#did i just watch. it's like the first time i tried to read/watch the melancholy of h@ruhi suzumiya but with the janky ass translation

[attila-werther]

well, not with that attitude you can't

[clockwayswrites]

Cozytober Days 8 & 9: Baking gone wrong & The slight smell of smoke in the air.

masterpost

Sometimes when Jason was feeling a little melancholy and a little soft, he’d talk about when he was a little kid, back before he had become a Wayne. It was usually just a quick thing, some memory about his mother that Jason could tell in a sentence or two. One time it had been about how they would sometimes, when they had enough to spare and she was off the drugs, they stop by the little corner store. It was owned by an old Cuban couple. There were these odd cone shaped egg sponges drenched in a spiced sugar syrup and they would buy one and split it. By the time they got home their fingers would be sticky with the syrup.

It had taken a lot of researching, but Danny had fond what he thought had to be the dessert (called capuchinos of all things) and the easier shaped cabezotes that he hoped to cook. He’d researched and watched videos and it was only four ingredients, if he didn’t count the syrup, so he thought he had a shot.

He bought twice as many eggs as he needed, just in case.

Luckily Jason’s kitchen had all the things that Danny needed. He set them out on the counter like he was prepping for a chemistry experiment. Baking was just chemistry, he’d been reminding himself. It wasn’t like cooking. Baking was a science. He could manage science. He used to manage science a lot.

Of course, science also killed him.

Danny tried not to dwell on the past as he started to work. Tongue peaking out he cracked each egg over a tuperware first, letting the whites drip between his fingers as he gently cradled the yolk to move to the final bowl. Honestly it felt a little like ecto. He’d read that the whites could be saved to make meringue, but Danny though he’s leave that up to Jason. It did seem a waste though once there were nine discarded whites so he put them covered in the fridge.

One more for the bowl, beat in a little sugar, carefully fold in a little corn starch, and a lot of doubt this would work even though he had followed the recipe. He had just finished piping out the mixture into the cupcake tray when he heard Jason coming up the stairs by the ding of an alert. He shoved the tray in the oven and everything else to the side or into the sink. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.

“Danny, hey boo,” Jason said with a tired smile.

“Hell, babe,” Danny said back and came over to help Jason unwarp from the fall weather. “Long day?”

“Yeah. But I think that we’ve done everything we can. Now it’s on all the parties to review things one last time and hopefully agree.”

“You’ll get there,” Danny assured him before pressing a soft kiss to Jason’s lips… which maybe turned into Danny bring pressed against the wall and the kisses lengthening and deepening.

Danny was very much enjoying it all until Jason broke apart to ask, “Do I smell smoke?”

“No! My baking!”

Danny scrambled off Jason and over to the oven He barely remembered to use a kitchen towel to pull out the slightly smoldering cupcake tray. It clanked as he set it on the cook top with groan.

“I forgot to put in the bowl water was they would burn!” Danny groaned and buried his face in the warm towel. “The what the fuck you call it!”

“The bain marie?” Jason asked as he came over.

His arms wrapped around Danny from behind and he sunk into the hold.

“Yeah… I’ve got more of the mix I guess. I can start over,” Danny said, voice quiet. He’d just wanted everything to go right.

Jason was quiet as he ran soothing hands up and down Danny’s arms. Finally he asked. “Are those…?”

“Cabezotes. In this shape they’re called cabezotes, but yeah. I wanted to surprise you with them. I have dinner ordered too and a show for us to watch. I thought it would be a nice night.”

“It is nice.” Jason insisted.

“It’s burnt.”

“How about this. We’re going to pretend I never saw these. You put another back in without me showing up and surprising you and I’ll go shower in the mean time, okay?”

Danny tilted his head back to pout up at Jason. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Yes,” Jason said with absolutely no remorse. “Entirely for my own good too. How about it?”

Danny took a deep breath. “Fine, okay, go shower and let me work. I’ve got this.”

“You do,” Jason said. He pressed a kiss to Danny’s neck before he headed off to the bedroom.

Time to get to work, again.

[slutforsjy]

“Can I be Layla’s Mom?”

Synopsis: You made Jake mad (?) and uncomfortable with your banner, so he invited you backstage to talk about it 😇

Genre: SMUT!

Pairing: Idol!Jake X Engene Fem!Reader

Warnings: Making out, blowjob, deepthroating, cum eating, spit kink, grinding, almost sex, pervert jake, nasty jake, dom jake, PURE FILTH!

Word Count: 3k +

a/n this is my first time writing pls bare with me 😭 also eng is not my first language so….rb and comment if you enjoy it 🥰

You and your friend, swept up in the pulsating energy of the crowd, singing along with your favorite group, etching memories that will forever linger in your mind. The venue is a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, with flashing lights illuminating the stage and electrifying the atmosphere.

Attending a concert had always been a dream, lured by the promise of electrifying vibes, enchanting ambiance, and the palpable connection with the performers, especially your favorite, Jake.

There were so many banners and signs around for enhypen to read and yours were the one that caught the attention of the members.

It says….

“JAKE! CAN I BE LAYLA’S MOM?” with a picture of him and Layla that he posted on twitter.

For the rest of the members they thought it was funny, but for Jake, it sparked a different reaction. The moment he saw you waving that banner, it was at first funny to him at least, until his gaze traveled from your face down to your tight ass dress pushing your breast out a little bit, his reaction shifted.

You tried to catch his attention more as you started jumping, shouting, singing, and dancing not knowing how your boobs wiggle in front of him. His jaw clenched at the sight and you didn’t miss the way he licked his lips. Of course, your fans around you went crazy duh 🙄 but for you? you can’t seem to read what was that expression.

As the concert drew to a close, with each member delivering their heartfelt messages to the crowd, your eyes remained fixated on Jake. When he finished speaking, you seized the opportunity to capture his attention once more, by showing him your banner. However, instead of amusement, you sensed a flicker of irritation in his demeanor. You saw him cock his head looking annoyed by your actions as he diverted his gaze over to the other side of the stage and started waving at the fans instead.

You got worried, fearing that your playful gesture may have crossed a line and maybe it’s not an inappropriate banner for you to show him in the first place. But you just shrugged it off as you put your banner inside your bag and just enjoy the rest of the concert.

Everything inside the venue happens so quickly, and clearly, you don’t want to go home especially that your bias is mad at you. During their encore, you never miss a time when jake steals a look from you. He would look at you with a sharp eyes and then look at somewhere else when you catch him looking directly at you.

At this point you are so worried maybe because you truly made him uncomfortable with that stupid banner.

You’re so stupid!

Consumed by guilt and disappointment, you didn’t enjoy the rest of the concert. You really feel like crying, wanting to apologize to Jake which makes it worse as the thought of never meeting him again hits you and you’re never gonna have a chance to tell him that you’re sorry.

Once they bid their final goodbye, a wave of melancholy washed over you watching how the stage slowly closes hiding the seven most precious human beings for you.

“Bitch what was going on with you and jake?” you were jolted by your friend’s sudden question

See? Your friend noticed it too!

“Right? I really don’t know what I did wrong” you screamed, the weight of uncertainty pressing upon you.

“Dude he stares at you like he’s going to kill you” she says jokingly, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Damn! maybe i made him uncomfortable with my banner” your friend nodded noting how you didn’t use your banner at the latter part of the concert.

For the record, it wasn’t your intention to make anyone uncomfortable especially Jake, you made it for fun! even you friends and the other members find it funny. How is it not funny for Jake too!

As the crowd dispersed, your friends lingered for a final photo, offering a brief distraction from your swirling thoughts. Lost in the digital snapshots of the evening, you were startled by an unexpected interruption.

“Excuse me” he says tapping your shoulder.

You thought it was another engene asking you to take a photo of them but to your surprise you saw what is written in his shirt.

‘STAFF’

“Uhm sorry we’re actually done taking photo, we’ll head out quickly after this” you smiled at him.

You are about the go out of the venue when he calls you again.

“Uhm actually someone wants to see you…… at the backstage” You are so shocked and confused.

“W-what? Why?” your asked nervously

“Just go there, he just wants to talk to you” he then walked away shooting you a smile afterwards

“He?” both of you exclaimed

“Girl what the fuck is goin~?!” you cut your friend off and went immediately to follow the staff

You left your friend there and just shouted to her to just meet you at the hotel.

You’re so nervous walking towards the staff in front of you as he pointed at the door telling you to go inside.

Stopping in front of the door, heart racing, thinking if you should go inside or not.

Just by looking at the door, you think it is a storage room or whatever. You spent few minutes guessing what or WHO could be inside this room.

Once you got the courage to open the door, you were so shocked from what you see.

There you saw Jake,

manspreading, both arms on the head rest of the couch, staring at you with a smirk on his face, eyeing you up and down while licking his lips.

Wearing his soundcheck outfit earlier!

Your knees started trembling, seeing those gaze he gave you earlier at the stage as you nervously averted your gaze to look around the small room.

But this isn’t the time to be nervous, and so you brushed off your own thoughts and say hi and tell him how he did well.

“Hi Jake, i really enjoyed the concert, i can’t believe you called me i~” you were cutted as you heard him speak by his deep voice with thick accent

“come here” he commands while tapping his thigh

You blinked for a while as you look at him confused

“i said come here” his tone is very commanding and scary

You slowly walk towards him and he immediately grabbed your wrist and draw circles on it using his thumb

“so…” he paused looking at you directly in the eye

“you wanna be layla’s mom” that devilish smirk perked up on his beautiful lips once again

You gulp nervously at the question you knew that this was about the banner

“look Jake im sorry i didn’t mean to make you~” he shush you

“you know how hard it was for me to hide a fucking boner?” he raised his eyebrows at you

“what?” you ask sincerely looking at his bulge

He took your hand once again and guided it to palm his hard cock through his pants.

“JAKE!!” you shouted his name and step back a little bit taken aback from what he did.

GOD IT’S HUGE 😭

He smirked again from your reaction as he let go of your hands and quickly removed his glasses and leather jacket leaving him only with tank top perfectly flexing his biceps and showing his toned chest through the tight material.

You tried not to look at his body but failed anyways

“So” he licked his lips and started placing both of his hands at the back of his head, spreading his legs even more to pull you closer to him.

Youur mouth waters from the sight alone and jake noticed it and smirked again for the hundredth time.

“To be layla’s mom, first you should know how to suck my dick” he looked up to you waiting for your response

Your eyes widened from what you heard.

“WHAT?!!” you’re so confused right now

“can you make me feel good” palming his hard cock through his pants, once again biting his lips, and winking at you. “I want someone who can take care of my cock too, you think you can do that?”

This is guy is so perv but you love it. It’s not all the time that you could suck a dick like jake’s 🤷‍♀️

You don’t know what’s going on with your mind as you nodded to him slowly kneeling down and you put both of your hands on either side of his thighs

“that’s a good girl” he said patting your head as he tucked your hair behind your ears

You can’t really talk right now. All you can think of is HIS cock and the taste of his cum.

Without any hesitation you immediately reached for his pants unzipping it in no time. He lifted his lower body so you could pull down his pants together with his boxers.

You gulped at the sight in front of you, it’s average in length but what shocked you the most is its thickness, it’s fat FAT!

You tried to scan his fat cock a little bit more as you also noticed how veiny it is. Well this isn’t so shocking for you because you see how veiny his hands are.

You can’t help but to lick your lips as you can’t really wait to savour his cock. You’re basically drooling over his cock. “you like what you see baby? why don’t you show me how you like it hmm?”

You wasted no time putting your pretty lips around the tip of his cock

You hummed as you try to please him with only the head

He leaned against the couch and put his hands at the back of his head

HE IS SO HOT! you were so turned on at the sight of him looking down at you with smile, biting his lips and his armpit on full display.

You try to taste every inch of his fat cock starting from the head, you started sucking it like your life depends on it. He guided your hands into his balls implying you to massage it.

He can’t help but buck his hips wanting to hit your throat immediately.

After a few minutes of sucking and licking just the tip you gave it a few more peck while looking at him still looking down at you with a smirk as he caress your cheeks

You tilt your head and work on the base of his cock this time. You gave it a long lick from his balls to the top of its head. You could literally feel in your tongue the bumps of his veins running through his cock. HE TASTES SO GOOD!

“baby i want more, please suck it more” he whined getting boring with your way of pleasuring him.

You got sad cuz you want to take your time, to WORSHIP his cock. But this isn’t about you, so upon hearing his words you’re eager to please him more, to SATISFY him.

You started by spitting on top of his cock as you locked eye contact with him. You saw him nodding at you flashing his eyebrows encouraging you to do more.

You worked your mouth down on his pretty cock reaching the back of your throat in one go earning a few cuss from his him.

“fuck that’s it, so fucking tight and warm ahh..” he grabbed the back of your head and pushed it down a little bit more.

He guided you as you bobbed your head up and down aggressively until you choked out loud, causing you to immediately pull his hands off of your head and let go of his cock for a second.

You looked at him with teary eyes, catching your breath, signaling for a pause.

“im sorry baby did i go too hard?” he asked while tracing your lips with the head of his cock STILL smirking.

“just a few more, i know you can take it” he leaned down to lick the corner of your lips where your saliva is dripping and asked “right baby?”

damn he’s so hot and nasty 😵‍💫 but you like it. You like how he’s being rough with you

“please” he says with puppy eyes

and who are you to ignore his cock?

“stick your tongue out for me please”

As the cock slut you are you stuck your tongue out as he placed his heavy cock on top of your tongue rubbing it slowly.

You both stayed like this for a while feeling the heaviness of his cock while he says a few reminders.

“when i cum down this mouth i want you to swallow all of it, understood?” you badly want to make this the best blowjob he will ever get, so you immediately lick the tip of his cock as a response while nodding

“fuck” he hissed at your actions and pulled you out of his cock by your hair and held your chin up

“you can’t wait huh? you really want my cum?” he says slapping his cock against your cheeks

All you can do is to nod at him, your eyes watching how he hits your face with his cock tapping it all over your face harder and harder spreading his pre-cum

He teases you like this for a few seconds as you go after his dick sniffing it and catching it with your mouth

He chuckles while looking at you so desperate looking like a dog going after its toy “Slut!” he slapped it one last time against your cheeks and started patting your head

“good girl, now open up i’ll go hard okay?” he stands up, forcefully gripping your jaw using his one hand and spat on your mouth which you gladly took and swallow like it’s yours.

“god you’re making me crazy” without a warning he shoved his cock all the way in to your throat. You looked at him with teary eyes while he harshly fuck your throat like there’s no tomorrow.

He pulls out for a second to give you a break as he pats your head and caress your cheeks “so good for me, taking me so well”

“please fuck my mouth jakey” you beg

“oh baby i will” you try your best not to choke as he picked up his pace this time. You gripped around his legs as a support as he uses your mouth like a flesh light with every hard thrust letting a sinful moans and grunts from him.

You keep sucking, using your tongue to rub the underside of his dick that's filling up your mouth. He pulls your hair again causing you to moan around his dick and you close your eyes, only to feel a slap on your cheek.

