#dearly beloved dumbasses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunny-lily · 10 months ago

Text

Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy.

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down.

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing.

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor.

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs.

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now.

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played.

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore.

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone.

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh.

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain.

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys?

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position.

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in.

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus.

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager.

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere.

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

#jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #fem reader #I'm going light on the tags fn #is this considered light lmao #fluff #jjk fluff

150 notes · View notes

bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year ago

Text

the abandonment issues au,,

where Sun and Moon gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss their way into ur heart

and then turn into sad wet baby kittens when u find out and call them out on it <3

(copy and pasted from the space aces discord, sorry fellas lmao)

abandonment issues au:

ok what if. fucked up au time

where. reader is the new daycare assistant or a mechanic or smthn idk theyre working withh Sun and Moon thats the important part

i think it works better if theyre like, Sun n Moon's handler? Bc they r closer that way and it makes it more fucked up lmaooooo

so basically. this takes place right after Sun n Moon had their best friend-handler person leave bc Sun n Moon had been acting increasingly volatile n buggy n rlly just having issues but the more the previous handler tried to talk to them abt it and fix it the more they got anxious abt getting decommissioned and would cover up the problems n act like nothing was wrong

and eventually one day the previous handler nearly got rlly hurt and knew they had to leave bc it wasn't safe for them and they left a detailed warning/report for the mechanics

(and they didnt say goodbye, not out of malice or anything just bc they didnt want even more reasons for Sun n Moon to act up/potentially hurt them or themselves)

so. the mechanics did a total clean up of Sun n Moon's system, basically left their memories but scrubbed their data of a lot of the 'feelings' they'd had- mostly wiping away the feelings tied to 'good' memories, and the only thing Sun n Moon could do to fill in the void of 'feelings' was assign different feelings in their place, so when they once looked back and felt happy or nostalgic, now they feel confused and angry and sad and betrayed bc why was all of that happiness taken from them?? why did their handler hurt them like this??

so the scrubbing of their systems, which was one thing they really really didn't want to have done for fear of losing their memories entirely, DID work in putting their issues on a much lower level,, but it didn't get rid of the issues entirely. Now they're just,, easier to hide or play off or ignore. They're careful around the kids, of course, but they do at times have trouble with their motor controls or their speech will glitch slightly, etc

a few handlers come and go, never staying for more than a week or so- none of them really care about the job, don't see Sun n Moon as coworkers but more like fancy 'machines' with no real thoughts or emotions, they normally leave after Sun or Moon has a glitchy moment and nearly hurts them or, in at least one case, does hurt them by squeezing their wrist too hard. more often than not, the ppl applying for the position read the list of warnings n cautions and are like 'hell nahh' and bail immediately

then. in comes,, reader. local dumbass. most endearing of idiots. a bit dense. very much clueless. dearly beloved

you're the first one to really treat them like your coworkers, making small talk and being friendly and kind and patient and laughing at their jokes. you smile when you introduce yourself, offering your hand for them to shake- not afraid of them or their little twitches at all. god, how they missed that. you remind them of their previous handler, if only in how you see them like theyre people and not machines.

and they make a mutual agreement to do whatever they can to keep you as their handler. even if it means dodging around company rules and policies by doing something like crumpling up the confidential 'warning' forms, ortelling the occasional white lie, like forging your signature onto the papers when your back is turned and making sure it makes it to your manager without either of you noticing who exactly was putting it on their desk.

you've already started calling them your friends the first time they have a glitchy moment. you're doing detailing work on their endoskeleton, really just cleaning dust away and making sure everything looks the way it does in the manual, when they break something- a tablet, a pen, your phone, whatever it is, it happens in an instant and startles you.

when Sun n Moon come to and realize whats happened theyre terrified. what if you use this as some kind of excuse to leave? What if you abandon them, just like their previous handler did? What if you start treating them differently, or you tell the staff that they need to be scrapped

so when you ask what that was about, they're frantic, quick to come up with something, anything that might make you shrug and forget all about it,

"Well, you WERE just working on their insides, right? That must have been something YOU did to suddenly make us do something like THAT! There's no way else it could have happened. Right?"

You take the lie hook, line, and sinker, apologizing profusely, promising to try harder to make sure nothing like that happens again. The relief they feel is almost euphoric. They pat you on the head kindly, reassuring you that they know you didn't do it on purpose, it was just a little mess up! You're fine, friend, we forgive you.

