him for several hours. She held herself as she always did, but Chishiya could see the tension in her every move. I saw how her fingers trembled when she finally completed the operation, how she took a deep breath when leaving the operating room.

- (Y/N), - he said softly when they were alone in the hallway.

She didn't answer right away, just leaned against the wall, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes.

- He's going to survive, - she said at last, but there was no joy in her voice. Just fatigue.

Chishia was looking at her. He knew he could have said something cool and logical to her. Something like, "you did your best," or "that's the job of a doctor." But that would be a lie. He knew it was more than a job for her.

He wasn't a comforting person. He didn't know how. But he could have done something else.

Silently, without further ado, he reached out and gently squeezed her wrist. Just a little bit, just a touch, but there was everything about it that he couldn't put into words.

The girl froze. She opened her eyes. She looked at him, intently, scrutinizingly.

- You..., - she smiled a little, but there was something else in her eyes, not surprise. Understanding, - Thank you.

He didn't answer. He lingered just a little longer than necessary before removing his hand.

And at that moment, she realized that something in him had already begun to change.

— — —

A few days later, they worked late. The hospital was quieting down, the corridors were emptying. The girl was sitting in the resident's office, sorting through papers, when Chishiya came up to her and, to her surprise, sat down next to her.

- Aren't you going home? - he asked.

- And you? - she retorted.

He didn't answer, just put a package of her favorite chocolate on the table in front of her.

- Do you remember such things? - she grinned, but there was no mockery in her voice, but gentleness.

- I only remember what matters, - Shuntaro replied calmly.

She stared at him a little too long. There was always a mystery about this man. She knew that he was good at manipulating people, that he preferred to stay one step ahead, not letting anyone get too close. But now she saw something else: he was letting her see him in a way he hadn't shown himself to anyone else.

The silence between them was no longer awkward.

- Chishia..., - she said softly.

He looked at her-without looking away, for the first time allowing emotions to flash in the depths of his eyes.

- Yes?

She smiled a little.

- Nothing. Just thank you for being here.

He didn't answer. But the next time he took her hand, he didn't let go right away.

And that was enough. While.

— — —

It was one of those sleepless days when time loses its meaning. Operations followed one another, blood, numbers, decisions on which life depended. (Y/N) I've been used to this rhythm for a long time, but today everything felt different. Heavier.

They lost a patient in the afternoon. The middle-aged man she was trying to save. She did her best, but it wasn't enough.

Chishiya knew that this was not just another case for her. He didn't try to say that it wasn't her fault-he knew that such words didn't make sense. Instead, he was just there.

When the night was already approaching morning, the girl went out onto the roof of the hospital. It was quiet here. The city below was ablaze with lights, but the air was fresh and clean. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to pull herself together.

Chishiya found her without difficulty. He knew where she was going.

- You're running away again, - he said calmly, coming closer.

- I'm not running away, - she muttered, not turning around, - Just... needed some air.

He stood next to her. They were silent, but this silence was filled with something new. The blond man looked at her, at the dark circles under her eyes, at the tense shoulders.

- You can't save everyone, - he finally said.

- I know, - she replied softly.

- Then why do you experience it like this every time?

(Y/N) smiled bitterly and turned to him.

-Why don't you ever worry?

He didn't look away.

- Because I'm not you.

She nodded, accepting his answer, but there was another question in her eyes. Then why is he here? Why did he come to her again if he didn't want to get attached?

The wind touched her hair, and Chishiya stared at her for a little longer than usual. And then, before he could think about it, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

Her breathing hitched. It was unexpected-not the gesture itself, but how carefully he did it.

- Chishia..., - her voice was barely audible.

He didn't let her finish.

The next moment, he leaned closer and kissed her.

It wasn't an impetuous or greedy kiss. It was the kiss of a man who had resisted for too long, but eventually allowed himself to succumb to the feeling. Careful, measured, like everything he did, but at the same time - real.

The girl froze for a second, then reached closer, answering. Her fingers tightened on the sleeve of his robe, as if she was afraid he would pull away. But he didn't pull away.

When they parted their lips, she looked at him, a little confused, but with a warm smile.

- It turns out you can feel, - she said softly.

He chuckled.

- Maybe you've infected me with your humanity.

She shook her head, still smiling.

- What do you think?

He didn't answer. He just bent down and kissed her again.

This time, he had no doubts.

[heartstringsduet]

Happy Sunday ☀️ Have some wolf fic.

Most of the time, Carlos is whisked away from him anyway, roped into one game or another. He’s used to observing first, being on the outskirts until he can gauge how to best approach a tight-knit group, but here everyone draws him into the middle of the fray. It’s intimidating enough, not helped by how casually they all chose varying questions to gauge who he is as a person. Some to see if he fits in their group, some to see if he fits with TK. Both seem like the stakes couldn’t be higher.

“So Carlos, what’s your favorite sports team?” Paul asks over a round of pool. “There are mostly wrong answers.”

“Forget about sport. Who’d you last vote for in the election?” Marjan asks from his other side before he can even answer Paul.

“I saw your Camaro. Sick, man! Could I take a spin?” Mateo asks by the dart board.

“Say your house burned down, what would you save first and why?” Nancy asks as she plops next to him at the bar when he takes a break. “Also, do you know your sun, your moon and your rising? Don’t tell me you’re a scorpio.”

“Strand’s a powderkeg,” Pearce murmurs between throwing one dart and the next. He twists with a dart in hand pointing at him. “Don’t let him blow up.” 

“You’re a good dancer, Officer Reyes,” Grace says when she convinces them all to join her on the dance floor. “I hope you’re a good and gentle leader outside of the dance floor. I wouldn’t want you to step on any toes.” Somehow, her gentle voice and soft face make this feel like the biggest threat.

OPEN TAG &

<p> @carlossreaders @annoyingcloudearthquake

@carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @future-tense  </p>

<p> @paperstorm @strandnreyes @henrygrass @lightningboltreader @eclectic-sassycoweyes </p>

<p> @lemonlyman-dotcom @theghostofashton @ladytessa74 @freneticfloetry </p>

<p> @liminalmemories21 @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @pameluke @neverblooms</p>

<p> @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @alrightbuckaroo @decafdino @liminalmemories21

</p>

<p> @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter @literateowl @reyesstrand </p>

<p> @butchreyes @corsage @honeybee-taskforce @orchidscript </p>

<p> @never-blooms @irispurpurea @everlastingday @theghostofashton </p>

<p>@nisbanisba @bonheur-cafe @certifiedflower @firstprince-history-huh @denizoid </p>

<p> @nancys-braids @chicgeekgirl89 @ironheartwriter @pimento-playing-hopscotch </p>

<p> @rangersoup @the-126-family @carlos-tk @ladyknight1512 @ameriicansrequiems

</p>

<p> @whatsintheboxmh  @thisbuildinghasfeelings </p>

[crazycat010]

I found you

Gojo Satoru x reader (soulmates AU)

IN WHICH: Gojo finally finds his soulmate, after being given a very unlucky way of connecting to them.

fluff, angst, y/n is insecure about her looks and powers, her colleagues are worried sick about her. Almost-dying thoughts. Talks about death (fight and curses being killed), blood and scars. Fight between y/n and her friend.

Reader is written about as a female and there are references to her clothing. Happy ending.

word count=6.103 words

“Ahh” Gojo hissed, grabbing his face in pain, when was it going to end?

Another blow, this time at his abdomen, that made him double over in pain.

“Gojo-sensei! Are you okay?” Yuji gasped, checking to see if he was okay.

“Yeah, don’t worry! M’fine.” The teacher laughed it off, used to the feeling.

“You sure got an unlucky way of connecting with your soulmate.” Maki added.

He shrugged his shoulders. He was one of the strongest, if not the strongest sorcerers alive, he came from a rich family, had many friends at Jujutsu High and a never ending list of women of all kinds who would do everything to even go on a date with him! All in all, he considered himself lucky, yeah, maybe his parents hadn’t been the best, being married for convenience and not love, but his mother loved him and his sister was very dear to him.

Nonetheless, everyone who learned his way of connecting with his soulmate cringed sorrowfully, pitying him: he felt most, if not all, the pain his soulmate felt. Though it was probably the same for his other half, it really made his life more difficult. It was like they were constantly getting beaten up for some reason, while he tried in every way possible to not hurt himself as to not pain them more.

With his students, he was headed to the entry of Tokyo Jujutsu High School’s complex, where he would meet with the students and teachers from the Kyoto College.

He’d heard a new teacher had recently arrived, but he didn’t care about it much. He had resigned from trying to reach his soulmate a long time ago, after many years spent searching.

He had gotten quite tired, and decided it would be better to let fate do his own thing. Was he gonna meet his soulmate soon? Had he already met her? Was he ever going to meet her?

Those question remained unanswered, and the ‘soulmate’ case closed.

After a long walk, they’d finally reached the meeting point. He had never realized the grounds were so big…

They were met with the usual group: the two teachers Gakuganji and Utahime and the students Mai Zenin, Kasumi Mia, Noritoshi Kamo, Aoi Todo and Mono Nishimiya.

Gojo looked around, expecting to see another teacher, but was found with nobody else.

Not having to hear the question, Utahime had already answered: “The new teacher had… some jobs to finish. She should arrive this evening.”

“Oh, okay! Well, let’s head to the school grounds so we can have a proper catch up!” Gojo said happily, masking yet another strong blow, this time aimed to the back of his neck.

The trek in the Foothills of Mount Mushiro was unusually quiet.

Seeing Gojo’s confused expression, Utahime said: “The kids have grown quite attached to our new teacher. They’ll get back to normal once she’s back.” She told him calmly, almost as she was reassuring herself.

“So, what’s up with this new teacher?” Satoru couldn’t help but ask, interested in this new mysterious figure.

“I promised not to do any spoilers, but I’ll tell you this: she’s very patient and kind, even more than me. The only problem is, taking care of everybody else, she often forgets to look after herself, getting injured because of her Cursed Technique. That pretty much sums up her entire personality, so I think you two will get along nicely.”

“Oh so they’re a she?” Gojo implied, smirking.

Utahime rolled her eyes, chuckling.

“Anyways, it’s good to know we’ve got someone else on our side. I bet you care a lot about her.” He replied.

“We all do…”

The dinner was filled with the usual laughter and chaotic environment, created by the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event. Yet Gojo could sense something was off: while most of the students were able to fake it and enjoy their time, Utahime, Mai and Todo looked nervous and uptight, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, Mei Mei said, taken back: “She’s here.”

Mai and Todo sprinted towards the door, Utahime and the rest of he students following closely.

Even the old Yoshinobu had gotten up and was slowly heading towards the entrance door.