You open your eyes and look up at him to see him looking down at you with a frown, hand still on your jaw. " You're gonna keep looking at me got it?" He said, his thrusts never faltering. You hummed in agreement and his smirk returns.

“ughh fuck this mouth so good for me” he thrusts slowly but deeper this time angling his hips.

“you like this huh? such a good girl for me yeah?” he asked mouth wide open and eyes squinting as pleasure takes over his body.

You stay like that for a few more minutes, unmoving as Jake uses your mouth for his pleasure, swallowing saliva and precum, until you feel his grip in your hair get tighter and his thrusts gets deeper.

“Im close baby, remember what i told you?” he says as his speed increases, the sounds of you choking and gagging bringing his climax ever closer.

You felt him grabbed your head with both of his hands as his thrusts started to get sloppy and shallow indicating for him to reach his climax.

Hearing his sexy moans and gasps made your pussy clench around nothing. So you tried to reach for your pants and work your own orgasm.

Jake is too lost on his mind to even notice how youre trying to pleasure yourself. With that he just continues to punish your pretty little mouth mercilessly.

“ah fuck! fuck! fuck! im cumming, ah” he cried so loud enough for people outside the room to hear

With few more thrust he buried your head against his cock, the tip of your nose hitting his pelvis as he shoot his load to the back of your throat as you hollow your cheeks even more getting all the cum out of his cock.

You looked at him head thrown back, furrowed eyebrows, mouth wide open moaning out loud, body twitching, and gasping for air. His face says it all.

You felt his dick twitch one last time as he shots his 6th cumshot in to your throat, some spilling down your mouth.

He thrusts one last time to make sure all of his cum goes down your throat.

“fuck” he fell down the couch sweat all over his face looking at you proudly as you showed him how you eat and swallow all of his load~draining him.

“fuck i came a lot, didn’t I?” he moves closer to your face as he brought his thumb to wipe off the remaining of his cum on your chin and shove it back inside your mouth.

You hummed sucking his thumb while looking at him, your pussy is now forgotten as you came just from tasting his seeds.

“good girl” you’ve lost count on how many times did Jake called you that. It boosts your ego.

You started getting up on your knees, and grabbed your things, and the reality just hits you now. You can’t process what just happened “jake i have to go, thank y~”

You were cut off once again

“wait” you glanced over him as you see him get something from his bag

He walk over you still with his cock hanging between his legs and hand you a piece of paper~with his contact number written on it.

You find him cute on how he just stood there, smiling at you like a puppy as if he didn’t just choked your life out earlier.

He leaned closer to your ear as he grabbed the back of your neck and whispered something to you

“i still don’t know your name, pretty” he said in a flirty and sexy tone making you wet once again.

You were about to say your name when you felt him bit your ears.

“Jake uhmm wait” you tried to stop him as his mouth went its way down to your neck sucking it desperately.

“mhmm jake please” you cried tilting your head to give him more access to your neck

It took a while before jake got his senses back as he stared at the mark on your neck proudly with a smirk.

“so…how do you want me to call you baby” he looked at your eyes

“y/n” you said voice shaking

“what a sexy name” he says with a raspy voice squeezing your ass up pressing your clothed pussy on his once again hard cock

“feel that y/n?” you moaned as you feel his cock against you with your pants the only boundary. At this point, both of you are so hungry and desperate for each other. You follow the rhythm of his body, grinding against him.

He grabed you by your head and started lapping, eating, devouring, the entirety of your mouth almost licking all parts of your face. Making you gasp and open your lips for him. But he doesn’t gave you time to catch your breath as he pushed his tongue inside your mouth feeling him suck on your tongue harshly. You placed both of your hands on his shoulder as you try to kiss him back with the same intensity. You continued for a few more minutes exchanging salivas while still grinding against each other until you heard a knock from the door calling for Jake.

You pulled back from the kiss and saliva dripped down your lips but Jake is too quick to catch it with his own tongue. Licking your chin all the way up to the tip of your nose. He groaned, disappointment evident from his face.

“Damn baby you’re so hot, but i need to go” he said while putting his Calvin Klein underwear back on together with his pants.

“call me by the number i gave you…” he thrusts in to you one last time…

“Im going to MAKE you a mom” he whispers pecking your lips one last time

Leaving you dumb and speechless

Leaving your pussy dripping from your second orgasm

Leaving you wanting for more

Leaving you curious about his last words~

THE END

HI! OMG thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoy 🥹

[sonotpattismith]

i'm still your girl (satoru gojo x reader)

word count: 7.5k inspired by: dancing with your ghost by sasha alex sloan & my immortal by evanescence warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, depression, smut, 18+ a/n: AHHH I LOVED THIS ONE SO MUCH! I really wanted to do something a little spooky for Halloween, even if it wasn't officially halloween themed :( I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts! ILY!

You tried to ignore him at first. He would stare back at you through your reflection in the mirror, just as he once did when the two of you would get ready for bed. He used to smile at you over his foamed toothbrush when he’d catch you staring at him, mumbling unintelligibly with his mouth full of suds. It made you laugh nonetheless, and he would lean over to spit into the sink before repeating himself with a teasing glint in his sparkling eyes. 

Why stare at my reflection when you’ve got the real thing here, sweetcheeks?

But Satoru had been dead for two months, and he no longer had anything to say about the way you stared blankly back at his reflection. 

You cried the first time you had seen him. It was just in your peripheral as you climbed into what was once his side of the bed. His dominating presence loomed in the doorframe, as if awaiting an invitation to come join you. In the haze of your mourning, having only been back at you and Satoru’s shared home for three days since he’d been gone, you thought perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. Still, there was no mistaking those glowing eyes and their tendency to follow you across whatever room you were in. 

That night, you could only pull the covers over your head, too afraid of the fragility of your own sanity to dare take another look. His presence lingered though, the waves of his energy enough to leave you trembling underneath the comforter, tears spilling onto the plush pillow that still held his scent. You never peaked out, but a part of you knew he never left that night, lingering in the doorway and haunting you once you’d successfully cried yourself to sleep. 

It went on like that for a while. You believing your sanity was simply waning in his absence, him believing you simply didn’t see him. So, he watched as you trudged through life— if that’s what you could call your melancholy existence holed up in what once was a shared space— trapped behind the perceived veil of life and death that his abrupt departure had left the two of you in. 

There wasn’t a definitive moment when he determined that you could in fact see his silent figure observing you and feel his energy weighing down the air around the house. It came in waves; Satoru would notice how your sidelong glances toward the corner of the room lingered too long to be considered just a sweep around the room. He took note of the way you’d avoid facing the door at night when you’d pretend to be sleeping. 

One night, as you laid on the sofa, dark-rimmed eyes mindlessly fluttering across the television screen, perhaps your grief had simply outweighed the logical part of your mind that said giving into delusions— no—hallucinations, was not a good call for your already declining mental state. Your feeling conscious enough to turn on the television was a new development, one that Satoru was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how long he could watch you stare stiffly up at the ceiling, only an occasional sigh or sniffle that told him you were still breathing. 

Your thumb ticked over title after title, not even bothering to read descriptions or watch trailers before you passed them up. The gentle clicking noise was beginning to scratch at his ears, and, if he could still bleed, he was sure it’d be covering his jaw and neck by now. But then it stopped. Glancing up from his unwavering gaze on your slumped figure, his cerulean eyes landed on the sight of what once was your favorite Halloween movie to watch together. It had become a tradition, every year around this time, the two of you would pull out the matching pajama pants he’d bought for you on your first fall together just for the viewing occasion. 

You would always pretend to be irritated with him as he leaned into your ear and dramatically recited every line as they were being acted out. Delicate hands would push at his face as you repressed an amused smile. He’d only turn his theatrics up a notch, letting out a blood-curdling scream in tandem with the main actresses— so loud it made you glad you two had moved out of your apartment and into a house just two years into your relationship. Your boisterous laughter would fill the room as he tackled you into his lap, shaking your shoulders dramatically. 

The memory hung in the space between you. On the screen before you, the title lingered, taunting the both of you with broken promises of what would have been your fifth year watching it together. The man’s gaze was pulled from the screen when he saw your head tilt out of the corner of his eye. Your cheek was still smushed against the cushion, but you had angled it just so, and he could swear you were staring at him from your peripheral— waiting, inviting. 

Satoru stepped forward, eyes never leaving your face as he sank down into the spot by your feet. It was the first time the both of you had acknowledged the arrangement fate had thrust upon you. Your eyes, now brimmed with tears, returned to the screen as you pressed play on the movie. 

You didn’t understand what he was. The first thought was a hallucination, but as his energy lingered, and you felt the warmth of his thighs against your feet as the film shot bursts of color and sound throughout the morose living room, you began to think that perhaps he was more real than you were giving your psyche credit for. 

The second theory was a curse, conjured up from the macabre sense of loss and void that had tunneled within your chest since his death. How fitting, you thought, to have your love haunt you in the very form of what brought him to his end. As you pretended to watch the movie, keeping a watchful peripheral eye on the man at the end of the couch, you decided you didn’t care enough to find out. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to exorcize him should your theory be correct. It felt nice to have him here with you, soulbound or not. 

Your subtle acknowledgement of him did nothing to shift the silent stares and subtle invitations into something more— both of you too fearful of what it would mean if you did. So, he still stalked behind you as you brushed your teeth every night, and he awaited your subtle nod as you picked out your nightly cinematic reminder of what you two once were. 

It began eating away at him. He’d watch your phone light up with messages, ring with calls, all from your friends begging to know how you were doing, if there was anything they could do for you. Each time though, you’d barely glance at the device before sighing softly. It felt as though the phone weighed a ton, and it would surely take all your energy to simply acknowledge them. You would get back to them tomorrow, you thought to yourself yesterday, as well as the day before that. 

It was becoming too much— watching the shell of the woman he loved— loves— wither away at the hands of his own demise. Satoru wondered if it would have been easier on you had you been given a proper goodbye, but at the time, he was too cowardly to face you with the notion of it. Although the sorcerer had been prepared to go toe to toe with the king of curses, he couldn’t find it in him to prepare you for the possibility of his own death. 

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you out of your trance— to tell him it wasn’t all because of him. You couldn’t have tossed away your soul because of him. 

The credits of the movie you’d been idly watching rolled to completion, and your eyes remained glued to the screen as though reading each name as it slowly dragged down. The television screen faded to black before the film restarted from the beginning. Satoru watched, waiting for you to grab the remote, change it, move, blink, cry— anything. Lights flashed across your blank face as the familiar title card played, and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Although he wanted to shout, scream at you to snap out of it, nothing would come out. As he attempted to push the breaths up his chest and out his throat with some semblance of a plea, it was as if an imaginary force had its fingers wrapped around his neck, halting any wish he had to get through to you. 

His chest rose and fell dramatically, snowy brows furrowing in frustration, and he kicked at the coffee table, sending it rumbling across the living room to hit the entertainment center with a deafening crack. The television shook but steadied after just a moment. Those gleaming eyes remained transfixed on you though— you hadn’t even flinched. Blinking slowly once, and then a second time, and your head slowly turned to meet his eyes straight on for the first time since his death. 

It caught him off guard. Of course, there were countless moments when your sidelong glances and hitched breaths let him know that you sensed something was amiss. Still, you had never dared look into his eyes— never made him feel as though he was really still with you. 

“Stop it, Satoru.” 

It was a flat demand— a test. Would he listen to you? Could he hear you? Did he care? 

Straightening his back against the couch, he stared unblinkingly at you for a moment before slowly standing up from his spot. His eyes didn’t leave yours once as he crouched down to grab the leg of the table and pull it back to its respective spot. He stood still facing you for what felt like hours. With each second that passed, your lip would slowly twitch, and your eyes would soften— because fuck, was he really there?

And then he held his hand out to you with a barely noticeable hesitance, and you didn’t seem to care any longer if he was just in your mind, or if he was a curse, or a ghost, because your fingers were trembling as they traced across his palm— and he was warm, and he was your Satoru. For that moment, his body hadn’t been torn to pieces because it was pulling yours off the couch. His lips weren’t cold and blue, because they were pressing against your forehead as your tears began to fall in salty, stinging waves down your cheeks. Satoru wasn’t dead, because he was right here, and your arms were twisted around the very torso that had been sliced clean off of him. 

Trembling sobs racked your frame as you pulled yourself up with desperate hands on his shoulders, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside of him and hide from the heinous idea that your lover was dead. His hands grasped at your thighs to pull you up, and you cried into his collarbone, tears and snot mixing grotesquely against him so much so that you didn’t notice the pulse you used to press kisses to was no longer there. 

“You said goodbye to everyone!” You cried pounding at his back as he carried you silently toward your bedroom. “I didn’t get anything. You knew— you knew, Satoru!”

Despite his not being able to speak, he still bit his tongue at your accusations. Slowly, he settled down on his side of the bed, clutching you close to his chest as you fought to pull away in order to glare down at him, venom and grief mixing arbitrarily in your veins. You weren’t sure it was him, if he could speak or even understand what you were saying anymore, but you had so much anger in you for how he left things. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me?” Your words were being muffled behind your gritted teeth as he finally released the firm grip he had on the back of your head. Balled up fists beat weakly against his chest, though they never hurt him when he was breathing, so they certainly couldn’t hurt him now. “Why didn’t you say goodbye to me?”

He couldn’t speak to explain to you his cowardice and talk you through that crack in your voice. So, he sat up and pulled you into him, pressing his lips against yours as your salty tears seeped into the crevices of his mouth and coated his tongue with your grief. Those familiar fingers creeped up your neck to grasp at your jaw, prying your mouth open as though he could breathe into you every regret he’d left behind. 

Your cries slowly died out against his open mouthed kisses, and you found yourself messily reciprocating, desperate for any distraction from the reality you’d been living in for weeks. His thumbs wiped roughly at each tear that slipped down your cheek, having had his fill of being the cause of them for so long. 

“I love you.” You cried against his tongue, raking your nails through his feathery hair and inhaling deeply through your nose. He didn’t smell like himself anymore— he didn’t smell like anything. Any supplement of him would do though, and your hands dipped down to pull his tshirt off. Those enrapturing eyes stared back at you longingly once the fabric was yanked over his head, and he wanted nothing more than to say it back to you. For now though, you were okay to fill that void in his unwilling silence. “I still love you, Toru. Please— stay.”

Satoru wasn’t sure the morality of his decision, but he knew it had been weeks of aching to reach out to you, and now you were here in his arms, arching against his wandering hands and forgetting that his body was being eaten away at by worms and vermin. Perhaps, he thought as he slid his old shirt over your head and buried his face into your chest, this is exactly why he had been barred from whatever afterlife had been awaiting him. He’d always heard that old expression, the superstition that no one soul can pass on with unfinished business to attend to. Had he barricaded his own soul to the land of the living when he failed to prepare you for his death? Was your grief keeping him here?