From then on, they dodge blame and truth alike, most often redirecting your attention to something you must have said or done to make something so strange and out of character for them happen so suddenly, and you believe them, full of apologies and careful words and actions and nervous worrying about doing things wrong and hurting them somehow. It's cute, how anxious you can get. It's cuter, how you melt for their comfort and reassurance.

They play the song and dance with you again and again, weaving doubt and guilt into you more and more frequently. Until one day, you mumble something about how 'maybe i'm not cut out for this, maybe i should switch to be on the janitorial team instead, or some other department, i don't want to hurt you guys, or-or be the reason someone else gets hurt, i clearly dont know what im doing, and it's only gotten worse, maybe i should talk to my manager,,' and they panic

don't be silly, friend!!!! you can't just leave like that, what about the kids, what about that puppet show you had helped them plan, did you really want to just abandon all that?? so what if maybe they had the occasional hiccup, you were always there to smooth it over, who cared whether they dropped things from time to time, or- or broke a toy or two, that didn't matter, did it??? You were getting so good at being their handler, your little mistakes were normal, come on, you don't want to leave your very best friends. Do you?

and you cave, agreeing to stay, and they are so, so extremely careful to hide their little moments from you for several weeks, making sure you don't notice their tiny twitches or split seconds of glitchy voices, maybe keeping a closer eye on you than would be comfortable, watching over your shoulder each time you type up a report about the day, giving the manager a loathsome glower behind your back whenever they happen by,, and every time you leave you say 'i'll see you guys tomorrow!,' they grab onto your sleeve and respond with 'promise?' so you always know that they really, really do want you to come back

and then. one day,, you decide to go looking in their files for something small and silly, like what kinds of updates had been added to their pick-up protocols, and you find the warnings and cautions forms

and you see your signature on them, but you would definitely remember this and you are absolutely certain you have never seen these papers in your life. and you take the papers and you go to ask them about it.

"i thought you said you never had any problems before? you told me you never had any issues before but this- this is full of things that you- and you, you've been having these problems for that long??"

they stumble over their words, frantic, panicked, backpedaling on everything theyve ever said, trying meekly to grab the papers from your hands, piling excuses on excuses

"you knew? you knew you were having these problems, and you didn't tell me? and you- you told me it was my fault!"

you're close to tears, hurt that they lied more than anything. you keep backing away from them, dodging their attempts to get the forms. they don't know which is worse- seeing that look on your face, or when they were left without so much as a goodbye.

"you could have told me. i thought i was the reason for everything, i thought i was hurting you, and you just... you lied right to my face and let me think that."

theyre putting on their best soothing voice, movements slow and gentle, wanting to comfort you and wipe those tears away and reassure you somehow that this- this isn't their fault, none of it is, it never was, they're fine and you're fine and nothing was ever wrong, and everything will be fine if only you calm down and stay

you can tell they arent really listening. you take a deep breath and turn away from them, scraping the tears from your face. you tell them you're going to go home and write up a report about all of this and when you come back you can go over it together before you send it to management, but right now you're leaving because you need space to breathe and time to think

but all they hear is that you're leaving, and they panic.

they don't hurt you, of course! but right now you're not allowed to leave.

you try to shut out the sound of them crying and apologizing and begging, even if it breaks your heart, because right now all you want to do is go home and lie in your stupid bed and have a stupid cry in your favorite pajamas. but you try every door you can think of- none of them open. you've sstayed past closing more than once, but the doors aren't normally shuttered for another two hours,, and you're pretty sure the night guard isn't even here yet

the entire time you're walking around the 'plex, Moon is trailing sadly behind you, waiting with the saddest, most pathetic wet cat look an animatronic can achieve, for you to turn and face them again

and thus begins what is probably the longest night of your life, spent trying to avoid your animatronic friends/coworkers who are acting like the worlds clingiest ex who just got broken up with and who can't stop dropping sad love songs in ur dms

by the time morning rolls around, they agree to actually go to parts n services and cooperate and try their best to get whatever is wrong with them repaired, even if it means they might get decomissioned. in the mean time, you promise to come back once they're fixed and work with them to help them get back to their old selves- or at least, back to how they were before any potentially dangerous bugs

basically this is the 'sun and moon have abandonment issues and gaslight you abt it' au

idk what else would happen tbh idk why i thought this au needed to exist either but here we are *lays facedown in a puddle*

329 notes · View notes

angels444yuri · 9 months ago

Text

life after these dumbass exams my dearly beloved

31 notes · View notes

spirit-girl-nijisanji · 7 months ago

Text

Other creative endeavors

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

➼ Pairing - Kyo Kaneko x GN! Reader

➼ Content - Angst, Kyo being Kyo, Comfort & established relationship

➼ ⚠️ Please remember I only write for the personas you see on your screen. I do not and will not write for the people behind the models. Please also remember that behind the models there are very real people with very real emotions. Please be respectful towards our beloved Nijisanji EN livers and do your best to separate the real people from the persona reflected on your screen. Thank you so much and enjoy the story ⚠️

➼ Summary - He called you on discord to talk. He seemed more somber than usual.

