#having an existential crisis and this is the one I post today

[rosiespokemontwitterau]

Revenge on life! ╰(‵□′)╯

[nosleep83]

Just read the 6th chapter of this fic my ass is not having a good fucking day‼️‼️‼️‼️

[ravensmadreads]

Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera. 

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right. 

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?” 

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face. 

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.” 

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?” 

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now. 

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate. 

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it. 

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer. 

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again. 

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.” 

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.” 

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten. 

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down. 

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.” 

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?” 

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen. 

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly. 

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes. 

“You better go help your sister, Orion!” 

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck. 

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time. 

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket. 

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.” 

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face. 

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face. 

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?” 

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.” 

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.” 

Oh, you are going to kill him. 

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg. 

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face. 

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck. 

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek. 

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes. 

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?” 

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match. 

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee. 

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face. 

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter. 

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much. 

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs. 

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home. 

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away. 

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal. 

Goddamn it. 

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?” 

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?” 

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?” 

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?” 

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”  

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb. 

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears. 

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?” 

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking. 

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder. 

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,” 

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back. 

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?” 

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?” 

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.” 

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch. 

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves. 

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife. 

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.” 

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.” 

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,” 

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?” 

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.” 

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling. 

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.” 

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,” 

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.” 

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts. 

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.” 

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises. 

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.” 

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen. 

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.” 

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.” 

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can. 

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white. 

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.  

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.” 

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.” 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones. 

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way. 

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.” 

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again. 

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly. 

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now. 

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again. 

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.” 

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks. 

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.

[lost-in-fandoms]

I love your writing so much!! If you are taking prompts (no pressure!!!!): daniel doing something cute for max’s bday while they are together in Perth after Singapore ❤️

Hello, I love you!! You are SO nice and I appreciate you sending a prompt! This was probably not what you were envisioning, even if there are cute things happening, but I hope you like it anyway. I wanted more birthday stuff but it sort of ran away from me. Also, this is about 2k oh god.

Daniel figured out in the early days, even before they were actually together, that Max doesn't care much about his birthday.

He will never say no to cake (unless his trainer gives him really mean looks), he appreciates gifts, and he loves a good party, but he has no real feelings about it being his birthday.

Daniel had asked him about it once, wondering if maybe there was some sort of deep rooted trauma behind it he didn't know about, but Max had just shrugged, easy and relaxed. It is not important, Daniel, when I get old, if I am getting older every day.

He knows that this year Max has no plans for it, and knows that neither of them minds, both just wanting a quiet day with each other.

It's been...a lot, lately.

Even here, away from the crowds and the hungry world that has just recently spit him out, like a bitter and unwanted bite, it's not been easy to let everything go.

The first two days after landing they had barely left the bed, sleeping and kissing lazily, too drained to even have sex. The third day they had spent with Daniel's family. The fourth, the one when the news had become official for the world, he had gotten horrifically drunk, in a way he hadn't done in years, Max being the one providing glasses of water for once and hands on his forehead while he was crying over a toilet bowl. He doesn't have many memories of the fifth one, spent nursing the worst hungover on this side of thirty.

And then he had tried to start his new life.

He doesn't know yet how that will look like, which makes it harder, but he's taking one step at a time, like his mom has been telling him.

Yesterday's step had been joining Max for some training, because he doesn't want to actually become a couch potato, and looking into finding a new internet provider after Max's numerous complaints.

Today's first step is going to be the farmers market.

He considers waking up Max for it, but it's barely seven a.m., and he doesn't actually want to be threatened with bodily harm this early in the day, so he leaves him with a kiss (Max doesn't even stir) and a post-it note on the bedside table.

It doesn't take long for him to decide that the farmers market isn't for him, at least not yet. Maybe it's an acquired taste, but there's just too much going on, bustling people pressing around him, vendors loudly calling out prices, colorful things attracting his attention everywhere, making his head spin.

He manages to get what he wanted and then flees, back to the safety of his car and towards the quiet of the farm.

It's only when he's halfway there that he realises that a few years ago he would have loved all of it, and then has to force himself to not have an existential crisis over it, wondering if it's just a result of getting old, or if something about the last few months has irrevocably broken him.

When he pokes his head into the bedroom, he finds that Max is awake, sitting up against the headboard, phone in hand and blankets pooled around his waist, looking soft and sleep-mussed.

"Good morning," Daniel says, stepping inside and feeling the warmth of Max's smile wrap around his lungs. "Happy birthday."

Max, impossibly, seems to soften further, his ears growing pinker.

"Thank you," he says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He reaches for Daniel, but he holds up a hand, taking a step back towards the door.

"Hold on, I have something for you. Don't move."

He watches as Max makes a show of settling back against the pillows and stilling there, beaming at him when Daniel laughs, retreating in the other room.

He comes back holding a paper bag and a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other, offering both to Max with a smile, refusing to feel self conscious about it.

Max blinks up at him, fingers just a touch away from Daniel's hand, surprise and confusion mixing on his face.

"For me?" he asks, soft and amazed.

Daniel nods, not really trusting himself to speak, and Max finally closes the distance, wrapping his fingers around the bunch of stems and taking the flowers from Daniel, pulling them close to his chest and burying his face into the colorful petals.

Daniel doesn't really know what kinds of flowers they are, he just chose a few that looked pretty, but he doesn't think it matters. Not when Max looks up at him again, cheeks red and eyes bright, smiling wide wide wide, happy and lovely.

"Thank you, Daniel," he says, so earnestly it cracks something open in Daniel's chest, unwanted and unexpected, making him feel like everything is too much once again.

Luckily, Max seems to notice, because he always notices, and he settles the flower gently on the blankets, uncaring of the wet stems, before tugging Daniel down in his lap. His hands are solid weights on Daniel's hips, and for the first time since he woke up that morning, Daniel feels like he can breathe fully, settled and steady, the feeling of being adrift that he had refused to acknowledge pushed away for a little while longer.

"What's in there?" Max asks, thumbs rubbing circles on Daniel's hipbones, gesturing with his chin towards the paper bag still in Daniel's hand.

The smell of baked goods has for sure given it away already, but Daniel makes a show of it, extracting a croissant as if it was a bunny from a magic hat, wishing Max's laughter could seep right into his bloodstream, weaving itself around his cells.

Max bites into the croissant cheerfully, not minding the flaky crumbs that rain down on the sheets, thanking Daniel again and humming his approval.

Daniel's chest feels warm.

"What's that?" Max asks again while he chews, pointing at the orange juice.

"Orange juice," Daniel tells him, untwisting the cap and offering the bottle to him, missing Max's hand as soon as it's gone. "Watched Marco squeeze it fresh myself."

He does his best to keep his face straight as Max hesitates, bottle halfway up to his mouth, eyes narrowing.

"Marco?"

"Charming guy, yes," Daniel teases, unable to keep himself from smiling any longer, amused by Max's frown, "about sixty years old."

The frown disappears as fast as it had formed, and Max smirks at him, finally taking a sip.

"Forty years too old for you," he says once he has swallowed, laughing at Daniel's outraged squeak.

Max makes it up to him by offering him the middle bite of the croissant, sweet custard oozing onto his fingers, and then again by kissing Daniel thoroughly, sweet with vanilla and sugar.

"I have something else," Daniel tells him some time later, when they're all kissed out, pushing away from Max's chest and clambering back onto his feet.

Max follows him without question, tugging on a pair of shorts abandoned on the floor, and grabbing the flowers from the bed, taking them to the kitchen counter before joining Daniel outside.

Daniel grabs his hand, because he can here, away from prying eyes, and guides him around the porch to a cardboard box peeping quietly.

Max gasps, immediately crouching in front of it and opening it, letting out a surprised laugh when he sees what's inside: four little chicks, fluffy and pale yellow, tweeting up at him.

"You said we needed them to have a real farm," he says, carding his fingers through Max's hair, "and mom said I needed a project."

Max has his fingers in the box already, trying to pet the chicks without startling them, but he leans back to beam up at him, eyes crinkling.

"I love them," he declares, steady and unashamed, before turning back to the box.

This time, he manages to scoop two chicks up in his cupped hands, taking them out and cradling them against his chest, humming happily.

"I think you're their mama now," Daniel jokes, "you'll have to come back for them."

He knows he's said the wrong thing as soon as it's out of his mouth, Max's shoulders tensing, even as his hands stay gentle around the chicks. He doesn't know how to backtrack though, doesn't really want to, so he watches as Max puts them down again and gets up, knees cracking.

He goes to make a joke about that too, something about Max getting old, but the words get stuck in his throat at the sight of Max's unhappy expression.

"Of course I'm coming back, Daniel," Max says with a frown, steely certainty behind it. "Did you think I was going to leave and..."

He doesn't finish his sentence, crossing his arms and looking away, blinking rapidly.

"I..." Daniel swallows, picking at a cuticle on his thumb. "I'm sorry."

It's again the wrong thing to say, Max turning back towards him, eyes shiny and thunderous expression.

"I love you, Daniel," he snaps, forceful and determined. "I love you, Daniel, not the you who races. I am not going to fuck off and leave just because..."

He shakes his head, reels himself in. Daniel doesn't know if he's breathing, but if he was, he stops when Max steps closer, bringing his hands up to cup his cheeks.

"I will have to leave, because I need to finish this season, and maybe the next, I don't know, but I am always coming back. Any time I can find time, I will be here. Or in LA, or wherever you will decide to be."

Max swipes his thumb along Daniel's cheekbone, leaning forward to gently thump their foreheads together.

"I wish you were racing with me," he whispers, a confession he hadn't let Daniel have yet. Daniel's heart is split open. "Always it is better, to race with you. I thought we would be racing until we both retired, but I don't care that it is different. I will miss you, when you're here and I am there, and then I will come back."

Max's fingers are damp with Daniel's tears now, and Daniel lets himself be tugged closer, wrapped in the safest arms he knows, hiding his face in Max's neck.

"I'm sorry," he croaks again when he finally finds his voice again, twisting his hands on the back of Max's sleep shirt.

He feels Max's take a deep breath, letting it out against Daniel's hair.

"I wish I could fix it," he says slowly, measuring his words, "but I don't like when you say that I will leave. I have never left. I will not start now."

And he's right, Daniel knows he's right, but it's been hard to remember what he still has lately, after everything went down.

He nods against Max's skin and then lets Max hold him, gently rocking side to side, the chicks peeping softly at their feet, until he doesn't feel like he's going to break with every stuttering breath anymore.

"I was thinking we could go down to the trail," he murmurs, lips dragging against Max's damp shirt. "Take some food, have a picnic. I bought bread rolls."

Max squeezes him tightly once more before putting some distance between them to be able to look at his face, smiling gently.

"I like that. You can make the food while I take the babies to their new coop."

Daniel freezes.

"You have bought a coop too, right Daniel?" Max asks, eyebrows raising. Daniel can feel himself blush.

"I...didn't think about it?" he tries to justify himself.

For a second Max just stares at him, and then he starts laughing, dropping his head against Daniel's chest.

"Stop laughing at me!" Daniel whines, hitting Max's shaking back, but making no move to step away.

Max hits him back, then straightens himself, laughter still etched in the lines of his face.

"Alright," he says, slightly out of breath, "we are going to buy a coop instead. Or build a coop, I don't know what is better, we'll have to call your dad. And we'll do the trail tomorrow, or the day after."

Tomorrow, or the day after.

It seems to hit Daniel all at once, that this is the start. He has tomorrow, and the day after, to do anything he wants. To go on hikes with his boyfriend, to think about new projects, to pick up old hobbies and interests, no schedules to stop him. And he will have tomorrow, and the day after, even when Max has to leave to go racing again, because Max will come back, to have more tomorrows, and the days after, with him.

He surges forward, crashing his lips against Max's, who gasps in surprise but eagerly kisses him back, until all that's left in his brain is tomorrow and Max.

Only then he lets Max go again, stepping back with a smile.

"Let's go get a house for the babies, baby."

And in the lines of Max's smile he can almost see it already: tomorrow, and the day after.

[corroded-hellfire]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8BChQY6/

I was just reading the AYW halloween fic u posted and I saw this and can you imagine Eddie pulling this stunt on Ryan and Luke. I feel like this is how they would react

Surprise, another AYW story! I've had this request since last year, so I apologize to the anon who has been waiting so long. This takes place the day after this Halloween story!

Words: 1.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“No, you didn’t!” 

“Yes, I did.”

“No! You did not!”

“Where is it then?”

It’s next to impossible for Eddie to keep a straight face. 

Luke frowns and flops back against the cushions on the couch. His natural Munson dramatics are on full display, even at five years old. 

“You didn’t eat our candy!” Ryan insists.

It takes everything in you not to start laughing at their small, affronted faces. You gave them each one piece of candy on the ride home from school and one when they got home. That’s all the candy they’ve laid eyes on today—they don’t know their stash from last night is in a big bowl on the top shelf of the pantry. But Eddie, being Eddie, had to take the opportunity of their lack of visibility to tease them. After a long day at work, it seems to be relaxing him actually. 

“How could you eat all of that?!” Luke demands, running his hands down his face.

“We shared,” Eddie says, nodding his head towards you. You fight the impulse to raise your eyebrows at him for looping you into his evil plan. 

“That’s what you did after we went to bed?” Ryan asks, brow furrowing.

God, the things I wanted to do with her last night… Eddie thinks. 

“We’re never going to bed again,” Luke says. 

“You even ate the candy corn?” Ryan’s nose wrinkles up at the thought of anyone eating that gross candy. 

“Even that,” you say. 

“This is so unfair!” Luke slides down from the couch to the floor, lying face down on the carpet. “It’s all I was looking forward to today. What’s even the point anymore?”

Both you and Eddie have to turn away and hide your muffled laughter. Five seems a little young to be having some sort of existential crisis. 

Once recovered, Eddie looks back at his son. Luke face planting on the ground and Ryan slumped over the arm of the couch in annoyance. He toys with stringing them along a little bit longer but decides he’s had his fun.

“How about this,” Eddie starts. “I’ll get you more candy if you do one thing.”

“What?” Ryan asks as both boys’ heads pop up.

“Remember that dance you learned yesterday?” Eddie’s eyes drift to you and you share a smirk.

After school and before trick-or-treating yesterday you taught the small Munsons how to do the Time Warp dance from Rocky Horror. 

“Yeah,” Luke answers.

“I wanna see it again,” Eddie tells them.

You’ve never seen the boys get up on their feet so quickly before. They’re both ready, hands on hips, to perform the choreography. 

“Do you happen to have the soundtrack?” you ask Eddie.

He swivels his head in your direction and cocks an eyebrow. It’s a look that says did you really just ask me that?

“What kind of music aficionado and 70s kid would I be if I didn’t have it?” He pushes himself up from the chair and walks over to his collection near the stereo.

“Well, pardon me,” you tease.

Eddie chuckles and looks over his shoulder at you with a cheeky smile.

“I actually only have it because my friend Dustin got two for his birthday one year and he gave me the extra.”

You walk over to him and playfully swat his shoulder blade.

“Making me feel dumb,” you mumble.

Eddie plucks the CD from a pile and turns to wrap one arm around your shoulders.

“Aw come on, sweetheart,” he says, looking at you with those damn brown eyes that make you melt. “Who would I be if I didn’t mess with the people I care about?”

Your heart flutters but you immediately try to tamp it down. It would make sense that he cares for you, given that he trusts you to watch his children every day for over six months now. It’s nothing more than that, you convince yourself. Because you have to. 

“Can we dance, please?” Luke huffs. “I want my chocolate.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says. He pops the CD out of the case and slides it into the stereo.

It's astounding

Time is fleeting

Madness takes its toll

But listen closely

Not for very much longer

I've got to keep control

The boys wiggle, loosening up as they wait for the chorus. Both you and Eddie watch in excited anticipation. 

“Here it is,” Luke tells his brother. 

Ryan nods and adjusts his hands on his hips.

It's just a jump to the left

The boys take giant hops to the left, Luke almost knocking into his brother. 

And then a step to the right

Put your hands on your hips

The boys don’t have to do the motion since they’ve had them there the entire time.

You bring your knees in tight

But it's the pelvic thrust

It really drives you insane

A giggle bursts out of you as the boys wiggle their hips—which is what you taught them because no children need to learn what “pelvic thrust” means.

The music winds down and the little dancers melt down onto the living room carpet.

“Bravo,” Eddie says, starting a slow clap. You join in as the brothers get up and take bows.

“Candy?” Luke asks.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums. He keeps his face neutral as he presses his hands to his thighs to rise from his seat. 

Their eyes never leave their father as he makes his way into the kitchen. When he disappears due to a wall, they lean over to keep Eddie in their sights. The squeak of the pantry door echoes out to the living room and your eyes are automatically attracted to the little sliver of skin that shows when Eddie reaches up to the top shelf. 

A dramatic gasp comes from Luke as Eddie pulls down the same large orange bowl that the pooled candy was put into last night. 

“You didn’t eat it!” the five-year-old growls.

“You liar!” Ryan calls, pointing at his father.

“I did not lie,” Eddie says as he strolls back into the room. “I was tricking you. You know, as in, trick-or-treat.”

“Now gimme my treat,” Luke says, making grabby hands.

You plop down on the couch and pull the smaller boy into your lap.

“Will you share with me?” you ask.

“Yeah, you’re a nice lady.”

You chuckle and wrap your arms around Luke as Ryan sits down next to you and Eddie puts the bowl on the coffee table.

“Okay, give me all your KitKats,” Eddie says.

“Go fish,” Ryan says, snatching up a KitKat and unwrapping it before his dad can get it.

“Can this be our dinner?” Luke asks.

“It can be your dinner if you go to bed in ten minutes,” Eddie says.

Luke sighs. “Never mind.”

[cherryflavoured7777]

Do you miss me, dear? [h.c]

Summary: Stuck at a graduation party, surrounded by memories of your past relationship and your own loneliness, your night takes an unexpected turn when you find yourself dialing the number of the one person you vowed you wouldn't contact.

Pairing: College!Hazel x College!Fem!Reader 

Contains: smut 18+ only, explicit language, drinking, smoking, mutual pining, slightly toxic reader I think, fingering (r! receiving), oral(r! receiving), break-up/make-up sex, idiots in love, this one gets straight-up MUSHY I’m not gonna lie

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: I just need to say I am deeply obsessed with all of you who interacted with either of my last two fics. reading your comments/ replies seriously makes me SO happy you have no idea. Got me giggling and shit fr! I don’t know why my writing always ends up including partying and drinking but maybe it’s because I just graduated college and am having an existential post-grad crisis. Anyway 💀I hope you enjoy and thank you again for reading!!!

Also, this is inspired by this song by one of my favourite bands:  

“I don’t know what I’m still doing here.” You say out loud to yourself, standing up from the musty green couch you were sitting on. An empty beer bottle falls from the cushion onto the ground, shattering into pieces beside your foot. 

This party sucked. Pushing your way through the crowded, stuffy kitchen, you couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation. Tipsy couples entangled in each other's arms seemed to be everywhere, a painful reminder of what you once had and lost. The memories of being that annoying person in love at a party flooded back, amplifying the ache of your loneliness.

The thumping music in your ears only made your head pound harder. Desperate for a breath of fresh air, you stumbled toward the door, ignoring the intoxicated laughter and clinking glasses that filled the air. As you stepped outside, the cool night breeze hit your face, offering a momentary rescue from the overwhelming atmosphere inside.

The darkness of the night sky above seemed to swallow you whole, but it felt strangely comforting. Leaning against the porch railing, you closed your eyes, trying to regain your composure. In the silence outside, you could hear distant laughter and the faint sound of music, muffled by the walls of the house.

You settled into a seat around a glass table, next to a guy you recognized from one of your classes. You exchanged a quick nod of acknowledgment before reaching into your purse, retrieving a box of cigarettes. Smoking was not a regular habit for you, but you reserved it for moments like these—after a few drinks and a growing sense of irritation. 

You lit the end of the cigarette, watching it crackle, and took a long drag. As you exhaled the smoke, you tilted your head back, noticing the full moon glowing brightly above.

"Full moon tonight," the boy beside you remarked, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "They say some crazy shit can happen on full moons."

You chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, well, that could explain why I'm stuck at this party right now."

He leaned back, studying you intently. 

“I wish I could be an astronaut and get the fuck out of here.” You mused, gaze fixed on the bright glow of the moon. "I only came to this party because she said she would be here." Another drag of the cigarette punctuated your words.

"Who's she?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"My ex," you replied, trying to seem nonchalant. His gaze was fixed on you, "Hazel."

-

Until today, you hadn't spoken to Hazel in over three months, choosing to cut off all contact in an attempt to speed up the process of moving on. You're both surprised that you managed to endure the silence for so long, and disappointed that she hasn't made any effort to reach out, not even once. 

That was until about six hours ago when you were sitting at a coffee shop on campus with your roommate, Brittany, studying for your upcoming statistics exam. 

"Don't look now, but Hazel just walked in," she whispers, her tone hushed, and her eyes widening. "And she's with another girl."

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. You were seated with your back to the door, and you watched as they both approached the corner, heading in your direction.

"Brittany!" the blonde girl accompanying Hazel exclaims, leaving the three of you momentarily stunned.

Hazel follows a few steps behind, clearly taken aback by the encounter. She looked annoyingly hot, her disheveled brown hair, baggy white t-shirt and black jeans, adorned with her signature silver chains and rings. It takes all your strength not to stare. 

"Hey, Amanda," Brittany replied, forcing a polite smile. "Hazel."

Hazel offers a nod in greeting to Brittany and then to you. You feel like a middle-schooler again, awkward and unsure of how to act around your crush.

"Did you manage to finish that paper for Professor Sharpe's class?" the girl asked. 

As Brittany carries on the conversation with Amanda, you can feel Hazel's gaze on you, catching her eyes occasionally. 

You never anticipated the aftermath of your breakup with Hazel to be this awkward. All those nights spent tangled up together, where you both believed you could read each other's minds, now reduced to this.

"So, Hazel, are you going to Emma’s graduation party tonight? All of us are going," Brittany chimed in, attempting to steer the conversation away from the obvious tension.

Hazel smiled sheepishly, replying, "Yeah, I’m going."

"Cool," Brittany replied, her smile masking the underlying awkwardness in the air.

A beat of uncomfortable silence hung between you all.

"Will you be there?" Hazel asked breaking the silence, turning toward you, her voice almost hesitant.

"Yeah, I'll be there," you said, mustering a small smile. "Wouldn’t want to miss it."

Hazel smiled, "Cool," she said, her voice soft, "I'll see you there then."

Just as the atmosphere began to ease, Amanda abruptly intervened, her grip firm on Hazel's hand. "Hazel, let’s go, I forgot something in my car," Amanda said, her tone strangely possessive, and she dragged Hazel away before you could utter another word.

-

This breadcrumb of information has led you here. You spent the first fifteen minutes at the party searching for her like a lost puppy. When you couldn't find her, you contemplated leaving but opted to drown your thoughts with tequila shots instead. Now, you're clinging to any scrap of attention you can find, desperately trying to purge her from your mind.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the male voice beside you. "D’you have a light?" he asked, his cigarette aimed in your direction. You stare at him for a moment, deadpan, still frozen in your thoughts from the events that unfolded earlier today. 

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath, reaching for your phone. You’re calling her.