“Hellooo…Ahh!” Said an unfamiliar voice, before hearing a loud thump of bodies falling over.

“I swear if you ever scare us like that again, we will kill you. And that’s final.” Mai said to the unknown figure in a stern voice, opposed to her comforted look.

“Todo?” Asked the girl, searching for help.

“I’m on her side on this one.” Answered the black-haired boy.

“C’mon, not even you Utahime?” She asked again. Utahime raised her hands up, showing she was also on the green haired girl’s side.

“We’re glad you’re back, Y/n-sensei.” Said Kamo, offering a hand to get her up to her feet, while Yoshinobu simply nodded.

“We sure are!” Said Mika and Nishimiya, reaching for their teacher in a fond group hug.

‘So that’s the mysterious teacher…Y/n. That’s an unusual name, but I like it’ Gojo thought, heading to the new sensei to properly greet her.

“So you must be the new teacher everyone’s talking about!” Said Gojo.

“Y/n Y/Ln, it’s nice to meet you.” She replied.

“Gojo Satoru, and the pleasure is all mine.” Said the smug teacher, going for a simple handshake since he’d noticed her hands were entirely covered by black leather gloves.

‘The new teacher looked, weird. Not in a bad way though. She had silver straight hair, cut short just below her chin, with a huge side bang covering the left side of her face. Her eyes resembled her personality, a sparkly silver adorned by big lashes and complimented by a pair of thin brows of roughly the same color. She wasn’t short, but she was just around Utahime’s height, so the difference between her and Satori made her lift her chin upwards in a cute way, in order to face him directly. Her clothes were torn apart, leaving her in a black leather suit that covered her entire body, a neck warmer on her neck and chin and a belt with small weapons, matching gloves and combat steel-toe boots. She was full of cuts and what looked like blood and dirt and prominent a eye bag could be seen on her right side of the face.’ Gojo eyed her cautiously.

“Well, I’m sure you must be famished by now, so why don’t we go back to the dinner table and get a new seat for miss Y/Ln here.” Shoko interrupted the oncoming silence.

“Don’t worry. I was able to grab something to eat along the way. Nonetheless I’m very tired, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll head to my dorm to wash off the dirt and get some rest.” Y/n kindly turned down her offer.

“I’ll show you the dorms.” Utahime intervened, grabbing her by her arm with force.

“Don’t worry, I saw where they were com…” The silver haired girl tried to stop Utahime, but was met with an icy glare even Gojo had rarely seen on his ex-classmate’s features.

“I said I’m showing you the dorms. C’mon let’s go.” She ordered Y/n, who couldn’t do anything but comply, getting pitiful looks from her students.

The evening continued nonetheless, no sign of Utahime’s return.

‘That just means we’ll get to meet the new kid tomorrow’, Gojo shrugged it off.

The next day, Y/n was finally able to join the others for breakfast, having been patched up the night before by a very angry Utahime.

She knew what she had done the other day was risky, telling everybody to go so she could single-handedly defeat the three first grade curses, but she wasn’t gonna risk anyone else getting injured, that’s just who she was like.

She knew Utahime would’ve gotten furious and mad at her for making her worry and scolding her, but, in reality, she was happy knowing there were people who really cared about her well-being.

That morning she ate almost twice her daily portions: she had lied the day before, in fact, she hadn’t eaten anything since the past breakfast, but she didn’t want to intrude in the meal or, especially, she didn’t want to have to take off her gloves or any other part of her suit to eat.

Underneath all that fabric, her body was constantly full of bruises and cuts, which concentrated on her arms and the cause was her Cursed Technique.

YOUR (Y/N’S) POV

“Soo, Y/Ln. How are you feeling? You looked pretty rough last day.” Gojo tried to initiate a conversation with you, after you’d finished eating and were casually strolling around the campus to show you were all the main facilities were located.

“I’m fine, thanks. And please, call me Y/n.” You responded, smiling.

“That goes for me too. Anyways, I’m glad you’re doing good, you should’ve seen your students and co-teachers yesterday, they were worried sick.” He replied.

“I’m sure they were.”

“Well, you got me curious. What happened?” He asked, trying to not invade your privacy but at the same time get to know you more.

“Let’s just say, on our way here, we got caught up with some curses. They weren’t that strong, but I decided to finish the job myself while the others came here.” You answered.

“What grade were they? What do you mean by some?” He questioned you.

“They were…three first grades.” You said, a bit embarrassed for some reason.

“What? I mean, wow! You managed to take them all out on your own! I don’t mean to come as judgy or stuff, but when they’d told me a new teacher had arrived at Kyoto High, I didn’t really expect someone that strong.” He said, shocked.

“Thanks, I guess…? I kinda get that a lot!” You replied, chuckling to yourself and shoving your hands in your pockets.

You wore a simple navy blue hoodie and black tight jeans with a pair of white and blue sneakers with silver gloves covering your hands.

You had always been very insecure about your scars, being basically covered in scratches and those squiggly white lines. When you didn’t wear gloves or you exposed your scars in any way, you always got weird or pitiful stares from those around you, so, a couple of years ago, you’d decided it would be in your best interest to hide them.

You started absentmindedly fidgeting with your necklace, until Gojo interrupted you in your actions: “What’s up with the gloves? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You were used to people asking that type of questions, so you replied how you usually did: “My hands get cold.”

He stared at you, unamused. Many people figured that was a lie, but they usually dropped the topic at your response. Instead, he questioned you further: “Are you sure?”

You rolled your eyes, not knowing if you were more irritated or amused by his investigative nature. All your friends knew about it, and he looked like a pretty chill guy, so, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him.

“Okay, fine. It’s because of my Cursed Technique. It’s called Glass Veil.”

He seemed intrigued by it, asking you: “I’ve never heard of it before. How does it work?” 

You decided to explain it further: “it’s exactly what it sounds like. I create barriers made of transparent, glass-like cursed energy. They can reflect attacks, bend light to make me invisible, or distort space to create mirages. Sounds great, right? Yeah, well, here’s the catch. My defenses aren’t invincible—if an attack is too strong, the barriers shatter, and I feel every bit of that damage. Cuts, energy recoil, you name it. And if I try to reflect something too powerful? My own body starts breaking down from the strain. Oh, and those mirages? They don’t just mess with my enemies—they mess with me too. Use too many, and suddenly, I can’t tell what’s real anymore. If I push myself too hard, my entire technique collapses like shattered glass—leaving me completely defenseless. So yeah… it’s powerful, but if I’m not careful? It’ll kill me before my opponent even gets the chance.”

He looked at you, amazed. “Woah. I didn’t know techniques like that existed. I’m sorry for you though, it must hurt when you fight.”

“Yeah, well, you get used to it.”

“You know you shouldn’t. You should ask for help if fighting off curses becomes a threat to your safety.” He scolded you.

“Thanks…I-I mean, I don’t know what to say. I really appreciate it, Satoru.” Yes, you had many friends that worried about you, but this felt different. You were happy to know you’d made a new friend. After knowing how your technique worked, most tried to change the argument or make it about themselves, making you wonder if you’d said something wrong.

“But hey, enough about me. What do you have to tell me?” You asked.

“Well, I think you know pretty well how my Cursed Techniques work.” Gojo replied.

“Yeah, but, I’d like to hear more about how you manage to use them.” You inquired further.

“Okay, so, basically…” He had looked surprised at first, but in the end, started telling you everything. He talked to you about the basics of his techniques, then began to trail off about how he’d learned them and how he used them in fights. You’d talked so much it had already become lunch time, when, somehow, the topic became the thing you feared the most: soulmates.

You’d heard of all types of ways someone is connected to his soulmate and finds him, there were the most romantic ones, like where the other’s first sentence to you is written on your forearm; the more unique ones, where one would switch bodies with the other on a certain date; or the more creative ones where flowers sprouted in the point the other would first touch you or bump into you. You’d read so many books about it, wondering if you’d ever be able to find your soulmate.

You’d tried anything, yet you never found any red strings, or markings on your skin.

The main difficulty was, you didn’t have any signs of knowing if your soulmate was alive or not. I mean, you sometimes felt intense pain in parts of your body, but you were convinced it was simply because of your Cursed Technique and how you often over-worked yourself, which looked like a pretty good explanation for those around you.

“Do you have a soulmate?” Gojo asked, coming to a stop.

You were in front of a beautiful lake with the sun and a soft breeze helping you relax.

“Not that I know of. They might as well be dead or have never existed. I never got any signs actually.” You said, voice lowering.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Satoru said, staring at his shoes sadly.

“What about you? I’m sure you got a beautiful lady or dude waiting for you at home.” You shrugged off the heavy burden that had weighed on your shoulders since forever.

“Pft. I wish!” He replied.

“Wait really? Did you get any signs?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I can feel part of their pain, at least the physical one.” He said, chuckling.

“Oof, that must be painful!” You said.

“Yes, it is. I just wish I could find her, or him for that matter. I’ve been searching for years.” He confessed you.

You went to give him a pat on the back, telling him encouragingly: “I’m sure you’ll find them, sooner or later. I may have not known you for much, but you seem like a pretty good guy, and after all you’ve done as a Sorcerer, you deserve to have a happy ending more than anyone.

He looked taken back at your words and hugged you tightly, crying a bit in your sweater.

You caressed his broad shoulders, giving him small reassuring pats, and telling him not to worry, your heart subtly breaking at his broken state.

Breaking the hug, he wiped his eyes and sniffed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from him with his confessions.

Grabbing a tissue from your pockets, you wiped his beautiful eyes, getting lost in them for a second.

You then offered it to him to blow his nose, and he took it gratefully, thanking you.

“Blimey, it’s already 1:15 p.m.! We’re late for lunch!” You said panicked, looking at his watch.

Laughing, he took his hand in yours with a nonchalant: “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

In the blink of an eye, you’d been teleported right outside the dining hall, where he kindly opened the door for you and held it in a very gentlemanly way.

Thanking him, you quickly reached your seat at the table, in between Mai and Utahime, who both wore the same scolding look as ever, to which you replied with a tight lipped smile.

That afternoon, the students’ training was planned, in order to make the last preparations before the competition days.

You sat on a bench near the practice grounds with Gojo, asking him about his students and their cursed techniques.

The day ended quickly, and you soon sent all your students off to bed, in order to regain all their strength back with a good night’s sleep and be in perfect shape for tomorrow’s team competition.

The next day, tension filled the air heavily and all the students were silent, reorganizing their mind and thinking about the strategies they had  practiced yesterday.