IT IS VERY LATE! I HAD IT ALL WROTE OUT THEN I HATED IT- AND I HAD THIS SITTING DRAFTS AND FORGOR SHHHHHH

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

You had been sitting at your computer trying to find a good horror game to play during your next stream. You had completely zoned out until your phone went off from a discord notification, looking to see who it was, the name of your blue haired boyfriend popped up, you smiled seeing his name and you opened the messages to see what he was saying:

Printerboy: Hey are you free to call? I wanna talk to you about something before you see or hear it anywhere else.

Y/VTname: Yeah I'm free, just looking for horror games, what's goin on?

You stared at your phone before it started ringing, Kyo had called you and you promptly picked up, put it on speaker and set it down while continuing to look through horror games,

" Hey! What's up? You never text me before you call is everything alright? " you ask before out of the corner of your eye, you see Kyo switch over to a video call, turning his camera, you saw the face you had grown to love so dearly wearing a somber expression that made you stop what you were doing and look over in concern,

" Listen Y/N, I want you to know first and foremost, I do love you and this has nothing to do with you okay? " he said before you could even speak to which you nodded raising an eyebrow

He seemed to take a breath, you had never seen him this serious when talking to you before so you gave him your undivided attention, " I've decided to graduate from Nijisanji EN. I am not leaving you but I am leaving the company. I wanted to be the one to tell you before someone else told you or you saw it on twitter. " Kyo spoke slowly while staring intently at you to see your reaction

You had been suspicious and had kinda thought he was planning to leave soon. So it didn't catch you as off guard as you thought it would and you could see he was really uneasy keeping the conversation so serious. With how long you knew him, he wasn't one to make things serious, so you decided to lighten the mood,

" And you think I'd be torn apart about it? I had a feeling you were getting ready to graduate dumbass. " You said with a smile

Kyo seemed caught off guard before signature smile graced his features, a breath he didn't realize he was holding was released and you could tell he was relieved he didn't have to keep it serious, " I didn't think you'd be bent outta shape but I wanted to be the one to tell you stupid. " He retorted

You laughed and moved your phone in front of you and gave him a smile, " I'm sad your leaving dumbass but I also respect your choice. I can't force you to stay here ya know. As much as I'd love if you stayed, it is your decision. " You said, " I'm not your parent stupid. " You said with a laugh

He nodded and rolled his eyes before looking back at his phone,

" I dunno how I put up with you. " he teased

" I could say the same printer boy. " you teased back. ~ Come his graduation stream ~ After going through as many people as he could, he called you. Your little fugi appeared on his screen,

" Hello...? " You spoke, your voice low and scratchy after having been asleep " Did I wake you up? " Kyo asked feeling slightly bad for calling you knowing it was fairly early for you

" Mmm.. No, I've been awake for a while " You said even though it was obvious you had just woken up to answer the phone

" No you have not dumbass! " he said with a scoff

You answered with a 'shut your printer ass up' and a laugh. Resulting in Kyo going off on a tangent. You spent over another hour with him on stream talking about his future plans, what this meant for *insert your ship name here* and if your relationship was going to continue after he left NijiEN. He reassured you and chat that despite him leaving the company, he was not going to leave you.

You had a bunch of fun talking to him on stream, reading the chat go insane with TSKR when you, Kyo or both of you did something they deemed cute. Nearing the end of stream, Kyo thanked everyone for coming to stream,

" Before I go, I just wanna say, these are my parting words since not gonna lie, I would stay longer but deadass got a flight to catch in the morning and I woulda started the stream earlier if I knew this was gonna be a conflicting thing.. " he spoke with a slight laugh before continuing

" Um, yeah thank you guys for everything. Um I've made life long friends and memories and I'll never forget those. Keep laughing, keep smiling and above all else, like I always say... Have yourself a damn good one. " Kyo ended it off before his ending screen played.

He ended stream but he didn't end the call with you. He had switched over to video call and he saw your sleepy face,

" Sorry about waking you up Y/N " he said with a slight laugh

" It's alright love. " You said quietly before yawning

He chuckled and offered to stay in call while you fell back to sleep, which you happily agreed to. Getting settled in you curled back into bed and set your phone up. You ended up falling asleep.