-

“You’re soaked,” Hazel says as you climb into the front seat of her car, her tone a mix of concern and annoyance. “Seriously, you’re getting mud all over the floor of my car.” While you were waiting for Hazel to pick you up from the party, It started raining, you thought enduring it outside would be better than being stuffed in that small house full of people you didn't even really know. 

“You lied.” You retort back. 

“What?”

“You said you were coming to the party.” 

“Yeah well, my plans changed. Put your seatbelt on.” As she shifted the car into reverse, she placed her hand on your seat to steady herself. With a quick glance over your shoulder, she backed out of the driveway in one brisk movement.

You attempted to keep your composure, trying not to make it entirely obvious that you were basically drooling over how hot she looked doing that.  

“I can tell that there’s someone else,” You say after a few moments of silence, trying to disguise your jealousy with innocent curiosity. “Come on, tell me,” You finally click your seatbelt into place. “I can take it well.” 

"Oh, I know you can," she replied, shooting you a smug look, trying to divert this conversation from getting too deep right now.

“Hazel.” You groan at her dumb attempt at an innuendo, throwing your head backward and hitting the headrest. “Just be honest. Is it the girl from the coffee shop earlier? Or what about the girl Isabel saw you with last week at the library? Or both? Who am I kidding, there’s probably even more than that.”

“Do you have like, personal spies assigned to watch over me?”

You don’t respond right away, deciding to avoid her questions like she’s avoiding yours. You crank the window open and throw your head out. The spring wind cool on your face. 

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

Look, I know I wasn't where I said I'd be, but I was busy, doing stuff," she replied defensively.

"Yeah," you scoffed, your words tinged with a hint of anger. "I'm sure you were."

You sit the next few minutes in silence, wondering if this whole thing was a bad idea. You couldn't pinpoint why you had called her in the first place. The intensity of seeing her earlier mixed with the disappointment of the lackluster party had left you missing her, even though you weren't entirely sure why.

"So, where am I taking you?" Hazel asked, her gaze shifting from the road to you. Strands of her brown hair were tousled by the wind.

Your buzz had faded, and with it, your initial courage waned. Swallowing hard, you hesitated before speaking. "Can I sleep at yours? Not— not like that," you hurriedly clarified, feeling a sudden need to explain. "It's just that Brittany has her new boyfriend over, and I could go back there, but I don’t really want to."

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” 

After a moment, Hazel hesitantly rested her hand on your thigh, both of you aware of the significance of the touch, even if neither acknowledged it. Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze, the subtle pressure made your tummy flip. Beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding lingered, hinting that this night might entail more than just a ride home.

-

Hazel's apartment is full of brown moving boxes, an aching reminder of why you broke up in the first place. 

“Wow, this place is pretty much all packed up.” You say, slowly walking through the place, eventually landing at the doorway into her bedroom. 

She nods in response, her face reflecting a mixture of anticipation and sadness, settling down at the end of her bed.

"So, when do you leave?" The question weighed heavily on your heart as you voiced it. You wished you didn't have to ask these questions, yearning for a time when you were part of her plans, not just a spectator.

“Two weeks. My Aunt is gonna meet me at JFK and help me move into my new place.”

You sighed, feeling brave, "I wish I had the date circled on my calendar, helping you move, or going with you." You say the last part quiet, mostly to yourself.

The conversation lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

You walked over to her dresser, where a mirror was propped up, decorated with photos of you two from a photobooth, still clinging to the glass. Your heart swelled with mixed emotions.

Hazel says your name, breaking you from your trance. 

“Come here,” she says. 

You walk over slowly, standing between her legs. Your hands rest on her shoulders and you take a deep breath.

With both of your gazes locked, her hands came up behind your thighs, gently grabbing them and pulling them on either side of her one by one so you’re straddling her. Her hand comes up to brush a piece of hair from your face. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby” Her voice is barely a whisper as she stares up at you, her eyes practically shimmering with your reflection, Her hands settle on your waist, the warmth of her touch sending a pang of guilt through you. This breakup was unlike any you'd experienced before, and the raw emotions lingered, making you hesitate for a moment.

Your hands move up to cradle her face, your thumb dragging on her bottom lip. Still maintaining intense eye contact, you slowly slip your finger into her mouth, watching her with a mix of awe and longing.

The silence as you stare at each other is anything but awkward. It was charged with the weight of shared mourning, each of you navigating the complexity of a relationship's end.

You removed your finger, and in response, she grabbed your head gently, guiding it down towards her face, her eyes locked onto yours. Your lips barely grazed each other, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear your rapid heartbeat. Hazel kissed you slowly at first, the touch of her lips sending a rush through your entire body. It quickly escalated, and there was a certain neediness to the way you both kissed, scared it could be the last time.

"Missed you," She whispered against your lips. Your mouths slid together, tongues pressing and exploring. The intensity of the kiss speaks volumes, like you were making up for lost time. Her lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses, setting your body on fire. 

“Fuck, Hazel.” It was almost embarrassing how quickly you melted beneath her touch. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” You say, your voice strained, a soft moan escaping your lips. You very much wanted to be doing this, you just thought you should at least try to seem like you had stronger breakup morals than you did. Her hands found the curve of your ass, and you instinctively started to rock your hips slowly back and forth, seeking some much-needed friction. 

"Do you want me to stop? Say the word, and I'll stop, pretty girl," she murmured against your neck, her open-mouthed kisses and gentle suction on your pulse point sending shivers down your spine. You didn't reply with words, but your fingers found her hair, silently urging her to continue. "I need an answer, babygirl," 

"Don't stop," you breathed, your voice catching in your throat. "Please, don't stop." Your hips still lazily moving on her. Her mouth was back on yours, deepening the kiss as she guided you both down, her hands roaming over the back of your legs and your ass. She tugged at the hem of your shirt, helping you out of it and leaving you in your black lace bra.  

"So fucking perfect. Missed you so fucking much," she confessed, 

"I missed you too, Haze, every day," you whined, 

"You ever think about me? she asked, breathless. "About this?" she continued 

You nodded, your breath hitching as you confessed, "All the time. Couldn't stop thinking about you, your hands, your mouth."

Her eyes darken as you sit up and effortlessly unhook your bra, leaning back down, your lips finding their way to her collarbone, marking a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. Your hands slowly creep their way up under her shirt, seeking permission. She nods, a silent affirmation, and you gently peel her shirt off over her head. Your stomach flips as you feel her arms effortlessly turn both of you over, trading places, landing on your back as she hovers over you. Her silver chain dangling above your face. It felt like your first time all over again, you felt a sense of shyness creeping over you under her gaze. Anticipation and excitement blooming in your chest.

“Fuck, look at you.” She says. The way she’s studying you makes you feel like the most beautiful thing to ever exist, as if every curve of your body is a masterpiece deserving of praise. Unable to contain your impatience, you pull her head down to meet your lips, your hips instinctively bucking up, frustration showing in the heated moment. Her fingers start to trail downwards under your skirt, meeting your clothed cunt. “You want me to fuck you? Hm?” She whispers in your ear, “Is that what you want baby?” She taunts, her fingers slowly grazing over your underwear. 

You nod vigorously, your enthusiasm evident. She responds by sucking on your neck again, sending shivers down your spine, your face flushed with heat. Your hands instinctively tug at her hair.

“Yes, Haze, please, fuck.” You arch your neck, pressing it firmly into the softness of the pillow beneath, a small gasp escaping your lips as you surrender to the moment. “Want your fingers inside of me.”

She makes a noise of desperation, her warm breath fanning over your face. “Gonna make you feel so good baby” She moves your underwear to the side, running her fingers through your slick folds. You gasp and she groans. “Wanna make it up to you.”

She tugs at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips as she guides it down along with your underwear. Hazel curses under her breath, “You’re so wet, it’s so fucking hot.” She plants kisses all over your chest, each one feeling like it could set you on fire. 

She slowly fucks you with her middle finger, the touch leaving you reeling. She adds her ring finger, her free hand snaking under your neck. Her fingers gently grab the side of your face while she fucks you, slightly tugging and grazing them against your parted lips. It's an intimate gesture, conveying both tenderness and desire.

Your hips buck up to meet her fingers. “Holy fuck” you groan as she pumps them faster into you. “Like that,” your voice is completely shot. Your entire body fizzed from the contact. You gently bite down on her fingers near your mouth while she places kisses all over your cheeks and your lips. Your head spun with thoughts of her - her mouth, her hair, her scent, Hazel was everywhere, all-encompassing. 

“Fuck, you’re so good” She half slurs, her voice wrecked, pupils blown and her lips parted. “So good for me.” She whispers, keeping her pace, dragging her digits through the wetness at your core.

Her mouth makes its way down your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses until she’s on her stomach between your thighs. Pumping faster, her lips suck at your clit. Her other hand presses down on your abdomen, holding you in place. You cup your aching tits, feeling them move with every motion she makes.

“Hazel,” you whine, “Haze, I-” Her fingers pick up the pace, curling inside of you. You tread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, the coil in your tummy growing tighter and tighter. 

“I know, honey, I know,” She says in response to your moans. “You sound so pretty baby, missed those sounds so much.” She keeps babbling, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look for her. 

“Fuck, don’t stop” you moan as she continues fucking you with her mouth and fingers, her pace alternating between teasing and fast, pushing you toward the edge. The contrast in her movements intensifies the pleasure, almost giving you want you want but flaking at the last moment, it’s torture.

“Shit, you’re almost there sweetheart” Hazel swears under her breath, voice laced with her own arousal. Her words drive you closer to the edge. You swear you can see stars as the overwhelming feeling shocks through your body. Your heart rate picks up immensley, pounding in your chest.

“Gonna come for me baby, yeah?” “Want you to come all over these fingers.” 

And you did. Your body clenches around her fingers, trembling, moans and curses spilling from your lips. Your eyes form with tears from the overstimulation. Her face landed in the crook of your neck, planting sloppy kisses and whispering reassurances as she guides you through the climax.

“Good girl, that’s it, honey. That’s it,” she murmurs.

Her fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you, riding out your high.

“Holy shit," you say once you've caught your breath. "Haze, c'mere." She lifts her head back up and you yank her face down to yours, tasting yourself on her lips as she lets out a soft moan. When you eventually pull away, both breathless, you lock eyes before bursting into disbelieving laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You whisper.

"I can," she says smugly. You playfully shove her before she collapses beside you. Both of you lie face to face, studying each other's features, committing them to memory, afraid you might forget what they look like. Her hand rests on your waist, mindlessly grazing up and down.

"What's the real reason you didn't come to the party? You ask. Were you with someone else?" Hazel shakes her head.

She pauses before speaking, "I thought if there was any chance of you being there, that I was gonna walk in and maybe see you with someone else. There was no way I could've handled that. I've been distracting myself with other girls, yeah, but..." Her voice trails off. "You have no idea how in love with you I still am." Her voice cracking with emotion. You can see a tear forming in Hazel’s eye, glimmering in the low light of the room.

“Hazel..” Your own voice slightly breaking. You reach out and drag your thumb delicately against her cheek, wiping the stray tear away. Your heart is breaking with a mixture of guilt and longing for the girl lying beside you.

“I still play pretend, in my head.” She whispers.

You smile, your hand resting on her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze, a signal of encouragement for her to keep going. 

“I picture us, living together in our apartment in the city.” 

Hazel was moving to New York City to work for her aunt after graduation. The reason you broke up, neither of you wanting to do long distance.

“Waking up next to you everyday, cooking you breakfast, fucking you on the countertop for hours” You both laugh at that. “Ever since I met you, I’ve always pictured you just being there. And these past few months…” 

“Absolute hell.” You finish for her. 

“Absolute hell.” She agrees. 

You take her hand and squeeze it, a silent form of reassurance. 

She shifts slightly and hovers over you again, brushing your damp hair off your forehead with her hand, and scans your face. “I don’t want this to end” she whispers. 

You wish you could capture this moment, tuck it away, and replay it whenever you wanted. You’ve been waiting for her to say these exact words for the past three months, you just never thought it would happen. The reason for your break-up still heavily taunts the back of your mind. 

“I love you” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. Taking her face in your hand and capturing her in another kiss. She kisses you sweetly and desperately.

You pull away, gently coaxing her back towards you, and cuddle her into your chest, assuming the role of the big spoon.

She nestles into your arms, finding comfort in the warmth of your body. With a soft sigh, she murmurs, "I wish we had more time.”

You tighten your hold around her, "We'll figure something out, I promise," you whisper, though you aren’t even sure of the reality of your own words. You choose to let go of the uncertainties, preferring to revel in the present moment. She looks back at you, and you kiss her forehead, a silent promise to cherish what you have, even if time feels fleeting.

“God damn full moon.” You mutter to yourself, remembering your earlier conversation at the party.

“What?” She asks.

“Nothing.” You say. “Don’t worry about it.” You kiss her shoulder, settling into the softness of the moment.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

tagging @astroph1les @vster0769

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Divisa; One

Parings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word Count; 3,052

Themes; reality hopping, alternative universe (same universe, just things are a little different), doppelganger, multiple endings, slowburn

Warnings; swearing, maybe an existential crisis or two

Notes; Hey guys! Divisa is finally out!! This won't be following the original story at all. Just bits and pieces here and there. This is going to be different compared to “Twist of Fate”– it's also going to be shorter. I'd say possibly fifteen chapters? There will be five different endings; Four endings will be with each love interest and the fifth will be with all of them. The original MC will not be a white lotus (aka someone who seems sweet, but is actually a bitch) and certain things will be changed. This is based on the universe of LADS, but the whole in-game story doesn't mean anything– unless I mention it specifically! You'll see what I mean.

It’s gonna have a bit of a slow start, but I hope you stick around for it regardless! If there's any smut, it'll be in the endings. So, this is only rated as mature purely for all of the swearing! (ps I'm sorry for naming the reader's father, but I felt it was necessary to do so)

Also! This will have a sporadic upload schedule, so if I finish a chapter, I'll post it soon after. There's no specific day I'll upload this <3 Hope that's okay.

prev || next

☆ Masterlist ☆

Divisa

//Latin and Italian for: Divided//

||adj.||

Split into parts; separated

Not united; in disagreement

○o。. .。o○

“Seriously, how much shit does Grandma have up here?” Another box joins the stack of five and you wipe sweat from your forehead with your sleeve.

It was your day off today and while you'd love to spend it relaxing, instead you offered to help your elderly grandma clean out her attic— because “you're her favourite grandchild”, her words…You were her only grandkid.

You had already been there for well over an hour, cleared out five boxes so far, and grandma still wasn't home yet. She was at the farmer's market before you even arrived, so she should've been back by now, but you know your grandma is a chatterbox. She'd yap her whole life away if she could.

You take your jacket off and tie it around your waist, slinging your mini-backpack on once more– it's a habit to always have it on you. You never know when you might need something. Like your chapstick, hand sanitizer, a pen…It's almost a mystery how the bag isn't heavy as hell with how much junk is in it–

You head back up the stairs and glance around at the almost empty attic. You wondered what exactly grandma was going to do with the place after it was clean– maybe she'd turn it into a room for you? You shake your head at the thought and go back to moving boxes.

With a heavy box in hand, you head back toward the stairs. The box slips just slightly within your clammy hands and you bring your knee up to help keep a hold of it. This, however, causes you to fall. Your shoulder slams into the sharp corner of an even heavier box and something on top of the box makes a loud noise as it hits the hardwood floor.

You suck in a deep breath to disguise the pain in your shoulder and quickly roll over to check on the fallen object, internally hoping it wasn't something really valuable. But once you spot it, you're confused.

It was…a jewelry box?

Your grandma wasn't one to wear jewelry, so this was out of the ordinary. The wooden box also seems pretty…old.

You pick up the weathered box and lift the lid to make sure the hinge still works. That's whenever you notice something wrapped in a cloth.

You set the box to the side and pick up the cloth. It was hefty, so there must be some kind of jewelry wrapped up in it. Maybe a necklace?

You unwrap it and before you can look at the necklace, a signature at the corner of the cloth catches your eye.

It was your grandpa's name.

You have never personally met the man, but your grandma loved to tell stories about him. The stories were a little…odd, but you would blame that on her being old and the possible beginnings of dementia. She would tell tales of another time period entirely, how grandpa was a prince and she was wrongly deemed as a saint, how she had to run away with your mother and grandpa couldn't come back here with them…

While it was a beautiful story, you often wondered if it was just a coping mechanism and something bad had happened to your grandpa, but you didn't dare ask your mother.

It seems as if the men in your family were never present, so maybe…there's a curse that only affects the men? Seeing as your father wasn't present either, but your mom had so many pictures of him. You even kept a picture of the two of them in your wallet.

Those thoughts aside, it seems like grandpa was an actual person, at least…even though this cloth– handkerchief, you realize– appeared to be just as old as the box itself, but that can't be possible.

You shake your head and set the handkerchief back into the jewelry box, turning your attention to the necklace.

It was honestly a rather beautiful gemstone necklace. It almost seemed familiar somehow, like you've seen it in a Marvel movie or something. It was a deep red-wine coloured stone with silver wire coiled around it like a vine. It hung from a thin, silver chain.

It was pretty and you did love collecting shiny things, so maybe you could ask your grandma if you could keep it. You pocket the necklace for now and, as you go to stand back up, you spot a piece of folded up paper on the floor. You grab the paper between two fingers and open it up. The tiny scrap of paper only has four words written on it.

The Reality Stone || Aether

Aether?

That word seems…oddly familiar to you. Why– oh, right!

Your phone buzzes with a notification.

‘Rafayel is waiting for you’

A scoff slips from your lips and you shake your head. You did need to check up on your game today and do your dailies…and you did make a huge dent in the attic, so you're sure your grandma would allow you to rest for the remainder of the day. Then, tomorrow, she could help you with the rest!

With your decision made, you put your phone away and descend down the stairs. But then, your pocket feels oddly warm. Intensely so– It's like it was burning a hole through your jeans and you pause mid-step to grab the necklace from your pocket, but you miss a step with your heel and you feel your body fall forward.

Panic spreads throughout your chest, because you know this won't be a pain-free tumble. You'd be lucky to escape with just a sprained ankle or wrist. Your eyes squeeze shut on impulse and instead of your body slamming into hardwood, you felt a face full of…grass?

“What the fuc—”

As you sit up in a panic, your body freezes.

…how the hell did you end up outside?

You scan your surroundings, but you don't recognize where you are.

You're surrounded by jasmines. Beautiful, fragrant flowers as far as the eye can see. A couple of scattered cherry blossom trees, but you were not in a forest. You were just on the outskirts of a city.

With a sigh, you take the reason for your troubles out of your pocket. The necklace. You give the red gem the dirtiest look you can muster before reluctantly clipping it around your neck. If this is what sent you here, you might as well keep it safe, until you figure out how to get back home. Then, you grab your phone.

Maybe…it just sent you to the next city over and your grandma could come pick you up.

You take a deep breath and unlock your phone, but your thumb freezes before you can tap anything.

“The date…What in the..” You can't even finish your sentence. You were so confused and panic was beginning to sink in. “It's 2048?! This…must be a joke, right?”

You rake your fingers through your hair and rise to your feet. “It's fine. Let's try calling grandma,” you murmur to yourself. You try to keep your breathing calm, but you can already feel yourself beginning to panic as you hold the phone up to your ear.

It rings…and rings…and rings…

“This number is no longer in service—”

“Whatever. Seriously, whatever. This is fine. Great, even. Everything is a-ohhhkay. Perfectly normal.” You pocket your phone and rest your head in your hand for a moment, then you take a deep breath and nod your head.

“Alright, I should head to the city first. No use freaking out. It's not like that'll get me home any faster.” You clench your hand into a fist and desperately hope you'll at least be able to reach the city before nightfall…

…The good news is, the city wasn't far at all. Well, it was far, but not three-hours-away type of far! So, you made it well before dark. According to your phone, it was only 5pm so you still had time to find a place for the night. Hopefully whatever place you decide to stay will take your cash…but who knows maybe 2024 money is outdated in 2048.

“I'm sorry, we don't take this form of payment anymore.”

This was the third hotel you've checked tonight…You take a seat on a bench near a large water fountain and hold your head in your hands. Even if it's twenty-four years in the future, they should still take your cash! This is insane–

As you tilt your head back to wallow in your sadness, you notice a billboard in the distance and you can feel the blood drain from your face.

“No, no, no—”

You whip out your phone, making sure you have all your apps before you click on one specific one. You quickly tap the screen, murmuring, “Come on…come on..” And once the game finally loads in, you navigate to the guidance tab.

“The Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034…fourteen years ago. Fourteen plus 2034,” you nervously mutter as you chew on your thumbnail. “That's 2048…that billboard clearly said Linkon City.” You hold your hand over your mouth as dread fills your stomach.

You weren't in the real world…of course that's why your cash wouldn't work. Were you in a coma? Did the fall hurt your head?

No…if that were the case, you wouldn't have taken your bag with you, you wouldn't feel so panicky and cold right now…or could you? You could be self aware and in a coma. But you didn't want to be, so you decided to brush the most realistic thought aside.

“They recognized this money, so maybe…” In the real world, old money could sell for a lot. Especially when it comes to collectors. So maybe you could find someone who would buy all of your old cash. That would definitely work for now, but what about in the future? You'd need money for however long you're going to be here…ugh, does that mean you need to find a job?

Wait…

Wanderers and evols.

There were creatures here.

The thought sends shivers down your spine and you shrug your bag off to put your jacket back on.

As long as you didn't go into a rift you should be fine, right? You're almost positive wanderers never came out to terrorize people—

Your thoughts are cut off by a loud scream and your head jerks in the direction of it with wide eyes.

There was a big ass blue portal in the middle of the street and fucking creatures were coming out of it!?

What the hell was your luck today??

You sling your bag back on, getting ready to run before a bright light blinds you and you shield your eyes. Squinting them to try and see where the light was coming from.

Once the light faded, your heart stuttered in your chest.

A tall man stood in the center of the road as the blue rift dissipates. His wispy, ash-blonde hair blowing in the wind as he turns his head to the side to talk to his companion next to him. From where you are, you can just barely make out his blue eyes.

Xavier?

Then…who was next to him—

Y…You?

You slowly pull up your hood as you stare at the uncanny sight.

While she clearly didn't share the same hair or body type as you, everything else was…identical. Her eyes, her face…It was like looking in a mirror.

You were the main character, but you were not, at the same time.

“Y/n, are you sure you're not overexerting yourself?” You could barely hear his voice over the wind, but your breath catches in your throat at your name coming from Xavier’s lips.

“I'm fine, I promise.” You– She replies with a small, almost pained, smile.

“This is some bullshit,” you murmur under your breath, tapping your finger against your leg as you think about the unfairness of the situation.

Seriously!? You were brought here and you– gosh, you really need to come up with a name for her before this gets confusing. Gemini? Sure, that works.

You were brought here and Gemini was already here?? It's so unfair to have two yous in the same timeline, especially when one already had a head start!

The male leads would definitely sacrifice you for her. They'd probably even tear out your heart, thinking it would fix hers.

You tug at your hair with a small groan of annoyance.

Fuck. Fuck–

Deep breaths...

“Alright. I guess I'm staying up tonight.” You finally compose yourself and set your sight on a neon sign just across the road. “The Nest seems like a good place to start. I could sell this old cash and hopefully get enough for a room tonight.” You pull out a black face mask from your bag and put it on so only your eyes are uncovered.

You'd have to be careful since you and Gemini were identical. You really didn't want to get kidnapped instead of her. Being the main character of an otome game is tough work and, honestly, she can have it. You didn't want to get involved.