You didn’t know what the Tokyo students had in mind, but with your students you had elaborated an intricate and intelligent plan that used everyone’s abilities: Mono would be the jolly, controlling from above on her flying broomstick the situation and occasionally helping on the grounds, Miwa would work in pair with Mekamaru, focusing on the trio formed by Panda, Yuta and Inumaki; Todo had taken upon himself the responsibility of Yuji Itadori; Kamo would concentrate on Megumi and Mai on Nobara and Maki.

You’d explicitly told them not to engage combat unless needed, focusing on the task at hand, which consisted of killing 14 curses scattered across the forests of Mount Mushiro.

You teachers were to gather in the main classroom, where you would know what your students were doing thanks to Mei Mei’s crows.

To say you were anxious was an understatement, but Utahime told you to calm down and that everything was under control in case something went wrong.

The teams had until midday to defeat the curses, and then the team with the most points would’ve won.

Everything was going smoothly, the teams having killed 6 curses each and not fighting against each other too much.

That was, until Mei Mei lost contact with her crows. It was obvious someone, or something, had killed them.

You immediately panicked, scared your students could get hurt by what had finished Mei’s crows. The other teachers were on alert as well, instantly dividing their jobs between who would rescue the kids and who was going to fight off the curse.

Mei Mei had been able to get back one crow, which helped you all realize the problem at hand: there were around 5 special grade curses and many lower-grade curses.

You had planned for Gojo, Yaga, Yoshinobu and Mei to fight off the curses while Utahime, Nanami and Shoko were going to help the students.

They were going to divide themselves into groups for the different areas of the High School: Gojo and Mei would take the eastern side of Mount Mushiro, Yaga and Yoshinobu the Western. There was only the section surrounding the dormitories left, but before you could offer yourself for the job, Utahime grabbed you by the wrist: “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You scoffed.

“You’re not joining the fight, you’re already injured.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” You replied cockily.

“You don’t get to choose after all your reckless decisions.” She shouted back, the room going silent.

“They’re my students too, so if you think I’m just gonna sit here while they risk their lives out there, then you’re wrong.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Hey Utahime, calm down. We know you’re right but we have other things to discuss right now.” Gojo tried to make the girl relax.

“No you shut up! Y/n don’t you dare step out of that room! Do you understand me?” She said.

“I already told you I’m going and there’s no stopping me!” You replied, moments away from becoming the angriest you had ever been.

Impatient, she lashed out at your insolence:“YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?” You yelled back, the words slipping out of your mouth before you were able to register it.

Everybody’s heads turned to you, making you feel uncomfortable, so you decided to just go outside and do your job: “I’m going to fight the curses located near the dormitory, if someone else has got anything to say, tell it to the wall, at least it may listen.”

You shut the door loudly behind you, not caring about their shocked expressions or Utahime’s blank stare: you were utterly furious, who was she to tell you what to do? You were a grown-up sorcerer, you knew the risks of your job. She had no reason to lash out at you that way, she may have been worried, but it’s still your students we’re talking about; besides, your bruises had already completely healed and you were well-rested.

Thinking back to it, though, you felt sorry to have screamed at her, she hadn’t deserved it: she was only worried about you, but it sometimes got too much; you would apologize later.

You started running to the site in the uncomfortable sweater. You certainly hadn’t expected an attack that day, so the outfit wasn’t the most appropriate: you wore a baggy pink hoodie with a plain black sports Bra underneath and a matching pair of black leggings with your usual boots and gloves.

Along the way, you met a few small curses, bringing them down one by one without even having to use your powers, slicing them in parts with the small knives hid in the boots.

Reaching the dormitories, everything seemed oddly quiet and ordinary around you, until you sensed a tremor in the ground.

What was happening? You looked around as the ground rumbled and shook, a huge crack filled with water opening a few feet away from you. Out of the blue (literally), emerged a towering, humanoid figure with a body made of black, swirling water, deep-sea corals, and glowing abyssal fish embedded in its skin, its face masked by an eerie, translucent jellyfish-like veil.

You rapidly formed a glass shield around you to protect you from the high-speed water whips that came from the creature’s limbs.

You didn’t recount ever facing a curse like this before, but you figured it was nature-based.

In the bat of an eye, the whips started coming from all directions, rendering you unable to do anything but protect yourself in any way you could.

You formed a glass sphere around you, in order to get complete coverage while you studied the curse’s powers and thought of a plan to end him.

However, you weren’t given the time to think, as a water field surrounded your figure, pressure rising at unmatchable speed while the temperature and the oxygen decreased.

You had to be swift: you were already in a glass bell-like structure, where the oxygen would’ve run out quickly, so your biggest issue at the moment was to keep breathing.

Feeling another tidal wave coming to hit you, you made up a fallback plan, using the strong force to make the glass bell explode from within, sending shards of glasses flying and temporarily stopping the curse from attacking you because of the great quantity of cursed energy that had hit him.

You regained fighting stance in that short period of time, but weren’t able to react as another huge wave crashed over you, swallowing you whole. It would’ve been useless to create another shield, as it would’ve shattered in pieces, causing you severe feedback injuries and tiring you even more in the effort.

You felt like you were in a maelstrom, unable to breath and consequentially think properly, losing consciousness against the high pressure and not feeling your limbs because of the intense cold that had surrounded you.

You regained your vision, once the curse had stabilized the whirlpool in front of him and cleared a small tunnel, barely big enough for you to start breathing again.

He smirked at your unresponsiveness, your head throbbing and heavy: what if Utahime was right? Maybe you shouldn’t have come here, maybe you shouldn’t have tried to save your students, becoming a dead-weight to the other sorcerers who could actually provide help to those in need. Maybe you weren’t enough and you shouldn’t have ever considered becoming a jujutsu sorcerer. You should’ve stayed with your parents, attended a good school and got a financially rewarding job, ignoring the monsters you saw while walking around the city center and forgetting about the small light balls you had been able to create since you were a kid.

You could’ve prevented this, but deep down, you had always known it: you were born alone and you were going to die alone. You couldn’t wish for your friends or family’s help: your family loved you dearly, but, not being sorcerers, they didn’t understand you; Utahime and the rest of Kyoto’s sorcerers only took you under their wing out of pity, nobody saw you as anything else but a loner who liked hurting herself. You weren’t going to have a happy ending like Gojo or Utahime deserved, you were never going to find your soulmate.

Accepting your fate, a smile found its way onto your cracked lips, tears flowing freely from your eyes and merging with the surrounding water.

“I knew you were an easy prey the moment I saw you. How could anybody this helpless become a sorcerer? If you’re afraid of your own looks, how do you expect to be able to save everybody? You can’t fight! You were never meant to become a sorcerer, you’re just a harmless little girl who’ll die alone and unloved, forgotten by her very own friends and family.”

You knew it was the end, yet you weren’t scared. Exhaustion took over you as the Abyssal Curse, ‘Shinkai’, as you remembered him from a book in Kyoto’s library, ultimated his domain expansion: The Midnight Trench.

Suddenly, you were surrounded by void, you started struggling to breath, lungs feeling flooded and bones crushing under the increased water pressure and cursed energy barriers.

Then, a group of sea-monsters like you’d never encountered before, attacked you, devouring you from limb to limb, ripping your body to pieces as your mind felt like it was about to explode.

You saw your friends’ faces and your past’s happy memories started filling your head: you saw your parents bringing you for the first time at a Luna Park, Utahime comforting you after a bad training, Shoko curing your cuts, Mai and Todo offering you your very first Takoyaki, Gojo hugging you so tightly you felt like you couldn’t breath…

You couldn’t breath. YOU COULDN’T BREATH!

You had to get out of here, you were too young to die! You still had to save your students, find a real purpose in life, make your family and friends proud and happy but, most importantly, you had to find your soulmate! You couldn’t let your family, Utahime or your other colleagues down and you had to prove the curse wrong: you could fight and you sure as heck were going to!

You tried to remember what you had read about this particular curse: their domain expansion was characterized by hallucinations like the one you were having right now. You concentrated on your powers, when immediately a thought came to your mind, making you laugh: ‘You were the one who created mirage-like illusions! This curse had no chance against you whilst it used your own cursed technique!’

Simultaneously, you created a new mirage of yourself and made the real you invisible, thanks to the small light that reflected into the oceanic void.

As the curse started attacking the illusion, you saw a ray of sunshine from above: that was it! You’d found an exit!

You decided it was time to test that little gadget Mechamaru had built inside your boots: clicking a small button, a soft gush of wind came out from your soles, slowly lifting you in the air.

A soft breeze caressed your face, body warming with the sun rays, clean air filling your lungs: you had made it out! Concentrating on what you had to do now, you suppressed temporarily your ecstasy, knowing it wouldn’t have taken long for the curse to discover the deception.

You remembered these kind of curses usually took their cursed energy from water sources they couldn’t depart from, unless they didn’t mind losing a substantial portion of their powers.

Looking around, you noticed how a blue gluey trail connected the curse, still focused on their small domain, to a water fountain near the dormitory.

Sprinting towards it with all the strength you had left, you closed the pipe in order to stop the water from running and cutting off Shinkai’s water source.

The curse visibly tumbled, the energy they had previously used for their techniques and domain being drained from their body.

“Hah! You escaped, you insolent little girl. I should’ve known. Well, what are we gonna do now?”

You kept silent and invisible, circling him as he kept his back on you, eyes trained where the whirlpool had been until seconds ago.

Having reached the perfect spot, you revealed yourself: “I’ll kill you and all your stupid friends.”

“I’d like to see you t…”

His sentence was cut short by you slicing his head off with a sword made out of light.

The Jelly sphere rolled onto the ground, the body collapsing on itself and becoming a pool of suspiciously dark water, before evaporating completely.

You sighed, but the happiness was shortly lived.

Not only were the grounds near the dormitory a complete mess, but also you were full of cuts and bruises, your head so heavy it felt like it was about to fall off.

On your right arm, a huge gash had appeared, blood dripping copiously and drenching your torn apart hoodie. You decided to take it off, ripping a piece with which you would have wrapped your forearm, and throwing away the remaining pieces, leaving yourself in the sports bra.

Your legs and abdomen weren’t in a much better state, clothes ripped to pieces because of the explosion you’d created at the start of the fight, and you were thankful you couldn’t take a look at your back even if you wanted to, knowing it was probably reduced even worse than your front.

Not finding anyone near your position, you headed towards Mount Mushiro, were most of the students were located, along with the teachers and the curses.

You put one foot in front of the other, trying not to let your dizziness get the best of you, when pain shot in your left leg, as if you’d twisted it badly. Soon, you felt the same pain on your back and your left arm, falling to your knees as you gasped for air. It didn’t come from your cuts; it was different, like it came from the inside. You got a sense of deja-vu…Had you ever felt like this before? You were sure you had. All of a sudden, you remembered the mysterious pain you’d felt many times when you were younger.