Kyo stayed in call until his phone died and he left you a good morning message. He was ready to start his new creative endeavors with you still by his side.

(IT'S SHORT I KNOW, I'LL MAKE UP FOR IT WITH THE NEXT FIC I WRITE-)

#nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji en #iluna #kyo kaneko #kyo kaneko x reader #kyo kaneko graduation

20 notes · View notes

420technoblazeit · 7 months ago

Note

why is that post getting so much attention, I look like such a dumbass with my emojis 😭 DEARLY BELOVEDS I AM TEASING A FRIEND I DIDNT MEAN IT I SWEARRRR

FOOL. now all of china knows htat u read homestuck

#the pig squeals

24 notes · View notes

malleleothreesome · 1 year ago

Text

I just wrote a scenario so dramatic, I had to come here and contemplate my life choices in a diary-like manner. So that's what this is. Don't mind me.

I have to break Malleus' heart for this sake of this super steamy, sexy Leona smut I'm writing. I mean, technically I didn't have to break Malleus' heart just to force the reader into sex with a jealous, angry Leona. But I wanted to up the stakes of Leona's jealousy and anger by having him directly interact with Malleus and reader prior to the smut.

And now that I've had the three of them interact... well... tensions are high and someone might die and Malleus needs to be let down gently, alright??? Because he's precious to me.

It was supposed to be a humorous scene. Leona was supposed to have some really funny dialogue teasing Malleus and calling him mocking nicknames. I mean, the "funny" dialogue is still there but now it's surrounded by the intensity of Malleus' wrath in realizing that not only is he unable to be with the one he is pining for, but the guy who does is literally standing there mocking him... oh, what have I done? I'm at 4.4k words already.

Like someone comes up to me and they're like: Hey Erica. Write reader getting fucked by a jealous, angry Leona.

And instead of being like: 📝 [Jealous Angry Leona Sex] ✅ complete

I'm like: 📝 [Establishing reader and Leona's flirtationship with lots of paragraphs explaining how horny they are for each other, trying to set a smutty mood. A little mental foreplay to prepare the reader for the actual smut scenes, if you will]

📝 [Announcer voice: We interrupt your horniness to bring you a dramatic showdown between two furious, powerful, possessive Princes who will stop at nothing to have you (oh but Leona is also lowkey groping you because we have to try to keep some semblance of smut)]

POV: You're Erica and your penchant for the dramatics causes you to create the most extreme emotional responses in every scenario, while also pushing characters to act in a canon complicit way. So now you've allowed Leona to egg Malleus on to the point where like, Malleus wouldn't even hesitate to smite Leona where he stands (except for the fact that Tsunotarou probably doesn't want to traumatize his beloved child of man. Probably.) Also because you're Erica, you love Malleus dearly and you can't just walk away and let Leona fuck reader without writing some sort of dialogue that makes Malleus feel a bit less hurt. Thus, continuing to delay the smut—you know, the entire point of this request.

📝 [Projecting and writing in extreme detail how sympathetic reader is to Malleus' loneliness (Leona voice: *shocked gasp* in MY smutfic? the audacity.) Realizing that I can let Malleus down gently while ALSO sticking with the plot because Leona's gonna be like, why tf are you being so nice to him when you literally chose me??? You don't owe him anything??? Come inside and pay attention to meeeee (Reader: It's because I don't want you to DIE, dumbass.)]

📝 [Jealous Angry Leona Sex???? Like is there anyone still horny at this point?????]

The worst is that, as a smut consumer, I'm the type of person who wants to get STRAIGHT TO THE SMUT. I'm a porn without plot ENTHUSIAST. I'm a hypocrite!!!

But as a writer, I am a no plot holes, all scenarios completely fleshed out, smut completely established before starting. Or I can't sleep at night.

#‧͙+ ̊*・༓☾ i just be saying shit ☽༓・* ̊+‧͙#late night thoughts torture me so much i had to stop writing just to contemplate the monster i created in Malleus #PROBABLY DELETE LATER IM SO EMBARRASSED TO POST THIS BUT IT FELT GOOD TO WRITE OUT MY THOUGHTS

23 notes · View notes

rosie-kairi · 8 months ago

Text

Sully "Sullivan", my dearly beloved dumbass. 2018-2024. Rest in peace my sweet lil guy 💔

#tw animal death #tw pet loss #Sorry I just want him to be. Idk immortalized on my blog forever

16 notes · View notes

stvrkolya · 2 months ago

Text

Haiiii! This is my first time blogging here. Hope you enjoy 🧋

💌 Letters by them when they're away from you 🎀

.・✫・゜・。.