It's not like the male leads would ever spare a second glance at you, so you'd surely be fine…Right?

☆ミ

The bell overheard chimes as you step inside the dimly lit bar. The smell of cheap liquor and smoke hitting your nose through the mask and you hold back the urge to cough.

Act cool…

You take a seat at the bar, drumming your fingers against the marbled counter as an employee makes his way over to you.

Without saying a word, you slide a 2017 quarter toward him and he raises a brow before placing an embossed business card down in front of you.

Okay, so if you remember correctly, whatever you write on here will disappear and then, the bartender will take the card and leave. If you have someone who is interested, he'll be back with a drink for you.

You grab a pen from the table and quickly scribble down on the paper.

‘Anyone interested in old money’

Honestly, you should probably be a bit careful, but you had no other way to gain information besides taking a few risks.

The ink disappears and the bartender takes the card, nodding at you before making his way to the back.

You just hope the glass wasn't black, though you doubt it. If the glass was black, it would mean you'd need to pay a high price for information– Perhaps your life. However, since you were only looking for a potential buyer, the chances of the glass being black were slim to none.

The employee comes back with a dark green shot glass and sets it down.

You look up at him with a raised brow and the employee decides to take pity on you, tapping the counter next to the glass. “Green means someone is interested and they're willing to pay a lot.” Then, he jerks his head in the direction of the stairs– the same stairs you recall Rafayel walking up before the main character got caught in one of the more recent chapters.

“After you drink this, head upstairs and it's the first door on your right.”

You nod your head and turn your body as you pull down your mask. You can't afford to let anyone see your face. You quickly down the shot and pull your mask back up, the liquid burning as it goes down your throat.

As an extra payment, you give the bartender a 2008 penny– borrowing change from your grandma was good in times like this. You had so many old coins, though your cash was closer to 2024. Either way, you still be able to make some money since they'd be over twenty-four years old.

Then, you leave the bar and head up the stairs. Your hand lightly hovering above the railing until you reach the top, then you head into the room on the right.

It appeared to be a VIP room.

An angled couch lined one half of the wall with a short table in the center. A few unopened drinks and a suitcase sat atop the table and in the corners of the room, near another door were two men. Bodyguards, maybe?

You take your seat, putting your mini-bookbag on your lap so you could be ready to show off your cash– glad that your mask covered half of your face because you were starting to feel a little nervous.

After a few minutes of waiting, your nervousness turns to annoyance.

You roll your sleeves up and pull your hood down as if to show the bodyguard that you're safe and they can let their guy in now. Then, you lean back on the couch and cross your arms over your chest.

Seriously, how long would this dick keep you waiting—

The door across the room swings open and someone…familiar steps inside.

Well, that's just peachy, isn't it?

You try not to let your surprise show and sit up straight as the white haired man takes a seat in front of you and makes himself comfortable.

“You seem a little too young to be in possession of old money. Did you steal it perhaps?” As Sylus speaks with one hand, you can feel nervousness sinking in once more. You clear your throat and pull out your wallet, tossing it toward him.

“See for yourself.” You jerk your chin, hands resting on your knees. “I've even got old coins.” You take out your coin purse. “My family used to collect them, but since I've got nowhere to go…I might as well sell them now.” You shrug, doing your best to concoct a story on the spot.

“Hmm…” Sylus pulls the bills out of your wallet, holding them under a light, before he nods. Though his eyes do falter on something in your wallet.

You know it’s not your ID or anything, since you made sure to take that out beforehand, but maybe the picture of your mom and dad?

As if to prove you right, Sylus takes the picture out, holding it between two fingers as he flips it over to inspect the back.

“What's a Deepspace Hunter's daughter doing at the Nest?” His eyes flick toward you and he raises an eyebrow.

A…

Huh?

I hope y'all liked this chapter! It's going a bit slow, but it should be fine! I'm honestly not sure where to go from here, I'm just making it up on the spot. I have a loose plot from beginning to end, but I don't really have anything in the middle. So...

It'll be fine!

I'm sure y'all didn't expect your father to be from this universe! (I'll apologize again for giving him a name lmao) I'm also gonna say sorry beforehand if Sylus or anyone else seems a bit out of character— I'm doing my best.

Taglist; @ladyparamount , @the-love-of-my-life96 , @rui-drawsbox , @deputy-videogamer

[plurapony]

Heyo! Today I want to talk about source separation with fictive alters!

Let's start off with fictives are NOT their sources, and for someone outside the system to treat them as such - it's weird.

However not every alter has a separation from their source, and that's okay so I want to talk about this more using personal anecdotes from the Pony Plaza System!

Let's take Mabel, Mabel is a fictive from Gravity Falls and whilst we believe she's aware that she is separate from the character, she prefers to live as if she is the character. And there's no problem with that, she's silly and joyful and very happy living with the rest of the folks in Happy Smiles Land (one of our subgroups)

But then on the other side of the spectrum, we have Shy and Rainbow - they are fictive alters of Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony. They share similarities with their sources, sure BUT they are both boys and are completely different than them and don't view them as "this is me"

It's not always that cut and dry though, for example Finn is a fictive alter from Adventure Time. He doesn't think he is his source, but still doesn't know who he is entirely if he is not his source. Both Navi and Hina tend to get a lot derealization from existing seperate from their sources, Navi (Serial Experiments Lain) is gleefully delusional about not being real whilst Hina (Mafuyu Asahina from Project Sekai) often falls down an existential crisis every time she thinks about the reality of not being real.

So with those anecdotal examples, you can see that they all quite different from eachother despite being all fictive alters. The takeaway from this post is ALL fictive alters are different and have different ideas and preferences in terms of source separation - even when inside the same system. Assumptions with these disorder are never a good thing and you should always treat alters like the individuals they are.

[thepersonperson]

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (The unique way Sukuna is damned to eternal miscommunication and existentialism in the modern era.)

Notes before we start.

1) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility. 

2) I need professional help.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

I want to get one thing out of the way. This is going to be a weird write-up because I'm hardly going to cite the manga.

I'm basically posting this as a reference for myself. All of this occurred so I could properly lean into the old man aspect of Sukuna for a fic I'm writing. (Aka I read too much on actual Heian Era history and now you all have to suffer.)

People often joke that Sukuna is an old man, but I'm here to tell you he is so out of touch and out of time that he might as well be existing in a never-ending Lovecraftian nightmare where time has stopped being real.

It's going to take a while to explain why this is the case so hear me out, maybe?

Fundamental Measurements

What is a unit of measurement? And where did these units come from? If you've taken an entry level physics class, you've already been through the existential crisis answering these questions caused.

But for the uninitiated, have you ever sat down and asked yourself why you know what a foot/meter is? Everyone has kind of agreed they represent a specific distance, and depending on where you were raised, you'll prefer one over the other.

I'm an American. I'm also an engineer. I have to use SI Units and Freedom Units all the time. Differing distance units are things I can easily conceptualize. I understand what a meter is. It's like 3.3 feet.

Every time I hear meter, my brain does the conversion to 3.3 feet because I was raised with feet as my base unit of measurement. But oddly enough, when I hear 100 meters, I instantly know how far that is. This is because I was a sprinter for all of Jr. High and High School. When someone says 100 meters, I picture the got danged torture stretch of the 300 meter hurdles.

The point of this is to establish that early life experiences become a reference point when thinking about things as an adult. If I didn't run track or do engineering, I would be a "What the fuck is a kilometer?" type American.

Measurements of Miscommunication

If you couldn't tell, I wrote the previous section with Non-Americans in mind. I specified the units of measurement I was using for distance because I understand people outside of the US could be reading my post.

But what happens if I don't do that? What happens when people assume everyone's units of measurement are the same as theirs? Allow me to recall a conversation I'm sure most of you Non-Americans have had with an American on the internet and vice versa.

Friend, Non-American: Ugh it's 40 degrees out today.

Me, American: Dang that sounds pretty cold, don't forget to wear a jacket.

Friend, Non-American: What the hell do you meant that's cold???

Me, American and remembering where they live: OH YOU MEAN CELSIUS. That's 104 in Freedom Units.

Friend, Non-American: 104 IS SUPER DEAD IN CELSIUS.

(40°F is 4.4°C btw.)

As you can see, these kind of assumptions relay drastically different information. 40 degrees without a unit is read as cold or hot depending on where a person is from. It also doesn't help that the conversion between these units is nonsense. The vast majority of people can't do °C = (°F − 32) × 5/9 off the top of their head.

I, for the life of me, cannot comprehend Celsius. Temperature is too abstract a concept for my brain to swap systems. I think there's a reason for this.

Unlike distance, you can't see the temperature with your body. You can feel it, sure, but sometimes you step into a walk-in freezer and come out feeling like everything is warmer than it is. Relativity like that won't affect how you see distance. A foot is a foot, a meter is a meter, and they will always look those distances. You can check them easily.

Temperature? You need a thermometer to check. Or you assume the generalized data on a weather app is accurate. And things like humidity can fudge with your perception it.

This is all to say that my brain assigned the number 40 as cold. It being a hot number is barely comprehensible because my foundation is it being cold.

(If you were wondering, yes this is why I write out dates like Month DD, YYYY. It's so no one has to look at 3/4/YYYY and guess if they're supposed to be reading it as March 4th or April 3rd because they can't tell what country I'm from.)

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Well my dear reader, my question to you is: What units of measurement were used in the Heian Era?

Forget about distance and temperature. How was time measured in the Heian era?

Heian Era Timekeeping

Ancient Japan ran on something called a Lunisolar Calendar. This is a type of calendar based around moon phases and sun positioning hence, lunisolar.

Taken directly from Wikipedia:

"A lunisolar calendar is a calendar in many cultures, incorporating lunar calendars and solar calendars. The date of lunisolar calendars therefore indicates both the Moon phase and the time of the solar year, that is the position of the Sun in the Earth's sky. If the sidereal year (such as in a sidereal solar calendar) is used instead of the solar year, then the calendar will predict the constellation near which the full moon may occur. As with all calendars which divide the year into months there is an additional requirement that the year have a whole number of months. In some cases ordinary years consist of twelve months but every second or third year is an embolismic year, which adds a thirteenth intercalary, embolismic, or leap month.

Their months are based on the regular cycle of the Moon's phases. So lunisolar calendars are lunar calendars with – in contrast to them – additional intercalation rules being used to bring them into a rough agreement with the solar year and thus with the seasons."

Did you notice something funky? A leap month has to be accounted for with this calendar. And it gets worse. The duration between leap months vary because the earth's path around the sun varies.

Under this calendar system, instead of a fixed interval of time always passing for a year, everything is variable. This means conversion to a modern date, which uses fixed time intervals, is not a one to one thing. It's kind of like trying to convert February 29th to non-leap years. Some people born on this day celebrate on February 28th and others will use March 1st. Legally speaking in the US, March 1st is used for tallying. (And if you've seen the Pirates of Penzance, this is an actual plot point when trying to determine a character's contract clause.) So imagine that but for months, years, and hours all the time.

I exclude days from this issue because Heian Japan agreed that a day was as day. They don't shrink or grow. The 12 hours a day always pass! And yes I mean 12 hours a day.

Heian Hours

For the rest of this discussion I'm referencing this lovely source by Katherine M. Lawrence. Everything quoted is from here.

So... let's get into that 12 hour day thing.

"Days consisted of 12 hours based on the 12 zodiac animals, each Heian hour being equal to about��two modern hours. In a moment I will get to why I deliberately used the word “about.”

Days were divided into six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of darkness. Instead of midnight, the day started at daybreak. Only in the Meiji times, in 1867, did the day change at midnight.

What is fascinating is that there were always six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of night irrespective of the time of year. In modern times, with mechanical and even atomic clocks, we accept that more daylight falls in summer than in winter. We might turn back or move our clocks forward twice a year. In Japan it was done 24 times a year—approximately every 14 to 16 days—so that the first light would always come during the first “hour” of the day, which was known as the Hour of the Rabbit, sometimes called the Hour of the Hare. Dusk would come at the Hour of the Bird, sometimes called the Hour of the Rooster.

If we were to measure the actual length of winter days using a modern timepiece, the Hour of the Rabbit would be shorter than two hours because the relatively shorter total daylight in winter would still be distributed into six parts.

The six nighttime hours in winter would absorb the extra darkness and be proportionately longer than the nominal two hours of our 24-hour clock.

All this kept the astrologers and priests busy, because every 14 to 16 days, the clocks had to be adjusted. “More on that in a minute,” which by the way, is an idiom the Japanese of the era would not have used, because our modern concept of sixty minutes to an hour and sixty seconds to a minute is highly tied to mechanical clocks."

In summary, Heian Hours quite literally grow and shorten depending on the season. That 1 Heian Hour=2 Modern Hours conversion only works when daylight hours are the exact same as nighttime hours.

But it gets even weirder than that. Rather than counting from 1 to 12 for daytime and nighttime like we might on our modern clocks, Heian Japan counted down from 9 to 4 twice. This results in a clock conversion that looks like this.

And remember, this is only accurate when daylight hours are equal to nighttime hours!

It should also be noted that these hours were announced by the ringing of temple bells throughout the day and the night. Everyone relied on these temples to keep the time at all times.

But wait, there's more! (Heian Months and Solar Stems)

This is where timekeeping really starts to fall apart in terms of my understanding of it so Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence is going to explain it.

"In the Heian period (and until 1867), each month began on the dark moon, also know as the new moon. The full moon would come on the 15th day and the month would end approximately on the 28th, sometimes the 29th, and even the 30th day of the month.

Japanese did not have the western concept of the seven-day week, though they certainly could count to seven. What they had instead was the concept of the solar stem, of which there were 24."

"The first solar stem of the Japanese year starts on the first day of the year: Start of Spring, which, unlike the Western calendar, is not  in March. The Last Solar Stem (the 24th) ends on the last day of Major Cold. The beginning of the year in Japan, as measured by the Western calendar, would start somewhere between mid-January and mid-February, the variation resulting from aligning the solar stems with the lunar months."

In summary, Heian Months may be about the same length as Modern Months, but they are strictly based on the moon phases and the 24 Solar Stems are anchored around them.

This leaves us with a conversion calendar that looks like this. (Edited to number the Solar Stems.)

And remember, this is approximate. The Solar Stems do not always align with these exact Georgian calendar dates.

The lunar months, of course, do not use our calendar date names. I present a summary table based on several people's documentation (Source 1, Source 2, Source 3) since sadly the other blogger didn't include them:

(Jan-Feb) Mutsuki (睦月) Month of Harmony/Affection 

(Feb-Mar) Kisaragi (如月) Month of Changing of Clothes

(Mar-Apr) Yayoi (弥生) Month of Plant Growth/New Life

(Apr-May) Uzuki (卯月) Month of Deutzia Flowers

(May-Jun) Satsuki (皐月) Month of Planting Rice

(Jun-Jul) Minazuki (水無月) Month of Water/No Gods 

(Jul-Aug) Fumizuki (文月) Month of Literature

(Aug-Sep) Hazuki (葉月) Month of Leaves  

(Sep-Oct) Nagatsuki (長月) The Long Month    

(Oct-Nov) Kannazuki (神無月) Month of Gods    

(Nov-Dec) Shimotsuki (霜月) Month of Frost     

(Dec-Jan) Shiwasu (師走) Month of Running Priests  

This table merges multiple sources because the translations of Kanji differ and it's good to see how/why these differences occur. There's also the issue of the bloggers presenting the months like 1-to-1 conversions.

I want to stress that these Lunar Months start and end anywhere from the middle to the late parts of Georgian Months. This is why Source 1 claims Mutsuki=Feb while Sources 2 & 3 claim Mutsuki=Jan. Source 1 chose Feb because the majority of Mutsuki occurs in Feb while Sources 2 & 3 chose Jan because Mutsuki technically starts in late Jan.

Now that I've laid all this out, I'm sure you have the following burning question:

How the hell do you convert modern time to Heian time???

I turn to Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence again for guidance.

"If this post gets some interest, I will continue and explain how the author calculates..."

There's no guidance.

However! There is an example of a conversion without the explanation.

"Thus, we know as Yamabuki and Tomoe ride up to the Shayō Tōge, the Sunset Pass, at Sunset on May 11, 1172, in the middle of a freak snowstorm, the author can say with some assurance that it happened at the Hour of the Bird on the 13th day of the 7th solar stem, two days past the full moon of the Flower Month."

So I'm going to try to figure out how this occurred using the information I've been given.

Hour of the Bird: This one is easy! The bird hour is the official sunset hour.

7th Solar Stem: According to the chart that's between late April and early May.

13th Day: Since Solar Stems are about 14-16 days this means it's almost the 8th Solar Stem which starts around May 21st.

2 days past the full moon of the Flower Month: "Flower Month" is not on my chart. From what I know about kanji, I think this is a simplification of Uzuki (卯月) or the the Month of Deutzia Flowers. This aligns with the month of May.

This is where I give up. I legitimately do not know where to go from here. ...And that's my point.

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Before I completely lose you, my dearest most patient reader, please consider the following:

You wake up in a place where time is counted backwards and the hours pass faster than you've ever known them to. The things you use to tell the time don't exist or are in a form you no longer can recognize.

You see a clock face that counts in the wrong direction to numbers you've never seen used for time. The sounds it makes are familiar and foreign all at once. When you try to use the times and dates everyone you ever knew understood instantly, you're met with complete confusion. No one except a few dedicated scholars know how to convert your concept of time to theirs.

This is how Sukuna experiences time in the modern era.

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (Sukuna almost fumbled his date with Gojo.)

Remember all my rambling about my own experiences with trying to understand SI Units as a Freedom Units user and my complete and utter failure to convert Heian Time to Modern Time? This is to establish that on a fundamental level, it does not matter that Sukuna has access to his vessel's memories. These foreign units mean nothing without a conversion reference.

Yuta in Gojo's body showed us how the memory recollection process works. You see them like movie and must draw your understandings from them.

We also learn from Sukuna that he tends to ignore memories that aren't relevant to his sorcery. So something mundane like telling the time isn't his priority. (I often think about how Sukuna has been watching Yuji and everyone around him use a cell phone but he still calls it a photography device.)

(He's lying about the flowers though.)

So this leads us to Sukuna and Gojo setting the date for their battle...

When Sukuna heard Kenjaku say November 19th and Gojo say December 24th his brain was the equivalent of TV static. It's very likely that Sukuna had to rely on Kenjaku to ensure he showed up at the right day. (Kenjaku, of course, is an exception here because instead of drawing from memories, Kenny got to live through the transitional period of the Lunisolar Calendar to the Georgian Calendar and had 100+ years to adjust to it. And now that I think about it, the Culling Game using days to count time is probably Kenjaku being considerate of this generational difference.)

It's a really good thing that Gojo didn't specify the time because that would've made things worse. See the following examples using the handy dandy conversion chart as a reference...

Gojo: Let's do this at 10.

Sukuna: ???

Gojo: Let's do this at 9.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 2 hours late at 11 am.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 8.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 5 hours late at 1 pm.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 7.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 8 hours late at 3 pm*

Gojo: Let's do this at 6.

Sukuna: *Shows up on time?* (It’s December in the northern hemisphere so the sun comes up after 6. Sukuna might still show up a bit late.)

These examples also assume that Sukuna can still gauge Heian Hours accurately. That too is up in the air because the hourly bells that sounded the Heian Hours no longer exist. The temples and bells may remain, but their use for timekeeping has changed entirely.

Since it's likely he spent a large portion of his early life in a temple, there's a chance Sukuna has a strong internalized sense of Heian Hours. But how many people do you know that can accurately feel an hour pass on vibes alone?

There isn't any point in the manga where Sukuna indicates he knows what Georgian Month is, let alone a Modern Hour. I think that's why he's just waiting on top of the building for Gojo to show up. The day starts for him when the sun comes up, not midnight. He probably figured that as long as he was out there by dawn, eventually his date would show up.

There's something strangely adorable about that. Sukuna didn't go out massacring others for funsies or wreak havoc after Gojo was unsealed. He just waited a whole month and gambled on their connection starting the death date on time.

How Sukuna Might Tell the Time

When Sukuna uses time units, he only uses minutes or seconds.

Well...the narrator implies he's able to use seconds.

This makes sense despite the Heian Era not having minutes or seconds. They're foundational units rather than a unit he needs to convert to something mentally. Because they are so drastically smaller than other Heian units of time, it's easier for the brain to calibrate itself to them.

This means that if one wanted to communicate a duration of time to Sukuna, it would be better to use minutes or seconds.

For example, rather than saying "see you in an hour", "see you in 60 minutes" would be better. Otherwise Sukuna is going to default to 1 Heian Hour and show up approximately 2 hours late.

Another example, telling Sukuna you'll "be gone for a few hours" means to him that you'll be gone for most of the day. At this point it would be better to reference a duration of an activity he's familiar with than use minutes. Sukuna watched some of those movies with Yuji. "I'll be gone for 1-2 movies" will make a little more sense to him.

Funnily enough though, telling Sukuna that you work a 9-5 wouldn't cause a miscommunication for duration. That's 4 Heian Hours or about 8 Modern Hours. He probably thinks it's weird you start working in the middle of the day and into the night though.

How Sukuna tells time for himself is likely similar to someone lost in the wilderness. He'll mostly be relying on environmental cues like moon phase, sun position, constellations, and flora growth. (Which ironically, climate change affecting flora growth patterns would throw him off even more. I can't even imagine how he'd feel about light pollution stealing away the stars on top of that. But at least the moon is still there!)

But as you can see, the normal methods of precise timekeeping are next to impossible for Sukuna to use and this discrepancy is ripe for miscommunication. This has a lot of comedy and horror potential in fanworks. (Hence me writing this as a resource.)

How Sukuna Used to Tell the Time

After doing all this research, I found myself viewing Sukuna's theme Malevolent Shrine a little differently. I always found it to be a quite sad sounding song for his character. Villains as violent and fierce as Sukuna tend to get battle themes that reflect that. In comparison to high energy bangers like One-Winged Angel (Sephiroth Final Fantasy), Avalon (Ultimate Lifeform Kars Jojo), or The Last Mission (Murem vs Netero Hunter x Hunter), Malevolent Shrine is rather somber and unfocused.

This theme opens and closes with bells. The opening in particular feels chaotic with how the different bells seem to overlap and overwhelm each other. But if you listen closely, you'll hear the gong of a temple bell that keeps rhythm by marking the start of a new measure. Using this bell, it becomes easier to count the beats, even when it eventually disappears in the middle section.

His theme to me now feels like an echo of what Sukuna used to know before he was thrust into a world that is no longer in sync with his very concept of time.

"Interestingly, the Japanese “witching hour” is not at midnight, but at nominally 2 AM (1 AM–3 AM) and is known as the Hour of the Ox."

I don't really know where else to put this. Sukuna on his throne of ox skulls, a representation of the witching hour where reality falls apart and spirits come out to play.

How all this might look in action. (Defending my questionable writing choices.)

Though everything I've given is plenty enough for people to run wild with in fanworks, I would like to give examples of it in my own. My type of autism is one where it's easier for me have something to use as a direct reference. (Clear and concise instructions please.) So I want to provide that for anyone else wired similarly.

Context: The fic I'm writing is from Sukuna's POV so I've taken great care to avoid him using modern timekeeping terms. I have a timeline for everything outlined, but I refuse to make that clear to the reader so they can get the Sukuna Experience™.