If so, he selfishly hoped you’d never recover, because the man who was once the strongest wasn’t sure he was strong enough to leave you— not with how your soul seemed to mesh with his as he settled you over his aching length, hoping to fill the void your mourning for him had created. If Satoru was bound for Heaven, he wasn’t sure that whatever was promised would come close to the holiness of your sweet moans against his ears and your nails’ stinging purchase of his shoulders. 

He’d never leave again, the phantom thought as he watched you sleep that night, curled around his arm as though he might ascend before you woke. There was a serenity in your soft features that had been noticeably missing in his absence, but it was there in your parted lips and gently settled brows as his fingers continued to rake through your hair. You hummed quietly in the midst of your slumber and tucked your face into the crook of his neck, and Satoru vowed he’d haunt you to your grave if it meant you’d never be apart again. 

You woke with a start the next morning, a gasp of your lover’s name tumbling from your lips as you shot up in bed. Tears were already threatening to pierce your eyes at the thought that what you had experienced last night was simply a dream— placed torturously into your psyche to feed the black hole of your grief. Whipping your head to the side, you were met with Satoru’s awaiting gaze as he sat against the headboard. Despite your startled state, his lips still curled up at the sight of your barely conscious appearance.

Your hair clung to your cheeks and swayed into your bleary eyes as you attempted to blink away the sleep. It almost gave an energy of a bear that had just risen from a week long hibernation, but he couldn’t blame you as he’d lain witness to the sleepless nights that had plagued you the past few weeks. The comforter slipped from your shoulders, bearing your silken skin and plush chest to him. Acting on a carnal instinct the sight of you seemed so expert at pulling from him, he grasped at the small of your back to pull you into him. 

Your contented hum drifted into his ears as you settled against him once again, your skin still warm with sleep as it pressed against his own. Satoru didn’t realize how much he had been missing when he was still alive and had the weight of the world on his shoulders— rarely ever having gotten the privilege of lazing beside you as you awoke in the mornings. Most of the time, he was still working when you laid your head down to sleep, and he was already gone by the time you woke up. He’d only steal gentle kisses against your temple and wanton brushes of his palms up your thighs and waist as you slept before he’d slip into bed beside you. Now, he was quickly realizing as you pressed lazy kisses against his chest, trailing up his neck and jaw, that those stolen intimacies and rushed affections were never enough. He’d haunt you forever, the ghost vowed once again. 

Your since somber days were filled with something comforting, and, despite the five years you two had spent together prior to his death, this connection was new and warm— exciting. At one point you had even joked with him that you never saw him this much when he was alive, and he could only smile teasingly at you as he watched you devour your breakfast. You ate with an urgency he hadn’t seen in you the last few weeks, and it settled the guilt in his stomach. No, Satoru wasn’t being selfish in holding onto you, this was for you. 

The two of you welcomed the days that followed with open arms. No matter how morbid the circumstances, it was a relief compared to the atrocities you’d faced when he was still the strongest. You watched the list of movies the two of you had always put off, stayed in bed until the late hours of the morning just to make love to each other, lounged pressed up against the other in the steaming bathtub until your fingers wrinkled and the water was as cold as his corpse. 

Satoru’s lips curled into an easy smile as you shivered against him. His large hands created a soft splash as he lifted them from the water to run them down your trembling shoulders. You tilted your head back against his chest to look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“C’mon, Toru, I need to get under the covers asap.” You laughed eagerly, moving to push yourself up. His brows furrowed, and he pulled you back against him. It was another little moment that he wished he could say he missed from his time of living, but it was an intimacy he rarely had the time to share with you. He curled his fingers around the plush flesh of your arms and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of your neck as if to coax you to stay just like this for a moment longer. You sighed softly, tilting your head forward to allow him more access to the delicate skin you prayed he’d continue to explore. “You’re not cold?”

This gave his ministrations pause. Attempting to erase the distraction of your scent from his senses, he tried to concentrate on how the water felt against his skin. Upon feeling his hesitation, you glanced back at him. His incandescent eyes peered down at you, and he could only meekly shake his head at your question. It was a stark reminder of what he was and what he wasn’t— one you’d gladly forgotten about in place of his presence. 

It was after this instance that you began to notice all the little changes, the parts of Satoru that were no longer there. His typical, overwhelming sweet tooth was eradicated, and it felt almost unnatural the way he watched you eat the chocolate chip pancakes that were once his favorite of your dishes, not once trying to steal an extra bite from your plate as was his norm, much less grabbing any for himself. You chewed uncomfortably, switching the mush of pancake from one cheek to another as he leaned his chin on his fist and watched you with a contented smile. Still, it was better than forcing food down your throat in his absence, so you swallowed your breakfast with a soft smile and accepted the kiss he pressed against the knuckle of your free hand. 

You tried to not think about what all these things meant. The way he didn’t eat, how his usually racing mouth was now always shut, how you’d awake in the middle of the night to find him simply staring down at you; it made your blood run cold. It was better than being alone, you told yourself. It was better than being without him. 

His looming gaze burned holes in your back as you searched through your cabinets for the ingredients to make the festive cookies you typically prepared each year when Halloween was approaching. Usually, Satoru would be hovering over your shoulder, dipping his fingers into the batter as you swatted him away. He’d hang his long frame over the kitchen island as if it were a hammock, head dangling over the side as he shouted random numbers at you in an attempt to throw off your measurements. Those glistening lips would curl up into a mischievous smile each time you’d turn around to glare half-heartedly at him— pleased that he’d stolen your attention back just as he wanted. 

It was silent now though as you turned around to meet his gaze. You puffed out some air, blowing your bangs from your face as you closed the cabinet. 

“I guess stepping out of this place for a little bit wouldn’t hurt.” You commented with a soft sigh. 

It had been months since you’ve seen another human being— much less left the house. Since Satoru’s sudden reemergence, and, truthfully, you didn’t feel you had a reason to ever leave again. There was only so long you could live with what you had at the house though. Looking down at your pajama-clad figure, you stood up to begin your trek to the room to change into something more presentable. Behind you, hurried footsteps followed after you. Just as you were about to shed your tank top, a quick hand caught your wrist. 

The frantic look in Satoru’s blue eyes unsettled you for the smallest fraction of a second— the way his snowy brows furrowed, nose scrunched up as if you’d just told him a joke of the poorest taste. A small gulp forced its way down your throat, but you managed a forced smile. 

“I’ve gotta get some groceries, Toru.” You laughed meekly, tugging your arm from his grasp. He blinked a few times at you as you fished out an old sweater of his to pull on. “Some of us around here still eat, you know.” 

He didn’t like the way you reminded him of his own mortality status. For the first time since his dominating haunting of you, he felt disconnected from you. It was the first time he thought about the fact that there was an entire world outside this house awaiting your return. The people and stories lying behind these four walls were vibrant, loud, alive. Satoru suddenly wondered if your days turned weeks of quiet, domestic tranquility would be enough. 

His feet seemed to move on their own accord as he followed you to the front door, wishing with everything in him that he could yell at you to stop, to not leave him behind. Reaching out in a haze, he slammed the front door that you had opened back shut. You flinched back with a start, turning to blink up at him in astonishment. There was barely a hint of anger or hostility left in his expression though. In its place was fear, desperation, and an eagerness to keep you anchored to the very place he himself was doomed to. There was only one thing that the world outside you and Satoru’s home didn’t have, and it was the only thing his spirit could offer you in exchange for your blind loyalty— himself. 

Easily pushing you back against the door, Satoru kissed you as he kept his own tears and doubts hidden— doubts about what his selfishness made him and what it would do to you, what it was already doing to you. He could feel it as his hands roamed down your waist and hips in their desperate pursuit to your thighs, that you were smaller than he last remembered you being. There was a hesitation in your reciprocating, but it was as if you could still hear him now, whispering to you through the wet smacks of your lips and the clashing of your teeth— 

Don’t leave me. He longed to beg of you as he sank down onto his knees before you. As his white lashes fluttered up and his glittering eyes peered up at you from his place, dragging anguished kisses up the exposed skin of your thighs, Satoru could only smile against your clothed heat. 

It was always his favorite thing to do— something he was so skilled at— drawing your attention right back to him. It was so clear in your wanton gaze down at him, with your brows drawn softly together as your chest rose and fell in tandem with his teasing kisses, that he had drawn you in once again, even if just for a moment longer. 

Your head bumped against the front door you were trying to leave through just moments ago as Satoru peeled the layers from your hips. Despite your angled head, your eyes strained to meet his gaze that had not once left yours since his descent down your body. There was a certain betrayal in them and a daringness that asked you how could you think to leave me behind? 

In the midst of your pleasured gasp as his fingers circled your entrance lovingly before plunging in with gusto, you didn’t notice the way his free hand crept up to lock the door once again before trailing down your arm and locking his fingers between yours. 

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” The apology spilled from your lips with a shaking gasp, eyes finally falling shut as his lips circled your clit in tandem with his digits’ massages against your walls. You weren’t sure why you had felt the need to apologize— it was your right, after all, wasn’t it? To continue living? To not die along with him? Still, the hungered whines that were pulled from him and fell against you told a different story, one that ended in a happily ever after even if that meant opening his casket to lay beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

They continued to fall from your lips as your high crept over you and molded you against the offending door. Just as you were about to slip past the final layer of sanity that grasped at you by the thinnest of threads, a sharp rap at the door had the waves of your release crashing unceremoniously to a halt in the depths of your stomach. With a startled, choked gasp, you fell forward, hands steadying you atop Satoru’s broad shoulders.

 His lips pried off you with a wet smack, and he tilted his head back to look at you— eyes wide and startled as if just reminded that it wasn’t just you two left in the world. Your chest heaved as you two stared at one another silently, and he shook his head— that familiar feeling of doubt creeping up in his chest. Your attention was drawn from him for the second time that day though as another knock sounded against the wood door, this one more urgent than the last.

Fighting against the guilt in your stomach at Satoru’s betrayed expression, you pushed off of him and quickly adjusted your clothes back over you. Wiping at your face as if it would give away your most recent escapades, you took an anxious breath in as you cracked the door open. 

The familiar sight of a tall, raven haired boy crashed against your anxiety with waves of relief— and it was slowly taken over by guilt with the reminder of the hundreds of texts and calls you’d avoided for so long. His fist was raised as if prepared to knock again, but it fell slowly upon seeing you through the crack of the door. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fall in tandem with the breath he released, his scarred face melting in relief before hardening once again. 

“Megumi—” Your meek greeting was cut off when he abruptly opened the door of your house fully and stepped in without another word. 

Unbridled fear gripped you as, for the first time since the start of your morbid affair, someone else stepped into the sacred space you and Satoru had carved out for yourselves in the past weeks. There were so many reasons you had left your loved ones in the dark— no answers about your wellbeing or needs in your time of grieving, but the most notable was the fact that you still didn’t know just what Satoru was now. Bringing someone else in posed the threat of losing him once again should your least desirable hypothesis be proven true— that he was merely a curse manifested in the wake of your grief. 

Watching with bated breath, Megumi closed the door behind him, and he was only inches from your lover. The phantom loomed over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but the boy made no indication that he had seen his dearly departed mentor standing a mere inches away from him, but, just for a moment, you thought you saw his lanky frame shake with the tiniest of shivers. If he suspected anything of the sudden intrusion, he didn’t mention it, instead casting his dark eyes around the house before settling on you once again. You released a quiet breath of relief. 

“You haven’t—” It was clear in his harsh tone that he was prepared to lecture you on your radio silence, but he stopped himself, forcing his hard features to soften a bit before looking back up at you. “I just— are you okay? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

You remained silent, watching the concern pool in his eyes as he assessed you up and down. Since the last time he’d seen you, you certainly appeared smaller, your cheeks sunken in and your collarbones more pronounced. Your eyes, the ones that once gazed at him with such fierce doting and concern for his own wellbeing were rimmed with dark circles that were more apparent against the way your skin had paled over the past weeks. In your silence, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“I’m worried about you.” Megumi finally admitted gruffly. “When was the last time you left the house? Talked to someone?” 

Your mouth opened and closed, eyes drifted over his shoulder to meet Satoru’s awaiting gaze. The boy in front of him followed your gaze, snapping back to you when he was met by nothing but air. 

“I-I’m fine, Megs.” You reassured with an unconvincing smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He spat as his expression hardened once again. His lashes fluttered angrily across his cheekbones as he blinked away the traitorous tears that threatened to burn at his eyes. 

It was his every intent to come here and be the strong one for you in Gojo’s absence. At the end of the day though, it wasn’t just you that had lost him. Megumi had lost his mentor, the only father figure he ever had. He figured the two of you would be grieving together— as doting on and endlessly embarrassing the boy had quickly become a team effort when you and Satoru got together. You filled the spaces that the six eyes couldn’t, lending an ear to problems your boyfriend never had the tact or grace to help out with himself. 

When Gojo died, Megumi never expected to lose you too. 

“You can’t expect me to go back to normal.” You explained, wanting nothing more than for him to leave. The reminder of how sickly you’d been coping with your loss was eating away at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be confronted by it any longer. “I lost my—”

“I lost him too, okay? Now don’t make me have to grieve you too— because I can’t.” Megumi was no longer looking you in the eyes, instead pretending that the various magnets on the fridge were far more interesting than your conversation. Slipping quickly down the side of his cheek though, you caught a glimpse of a rare tear before he furiously swiped it away. 

Suddenly, the guilt you were feeling was not for Satoru, or the pathetic means by which you’ve been holding onto him, but instead you felt an overwhelming contrition for the life you left behind in the midst of your coping, the people you left behind. You pushed past Satoru, paying no mind to the constricted expression on his face and pulled Megumi into a tight embrace. In his typical, nonchalant fashion though, his arms remained stiffly at his sides. Still, he buried his face into your shoulder for a brief second, allowing the grief to wash over the both of you, reminding each other that neither were ever alone in these uncharted waters. 

With a quick sniff, he pulled away from you in an attempt to collect himself. 

“Come on, let’s get lunch or something.” Megumi’s tone bordered on begging, but the man keeping you tied to this house had you biting your lip in contemplation. The boy sighed lowly at your apprehension. “Please, Gojo would have killed me if he knew I was letting you waste away like this. Come with me.” 

This revelation sliced through Satoru’s chest deeper than his fatal blow ever could have reached. For the first time since his mysterious return in your life, he looked past his need to be someone in your life, past the desire to keep you well past the time fate had allotted for the two of you, and he saw only a shell of the woman he loved. Now, you were shackled with one leg in his grave and the other tethered to your home— never able to stray too far. 

Without a care of how bizarre you appeared you peered right into Satoru’s awaiting eyes to find the stinging acceptance that you had been searching for. As if he could speak, the ghost gulped down any venomous words that threatened to spill out, as he turned on his heel and left you to make your decision. You watched the back of his head as he disappeared into the hallway, your bottom lip trembling in fear. If you walked out those doors, would he still be here when you got back? 