CHUUYA :

Hello my most precious dumbass, hope you're alright. I've been busy with work and it's so damn boring without you. Don't forget to eat and sleep on time and stay hydrated. I love you ♡

DAZAI :

Belllaaadonnaaaa, I miss you so bad ╥﹏╥. Without you, there's no one here to mess with. Oh I forgot Kunikida, but his reactions are boring now. When I come home, I'm gonna attack you. Be ready~ ;)

RANPO:

With my super deduction skills, I know you miss me. I missed you too don't worry. Actually I missed your homemade sweets and chocolates more. Make sure to make dozens of sweets when I come home :P

POE:

Oh my dearly beloved, How have you been? I've been so terrible being away from you. I miss you soooo much. I wrote poems for you, when I come home I'll make you listen them. Please don't laugh at me when I do :(

NIKOLAI:

Haiiiiiii (≧∇≦) I MISSHHH YOUUU. Everyone's so boring here. No one listens and laughs at my tricks and jokes like you do. *dramatic sigh* I'm gonna hug you so bad when I come (rip, it'll be a big bear hug)

FYODOR:

Well hello dear, I hope you're fine there. Do not worry about me if you are, I am perfectly fine as well. Here the pretty flowers remind me of you. I will bring some for you. Stay safe dear.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

#bsd #bsdimagines #bsdimagine #bungostraydogs #bungoustraydogs #bungostraydogsimagines #bsdreactions #anime

4 notes · View notes

thomasthetankieengine · 3 months ago

Text

O HAI, sudensk, I happen to be a proud "rotten liberal" (as Stalin called virtually who disagreed with him) who knows who Zinoviev and Bandera were. You and your dumbass campists won't see this, because I have most of you blocked, but for people who aren't devout Stalinists:

The 1922 Russian famine was caused by the disruption of agriculture from fighting during the Civil War. Wars frequently cause famines by disrupt agriculture and you'd know that if you'd read more history instead of just Stalin apologia.

The show trials were shams. Zinoviev was locked in a heated cell until he confessed. Kamenev had the life of his son threatened, Bukharin had the life of his third wife and baby son threatened. Rykov, Radek, and Pyatakov were beaten until they confessed. In her memoirs, Bukharin's third wife describe Pyatakov as looking like a skeleton with his teeth knocked out. Tukhachevsky's confession was found in the archives splattered with his blood. Oh, did your dearly beloved Grover Furr and Ludo Martens not mention any of that in their books? Golly gee wilikers, how careless of them!

The claim that Zinoviev, Kamenev, Trotsky, Bukharin, Rykov, Tomsky, Tukhachevsky, and the 9000 others collaborated with Nazi Germany and Japan has no foundation to it. BUT HOW DO WE KNOW???? Because, when Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan were defeated by the Allies, their intelligence archives fell into Allied hands as well. And there was absolutely nothing in those archives that proved collaboration with Zinoviev, Kamenev, Trotsky, Bukharin, Rykov, Tomsky, Tukhachevsky. etc. Meanwhile, such intelligence information was used to convict actual collaborators, such as Andrey Vlasov. Grover Furr's only explanation for this is that Stalin and the other Allies decided to keep the proof secret for .... uh... shits and giggles, I guess.

Oh, and now I have some questions for sudensk and all other happy young Stalinists:

Did Ludo Martens's brilliant Stalin book mention what fate befell Stalin's in-laws, Alexander and Mariko Svanidze and Alexander's wife, Maria? What about Alexander and Maria's son, Ivan?

Or what happened to the siblings, wives, and children of Zinoviev, Kamenev, Bukharin, etc.?

Or what happened to the loyal Stalinists, Rudzutaks, Kosior, Chubar, Postyshev, Kuznetsov, and Voznesensky and their siblings, wives, and children?

Hey, what about the Polish and Latvian Operations of the NKVD? Did Martens ever mention that?

Oh, he didn't mention of any that, did he? Well, I'm sure it was just an oversight. It definitely couldn't be that Martens was lying by omission or anything.

#sudensk-the-stallionist #stalin apologia #soviet history #soviet union #show trials

3 notes · View notes

neko-naruto · 1 year ago

Text

as it was

Summary: Kyle gets high easily, Kenny lives in the woods, Cartman learned how to sew, Stan brought a potted plant of marijuana- they all miss hanging out together like kids

Warnings: mild blood, weed, swearing, check Ao3 port for full tags.