As everything clicked into place, your conversation about soulmates with Satoru flashed in front of your eyes. You fought back the joyous tears that threatened to spill from your bruised eyes, a ray of hope appearing in your mind. Had you found your soulmate? If so, what did the pain mean? Was he okay? A sense of worry and anxiety washed over you, as you ran up the stairs of Mount Mushiro, heading to where loud battle noises came from, your heart beat increasing rapidly.

Not wasting any time, you bolted towards Gojo’s location, relieved at the vision of him beat up, but with the same smirk as ever. A huge dead curse’s body rotting behind his glorious figure.

Before coming out of the woods, a small voice in the back of your mind remembered you your scars were all exposed by then to anybody who looked in your way. What was he gonna think of you? Would he repel you for your looks? Would he hate you and be disgusted by you forever, not giving you a chance to prove your theory?

But then, you stopped listening. You stopped listening to the small devil that had haunted your past since you’d discovered your cursed technique, reminding you about how you didn’t fit in and weren’t liked by anyone.

You decided you were done giving in to your fears and letting them win over you: you only decided how you were going to live your life, and you sure as hell didn’t eat to hide your true self ever since, if you could.

Feeling free from the Cains you’d bound yourself to, you jolted towards an oblivious Satoru in a hug that sent you both flying on the ground.

“What the…?”

A confused look passed his face, soon followed by a mix of anger, worry and relief.

“What did you think you were doing? Running off alone to challenge a special grade? Are you freaking insane? You’re hurt! You shouldn’t…”

Sensing something was wrong, he halted in his words.

You were a complete wreck, full of blood and dirt, sobbing incessantly and body shaking feverishly, your hands gripping his suit like he was going to fly away any time, yet a sincere smile painting your features like a small kid who’s been gifted candy.

“Hey, hey. Shh, shhh. Don’t cry, it’s okay! I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine!” He soothed you, caressing your bare back with his left hand, holding you tightly with the other hand, still sat on the ground.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” He asked in a patient, father-like tone.

You slowed down your sobs and trembling, sniffing every minute or so, your throat feeling dry and blocked.

Not enough brave to look at him in the eyes, you asked him: “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” He answered, lifting your chin up in order to look at you in the eyes.

Your side bang had moved behind your ear, revealing an ugly scar that ran across the left side of her face, from her eyebrow, along her eyelid, to her rosy cheek, wet with tears.

You had chosen that haircut specifically to hide that repulsing scar, yet, when he saw it, he didn’t flinch or appear disgusted. Rather than that, he looked…intrigued, almost happy to have seen a side of you you usually hid from others.

He’d also noticed how you didn’t have your hoodie or your gloves anymore, and he felt somehow relieved: you trusted him. Besides, to him, you’d never looked more attractive.

“Turn your infinity off.” It wasn’t meant to sound like an order, but to Gojo it seemed rather bossy, yet, confused, he complied nonetheless.

As you felt your skin touch, for the first time ever, a warm chill rand down your spine and a burnt feeling spread across your left hand’s ring finger, where a marking had appeared: ‘Satoru Gojo’.

He looked at his hand, finding the same marking as yours, but with your name written instead.

He stared at you lovingly, contemplating whether to kiss you or not.

He recounted the years spent searching for you, the pain he had felt and the loneliness that had graved on him until the day he’d met you, deciding to go for it.

You were both dirty and stinky, though it still somehow felt beautiful, more than you could’ve ever imagined.

It was slow and passionate, full of raw emotions that couldn’t be kept at bay anymore.

Finally, as you two detached, a new feeling washed over you, one you’d never felt before: love.

You’d finally found your soulmate, as he’d found you, and you knew you would both love each other to whatever end.

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

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Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[erimeows]

Drunk In Love

Most nights after work, Team Mustang carpools to the nearest bars. 

Most nights, Riza Hawkeye also gets hit on. 

It’s almost routine at this point. She’s young, beautiful, and carries herself with a calm, sharp confidence that turns heads the moment she walks in. Her military uniform, perfectly pressed, only adds to her appeal- there’s something about a service woman that draws men in like moths to a flame. 

Roy hates it. He hates the way they look at her, the way they hover too close, hoping for a flicker of interest. He hates how they stumble over clumsy pick-up lines that never work and leer like they’ve earned the right to her time. She always rejects them, firmly enough but still kinder than they deserve, and it never affects her and Roy’s dynamic. But still, every time he watches it unfold, something ugly coils in his chest. His throat tightens, his jaw clenches, and his stomach knots itself into something unbearable. He wonders, when women flirt with him in this setting- or when he goes on ‘dates’ with his informants, does Riza feel the same way? And it’s a question that he quickly pushes to the side, because either answer comes with its own set of issues. 

He can’t figure out why it all bothers him so much. Or maybe he already knows and just refuses to admit it. 

Tonight is no different. 

Riza sits beside him at the bar, her chair turned away from the counter so she can face the room- a habit born from years of vigilance. She never lets her guard down, not even here when they’re supposed to be relaxing. Meanwhile, Roy sits properly, facing forward, but his eyes keep flicking to her, drawn to her as if by force. 

A man that’s not nearly attractive enough for someone as beautiful as Riza is standing on her left. He’s been ogling her from across the bar all night with a group of buddies and they stupidly encouraged him to hit on her even though she’s clearly far too good for him. The thought makes Roy sick with something he doesn’t want to dwell on. 

“Hey, there, can I buy you a drink?” The man says, resting his elbow against the counter with a cocky grin and a hunger in his eyes that makes Roy’s blood simmer. 

“No, thank you,” Riza turns him down immediately. Roy lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

Usually, this is where the men say they understand before turning and retreating like mutts with their tails tucked between their legs. But this one is a little drunk and his friends are across the crowded room, even more drunk than he is as they cheer him on. 

“Oh, c’mon, just one drink!”

Riza shifts uncomfortably. Her shoulders tense. A tell that her ever-lasting patience is already starting to thin. The man’s second attempt is loud enough that the rest of the team notices, too. At this point, it just depends on who moves first. Maes is sitting on the other side of Roy, surveying the situation- and Havoc and Falman have both fallen silent to observe as well. Even Fuery and Breda, who are across the room, have stopped to look. But Riza, if pushed, will move before any of them will most of the time. She doesn’t really need them at all. Roy has seen her send men twice her size flying like they weigh nothing when they get a little too frisky. 

“Really,” Riza says, her tone much sharper now. Her impassive gaze has turned into a sharp glare. “Leave me alone.”

But the man still isn’t deterred. 

“Don’t be so uptight. Just one drink, and we can see where it goes from there.”

Riza’s hand drifts to her holster now, fingers twitching as she holds the man’s stare. Roy knows that she can easily handle this by herself, and would probably prefer to do so, but he finds himself emboldened enough by the jealousy (ah, so that’s what it is) that courses through his veins to intervene. 

He stands from his barstool, placing a gloved hand on Riza’s shoulder. He glares at the man standing across from him, who glares right back. And Riza just watches them, stuck in between. Roy is so close to her now that he can smell her cologne- cologne, not perfume- wafting off of her, and in that moment, he finds himself wishing that they could be this close all the time. 

“Back off of my lieutenant,” He finally says, the words coming out far more possessive than he means for them to.

The stranger raises an eyebrow and smirks right back at him. 

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll light you on fire,” And Roy won’t- probably- at least not with both Riza and Maes here to stop him from doing so, but the peculiar threat is enough for the guy to take a step back and cross his arms over his chest. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m The Flame Alchemist,” Roy answers, flashing a smirk. “Care to test out that title?”

Everyone in Amestris has heard of him, so of course, the man’s expression shifts the moment he hears the words leave Roy’s mouth. He takes a step back, wary. 

“Whatever,” He grumbles before retreating back to the booth he came from, a scowl on his face.

Seconds later, he’s dragging his drunk friends from the booth and leaving the building.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was going to shoot at his feet if he kept that up,” Riza says, but she can’t hide the amused grin that takes over her face at just how fast the man retreated under Roy’s threats. “But thank you anyways.”

At that, Roy turns back to her, beaming at the approval. Embarrassing. Maes is sat next to him, laughing his ass off at the display, but Roy doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he meets Riza’s eyes and offers her a soft smile.

“Anything for my lieutenant.”

Riza turns back to her drink, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile stays, growing larger as she peeks at Roy from her peripheral. When their gazes meet again, she laughs.

And Roy swears, he’s never been so conflicted. On one hand, being around her just makes him so… Happy, as of late. On the other hand, he doesn’t like that he gets jealous over her. But of course, he’s been consumed by that selfish sort of feeling since they were kids. He wants to spend time with her, for them to stay by each other’s sides. He doesn’t want her to look or laugh at anyone else the way she does with him.

And he doesn’t want to think about it any further. So, he sits back down in his barstool and orders a shot, ignoring the way that he can feel her honey-hued eyes on him. 

~

Whenever they go out, Roy never drinks too much. At least not when Riza is there, and while it’s mostly because he wants to keep his composure in public, it’s also for a more… Unsavory reason.

The first time he got drunk enough to stumble out the door of the bar- after four shots- Riza insisted on taking him home, and though the memories are foggy, he remembers enjoying them. So, the next time they went, he drank three shots- enough to be decently drunk but still able to remember some of what happened. After that, he started limiting himself to two, which is only enough to get him buzzed, but he always acts a little more drunk than he actually is in an attempt to get Riza to take him home.

And she always does, half-heartedly scolding him about how he drinks too much before helping him into the passenger’s seat of the car and driving him home. She’ll help him back out of the car, walking him into his house and tucking him into bed before inevitably leaving. It happens multiple times a week, to the point that Roy has problems going to sleep if she isn’t there to tuck him into bed.

It’s pathetic. It’s wrong. The morally righteous part of him feels bad for taking advantage of his lieutenant’s protective, caring nature to satisfy his emotional needs, but at the same time… He can’t help himself. He needs her around, and he’s too scared to simply ask her to come home with him. So he does this instead. And it’s not quite as good as the things he won’t admit he fantasizes about, but it’s enough for him.

Tonight is the same as many of the others- he drinks two shots, Riza doesn’t pay attention and assumes he’s had more, and he uses the minimal acting skills he has to convince her that he’s drunk enough that he can’t drive. 

He’s perfected the act, especially lately; a slight slur in his words, a well-timed stumble, a heavy-lidded gaze that hints at inebriation but never quite crosses into absurdity. It’s enough to fool his subordinates, enough to warrant Riza’s steady hands on his body to keep him upright, enough to ensure that she’ll always be the one to take him home.

And so, the pattern continues.