“Hey,” Megumi’s voice sounded distant, but the subtle desperation laced in it snapped you from your contemplative state. A tear raced down your cheek as you looked back at the boy. In his wide eyes, you saw the young boy who was blindly following Gojo into the world of jujutsu— the one who was too proud and scared of growing attached to admit that he was so grateful that above all else, you never pushed him to prove himself. There was never a conversation about how strong he had become, in its place were soft questions of if Gojo had given him a break that day, or if he had eaten. You were a rock to him for so long, and he recognized that look in your eye— the one that said you weren’t sure what was worth fighting for anymore. “Come on, I haven’t eaten today.”

Through the blur of your tears, you smiled wobbly at him, laughing tearfully as you reached up to smooth his hair down. This— you decided as you followed Megumi out the door for the first time in two months with your bag slung over your shoulder— was worth accepting grief for. 

Despite your coming to terms with the fact that reintroducing yourself into the life you’d built for yourself might mean truly letting go of Satoru in the process— fear gripped every nerve in your body as you returned home that night. You bid Megumi goodbye with a tight embrace once he’d helped you put your groceries away, and, with a promise that you’d answer your phone every once and a while, he left you alone in the house still haunted by your lover. 

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and kitchen— Satoru was nowhere to be found. A deep dread settled into the pits of your stomach, and you had to remind yourself that you weren’t at fault for choosing to continue living. No matter how many pep talks you gave yourself though, and how fulfilling it felt to have a purpose once again, even if just for a few hours, there was an undeniable feeling of loss that accompanied the fact that you and Satoru were left with no closure. 

“Toru?” You called out, your careful footsteps being the only, subtle noise echoing through the eerily silent house. The door of your bedroom creeked open under your palm’s hesitant push, but it too was barren. A familiar feeling of helplessness began to rise within your chest. It was the sensation that the very essence of what seemed to hold your world together was slipping past your fingers as though grains of sand in perilous tides. No matter how hard or desperately you squeezed your fists together— it was leaving you to be washed away by a greater power. “Satoru, this isn’t funny!”

The stinging tears that flowed down your cheeks were angry— offended that he’d leave you behind once again like this. Just like the first time, he’d left no warning, no explanation or preparation for his abrupt departure. It was a betrayal like no other, and you kicked open the door of the bathroom with all the anger it burned within you. The knob slammed against the wall, undoubtedly leaving an ugly hole in its wake, but the sight of the empty restroom was a far more grueling vision to behold. 

“Please, I’m sorry I left.” You cried into the empty space as you walked in further to rip the curtain of the shower back as if he would pop out from his hiding spot at any moment. Your knees buckled underneath you, and you curled into yourself against the cold tile flooring. There was a persistent pounding in your skull as your sobs shook your body, and, for a moment, you considered calling Megumi back to take you Jujutsu High— fearing what your mind may whisper to you in the midst of your breakdown. Your nails dug crescent shaped marks into your arms as you tried to grasp onto any sense of reality. “Come back. Please come back.”

There was a pregnant silence behind your shaking sobs that blanketed over the frigid bathroom for just a moment longer before the shattering of glass let you know you weren’t alone. You jolted up with a strangled scream at the sound, your arms coming up to shield you from the shards of broken glass the richocheted from the wall. Once it had finally settled, you slowly lowered your arms, eyes focusing on the larger shard that had fallen in front of you. From its reflection, Satoru’s piercing eyes stared back at you— a certain peace in them that wasn’t there when you’d last seen them. 

You quickly lifted your head, mouth agape at the sight of the phantom, still there, still with you. With your legs moving on their own accord, shards of glass pierced through your knees as you moved to pull yourself up, the unmistakable sensation of blood seeping onto your skin. Satoru squatted down, silently halting your movements. His eyes never left yours as he picked up a small envelope from the pile of glass. You hadn’t noticed it before— too transfixed on his still being there. 

Any words you wished to spew out to him died in your throat as he handed the envelope to you, and after a moment, you finally broke the intense eye contact you had been maintaining with him to look down at it. It had your name scribbled across the front. Without a doubt, you instantly recognized it as Satoru’s familiar penmanship. Your brows furrowed as your trembling fingers grasped onto the paper in confusion. The man before you could only watch, his stillness inviting you to rip open the damned paper, so you did.

You can’t tell anyone that I was too scared to say goodbye to you in person— I’m still supposed to be the strongest, you know (even if I went out like a total LOSER). I’m sorry to have left like this, but I think if you had asked me not to go, I might have actually listened. Quite the accomplishment, sweetcheeks, being the one person Gojo Satoru ever truly feared.

I’ll always love you and the life we were working to build, even if I won’t be around to see how you make it your own.

Please don’t waste the rest of your life looking at my reflection. 

(Seriously, don’t make me haunt you)

Your Toru.

The black ink before you smudged as your tears fell onto the page. You read it over and over again, unsure if the feeling crashing into you was still grief, or if the hint of relief washing over your system was real. Had your closure been here all along— hidden behind the damned mirror you stared mindlessly into for weeks?

“I didn’t want you to let me go.” 

You were sure you had begun hallucinating as Satoru’s melodic voice swam into your ears, filling you with a comfort you had been missing for far too long. Finally tearing your gaze from the letter, you looked up at him, mouth agape. As he stared back at you, there was a certain lightness that seemed to fill the air around him, and he knew his time with you was limited. 

“I figured you’d find it eventually. I just… I wanted you to hold onto me for a little longer.” He admitted before staring up at the now barren wall that once held that damned mirror. With a humorless laugh, he rolled his eyes at his own selfishness. “So much for the strongest, am I right?”

“Toru,” You whispered, fiercely blinking back the tears that dared blur your vision of him. He caught you as you threw your arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. “I never needed you to be the strongest. I just wanted to know you were there— that what you left behind meant something to you.”

“It meant everything. You meant everything to me.” Satoru reassured, and as he opened his eyes, he could no longer see the sink, or the tub, the tiles; he only saw your trembling figure crouched beside him. Closure—  he knew what it would mean, but he was now willing to be left behind if it meant you got to move forward. 

“Are you leaving?” You asked, though you already knew the answer. 

“Afraid so—  but do me a favor, yeah?” He pulled back to smile fondly down at you, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You nodded dumbly at him as he brushed your hair behind your ears. “Get a new mirror, and stop looking for me in it, okay?”

Despite the heaviness in your chest, you laughed breathlessly at his words.

“Okay.” You choked out in agreement, closing your eyes as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. A sly smile spread across his lips as he looked down at you one last time. 

“It was never as good as the real thing anyway.”

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𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋‎♪ kuroo x reader ; wc approx 500 warnings spoilers if you haven't watched haikyuu dumpster battle !! i fear kuroo is ooc here ,, also my writing warning pls i literally cringed at myself multiple times through this

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 AFTER the match with karasuno came to its end and everyone had cooled down in the hotel, you, kai, yaku and kuroo were chatting into the late hours of the night about your memories in the club. it was a hard pill to swallow, that the match that had just been played out against karasuno was the last match you’d get to watch from the bench, the last time youd see the current nekoma team, as they are now, on the court. 

the others had gone to sleep; it was just the third years left lingering in the lounge, reminiscing about your three years spent here. you had been with the team since your first days at the high school– a confused first year you had accidentally run into the volleyball gym instead of the music rooms, but you stayed; one year became two, and two quickly became three. as their manager, you’d seen them through their highs and lows— the calculated wins and the sweltering summer heat. you were there for every moment, experiencing it like part of the team itself, part of the blood in their veins. all the memories flowed like water and had accumulated over the three years; and now, you were standing underneath the waterfall, soaked through. half of you was still left in the tokyo metropolitan gym, still watching in disbelief as the ball dropped and bounced off. it felt surreal— it probably hadn’t yet sunk in for some of the team yet— it’d hit them tomorrow, after the adrenaline wore off. 

you’d only gotten with kuroo, the captain now, in your second year, when you two accidentally applied for the same part-time job. you two, and the third years, now were practically inseparable.

“-and remember the time last year kenma and yamamoto were fighting?” yaku said, barely able to contain giggles. the four of you burst into laughter. 

“and fukunaga threw water on them!! oh my god,” you said, in between laughing fits. 

“we ended up staying late to mop it up,” kai added. kuroo sniggered at kai’s comment. 

despite the darkness outside and the late hour it was, inside the room was bright. the door was hastily shut to not disturb the rest of the team, but still left slightly ajar. it was only at least an hour later, when yaku and kai went off to sleep, leaving you and kuroo downstairs, still chatting. 

“i just wonder…” kuroo started, uncharacteristically melancholy.

“if i could’ve done anything better, if there was something i should’ve done to win, you know?” he hid his face in his hands. your eyes widened a little, they started to sting with tears. softly, you shifted closer towards him on the sofa. 

“you did your best. you had fun right? that’s all that matters, the results are just a byproduct.” barely a whisper, you tried to comfort him. it felt strange, you weren’t used to seeing him like this. 

kuroo chuckled a little. “hey, that sounds familliar. has someone said that before?” 

“it’s just a popular phrase, i guess,” you caught his laughter. 

kuroo looked up at you, his eyes glossy and unwavering, but still soft. 

“we did well, right?” he asked, his tone breathy and raw. 

wrapping your arms around him, you replied. 

“i’ve never been more proud of you, tetsu. i’ve been blessed with having been able to watch you guys for this long, and for having you by my side.” 

note first time writing for kuroo... gulp Σ(°ロ°) also most of this is descrition but like... kinda bad description HAHA

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ like what you read? here’s the masterlist! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 1062 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers, swearing once, cause Atsumu, mentions of academic pressure/anxiety

You sighed when you caught a glimpse of the unyielding gray sky out the library window. Lunch at your favorite café had lifted your spirits a little but did nothing to the overall feeling of anxiety that always came and went throughout the semester.

You felt around in your bag to make sure you packed an umbrella and tried not to think too much about the things you would rather be doing right now than sitting here and revising your notes. Listless and your head filled with melancholy, you stayed at the library for another hour, mostly on your phone, unable to concentrate on the neatly written cue cards, before finally throwing in the towel and packing up to leave.

When you stepped outside the air felt heavy but at least there was no rain yet.

You texted your friends that you had given up on academics for the day and were on your way back home, trying not to sound too miserable and eventually reached the bus stop, joining the many other commuters, all chatting or quietly glued to their phones. Finding a spot towards the end of the line you stood next to a tall guy, dressed in all black, a mask and cap covering his face and hair. After living in Tokyo for quite some time you had grown accustomed to people like him, those who so clearly didn’t want to be recognized or just wanted to pretend to be someone important or mysterious or all of the above.

Deep in thought about the possibility of dropping by your friend’s place to cuddle her dog for a while to cheer you up, you didn’t notice the wall of rain coming your way at first.

You ducked your head, hectically rummaging around for the umbrella. When you wanted to open it, however, the top just popped off, flying uselessly off the handle onto the road where a passing van swiftly dragged it along.

For a second or so you just stood there, handle in hand, watching the umbrella top disappear in traffic, not even slightly slowing down the cars.

Your mood turned from surprised to sour and you raised your hands to at least protect yourself a little, even though you were already drenched by the thick splattering drops and spray from the cars.

And just as you were contemplating that you might as well start to cry now, unnoticed in the downpour, the rain suddenly stopped, or at least for a confusing second you thought it did. The masked guy next to you had stepped to the side so that his umbrella was covering you now as well.

You gaped at him.

"Thank you.", you said, grateful, but not quite able to keep your voice steady.

He gave you a puzzled look upon the voice crack and even through the tumult of the cars whooshing past and the rain hammering onto the roof of the bus stop and his umbrella, you could hear him smirk.

"No problem.", he replied, somehow managing to sound indifferent, self satisfied and curious all at once.

He was quite a bit taller than you and a few blond strands protruded from his cap over the otherwise dark undercut.

And then, as he felt you staring, he leaned back a bit to expose a giant poster ad running on the side of the bus stop, showing a glorified action shot of a young man with a blond undercut, hitting a volleyball. In bold letters it read Black Jackals Miya Atsumu. You frowned at first, then understood and offered a politely impressed smile which he apparently took as you being too stunned to speak in his presence. He gave a nonchalant shrug as if to say “Yes, indeed it is I.”

You were sure your friend had told you about him. The name looked familiar. And judging by the poster he was just as handsome as she described. Didn’t she say he was one of the best setters in all of Japan or something?

“Hey, uhm, this is gonna sound weird, but I have a friend who is a fan of yours - I think.”

“Friend, huh?”, Atsumu looked you up and down, his mask hiding the grin he wore as he appreciated how your wet clothes clung to your plump figure.

“Yes, a friend. Would you mind giving me an autograph for her?”

He nodded and pulled a pen from his pocket, patiently waiting for you to retrieve a notebook from your backpack. You flipped to a free page and held it out to him.

“What’s yer “friend’s” name?”, he asked.

You began spelling the characters. He paused, frowning. “That’s a Japanese name.”

You nodded. “It is.”

“But ya don’t… look… Japanese.”, he said, confused.

Now it was your turn to knit your brow. “I… don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Wait, this ain’t for ya?”

“No? It’s for my friend.”, you assured him with a quite adorable little chuckle and he felt heat rising in his cheeks.

Oh.

“Oh! Right… Uhm.” Atsumu looked down at his phone number and the (in his opinion) clever pick up line he had begun to write underneath.

Clearing his throat he flipped to a new page and dedicated a signature to your friend, then turned back to the page he started on. Eh, he might as well. “Ya should come to our next match. I’ll dedicate a serve to ya, if ya do.”

You looked like you had no idea what that meant but, wait. Did you… did you blush? Shit, did that actually work?! He quickly finished his first signature and handed the book back to you. A bus pulled up.

“Hope to see ya around.”, he said cooly and gave you an encouraging nod to get on, which, in a daze, you did, still holding on to the handle of the broken umbrella.

Mercifully, you found a seat by the window, directly above him, only able to see the top of his umbrella now. He lifted the brim.

For a moment he looked at you, weighing, considering.

Then he brought his hand to his mask and pulled it down just low enough so you could see the cocky smirk that accompanied a wink.

As the bus pulled out of the station and merged into traffic you realized that it was going the wrong way.

part 2

[08melancholie]

Green Neckerchief; Red Blood. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Notes, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Death, Character Death, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, yeah this is just very sad, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Soft Micah Bell, he cries btw, The Author Regrets Nothing, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell, and reader (again. sorry. not really sorry but oh well), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Dark, Sad, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending

summary: You don't realise just how much you miss something, before you suddenly lose it with no way to get it back. Everything goes quiet and you feel a sense of longing for the noise she used to make; don't you, Micah?

a/n: this is how i deal with depressive episodes; i write about people missing me—and by people i mean fictional characters that don't even know i exist.. its cheaper than therapy ever was

words: 3,160 | AO3 LINK

'Housing O'Driscolls must have become an everyday for Dutch; first that Kieran kid, now her?', Micah thinks to himself as he looks at you from across camp, whether you'd be helping one of the girls with laundry; going on a job with some of the men; talking to Dutch—one of the only people who actually went out of their way to speak to you; or just sat around, he would have a problem with it. With you.