Authors Note: ngl, i took the wrong edibles, got a little bit fried, wrote this when i woke up, hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking the Ao3 port

If there was one thing Kenny enjoyed about all that time he spent hanging around Stan was the knowledge he had inadvertently gained about how to grow weed. It got him one of his first jobs, clipping buds down at Tegridy, and definitely got him through harder times. But at that, it also let him not experience extreme withdrawal after exiling himself from town when the times got impossibly rough.

He doesn't remember why he did so in a picture perfect memory, but he's heard from his friends that the town has become a tourist attraction of sorts now that he isn't fucking the places population count every day. He shoots, he bags, he eats, and succumbs to the loneliness that not even a stack of playboys and homebrewed edibles can cure. Sure, the CBD high is nice for joint pain, but he'll forever mourn the winter he lost the plants that actually gave him a real high.

He lost so much that year, three separate strains, Citrus Dream, one he smuggled that he swears smelt like oreos (he called it Sugar Rush), and his dearly beloved Uncle OJ, a gift from Stan directly with heavy orange overtones. He ended up burning the remains, it left him locked to the cabin for a solid two weeks even with the windows open. He hasn't been able to shake the lung pain since, even after a death by bear attack.

He's smoking his last bud of the year (sadly nothing more than CBD), tossed it into the wood stove to just smoke out the place, when there's a knock on his door. The woods don't usually send something to knock on his door and kill him, try to kill him at least. They usually snuffle around the porch and blacked out windows while he circles with his shotgun, ready to shoot at any moment because that's dinner. Instead he grabs the pistol, cocks it, and gingerly walks up to the front door.

"Open the fucking door, Kenny!" Another knock, much louder, much more aggravated.

"He's probably out hunting," The voice is a bit more hushed.

The sound of something dropping on the porch, "I smuggled a plant just for him and he's out hunting when we finally track him down, what a fucking waste."

"Just leave it on the porch,"

"It'll freeze!"

"It's just weed you stoner piece of shit!"

"You're one to talk considering you're Tegridy's most loyal customer asshole!"

Kenny swings open the door to find three familiar faces, one of which standing in between Cartman and Stan to prevent them from killing each other. On the ground beside Stan is a plant that reaches up to his waist in size, crystalized bits clouding the leaves.

"Hi Ken," Kyle said, loud enough to snap Cartman and Stan from their bickering.

"I'm pretty sure you guys are gonna get frostbite if you make another dumbass trek out here," Kenny answered with.

"Then move out of the fucking doorway and let in your friends," Cartman snapped as he shoved aside Kyle with ease.

Kenny gladly slid to the side and his friends filtered in one at a time, except for Cartman who retreated back to the car. Stan hauled in the plant.

"What flavor is it?" Kenny asked eagerly as he reached for one the buds.

"No taste tests man," Stan chided, "But, it's just another Uncle OJ, dads thinking about canceling the line."

"Randy's canceling Uncle OJ? But, it's the Tegridy special."

"Apparently someone found a stray clipping laying around and cloned a fuckton of plants from it, it's all over town,"

"I could go down there and burn it,"

"Don't be an idiot," He placed down the plant at the foot of Kenny's bed, "You remember how to tend to these plants, right?"

Kenny nodded, "Obviously, I've been living off that CBD one you got me since Citrus Dream and Sugar Rush were lost in a cold snap."

"You lost Sugar Rush?" Stan asked.

"Again, cold snap, out of my control," Kenny retorted with.

Three bags of something are dropped at the door before Cartman nudges the door shut with his foot. Kenny glances over to find said bags to be some of those reusable bags the world practically mandated.

"I swear to god Kenny, you need to start chipping the ice on your porch," Cartman snarled as he slid down to the floor and reached into one of the bags. He pulled out a bundle of magazines, "They stopped printing playboys after you left."

"They stopped printing playboys?" He sounds distraught.

Kyle gave a hum, "Just recently, you're lucky that Cartman is still a sleaze who can't get laid."

"Shut up Kyle!" Cartman cleared his throat, "As I was saying, I got all the playboys you don't have," He handed the bundle to Stan who handed it to Kenny, "Thought you might enjoy them cause unless you're making love to the things you kill then you aren't getting any bitches out here."

Stan fakes a disgusted gag at the notions, Kyle scrunches up his face in disgust, Kenny just shrugs.