Other characters will reference the time and give the reader little windows into what date it possibly is, but otherwise they have to infer it themselves.

But because I myself use modern time, I caught mistakes I made in an early chapter... (Aka before I realized Heian Timekeeping is Extremely Different.)

Old Sentence: The year is 2019.

Revised Sentence: The year is 2019 for the Common Era.

(Heian Japan was mimicking China so I'm assuming that the numbered years restarted with each era since I couldn't find how years were kept.)

Old Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten for the past 5 hours and 38 minutes.

Revised Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten since the hour of the dragon—338 minutes and counting.

(This one is self evident I think.)

But even within this chapter, I obscured the date by having Sukuna observe his surroundings. I don't think it's a good example so I'll use a different one from an unpublished draft.

...it occurs under the same wisteria and same midday sun. The branches and buds have begun to green and swell before the Flowering Moon has reached its full, an indication that the bloom will come early.

Wisterias bloom in late April around the time of full moon. April aligns with Yayoi or the Month of Plant Growth/New Life. I worked under the assumption that the moons can be called by their month names kind of like Native American moon names. But Plant Growth/New Life Moon didn't sound good to me so I changed it to Flowering.

So I do have a very specific date for when this scene occurs, but Sukuna doesn't know so the reader doesn't know. The best you can guess is sometime in April but you have to know when Wisterias typically bloom and what a Flowering Moon might be. (I'm hoping this kind of vague timekeeping disorients the reader and causes frustration. I used sun, moon, and star positioning charts for this got dang it.)

Tools to Use for Weird Timekeeping

Chinese Calendar Conversions

Solar Stem Converter

(This one is annoying to use because they don't use the translated names but there is a definitions table.)

Lunar Calendar Converter

(Unfortunately it only allows for 1901-2100. You can probably infer the lunar month via the Solar Stem Converter for older dates.)

Celestial Bodies

For star/constellation positions in the night sky use this:

Sky & Telescope Interactive Sky Chart

(Yes you can even change the location and time to get the exact night sky the characters might be looking at.)

For sun positions and sunrise/sunset times use this:

SunCalc

For moon positions and moonrise/moonset times use this:

MoonCalc

(If you want to see a summary of moon phases by month this tool is helpful.)

Why have you done this?

I don't know. Please enjoy my perverse obsession with the little details.

[urfavoritegirlkisser]

"To All of the Girls I've Loved Before" II Hazel Callahan x Reader

“Hazel goes to her favorite diner, ordering her favorite food and a large chocolate milkshake to go with it. It definitely helped to deal with her existential crisis on a full stomach and she eventually calmed her emotions.”

Tags: Cheerleader!Reader who is kinda mean oopsie, girls kissing, fem!reader, no use of y/n, lightly proof read

A/N: Wow, didn't expect y'all to like the first part, again this is based loosely off of the plot of "To All the Boys I've Loved Before" except it's gay and we love it. This is part two, go to the first part if you haven't read it already! Also, don't steal my writing, I only post on Tumblr.

Hazel wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for eternity. She didn’t even wait for the dismissal bell as she grabbed her things and immediately rushed home.

How did the letters even get out? She had made sure to put them all in a small shoe box in the back of her closet…

As soon as she got home, Hazel ran up to her room and searched her closet from top to bottom, but all she found was a now empty shoe box.

“Hazel? Why are you home so early? I thought you had that fight club thing today” Hazel’s mom says as she leans against the door frame in that ridiculously overpriced bathrobe.

Hazel sighed and looked up at her mom, “Yeah…they, uh, canceled today” she says quickly while holding the shoe box and running a hand through her hair in frustration.

Her mother pointed to the box, “I made sure to mail those for you so you didn’t forget, and so they didn’t sit collecting dust.” she says while taking a sip from the drink in her hand

Hazel freezes and looks at her mother, her shock slowly fading into anger, “You were the one who mailed them?”

“I mean it seemed like you had forgotten about them, so I took it upon myself” she says shrugging her shoulders like her decision didn’t cause Hazel to make some of the biggest mistakes in her life.

Hazel throws the shoe box to the floor and rushes out of the house without another word as all of the emotions start flooding her mind and she sits in her car trying to blink back tears. She hits the steering wheel in frustration and then lays her head on it which causes the horn to blare.

“My life is ruined” she groans and then leans back, closing her eyes. She then starts her car and puts it into drive.

She needs to go somewhere and think

Hazel goes to her favorite diner, ordering her favorite food and a large chocolate milkshake to go with it. It definitely helped to deal with her existential crisis on a full stomach and she eventually calmed her emotions.

And then you walked in

You scanned the diner and immediately spotted Hazel, walking over and sitting across from her in the booth. You had your cheerleading uniform on which told Hazel you must have come straight from practice.

“Hey Hazel” you say with a bright smile which Hazel can’t help but return, a small blush coating her cheeks.

“So I just wanted to come over and talk to you about what happened at the track earlier and I also want to offer you a deal” you say with a smug grin, “I need help getting my ex jealous, so I was thinking that maybe we keep up a little charade” you say as Hazel look at you dumbfounded at what you’re saying.

“It’s perfect! I’ll get Josh back for cheating on me, and you’ll finally get noticed by people other than those girls in your little club!” you say, a little condescendingly as you mention the fight club Hazel was apart of.

Hazel decided to try and scrounge up some form of her pride to leave with, “Yeah, look, I just wanted to say that I totally do not have a crush on you, I just needed to make sure another person also didn’t think I had a crush on them” she says confidently, and she isn’t technically lying…more like she was only saying half of the truth, right?

You weren’t going to lie, that made a spike of jealousy shoot through you but were quick to push the feeling down as you looked back to Hazel with a curious expression, “Oh? And who is this mystery person?”

Hazel fiddles with her rings nervously, wondering if she can trust you, “Well…um, her name is PJ but I’m sure you don’t know her-”

“But isn’t she like one of your best friends?” You questioned as you interrupt the brunette.

Hazel rubs the back of her neck anxiously, “I mean yeah, she is, but I never really had a crush on her until that kiss during the game happened and you know things got like super confusing for a while…” Hazel rambles until she slowly looks to see you checking your nails, seemingly uninterested.

“Look…maybe this fake dating arrangement could benefit both of us, you prove to PJ that you are totally not into her and I make my ex jealous, it’s really a win-win situation” you say, trying to push the idea forward again.

Hazel doesn’t know how to respond to this question…could she really date you, kiss you, love you while knowing that you don’t and will likely never feel the same?

She looks up and shakes her head, “I don’t know…this could really crash and burn if we ever get found out” she says softly

“I mean it’s not like we’ll ever tell anyone the truth” You say before sighing, “Just think it over, ok?”

Hazel nods and you flash her a smile before leaving.

“What is my life?” Hazel groans as she lets her head fall to the table in front of her

The next day, you were at cheer practice, running over drills when you heard a voice call your name.

You look to see Hazel walking up to you until she stops right in front of you, tilting your head up a little, you can see a devious grin playing on her lips

“Let’s do this” she whispers to you

You cast a quick glance to your teammates around you and smiled before pulling Hazel into a quick but passionate kiss.

Hazel stumbles back a little after you break away and then looks around at all the people staring, her face starting to turn a vibrant shade of red as she laughs nervously.

“Yep, that’s my girlfriend alright” she says trying to play it cool but ultimately failing as she quickly walks away, “Carry on!” she squeaks out before running away, leaving you giggling softly at how cute Hazel looked when she was flustered.

A/N: Thank you again for reading!! I had no clue that a silly little idea of mine would be enjoyed by so many. Anyways, go drink water you girl kissers.

[voidartisan]

Welp. It's the end of the semester again, so...

Jedi Council (& Co.) as Things That Have Been Said in My Classes or Apartment

(very long post incoming)

Mace: Obviously this is God's favorite dinosaur

Plo: I will pardon the mime

Obi-Wan: If God punches you in the face, then you deserved it.

Shaak Ti: Did you just misgender my plant?

Sasee Tiin: Never give up on your dreams kids, but remember to lower your expectations.

Obi-Wan: Bless his FLIPPIN' soul

*During a training exercise* Mace: Do you have a girlfriend? Fives: No Mace: Well today you do Fives: Awesome, thank you

Obi-Wan: I'm running on happy thoughts and ibuprofen and I'm running out of both

Plo: Would you like to jaywalk with me?

Even Piell: You're going places, kid. Maybe jail.

Yoda: Willing to steal another, I am

Mace: You know what the best way to avoid Alzheimer's is? Caleb:...exercise? Mace: Die young

Shaak Ti: I'm not sure I would trust anyone with my baby. Especially not a man in tights.

Plo: Last time I got in trouble for using the word "quirky." Ahsoka: No, you got in trouble for applying it to the Trade Federation

Kit Fisto: I'm really glad that oranges are one of the foods that have peels. I mean, look at this thing. If it were just left on the tree it would be unusable. I'm kind of surprised more things don't have peels. Depa: I don't know, I feel like a lot of foods have peels Kit: Kit: Oh maker, you're right. This is blowing my mind. Name one food without a peel. Depa: Doritos Kit: You got me there

Ahsoka, struggling with homework: Brains are hard. Yoda: Hrm. Squishy, I thought they were.

Kit, sitting down between Anakin and Padme: Forget leave room for Jesus, leave room for Kit. Every relationship could use a little more Kit.

Depa: Welp. Made direct eye contact with THAT person out the window

Plo: Would you like to be my adopted daughters? Trace: I mean...sure? Plo: Great! You're in.

Anakin, picking a piece of strawberry up off the floor: Do I have to throw this away now or can I just rinse it off and eat it? Ahsoka: I think that's up to you. Obi-Wan: Risk-reward, Anakin. It's just a piece of strawberry. Anakin: Risk *pops strawberry into mouth* Obi-Wan: THAT'S NOT WHAT THAT MEANS

Quinlan: What the fo' shizzle is goin' on in the House of the Commons my dude?

Mace: There's something about putting artichoke on pizza that feels...unethical

Anakin: You're crazy Obi-Wan: I respect your choice Anakin: I don't

Depa: My onion is growing another onion Mace: Congratulations, you're a grandmother

Kit: It ended in a dance party. All the best movies end in dance parties, like Shrek, Shrek 2---

Mace: I am suspicious of the powders

Oppo Rancis: I can't think of his name. There was this senator, he lied and cheated his way into office--- Obi-Wan: Which one?

Depa: I put so much garlic in this it's hurting my eyes. I can't wait to eat it.

Obi-Wan: I'm having an existential crisis. Yoda: *plays Dancing Queen by ABBA*

[icyg4l]

PAC: How Can You Attract Your Lover: Queer Edition

Hello beautiful people! Today marks the last Friday that I will be posting for a while. However, I’ll still be here for the remainder of the weekend. If you would like to purchase a reading, please message me privately. Today’s reading is the last post regarding Pride Month. Thank you all for supporting me financially and content-wise. It is much appreciated. Without further ado, please select your pile.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: You’re not boring at all, Pile One. You are just very particular with the way that you want things. You may feel like your love life is an “abomination” right now but it’s not. You are fixed in your conviction of what love looks like for you. However, you need to open your eyes. Love will not find its way to you if you keep trying to manipulate the situation. Keep an open mind of what’s out there. Be open to flings and short-term romances. In my mind’s eye, I am seeing a butterfly open its wings, getting ready to fly. I heard the “Empire State Building”. If you have been thinking of taking a weekend trip to New York or New Orleans, then you should do so. You will meet someone there. This person has a Coca-Cola smile and piercing eyes waiting for you to arrive.

Who: This person is tall, not average tall either. They’re abnormally tall. They’re into anime/cartoons. They have distinctive features as well. They are fluent in French. This person could be into watching cooking shows/MTV. They are sensual and suave. They are intuitive, very in touch with themselves. They could wear a dangly earring. They could definitely live in New York or have an obsession with “The Big Apple”. They could have ties to the military. They are quick-moving. They like to flirt with others. They love to smoke, and they have an oral fixation.

Cards Used: The Tower, Five of Swords, Page of Wands, Judgment, The Star, Eight of Wands, Nine of Wands, Queen of Cups, Queen of Wands.

Pile Two: You need to stop being so uptight! Let loose and groove a little bit, Pile Two. You need to go out dancing with your friends. You will enjoy it there. You will meet someone there who catches your attention. They will be watching you from afar. I am seeing the Barbie movie dance scene, where everyone is having a good time until Barbie starts having an existential crisis. Your boredom is preventing you from seeing how good you really have it. You have the gift of gab so use it! It is also easy for you to manifest through the utilization of your physical body, if you know what I mean. So, if you wanna manifest using the ‘o’ method, DO IT!!! Start doing things that you would typically shy away from. Aim to step away from the crowd.

Who: This person is a little younger than you. They could be on the petite side. They have a cockiness to them that can’t be turned off. They could own a motorcycle. They have impulse issues/have ADHD/ADD. They like to do things quick and fast. They move and talk like they have somewhere to be. They could have long fingernails (stilettos, if acrylic). They could have some sort of connection to Cardi B/Left Eye. They have a dream where they’re the head of the spaceship; they want to pioneer a project. They are extra-terrestrial simply put.

Cards Used: Strength, Eight of Cups, The Sun, Four of Cups, Six of Pentacles, Three of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, The Empress, Eight of Wands, Page of Swords, Six of Wands.

Pile Three: It feels as though you are healing from a past heartbreak. Give yourself time to move past that situation, Pile Three. Sit in the discomfort. Trying to avoid it will not make the time pass by quicker. You need to lick your wounds. If anyone tries to artificially speed up your process of healing, do not hesitate to cut them off. You need to take this time of seclusion to sit with yourself and ask: “How can things be different the next time around”? Forgive yourself for allowing the mistreatment. You have a long road to go down on this journey of self-forgiveness babe. Hug yourself but also hold yourself accountable. You need to do some serious shadow work, Pile Three.

Who: They have a lot of tattoos. Their eyes are warm and dreamy. They have luscious hair. They could like the movie ‘Mean Girls’. They take a lot of pride in being your partner. They stand on business. They have a good relationship with their father. Dignity, pride, sensibility are words that come up to align them with. They have good manners. They could be kind of cold, at first but don’t judge a book by its cover. This person is drop dead gorgeous, no matter what their gender is. They have a tender heart. They like to move with a purpose. They are calculated, and value their time and money. This person is marriage material.

Cards Used: Seven of Swords, The Chariot, The High Priestess, The Devil, The Emperor, Ten of Swords, King of Cups, Knight of Swords, Knight of Cups, Two of Cups, King of Pentacles, King of Swords.

Pile Four: I can tell that you just need a break, Pile Four. You need to go and move on from whatever has been affecting you negatively (emphasis on the has been). Let bygones be bygones. Air out your grievances. You will feel much lighter. Send that text message you’ve been meaning to send. Reconcile with that person you’ve been pondering on letting back in. There’s dead weight on you. Let it go. You would benefit a lot from twerking/whining/moving your hips. Let it all out. Even if you do something you regret, so what? We’re all human. Just live your life, babe.

Who: This is someone you have a spiritual connection with. It could be karmic. This person is not naive. They know a lot about religion or spirituality. They are big on tradition. They want marriage; a traditional wedding to be exact. They could be going through a time of abstinence right now. They have a masculine flair to them. This person could have multiple ear piercings and/or an eyebrow piercing. They are intimidating, but they are fun to be around once you get to know them. This person is well-respected and adored by many. They are psychic, and proud of it. And, they take their job seriously.

Cards Used: Eight of Cups, Queen of Cups, The Sun, The Empress, Knight of Wands, Page of Pentacles, The High Priestess, King of Wands, The Hierophant.

[confusedblakex]

Soulmate AU Series: Katsuki Bakugo

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo X Reader (GN)

Summary: The day you get your soulmark, except you didn't find your soulmate the way you expected

Wordcount: 628

Warnings: Cussing (it's Bakugo)

Requested by: No one

Inspired by: This post by @dashielldeveron , this post by @haitani-trash and this post by @virtual--hug

Notes: Reader’s quirk hasn’t been decided yet, please drop suggestions in the comments and I’ll pick the one I think works the best

Last edited: 07th April 2023

Prologue

You woke up startled, your alarm catching you off guard. You’d stayed up late last night trying to wait until midnight, but you must have fallen asleep too early.

Cautiously, you looked yourself over, quickly spotting the words written on the inside of your left wrist in small, fine writing.

‘What the fuck?!’

You groaned to yourself. It definitely could have been worse, but it was also a somewhat generic phrase. You’d have to come up with a really good comeback for it, so they’d definitely know you two were soulmates… Unless you spoke first.

Wait, what if it was last words and not first words?

Deciding to leave it for now, you readied yourself for school, replying to text messages of congratulation as you were going.

---

You sat through classes that day as though nothing had happened. There were many people congratulating you and asking about your soulmark, but the hype calmed down as soon as they had figured out no one in the class had a matching soulmark type.

“I’m pretty sure Shinso has the first words soulmark,” Izuku offered, and while you thanked him for it, you didn’t really see the point. Fate would take it’s course, and today was only the first day.

“Sounds like something Bakugo would say,” Jiro joked with you at lunch, and you laughed with her. She wasn’t wrong.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but part of you was sad that your soulmate was no one in your class. Your eye has been drawn to a small few of them, and Bakugo was included. Yes, he very obviously had issues, but it was something you’d had a long time to think about. You’d liked to think he had a hidden romantic side, though that might just be you being hopeless.

Once you were back in class, you stood next to Jiro’s desk to speak with her and Tokoyami. The topics of conversation were the usual, and then the topic of your birthday on top of that.

“So…” Jiro stared.

“So?” You parroted, confused.

“Jiro and I got you a birthday gift,” Tokoyami revealed, a small smile on his face (beak?).

“Yep! We got concert tickets - for you and us, of course,” Jiro revealed, pulling three physical tickets from her bag. You noticed the pattern on them and were taken aback by the logo of your favourite music artist.

In your surprise and gratitude, you weren’t prepared to feel a smack against your rear. In a moment of uncertainty and annoyance that someone had ruined your moment, you spun around and smacked - who you expected to be Kaminari - square in the face.

It was not, in fact, Kaminari.

“What the fuck?!”

It was Bakugo. Ohhhh shit.

You didn’t take him to be the type of person to just go around smacking people’s butts. That, however, didn’t mean he didn’t deserve it still.

You were about to yell back, argue, when you were suddenly stopped by a burning sensation on your left wrist. You looked down to see your soulmark fade and disappear.

Bakugo must have felt it too, as the mark on his face was fading.

The room settled to silence and, though you were still furious, you were lost to confusion. Then it sunk in.

“You’ve got to be fucking with me…” he grumbled and proceeded to trudge over to his desk and sit down.

Conversation in the room slowly started back up, some people applauding you and others concerned for you.

“Well… I didn’t see that happening,” Tokoyami said as looked to Jiro, who looked back at him with the same look.

“Help, I think I’m having an existential crisis.” You muttered as you sank down to the floor, wishing to become a puddle.

---

Bonus:

“Are you kidding me?” Jiro groaned as she reluctantly passed the 2000 yen note to the yellow-haired boy.

“Did you really have to be so brazen about it?” She asked.

“Hey, it wasn’t simple!” Kaminari retorted, stuffing the note into his wallet,  “Getting Bakugo to stand there and then make sure no one saw? I think I did quite well,”

“OI! PIKACHU, I'M GONNA KILL YOU FOR THAT!”

“Oh shi-!”

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 4.1)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 15.5k (IT JUST KEEPS GETTING LONGER WHY)

summary: that second year of high school has a clear division within your mind—before summer and after. this is the before.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, awkward teenage sexual awakenings, denying that you're thirsting on your bffs and you're plunging in DENIAL river at the thought of CRUSHING on your bffs, masturbation, wet dreams (ish?), the existential crisis of realizing a bunch of old dudes poorly control the future of your teenage life, and good ole fashioned meltdowns

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @honeydew-cheesecake

author note: (ಠ_ಠ) no seriously dude stories really do have a mind of their own because HERE WE ARE. 15.5 THOUSAND WORDS. and that was BEFORE hidden inventory. i've still got so many brain worms for post-hidden inventory that i said "my god the tumblr post will be so fucking long let me just cut this in half and give the besties an update while i'm at it"

chapter links: ONE, TWO, THREE, AO3

[YEAR TWO.]

[PART I]

You know that they’re there. You’re not sure exactly where, but you can feel their eyes on you—sharp and predatory. You know that you may not be the best sorcerer around, but you think that this is a mission only you can do. You can’t let yourself waver here! There are people who depend on you now!

“We truly appreciate this, Senpai.”

They’re close, you can feel it. You’ll have to make your final stand here. Maybe you can trick them, so they don’t come at you with their all. Yes, you’ll talk and make it look like you’ve let your guard down.

You slow to a stop and turn around to face the two boys behind you with a smile. Haibara Yu and Nanami Kento—the only two to be enrolled this year. Both of them come from non-sorcerer families, so like you and Suguru last year, they’re here a week early to have a crash course on the jujutsu world. Hmm, now that you think about it, that could be why you’re so protective of them. You remember how overwhelmed you were by all that information thrown at you.

Nanami was dead serious with his thanks, as he is in general. Paired with Haibara, who is open and warm, you hope that his sharp edges will soften. Just as you hope that Nanami will teach Haibara to learn how to focus. He’s very laidback. You’re not sure that he realizes how dangerous sorcery can be.

“I hope this doesn’t offend you,” Haibara starts nervously, “but isn’t this…excessive?”

Oh, poor, sweet, naïve Haibara. There are still stars in his eyes. It blinds him to the truth that you have to do this because no one else can. Only you can stand up to those saccharine smiles and escort your precious juniors to class. Without you, either they’d be kidnapped or Nanami would break and be expelled because he hasn’t built up an immunity yet.

Out of the corner of your eye, shadows move.

However, you were prepared for this!

You’ve learned from experience, so you know that one will try to sneak up behind you and snatch you up. With a mighty cry, you brandish the bottle that you had hidden in the front pocket of your uniform. Giving your back to your juniors, you spray Suguru right in the face with water.

“Gah!”

You spin on your heel and push between Nanami and Haibara to reach Satoru who stands behind them with a sadistic grin. His hands were going for their collars, but he’s lost when you spray him in the face, too. It doesn’t matter that the water is stalled by Infinity. They’ve lost the game today.

“No!” You hold the spray bottle up threateningly. Satoru accepts his defeat by dropping down to sit on the ground and cross his arms over his chest. “Let them get to class! There’s not gonna be any weird hazing rituals on my watch!”

“When did you become a member of the Disciplinary Committee?” Suguru teases while he slides in beside you to lean an elbow on your shoulder. You brandish the bottle, but he takes a step back with his hands raised in defeat. “You win this round, Squid. I won’t bother you or your ducklings for the rest of the day.”

Did you hear Nanami breathe a sigh of relief? You’re not sure. But you definitely hear Haibara squawk loudly. You look over your shoulder, watching as Nanami takes the chance to escape and books it away from the scene, practically dragging his classmate along with him. You can’t say that you blame Nanami. You know other people tend to think that Satoru is a lot to deal with and now that he and Suguru are so close…at times, they’re downright unbearable.

With an irritated sigh, you ask them, “Can you stop with the duckling thing?”

“Why? Worried you’ll get another nickname, Mama Duck?” Satoru taunts.

You won’t tell him that he’s right.