You were an ex-O'Driscoll, which in itself was giving you a horrible reputation in Dutch's gang, but it could somehow only get worse.

And that worse was the fact that you weren't just another O'Driscoll in his gang; but his own blood, a relative.

You were Colm's daughter, unfortunately.

You never understood quite how, but life always had to sabotage you, make every accomplishment extra hard to reach, and make sure you got minimal credit.

And you could never complain. Never.

Dutch, after a full week of thinking and contemplating what to do with you, seeing as you very easily ratted on Colm with truthful information that was very useful to him, decided he wouldn't have you killed nor just sent off wherever, and you were put on watch by another member for a while, to see how you did.

Dutch found you a fine addition to his gang, and urged everyone to treat you as such, even if it was hard to do for many. One of those who found it hard was Micah Bell.

He had a huge, undeniable hatred for Colm and all that followed him—which, in his eyes, included you. Sort-of rightfully, but still; you tried your damn hardest to make them all see differently, that you weren't like Colm O'Driscoll and his devoted followers, but it was all futile. People often form an opinion of you and stick to it, hardly ever changing.

Micah wasn't always horrible to you, though. He had his moments, sure—but he sometimes actually wasn't too bad. Maybe he was starting to see a little differently. At a very slow pace, but still.

Usually, you had no problem defending yourself against him or anyone else who spoke ill of you to others or straight in your face, like Dutch had urged you to many times, but today just hasn't been a good day.

You never had a fear of dying, nor did you really... enjoy living, so to say. This life felt forced and was unkind to you at almost any moment it had a chance to be, but it was getting almost ridiculous by now.

You were on the edge of breaking down at any moment, trying to take a moment for yourself and sitting down at one of the tables, just for Micah to seat himself opposite of you.

"There you are, O'Driscoll girl."

You were dreading the conversation he was about to initiate, as if there wasn't enough on your plate already.

Don't cry, yell, or be upset... stay calm.

"Micah..." You look up from the brim of your hat reluctantly, but instead of the usual annoyed or cocky look you always gave him, for the first time, there's something else etched into your facial expression; a deep sadness he's not ever noticed, a melancholy look to your eyes.

His look of annoyance and disgust slowly faded into mild surprise as he looked at your expression, not having ever seen it before. "What's got your panties in a twist, O'Driscoll?" He asks, leaning over the table slightly.

You sigh and rub your sore eyes with your thumb and index fingers. "Do we have to do this today?" You mumble weakly, your mood entirely different and visibly more down than ever. "I really just... don't have the energy for your antics right now."

Micah raised an eyebrow at your response, tilting his head slightly. "What? You tired of me already, girl? You think you have a choice here, little O'Driscoll scum? Because you don't—you're in this gang, but you're not part of it. "He then paused in his speech, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Tch, 'ya look like you're about to start crying."

"..Okay, Micah." You quietly reply back and just go back to what you were doing beforehand; sharpening your knife under the table.

He watched you with narrowed eyes, noticing the way you seemed to be taking your frustration out on the poor blade in your hands, sharpening away your emotions. He let out a scoff and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, that is real nice of 'ya . Ignore me—veeery mature."

You slide the knife in your hand over the steel block in the other one, mumbling back before going silent again, no means of either protesting, denying or defending yourself today; not like it ever helped or stopped what the others did. "Sure."

And Micah just... goes silent. What the hell was up with you today? You usually always had a snarky response or quip back for him, and look at you now; just sitting there silently as you press your blade on that damn block of steel. He, for some reason, doesn't want to leave it there. Oh, no; he can't let you have this one. "You gon' ruin the edge of that knife soon." He comments after a moment of silence. "Should learn to take your frustration out another way, maybe something a little less destructive."

You stay silent for a brief moment before replying. "Believe me, this is the less destructive option." You mutter without thinking and pause, before you just continue sharpening the knife once again. That totally didn't sound weird. You start to silently hope he ignores the comment, but of course; life throws you another broken ladder to climb.

There it was—Micah gave a soft scoff at your reply, but the look on his face said he was at least happy you were finally talking like you usually did. "Oh? And what is the more destructive option, huh?" He asks curiously, catching on the weird wording in your response to him.

You exhale a little sharply before mumbling your reply; of course he had to say something, of course he noticed it. "I misspoke, is all." You excuse yourself, a little poorly.

Micah looked at you, his eyes flicking between you and the knife in your hand every now and then. "No, I don't think you did, girl. You meant exactly what you said, and now I ain't gonna let it go; I'm curious." Of course, he has to pry all the more.

You keep your eyes down on the steel block, dragging your blade a little quicker and harsher on it, until you can't take it anymore. "You're annoying, Micah," You stand while holstering your knife, putting the steel block into your saddlebag.

But Micah isn't having any of that.

He stands up with you, just as quickly. "Now, where do you think yer going?" He's swift to circle the table to your side and block out your exiting point. "I want to know."

You try to push past him when he puts his hand on you; grabbing you by the upper arm. You inhale sharply and try to rip your arm away, to no avail. "Micah, let go." You order, and he just tuts at you, like at a bad dog. "I'm serious, piss off already. I don't want to deal with you today, I've got enough to worry about already."

And Micah, like his usual self, doesn't let up. "Why you actin' like this recently? You ain't wanna go anywhere, you're all miserable—and now, you don't even wanna talk to me. Hells gotten into you, O'Driscoll?" He asks, only letting go of your arm when you go to smack it away.

"Nothing, I'm just.. feeling different, I don't know." You reply, you've been confused about your feelings yourself, just as much. "And since when do I gladly talk to you, anyhow?"

Micah takes a step back, but stays close enough so you can't weasel your way out of the conversation. "Not necessarily talk, but 'ya do like to argue with me. Where's all that energy gone, hm?" He asks, placing his hands on his gun belt.

You start to contemplate speaking up, you know you won't stop if you don't say something now—even if its to Micah of all people. And yet, your mouth stays shut, like it has for the past entire depressing month. "I'm tired, too tired for your usual bullshit." You reply defensively, like usually.

"We're all tired, sweetheart. We just don't whine and complain like you do." His words set you off, like never before. The gut feeling of saying something—the actual truth and the meaning behind 'tired'—gets worse, but so does the thought of him just using it as gossip and fuel for more arguments. And so, you don't say anything about it.

You push past him, and he doesn't stop you this time. He actually gives a small mock-laugh, assuming victory in the argument that ensued. Oh, he's won, alright.

Not fifteen minutes after walking into your tent, you walk right back out, making a b-line for your horse. Micah's not far back, back to his usual activity of standing around and doing absolutely nothing. And, funnily enough, he's the last person you see before you ride off.

Guilt. It's been an hour too long, and you're still to return. There it was, that foreign feeling Micah didn't remember feeling at any point in his life. He didn't know remorse; guilt; regret. None of it. And suddenly, it was all he was feeling. And against his better judgement, he got up out of his bedroll, left his tent and got on Baylock. And with the horse, he knew where to go to find you. That, in itself, should have been a sign—he hated you, but knew just where you were when upset? Yeah, explain us that one, Micah.

Apologies. Micah doesn't know how to form a sincere word of regret, and he knows a quick 'sorry' wouldn't fix this, not in a million years. Hell, he might just piss you off more if he comes up with a shitty apology. On his way down the path to the spot you were most-likely at, Micah starts to form a coherent, sincere and actually worthy apology. 'Sorry for everything' turns into 'sorry for targeting you with my torment, for all the weeks of it you endured. You didn't deserve that', and Micah tries to add as much as he can to it, to make it sound good. By the time he's at—huh?

Dread. Why is your horse hitched up just by the path, when there's still at least half a mile to your usual spot? Wait, no.. it isn't even hitched. The saddle bag is messily closed, ravaged through. But you're not there, not even around the area, not close-by or nothing. Just where are you, girl? And like the cruel God intended, Micah will always recognise your voice—no matter if it's your contagious laugh, your or your pained yelp, followed by sucking air in through your teeth. His blood runs cold and his hands already draw his revolvers, and he follows the noise. He expects to find you at the hands of a wild animal, or worse, a man. Not at the hands of your own self, and your hunting knife deep in your forearm.

Fear. Red. The color stains the knife next to you, the blade and the handle. The grass is red, so are your hands and wrists. All is painted in the color of your gore, even the nature gets to share you, with the lake getting a few drips itself, too. And you let them all share, like the thoughtful girl you always were. Micah panics; despite the usual instructions saying not to, he starts to panic. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" He sinks to his knees next to you, and suddenly he gets to share, too. His hand clasps around your opened arm, low curses leave his lips. "Baylock!" Micah whistles for the horse. "Come here, boy!" It's a crime scene, blood on your hands, and on his own—rhetorically and metaphorically, oddly enough. You had dry tear streaks going down your cheeks, and you were barely able to hold him back, your hands grabbing at his coat sleeves as you could only gasp and heave, death at your doorstep. And with every ounce of your leftover energy, you focus on clinging to this man. "Left saddlebag, number.. seven."

Denial. You're cold to the touch. Your skin is a paler color than it usually is, even with the moonlight painting your skin a beautiful shade, it is not your usual one, and that scares Micah. "Why the hell would you do this, 'ya moron?" He spits, and for the first time in so, so long in his life, there's water in his eyes. There's tears on his cheeks, going down to his jaw. He's angry. Oh, he's enraged. Never at the right person, however. Micah always struggled with that one emotion; rage, anger. And right now, he's mad at you. Oh, but you're just a kid. You're young and dumb, and he can't put all the blame on you. "Don't go yet, please." It's as if you can't hear him anymore, when your grip on him significantly loosens.

Acceptance. You go limp on him, your little irises stop moving, but your blood still pumps out of your arm. Oh, it's so unfair. He promised you a ride on Baylock once, to make up for another argument where he got too worked up and called you a bitch right to your face—along with a colourful array of other insults that stuck with you, until you started actually crying in front of him. He promised you that ride, but this wasn't what he meant. He saw you in behind him, holding onto his shoulders while Baylock took you wherever your little heart desired. Hell, it could have been Europe; he would have done it, if he weren't such a fool. He never imagined it'd be you, leaning on him while lifeless as blood seeped down over him, Baylock's saddle and Baylock himself, his black and write pattern getting stained; stained by you. He presses your face into his chest and makes Baylock walk forward, back to camp.

Left saddlebag, number seven.

Your words replayed in his head, over and over until he couldn't take it anymore. He had taken your horse with, and stopped both to check your bags. Notes. Oh, you were ready for this, you poor thing. You came to this prepared, knowing the outcome and knowing what to do, scarily enough.

He gets the horses to continue riding as he unwraps the note with the number seven on it, and he almost breaks down right then and there. It's not a very long note, but the impact it'll have on Micah will haunt him to his very grave; your writing in it making him grip the reins harder.

Micah, don't blame yourself. ever. i don't want you to blame yourself, and i'm telling you to never blade yourself—and yet i still feel you will always put yourself at fault for how things transpired. well, don't. it's not your fault, and if you need somebody to pass the blame onto, pass it onto my ever-beloved father. not onto yourself, Micah Bell. banter with you was always fun, and i'll miss it more than you'll ever be able to comprehend. i know you never wanted it to go this far, and i forgive you. i always will.

i may be an o'driscoll by name and blood, sadly, but i would have loved being a van der linde by your side, and will hope to do so in another universe one day. you and me, dear friend—we'd make it.

but you will have to make it on your own in this universe, without me to bother and argue with over the smallest of things. and i know that you can do it, Micah Bell.

He read every word slowly, and he read it in your voice—while he still had an idea of what it sounded like. He rubbed your back with his hand comfortingly, as if you were still with him and could feel it. Whether it was comforting you or him, that will stay a mystery. For now, he's getting you back home to your real family; to the Van Der Linde's, where you rightfully belonged all along.

He didn't deserve the privilege to talk so sweetly about you on that dreadful day—your well-deserved funeral, where they lowered you to rest, finally. And to preach about how wonderful you were and what a life you lead, that was the worst thing they could have done to him. And yet they still made him despite every protest. Maybe that was his punishment from God, for that day and for what he did to lead up to it.

The world didn't deserve to hear you through him—or anyone else for that matter. Not any of the people in camp, but especially him.

They deserved to experience you. The raw, unfiltered, unhinged you.

"She liked to go fishing, but always released the fish if they weren't fully grown."

He remembers how you used to throw them back, one time when Dutch had you both blow steam off after a heated argument. He came fishing with you two to ensure you wouldn't try to kill each other, and mostly stayed on his side to do his thing. Micah asked you why you threw so many back, and you, the sweet thing you were, always said you felt bad for separating the small fish that wouldn't even feed Jack from it's home and family.

"She liked going hunting, but could never bring herself to actually shoot the animals, worried she'd miss and make them suffer, bleed out on the ground slowly."

Just like how your end came, squirming and bleeding from your body, in an excruciating amount of pain and sorrow as life left your eyes; movement left your body; soul left the earth.

"And in the end, she bled red like the rest of us did."

And Micah didn't need an example for that last one, when it was all over his hands. When he was the one to call your time of death. When he was the one to hold you in your last moments. It was all him.

He watched the dirt get sprinkled over your pale face, holding back tears. Who would have thought that one day, Micah would cry over an O'Driscoll?

Well, that's wrong—you were a Van Der Linde in his eyes.

Amen and rest well, little angel. I'll miss you.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated, as always !!! Okaaay, wow. This is definitely something alright, probably my most depressing fic to date. If this isn't your cup of tea, since it is much darker and more detailed than my usual angst fics, thats fine! I have more lighter angst coming as well :) stay tuned for that and a few more <3

[brotherwtf]

for the angsty ideas what about clegan mutual pining for like the entire war and then gale is like "wanna be my best man lmao" because he thinks john doesn't reciprocate his feelings so he will just marry marge. at the wedding they are both in so much pain but say NOTHING. they sort of lose contact after that because the reminder of what could have been is so painful and then one day gale gets the news john died of a heart attack and he just about goes clinically insane. at the funeral john's wife then hands him a letter from john in which he confesses all his feelings to gale and gale has to live with that for the rest of his life.

i am breaking my own heart lol

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?? ANON YOU'RE EVIL

anyway, sobbing

----

John had a look in his eye that day.

He always seemed to have a look in his eye, one that was only reserved for Gale. An almost twinkle, a wink sort of, but at Gale's wedding it seemed to be an almost melancholy stare to it.

Even after the wedding, when John cornered him in the bathroom and asked him if he was doing something he'd regret, Gale couldn't look him in the eye because of how much he did regret doing this. Marrying Marge, starting a family. It wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was right in front of him, but he could never say that to him. Not in this lifetime.

Gale could have died the day he received the phone call from Josephine. The day she said that John had succumbed to his illness, the day that John died.

He felt his heart rip in half, almost fell to ground when he hung up the phone. He had to brace himself against the wall to stop himself from vomiting, he could feel his stomach twisting and his head swimming.

Marge could tell something was wrong, and didn't accompany him to the funeral. She said it would be best if Gale went by himself.