"You'd be shocked at how good of a dildo a single barrel shotgun can make," There goes his filter, there went his filter, he lost it a long time ago. And judging by the reactions his suspicions of fucking oneself with a gun being not normal are confirmed.

"And I'm glad to say that you haven't changed a bit," Cartman said as he rummaged through a second bag. He tossed a pack of something to Kenny, who held the package looking rather perplexed, "Advil, for when your CBD tolerance is so high you'll overdose before you get relief."

"You know me so well," Kenny said as he popped open the top drawer of his desk and slid it in along with all the other things he never made use of.

"That I fucking do," Cartman said before pulling up and chair next to the wood stove. He pulled out a sewing kit, "Karen asked me to fix up your jacket."

Kenny shrugged off his parka, "I'll have you know it's just fine," He said while tactfully avoiding the large tear. He balls it up and tosses it to Cartman, "Since when did you learn to sew?"

"Since he outgrew the largest size," Kyle sneered, rolling onto his stomach atop the comfortable mess of blankets.

Cartman just ignores the comment, "I'll have a hard time taking a eulogy seriously if my mom is wearing one of her slut dresses in the coffin."

"So you're gonna make your mom a dress for when she's dead?" Stan asked as he dropped down onto the floor next to the bed.

"Look, would you attend your dads funeral if he was wearing boxers with pink hearts on them and nothing else? I thought so," Cartman said as he came too a patch that was falling off, underneath it was a large gash.

"That's," The ravenette has a hard time finding a good word, "Sweet," Not the right word at all but it'll do.

There's this comfortable pause of silence between them, like they're just four idiot kids at the bus stop all over again. The crackle and pop of fire is the only difference, and the fact that the burning smell of weed is starting to lay heavy on the air. Kenny slides open the bottom drawer of his desk, the drawer he fills with the cool things he finds.

"Think fast,"

Kyle barely has time to react to the words, let alone catch what's being thrown his way. He props himself up against the wall a bit as he inspects the thing, "What is it?"

"Cool looking stick I thought you might like," Kenny answered with as he pulled out another thing and tossed it to Stan, "Cool looking rock."

"I don't get anything?" Cartman teased as he pulled the patch back into place, one leg crossed over the other.

Kenny sifted through his drawer of trinkets before tossing one to Cartman, "Grenade pin."

The brunette stuffs it in his back pocket, "Wicked."

"How come he gets the coolest thing?" Kyle whined as he twirled the stick between his fingers.

"It's swarming with whatever germs are inside of a bears liver," The blonde said and Cartman shudders at the notions but does nothing to get rid of the gift.

He just echoes back another, "Wicked," as he ties a knot in the embroidery thread and moves onto another tear. "How teared up did you manage to get this ratty old thing?"

Kenny shrugged, "It gets the job done."

"You'd be better off just running 'round stark naked with how fucked this thing is," Cartman said with a condescending edge to his voice.

"Fatso, watch your mouth, he could kick us out," Kyle snapped to the best of his ability. He rolled back onto his stomach with a hum.

"How much THC was in that weed?"

"What weed?"

"The stuff you're burning right now, I can smell it," Stan said.

"None," Kenny said, he grabbed the glass jar and tossed it to Stan, "All of it's CBD, I lost the goods in the cold snap man."

The ravenette popped open the jar and took a heavy huff. He coughed a bit at the potency, "First of all, use separate jars for separate strains, secondly, I'm pretty sure some OJ rubbed off on the bud you're burning."

"What makes you say that," The blonde twisted his chair to rest his chin on the backrest. He tapped steel tipped boots on the ground.

"I think Kyle's getting fried," Cartman said, nodding towards the redhead, "That or he's never used CBD and the sudden lack of stress and back pain is getting him wasted."

"Shut up,"

"He's baked," Cartman said confidently.

Stan gives a hum, "Can't get baked on CBD."

"CBD highs are wicked good for sleeping," Kenny countered with before a jacket came colliding into him, "Give some warning!"

Cartman said nothing as he rearranged his sewing kit, "You're so fucking lucky I know how to sew."

Kenny just rolled his eyes and tossed the bundle of fabric to the floor, "So, Kyle's fucking stoned."

"I'm not," Kyle said, he sounded just a bit distant, "I don't usually sit around in a room full of weed smoke."

"Any suggestions on what the fuck to do?" Kenny asked.

"We could just chat," Stan offered, "Chattings nice."

"I could go shoot up a rabbit, cook something up," Kenny offered cautiously.

"Want me to make sure they don't have sex on your bed?" Cartman offered.

