#hehe.... lil man....

[todayisafridaynight]

I need Ichiban all day everyday can you make that happen?

such miracles involve powers beyond my capabilities

i can do this tho

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

YOU’RE AN ANGEL, I’M A DOG ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, like a dot of ink on paper, dripping with exhaustion; a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching beneath his ribs.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated, from satoru this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you yesterday, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches that flicker of joy dance inside your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back, so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

[didderd]

my hand has been feeling a lil better, and so i'm slowly getting back to drawing! (still taking it easy tho)

so here, take a lil nightmare doodle i did today! :3

[sqtorux]

gojo 'i am a man too' satoru when you keep teasing him about how he's younger than you and makes it his life mission to prove it.

[cubedmango]

bitter choco decoration

[strawberyaurabya]

“Goodnight, Hunter.”

This is a silly little gif I made during class, and it was originally supposed to be based off of Belos’s face reveal in Eclipse Lake, during his confrontation with Hunter.

Forgive me for the bad quality, I had to screen record it :,)

For the record, I’m working on more content. I have a few memes and doodles that I’m still working on; However, with the start of classes again, I have to take my own pace.

[chernabogs]

The Moon

Inc: Malleus, briefly Prefect Warnings: Some spoilers for the platinum jacket bday vignette. The laundry... LMAO WC: 2.5k Summary: 4 firsts that Malleus had under the watchful gaze of his oldest friend. First moments, first shop, first wash, first friend.

1—First Moments.

There is an envy of the moon that rots through his heart as a plague does the flesh. 

The moon was his friend for the longest time in his youth; people would pass like a breeze—tutors, courtiers, servants, —leaving him stagnant, alone. But the moon would always return. She’d look down at where he leaned out the window, his small hands grasping the stones to steady himself, and her silver light would bath over him like the gentle touch of a mother—at least, how he imagined that touch to be. He’d whittle away hours admiring her mottled surface, and she’d whittle away hours gazing back, until she would eventually vanish with the night as the inky black sky faded to a twilight blue. 

The envy existed because she always had the opportunity to come and go. Malleus was confined to a box for much of his life. Never once did he need to lift a finger, even if he desired to;

your highness is not meant to do that. Your highness is not meant to toil, and labour, and break the earth as we must. Hot sun should not kiss your fragile skin, sweat should not touch your brow. You must always remain above and away. Let us harvest for your needs; let us serve. 

No one ever worked for the moon. She controlled the tides, made the Valley livable, and in return was worshipped for her trials among those denizens. One does not tell the moon you are not meant to do that. You are not meant to toil, and labour, and wrestle the tides for our needs. That was preposterous to think. So, should he not, too, work alongside the rest to make the Valley a better place? Would that not make the most sense? 

For a while he resented it. He would turn to his side to face away from the window as night came, grasping his sheets with his hands and glaring into the darkness as though the moon would feel sad in his absence. That’s a silly thought. A floating rock in space cannot fathom the emotions burdened by fae and man alike. But in his childish mind—packed with tales of birds that talk and trees that walk—it was perfectly reasonable. Sometimes, it still is. 

The resentment only lasted a few weeks before guilt began to eat him. That’s a silly thought, too. To feel guilty over ignoring a rock. Yet the next night he did find himself leaning on that window ledge once more, looking up at her with wide eyes as her silver light brushed across his cheeks. I’m sorry, he had whispered, knowing she could not hear but imagining she did.

The sun may not see his skin, but the moon certainly did, and she kissed it goodnight every evening before he went to rest. Lilia once told him his mother was a star, but Malleus wagered she’s far more than that. A star cannot contain the love and power he learned her to have. 

No, looking up to the silver light above, he knew precisely what she had joined in those celestial skies. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2—First Shop.

The opportunity for growth first came when he was invited to NRC. There is a first time for everything, and Malleus was quick to experience many in those early weeks of his initial year.

The first time shopping alone. Most experience this when they become adults, or they get a taste in their teenage years when their parent allows them to embark to a mall, or a place with companions. Malleus faced a trial by fire when he needed to purchase snacks for himself in his off time—he did have an appetite. 

The cart broke, and that’s precisely when he knew this had been a dire mistake. Actually, he knew that when Lilia told him he was unable to go into town with Malleus. The discount store was the best place to get food for cheap and so Lilia had guided him here, and now the wheel was bent in a strange way and when he pushed it, it squeaked, or it didn’t move at all, and god this was awful, this was not how he planned—

Until an employee came. A single glance and a kick to the wheel fixed all his errors and so the crown prince of Briar Valley, with a charming flush of embarrassment to his cheeks, shoved the cart through the automatic doors after a mumbled word of gratitude. He’d get better at thanking people later. Gifts, for example, would be granted quite freely. 