Even at the funeral Gale felt out of place. He lurked at the edges of the memorial, standing out in his military dress greens amongst a sea of black. He kept his crusher cap over his eyes so no one could see the tears that welled up in his eyes as he saw John in his casket, far too young, but still as handsome as when Gale met him in flight school. He put his hand on the edge of the casket, wishing he could reach forward and grab John's head, maybe even daring to press a kiss to his forehead, but he clenched his fist and turned away, wandering to the edge of the cemetery and watching the rest of the memorial from afar.

Afterwards, Josephine came up to him and embraced him, kissing his cheek and giving him a sad smile. Gale smiled as much as he could back at her, hating how he felt a pang of jealousy at the ring in her finger.

"I'm sorry, Gale, I knew how much he meant to you," Josephine says and Gale shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

"He was my best friend, I'm sorry for your loss, Josephine," Gale mutters back and Josephine gives him a tight smile.

She opens her coat and pulls a thick envelope from the pocket, paper an old cream color from age. She hands it to Gale with another tight smile.

"John wanted me to give this to you when he passed, I mean it Gale, you meant a lot to him," Josephine says and squeezes Gale's arm again.

Gale's hands shook as he took the letter, recognizing John's scratchy handwriting that scrawled "Buck" across the paper. His throat feels scratchy again and his eyes well up, but he just gives Josephine a smile before practically bolting back to his car.

Back at the car, his hands shake as much as they did the first time he flew when he broke the seal of the letter, slipping the aged paper from the envelope into his hands, trembling as he tries to read the words.

Buck, Gale,

I've always been bad at these sort of things, you know, talking about what I'm feeling. You've always been better at that sort of stuff than me. But the doc said I'm sick, terminal or something like that, so I'm going to try my best to say what I want to say.

While the war was hell on earth, while every second I was up in the air or on the ground waiting for you, I was glad I was able to do it with you. You're my best friend, Buck, but I think that what I feel for you is far more than how best friends should feel for each other. Seeing you with Marge always made me unreasonably jealous, sometimes I wished I could be her instead, I wish I could be the one on your arm instead. What I'm feeling, I know it ain't natural between two men, but I had to tell you sometime or another.

When you get this, I will probably be dead, and you'll probably hate me for what I've just said. But before you burn this letter and forget about me forever, I just want to say; I love you, Gale. More than a man should love another man. I love you so much, and you kept me alive much longer than I ever thought I would. I wish I could have said this to you in person, but the thought of losing you was too much for me to bear.

We were the only B-17's left, Gale, and I'm sorry I have to leave you behind.

Yours,

Bucky

Gale can't breathe.

His hands shake and he drops the paper into his lap, pressing a hand to his mouth and sobbing something great and ugly. It rips from him like a wild animal's anguished cry, and he lurches forward onto the steering wheel, shaking even more as he sobs again. Gale manages to grab the paper again and presses it to his lips, kisses the way that John signed his name and tries not to smudge the words with his tears.

John loved him. The same goddamn way that Gale loved him back.

And now it was too late.

[muffinrecord]

Oh hey, this is the first really interesting character bit that we learn from here imo.

Okay so yes, as per usual we get the "Iroha doesn't know much about the modern world and what's popular" but her solution to it is interesting to me. Instead of listening to popular music or watching popular shows, her solution is to... read about them?

That's an odd reaction, right?

Maybe the reason is because she's too busy with magical girl stuff, but this isn't a problem that Rena or Momoko seem to have with idol stuff. Iroha's hobby is apparently cooking, it's not like she's got a ton of extracurricular activities going on. For the first bit of main story she's going back and forth on a train from her hometown to Kamihama, but I feel like that doesn't mean she couldn't watch things on her phone as long as she had some headsets. Maybe it's because she doesn't know phones very well...? But if she's so technologically inept that she can't listen to a song on a phone then I have a hard time imagining she could look up information about that same song on that same phone.

I'd also like to note that this isn't her saying she doesn't enjoy popular stuff either. She's not insulting the more popular interests of her peers, she just generally seems left in the dust by it.

With that in mind, I think it's less a time investment and more maybe feeling like an outsider. She doesn't consider listening to the music and watching the shows because maybe she doesn't feel like she'd "get" it even if she did. Maybe she'd watch it and everyone would be talking about something else entirely still.

Looking up what other people say means she's not experiencing what they experience but that she can understand why they're into it and what a conversation is talking about. She can't participate, but she's not left out. But even then, she can't really participate in that conversation, can she? She doesn't have anything to offer unless Iroha wants to use someone else's words. It just means she has a chance at understanding why people might like something in a passing conversation that she's not a part of.

There's something kind of melancholy about it, and it's such a throwaway line. Somehow it's like she already gave up before she tried.

I like it.

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #154!

Characters: Whirl (& Rung - IDW)

Word count: 1.4k

(CW: heavy topics of body dysmorphia ahead. Read with caution and please take care.)

“I dunno, doc,” Whirl said yet again, his pincers clamped together and his one-optic gaze fixed on the floor. “All this talking and stuff… it just ain’t really working.”

They were trapped in a cycle again. Rung often spent hours struggling to dissecting  Whirl’s poorly phrased worries and doubts filtered through cruel remarks and depreciation marks, and today was no different. It was hard sometimes, knowingly sitting across from Primus incarnated and watching him furrow his brow, adjust his glasses, and stare down at his scribbled notes for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. If murder and violence hadn’t been two things they went over in detail the first hundred or so sessions, Whirl might’ve been a little more open about his desires to test out the immortal aspects of Rung’s being when the skinny psychiatrist kept giving him that clueless look. 

The room was silent aside from the rhythmic tap of Rung’s fingers against the armchair and Whirl’s pincers fidgeting in his lap. The copter’s helm lifted from gazing down at the floor ever so often, if only to stare at the doctor from across the room before giving another full-body huff and staring back down at the floor, or at his lap. 

For once in his life, Whirl wasn’t intentionally trying to be difficult. It just… happened. It wasn’t his fault as much as it wasn’t Rung’s fault, or the fault of the bots who stared at him from across the bar late at night with sorrow in their optics and disgust in their expressions. It didn’t convince him any more, to be honest, but they’d been over it time and time again, just like the conversation at hand. He wasn’t trying to be difficult, and Rung understood. He didn’t blame anyone—or at least, he tried not to, and Rung definitely understood. What else, what else… ah, the kicker. 

He didn’t feel like himself anymore. The body he carried, the face he saw reflected, the limitations forced onto him… hell, at least Eyebrows tried to sympathize with his situation. He could tell though, when he stared into Primus’ face and saw soft, troubled blue optics staring back at him, that while Rung may have sympathized, he certainly didn’t understand.

It was a shame, really. The guy made a half-decent shrink the rest of the time. 

“I…” Rung began, the words catching in his throat before he could continue. 

I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Whirl parroted back in his helm. Could you perhaps explain it a different way?

Psh, no. What more was there to explain? He was stuck in the wrong body, how hard was that to get? 

“Eh, don’t psyche yourself up over it… heh, get it? Psyche yourself up? Y’know, since you’re—“

“Whirl.”

Uh-oh. Rung only used that voice when he was calling him out on his bluff. Whirl took a moment to reassess, to check his posture and unfurl the lanky limbs he called legs nowadays out from underneath him. He’d apologize for getting sidetracked, if only to make Eyebrows feel better, but he’d learned early on that despite his disposition, the doctor meant business behind closed doors. 

The copter tried not to fidget too much as Rung adjusted himself as well, having set aside his notes and taken off his glasses. He was still and silent, his expression stern and his gaze unfocused, like he was lost in his own helm. The back-and forth between making progress and falling three steps behind again never really involved this side of the psychiatrist, but since he was already feeling too melancholy to keep at pestering the poor mech, Whirl did as he was instructed and waited. 

“We haven’t made much traction in regards to discussing your… um.” He paused, reached for his glasses, then settled them on his face. “Your… past. I’d rather not prod, and I’m happy to lay this topic to rest again if you’re not willing to discuss it, but…”

“The empurata slag? Yeah, yeah,” Whirl cut in with a wave of a claw. “If talking’s what you’re getting at without talking, then I got another thing comin’ for ya—“

“Have you considered approaching this from a different angle?”

That caught him by surprise.

“Whadya getting at?” he pressed, leaning in and narrowing his optic. It was meant to be intimidating, if only because he wasn’t fully understanding what Rung suggested, but it didn’t seem to work. “I talk Cybertron, Eyebrows, not medical jargon.”

“Try to think about it, Whirl,” Rung continued, his advice still just as unhelpful as before. “We can’t change the past, but… we can at least try to change the future, right? Wouldn’t you agree?”

“…I still ain’t gettin’ ya.”

Rung readjusted his glasses and crossed his legs. “Why don’t you do me a little favor?”

Much like it normally did when Rung was involved, a “little” favor ended up being code for requesting something much, much bigger from the poor copter. Whirl didn’t mind all too much in the end though. Especially not when for once, Primus himself actually seemed to have his back—or what was left of it, at least. 

He supposed the skinny psychiatrist was right in some sense of the matter, but that didn’t mean he was about to admit that outright. Still, Rung made a good few points that stuck out to him in that short lesson… and Whirl simply couldn’t seem to put them out of his helm. 

It took him a few months to warm up to the idea. Change had been bad enough, and even now, change was never easy. Still, he supposed his shrink didn’t claim that the new look would ever be easy to attain, let alone maintain, but he sure as hell tried. Besides, the more he tried, the more he liked it, and the more he liked it… the more comfortable he felt. 

Doing the doc a little favor didn’t seem to equate with evolving himself closer to bearing a body he could manage to look at every morning and every night, but if the shoe fit, why not wear it? As it seemed, packing on weight when he was actively trying to gain it was rather easy, and keeping said weight on his frame was even easier when he enjoyed the results. It took months of trial and error, of struggles and setbacks and all of the messy stuff that happened when you were stuck with such a miserable fate as he was, but he did it.

He made the change—sort of. He liked himself better, at least, with a soft gut and a frame he could almost fondle. It wasn’t the body he’d had before; he still missed his soft colors, his simple corners, the intelligent pair of optics staring back at him through the reflective glass. He wasn’t recovered, per se, but he was recovering, and that counted for something.

“You know,” he said one day, several months after the first breakthrough. “I think you’re really onto something here, Eyebrows.”

The words came easier nowadays. It was simpler to accept his fate and acknowledge his struggles, especially when the pincers folded in his lap were fondling the curves of his twisted frame instead. It felt nice, for once, and though he knew being in control wasn’t something he could always attain, it felt good to at least get a little handle on it for once.

He was softer now… curvier, plumper, and it was all thanks to him. Not the oppressors, not the government, not even Rung, though he did appreciate the skinny bot’s help pushing him in the right direction. No, this was an achievement for him to be proud of, and he had himself to thank for the success.

“It’s different,” he continued, his pincers still poking and pinching and prodding, too busy exploring the soft mesh of his frame to be caught nervously fidgeting in his lap. “But I like it… it’s nice. It’s a good little change for me.

And indeed it was. It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t solve everything, but… it was nice. It helped. 

Whirl liked feeling good. As it seemed, he also liked feeling soft—but only physically, not emotionally. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and as Rung would always say, progress was a step in the right direction. 

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry] pt. 3

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: angst, alcohol abuse, partying, slight physical altercation (v v minor)

a/n: bro this chapter is so long i literally can't help myself when it comes to angst. i promised ethan content last chapter and i will continue to deliver! also ik the formatting is weird on mobile but I cannot be bothered to fix it my b!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To say that the car ride is tense would be a gross understatement. It would be more apt to call it torture.

Chad hates listening to the radio when he drives, so we sit in silence. Tara lays claim to the passenger’s seat, so Anika, Mindy, and I cram into the back. It’s claustrophobic without a real middle seat, Mindy perched in the divide.

My breathing becomes shallower, but I can’t tell if it’s caused by the recycled air or the tension between Tara and me. This car ride is never going to end.

Until, miraculously, it does. Chad parks across the street from an unassuming two-story house. We pile out, and I can finally breathe again, reveling in the cool night air.

After I’ve calmed down, I chase after Tara. “Hey, Tar, wait. Can we talk?”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What, Y/N?”

“I don’t want there to be any, um, weird vibe between us tonight. I know earlier was tough, and Sam can be overbearing but she cares about you, and I…” I trail off. I can tell this isn’t working.

Tara avoids my gaze. “It’s fine, Y/N, seriously. Let’s just have fun, okay?”

I want to try again, but she turns on her heels and walks away, catching up to Chad. Nowhere else to go, I trail behind them, following their lead through a side door into the building.

There are people everywhere, way more than I was expecting for a community college party. They’re scattered throughout the first floor, arranged haphazardly in a mess of armchairs, mismatched sofas, and various surfaces that are now being used for beer pong. I look for a familiar face in the crowd, but I’ve already lost my friends.

Now alone, I decide it’s a better time than any to drink my feelings away. I reach into a nearby cooler, not caring what comes up. It’s terrible beer, but I don’t super care right now. All I want is to forget about the way Tara looked at me during her fight with Sam.

I find an empty corner and watch the crowd. Even though this is a small town, I don’t recognize many people. I see a few kids who could be in my class, people I might have forged an absence for, but no one I’ve had a real conversation with. I keep scanning the crowd until I realize who I’m really looking for: Ethan. Ethan-who-I-haven’t-actually-met-yet-Ethan. My face goes red, and I know I must look like an idiot standing in the corner and blushing to myself.

I’m distracted from my daydreams by Tara and Chad, who move into the unofficial dance floor. She’s feeling herself, clearly slightly tipsy already (I don’t know how, considering we’ve been here for all of 10 minutes). I drink some more of my beer as I watch them dance together. As she loses herself in the music, I notice how intently Chad is watching her, a shy smile creeping onto his face. I laugh quietly. How did I miss that?

Tara doesn’t seem to notice his obvious infatuation. She dances towards the cooler I pulled my beer from, finding one of her own. I watch in mixed horror and amazement as she downs half the can. I guess she wasn’t kidding about getting shitfaced, then.

I’m suddenly overcome by melancholy– not atypical when I’m kinda drunk. Tonight, though, after the mess with Tara and the long car ride, it feels shittier than usual. There are too many people here, my feet hurt from standing, and the music is too loud. I need to get the hell out of here. But Chad’s my ride, and he’s not leaving Tara anytime soon. With no other option, I head upstairs.

It takes me five tries to find a room that’s unlocked, but I eventually stumble my way into a small guest room, locking the door behind me. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.

“Uh– sorry. I can leave?”

My eyes snap open as quickly as they shut. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Reclining on the bed is none other than Ethan fucking Landry. I can’t decide whether to thank God or curse him.

“Oh, shit, no, it’s fine, sorry– you’re good,” I say. “I just, um, just needed a quiet place to hide for a little and this room was unlocked but if you’re here already it’s chill–”

“No, no, you’re good. I was doing the same thing.” He nervously runs a hand through his curls, and it’s so endearing that my heart skips a beat. “You can, um… you could stay? I don’t mind.” He scoots over, making room for me.