“Alright, sir, let’s get you home,” Riza sighs at the end of the night, looping an arm underneath his armpit to secure his weight against her strong frame.

Breda snickers into his whiskey at the sight.

“Man, the colonel really can’t hold his liquor, can he?”

“Apparently not,” Falman sighs. “He’s been getting hammered every time we go out for a while now. Should we be worried?”

“I don’t know… I hope it’s not that deep, but it’s really not our business either way,” Fuery trails off with a small frown, glancing between Roy and Riza with worried eyes. 

Havoc takes a drag off of his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke as he stares at Riza.

“You’re a saint, Hawkeye. If I had to drag his drunk ass home every night we went out, I’d quit. I don’t even know why you bother coming anymore, knowing that your night is going to end with a drunken bastard of a colonel in your passenger seat.”

Riza rolls her eyes at them, but says nothing as she guides Roy out of the dimly lit bar and towards her car. The drive is short and silent, just as it tends to be. Were it anyone else, Roy would be uncomfortable, but silence with Riza has always been easy in a way that makes his chest feel warm.

When they get to Roy’s house, Riza helps him out of the car like she always does. Roy feels a sad, nervous weight on his chest, knowing that their time like this together is about to end- that in just a few hours, they’re going to be back at work, in uniform, acting like a colonel and his lieutenant. Roy shouldn’t be so upset. That is what they are. But a terrible, undeserving part of him wants more. Wants her.

No, that’s a ridiculous thought. Roy immediately pushes it to the side as Riza leads him to his bedroom. 

He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his boots, and ‘stumbles’ into the bed. Riza follows close behind so she can gently drag his blanket up over his body and slip a pillow beneath his head. 

“Stay?” Roy asks, and it’s a stupid question that slips out before he can think better of it- one that he tries not to think too hard about- but he knows that if it doesn’t go the way he wants it too, he can blame it on having had a little too much to drink like he always does. 

“You know I can’t do that, sir.”

And he does know. If they were to come into work at the same time tomorrow, in the same car- if anyone were to see her car in his driveway, to see them leave his house together- they would get the wrong idea. But he needs to know if that’s really the only reason she’s refusing to stay. 

“But do you want to?”

“You should know the answer to that by now,” Riza answers after a little too long. Roy has no idea how to interpret the words. She pauses there, standing in front of him like she wants to do something else, but then she’s turning for the door with a frown on her face. “Good night.”

~

The next day is a blur. From waking up painfully alone to having to trudge into work with a pounding headache, it’s been less than ideal. But, Riza is there, and that’s enough to make things a little better. 

There is, however, something throwing him off. An unfamiliar scent that floats around the office as they near the end of their work day. It’s subtle at first, a ghost of a fragrance lingering in the air as Riza walks past his desk to check the mission reports stacked in front of him. He doesn’t notice it immediately, but when she pauses by the bookshelf, it hits him. 

“Are you wearing a new cologne, lieutenant?” Roy asks before he even realizes the words have left his mouth.

It’s not bad, but it is different. Rather than the sort of sweet, subtle scent she wore before, this one is a little more harsh- a little more spicy. 

Riza turns to face him, surprise flickering across her soft features.

“Yes, sir.”

He studies her expression, the slight tilt of her head, the way her brows lift just a fraction as if she hadn’t expected him to notice. He wonders if he’s gone too far, crossed some sort of unspoken boundary without realizing it. But he’s already said the words, and he doesn’t want this to become awkward, so he pressed on. 

“I see,” He murmurs. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Thank you,” She smiles, and then looks over at the clock on the wall. “Ah, it’s past five. I should be getting home before Black Hayate gets impatient.”

Of course. She always leaves promptly at the end of the workday on nights that the team doesn’t go out. 

“Of course. Have a good night, lieutenant,” Roy says with a smile, though he can’t hide the disappointment that runs through him when she turns and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

The scent of her cologne lingers. 

Now, it’s just him and Maes. 

A sigh falls from in between Roy’s lips, and before he can dwell too much on the odd, restless feeling twisting in his stomach, Maes clears his throat from the other side of the room. 

“Huh,” Maes starts, looking over at Roy from where he’s sat at his desk. “I didn’t know she wore cologne.”

“She’s always worn cologne,” Roy explains. He holds a book on alchemy in his hands, skimming over the pages again and again, but the words don’t stick. He’s been so distracted by Riza lately that he can’t focus on much of anything aside from her. “Though it’s been the same one for the last few years… Armstrong Noir, I think? The change is unusual for her… I wonder if something happened.”

There’s a beat of silence before Maes speaks again, tone laced with something suspiciously close to amusement. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little reckless to say stuff like that in the office?”

Roy’s brow furrows. He frowns, glancing up at Maes with confusion in his eyes.

“What are you getting at, Maes?”

“I mean that people might figure out that you two are, y’know, together.”

The words take a second to register. Roy blinks.

“...What?”

“You don’t need to lie to me, buddy,” Maes leans back in his chair, shooting a knowing look across the room. His hazel eyes have a mischievous glint to them. “I’m cool, I can keep a secret.”

Roy sits there, taking a moment to process the words, and then it clicks. Maes Hughes thinks that he and Riza Hawkeye are secretly dating. And the idea is so absurd (and delightful) that Roy laughs before responding to him.

“Maes…” Roy sets the book down with a huff, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his gloved thumb and pointer finger at the implication. Him and Riza, in a relationship. A romantic one. The idea isn’t horrible, which he doesn’t want to think about, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. ��Lieutenant Hawkeye and I are not in any sort of romantic relationship.”

“Oh my God, you’re not lying,” Maes gasps, his eyes wide as he points at Roy with one finger. “You’re not making the face.”

“The face?”

“Hawkeye pointed it out to me once- you make this face when you lie, and now I can’t unsee it,” Maes explains. That’s something that Roy didn’t even know about himself. “Anyway, you two really aren’t together?”

“No. Why would you even think that?”

“I mean… Everyone thinks that.”

“Well, they have no reason to,” Roy pouts, trying to figure out how to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about this right now. The attachment to Hawkeye that he’s been dealing with as of late has been inconvenient enough. “What, a guy can’t have a female adjutant without them being in some sort of relationship? What a sexist viewpoint- from someone who has a daughter, nonetheless. I’m disappointed in you, Maes.”

“Laying it on a little thick there,” Maes grins. “Feeling guilty?”

“Of course not. I have nothing to feel guilty about,” Roy says, the words low, but it’s not true. He has plenty to feel guilty about, especially in regards to her. “But you need to get that idea out of your mind. My relationship with Lieutenant Hawkeye is strictly professional… And friendly at most.”

“You’re making the face now,” Maes snickers.

“Shut up.”

“Dude. You know what brand of cologne she wears by name.”

“We’ve been working together for a long time.”

“Okay, what brand of cologne do I wear?” Maes demands. Roy opens his mouth to answer, only to realize that he can’t, because he has no idea what brand of cologne Maes wears. “That’s what I thought.”

“I see her more often than I see you, Maes,” He tries to justify it, even as he sits there with the cogs turning in his head. Maes has a point. This doesn’t make sense. “It doesn’t mean anything. When you work with someone every day, you learn those things about them over time.”

“You share your lunch with her every single day.”

“That doesn’t mean anything either,” Roy argues. Riza never brings her own lunch and gets so busy that she doesn’t go to the cafeteria to buy one- of course he shares his. It’s a decent thing to do. “I’d do the same for you if you forgot to bring yours.”

“Okay, how about when we were out at the bar last night?”

Roy’s cheeks flush with embarrassment as he thinks back to that idiotic man he threatened. Not that the guy didn’t deserve it for continuing to push after Riza told him no the first time, but perhaps he didn’t need to intervene. He definitely wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. It’s been gnawing at him all day. 

“I was just being helpful,” Roy argues again, his cheeks turning bright red.

“I think threatening to light the poor guy on fire for creeping on ‘your’ lieutenant is a little more than helpful, Roy.”

“She clearly wasn’t interested- he just wasn’t getting the hint. It’s not like he was respectfully asking her to dinner- he was ogling her all night like a creep and the way he spoke to her was deplorable. Plus, I was drunk.”

“You were not drunk, you hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol at that point. And if he was really bothering her, she would’ve shot at him.”

“She shouldn’t have to do that,” Roy sighs, holding his head in his hands.

“You clearly want to take care of her,” Maes continues, standing up from the desk he’s sat at and walking towards Roy. “And if the way you fake being drunk to make her take you home every time we hit the bar is anything to go by, you want her to take care of you, too.”

He doesn’t like where this conversation is going. Doesn’t like that Maes has clearly seen through his ‘drunk’ act. Has Riza noticed, too? The thought terrifies him as he gets up and paces around the room, trying to find things to keep himself busy with to no avail. 

“I don’t fake being drunk. We all know I have a bit of an alcohol problem.”

“You know what else I know?” Maes walks up to him now, standing right in front of his shorter frame and crossing his arms over his chest. “That it takes you five shots to get drunk, not the two that you limit yourself to when we go out with her.”

“I’m not having this argument with you, Maes,” Roy sighs, pushing past the man so he can go straighten the already-straight books on the bookshelf. So he’s been caught. Hopefully Riza doesn’t know. And hopefully Maes stops prying. “You’re reading too much into things, as always.”

“Well, whatever. But I’m totally talking about this interaction in my best man speech when the two of you get married… Eventually. Hell, I may be dead by the time you decide to man up and confess,” The words make Roy frown, and he thinks to speak up to scold Maes for saying so morbid, but before he can, the other man is grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. “I’ve gotta get home and make dinner.”

“Yeah, alright. See you later,” Roy sighs as the ramifications of this conversation run through his head. The last thing he needs is for anyone else to find out about this. “Wait. Maes?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Don’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“Aw, what? It’s relevant to the betting pool!”

“The fucking what?”

“Never mind! Bye!”

With that, Maes is rushing out the door.

And Roy? He stands there, stunned, heart hammering, mind racing.

Because damn it, Maes Hughes is right, just like he’s right about everything. Because the idea, the feeling, the truth- it all finally clicks into place.

He’s in love with his lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye. 

~

Days pass. Roy doesn’t know what to do with his feelings, so for now, he doesn’t do anything. He shoves them down to the best of his ability, ignores them, and acts like things are normal between him and his lieutenant. Her behavior hasn’t changed, so either she has no idea or she knew all along. Roy doesn’t know which is worse. Like most things regarding Riza these days, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

They’re out again, at a different bar this time. They tend to bar hop often. Their entire team is with them, and Ross and Brosh have even come along. Armstrong is with them, too, parading his subordinates around the bar and giving them tips to flirt ‘that have been passed through the Armstrong family line for generations’- whatever that means. 