The second trial of shopping came in acquiring the items. Malleus was intelligent. Incredibly so, in fact. Many of his tutors had not been able to keep up with his leaps and strides in the academic field (if one ignores how he threw tantrums and caused a majority to quit in the first place). However, ill-equipped was he for the trials of price vs quality comparison, and so he found himself in a stand still at many points with two boxes in his hand, trying to rationalize which one had the better ingredients and was it really worth the additional 5 madol? 

The experience took a grand total of two hours. Lilia called once—only to make sure Malleus did not become lost between the store and the school. A quick call became a long ordeal when Malleus barraged the man with questions regarding if it’s worth investing in carbonated water or not. He settled for whatever was in the taps at NRC, and he paid cash for it all. Because Lilia did, at least, inform him that paying with jewels was probably not an acceptable currency in the discount grocery outlet. 

At the end of it all, when he was digging through the box of granola bars on his desk at a late hour, and the moons silver light was greeting him for the first time in an entirely new land, a sense of confidence in his ability to handle any trial ahead caused a smirk to curl on Malleus’ lips. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

3— First Wash. 

That is until he met the machine. 

He was a night owl. What he didn’t realize was that most teenage boys are night owls as well. He had not the faintest idea where the laundry room even was and deemed that 2 am in the kitchen was the best time to compensate for this. So enraptured in his scrubbing was he that he failed to hear the student until he heard an awkwardly spoken, “Um?” over his shoulder.

What a sight he must have been. Wide, green eyes glowing in the dark as he was hunched over the sink, a sock in one hand and a brush in the other. Perhaps his hair was disarrayed from the furious scrubbing to remove any dirt, perhaps his fangs were shown in his frustration of soap suds getting everywhere. Either way, the poor boy who had wandered into the kitchen for a midnight snack and encountered this was quite shocked. Malleus had straightened up, and a lingering silence had ensued until the boy had spoken once more in a frail, cracking voice.

“Housewarden? Why are you washing your clothes in the kitchen sink?” 

Why, indeed? Malleus had the choice to take the prideful route and say that he wanted to, and so he did. Spare himself the embarrassment. Or he could own up to reality and admit a slight bit of vulnerability to the student. He wanted to form camaraderie and friendship—so perhaps vulnerability was the right way to go. 

“I could not find the laundry room.” He had replied, a bit blunt in his words. The student stared at him for a moment longer before slowly blinking as the prince’s words registered to him. His mouth opened slightly, and he half turned to look out the kitchen door. 

“Oh, I just use magic.” The student had then pointed to the stairs where the dorms were. “But you can probably just have someone take your load next time.” 

Malleus knew his expression soured at the comment because the student’s face had dropped to worry. Let us harvest for your needs; let us serve.; this echoed in his mind as his hand had tightened around the sock. “No, I can do it myself.” 

The words were cold to the point of cutting. Silence, once more, before the student had cleared his throat again. “... I am overdue for a load myself. Do you want me to show you the room?” 

A simple question had been enough to ease any tension. Malleus’ expression had softened, and within twenty minutes, two boys were embarking in the dark with soapy laundry and baskets to scour the laundry room on their expansive campus. Malleus had looked to the moon as they passed and imagined her laughing at his plight. 

Many tales regale of brave knights who encounter ferocious beasts in their endeavours, with voices that sound of a thousand cries and mouths that spew a volley of ash upon their polished armor. The knights inevitably slay the beast and parade its head proudly for all the adoring villagers to see. 

Malleus’ beast had a body of stainless steel, and a mouth that chewed and swished clothing around with great fury. The first time he saw it, he had set his basket down and looked at the boy with an expression of; are you kidding me? Technology and the prince were not friends. Two phones burned within the first 48 hours of getting them had demonstrated that so far. But the boy exhibited a patience unseen as he had loaded his wash and walked the prince through the process of putting the laundry pod in, hitting the timer, and then hitting ‘start.’ 

The rumble of the wash had signified success. When Malleus repeated the steps with his own load and a second rumble had filled the wide, otherwise empty room, he felt quite akin to those knights slaying the beast. 

The two of them had sat in the benches of that laundry room together until the load was done and the boy could show him the dryer. They had never really spoken again after that encounter, but the memory of the boy's compassion (a rarity for NRC students) in aiding the prince was not lost on him. When the boy was suddenly hit with a streak of uncanny luck, and he had asked himself why, perhaps he had a lingering idea of why this was—but he would say nothing, nor would the prince.

Only the moon knew the answer to that question. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

4—First Friend. 

They had seemed utterly, completely, unequivocally normal when he first met them. Oh, he had heard about them—after all, one doesn’t just burst out of a coffin without the entire school knowing within the hour—but he had not met them, and when he finally did, he found himself to be quite underwhelmed. They were shorter than him, but just as quiet, and he had yet to know that those lingering awkward moments outside of Ramshackle would uproot his life in the most wondrous of ways. 

The moon knew. But she couldn’t say anything; she just kept smiling down with her silvery grin from the skies above.