I know what I’d usually do here– make a polite excuse and hide in a bathroom– but between my desperation for reprieve and the liquid courage from earlier, I feel like trying something else.

So, I join him, kicking off my shoes and sitting against the backboard. “Thanks,” I say. “I really, really need a break.”

He chuckles a little. “Don’t mention it, really. I’m Ethan.”

“Oh, I know.” Holy shit. Why the fuck did I say that?

His eyes widen a little. “Wait, really? How?”

I search for an acceptable answer. “Um, my friend Mindy said that she had American History with you. Not a lot of new kids around here besides me, especially not right after spring break, so… I looked you up?”

He smirks slightly. “Huh, stalker much?” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “It’s okay, I, um, ‘looked you up’ too. After lunch today. Just… curious, I guess.”

We both laugh a little at this. It’s exciting to know that he’s interested in me, too. I’ve never had any guys reciprocate that kind of thing.

“So, what did you hope to find?” he asks. “What do you want to know?”

I pause. “Everything, I guess. Why’d you come here, in the middle of the year?”

“Dad got transferred. He’s a cop, a detective, but they wanted to replace him in his department. They couldn’t fire him without a bunch of legal shit involved, so they transferred him here.”

“Good fucking luck,” I laugh. “This town doesn’t have the cleanest crime record.”

“Eh, I’m used to it,” he says. “We’ve moved around all my life… Dallas, Baton Rouge, Vegas, Sacramento… Woodsboro.”

“Jesus. Who’s we?”

“My sister and I. Quinn. She’s actually the reason I’m here– she’s taking some classes during her gap year. Trying to apply to bigger colleges. I would usually never come to this sort of thing, which is why I’m, uh, hiding upstairs.

“Me either,” I say. “My friends dragged me here. Tara picked out this outfit and everything. I feel so weird.”

His eyes drift over me. “I mean… I think you look really good?”

I meet his gaze. The tension between us is suddenly real– it’s almost suffocating. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss him, and I’ve almost made up my mind to do it when I hear a commotion from down the hall.

I pull away, concerned. There’s a second of something dark on his face before it’s replaced with his typical bashful demeanor. “What do you think that was?” he asks.

As much as I want to stay here with him, something tells me I need to see what’s wrong. “I don’t know, we should go look.”

I open the door to a disturbing sight. Some guy has a visibly intoxicated Tara by the arm. Chad, Anika, and Mindy are following him as he tries to take her into one of the rooms. My heart sinks and my palms go sweaty. I feel sick– I can’t let this happen. As he walks through the hall, I get in his way. “Hey, man, let her go. She’s done for the night.”

Tara drunkenly puts her arm on my shoulder. “No, no, Y/N, it’s okay. I’m good.”

The guy sneers at me. “Yeah, dude, we’re good.”

There is no way in hell I am letting this happen. “No, ‘dude,’ we’re not good. Let her go. Trust me. You don’t want this.” I motion to my friends behind us, who all look ready to get messy.

The guy falters, muttering something sounding suspiciously similar to “whatever, bitch,” and lets Tara go. I watch him walk away before turning back to Tara. “Oh my god, Tar, are you okay? I can’t believe that.”

I expect a hug, a thank-you, or maybe just a smile. The stinging of her hand against my cheek is shocking, to say the least.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” she says. “I can’t believe you did that, you fucking embarrassed me!”

I rub my cheek. “Are you kidding, Tara? That guy was a dick, he was going to take advantage of you!”

“So fucking what?” She’s yelling now. “If I want to hook up with an asshole, that’s my decision. Or, or, if I want to argue with my sister over some dumb party, I’ll do it, and I don’t need anyone’s opinion. Don’t pretend like you know shit about me or my life, because you don’t. You think you can show up here after what happened last year and act like you know any of us that lived it, but you don’t, Y/N. You fucking don’t! So leave me alone, and stay out of my fucking business.”

I’m frozen. I don’t know if I’m feeling more hurt, angry, embarrassed, or just plain sad. For her to say those things, to, in some way, confirm my biggest fears about Woodsboro… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say or do.

But Tara doesn’t wait for me to figure it out. She stumbles away, pushing past Chad, Mindy, and Anika. The twins rush after her, presumably worried about her ability to stand straight. Anika lingers for a second, giving me a pitying look and mouthing “I’m so sorry” before running off.

Though I understand their actions (Tara is drunker than I am, more unpredictable, and more likely to get hurt) their absence still stings. My eyes well with hot tears. Everything is out of control.

I turn around to compose myself and notice Ethan standing in the doorway. “Are you okay, Y/N?” he says.

Sweet, shy, Ethan. His big brown eyes are looking straight at mine for the first time that night– it makes me shiver.

All I want is to get out of this house. Leave. With him.

So I ask him, “Do you want to get out of here?”

[masterhallmark]

I'm really sick of the "Pirates are Lost Boys who grew up and escaped Pan" theory

1) The book is a children's story, not a horror novel.

2) The idea Peter kills boys who grow up is based on one throwaway line that says he "thins them out" if there are too many, which can mean several different things.

3) HOOK WAS A PIRATE WITH A CREW BEFORE LANDING IN NEVERLAND! He literally has a backstory in the book and several speeches J.M. Barrie gave about going to Eton, running away, and becoming a pirate. The crew arrived in Neverland AS IS.

4) The book mentions Peter will travel with the souls of dying kids halfway to the afterlife so they aren't scared. He also desperately begs children to save Tinkerbell, tries to sacrifice himself for Wendy, saves Tiger Lilly while commenting that the pirates were being unfair when capturing her, even tries to help Hook regain his footing during a fight, and saves the Neverbird's eggs from being destroyed. Does that sound like a psychopath to you?

5) The ONLY TIME we see Peter try to kill a Lost Boy is when he mistakenly thinks said Lost Boy killed Wendy, and said Lost Boy told Peter to kill him. Once it turns out Wendy is alive, not only is the boy forgiven, but the only punishment Tinkerbell (the actual culprit) gets is banishment.

The entire purpose of the book is to contrast the innocence of youth with the responsibilities of adulthood. The negative traits Peter has are meant to show the dangers of refusing to grow up, while Hook is meant to show the dangers of growing up TOO much. Hook OBSESSES over good form and acting proper to the point he almost FAINTS when Wendy sees a stain on his shirt.

Also, the entire book "Peter and Wendy" and every other variation of the story JM Barrie wrote is FREE on the internet. Anyone can read it RIGHT HERE http://neverpedia.com/pan/Read:Peter_and_Wendy

There is no good reason for this misinformation spreading. It is easily available.

Passages from the book under cut, since last time I posted something like this someone tried to argue with me

At first Mrs. Darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies. There were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened.

-----

"It lifted Michael off the ground," he cried; "why should it not carry you?"

"Both of us!"

"It can't lift two; Michael and Curly tried."

"Let us draw lots," Wendy said bravely.

"And you a lady; never." Already he had tied the tail round her. She clung to him; she refused to go without him; but with a "Good-bye, Wendy," he pushed her from the rock; and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon.

The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged. Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.

Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremour ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, "To die will be an awfully big adventure."

------

Nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could, and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock. Then up she flew; deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.

Then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead. It was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.

There were two large white eggs, and Peter lifted them up and reflected. The bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see the last of them; but she could not help peeping between the feathers.

I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock, driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure. The children had discovered the glittering hoard, and when in a mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds, pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them. The stave was still there, and on it Starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim. Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully.

The Never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas, Peter crowed his agreement with her. Then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his shirt for a sail. At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs. She drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.

-----

"It was poisoned, Peter," she told him softly; "and now I am going to be dead."

"O Tink, did you drink it to save me?"

"Yes."

"But why, Tink?"

Her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite. She whispered in his ear "You silly ass," and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the bed.

His head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt near her in distress. Every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.

Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.

Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.

"Do you believe?" he cried.

Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.

She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure.

"What do you think?" she asked Peter.

"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die."

Many clapped.

Some didn't.

A few beasts hissed.

The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already Tink was saved. First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have like to get at the ones who had hissed.

"And now to rescue Wendy!"

[yellowfingcr]

I write this to you, Simone, even if you will never read it.

You cannot. You are too far. You will not. I will tear this paper into pieces, snapping the stems of sentences into words into letters, and one lone letter I will place upon my tongue to swallow, and the rest I shall bury like seeds. Then I will pray that the sectioned body of what I wanted to tell you will one day sprout upward through the earth and like dandelions find its way to you.

The first time you met me- oh! It still blushes my cheeks. Since my arrival and blood transfusion I’d watched myself furl into a hermit, allowing the strange melancholy of having cheated death to day after day chill me stationary right after the threshold of the new unexpected undeserved life I’d been given. I didn’t know what to do. I’d pleaded to every god not to die, and now that I hadn’t there was this featureless expanse of possibilities before me. What now? I couldn't answer. So I did nothing. I wintered. I don’t know for how long I lay deep somewhere inside myself, basking in my own hunger. Until one day I noticed the sunlight upon my skin. Felt its warmth. Felt! I was discovering sensation, again. I had a body, I had shape. I was alive. I existed. I wanted. I wanted.

I hadn’t prepared at all for my winter; I make for a poor animal. When I awoke from my torpor, I found myself full of great painful nothing, taut with starvation. I agonised for touch, for any contact, the hold of a hand, a knuckle against my gut, a kiss against my lips, anything, anything at all to bond me through meat to my fellow human beings.

Within the chalk circles I found violence.

In the pub that day I found you. 

Hunters among hunters knocking back warm wine in chaotic glee and here you sat, knees apart, languidly looking around the room, all interesting you but not quite enough. I could swear the raucous cheer lowered to a whisper when I laid eyes upon you. Certainly my heart stopped. Your clothing- it was civilian clothing, plain, simple. But you were a sculpture and you shone as one regardless of what covered you. I still could see the strength of your shoulders, the solidity of your thighs. Your full mouth, half-smiling. Your thick fingers, wrapped around your glass. Your jaw, curving  so sweetly for a woman so chiseled by might. I think it was one of the few times you’d let your hair down. 

I existed. I wanted. I very much wanted you.

And you- you’d noticed, hadn’t you? Not my desire but my almost adolescent hesitation. That when I approached you and told you Hi, name’s Heysel in that tone I was in truth saying please, let it be me, among the many beautiful women here choose me. For anything you crave. However you crave it. A word and I will kneel.

Hi, you’d returned, turning around, and heat conquered me up to my ears. Gods. I was elated. Bursting with pride. I’d thought, no matter what happens next, I will have this for myself. For she looked at me and I recognized in the brown of her eye appetite. 

My name is Simone.

You know, it’s funny to recall that lust was what had brought us together, considering how that spark quieted as we began talking. We found each other to be similar- in tastes, origins, humor. I adored your laugh. I adored your body, but right away I found myself so intrigued by the woman within it that I knew I never wanted to stop discovering her, and that I tried to do, question after question, none about pleasure, all about you, Simone. We became friends. We ended up never once touching each other in that manner, though you touched me plenty in all the other ways that matter just as much- your arms, holding me tight in a hug, your hand on my shoulder, to ask for my attention. Your fingers, between mine in reassurance. Your grip, strong upon me as I slipped on blood-slicked cobbles, catching me before gravity could. The mass of you, curled around me like a rib around a lung, when I knocked at your door empty of all but my exhaustion and the nightmares that would make blood slither down my nostrils, and you’d dragged me to your bed, swearing that what was chasing me as I slept or was awake had to contend with you as well. You'd say words like that often. You were so full of such love. Love for jokes, love for songs, love for the scent of grass, love for flirting and women and cooking and mischief, love for all that reminded you of home, love for all that didn’t. Love for life. And you loved Yulia; and you loved me. You loved me the way the rib curls around the lung it hides. With the same certain dedication to my protection, no matter the cost to you.

Simone. Please forgive me for what I've done. I couldn’t let any cost be paid by you. Nothing of you must be risked for me, anymore. Let me be the bones, this once, and you the precious softness they need to keep safe from harm. No matter how much it hurts.

I now shall tear this letter apart, eat it, bury it, and think of you, again, as I do every day, every single day since I've left.

Yours,

[thecw-unicorn]

The Oath (Yandere! Giorno x reader)

So I originally wasn’t planning on writing this but spur of the moment idea, for @mrsgiovanna Giorno Month, and I just wanted to add one final contribution!

Prompt: “You’ll learn to love me”

TW: toxic relationship/behavior, mentions of stalking and manipulation

He was watching you, like always.

You were walking through his garden. Or rather your garden, as he had told you, as whatever belonged to him, belonged to you.

He watches intensely. He loved seeing you around the flowers, and loved it even more when you had gone the extra step taking care of the flowers. Even though you didn’t realize how they last all year long, even in the winter, and didn’t understand the nature of their existence, it warmed his heart. Your dress swaying ever slightly in the breeze, as if the whole scene did it’s best to beautify you. Not that you needed it in Giorno’s mind.

He smiled as you walked along the path, slowly taking in the sights and smells of all the beautiful flowers that surrounded you on both sides. He was glad to see you out. After you arrived, (or kidnapped, as you often called it, much to Giorno’s disappointment), you weren’t doing so good. Spending most if not all days in your room barely eating, drinking, or doing anything. He did everything he could to get you back to yourself. Gentle coaxing, sweet words, strong promises, anything he could think of. You hated to admit it, but it mostly worked. You’d spend hours thinking of your friends and family. Giorno knew it too. He’d always tell you “wouldn’t they want you to live? To be alive, and well taken care of?”

It was hard to argue with that. Not to mention you didn’t exactly have the energy to fight back. So you caved in. You’d let him hold you, let him kiss you, buy you things. Whatever his delusional idea of love was. Some days were definitely hard. The need to leave. Not just this place, but your body, your mind. It didn’t take long to learn your mind was as dangerous as the gilded cage you were stuck in. Getting out of bed, and doing something was substantially better than living in the mind numbing roar that deafens your head and strangles you in its grasp.

The wind blows softly, tickling your face and arms slightly. The scent of the flowers are blown to you as well. The scent is almost…too perfect. You make your way over to a batch of roses, the fragrance so strong it almost suffocates you. Another irregularity: no thorns. You remember the bewilderment you had felt first seeing the odd flowers. It wasn’t until Giorno had explained everything that it all made sense: the flowers were for you. The smell is as amplified as possible, no thorns to prevent picking your fingers. The whole idea had made you uneasy. They looked so perfect, so beautiful, any gardener's dream. And yet, it wasn’t read. It was fake. You couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Giorno’s feelings were. Perfect and sweet on the surface, but ultimately a ruse. A clever trick crafted from an expert mummer, poised in the act of deception. You shook your head, not wanting to fill it with melancholy thoughts to further sour the garden visit.