But all Roy can focus on is Riza. She’s sitting next to him, as always, facing the room with a club soda in hand. He’s sitting next to her with two empty shot glasses in front of him. The bartender had offered another, but Riza had refused for him, citing his blushing face as a clear indication that he was already more than drunk. 

If only she knew. 

It seems that they’re both tired, because they don’t drag things out like they tend to. After an hour of being there, Riza loops an arm underneath his and guides him out of the dimly lit bar.

Once they’re in the car, Roy lets his head rest against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, letting out a tired sigh. The city streets pass by in a blur of pale lights and dark shopfronts. The warmth of Riza’s presence beside him, as always, is both a comfort and a torment.

Tonight, though, something is different. 

She’s too quiet.

And they’re usually quiet when they’re alone like this, but the silence that consumes the car tonight as she drives is tense. The air between them is heavy.

About halfway to his house, she speaks. 

“I know you’re not drunk. You can stop,” She says, and Roy doesn’t respond at first, too overwhelmed. Has he really been that obvious? Has she known the whole time? Or did she only figure it out tonight? What could he have possibly done to tip her off? “Seriously. I’m not stupid.”

“Alright, then,” Roy stiffens, sitting up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. He refuses to open his eyes, too terrified to look at her and see the expression that’s on her face. “Guess I’ve been caught.”

“Damn right you have,” Riza responds, and there’s an edge to her voice that cuts deeper than the initial accusation did.

He can’t tell what it is. Anger, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s scary, so he decides to lie. 

“So what? I’ve been exaggerating a bit so I don’t have to drive home,” He grumbles as he tries his best to ignore the horrible pounding of his heart against his ribs and the compounding anxiety-induced nausea that has bile threatening to surface in his throat. “I’ve done worse.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Silence again. Roy wills himself to force his eyes open so he can look at her. Her hands remain steady on the wheel. He expects her face to be tense, drawn tight with righteous fury, but instead she’s… Sad. Blinking rapidly, trying to keep tears from welling up in her honey-hued eyes. Struggling to suppress a frown. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks. 

“I wish you’d just admit that you want to spend more time with me,” Riza admits, her voice so quiet that Roy almost struggles to decipher the words. “And I wish you’d admit that you…”

“That I what?”

“That you want me.”

Roy doesn’t know what to do now. He could try to deceive her again, though that didn’t seem to work the first time. He could play it off, turn it into a joke, flash a grin and act like it had all been some sort of fucked up game. But the weight in her voice, the way she’s looking at him with such sorrowful eyes when she pulls up at a stop, tells him that none of that will work. Not this time. 

“So what?” He asks, to which Riza raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“What if I told you that I did want you? What would you say?”

“Sir-”

“Forgive me for asking,” Roy shakes his head. This was foolish. Part of him wonders if he should’ve just doubled down on the lie. If he’d tried hard enough, if she would’ve forgotten about this entire thing. “If this goes… Poorly, we can go back to pretending I’m drunk.”

“No. I’m tired of pretending.”

“So…” Roy starts, drumming his fingers against the door handle. “How long have I been embarrassing myself for?”

“I figured it out after I skipped one of the team’s outings to spend time with Black Hayate,” Riza explains. “Maybe after the second or third time? I called Havoc to make sure he took you home like I’d asked, only for him to say you were able to drive yourself home. I put together rather quickly that you would only get ‘drunk’ enough to need an escort when I was there.”

And Roy is embarrassed. So, so embarrassed that he’s been doing this for god knows how long, and she’s known pretty much the entire time. He’s been making a full of himself, and worst of all, he’s been hurting her. He can tell just by the sorrow that drips from every word she says. 

“So you’ve known for a while.”

“Sure, but… I would’ve figured it out eventually. You have tells. I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m sorry.”

Riza parks the car and turns to face him. 

“I don’t know why you thought you had to lie to me. You could have asked. I would’ve said yes,” Riza turns off the ignition, shoving her keys in the pocket of her coat but still holding his gaze. Roy is so humiliated that he doesn’t want to meet her eyes, but he also can’t bring himself to look away. Her admission feels like pure relief, he should be happy- and he is- but most of all, he feels guilty for dragging this out for so long. “I would have spent the time with you if you had just asked, Roy. And it makes me wonder… Are you ashamed?”

Roy raises an eyebrow at that. He’s ashamed of a lot of things; himself, the things they’ve done, the people he’s killed, the way he’s had to carry himself to advance in his military career, the scars he’s left on people- on Riza- along the way. 

“Of what?”

“Of your feelings for me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Roy whispers, shaking his head. “It’s never been that.”

“Then why?”

“Because I didn’t want to put myself in a position where you could reject me like you reject everyone else,” The answer is followed by a sharp exhale as he runs a hand through his tousled raven locks. “Because I didn’t want to ask for something I wasn’t sure I deserved.”

The silence stretches between them again, thick with the tension that’s been building for years; with the thousands of words left unsaid.

“You’re not like everyone else,” Riza sighs. “I would’ve said yes to you.”

“I asked the other night and you left anyway,” Roy argues, to which Riza glares back at him.

“I said no because you were doing it under the pretense that you were drunk. I’m not going to be vulnerable in front of you by saying yes when you won’t give me the same respect.”

“Will you spend the night with me this time, Riza? Everything’s on the table now, isn’t it?” Roy questions, and when she looks back at him with uncertainty, he continues- desperate to get her to stay after waiting for so long. “We can lie. Say that I drank so much that I made myself sick, and you just stayed to take care of me.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Riza leans in, caressing his face with one hand and leaning in to press a soft kiss against Roy’s lips. When she pulls away, she’s smiling, her cheeks dusted bright red, and Roy swears he’s never been so happy. “Let’s go inside.”

[bellesdreamyprofile]

Nights of Drinks and Jealousy - Austin Butler

summary: a night out and a couple of drinks with your friends turn into quite an evening ; austin's jealousy saves the day

It was one of the usual nights with your friends - people that you and Austin mutually clicked with. Some were Austin's colleagues he introduced you to and others were people you had known for a while - it was a good mix of both of your worlds. You were keen on staying in touch with the people you cared about, despite of both of your hectic schedules. Austin was always in between sets and you were in between pages and ink, writing as the inspirational wave hit you.

The restaurant was casual, nothing too fancy, yet you were still in the more secluded area for privacy reasons. Austin let you slide in the booth first, chuckling at a joke Florence made, and then took a seat beside you. Callum sat opposite to your boyfriend and Florence opposite to you, though one person was missing.

"Alex not gonna make it tonight?", you asked, your eyes darting between the group. Florence shrugged and Callum frowned, pulling his phone out.

"He said he'd be there.", he mentioned and started scrolling on his phone. Just as Callum was about to call him, the man made an appearance.

Alex was panting as he reached your table, making you wonder if he had been running to get there. Everyone greeted him with glee, for he was the most vivacious of the group, and then he took a seat beside Callum.

"Traffic was a bitch, let me tell ya.", he said, shrugging off his jacket. Callum elbowed him and winked in your direction.

"Y/N was worried you wouldn't show up.", his tone dripped with irony and you couldn't help but laugh and roll your eyes. Austin shifted in his seat and reached for his glass of water, saying nothing as he quietly observed.

"Well, I wouldn't have complained.", Florence started, happily grasping her glass of wine. "More drinks for us."

"Y/N worried about me? Well, that's nice.", there was something about his smile that set you off a little and then a faint blush made its way on his cheeks. Maybe you could be mistaken, for the dim lights liked to play these sorts of tricks.

Your chest tightened as your hand automatically reached for Austin's under the table. He immediately reacted, giving it a squeeze, and the invisible wall he had built around himself for the past minutes had now just shattered.

"I, uh, I thought you were gonna show up with Alyssa.", you changed the topic and reached for your own water, your other hand still in Austin's hold.

Alex tensed and cleared his throat, raising his hand for the bartender. You exchanged a look with Florence, who was equally as confused as you were.

"A whiskey, please.", his tone was sharp, Callum turning sideways to get a better look at him.

"You okay, man? You usually start drinking after dinner. You know what they say about drinking on an empty stomach.", Cal tried to make a little joke about that, but the tension casted on the table was palpable. You let out a shaky breath as you felt something unusual set on your chest - the feeling that tonight wasn't going to be a good night.

Alex spoke only after he was served his drink, his head hung low as he swirled his whiskey. "Alyssa and I... We're divorcing."

You kept the gasp to yourself, Austin squeezing your hand. You were both in shock, since you were very good friends with Alyssa and had known her since before she met Alex. She was a sweet girl and they truly seemed great together.

"Alex... We're so sorry, my gosh, how are you doing?", Florence leaned over to look at him.

"We're there for you, man.", Austin said and reached forward to pat his friend's arm. "What happened? If you'd like to talk about it, of course.", he said carefully and Alex nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, thanks guys. It's just... I didn't wanna tell anybody, because I thought we could fix this, you know?", his tone was almost unrecognizable as he kept his eyes low. What love can do to a man, you thought. "The only time the relationship felt alive was when we were fighting. For it to feel this way... It's not worth it. So we gave up."

You shuddered at his words, and as you emphasized with Alex, your thoughts made you wander to your and Austin's relationship. You realized you were lucky to have someone so genuine, funny, caring and loving by your side. Another squeeze and a subtle finger grazing the back of his hand were sent his way.

"It'll get better, man.", Callum wrapped an arm around his shoulder and waved at the bartender. "Let's get some drinks in you."

The drinks kept flowing and the booth was abandoned once dinner was over. You all found yourselves at the bar, you leaning against the counter and Austin caging you with his arms. You laughed at his curls brushing your cheeks as he leaned down to your ear.

"I'm gonna go with Cal for a quick smoke, alright?", your hands found home on the nape of his neck, brushing the little hair you loved so much. You nodded in silence, totally mesmerized by the beauty of the man. Austin noticed your absence and brushed your nose with his. "You sure, you don't wanna come with, baby?"

You shook your head and placed a kiss on his lips. "I gotta stick to at least one New Year's resolution, Aus.", you weren't particularly addicted, but you always smoked when somebody else did. Being friends with Callum did a number on you cigarettes wise.

Austin nodded and kissed you, pulling back to look at you with a smile. "My best girl. You stick to the resolutions, baby. I admire you for that.", you rolled your eyes, though the smile painted on your lips was inevitable. "I'll be back in ten."

You watched Austin leave with Callum and Florence immediately appeared by your side.

"You know, you two are disgustingly sweet it's actually adorable.", she said, scoffing and grabbed a drink from the counter.

You laughed a little and shook your head. "What can I say? I love the man.", your hand found your fizzy drink with ease as conversation between you and Florence flowed.