He hadn’t meant to return to them, but in time he did, until eventually the student from Ramshackle ingrained themself in his routine in a way that baffled him completely. Sometimes he would look down at them on their walks and wonder to himself now, where did you appear from?, as though the night would whisper the answer in his ear and he’d go, ah yes, that makes perfect sense. 

The night is where they convalesce the most. In the beginning the student did not sleep often and Malleus, still ever the night owl, took advantage of this. He would abscond with them in the night (oh, he could imagine his Senate wailing how scandalous! in their flickering forms) and they would walk a familiar loop around campus until returning to the steps of Ramshackle once more.

Sometimes they talked the entire way. Other times they would simply move in silence, an unspoken understanding between them of two people in a routine they were both quite comfortable with. When an overblot had happened, the student would tell Malleus about the event, and he would nod in grave understanding—not knowing what they felt, since he never experienced it himself, but empathizing with them all the same.

It would also allow him to make a mental note to reach out to the affected party later. Just to check in. 

Winter break had been a time of upset for him because it had disrupted the routine he was used to. Back in the box, back in his room, with servants attending every need. The freedom he had become accustomed to being robbed from him made him feel like a mad dog in a cage and the absence of those now familiar night walks had him glaring at the sky. The moon was still there—so one member of their party was present—but the student was back at NRC, and it created a sort of them shaped void in his chest that made him restless. 

They didn’t reply to his holiday card. Maybe he had overstepped, or maybe they were like him and lost track of time on occasion. He liked to imagine it was the latter. He liked to try and find more things similar between them both beyond a love for the night and the moon. 

When he had returned and they had given him the VDC tickets, another sense of joy had sparked in his chest as he had held those tickets tight. A warmth flooding throughout his body, something he hadn’t quite felt before beyond when he looked at his family, and he wondered in that moment if this is what it felt like to be a part of something. He had always imagined having those experiences—being invited to parties, creating mischief in the night, sharing secrets and laughter under the stars. The student was granting these to him, despite both parties not knowing so yet.

The moon knew, though. She kept smiling down at them as they would whisper on their walks, hands close enough to brush but not touching each other because that felt too far just yet. She would observe the way Malleus would watch the student until they re-entered Ramshackle to ensure that they made it inside safe, and the faint smile on his lips as he walked away.

She knew, even when they did not. 

For now, however, Malleus was comfortable calling the student friend. They were someone who did not walk before him in guidance, or behind him in subservience. They walked comfortably by his side as an equal, and for that, they held more significance than he cared to admit. 

NRC had brought many firsts to Malleus’ life, and as each moment passed, he felt that envy of the moon fade away. For in the end, to be envious of his oldest friend was a pointless thing.

[concretesweetner]

Redraw of my favourite mlp comic cover as toxic yaoi afterdeath cuz i’m silly like that

og:

[skelekins]

You know who else got to the finals two years in a row?! NO ONE

Button [the error bitty] belongs to @cranberrytea451

[funkinmadnesss]

@hollowsart

Poor guy can’t catch a break ú_ù

[nixotinix]

YOWZA WOWZA it's been a while! My MH spark died down for a bit in favour of my OCs and goddamned Papa Louie if you can believe it, but my monster high hyperfixation eventually came back and came back swinging! It definitely helps that I recently got some new supplies that Ive never played with before... paint pens! They're so much fun to use and I've been cranking out art at an absolutely ungodly speed because of them. So here's some of that art!

I only have 8 colours of paint pen as of right now bc im poor but like if anybody wanted to buy me some more ahaha just joking (unless....)

Anyways enjoy!

[sleepyflowershead]

forever sleep. rest well

will awoken if call…

but for now..

dream, my lil cookie…

like you were never existed.

[smokbeast]

Derek the Sphinx

[didderd]

thank you @skelekins for the kofis! <3

here are your 5 minute doodles! :3

Jewel papyrus by skelekins Snaps sans by me

[teacolouredink]

pikmin bloom has taken over my life

[seaquestions]

welcome to spire café! (id under readmore)

[ID: image 1: a drawing of the ironclad, the defect, the watcher & the silent from slay the spire in café uniforms with text saying "spire café!" at the top. from left to right: ironclad is wearing a short maid outfit with little wings on the back and a red choker, and holding a plate of waffles with strawberries; defect is popping up from the bottom of the frame, wearing a bow-tie and holding the coffee dripper relic (a coffee cup and coaster); watcher is at the back, wearing a traditional maid uniform and holding a broom; silent is wearing a suit with a green tie, holding a red pitcher. she's smiling and has a hand outstretched towards the viewer.

image 2: two drawings of ironclad and silent in chibi style. ironclad is wearing a maid outfit with horns, wings, and a tail. he's sitting with his hands up on his knees. silent is wearing a tailcoat and sitting with one leg over the other. she's holding cards in one hand. End ID]