"Those two are dating?" He sounds incredulous as he asks, pivoting to face Cartman a bit more.

"We are not dating," Stan growled out and Cartman just laughs.

"Whatever your arrangements are, I want some," He's joking, a bit, he's definitely not genuine when he says it, "Besides, that bed needs to see some action."

"Don't die out there," Kyle chimed in with from the bed.

Kenny tugs on his parka, bright orange now faded, and slings on his gun, "I won't, be back soon."

"I'll deal with the fire while you're out," Cartman offered up, but Kenny knows it's not an offer you say no too.

-/-/-/-

Cartman did a damn good job stitching together Kenny's jacket, it hasn't held this much heat for a long time. He manages one rabbit, shockingly plump despite the stringiness winter months usually cause. It's blood is splattered across the white fur in such a way it's almost comical, it's still warm as hauls it back.

He nudges open the door and slides it shut with his foot, clicking on the safety and dropping down his gun. He drops the rabbit on top of his desk of many purposes and reaches into the middle drawer for his skinning knife.

"Kenny, help," Came Cartman's hushed voice from the bed.

The blonde startled just a bit before turning to face Cartman who had Stan and Kyle leaning onto him from one side. They're asleep and curled up together under one of Cartman's arms. Kenny frowns, "Did you guys have sex without me?"

"Dude, first of all, gross," His nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought alone, "Second of all, they dragged me over- and lastly, can you open a window before I get thoroughly smoked out."

"Yeah, totally man," He perched himself on his chair to pop open the highest window. Cool air filtered in comfortably as he sat back and and returned to skinning his catch.

"I brought food,"

"I know,"

"You've been eating enough lately, right?"

"I've been living off of rabbits," Kenny gave a snort of laughter at the idiocy of Cartman's concern, "In all seriousness, definitely not, I usually have some berries in the spring."

Cartman went to move, and it drew a whine from both Kyle and Stan. He glares at Kenny, "You will not tell anyone of this."

"I won't," Kenny lied as he shucked sectionals of muscle from bone. It was a swift job, he had two piles on either side of the desk and another splash of blood on the one framed picture he had of his friends.

"You should come back to town sometime," Cartman said, what he didn't say was that he missed Kenny, that was implied.

"No can do," He reached for the pot always resting on the back of the wood stove. It had leftover broth from yesterdays meal, it was still good. He pulled it closer to the hottest part of the stove top before dropping in the bones to boil away the nutrients.

"You seriously don't wanna hit up the Peppermint Hippo with me?"

"I've moved on,"

"Sure you have, look at your walls, pinups as far as the eye can see," There's this shaming shake of the head.

"That's different!" He slid the meat into a separate bucket and sealed it shut.

Kenny defiantly left the room, hauling the bucket into the snow to keep the meat chilled. He hangs his jacket up above the wood stove to dry it off and leaves his boots at the door.

"Room for one more?"

Cartman shrugged, "It's your cabin," he still held out an arm for Kenny despite trying to be aloof.

That's more than enough incentive for Kenny to launch onto the bed which creaked in dismay at the unprecedented amount of weight. He pushed himself against Cartman's side and his friend tugged him even closer, resting his head against Kenny's.

"Dude," Kenny began, "This is-"

"Pretty gay? Just shut up or I'll leave you to deal with Stan and Kyle on your own," Cartman finished, threat to his tone despite how quietly he spoke.

"Alright," He hoisted himself up a bit more, to rest some of himself on Cartman, "If the bed breaks I'm blaming it on you."

And Cartman laughs, a single note, "Sure you will, I'll try and rake up enough cash to buy you a new one if it does."

"Thanks man,"

"You're welcome,"

"No like, for coming on up, I missed you guys,"

"You should come to town sometimes then,"

"Walk all the way there to just be disappointed by the fact that Karen is still stuck at home? I'll pass,"

Cartman pauses, "Still, you should come to town,"

"Wow man, you're so compassionate,"

"It's one of my more desirable traits,"

Kenny just curled up into Cartman a little bit more, hand rubbing his upper arm gently. He drifted off into a comfortable haze of half sleep pretty fast while pressed up against Cartman. He gently held onto Stan and Kyle, tugging them a bit closer despite his better judgement, thank god they're asleep.

"Love you bro," Came Kenny's sleepy words, "And Stan, 'n Kyle."

"They're asleep,"

#south park #kenny mccormick #eric cartman #kyle broflovski #stan marsh #south park fanfiction #stylennyman #if you so desire to read it as such #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #tw weed

16 notes · View notes