Florence was in the midst of telling a captivating story when you felt an unfamiliar touch on your shoulder. You immediately froze and glanced sideways, partly relaxing at the sight of Alex. He laughed randomly, his breath hitting your nose and his arm sliding further.

You cleared your throat and tried to slip away from his touch. By that point, even Florence stopped talking, her eyes stuck on his arm around your shoulder and the visible discomfort in your face.

"What are you doing?", she asked calmly, sensing your struggle to speak up. Alex laughed again and squeezed you.

"Alright.", you said quietly, now fed up with his nonsense. "You're drunk and I'm with Austin.", you turned his way and cringed when you had to put your hands on him to push him away.

Alex frowned, tightening his grip on you. "You ain't complaining when it's Turner hugging you."

You tried to push him off once again. "He's my best friend!", your eyes darted on Florence, who was looking through her purse. "Flo, please call Austin."

"I was already on it.", she said and pulled out her cellphone, her eyes dead-set on Alex. 

Alex shook his head and took a step forward. "You little—"

"I dare you to finish that sentence, you son of a bitch.", Alex's hand was ripped off of you, forcing you to look to your side. Callum pushed him back and Austin had his hand clenched in a fist. You knew that the situation was only moments away from unfolding into a disaster.

Florence gently grasped your arm and pulled you in her direction. You were still in a haze of confusion and disappointment. You were more upset over not succeeding in pushing Alex away than him putting his hands on you.

The next minutes were a blur - you were all escorted out of the restaurant through a backdoor, Callum taking a cab with Alex and Florence hugging both you and Austin goodnight. Only when you watched Florence's car drive away, you were able to let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

Austin's arm was securely curled around your waist - his familiarity, his touch and smell grounding you.

"It's over now, baby.", he placed a kiss on your temple, his hold tightening on you. "Should've never left you by yourself, I'm sorry."

Your gaze rose to meet his eyes, eyes that were tormented by what had unfolded half an hour ago. "Florence was with me...", you said in a low tone. "He was drunk and obviously going through—"

Austin shook his head and cut you off immediately. "That is absolutely no excuse to his actions, Y/N. I don't give a fuck if his dog died or if his wife left him. There is no excuse to put his disgusting hands on you.", his words held confidence and rage, and if you weren't so bothered by what had happened you would've found him so hot right now. 

His vein visibly popping in his neck, his hands jealously gripping your body and his eyes that were so blue and wild.

You cleared your throat and looked down in embarrassment, your thoughts getting in the way.

"Thanks, honey.", you looked up once again, finding love in those waves of blue. "Don't know what I would've done without you.", you said honestly as your hand curled around his waist in comfort.

Austin pecked your lips and that was when you decided to start walking towards your car. He opened your door like a real gentleman and you smiled at him. Though before he closed the door, he stopped in trance and looked at you, a mix of amusement and seriousness flickering over his features.

"Don't think I haven't noticed that look in your eyes, missy."

MASTERLIST austin masterlist

austin 2025 digital calendar 🎀 austin phone case💋

[iiapplemouse]

Words Pierced with Love, S.Hanta

@ gn!reader, late valentines special ¡ not proofread

masterlist

it was a week before valentines day, the class had agreed to plan on an activity that they could do together as a whole. mina was mostly the one who took the initiative, knowingly she's worked up for this kind of stuff. long story short, the majority collectively voted for your idea, which is to give handwritten letters for your friends and loved ones.

it would be your 3rd year by now, everyone had become close with one another. you've seen each and one of their strengths and weaknesses, their best and worst days. they've become an extended branch of your family, and it's nature shows itself as well, making sure no one gets left behind.

surprisingly, no one has gotten together with anyone. most are likely yet to confess, trying to wait for the right time. you, on the other hand, there was a special someone who had caught your attention since the start. one who you considered to be your best friend and life time, partner in crime. sero was your rock, the one who had been there for you these past years. something about him had just lured you in even further down the rabbit hole, not that you're complaining. you wouldn't have it any other way.

you were in your room, a blank sheet of paper staring right back at you. the other letters written were already folded into their individual envelopes. finally writing for your best friend, you're now stuck brainstorming on what to say.

"do i confess right here, right now or do I keep it casual?" are the questions that keep running through your mind. god knows on what would even happen if it would ruin your friendship, but a part of you was telling you to fuck everything and spill your guts out onto that sheet of paper that was likely getting impatient if it had a life of its own.

it ended up being longer than you'd expect it to, now tucking it safely into its envelope. signing it off by adding the name of the person it was dedicated to.

you can only hope it doesn't become awkward after that, but right now, you feel as if you can't bottle up the feelings you've had for him anymore.

you wonder if it was because the thought of finally having a valentine after all these years was the reason for finally confessing. that is if the feelings were mutual of course. you can’t think anymore, 'let's deal with this tomorrow' you think.

-

on the other line, sero had plans of making a move on you. he couldn't imagine himself being with someone else, someone that isn't you. sure, he had written letters for his best bros, but he wanted to make yours more personal and intimate. from all his insecurties, you had made him feel like he was his own person by the time being spent with you.

thoughts were running through his mind, about how much he would love and cherish you if he were yours. god he was down bad.

by the time he had finished writing his letter, he started preparing the other gifts he had wanted to deliver to you. which was a box contained with your favourite snacks, products, and personalized items. he planned to give them after the event, hoping you would accept his confession.

-

hearts day arrived, the school was decorated in hearts and pink streamers. everyone was gathered in the classroom, the lights were all off, and the only light source that bounces off were from the windows. you were sat beside sero, and the rest of the group. all of the letters were given to mina, so she could arrange all and distribute them.

the time you receive your bunch had your chest burning in warmth, happy that these amount of people thought of writing you a letter. reading through each and one of them, sweet words after another. getting sentimental as each were written in their handwriting was the genuine thoughts they would want to speak through the piece of paper.

you can hear the commotion from the other groups, some had started crying from these heart-felt messages. earning you a small laugh as you get back to reading. reaching out to an envelope that had a nice shade of your favourite colour; to what you can only assume was perfume sprayed onto it, a scent that you like. you scan the name it was written from, eyes widening that it was from sero. can't be more obvious by a familiar tape keeping the envelope together. carefully opening it, unfolding the letter it contains.

-

"to my partner in crime,

hopefully, this letter doesn’t catch you off guard. i've been wanting to put my thoughts into words for a while now, and i'm honestly glad that the others had organized this, especially you since this activity was your own idea.

i've been thinking about how much you mean to me. looking back, i realize just how lucky i am to have met you. from all the laughs we’ve shared, hardships through training and from the battlefield, to the quiet moments when just being together was enough, I cherish every memory. you’ve been my constant, my comfort, and my favourite person.

i don’t think i’ve ever properly thanked you for all the times you were there for me. when things got rough, your support kept me going. when i was at my happiest, you were the first person i wanted to share it with. creating our own inside jokes, relaxing in each others dorms, and spending time outside of school. all of those, and you make it even better, just by being you.

and honestly? somewhere along the way, my feelings grew into something more. i tried to ignore it at first, the question "what if it's just infatuation" held me back. also worried about ruining what we have. but the more time I spend with you, the harder it becomes to keep this to myself. shit, even denki and kirishima know how down bad i got. called me out before i even realized my own feelings.

i’ve fallen for you. not just because of how amazing you are but because of how you make me feel seen, understood, and cared for. you make my days brighter, and I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same.

no matter what your answer is, I want you to know that our friendship means everything to me. I value it more than anything, and nothing could ever change that. I just couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. i have something else to give you after this, so let's stop by my dorm once it's over.

regardless, thank you for being such an important part of my life. With all my heart, hanta"

-

you can feel the heat rush through your heart upon finding out that your feelings were returned. you turned your head around to look at sero; seeing that he was already staring at you, holding your letter in hand. a sweet grin crosses his face, who could ever say no to that?

@iiapplemouse : do not copy/repost my work on other platforms !

[faerietothe-otherside]

"Cross my heart and hope to die, I won't," Rangi said, giving a little sign over her chest that was almost a cross, but not quite. She just laughed, shaking her head. "The last person I met that was in an improv group made it seem like a cult. Hard pass." She took another long swig, before swaying, setting her glass down as she leaned away from the counter, tapping her fingers on it. "Mmm, ya know, I don't know. Maybe. S'called 'Get Stupid' by uhhh--" she hummed in her throat, tried to remember the name in her head-- "Merrywheather or gold or something. Ass something? I can't remember right now. I should remember. He loved that stupid song..."

She waggled a finger. "That-- that sounds like a good idea. We should ask someone who knows. You think she's here? I think everyone has to be here but if there was one person who could skip, I bet it'd be Meena." Rangi didn't think that even Dilan would try and argue with the clan head. She was a scary lady. Nice, but scary. Rangi reached up and tapped Ralph's head. "No, no, there's definitely someone in there. I can tell, ya know. I can feel it, all that-- soul stuff. Can't get that feeling from a dead body, but I do get it from you, and most vampires." She nodded, as if her word were absolute. "I don't want him to be here," she said suddenly, quietly, "he doesn't deserve to linger in such a miserable place."

Rangi gasped, moving past the dour sentiment. "You don't say? That's cute. Okay, okay! I won't call him Dracula. Maybe Nosferatu instead. Can I do that? What about Edward? Is that worse or better?"

Ralphie grinned in that case, completing the hug and throwing his arms around her back before separating and giving a very serious nod of his head. "Don't go joinin' one of them improv groups, though. I don't think anybody likes them. They asked me to be on that TV show. Whose the Line? I had to turn 'em down." His features softened. "No fooling? You could play in the morgue if ya wanted, ya dig it? I mean, I talk to the cadavers. Why shouldn't we sing to 'em? I'd like to hear ya. I bet you're swell. What song was it? Maybe I could learn the harmonies." He had no idea how to begin learning such a thing, but the offer came sincerely.

"Well, sorta. About as much as any vampire can be. But you know, I don't know. Maybe? We should ask someone who knows. Meena." He swallowed. "Between you and me, boss, sometimes I worry...I worry that maybe when I died, the real thing inside of me, the soul, it went to where it was supposed to go. And now I'm just this. Maybe there ain't nothin' inside. Lights on. No one home." He pursed up his lips. "Ghosts ain't supposed to hang out in morgues or graveyards, though, nah. They stick where the things they like are. If...if Mason is hangin' around, I just know they're at all their favorite places. I can feel them in the radio waves." He nodded seriously.

"I'm a one-fella fella. But you know he ain't really Dracula, right? If I introduce you, you can't call him that. I don't think he's ever heard a joke before in his life."