“The real question,” Suguru interrupts as he gently tugs at the strap of your backpack, “is where are you going?”

“A date,” you answer bluntly.

“What?!” Satoru yelps.

Suguru quickly follows up with, “With who?!”

“Talk about Mama Duck,” you mutter.

“Papa!” Satoru whines. Because he’s still on the ground, he starts tugging at Suguru’s pants—more like a child than the mother he pretends to be. “Sketch is in her rebellious phase!”

“You’re not reading any of my Ouran manga anymore.” In preparation for the anime adaptation that’s about to premiere, you’ve been burning through the manga. And Satoru once declared that he wanted to read what you did because he wants to know what kind of things you like, so he’s been reading it along with you. “I’m meeting up with Shoko. We’re getting our nails done and grabbing food.”

“Boo.” Satoru leans back on his hands with a huff. “Suguru, let’s go on our own date to make them jealous!”

“You guys are extra childish today.” You put a hand on your hip. “If I stop at the konbini on my way back, will you cut it out with the temper tantrums?”

“Rude.” You wait. Suguru and you stare at each other. He’s the one to crack first. “Some unadon, please.”

“Parfait!” Satoru chirps.

“Actual food, Satoru,” you and Suguru intone at the exact same time.

“Ugh. Fine. A katsu sandwich and the parfait.”

“Good boy.” Satoru has an interesting reaction to your praise. His face turns bright red, probably out of chagrin. He jerks away from your hand that’s reaching out to ruffle his hair and yanks his legs up against his chest. You hold your hands up like Suguru had done not long ago. “Sorry,” you quickly apologize. “I should’ve asked before I tried to touch.”

“It’s not that!” Satoru snaps his head to the side, looking away, scowling at nothing. “You know that you and Suguru are allowed to touch me whenever! But don’t talk to me like I’m a dog! Jeez!”

You cock your head to the side. “Is that how it came off? I was being genuine. You usually put up more of a fuss when we try to get you to eat regular food.”

“Squid.” You turn to look up at Suguru. There’s this weird smile on his face as he watches Satoru. Forced, maybe? But then he turns his attention back to you. “What time are you meeting Shoko? Shouldn’t you get going? I don’t want you to freak out over being late because we held you up.”

Your eye twitches. “But you’ll hold up our juniors from going to class?”

The tension in his smile melts away for something coyer. “We want to welcome them. Get to know them better since they’re in the dorms with us now. Isn’t that the responsible thing to do as their upperclassmen?”

“I can’t believe you preached to them about how important our roles are, but you want to interrupt their studies.”

“It’s nothing official,” he tries to dismiss. “Sensei won’t throw them to the wolves on their first day. They could catch up once the term starts.” He raises a brow. “I can’t believe you preached to them about having fun when they can, but you want to keep them tucked away under your wing,” he throws back at you tauntingly.

You roll your eyes. “Go jerk each other off or something and leave the rest of us out of it.”

They’re both still sputtering when you walk away with a smug smirk.

Oh.

No wonder Satoru and Suguru had been so upset about the idea of you on a date. You’d completely forgotten that it’s cherry blossom season. There are definitely no open benches. Thankfully, you’re prepared! You brought a blanket in case the benches were still wet from the morning dew. You’re happy that you’re still early despite Satoru and Suguru’s distraction because you have time to hunt down a spot that’s as far away as it can be from other people on the open lawn.

You spot Shoko before she sees you. You stand up and wave a hand in the air to catch her attention. Around the stick in her mouth, she’s grinning as she approaches. Then, because you’re weirdly attracted to having assholes for friends, she asks loud enough for other people to hear, “Are we on an actual date, pretty girl?”

And, normally, you’d be embarrassed by that. Right now, though, when she’s close enough, you’re smacked in the face with the bitter smell of smoke. The end of what you thought was a candy stick is bright orange. “Shoko!” You flap a hand nervously in her direction, motioning toward that thing in her mouth. “You leave us for a month and you’re smoking now?!”

“Aw, man. I’d hoped getting you all flustered would’ve helped you ignore that.” She laughs easily. “Here.” She plops the plastic bag in hand on the blanket. “I wanted to drop this off before I go put out this cigarette. I don’t want us getting kicked out for me not being in the designated smoking area.” She waves a hand. “Be right back.”

You’re still in a tizzy when she gets back. “This is bribery,” you accuse when she’s close enough. When she’d proposed this, you suggested the both of you buying your own meals, but she insisted on paying. Now, you know why, and you also know why she got a bunch of your favorite foods and drinks. “I can’t believe you,” you continue to complain. “You’re going to be a doctor. You have surgeons as parents. What do they think about this?”

“They’re smokers, too.”

You huff in disbelief. “That seems…irresponsible.”

“They do have a kid that could heal any complications that come from it. That’s why I do it. I get the chemical rush and none of the damage. Seems like a win-win to me.” She plops down on the blanket next to you. “You’re not helping the Mama Duck allegations, y’know.”

Ugh. Having more than one friend sucks sometimes. If only they could move those online chatrooms to cell phones. You could scold them all at once about this weird obsession they have with giving you embarrassing nicknames. “It’s not bad to care about people!”

“You’re too sweet for jerks like us, pretty girl,” Shoko says with a laugh as she holds out okonomiyaki as an offering.

You eye the plastic container before you snatch it from her hands. “No octopus, right?”

“Vegetarian,” she replies. You smile brightly and flip the container open. Between the both of you chowing down, she asks, “Did you work on your technique over the break? Gotten anywhere else with it?”

“Ugh, yeah, and it’s gotten me in a weird place.” She raises a brow at your answer. You absentmindedly chew on the end of your straw. “I still can’t control them. It’s like I’m giving them a suggestion and the weaker they are, the more likely they are to listen to what I have to say.” You frown. “I was on an assignment with Suguru and another sorcerer last week, y’know. They used a shikigami.” You fidget nervously. “I pacified the shikigami and Suguru’s cursed spirit.”

Shoko nearly drops her drink from the shock. “Seriously?”

You nod. “We don’t know what to make of it. I could maybe understand Suguru since the cursed spirits are technically their own separate thing. It’s like an extreme master-servant deal. But with a shikigami…that’s just a physical form of a sorcerer’s cursed energy.”

“How easy was it?”

“Not at all. I passed out,” you admit sheepishly. “I thought I was pacifying the cursed spirit we were after, but…uh…I guess the other two were caught in the range. The shikigami was a lot easier, actually. It might have to do with the amount of cursed energy. When this was all happening, it felt like an uphill battle. Suguru has more cursed energy than me and it’s like I’m muting his connection, so I guess I’d need to overcome his. If he wasn’t so tired, I don’t think I would’ve won.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it all boils down to cursed energy.” You tilt your head in question. “Like…you’re suppressing cursed energy itself. Not only cursed spirits. What are cursed spirits if not a massive amount of negative cursed energy? If you look at it with that perspective, it only makes sense that you can pacify shikigami.”

“I want to say that it feels like you’re reaching, but…” Well. That’s the only logical outcome when you add up the pieces. It’s started now because you’re getting stronger, refining control over your own cursed energy. “I don’t like this,” you whisper when you start thinking too much. “Wouldn’t the next step be pacifying the sorcerer? I…I don’t want to control people.” You shake your head furiously. “No. I could never be that strong.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself there, pretty girl. If it boils down to a cursed energy match, you have a lot.” You try to wave the comment off. Sensei has mentioned something along those lines, too. “I’m serious. You can’t compare yourself to Gojo and Geto since they’re freaks of nature. You’ve got such an insane amount that you’re getting close to freak yourself. If you had a more threatening ability, you might be considered Special Grade.”

“Can we not talk about me anymore, please?”

“Alright, alright. Let me tell you about the fun I had over the break. They gave me access to the morgue.”

***

You’re…distracted…

It’s hard not to stare.

It was only a moment, but you still watch him intently. You’re reminded of those pictures that are drawn in such a way that you can see multiple interpretations and when someone points out their own perspective, you can never not see it anymore. This is like that. It doesn’t matter if you demand that he tuck his shirt in like some scandalized lady of the house from the Heian period because it’s burned in your brain now.

Such a small, simple thing. A flutter of his shirt when he leaped in the air to shoot the basketball, and you saw beneath the figurative curtain. And somewhere in the back of your brain, you knew that a simple belt wouldn’t be enough to hold up Suguru’s heavy, baggy pants, but it never clicked. Not until now. Not until you saw a flash of the high waist of his pants.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Why does it feel like your brain would be playing the old internet dial-up sound on a loop if someone could read your mind right now?

It was a waist! You didn’t even see skin! If you’re going to drool over something, it should be his arms. With his sleeves rolled up like that, you can see the few veins that run along his upper arms. With him holding a basketball like that, the size of his hands become more apparent. Suguru…really took that punch at last year’s Goodwill Event personally and he’s started to work out a lot more. You can tell. Not that he wasn’t fit before with all the farm work he did in the village, but…

Holy shit, what are you going to do in summer? You think you heard Satoru mention that they had more people to play basketball with now, so they could do teams, and…and don’t guys do the whole shirts versus skins thing? They wouldn’t with only two to a team, would they? What are you going to do? Suguru is more massive than ever now. More muscled than ever.

Is the heat still on? You’re so hot right now. And more than that…

“Yo! Sketch! Hey, look out—”

Something heavy thumps against the top of your head. You clutch at your head, watching the basketball bounce away, more flustered than hurt that you were…were…in a daze. Because you saw your best friend’s waist. When did Suguru get curves? Oh, no. Does this make you a pervert? You might be a pervert!

“Squid?”

The stupidly curvaceous man of the hour squats down in front of you. Hair has fallen out of his tight bun, bangs now framing both sides of his face. You duck your head, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with him. You watch his fingers twitch, but he puts his hands firmly on his big thighs.

“You lookin’ to get a new nickname, Sketch?” Satoru calls out as he approaches you and Suguru. “You’ll get one if you don’t stop being such a space cadet.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “You’re so caring, Satoru. Really, you’re dripping with compassion.” He shakes his head before moving his attention back to you, expression softening. “Are you okay? Is it a bad day?”

“Is it a crime to daydream?” You scramble for something to explain your behavior. “I don’t know. I…I was trying to remember what that cursed spirit looked like.” You shake your sketchbook. His brows furrow in confusion when he looks at it because it’s almost done. You panic. “Uh…like…did it have fur or not? I can’t remember!”

“It was scales…” Suguru informs you slowly. “Are you okay? Really? Not feeling sick or anything? You don’t usually forget big things like that when it comes to cursed spirits.”

The gym door slams open, the sound echoing, and making you yelp.

Sensei shouts all your names as if you’re in trouble…which, to be fair, you probably are since you were supposed to be spending this time studying in the library. Technically, you could spin the sketch as work since you are supposed to record curses that you encounter, but you don’t even want to defend yourself. You’ve never been more thankful to be in trouble in your life. Sensei has learned that the best punishment is to separate you all from each other. You need some room to breathe.

“Since you have so much energy to burn,” Sensei starts heatedly, “you can come help with the first years.”

“Ugh,” Satoru and Suguru groan in unison.

You smartly slide off to the side to make way for Sensei. He rushes forward to knock them both over the head as a reprimand for the rude response. The hit makes them drop to their knees and they accept that they’re in for a lecture. Sensei doesn’t demand the same gesture from you because he knows that you’ll stay where you are. You do tune him out partway through, though. This is definitely a lecture more targeted toward Satoru and Suguru because you’re more than happy to help with whatever the first years need.

When Sensei calls out your name, you snap back to attention. “You’ll spar with Satoru today,” he declares. It’s hard to retain your politeness. Turns out that you’re not exactly escaping, after all. It could be worse. He could make you run the track again which you hate because you don’t have anyone to keep you company, so you get bored just running in circles.

Then, you process his words fully. “Satoru?”

“Suguru is going to work with Nanami and Haibara today,” Sensei explains. “Satoru still needs a lot of work on his hand-to-hand combat.” Suguru snickers quietly while Satoru sputters at the, frankly, correct assessment. “You’re next best after Suguru. He’ll benefit from sparring with you. It might also help him with having some restraint.”

“What the hell, old man?!” Satoru shouts. “Suguru, shut up!” Clearly, Satoru isn’t that preoccupied with getting an answer. He just stomps out of the gym with a red face while Suguru quickly follows after him to pile on the teasing.

Both you and Sensei sigh when they’re out of sight—for different reasons, of course. Sensei goes on to scrub a hand across his face. You don’t doubt that he’s questioning his life choices right now. Kusakabe, when he visits Sensei and you escort him to where your teacher is, has told you that Sensei complains about how Satoru and Suguru are some of the most promising yet most frustrating students that he’s ever had.

“Sorry, Sensei.” You feel the need to apologize on their behalf. Sensei shoots you an irritable look now. One of your biggest lectures is to stop doting on Satoru and Suguru. “Sorry,” you mumble again with a wince. He stares at you a few seconds more before he heads out of the gym. You quickly follow after and step in line beside him. “Um…you said that we needed to get used to helping Nanami and Haibara more. Something about escorting them on missions?” That had caught your attention during the lecture. “When does that start?”

“I’m not sure,” Sensei answers honestly. “It depends on how today goes. Haibara’s family owns a dojo. Nanami has taken kendo classes since he was a child. I want to see how well they incorporate cursed energy into their techniques.”

Your brows furrow. “It’s been a month…” He hums in agreement. “We were going on our first assignments within a month.”

“Your class is a special case. You’re all extremely talented. Satoru and Suguru are in the process of being assigned Special Grade status. I’ve also been speaking with Kusakabe about putting your name forward for Grade 1 in the future.” Your eyes widen and your head snaps up to stare at him in shock. “Though, I’m not sure that you need the recommendation. Those at headquarters are very interested in your abilities. They’ll be speaking with you soon.”

“I…I don’t understand.” Your mind is spinning right now. “Why? What more can I tell them?”

Sensei stops and turns to stare at you like you’ve grown another head. “You discovered that the Red Room Curse exists as an extension of a cursed spirit’s technique. You used the break to research, something you didn’t have to do. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have known that it had created a cursed tool in the Taisho period. It was found yesterday, if you were curious. It’s been sealed away.”

You frown. “Doesn’t that just mean they should do more research themselves?”

“They should,” he agrees. But they won’t and now you’re here, he doesn’t say. You can do it for them. “Like any high schooler, you should start thinking about what you want to do after graduation. You and Shoko have more options open to you than the rest of your peers. As your name spreads at headquarters, it trickles down to the clans, so they may offer you positions, too.”

And you can’t help but blurt, “Couldn’t you have sprung this on me after sparring?”

Sensei chuckles softly. “It wasn’t meant to cause you stress. What you do or don’t do with your technique is up to you. This was to help you see your worth, more than anything.”

You blink at his honesty. “Y’know…you’re actually a good guy, Sensei.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he grouses.

“Ah, but it was?”

Sensei sighs. “I know.”

“This is stupid,” Satoru complains as the two of you stand off to the side and watch Nanami and Haibara throw themselves at Suguru. They try to clumsily infuse their moves with cursed energy which Suguru is quick to point out and guide them on how to better let their cursed energy flow. “Why not let the guy with a shield handle this?”

“The inconsistent shield?”

Ah, maybe that was a little too mean. Satoru is in a weird place. The last few months, he’s felt like he’s started to slide backward in terms of progress. He still can’t fire off his technique, Red, consistently. Whenever he does try, it leaves him exhausted. Not to mention that, suddenly, his Infinity has started to lower at the most random of times. Satoru has no reason why. Thankfully, it’s not a lot. Sensei and Shoko were honestly shocked because it’s never dropped around them. It’s only you and Suguru that have seen Infinity act up and Satoru wants to keep it that way.

Satoru doesn’t dwell on your words. “Not you too, Sketch! What’s with everyone bashing me today, huh?”

“Anyway.” You roll your eyes. “Getting hit is the point here. Suguru can feel their output better that way and correct them. And it’s not enough for them to hurt him.”

“I’m good at controlling and channeling my cursed energy, too!”

“Yeah, but you can’t explain it well.” Before he can loudly whine again, you interrupt. “For you, it’s so easy that you don’t think about it. It would be like explaining how to breathe.” You pause. “Also, you’re way too rude. You need to be delicate with these things and that’s impossible for you.”

“Is not!”

You turn to stare at him while you dryly ask, “Are you done stalling now?”

His cheeks are flushed with chagrin. “I’m not stalling!”

“Let’s get started, then. I want today to be over. I’m exhausted.” You are tired, true, but you mainly want to run and hide away in your room. Those…thoughts…about Suguru…they still linger in the back of your mind. You’re pointedly not trying to look at him specifically, instead focusing on Nanami or Haibara.

“Fine.”

Satoru makes a show of stomping away. You follow after him with a shake of the head and quiet chuckle. Just a little pushback from people for once and he can’t take it? Suguru will definitely give him more shit later. You wonder if Suguru will lecture him in the showers—

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Where the fuck did that come from? You’re so struck by your own brain’s train of thought that you almost trip over your feet. As you meet Satoru on the other side of the field, you purposely put your back to the first years. You pray that you won’t bump into them. You don’t know that you can stand to face Suguru right now. You’re done. This day has been weird and hellish. You’ll just have to apologize to Satoru later for your impending brutality. You can’t take it easy on him today if you want to be dismissed by Sensei as soon as possible.

“Start already!” Sensei shouts from the other side of the field.

You’re not sure whether Utahime would consider you a friend yet, but since Shoko has the hugest crush on her but is too scared to ask her on an actual date, you’ve spent a lot of time with the two of them. A favorite activity of hers is dancing. It makes sense because it’s an integral part of her technique. More often than not, when you and Shoko visit Utahime in Kyoto, you three end up dancing the night away in her apartment.

And you, practical person that you are, have started to infuse what you’ve learned into your attack style. It’s useful against people like Suguru and Satoru who are so much taller and physically stronger than you. Because, like all things, there are disadvantages to their size. You’re more nimble, more flexible. They naturally swing high which has you mostly going low—sometimes, even dropping to do the splits. When they try to kick, you can dance away or, if you react fast enough, you can catch their leg to sweep them off their feet.

It's been some time since you’ve sparred with Satoru, but that doesn’t mean you’re still not watching. You know how he fights, but today…it’s different. He’s as dodgy as you are. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that he’s pulling his punches. Never let it be said that he’s not a fast learner, so maybe he’s adjusting to match your fight style. He’s like a snake, trying to lash out to get his fangs in you, trying to wrap around you. You narrowly miss getting locked down when he snatches your sweatshirt by pulling yourself out of it.

Just when you think you have his moves down, it only gets weirder. His cheeks are pink. You didn’t think you were going hard enough at him to make him sweat, but maybe you’re wrong. Now, he’s purely on the defensive…or so you think. You should’ve known better. You make the mistake of trying to throw yourself fully on the offense. So, when you aim a high kick at him, he snatches your ankle and roughly yanks you.

It happens fast. You try to catch yourself with your hands, twisting your torso to try to get them on the ground. It doesn’t work in that respect, but it does hook your ankle around Satoru’s neck enough to tip him forward. The back of your head smacks against the ground painfully. The breath is knocked out of you when Satoru’s heavier body lands right on top of you.

“Ow, ow, ow, Sketch. You kicked my head!”

Words are stuck in your throat.

Because, suddenly, you have become hyperaware of your own body. And it’s not exactly like that’s…abnormal…but this…isn’t overstimulation. Or…maybe it is? A shiver runs down your spine. The points of contact where Satoru’s bare skin touches yours are like live wires—heated and sparking.

With the first few buttons of his shirt popped open, your cheek is smashed against his bare skin. Since you’re in a short-sleeve shirt, one of his stupidly huge hands are wrapped around your arm. And…and when he tries to lift away from you, his…his knee slips up and…accidentally nudges up between your thighs…

You bite down on your bottom lip and squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s not enough to hold back the tiny whimper in response to the rush of heat that zips up your spine.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

Above you, Satoru goes rigid. You’re mortified. He heard. “Ow!” It’s all you can think to do. You hope that he falls for your desperate attempt to make that sound like a pained whimper. You need out of here. Fuck the consequences. You squeak out, “I yield!”

“Cool!” Satoru sounds as equally panicked as you do. “My prize is your sweatshirt!”

“Whatever! Can you m—”

There’s a burst of cursed energy. Then, you two become a dizzyingly mess of limbs. You yelp and instinctively grip at Satoru, but because he lifted his arm, his shirt rode up, so you’re grabbing at his bare waist and digging your nails in. He squawks at the rough treatment, trying to lean away, and his hand ends up groping one of your tits when he tries to get his bearings.

As soon as your sweatshirt that he pulled toward him with Blue is finally in his hand, Satoru moves away from you. He chokes when he’s yanked back viciously by the back of his collar. Suguru uses so much force that it briefly lifts Satoru’s knees off the ground. Satoru, weirdly, is protective of his prize because he only reaches back to swat at Suguru with one hand while the other keeps your sweatshirt pressed against his body.

“Satoru!” Suguru shouts. “What the hell? We don’t use cursed techniques in sparring—”

“I’m okay!” You scramble to lift yourself up from the ground. “I am okay!” You don’t know who you’re trying to convince, but Suguru isn’t buying it. You can’t blame him. There’s a tremble in your voice, sweat lining your skin, and your heart is pounding away in your chest. “I hope that everyone has a good sparring session! I’m done!”

Sensei and Suguru both call out your name, but you’re already power walking away from the field.

Despite what some people may think, you’re not stupid or naïve.

But…with how much time it took you to figure out what it was that you were feeling today since that time in the gym…you might be in denial.

In the communal showers, under the lukewarm spray of water, you have your hands pressed to your scalding hot cheeks. You continue to take deep breaths. None of this helps. There’s a very real urge to clench your thighs together. Because there’s a very real ache between them. Because your mind is an endless loop—sweat-slick skin and the hair stuck to it, flashes of skin from shirts ridden up, the outline of defined muscles hidden under white shirts, massive hands…

You slap your hands over your face which…doesn’t help. Since you’re alone, you crouch down without the fear of judgement. If you weren’t alone, you think you still wouldn’t care. You’re in the middle of a crisis. Is this a moral crisis? No. Wait. Oh, no. Is this what they call a sexual awakening?

No. That’s stupid. You’ve obviously felt desire before. Kind of. It was about as lukewarm an experience as the water that pounds against your back right now. Your thoughts had been scattered, nowhere in particular, so maybe that’s why it’d been dry—both literally and metaphorically.

This…this is so different from back then. This is warm. It’s heat. You’re throbbing. You didn’t think that you could ever feel this way. You’ve never wanted to touch yourself so badly. And that in itself isn’t a bad thing. You’ve never understood the point in shame over a natural bodily reaction and doing something to satisfy it. It never flustered you as much as your fellow classmates to hear the boys make sexual innuendos.

No, this shame comes from who you want to think about as you touch yourself. Even now, past your distress, you want to drop to your knees, slip your hand down between your thighs, and know what it’s supposed to truly feel like. But you know…you know that if you do that, their faces will be at the forefront of your mind.

You’re not supposed to think about Satoru and Suguru like this!

They are your best friends!

How the hell are you supposed to ignore this? You finally understand what some people mean when they say they feel like a cat in heat. It’s fine. You’ll just…get your mind off it. Ugh. So, going back to your room is a bad idea. If you’re left alone with your thoughts, you’ll never stop thinking about it. What can you do, though? Why is your go-to always hanging out with friends? You don’t want to be around people anymore. You’re so mentally exhausted now.