You make your way to the end of the path, seating yourself on a stone bench underneath a weeping cherry blossom tree. You close your eyes, trying to find some form of relaxation in this prison. You feel the breeze softly moving the hanging flowers of the tree, tickling your upper arms and face. You tried to think happy thoughts. The flowers. Their smell wafting all around you. The sound of their swaying in the breeze. Or better yet, you tried having no thoughts at all. You’d learned to despise your brain and being in it for such long, silent, periods of time since living with Giorno. You take a deep breath, hoping to expel the already rising negative thoughts. You’d almost forgotten about your book you’d brought to read, sitting neatly beside you on the bench. You pick up the book, hoping to escape and find whatever happiness you could in this beautiful misery.

He saw that you were reading again. Finally, he thought, unable to stop the smirk forming on his face. He’d bought you all those books, since he knew of your deep love of reading from spending days watching you in detail. He was glad to see you finally using the countless gifts he’d showered you with since bringing you home. He loved watching you. Whether it was simply mundane tasks or a deep passion you had, he’d always wanted to keep as close of an eye as possible. Despite it, he knew it was creepy and invasive. But now that you were with him, he’d do whatever it takes to keep you safe and protected, even if it meant having himself or someone watching your every move.

Truth be told, he was happy to see you outside. He noticed you were having a string of bad days, preferring to stay in your room all day, barely touching the food that was sent. The dark circles would be visible on your face, your eyes holding a weary frightened glaze to them. You did your best to put up walls around you, guarding your brain, and more importantly your heart from him. But Giorno knew you. He knew everything down to a T. He remembers his words to you upon your arrival: “You’ll learn to love me.” Not only a warning, but a promise. While not to the point he’d wish, you had grown more used to your home, and especially grown used to him and being with him. Sure, it was no easy task, but enough gifts, sweet, coaxing words, and subtle, pointed reminders of his power and your family, you had become more docile. You had your…outburst every now and then but it was expected. Moving one into a whole new home and in a new relationship is no easy task, but Giorno committed himself to you. And yet, he himself struggled as well. One aspect of maintaining the seamless transition to your new home was restraint. He wanted nothing more than to express his love in every way possible, loving words, soft kisses, giving himself wholly to you. But, deep down, he knew it’d confuse you, even scare you as well having to deal with the new environment and all his love and attention. Only in the dead of night when slumber claimed you did he allow his words to push past his lips.

“You’re going to stay here now. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise. And I promise to make this your home and love you with all I am and more. I swear it.”

He remembers another time, a time he’d said words very similar to what he’d said to you. To a friend (2 years older!) before he’d rested him in white flowers forever. Never again. He wouldn’t do it again. Not for you. He’d do everything in his power to ensure you were safe and in your own little slice of Heaven. He’d love you with everything he was, and keep you here. He’d kissed your hands, and your forehead while you slept, none the wiser of the solemn oath that had been sworn over your slumber.

[fleivious]

When the Wilderness Calls

Pairing ; Charlotte 'lottie' Matthews x gn!reader (but i wrote imagining a woman, tho there is no use of pronouns for the reader)

Years after surviving a plane crash, you reconnect with Lottie, the only person who understood your shared connection to the wilderness that once trapped you. Now leading an enigmatic community, Lottie reveals that her visions have returned, and the wilderness may not be done with either of you. As old feelings resurface, you must confront the haunting past and the mysterious force that still lingers, threatening to pull you both back into its grip.

i dont know if anyone will read but i wanted to post hehe, and this is my first fic so i hope i did a good job, i might continue writing if someone is interested, otherwise it will prolly just be that. but yeah, enjoy it!!!

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

You were in the plane crash with the team. Back then, you and Lottie had a brief, intense connection. Neither of you had ever thought about each other that way before, but being stranded, desperate, and isolated in the wilderness, things just happened. The need for comfort and understanding drew you together. Out of everyone, you were the only one who believed her, the only one who understood when she spoke about the wilderness the way it seemed to talk to her. Because of that, the two of you grew closer. At some point, without any real discussion or labels, you just… acted on what you felt. It wasn’t something planned or defined, it simply was.

But after the rescue, everything changed. Lottie was sent to a mental institution, and you lost contact. Years passed, and while life went on, you never truly recovered. There was an emptiness inside you, one that no therapist, psychiatrist, or medication could ever fill. No matter what you tried, that hollow feeling remained. Years later, you heard about an intentional community, a retreat of sorts. It sounded a little odd, but you were desperate for something to take your mind off the past. So, you thought, why not? What could go wrong? You didn’t expect much… but what you didn’t expect at all was to see her.

Lottie. At the welcome party for new members, there she was, standing in the middle of the crowd, older, different, but still as captivating as ever. She looked so calm, so content. Seeing her again stirred something in you, something you thought you’d buried. She was just as beautiful as you remembered, maybe even more so with time.

As you watched her, your mind raced. Did she recognize you? Did you want her to? You felt torn between excitement and dread, wondering how she would react if she saw you. Did she still feel what she felt back then? Had her feelings changed? Was she with someone else now? The questions buzzed in your mind, and you weren’t sure you wanted the answers.

And then, as fate would have it, her eyes found you in the crowd. She was in the middle of giving a speech, but for a brief moment, her words faltered. No one else seemed to notice, but you did. She recognized you.

After the speech, people began mingling, and before you knew it, Lottie was making her way towards you. You were talking to one of the members when you felt a hand on your shoulder. A familiar shiver ran down your spine at the touch.

“Y/n?” Her voice was soft, almost apprehensive.

You turned to face her, your heart racing. “Lottie. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” you replied nervously.

“How have you been, truly?” she asked, her gaze filled with something that looked like both fondness and melancholy.

“I try my best to be okay, but… you know. I’ll never be the same after what happened,” you said, trying not to dampen the mood.

Lottie’s expression softened, her eyes full of understanding. “None of us are. That trauma… it changes us forever.”

You felt your throat tighten as the emotion welled up. “I really missed you, you know,” you said, your voice trembling as you fought back the tears.

“And I missed you more than words can express. I thought about you every single day,” she replied, her voice quiet, vulnerable.

That was it. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You stepped forward and hugged her, wrapping your arms around her as if you’d been waiting decades for this one embrace. Lottie seemed taken aback at first but quickly returned the hug, her arms enveloping you in a warmth you’d longed for. You buried your face in her neck, and finally, after all these years, the tears you had been holding in began to flow. In her arms, you felt safe again. You felt like you were home.

“You look so beautiful,” you murmured as you pulled back slightly, cupping her face in your hands. She had aged, but there was a grace to her that made her even more stunning.

Lottie chuckled softly at your words, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “Thank you, Y/n. You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her thumb gently wiping away the last of your tears.

Your face flushed deep red at her playful words, and all you could do was smile and giggle awkwardly. “That smile… I’ve missed it,” she said, her own lips curving into a soft smile at the sound of your laughter.

“I really wasn’t expecting to see you here,” you admitted, finally starting to process how surreal it was to find her leading this community. You had thought she was still in the institution in Switzerland, but you decided not to bring it up.

“And yet here we are,” she said with a wistful tone. “I guess fate has a funny way of bringing people back together, doesn’t it?” Her gaze never wavered from yours, as if she were trying to memorize every detail of your face after all these years.

“I guess it does… but I wish fate hadn’t kept us apart for so long,” you replied, your voice breaking slightly as the sadness and anger of those lost years crept up on you.

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes softening. “But we’re here now. And we have each other again. That’s what matters, right? No use crying over spilled milk.”

You giggled at her analogy. “You’re right. But tell me… how have you been? How did this all happen? I mean, this community and everything.” You gestured to the people around you, still trying to grasp how she had ended up here, of all places.

Lottie let out a soft, almost bittersweet chuckle at your question. "It’s a long story," she said, running a hand through her hair as her eyes flicked around the gathering before settling back on you.

"After... everything that happened, I couldn’t just go back to the way things were. I needed something more. I started looking for ways to feel... connected again, to feel like I had a purpose. That’s when I came across a group of people who felt the same way, people who were searching for something beyond the everyday noise of the world. She paused, her eyes glazing over as she continued, "At first, it was just about healing, sharing our stories, finding comfort in each other. But as time went on, things started changing. I started having the visions again, but this time, they were clearer. The wilderness... it spoke to me. It told me what I had to do." Her voice dropped, the tension in her words unmistakable.

Lottie looked down, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the hem of her sleeve. "That’s how the community began. I wasn’t trying to lead anyone, but people saw something in me something I could hardly explain. They wanted to be part of it. They wanted to listen, to follow. And now, here we are." She gestured subtly to the people mingling around you, their faces glowing with contentment, oblivious to the undercurrents of darkness.

Her gaze turned more serious as she met your eyes again. "But it’s not just a community, Y/n. It’s bigger than that. I tried to ignore the signs, tried to believe it was just me, but I think... I think the wilderness isn’t done with us just yet."

[awkwardgtace]

Gt July 2023 All Stories

So like last year I did a list of all the stories alongside a little blurb, the prompt, and included characters all under a read more

Enchantment or Curse: Rhys has been cursed by an enchanted ring, but then he meets Vincent. Characters: Rhys(Giant then Tiny), Vincent(Tiny then giant) Prompt: Enchanted

A Small Unkindness: Dabria needs medicine for her son, winds up asking Vitus for help Characters: Dabria(Tiny), Vitus(Giant), Rhys(Giant) Prompt: Bird

Fighting Doubts: Ryder wakes up in a bad spot that gets worse when his brothers start fighting (Mafia AU) Characters: Rhys(Giant), Felix(Giant), Ryder(Tiny), Vitus(Giant), Dabria(Tiny) Prompt: Impulsive

StarGazing: Meg is watching the stars and Streya makes it better Characters: Streya(giant), Meg(Tiny) Prompt: Stargazing

Is Indoors Really Safe?: Alessia has been living with the humans and still doesn’t trust them completely. An attempt to spy goes a bit wrong. (Continued from First Time Indoors) Characters: Alessia(Tiny), Vitus(Giant), Felix(Giant), Rhys(Tiny), Ryder(Tiny) Prompt: Caught

Meeting Your God: ff14 AU(Spoilers for patch 6.3 raids) Delphia and Ash sneak ahead of the group to see their next fight, but it doesn't go as planned. Characters: Delphia(Tiny), Ash(Tiny), Alessia(Giant) Prompt: AU

Legendary Phantom Thief: You want to be a legendary phantom thief, and this heist will make you one. Characters: Self insert size shifter Prompt: Thief

Meeting Through Dreams: Mira reaches the point in her life the dreams to meet her perfect match start and she’s not exactly happy. Characters: Mira(Tiny), Kaya(Tiny), Corus(Giant) Prompt: Dream

Rainy Changes: Dabria was walking home in the rain and came across what she thought was an empty bottle. Characters: Dabria(Giant), Alessia(Tiny) Prompt: Rainy Day

Forgotten Pasts: Mira and Kaya are exploring a cave of ruins when they find something strange. Characters: Mira(Giant), Kaya(tiny), Corus(tiny), Zeke(giant) Prompt: Ancient

Self Reflection: Kaiju Ash is thinking about their life, both current and former. Unsure what they want if they should let things continue as they are. Characters: Ash(Giant), Delphia(tiny), Alessia(tiny), Rhys(tiny), Vincent(tiny) Prompt: Melancholy

Statues Aren’t Great For Hiding: Kyrie gets caught trying to watch Melody. Characters: Melody(giant), Kyrie(tiny), Caprice(giant), Byssal(tiny), Pelago(Tiny) Prompt: Video Games

A Normal Afternoon: Rhys is tangled in his string, but keeps joking with his human brothers. (Continued from Ice Cube Prank Gone Wrong… or Right?) Characters: Rhys(Tiny), Felix(Giant), Ryder(Giant) Prompt: Banter

Destruction and Hero: Melody was given a role she hates, but will she even be able to fill it? Characters: Melody(Tiny), Kyrie(Giant) Prompt: Instrument

Broken Changes:Ash is just trying to get some food for them and Rhys. Vitus hears a crash and goes to investigate. Characters: Vitus(giant), Ash(tiny), Rhys(tiny), Dabria(Giant) Prompt: Designated break day, used the word Break

Escaped Cake Topper: At a party for the daughter of the Kamias a human is brought as a gift. They manage to escape, but can they survive? Characters: Alessia(Giant), Vitus(Giant), Sloan(one off tiny) Prompt: Celebrating

Adjustment Period: Ian is slowly adjusting to the expectations of the alien Mikhail. Characters: Ian(Tiny), Mikhail(Giant) Prompt: Home

Beauty in Flames: Two strangers enjoy the beauty of fire and each other Characters: Self insert Giant, unnamed tiny Prompt: Fire

The Menace of Salt: Mira is a house sprite who enjoys playing tricks, but this time something went wrong. Characters: Mira(tiny), Kaya(giant) Prompt: Trickster

Intimidating Presence: Dabria goes out into the forest to find out about the giant watching the town Characters: Dabria(Tiny), Felix(Giant), Vitus(Tiny) Prompt: Intimidate

Open Secrets: Alessia and Delphia take a bath together Characters: Alessia(giant), Delphia(tiny) Prompt: Secret

Garden Mishaps: Mira tried to take a relaxing walk in the garden, a misfired spell changed that Characters: Corus(Giant), Mira(tiny) Prompt: Garden

Subject 829: Subject 829 is a weapon, but maybe that’s not all. Characters: Ryder(Giant), Rhys(tiny), Felix(tiny), Vitus(tiny) Prompt: Weapon

“Please, share with me your memories…”: The story of someone who found hope in a small human Characters: Harmony(giant), Sy(tiny) Prompt: Memory 

Simple Night: Evelyn waits for Conny to come home and join her in bed Characters: Evelyn(Tiny/Giant) Conny(Giant/Tiny Sizeshifter) Prompt: Pajamas

Tangled Emotions: Rhys is woken up by Sola and Luna climbing his hair, but they aren’t the only humans on him Characters: Rhys(Giant), Ryder(Tiny), Sola(tiny), Luna(tiny) Prompt: Tangled

Planetary Pearls: Streya drifts through space when she finds something strange. Characters: Streya(giant), unnamed tiny Prompt: Jewelry

Cursed Dreams: Melody feels like she's cursed. It gets worse when the dreams of her perfect match start. Characters: Melody(Tiny), Caprice(Tiny), Kyrie(Giant), Byssal(Giant), Pelago(Giant) Prompt: Cursed

Step After Step: You wake up confused, in pain, and tired. Someone helps you. Characters: Self insert giant. Unnamed they to she Tiny Prompt: Element

A Needed Break: You wake up confused as your phone goes off, but your bed is suddenly massive. Characters: Self insert tiny, Unnamed Giant Prompt: Self Care

Secrets Exposed: Rhys has a secret his foster parents just saw so he runs Characters: Vitus(giant), Rhys(Tiny), Dabria(giant) Prompt: Free Day

Princess and Protectors: Alessia and Ash are carrying Delphia home after she took a trip to a human city on her own again. She's caught up in her memories for much of the walk (Using the same world as Enchantment or Curse) Characters: Delphia(Tiny), Alessia(Giant), Ash(Giant) Prompt: Free Day