[angelbitezzz]

Spent a good chunk of time editing this. I hope it looks almost official HAHA

[edwinisms]

i get such a sense of primal envy when looking at edwin’s clothes up close because god you can just tell his coat is real wool and made to last and not cheap flimsy mass produced garbage and auggagghhhh that was just STANDARD in his time. by no means am i saying i was #borninthewronggeneration because i like having vaccines and household appliances but. man. to have a personally-tailored coat like that that’d last for years and years……. and fabrics of fine thread-dense quality………. if only

[heavencasteel420]

It is amazing to me that the show has a character who:

Explicitly says “my father forced me to kill and I was good at it, but I hated it”;

Makes multiple efforts to walk away from a fight where his opponent is doing the absolute most to provoke him and, upon finally snapping, handily beats him;

Stabs a dude with a pair of scissors in self-defense and immediately looks horrified at himself; and

Can stomach all kinds of gross and scary shit unless it involves harm coming to his little brother, whom he obviously has a lot of baggage about protecting.

And a not-insignificant number of people are like “his neurosis is that he feels bad about not being a fighter or a badass.”

[grimaussiewitch]

Oh the urge to make a danganronpa au with the life series cast.

I have ideas but I need to wait until there’s a winner so I can have the 6 survivors and debate on who’s the protagonist, probably the 6th winner tbh. And so I know if there’s more new players or not.

Anyway I already have an idea for two murders, chapter 1 killer I know who and who possibly died (although the victim might be too obvious) and I know who’ll be the chapter 3 killer but I don’t think people will like the characterisation I have…

Yet again I need the series to finish before I make my decision lmao.

[alexkablob]

Other favorite bits from the Dorley reread: Lorna's Paranormal Investigator Arc™

[saudebazi]

she's talking on a call with her parents about how it was her luck and gods will what got her into this college who's gonna tell her of course no one because you know 🤡🤡

[gatheringbones]

[“When we are possessed by the self-hater in any form, what we think, and do is not spontaneous and free but preset in predictable patterns. We know those patterns and respond to them, for the most part, as predictably as the mesh of gears in a well-maintained transmission. John offends Joan, so she runs out of the meeting and Jean follows to placate her hurt feelings. Jean will not criticize John directly but complains about him to Joe. Joe agrees with Jean and then tells John that Jean doesn't like him. And so it goes.

As we identify patterns of oppression, we can refuse to perpetuate them. Groups often come to grief with the King of Victims. We want to be nurturing, but find more and more of the group's time and energy taken up with one person's problems. The person seems to use the group to confirm her or his stuckness. The group can never do enough, and when people express resentment or boredom, they simply reinforce the person's King Victim stance. Pointing this dynamic out does no good at all. We may be accused of blaming the victim, or may find ourselves speaking in the voice of the Judge.

Anne Cameron, in her novel Daughters of Copper Woman, tells the story of a women's society among the Indians of Canada's Northwest Coast. If a woman came to the group with a problem, others would listen, offer advice and help. If she came back again, they would listen a second and a third time. But if she returned a fourth time with the same problem, and hadn't made changes, they would all get up, walk away, and sit down somewhere else.

Nonparticipating can be done verbally, and directly: “Joan, we talked about your problem last week and the week before. Now I feel it's draining my energy, and I don't want to talk about it anymore until you've done something about it.'

Such tactics may provoke attack, expressions of hurt, or defensiveness. Joan may stomp or flounce out of the room. The temptation may be strong to follow, to try to bring her back and offer comfort. Resist the temptation, for conflicts will not be resolved by allowing one person to manipulate the group. I used to be a flouncer myself, resorting to the tactic not to when the tactic became ineffective. One night at a meeting of my as a way of dramatizing the intense hurt I was feeling. I learned quickly affinity group, we were arguing about who could come to a particular I ritual. I was intent on bringing my then-current lover whom the rest of the group didn't like. (Not without reason.) I ran out of the room in tears and my closest friend Rose followed, not, as I expected, to comfort me and let me cry on her shoulder, but to scream at me, “Get back in there, you bitch! How dare you walk out just because you aren't getting your way!" I remember feeling quite surprised. It had never occurred to me that my desperation could be interpreted as manipulation, and yet manipulation it was. I came back, and haven't tried the great walkout since.

I suggest as a rule of thumb for surviving the dynamics of a group never to walk out in the middle of a fight (unless you are about to inflict or suffer physical damage). Never follow someone else out or try to coax anyone back. The worst that can happen is that the person will not return. If she or he is gone for good, perhaps the time or the chemistry simply was not right. And the group may be relieved of a draining problem.

This advice may sound cold, but sometimes people need to deeply experience the loneliness of King Victim before they are ready to face the painful task of giving it up. A group that expresses support when members actually feel used and resentful creates an illusion of connection that holds back the process of change.

Current thinking in some circles is that there are no problem individuals in groups, only problem dynamics, that getting rid of one person only means that someone else will become the scapegoat. I have not found this to be true, except in that so many of us automatically play scapegoat, that often when one leaves a group another jumps into place. A group that is willing to play car to King Victim will usually find someone to take ad- vantage of its sympathy. But when a group stops allowing itself to be manipulated, the difficult person will either change or leave. Groups may carry on after a leave-taking with renewed energy, vitality, and humor.

We can also refuse to collude in manipulation or avoidance of conflict. Joe can tell Jean, “Don't bitch to me— tell John what you're feeling." Or, “Hey, Joe's my friend too. Anything you say to me about him, I'll probably repeat to him." We can encourage people to bring conflicts directly to the individual involved, or to the group, and offer our support. “Look, if you feel afraid to face John, let's go to him together. Or let's find someone else to mediate.”

Identifying other people's delusions and false value for them places us in the position of Judge. We cannot do it supportively. We can, however, ask questions.

Questions leave us open to mystery and surprise. When we ask a question, we want a deeper knowledge or understanding of a person. We test our assumptions instead of leaping to conclusions about others' motivations and meanings.

In the grip of the self-hater, we communicate in a cryptic code, patterned and predictable. We respond not to what's actually happening, but to what the self- hater whispers. We use words as screens, to keep others from seeing and knowing too much. And when we encounter the barriers others put up, we tend to politely back away. We don't ask ourselves, “Do I really understand what Jane means? Does what she say match what I intuit she is feeling?"

Jane is sitting huddled in a corner of the room, silent and withdrawn. Everyone can feel the misery she radiates.

“What’s wrong?” Susan asks.

Inside Jane's head, the self- hater is whispering," Everyone else is going to the hot tub afterwards when you have to work. They don't care about you or your problems. Nobody does. But that's okay, don't say anything about it. Don't spoil their good time."

“Nothing,” she replies.

The group can accept her answer and go about their business, knowing full well she is unhappy. They will thus confirm her self- hater's basic premise: that nobody cares about her. Over time, some of them may begin to resent her silence and depression, and may truly not want to have her around, further confirming her self-hater's evaluation.

They can attack: “Goddamn it, don't lie there like a dying squid— tell us what's wrong!" This approach will not augment her self-esteem, nor deepen the group's bonding.

Or, they can refuse to be stopped by the barrier of her answer, and test their perceptions.

"That's odd," Susan might say. “I thought you looked unhappy. Are you unhappy about something?"

Embedded in Susan's question is a supportive statement: “I care enough about you to notice how you are feeling, and to be concerned." Her question has itself challenged the self-hater.

The group might have to go through several rounds of specific questions: “How are you feeling?" “Have we hurt you somehow?" They are also entitled to give up, if Jane is determined to cling to her unhappiness in private. Their questions will, nonetheless, have posed to Jane an alternative to the self-hater's version of reality.

"It's nothing," Jane finally says. “I guess I always feel left out when the group makes plans and I have to work."

The group might respond defensively, as if Jane had attacked them. “We can't run our lives around your work schedule." Or they might react apologetically: “I'm sorry— I guess we weren't sensitive. Let's not go out if Jane can’t go." Either response will convince her that she was a fool to open her mouth.

A more empowering response would be to ask the question, “What can we do? How can we make it better?" The question implies,"We care about you— we want you to be happy.” The group might come up with suggestions, but they do not rescue her. For the responsibility of naming what we need is itself empowering: it implies that we have the power to know what we want, ask for it, and get it. The question takes Jane out of the role of passive victim and challenges her to take an active role in securing her own happiness.

In counseling, I would find myself asking, over and over again, “What do you mean by that?”

“None of my lovers stay with me,” a client might say. “They all say I’m too intense.”

From the tone in her voice and the expression on her face, I sense that she finds this evaluation somewhat flattering.

"What do you mean by ‘intense?’” I ask.

"Oh, you know— intense."

"But I don't know," I say, because I suspect that what she means is something she does not want to admit. “Do you mean angry? Needy? Do you want too much sex?"

To answer my question, she must let go of the false specialness offered by the self- hater, and consider her real feelings. If she can take that risk, and find one place in which her rage, her need, her passion can be valued, she can never again be quite so isolated.

Feelings, perceptions, decisions, and actions are often tangled together like embroidery threads. We may translate an emotion into a decision, which seems to relieve the pain of feeling. When others respond to the decision, the emotion gets buried or ignored, and we end up feeling worse. Asking the right questions can sometimes help separate the strands.

I have asked my mother, who lives in another city but who co-owns our collective house, to apply with us for a new loan at a lower interest rate, and she has agreed. She calls me up late at night, angry.

"I'm not going to fill out this form!" she announces. “It's an imposition on me. The print is too small— I can't see it! I'm not going to do it!"

Once I would have taken her statement at face value, gotten angry, and we would have had a rousing fight. But I have learned, instead, to ask a simple question.

"How can I help you?" I say. I know my mother well enough to intuit her internal dialogue, which I suspect went something like this: “I want to fill out this damn form— my eyes are bad and I feel helpless— nobody's around to help me. I'm angry that I don't have help! I'm not going to do this!”

Asking “How can I help you?" cuts into the middle of the chain, countering the self hater's message that no one can or will help I follow up by actually providing help and explanations of aspects of the form that are confusing. My mother feels cared for and loved, instead of used and put-upon, and together we are able to complete the form without problems.

Under the domination of the self-hater's messages, we act in ways that cause responses that confirm the self-hater's premises. When we do not believe that help is possible for us, we react to the pain of helplessness by screaming loudly, “I'm not going to help you!" Rarely are others sensitive enough to hear the underlying cry, “Help me!"

QUESTIONS TO CHALLENGE FALSE GLORY

Certain questions are particularly useful in challenging the delusions of power-over. Here is a short list:

1. What are you (we all) feeling?

2. What does (word) mean to you?

3. What do you need? What do you want?

4. What can we do? How can we help you?”]

starhawk, from truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery, 1987