Right, okay, you’ll drop to your other default.

There was a bird nest in the big tree outside the classroom window. If you’re lucky, the mama bird will stay still long enough for you to draw her.

As always, drawing manages to knock you out of your head.

It calms you down to the point that between one blink and the next, you’re asleep. Not that you realize that until the ground falls out from underneath you and you jerk awake. There’s a part of you that knows whose arms you’re in, though, so your brain is still calm enough to try and drag you back to sleep.

With a sigh, you slip your arms around his neck and shove your face in the crook of his neck. “Sketchbook,” you mumble as almost an afterthought.

“I’ll come back for it later,” Suguru whispers. “You have to stop sketching outdoors when you’re so tired, Squid. You’ll catch cold.”

“Okay,” you agree sleepily.

Suguru chuckles quietly. “Forget it. I’ll lecture you tomorrow.”

***

“This one?”

You take a step to the side, almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Shoko. You hunch over to examine where she points at on the display case. It’s a cute tongue ring with a charm in the shape of a heart. “Pretty, but too flat.” She raises a brow in question. “I like it when they have the little ball on the end. See?” You open your mouth to physically show her the piercing and how you roll it against your teeth. “It’s really satisfying to play with.”

On the other side of the display case, Utahime clicks her tongue. “That could easily turn into a dangerous distraction.”

You tilt your body to stare at her through the crack of display cases. Deadpan, you ask, “You have a problem with my tongue piercing but not with Shoko’s smoking?”

“I’m trying to save you from her bad influence,” Utahime shoots back.

“Hey,” Shoko complains.

Then, hypocritically, Utahime points at her side of the case. “What about one of these?” Clearly, if she’s making suggestions then she doesn’t care all that much about your piercing…ah. Wait. She was joking. Maybe a little. You’re still trying to get a read on how Utahime communicates.

You step over to her side of the case. You can’t catch yourself before you let out a shudder and scrunch your nose in disgust. It’s a bead, sure, but it’s those rubbery ones with equally rubbery spikes. Just the thought of that touching the inside of your mouth is nauseating. “Um…thank you for the suggestion, but…no.” You try to keep it polite as to not offend her.

Utahime snorts. “Okay. Stick to metal.” She blinks. “Oh. What about this one?”

The price tag makes you internally cringe, but then you actually look at it, and you immediately know you want it. You have the money saved up for it, anyway. It’s probably plastic, but it’s shaped and shiny enough to look like it’s made of diamond. At that price, it might be made of that off-brand diamond. The charm on the end is in the shape of a dragon’s head.

Excitement surges through you. You practically bounce over to a store worker to have them unlock the case and take the tongue ring to the register. As soon as it’s paid for, you skip out of the store and make a break for the nearest restroom. Just as you have it torn open and are washing it with hand soap, Shoko and Utahime burst into the restroom behind you.

“You’re really excited about this,” Utahime remarks.

“Ahh.” Shoko finally gets a good look at the tongue ring when you hold it up in the light. “No wonder you’re so excited. It’s like a little rainbow dragon.”

The tongue ring almost goes down the drain when you nearly drop it. Looking over your shoulder, you glare at her. “That’s not it at all!” The defensiveness isn’t helping your case, you realize, so you turn back to the mirror. “Jeez, Shoko, not everything I do is about Suguru or Satoru! Can I not get something because it looks cool?”

In the reflection, you watch Shoko put her hands up in surrender. “Whoa, okay, I didn’t mean to offend you, your highness.”

“Inside voice, please,” Utahime reminds you. Then, to Shoko, she says, “She’s right, y’know. Not everything has to revolve around those two. A woman can dress up solely for herself. We know Duck isn’t the type to make herself uncomfortable for someone else.”

Slowly, you move to face Utahime, expression blank. “What did you just call me?”

Shoko, smartly, uses Utahime’s embarrassed stream of apologies as a chance to escape.

You need new fucking friends.

As you and Shoko meander your way up the main staircase that leads back to campus, she casually asks, “So, what’s going on with you and Gojo?”

Ha. As if you’d admit the truth. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, pretty girl. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed how quiet Gojo’s been.” For a moment, you stupidly think that she’ll keep the focus on Satoru, but you’re not so lucky. “As for you…it’s hard to explain because quiet is your default, but you’ve been really…dodgy. Acting like a nervous wild animal that runs whenever someone gets close.” Oh, you are praying that she doesn’t connect the dots. No dice. “That someone is Gojo and Geto.”

“You know how they are, Shoko. They’re always so touchy. I haven’t been in the mood to deal with that,” you lie. Well. It’s part lie. What you can and can’t handle always goes day by day.

“No, see, I know that’s a lie. Like Utahime said, you never hesitate to tell us when you’re uncomfortable. If you’re having a bad day, you let us know about it.” Shit. “Geto and I are just trying to figure it out. This started after you and Gojo sparred. I thought maybe you’re scared of Gojo and Gojo is scared that you’re scared of him, but you two are acting weird around Geto, too. So, it can’t be that—”

You try to interrupt in as less a panicky way as possible. “It really isn’t that deep—”

“I thought it had to do with the giant crush that Gojo has on you, but like I said, he’s acting like a flustered virgin around you and Geto—”

“Crush?” Shoko holds out an arm to catch you when your foot catches a step the wrong way and you stumble forward. You jerk to face her, eyes wide with shock. “What are you talking about?! Are those cigarettes laced with something, Shoko? Do you need glasses or something?”

Shoko laughs. “Sure, the person that struggles with social cues is going to lecture me.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“When did I say you were?”

“What I mean is that I could tell if he has a crush on me. He’d act different around me, right? Satoru doesn’t know how to be subtle. Since he acts no different around me than he does anyone else, the only logical conclusion is he doesn’t feel any different for me, either.”

“I can’t believe you’re coming at this like a math problem. No. Actually, I can believe that.” She rolls her eyes. “First of all, emotions aren’t logical. Second, and more importantly, he absolutely acts different around you and Geto.”

You huff. “You just proved your point wrong. If he has a crush on me, he wouldn’t treat Suguru the same, would he?”

“Ah. Wait. You’re right. Unless…ooh.” She knocks one fist against her open palm as if she’s had an epiphany. You’re terrified to hear what she’s come up with. “Unless he’s got a crush on both of you. That’s what it is. It makes so much sense. Oh, man. I’ve got to talk to Nanami and Haibara now.”

Your head is spinning. “No, you’re not talking to them about this! I don’t even think there’s a word to describe how far you’re reaching right now, Shoko!” You shake your hands, desperately trying to get out your nervous energy. “Look, I’d understand if he has a crush on Suguru. They’d be a hot couple, okay? But don’t…don’t bring me into this! That’s…anyway, isn’t that cheating?” Your voice quiets. “Isn’t that…wrong?”

“It’s not like any of you are in a relationship. So, no, I don’t think it’s cheating. I still wouldn’t. Cheating is if the other person doesn’t know you’re involved with someone else.” She shrugs. “I might be a biased opinion. There are a lot of people who say that me liking girls is wrong. So, if everyone cares about everyone else involved, then what’s wrong with more than two people in a relationship?”

Oh.

Well, that’s…

You don’t know what to do with all this.

“Okay, that’s…that’s true. I can understand that. It’s like another one of those things that people worry about when there’s no reason.” She nods in agreement. “You’re still wrong about the crush thing, though. Why would someone have a crush on me? No one ever has. Why would they start now?”

“No one has had a crush on you that you know of,” Shoko corrects cryptically. “Are we going to ignore you called them hot?”

“Are you blind?”

“No. I’m gay.”

“Shoko, I like girls, too. It doesn’t make you less of a lesbian if you admit they’re aesthetically pleasing.”

“Sure, but their personalities are so awful that it just ruins everything else.”

“Are you sure that this isn’t just you being uncomfortable that it’s like looking in a mirror when you see them? You all have the exact same sense of humor. You’re definitely as much of an asshole as them.” She bursts out in a fit of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, keep laughing. You know it’s true.”

Shoko wipes at her tears of laughter. As she starts to walk forward again, she remarks, “You talk big, pretty girl, but you can be an asshole yourself.”

***

If there was one thing that Shoko was right about, it’s that you’ve been obviously skirting around Satoru and Suguru. For three nights straight, both your mind and body toss and turn as you try to figure out where this sudden awareness of their bodies is coming from.

Technically, you’ve been through this before with Suguru, but…was it to this degree?

It’d been one of those rare days that you were allowed to work out in the fields with your parents. When you’d hunted Suguru down to not be so bored as you pulled crops, he’d been hunched over with no shirt on. It wasn’t the first time that you’d seen him without a shirt, per se. You’d both gone swimming before…

You’re not sure what it was. Maybe it was like how your grandparents, who lived in a different village, would remark on how much you’d grown between monthly visits. You would look in the mirror every day, so the changes in yourself were infinitesimal compared to someone that only saw you once a month. It could’ve been that, on that day, your brain had finally caught up on all the ways that Suguru had grown.

That skinny boy with his bony elbows and knobby knees and short, wild hair had grown. He’d finally hit a growth spurt the year before and was taller than everyone else in the village now. He towered over you, skin golden and dripping with sweat. He’d started to slowly grow his hair out and it was long enough to be pulled back in a stubby ponytail. He hadn’t been as toned as he is now, but it was still enough for your eyes to follow along the subtle swell of his biceps.

Jeez, that had been the last year of middle school, you think. Are you having another one of those moments? Did Satoru get caught in the crossfire?

The real question is…why aren’t you as aware of everyone else at school as you are of them? Like you told Shoko, anyone with a pair of eyes can see that they’re aesthetically pleasing. You’ve known that Suguru is a heartthrob since middle school. But…so is everyone else at school.

Shoko is a bombshell. That beauty mark? That poster that had made you blurt out your attraction and caused your mother to smack you, you’re pretty sure the model had a beauty mark, too. Shoko has the whole femme fatale thing going on now that she’s smoking. It’s not like you can blame it on height thing, either. Nanami is as tall as Suguru, the both of them just barely under Satoru. Even with the…stoic loner vibe and haircut…he’s also very handsome. Ruggedly so. Haibara is boyishly handsome, too, and very fit since his family runs a dojo.

So, why?

Why is your body reacting like this to only them?

It’s fine, you tell yourself. You can acknowledge that they’re pretty. There’s nothing wrong with that. You are, as many adults have complained about before, a hormonal teenager. It’s a little embarrassing, your body fixating on them, but you need some good old fashioned exposure therapy. You miss the normalcy that comes with them. You’re bored without them around. Your brain will whip your hormonal body into shape.

The morning after you’ve made your decision, you, admittedly, might…go from zero to a hundred. Despite your exhaustion from the lack of sleep, you think this will be a good day for your senses. Knowing that Satoru and Shoko are the type to show up at the last minute, you rush to meet Suguru on his way to class.

When you see him, back turned, head ducked as he looks at his phone, bag over his shoulder, your feet speed up. And then you throw yourself at his back, locking your arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. Suguru is so surprised that his phone clatters to the ground, yanking out his earbuds.

Suguru lifts his arm up, looking under it, and you poke your head out further to show him it’s you. “Sorry,” you apologize meekly in regard to the fright. You crouch down to pick his phone and earbuds up.

“It’s fine,” he breathes out. “Someone is in a good mood this morning.”

“Sorry,” you repeat. “I feel bad now. You ask me if I want to be touched. I really should’ve done the same.”

“Should I renew my blanket permission? You don’t have to ask me.”

“Permission renewed.”

Suguru chuckles lowly as he tries to turn around in your arms. You take a step back, letting him have room, but you don’t make it very far. He snatches your wrist and yanks you back toward him, making you squeak in surprise. He wraps you up tight in his arms. Your body is tense, you know, only made worse by the rapid beat of your heart and heat prickling across your skin, but you’re trying not to act weird.

“Sorry for being…” You don’t know how to describe it without being incriminating. “My head has been in weird places.”

“Why haven’t you talked to me about it?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumble before pressing your face against his chest.

“Since when did you start to feel shame?” Suguru teases. You dig your fingers into his side meanly, knowing it’s a spot that gets him squirming. Sure enough, he tries to wiggle away from you. “Cut it out,” he demands with a laugh. You do as he asks. “Let me be serious, Squid. I want you to talk to me, okay? Have I ever made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself or say what you want around me?”

“…no,” you admit after a pause.

“Why start now, then?” His grip around you goes unbearably tight. He buries his face in your hair and confesses, “I was worried that I scared you with how rough I got with Satoru.”

“Suguru!” You fist your hands in the front of his blazer and shove him away enough to make him look at your face. “That might be the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me!” His brows furrow in confusion. You nearly shake him. “I will never ever be scared of you, okay? I think it’s physically impossible for my body to think of you as a threat.”

Suguru raises his arms in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Squid. I didn’t think you’d take it so personally.”

“You’re the most important person to me. Why wouldn’t I take that personally?” You step back and cross your arms over your chest. “How would you feel if I asked if you were scared of me?”

“It might actually be physically impossible for you to look scary.”

“Never mind. I’m not talking to you anymore,” you declare with a huff before you start stomping away.

Suguru chases after you with a laugh.

The next day, in the late afternoon, you’re on your way to the bus stop, planning to head into the city for something to eat. You like this bus. Since the school’s campus is so far out, the bus is smaller, and there’s only one seat per aisle. No one will sit next to you. You don’t have to make small talk, either. You finally dropped money for a MP3 player, so when you have earbuds, you’re simply written off as a rude teenager and usually aren’t bothered.

At the torii gate, though, your dinner plans change because Satoru is waiting for you with your sweatshirt over one arm and a bag of takeout dangling from his other hand.

The two of you sneak inside an empty classroom, glowing orange with the afternoon sun. He shoves a desk in front of the one you sit at, giving you both room to eat the ramen he bought. Wordlessly, he passes you the sweatshirt. At first, you were confused over how he even got it, but you realize it’s the one from when you two sparred. It’s still warm, you think, and smells like the really expensive laundry detergent.

Unthinkingly, you shove your face against the fabric, taking a lungful and soaking in the soft warmth. You rub your face against it. Satoru snorts before he speaks directly to you for the first time in…a few days, probably. “It’s like looking at a kitten.”

“That’s rich when you’re cuddling with those soft Digimon plushies,” you grumble. You carefully fold it up and shove it down in your bag. “You didn’t have to wash it, y’know. What? Did you spill something on it or stain it or something?”

Satoru shouts, “No!” His face is bright red, though. The reddest that you’ve ever seen it. It’s answer enough.

“Don’t be so defensive. It’s okay if you did.” Your leg is bouncing from nervousness. This is so bad. You shouldn’t be nervous around best friends. “Are we done being weird around each other?”

He is pointedly not looking at you as he divvies out the plastic containers. “I’m…um…I guess I should apologize first. I didn’t scare you or anything, did I?”

You blink, honestly confused and trying to figure out why you’d be scared. “It was just Blue?”

“Yeah, but still…”

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” You break your chopsticks apart but pause. “I’m more disappointed than anything. Using your technique because you’re too lazy to walk and get my sweatshirt? What if the school was suddenly attacked and you didn’t have any cursed energy left because you’ve been flinging it around everywhere?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Do you even know how much cursed energy I have? Using it here and there isn’t going to kill me. And what kind of hypothetical is that, anyway? This is the safest place in the jujutsu world.”

“The Special Assault Team could storm campus with machine guns or something.”

“Okay, then I’d have Suguru use Hong to deflect the bullets while something else in his arsenal eats them.”

You shake your head. “And he’d do it, too. For all the lectures he gives you about being spoiled, he’s the worst.”

“Heh! So do you,” he sings.

The worst part is that he’s right. Still, you feel the need to defend your honor. “Who can say no to the jujutsu world’s prettiest princess? Lord Gojo is such a demanding little thing. No one wants to deal with one of his tantrums.”

“I know you’re trying to be an asshole, but I am the prettiest princess in all the land.”

The two of you continue to make innocent jabs at each other while you eat. In the middle of dinner, Suguru texts, asking where you are and what you’re doing. You tell him, knowing that he’ll be here sooner rather than later. Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, he’s at the doorway in baggy sweats and a big white shirt. His long hair is down, still dripping. Did he seriously come here from the showers?

You swallow, a lump in your throat. It’s fine. This is fine. His nipples are hard and poking against his shirt, but that’s a natural bodily response. Just like how you squeeze your thighs together.

Fuck. You need to run your mouth before this gets weird. “You need to blow-dry your hair. You’ll get sick, walking around with wet hair.”

Suguru’s eyes narrow. “Are you lecturing me? Miss Barefoot-in-Snow?”

“I like to see my footprint in the snow and the crunch is nice.”

“Wear socks, at least.”

In unison, you and Satoru give a scandalized, “And have wet socks?!” You’re too busy shuddering at the thought, so Satoru continues on your behalf. “It’s like you want her to die!”

“Remind me to put my blazer over any puddles that you might have to step in, Lord Satoru,” Suguru says dryly.

“More proof to the princess allegations,” you mutter.

Satoru harrumphs. “I never denied being a princess.”

Suguru fully steps inside the classroom, approaching you both, grabbing a chair along the way. “I don’t even want to know.”

***

A month of normalcy passes, and you naively think that all is right in the world once again.

It’s been an exhausting day.

As it happens when the weather starts to warm up, cursed spirit activity is on the rise again.

For Nanami and Haibara’s first mission, you are the one tasked with their supervision. You weren’t anyone’s first pick, but there was no other choice. The more experienced sorcerer assigned was called away last minute to handle a higher grade. There’s a situation somewhere in Hokkaido, potentially Special Grade. A lot of sorcerers have been seriously hurt, so Shoko went with Satoru and Suguru.

You were given one hell of a lecture when you argued with Sensei about him going with the first years instead. A chance to study a Special Grade? You didn’t want to pass that up! Then, maybe you hadmade a bitchy remark about how a potential promotion to principal is getting to his head.

Anyway, the assignment with the first years went fine.

You were lectured yet again, this time by Haibara of all people. There’s a possibility that you…sort of pacified everything in the area. In your defense, the briefing said there would only be a pack of low-level spirits. A separate, higher graded spirit must’ve been close by, heard the violence, and slipped past the veil to get in on the action. When Nanami was smacked away with enough force that he cracked the wall he landed against, you panicked.

Ugh. You’re definitely not beating those Mama Duck accusations anymore.

You force yourself through dinner with them because you wanted to be polite and felt like you owed them since you cut the mission short. It’s dusk, almost night, but the lights of the city and restaurant are still too bright. They decide on a place that’s packed and so loud. By the time you three step outside, you have a pounding headache and nearly fall asleep against Nanami’s shoulder because you’re drained.

After you’re showered and dressed for bed, you flop back on your mattress with a weary sigh. On instinct, you reach for your cell phone, checking for any new messages like you have been the last three days. It’s late. You don’t expect much from them. Satoru used Blue at maximum output three times, Shoko reported. Suguru swallowed the curse when it was weak enough. Satoru will be wiped out and Suguru will be in bed immediately to digest the curse.

Everyone has been sending you pictures. The most recent and most likely last batch of the night are from Shoko. One that shows three bottles of nail polish, one that shows Suguru and Satoru hunched over as they paint their nails, a zoom-in of Satoru with his tongue poking out in concentration, and the last a shot of everyone’s finished nails. Satoru chose an electric blue, Suguru went with black, and Shoko has a baby pink color.

You spend way too long staring at that picture. There’s something in the pit of your stomach, seeing Shoko’s hand so close to theirs. It’s small compared to theirs. You wish that it could be your hand there. You want to run the tip of your finger along the line of their prominent veins. You’d hold both your hands up so they could press one of theirs against it, just to see how much they dwarf your own. What would the fit be like if you laced your fingers through theirs?

Your phone chimes with a text from Suguru. Face hot, you quickly back out of the conversation with Shoko, feeling guilty for a reason you can’t pinpoint. As soon as Shoko told you that Suguru swallowed the curse, you immediately texted Suguru, wanting to check in and remind him to remember to grab some instant rice for the morning. It’ll be easy on his stomach. You made him send a picture as proof. After he did, he wanted to know if you’d eaten yourself. You sent a picture of your meal. Suguru hadn’t responded to that text until now.

I’m proud of you for going out. I always worry about you being lonely, his text says. You’re about to roll your eyes at his mother hen tendencies, but then his next message rolls in. Be a good girl for me until I get back. Night, Squid.

The phone slips out of your hand, the edge of it landing painfully on the bridge of your nose. You jerk up from the mattress, clutching at your nose. Why is your face on fire? He…he was teasing, right? Be a good girl for me. They…they were just some words. You shake your hands, trying to dispel the sudden surge of panicked energy. Be a good girl for me. Great. That’s stuck in your head now. Shit.

Goodnight, Suguru, you reply back with slightly sweaty fingers. Sweet dreams.

Eh. They’re never that sweet without you around.

Is…is this…no. No. This isn’t flirting. It’s just…being a friend. That’s something friends would say, right? Yeah. This is just another roundabout way of saying that he misses you. Yeah, yeah. I miss you, too, you send back. Maybe some of Satoru’s sweetness can rub off on your dreams.

Fingers crossed. See? Friendly banter. If he was flirting, he wouldn’t pull Satoru into the conversation, right? I’ll text you in the morning when we’re leaving.

Rolling over on your side, you curl up into as much of a ball as you can and shove your face against your pillow. You have to stop yourself when you realize you’re rubbing your feet together again because you can’t fall asleep like that. Just go to sleep, you tell yourself.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in and out.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Over and over and…

…the mattress dips down. One side and then the other. You’re on your belly, arm shoved under the pillow that your face is still shoved into. You tilt your head to the side, eyes still closed, too exhausted to open them. You know these bodies that press up against each side of your own.

Someone’s hand presses against the small of your back and it’s almost like lightning shoots up your spine. In nothing but your sports bra, it’s bare skin against bare skin. But that’s nothing compared to the rush that comes when he leans down to press a kiss to where his hand previously was, so close to your ass, to your…

“Be a good girl,” Satoru quietly sings as the tips of his fingers land on the back of your calf. Your fingers are clenching the sheets. You gasp as his fingers teasingly begin to meander up your legs. Dancing around your inner thighs. “Mm, you’re the prettiest princess in all the land.” Oh. Oh. He’s so close. He’s going to feel how wet you are. “Heh, hell yeah, I am. Are you as pretty down here as you are everywhere else?”

“Satoru,” you gasp before you shove your face back against the pillow.

Another hand splays around the back of your neck, slipping up and around, cupping the side of your face. When he guides you to turn your face back toward him. A thumb runs along your bottom lip, dipping inside your mouth. Just a tease, though. You’re the one that sucks it back into your mouth.

“Such a good girl,” Suguru whispers against your ear. “Sweet girl.” He pulls his hand away, fingers teasingly running along the band of your sports bra.

“Suguru.”

“Let us handle it.”

And your eyes open before they’re closing again. You’re rolling your face against the pillow. As you’re clinging to the last vestiges of your dream, you don’t quite yet comprehend that it’s your hand shoved down your shorts. The line between dream and reality is a blur.

Sheets tangled around your legs are what you imagine what it would feel like to have theirs around yours instead. Your warm breath that fans out across your face as you’re panting against your pillow could be mistaken as theirs while they’re whispering into your ears. The heat inside you is almost unbearable, pitching up into a fervor, only spurred on by the desperate rolling of your hips. It’s like liquid fire rushing through your veins, burning and burning as you hump your hand.

Finally, blissfully, you are overwhelmed by pleasure.

It all crests. Your entire body locks up and trembles. In an attempt to chase after the addictive yet fading sparks, you try to jerk your legs up to get up on your knees, but it’s too soon after your limbs were locked up. Your leg painfully cramps and throbs and you’re fully thrown out of the dream’s clutches.

Clutching at your throbbing leg, you roll over on your back and stare up at the ceiling while you suck in shaky breaths.

What did you do?

What did you just do?

All you can really think to do is shout, “Fuck!”

You’re not there when they return the next day. Just before six in the morning, Sensei called you and said that you needed to report to Kyoto as soon as possible. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re thankful that you don’t have to see them today which only adds to the guilt that’s set in the pit of your stomach like a stone. Why couldn’t this be like a normal dream that fades away before you’re out of bed?

A better question—why did you have a dream like this to begin with?

There’s a Kyoto manager waiting to pick you up from the train station. Before you slip in the car, they hold out a hand. “I’ll need your phone.”

“Excuse me?”

Their eyes seem cold, but you try to convince yourself that’s not the case. You don’t do well with catching on to how other people feel and often mistake cold with cordial. “You’ll be meeting with a few of the higher-ups.” Your eyes widen. And you have nothing to be in trouble for, but your heart rate picks up regardless. “These meetings are expected to be kept private, but your phone is confiscated as a precaution.”

“The higher-ups?” The manager nods wordlessly. “Why?”

“I wasn’t trusted with that information.” The manager steps aside and motions toward the open door. “I’m your escort. Have you had breakfast? They’ve permitted us to stop for something if you need it.”

You don’t take the manager up on the offer.

The higher-ups are already waiting for you when you make it to campus. There are only three in the room, none of them speaking, only sipping at some tea. You recognize Principal Gakuganji, but that’s it. Even worse, they’re seated around a chabudai. They’re not close enough to touch, but it’s still a much more intimate setting than if they were all behind a desk with you in a chair across the room.

Gakuganji states your name and then motions to the empty spot at the chabudai. “Sit.”

The three men introduce themselves—Gakuganji, of course, and the other two are elders of the Zen’in and Kamo clans. You don’t bother to remember their given names. You doubt that you’d ever be in the realm of familiarity with these people and, yeah, maybe you can’t read the room well, but you know they look down on you. Satoru has warned you about elders in clans and those high up on the food chain.

Superiority complex bigger than mine, Sketch, Satoru had said. And with nothing to back it up! They’re weak as hell! Even the geezers in my clan!

Gakuganji is the first to speak. “Yaga should have instructed you to bring your drawings and notes. Did you?”

“Oh. Um. Yes.” You reach inside your bag to pull out the sketchbook. It makes you twitchy when you place it on the table and Zen’in immediately reaches out to roughly grab it and slide it over in front of him. You try not to cringe when you see it slide through some tea that spilled over the rim of his cup.

You’re not allowed to watch Zen’in long. Gakuganji asks, “Is that all?”

“Pardon?”

“I was informed that you had multiple sketchbooks. You’ve kept them since before you entered Jujutsu High, correct?”

Zen’in grunts. “Is there any organization to this?” Your hands fist the hem of your skirt. The disgusted curl of his lip is downright offensive. You keep those pages clean. They’re not cluttered with doodles. You limit one curse to each page. You’ve always had neat handwriting. What more does he expect? “Tch. You’ll have to go through and identify which are with Geto Suguru.”

A cold chill runs down your spine.

“Have some patience, Zen’in,” Kamo snaps. “We’re here for more than that.” Kamo is the youngest which is to say that he’s probably barely hit the retirement age. He smiles at you. “I apologize on his behalf, young lady. Continue, please.” You suspect that he’s meant to be the one you warm up to.

Very suddenly, viscerally, you become keenly aware that you’ve stepped inside a room full of snakes. What’s worse is that a misstep isn’t going to poison you alone. Suguru’s shadow is in the room. You don’t quite understand why your instincts scream danger. Normally, you wouldn’t trust them. Something tells you that you need to right now.

“I threw those away,” you lie. You’re a good liar. With a naturally emotionless expression and flat tone, people have as hard a time reading you as you do with them. “I only had one with me before I became a sorcerer, but I threw it away. It was full and I didn’t see a need for it. It was too messy to be submitted.”

Kamo’s lips twitch. “It’s truly only that one?”

“There are six-hundred blank pages, so I planned for it to last a long time. I have another one that’s more personal. Just to work on my art.” You nearly breathe a sigh of relief. For once, your meticulous nature of keeping a hard line between what you use your sketchbooks for comes in handy. “Here.” You set your smaller, personal sketchbook on the table.” I apologize for not getting it out before. I thought you meant only what I’ve done with cursed spirits.”

Gakuganji takes your personal sketchbook, only briefly skimming through with pursed lips. “I’m sure you’ve been told, but you’re expected to turn in your work to headquarters when it’s full.” You nod slowly. “We’ve been getting feedback about you, not only from Yaga but from other sorcerers. You were the one that helped with the Red Room Curse, yes?”

“Yes.”

Zen’in snorts. “You’re telling me that old urban legend was real?”

“Walk us through your thought process,” Gakuganji requests without acknowledging Zen’in.

“The internet, in the scheme of things, is relatively new. In my studies, I’ve learned that cursed spirits tend to stay away from technology. They usually interact with it only to destroy it. So, the curse using the internet as a tool to curse and travel was a huge red flag to me,” you explain. “Legends and cursed spirits can go hand-in-hand. An existing spirit inspires a legendary monster or the negativity around a legend will create a spirit.”

“Imaginary vengeful cursed spirits,” Zen’in grunts. “We know.”

“Not always,” you correct curtly. His eyes narrow at you. “There’s that old saying…legends have a sprinkle of truth to them. It’s smart to look into these cursed spirits. An imaginary vengeful spirit could have actually started out as a regular vengeful spirit that’s connected to an area or bloodline which is what happened here. Someone cursed a relative in the Taisho era, the spirit bound itself to a red journal, and gained power until it found an easier, faster way to spread itself.”

Kamo hums thoughtfully. “There was another incident last week.” You already know the one that he’s talking about. “Has Yaga told you the outcome of the situation?” You shake your head. “Did the sorcerer on call with you explain what that cursed object was?” Another shake of the head from you. “That was one of the fingers of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, and you were right about the seal being weak. The seal was reinforced.”

“I’m glad.”

“How did you know?”

“The activity of the cursed spirits in the area,” you lie again. Rather, it’s not the whole truth. But you’re worried that the truth could come off as a concern for them.

When you were in the range of that finger, something inside you just…knew. The cursed energy that radiated from it…there was a sense of anticipation. It’d been disorienting because the spirits in the area had the same feeling, too. It left you reeling and jittery from secondhand adrenaline.

These men don’t need to know that you’re feeling cursed spirits. No. Cursed energy. As the days tick by, you’re getting closer and closer to your dreadful theory being proven correct. You don’t want the higher-ups to come to that conclusion, too. You’re not sure what would happen if they thought you could influence anyone with a shred of cursed energy.

“We’d like to offer you an internship of sorts,” Gakuganji speaks up. “Each of the major clans have a storage of cursed objects, tools, and weapons. We do this so everything isn’t centralized to the school campuses, in case of a successful raid. Starting your third year, we’d like you to visit their main compounds and examine their collections.”

You catch yourself before you agree. “I would need cursed spirits to see how they act.”

“That’s not a problem for the Zen’in. We have a pit full of them.”

Again, you bite back the urge to ask this man why the fuck his clan has a pit of curses. “The pacification alters their behavior. It would only be effective if I hid myself from them, but that doesn’t protect anyone else in the compound. I don’t feel comfortable with that kind of risk.”

Kamo and Zen’in burst out in loud guffaws. The sudden noise makes you visibly wince. When they quiet, Kamo explains the hilarity by saying, “You’ll be in compounds with some of the strongest sorcerers in the world. We can handle some low grade cursed spirits.”

Your brows furrow. “Won’t there be children—”

Zen’in rolls his eyes and waves off your concern with a callous, “They need the practice.”

Is this seriously what it’s like to be born into one of these clans? These men are at the highest place in their clans, in jujutsu society. Better than anyone else, they should understand how rare sorcerers are. Why would they be so careless with the lives of their clansmen? You understand that this is ruthless work, and to coddle children can be a death sentence in itself, but this just seems cruel for the sake of cruelty.

Was Satoru’s world this cruel?

“I’d like a partner with me,” you force yourself to politely request. “Please.”

“One of the first years,” Kamo reluctantly agrees. Your mouth opens to protest, but he holds a hand up. “No Gojo will step foot on my clan’s compound. As for the Geto boy, it’s pointless. His control over cursed spirits is as manipulative as your pacification abilities, right?”

“Yaga says that Nanami Kento is showing promise,” Gakuganji adds.

“For once, I agree with Kamo. I’d burn my compound to the ground before I let a Gojo waltz in,” Zen’in spits on the ground, to which Kamo and Gakuganji make displeased noises. “And I’m not adding more fodder to the army of that brat with the Curse Manipulation.”

An offer, they say, but even you with your struggles to grasp social cues knows that this isn’t an option. No one in your position can say no to the higher-ups. With a smile that’s probably more of a grimace, you grit out, “Nanami will be fine.”

Sensei is in the longue outside the room where you met with the three elders. Said men who had been escorting you out, all rush on, leaving you in your teacher’s care. Not that you want to be around him right now. You might be more furious with him than the people you just met with. Sensei is next in line to be principal. He’s essentially a liaison with Lord Tengen. There’s no way he didn’t know what this conversation would be about. You wonder if he’s the one that suggested this.

Maybe you’re overreacting, but it feels like he’s stabbed you in the back.

There’s a lot that you want to say, but you won’t. There’s no point in it. It’ll only send you to your inevitable breakdown. You feel that rumble inside you. But…maybe you can get some answers out of Sensei before that happens. So, you demand to know, “Why are they like that with Suguru? He hasn’t done anything!”

Sensei drops down in a chair, sighing tiredly as he goes. “It’s…not only Suguru. This is a lack of trust in anyone that’s been marked as Special Grade.”

“Why? What did they do that was so wrong?”

“Do you know what it takes for someone to be considered Special Grade?”

“Anomalies in the system,” you recite. His own words, you might add.

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. The truth is that Special Grade sorcerers are those who have potential to devastate. You’re a logical girl. You can understand that Suguru has access to an army. Satoru, when he’s at his full potential, will most likely be the strongest sorcerer of the modern era—”

“Fear,” you spit. “This is fear.”

“Yes,” Sensei confirms without a beat. “They’re afraid. There’s currently only one other Special Grade sorcerer. Before this generation, the rank Special Grade had only been reserved for cursed spirits. To suddenly have so many, and all at once, it’s only made the higher-ups more afraid.” He hunches over, putting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not fair, I know, but this is how it has to be. That much power comes with certain responsibilities.”

Your fists clench. “I understand that, Sensei, but where’s the trust? All our lives, we’ve been…no one has ever trusted us. We came here because we wanted to be around people like us. We wanted to be accepted. What’s different between our village and here? Nothing. Sometimes, I think it’s worse. We’re not weapons. We’re people.”

“They know that.”

At your breaking point, you shout, “Do they?!” There’s so much more you want to say. I’m not spying on Suguru. I’ll lie on every single one of those pages that I send to headquarters. Somehow, you have the wherewithal to realize that that’s not a smart idea. Sensei is on your side, but not as much as you thought before. He’s chained by the higher-ups. “I’ll make my own way back to Tokyo.”

And you make sure to slam the door on the way out.

As you’re storming out of the building, you throw your hood up and shove on your sunglasses. You’re storming through campus with a trembling bottom lip and tears slowly trickling down your cheeks. You had hoped that it would be dead, but you’re not that lucky. There are a few students, a few more mature sorcerers, and you keep your head ducked down. You’re biting your lip raw to hold back the sobs threatening to spill out.

You make it as far as the outside of Kyoto High’s barrier before you can’t take it anymore and duck off the path. You drop down on a small boulder and cry. Between gasping breaths and desperately trying to wipe away tears that won’t stop, you pull out your cell phone.

Because you can’t do it. You can’t be around strangers. A two-hour bullet train ride is too daunting. Thinking of the smells of meals that people eat to pass the time, of the noise from even whispered conversations that would be loud to your overworking mind, of only an armrest separating you from another person and how that would make your skin crawl. An even worse hell would be a grueling five-hour drive with a manager back to Tokyo.

Please come pick me up, you text with trembling fingers. Not even thirty seconds later, your phone is ringing, but you quickly deny the call. No, you rush to text. Can’t talk, you add before he gets the wrong idea. Crying too hard to talk, you admit. The confession only makes you sob harder, of course. You can put your fist through monsters, but you can’t talk on the phone with your best friend without bawling like a baby.

Okay, Suguru responds back. I’ll take Hong there.

Manta ray back? I don’t want to be around people.

Whatever you want.

Thank you, Suguru.

Through the canopy of the trees, you see the glitter of Hong’s rainbow scales. You’ve managed to stop crying. And you thought that you’d be okay, but seeing the concern on Suguru’s face when he finds where you’ve hidden yourself away just brings it all back.

At this point, it’s not even so much the meeting. This is pure frustration with yourself. It’s shame and embarrassment. Just a little stress and you buckle. You hate this body. You hate this brain. Why can’t you be stronger? Why can’t you push yourself through the pain? Why does there have to be pain at all?

Suguru doesn’t speak. He sits down in front of the boulder, leaning his back against it. You spread your legs, allowing his shoulders to fit between them. He knows your tights are a barrier from skin contact, so he can freely lean his head to the side, resting against the inside of your knee.

Then, Suguru waits in silence.

You need his rock-solid presence but can’t bear him watching you in this pathetic state. It only makes things worse. Normal people would want to be comforted, to be hugged, but that’s just more stress. You can’t talk like this, so you feel stupid. You feel eyes on you, so you cry harder because you’re ashamed that you got here in the first place. If you were back on your campus, you would hide yourself away in your room until you’re calm. That’s not an option here.

And…and Suguru knows this. He knows you. He won’t look at you, won’t acknowledge that you’re breaking down. Why are you so kind? You think of those three stupid, old men. How can you be afraid of someone so kind?

“Su—” you choke on his name. You can’t speak past the lump in your throat. Angry that you can’t even manage his name, you ball up your fist and start banging it against your thigh. Like that can make your body cooperate. Or…it’s punishment. It might be that.

“Squid,” Suguru whispers as he reaches out to gently take your wrist. “I know you’re mad at yourself, but don’t do that. Why don’t I tell you about the cursed spirit we saw? We can make a game of it. I try to describe it. You try to draw it.” You shake your head furiously. “You’re stuck in the loop, aren’t you? Don’t you want out?”

The loop, you call it. The way you’re stuck in an endless cycle of berating yourself for being like this. You’ll never stop unless you have a distraction and his presence isn’t enough.

When Suguru hands you your sketchbook and a pencil, you take it.

There are a lot of tear stains on the paper by the time you calm all the way down, but it does the trick.

“Eh? That doesn’t look like it at all,” Suguru mutters when you hand him the finished product. “I didn’t think I was this bad at descriptions,” he remarks with a chuckle. “Still cool, though.” Slowly, he gets to his feet, patting his pants down to get all the dirt off. He turns around and holds out a hand to you. “Ready to go?”

You take his hand as an answer.

You don’t let go.

Suguru’s eyes widen a little when you thread your fingers through his. The two of you stand there for a minute before he’s squeezing your hand and guiding you back out to the main path. A manta ray spirit is waiting there for you both, low enough that you can step on it. You’re forced to let go of his hand, but you don’t want to lose that point of contact. You’re seated behind him, cross legged. You slip your arms around his waist from behind and press your forehead against his back.

Suguru covers his hands with yours and never stops during the whole ride back.

***

You decided that you wouldn’t tell anyone about the details of that meeting until you absolutely had to. The parts of it that you had to agree to, anyway. You won’t talk about them wanting you to spy on Suguru and keep track of his spirits because you’re not doing that. It’s an invasion of privacy that you refuse to be part of. Unlike the higher-ups that see Suguru and Satoru as tools to be kept track of, they’re your best friends.

Eventually, they’ll notice that you’re not marking which spirits are his. You’ve already started to come up with excuse—you forgot, you’re too focused on capturing the spirit on the page, you had it in your mind when you were preparing them to be sent to headquarters but forgot it. They’ll catch on, probably. After that, you’ll just lie. And it kills you inside a little, but you’ll have to stop marking the date on them. It really will make it harder to remember which assignments were with Suguru and which weren’t.

Suguru knows not to ask you about what made you so upset. Maybe he’ll give a half-hearted try in a week or two, but it’s too fresh. You’ll only get upset when you remember all the negative emotions that came with a breakdown. The only smart thing those old bastards did was to have you meet with them on a Friday.

It’s Sunday now and you feel a little better. Your defiance has helped mute your anxiety a little, you guess. After going the rest of Friday and all of yesterday without speaking, you think you can manage it today. Words don’t feel as heavy. It’s not as much a daunting task as it was before. Just like going to spend time with Satoru and Suguru is a little less tiring. That’s the thing, you love to hang out with them, but it still drains your battery. It doesn’t drain as fast or as much as it would if you were around some random strangers, but down goes that metaphorical battery all the same.

Satoru is already at the meeting place—one of the many koi ponds sprinkled around campus. You don’t want to deal with grass against your skin today, so you spread out a spare blanket from your room. Satoru hums before he’s scooting over to sit down on the blanket next to you.

The two of you are side-by-side, watching the occasional koi break the surface with a splash. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Satoru rocks back and forth, fidgeting with the hem of his pant legs. You’re not surprised when he finally asks the question because you’ve been expecting it. “Are you okay?”

“Better,” you answer honestly.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Oh.” From the corner of your eye, you see him frown. “Is it…because it’s me? I know I’m not good with…feelings and stuff. I can just fuck off if you wanted to just spend time with Suguru and talk and stuff…”

You smile. It’s small but sincere. “It’s not that, Satoru. If I wanted to talk about it, I’d feel okay doing it with you, too. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to cry again.”

He cringes. “Yeah, I don’t want you to cry, either.” He’s at the edge of the blanket and starts picking at blades of grass. “Is there anything I can do so that doesn’t happen again?”

“No,” you answer honestly. You’re surprised to see him flinch, like you’re hurting his feelings. He usually has thick skin. Ah, but he’s also used to being the answer to everyone’s problems. You don’t think there’s much that he can’t do. “The breakdowns are a part of me. There’s always going to be a potential to have one.” You pause. You’d rather not have him stress over this. “I can try to ask for help before it gets to that point, though. I don’t know—can you extend Infinity to protect others?”

“Ha, no. Not yet.”

“Well…I could use your blackout glasses? Light makes me the most sensitive.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, same.”

“I won’t use them, then.”

“I can handle it for a little bit if it’ll make you feel better,” he mumbles. “I kinda get what you’re going through. I used to get super overwhelmed when I was a kid, before I could control Infinity. I would get really angry, though. There were a few times that I’d grit my teeth so hard that I’m shocked now that my teeth didn’t get chipped. I guess a part of me was scared to cry in front of tutors, so I’d be angry instead.”

You do the thing that Suguru stopped you from doing when you were in the midst of it—beating a fist against your thigh. “I get mad, too. Just at myself.” Your brows furrow. “Oh. I get angry before that point, I think. Sometimes, when I’ve been by myself, I’ve punched walls.”

Satoru’s shoulders slump. You think…is that a sigh of relief from him? “I don’t feel so bad now,” he admits embarrassedly. “The clan was kind of understanding how sensitive I am with lights because of the Six Eyes, but…they never really got how much everything else built up.” He’s fidgeting even more, uncharacteristically nervous. “I never wore tabi socks with my yukata when I went out, in case there was some water somewhere. I hate how clothes feel on my skin when they’re wet. It’s…clingy.”

It’s slowly dawning on you. Curious, you ask, “How do you feel about cotton balls?”

You watch a shudder roll down his spine. “After my first cavity, I made sure I’d never get another one. I almost sent the dentist across the room with Blue when he put those things in my mouth.”

“Eye contact?”

“Ugh, I hate that stupid shit. My old man meets with people from other countries, and they’re obsessed with it. I’m so lucky I’m in Japan.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. “I wish I was around you when I was a kid. The sunglasses idea saved my life and my reputation. Now, people can’t figure out where I’m looking.”

“Reputation? You have one of those?”

“Rude,” Satoru complains and pokes you insistently. “People think you’re all sweet, Sketch. You’re as much of an asshole as I am, y’know. People just forgive you because you have that pretty face and cute smile. It’s the same with Suguru, too. You’re both the golden kids!”

Your heart skitters at hearing pretty face and cute smile, but he included Suguru. It’s just an observation. An exaggeration in your case, definitely, but whatever. “It’s not being an asshole. I’m just blunt.”

“So am I!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, and I’ve also studied other people, so I know what’s too far.” You hesitate. “Usually.” Another pause from you before you finally settle on a reluctant, “Sometimes. But definitely more than you.”

He’s pouting at you. “You could be nice and teach me.”

“You don’t care enough to learn.”

“I care about people!”

“I know that.” Hmm, how do you explain it? “I’ve kinda learned from seeing you interact with Nanami and Haibara that you use that bluntness as a way to help. Put you and, say, Suguru together. You both see the same flaw and point it out. You’re not as nice as Suguru, but you don’t waste time with niceties. They’re there to learn and be critiqued. It’s not a good idea to inflate their egos. That gets people killed.”

Satoru nods enthusiastically. “See? See! You get it!”

You rush to add, “But…you should give them encouragement. It sucks to constantly be told how you’re not doing things right. I know that way too well. Just ask Suguru.”

“You’re way too soft for this line of work, Sketch.”

This day is important, though you won’t realize that until much, much later. But isn’t that how life is? Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that.

Today is the last day that you will see Satoru and Suguru smile genuinely for a very, very long time.

[sayoneee]

☆ LET'S DANCE

slughorn decides to play matchmaker for the day, leading to your public humiliation (2.4k)

contains: idiots in love. very loosely based on the david bowie song. swearing. possibly ooc sirius. bit of an existential crisis ig. slughorn. sirius has jokes (bad ones). not proofread

kashaf’s note: havent posted in ages hopefully u like this

YOU LONGED FOR summer’s embrace, and the warm reprieve from the demands of school, yet you are afraid of what it might bring. the longer you try to savor the last of your sixth year, and dream of the carefree hours under never-ending sunlight soon within your grasp, the harder it becomes to ignore the continuously grim headlines of the daily prophet presented at the breakfast table every morning. even amidst your friends’ laughter, the looming shadow of anti-muggle-born propaganda pushed forward by unseen hands propels them to dissect and debate on almost molecular levels, each point characterized by a bite or a clang of a fork. 

the end of your sixth year brings unshakeable exhaustion as constant vigilance weaves itself into everyday life within the ancient walls of the castle, adding to the suddenly rigorous course load attempting to prepare your year for their upcoming n.e.w.t.s. hogwarts, once a haven, now demanded a watchful eye on every staircase and dark corridor, as the hallways echoed with ghostly rumors and whispers found their homes on the staircases. 

“mare, stop tryna murder slughorn with your eyes; he might catch on,” you hissed at mary under your breath, elbowing her discreetly, as you try to appear focused on slughorn’s lesson. 

“maybe he’ll learn his lesson and stop splitting us up,” mary responded resolutely, never once breaking eye contact with the balding pudgy man who, in a horribly clichéd fit of inspiration, had begun assigning partners to brew amortentia in the double-potions period you had been blessed with today.  

the somewhat impulsive decision of “james potter and lily evans” had you and mary turning to each other, eyebrows raised as you wondered quite how thick slughorn could be. in general, no one knew what was going on between james and lily. at this point, you surmised neither did they. they had had odd bouts of camaraderie, quickly replaced with civil hostility, resulting in a continuous loop of poorly disguised affection or hatred, like a roulette wheel deciding which lily and james to match up each day. 

you prayed to merlin, hoping whatever disastrous infliction that had befallen slughorn for him to pair james with lily would not contagiously affect his decision for you, and that slughorn would come to his senses and let you spend the amortentia lesson with your sanity intact. alas, merlin had no such qualms about leaving you to fend for yourself as the anticipation you felt when slughorn called your name quickly soured to horror when he followed it up with none other than “sirius black”.

despite the number of mutual friends shared—after your friend groups warmed up to each other this year—the two of you had never gotten along. you’ve since chalked it up to his propensity for being aggravating without rhyme or reason, seemingly driven by an inherent desire to extract reactions. his words, laced with a mirth hard to ignore, are like finely crafted spells designed to unravel your patience. the rest of the school’s population are able to dismiss him, but your inability to ignore him has become something of an enigma.

feeling sirius’s presence next to you, without turning to face him, you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “am i gonna have to remain vigil over our cauldron in case it blows up the minute my back is turned?” 

“as flattering as it is to hear you admit that you’ve been watching me over the years—” here, you let out a derisive snort, causing sirius to pause, and raise his eyebrows at you in challenge, “when have you seen me jinx my own cauldron?” he continued, a smirk tugging at his lips as he loosened his tie even further. 

you groaned, finally making eye contact with him, unsurprised to see that all-too-familiar glint in his grey eyes, “can we please just get this over with already?”

in your six shared years of schooling, you have always distantly conceded him to be handsome, his features falling into the realm of casual observance amidst the whirlwind of classes, and quidditch matches. yet, the way he stares down at you in this moment stirs something within you, the unfamiliar fluttering awakening a newfound awareness. 

his locks of black hair fall delicately in his eyes, as if afraid to obstruct your view. the silver gleam of his piercings catch the glow of the potions bubbling around you, an intricate constellation along the curve of his ears—a bold declaration of his rebelliousness. the smile tugging at the corners of his lips is enigmatic, as if he’s aware that he’s just shifted something fundamental between you. 

“aren’t you moving a little too fast?” sirius continued when you turned to him confused, “take me out to dinner first.” 

you glared at him as understanding dawned on you, “i’m literally going to murder you if you don’t shut up, i swear to merlin.”

“aren’t you kinky?” 

you spin around, pointing your wand at his jugular, watching his adam’s apple bob up then down as he threw his hands up in surrender, an easy-going grin gracing his features, “woah there, guess i touched a nerve, huh?”

you know he’s baiting you, you know his talent for finding weaknesses and exploiting them all too well, but you can’t help yourself when it comes to him, falling into the trap carefully set out for you, biting out a retort before you’re aware of it, “you won’t have any nerves left when i’m done with you.”

sirius grins, no—bares his teeth at you, wolfishly, and suddenly you understand all of james’s dog-related jokes over the years. 

the two of you remain uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the potion, you’re surprised by sirius’s begrudging help, and soon enough, you’re sliding the last ingredient in. 

the potion looks right to you, with the mother-of-pearl sheen slughorn gushed about for all of the class period, but you can’t tell because your senses were invaded by the distinct smell of cologne causing you to wrinkle your nose as you eyed sirius apprehensively. 

he seemed to be having the same predicament as you currently, perfect brows furrowed in thought as his eyes glance over the potion. 

“i can’t tell if we did it right,” you venture. 

“me neither,” he shrugs, “all i can smell is your perfume—by the way, did you have to use the whole bottle?”

“i could say the same for you—the room reeks of your cologne, asshole.”

“more like your perfume—”

“i literally ran out this morning—”

“because you dumped the whole bottle on yourself?”

“literally pot calling the kettle black—”

“i am a black—”

“i literally hate you so much—”

a sharp, disapproving cough splits the two of you apart, not only had your argument grown embarrassingly loud in its procession, but it had also orchestrated a gravitational pull between the two of you. the result had been proximity that bordered on the intimate, your personal space evaporating until you were mere inches apart. the ignominy of being publicly seen at sirius black’s throat was nothing compared to the humiliation that followed after slughorn’s unexpected interruption.

slughorn’s rotund figure regards the two of you with a mixture of curiosity and mild exasperation, his mustache twitching slightly in rhythm with the exaggerated rise and fall of his breath, “my dears,” he begins, his tone a blend of genuine concern and theatrical flair, “what seems to be the problem? your potion appears to be brewed successfully, i can see the characteristic smoke spirals, and the mother-of-sheen pearl.”

flushed with embarrassment that seems to spread through you like a fever, you mumble your response lowly, “sorry, professor, but we couldn’t tell because of external factors.”

the air in the room seems to thicken as the collective gaze of your classmates turns toward the two of you, their eyes capturing the awkwardness with an unabashed curiosity that makes you wish you could use a time-turner to escape this particular moment of public humiliation.

slughorn’s hearty laughter fills the room like a boisterous charm, “oho, i see the problem now, my dear,” he addresses you, his eyes crinkling with amusement, “tell me, what do you smell in the amortentia?”

his words hang in the air, and the room's atmosphere has shifted from tense to expectant.

confused, you play with the hem of your skirt as you wonder the relevancy of his question, your gaze flickering uncertainly, tracing patterns in the stone floor as you respond, “um, cologne, leather, and brownies, professor.”

the room, for a moment, becomes a canvas of uncomfortable silence, and you're resolutely avoiding making eye contact with anyone else in the room.  

satisfied with your response, slughorn pivots his attention to sirius, a gleam of intrigue dancing in his eyes, "now you, my boy," he encourages, his voice a velvet stroke, "go on, tell us what you smell."

a twist of surprise clenches within you as you expect sirius to brush off the request, to summon a sarcastic remark as his defense. yet, to your astonishment, he complies, his fingers raking through his hair, “perfume, shampoo, and petrol, professor."

slughorn nods sagely, his lips curving into a satisfied grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. he claps his hands together once, the sound a punctuation to his assessment. the atmosphere in the room has shifted from suspenseful to charged, every student suspended in the tension of his next words.

"my dears," he addresses the class with the air of a professor on the brink of a profound lesson, "you smell each other in the amortentia, that is your problem."

the previously stifling silence is breached as the dungeon is painted with a symphony of snickers. the air seems to vibrate with laughter, and there's even a bold wolf whistle, which you're almost certain is courtesy of james. yet, amidst this collective amusement, all you can feel is disconcertment, the weight of attention heavy upon you.

as if merlin himself takes pity on your predicament, slughorn's laughter ripples through the room, warm and infectious, as he claps his hands together again, “my young scholars, it's time for practicality. bottle your amortentia, label it, and kindly leave it on my desk before making your exit."

with that, your hasty exit from the dungeon turns into a veritable escape, as you shoulder your bag against your side. every nerve in your body screams for invisibility, to become nothing more than a background figure. however, as you weave your way through the corridors, hoping to dissolve into the anonymity of the crowd, you're struck by sirius black’s unwavering dedication in trailing behind you despite each step you take further into the deepening throng of students. 

just before you can approach the fat lady’s portrait, a hand closes on your elbow and a startled gasp escapes you as you are abruptly yanked into a hidden alcove, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. your eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, but before you can react, a large hand firmly pressed against your mouth, thick silver rings digging uncomfortably against your lips. glaring at your kidnapper, you folded your arms across your chest. 

acutely aware of the proximity, of the scent of cologne now much fainter than in the dungeons, you wait with a mixture of frustation and curiosity. sirius leans as far back as the alcove will let him, which is not much, but at least he’s no longer lurking over you like a predator staring down its prey. 

“the fuck do you want?” you could care less if you smelled him or if he smelled you in the amortentia, because as far as you’re concerned, the two of you can continue to dance around each other in the way you have perfected over the years. in your delicate ballet, he is the master of light-hearted jests flickering like fireflies in the summer dusk, and you are the recipient of his playful pranks and ceaseless banter, carrying an unspoken agreement, holding onto the game you both secretly treasured. 

its predictability is comforting, the way his remarks are as reliable as the rising sun, and your laughter feels like a shared secret between only the two of you. the amortentia's revelations feel like an unnecessary intrusion, an attempt to place confusing labels on your little game.

“go out with me,” sirius levels a roguish grin at you, his grey eyes dance with the mischief you are so accustomed to seeing. 

all you want is to say yes, to revel in stolen glances, the exhilaration of shared laughter, the brushing of your fingers together, and strolling carefree across the castle grounds, but your world isn’t one satisfied by teen romances. it’s one where every word and connection is scrutinized under the weight of a society where love and friendship are tainted by its fixation on blood status. 

you cannot bring yourself to look into his eyes, twinkling with genuine interest, feeling a pang of bitterness as you consider the reality of your world. to say yes would be to risk both your safety and that of your friends, and who knows if the ensuing conflict would leave either of you unscathed. 

“i can’t,” you still cannot bring yourself to look him in the eye as you deliver this unseen rejection with a bittersweet smile, torn between longing for normalcy and the harsh lessons you’ve learned with every picture and name added to the growing list of victims. 

“why not?” sirius asks, confusion coloring his features, as he searches your gaze, attempting to make eye contact. 

you don’t know how to explain without seeming as if you’re getting ahead of yourself, thinking of the distant future, but you try anyway, wringing your hands together, “we don’t know what’ll happen in a year or two, sirius. we don’t even know if we’ll be alive after we graduate.”

his hands cradle your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye, the cool press of his metal rings against your burning skin is soothing, “i’m asking for right now,” he continues, softly, gentler than you have ever known him, his gaze holding yours in quiet intensity, “for you to live for yourself—”

the uncertain future shapes into one of possibility, and so, without conscious thought, you surge forward to kiss him, clumsier than you would have liked, and messier than you have ever known, but it feels right. 

“so, that’s a yes for hogsmeade this weekend?”

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, translate, plagiarize or claim any of my works as your own.

[indelicateink]

so today i fell down a rabbit hole with The Vampire Lestat. @aquarines made a good post noting rolin saying TVL will only be one season. which got me sitting down with the book to see how they could possibly speedrun this bad boy to cram it into 8 episodes (worst-case scenario; 15 if there’s a god).

idk about you guys, but I could squeeze it into a tight 9 episodes, MAYBE (estimates below)? BUT: I didn’t account for the present-day stuff, which would surely push it over 9 episodes by my outsider guesses(/wishes; I didn’t make huge cuts, just modest ones). and i adore you, lestat, but the present-day stuff is also hugely important to me. bc although the book is almost wholly autobiography of lestat’s past, they’ve promised us Louis and Daniel and Armand aren’t going anywhere. so they’ll surely be bringing in other plot from the rest of the chronicles, and possibly hints of Talamasca things bc of the sister show...?

like. the beginning of TVL's a piece of cake--

Downtown Saturday Night in the Twentieth Century - 1984

All exposition. Hi I’m Lestat and I’m a vampire and a rockstar. How I woke up from my long sleep. How I started my band. Omg the 20th C, I love it. Interview With the Vampire is a book that exists? Okay: here are some opinions.

This can be massively condensed to an exchange with Daniel, so that’s…16 pages down. Out of 481.

but the central part of the book–

(putting this wild ride behind a cut for book spoilers)

The Early Education and Adventures of the Vampire Lestat: Part I: Lelio Rising (44 pages [hardback])

lol THERE’S SO MUCH, THIS WHOLE CENTRAL “TEEAAOTVL” SECTION COULD BE THE WHOLE SEASON ALONE NO COMING UP FOR AIR, LBR. but it can’t be, so:

his early life/whole childhood summed up. shitty family, the running away, Gabrielle intro/characterization.

the wolves.

meeting Nicki, the romance (if they’re speedrunning, this is probably half montage and we possibly won’t get the witches’ place, his existential crisis, etc??), then peacing tf out from Auvergne.

starting life w Nicki in Paris, joining the theatre, falling in love with acting, signs of strain with Nicki.

hey, I’m being stalked.

Maybe they do a lot of implying with his early childhood/family situation and just jump right to the wolves; 23 minutes for Nicki and their romance; then boom Paris and hello theatre. 1 episode? [or, A BRUTAL EDIT: 5 minutes my life/family sucks beyond the telling, 5 minutes for the wolves, 10 minutes for Nicki, okaylet’sgotoparishii’minparisilovethetheater!! 10 minutes. In a 44-minute episode (why not), we now have 14 minutes for the present day.]

The Early Education and Adventures of the Vampire Lestat: Part II: The Legacy of Magnus (60 pages)

massively important part of the book.

abduction by Magnus, death/rape/turning by Magnus

learning being a vampire, learning how to be rich, rediscovering Paris & haunting/tainting his former life and Nicki, getting his newfound wealth/shit squared away with his attorney Roget, meeting Armand and the coven.

Gabrielle has come to Paris to die.

THIS IS LIKE 2--3 if life loves me--EPISODES RIGHT HERE. idek, the professionals will make this work.

realizing it's interesting louis told lestat's origin story to the whole world (unlike the books, where it's in lestat's book). the story louis had to practically pry out of him. lol uh hope the guy was okay with that.

The Early Education and Adventures of the Vampire Lestat: Part III: Viaticum for the Marquise (47 pages)

Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle.

death/turning, learning to be a vampire along with the guy who doesn’t know how to be a vampire yet.

fighting with armand and the coven. armand stalking this guy like JOIN MY COVEN YOU TOTALLY WANT TO BE WITH ME JOIN MY COVEN, SON OF A BITCH WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING— meanwhile lestat is like…I admit this guy is super hot, but maybe a tool?

the coven abducts nicki (who lestat has been avoiding post-vampirism): lestat is officially done with this shit.

god they could make this 1 episode if they REALLY burn rubber, but it should be 2 because there’s so much to cover, and you know lestat would want Gabrielle alone to be like 3 episodes at the very least, lol. they might really change the coven stuff based on what they did in S2, which saves some time. [or, A BRUTAL EDIT: 20 minutes for gabrielle to die, be turned, the novelty of becoming a vampire, woo incest on main. 10 minutes of the coven pestering them and armand coming on heavy with the mind gift and obsessive stalking. 1 minute for omg Nicki kidnapped! we now have 13 minutes for the present-day.]

section 2, part IV. The Children of Darkness (52 pages)

the coven abducts lestat and gabrielle. Lestat’s devastating powerpoint for the coven that their life is a lie and they’re full of shit. existential crisis! the coven collapses. Lestat & Gabrielle drop the mic and leave with Nicki.

Nicki’s deranged from being a vampire chew toy and wants to be a vampire. Lestat only knows how to make really good, reasoned decisions, so ofc he turns him. that relationship implodes. Gabrielle teaches Nicki how to vampire.

okay, deep breath: Armand destroys everyone in the coven who doesn’t escape, Lestat encourages those vampires to figure out the new century, Armand preternaturally studies up on How To Be A Person In This Century (lestat describing him as insect-like as he consumes the contents of a library), Armand is STILL trying to seduce lestat via stalking, shit goes to hell between lestat and nicki and the theater of the vampires is created with Nicki and the former coven members (and later armand)

THISISSOMUCH. that could be like half a season right there. but! they could TOTALLY elide almost all the stuff with the coven here because it’s not hugely important to lestat’s arc? they already filmed lestat breaking it up (from armand’s POV) in s2. the focus of this part could be the relationship with nicki reaching its extinction-level event. okay. it’s not undoable that this is 1 episode, pooooossibly less with merciless cutting. [or, A BRUTAL EDIT: 12 minutes to refute Armand’s version—telling the coven to wake up to themselves and get a life off in the TdV, how Lestat didn’t tap the gremlin…idk, this blends pretty well into the next part. Maybe 24 minutes if they crush the Armand bits in this section with the next section. 7 minutes for the Lestat/Nicki implosion. We now have 1 minute for the present-day.]

The Early Education and Adventures of the Vampire Lestat: Part V: The Vampire Armand (41 pages)

before there was The Vampire Armand the novel, there was this entire section of Lestat’s book.

aaaand it starts out with armand seducing lestat with the mind gift (granted, you sense this was not super needed because lestat was already smitten, but armand is practical if nothing else), and he proceeds to either rape lestat or just drink off him by force, depending on how we’re reading that. lestat breaks the spell and fights him off, and beats the entire snot out of him in front of a crowd of party-goers in the rain.

then lestat and gabrielle take armand back to their place, because—lestat’s still fond of him! LMAO PEOPLE HE REALLY IS A WEIRDO, I CANNOT EXPRESS WHAT A VILLAIN CUT WE GOT IN S1

to hugely sum up: armand’s past, lestat learns marius exists and becomes obsessed that someone could be a Functional Vampire, armand reallyreallyreally wants to hang with lestat (and gabrielle) for eternity but they are like. pal. your thirst is destructive. a world of no. you gotta go figure out how to live in the world on your own.

okay here we get into total unknowns on how amc wants to handle this. do they devote an entire episode to armand now, or save it for his own interview? god, in deference to limited S3 time I bet they don’t go deep into his backstory beyond quickly dropping the vital marius info? this entire part V is potentially a whole-ass episode, though, buuuuut I feel like they could squeeze a decent amount of present-day stuff in that ep, too.

it would be objectively hilarious if lestat started to tell armand’s story and armand threw the shit fit of all time and they decided to skip it. (for now.)

The Early Education and Adventures of the Vampire Lestat: Part VI: On the Devil’s Road from Paris to Cairo (34 pages)

okay thank god we’ve come to a part that it would be easy(?) to majorly cut if need be. gabrielle & lestat travel, existential questions are asked, lestat searches for marius leaving giant carved-in-stone letters to him all over the place like a lunatic, gabrielle gets more and more restless/distant.

what’s important here: we learn about armand cutting off nicki’s hands, and nicki’s suicide.

oh, and that gabrielle sat on a letter for some time about how all of lestat’s mortal family except his father were murdered in the revolution, because she hoped he’d go off to the jungle with her or…idk, some fuckin thing, it’s wildly selfish.

anyway, lestat and gabrielle make their bittersweet split, and lestat is so depressed from everything that's happened that instead of going to new orleans as planned (his father had fled there), he goes into the earth to sleep for awhile.

then: hi marius. (AR does love her cliffhangers)

I mean. bullet points are: nicki’s death explained in a letter and lestat’s family’s death explained in a letter and gabrielle’s departure and marius’s entrance. It’s possible it’s not a whole episode. idk how fast they need to move, though.

The Early Education and Adventures of the Vampire Lestat: Part VII: Ancient Magic, Ancient Mysteries (109!!!!! pages!!!!)

okay. to sum: marius takes him home, we learn marius’s story (more to come in the Blood and Gold novel), we meet Akasha/Akasha allows Lestat to drink from her, Enkil is pissed, Marius asks Lestat leave (friendly) and hey, threatens to fuck his shit up if he tells anyone/any fledglings about the existence of Marius & Akasha & Enkil et al (not so friendly lol). this…matters later. as you know.

Lestat arrives in New Orleans.

lol SORRY MARIUS YOU FUCKO, WE CAN TOTALLY CUT MOST OF YOUR STORY FROM S3, YOUR CHAPTER IS MASSIVE, LOL. i honestly think they have to cut his big backstory except for an outline, jesus. we are so pressed for time. (i don’t truly hate you, marius, but christ you’re a pompous dick who has caused so much suffering.) but yeah, they’re going to have to keep in how he came to be caregiver for Akasha and Enkil and all that. It’s the Marius Mystique Episode. Anyway, the Akasha/Lestat here is HUGELY important, so that and Marius…this is all an episode’s worth at the very least.

Epilogue: Interview with the Vampire (16 pages)

jesus

this part is devastatingly sad.

“But my story isn’t finished, no matter how reluctant I might be to continue it. And I must consider, at least briefly, the painful events that led to my decisions to go down into the earth in 1929.”

here lestat touches on the events of IWTV very briefly; he’s far kinder speaking of louis in his book than louis was speaking of lestat. (also, ofc, when AR wrote IWTV she didn’t know TVL was coming. lestat has to poke holes in some things: yes, we were in love, explicitly [“Read between the lines.”]; louis didn’t know how gorgeous he was; omg I was down bad; I was wealthy and he didn’t understand that; we were doomed, I was selfish; I cursed claudia when I condemned her to that body and I deserved everything that came to me, I did it because I wanted to, I don’t regret our family; I don’t blame her for killing me, “it was the sort of thing I might have done myself”; our family was together almost 70 years, which is very long for vampires to stay together, apparently (note: the show gave this to armand and louis instead: don’t even talk to me right now?); but “little things like this don’t really matter. He told the tale as he believed it.”)

something important that I hope/anticipate they’ll come back to is lestat then challenging the events of the trial and armand’s betrayal. it’s an order of magnitude more fucked up in the book for lestat than how it seemed to play out in s2? so i’m not sure what to expect in the s3 POV.

and then: lestat goes to rot in nola, and eventually goes into the earth. before he goes underground armand visits him here in the 20th C to whine that louis—who, okay, I lied, is alive, and he didn’t know you were alive either bc I lied to him, too—has left armand after all these years together and btw lestat, can I hit? I know you’re busy rotting in your depression hovel, but I really, really could use the d right now. aaaand lestat tells him to go suck a fuck. (I guess we're leaving all that out, though.)

So it's only 16 pages, but this seems pretty important given that lestat’s POV on s1 and s2 seems kind of promised? and a counterweight to the villain edit he's had for the past couple years? do they condense this to 1 episode or pepper it throughout?

Dionysus in San Francisco - 1985 (28 pages?!)

ROCKSTAR LESTAT! aside from the parts of 1984 in the very beginning, this narrow chapter is all that actually exists of rockstar lestat!! rolin, please give us a healthier meal than this. I trust you on this implicitly.

so: vampires internationally threatening lestat and his band, rockstar lyfe, brief reunion with louis (shamefully SHORT), hey it’s the big concert, shit happens, oh shit it’s Gabrielle saving the day!, okay let’s adjourn and regroup tomorrow this has been a wild ride, OH NO AKASHA— finis.

I’m assuming this is threaded throughout s3, heavy on the final episode. the louis part we already know will be different--they've had a reunion.

idk how all that works, but I have total faith they’ll make good television.

I am baffled, on the face of it, how they pull in Louis—unless they get creative with blending in the other books NOW.

frex they could OPEN the season just dumping us in with Lestat at Marius’s island where he/we meet Akasha and touch briefly on that, and then flash forward to the present-day interview and jump around the telling of TVL like that. but, vitally, we’ve been introduced to Akasha from the start, so hints of her can start showing up in the present-day plot in a way that makes sense to the (unread) audience, which gives us a big plot-driving reason to spend a lot of time in the present day, with louis, possibly the talamasca, possibly Jesse and the fam. or the talamasca does an infodump on akasha early, idk.

whatever they do, I need them to be creative and get me so much louis up in here. matched! set! do! not! separate!

honestly I’m not sure how they squeeze this all down to 8 episodes without a chainsaw, but! again: i have faith. though honestly i'm hoping for 15 episodes.