#i aPPRECIATE THE ENTHUSIASM BUT I…I AM SCARED OF THEM.

[gomzdrawfr]

guys PLEASE DO NOT send bugs photo into my ask box thank you very much 👍🏻

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 5

Warnings: dubious and nonconsent, foreplay, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You bring the cloth to the witcher’s cheek. You wipe gently as you feel his bold eyes on you. You meet them and flinch. You’ve never seen irises like that and his expression is forged in stone. Unbreakable. He doesn’t appear very pleased to have his prize. 

You say your name. His brow tweaks. You swallow and put your focus back to the cut. You wipe it clean as he puffs through his nose. 

“Geralt,” he returns. “You will call me only husband.” 

“Yes, husband,” your voice rises as a wisp. 

He surprises you as he grabs your waist suddenly. You recoil, your hands furled as you hold them loft. He spins you and grips the plain wool at the nape of your neck. He rents it so the laces snap and the dress slackens. You squeak as he pushes the fabric past your shoulders. 

As your dress heaps around your clogs, you shiver beneath the thin sheath of your shift. He stands and clamps your shoulders in his large hands. He guides you from behind and stop you before the tup.  

You stare at the water and shudder. After the day’s ride, its heat is tempting but the presence of this man, a husband you do not know, has you wary. He moves behind you, grunting as he leans on a bed post and rips off one boot then the other. 

He continues to undress around you as you wait for him to direct you. You close your eyes as his last layer falls away. He steps up behind you, nearly flush with you as his thick fingertips brush down your sides. He clutches the side of your shift and raises it up little by little; past your knees, then thighs, then pelvis, up your stomach to your chest. You raise your arms to let him strip it away. 

Naked, quivering, scared, you stand trapped between him and the tub. He pets your head, spreading his long fingers round it as he smooths your hair beneath roughened palms. He angles to drag his knuckles down the back of your neck and traces the length of your spine. He trails from your tailbone to your hips and urges you forward. 

You step into the tub as he acts as your balance. He follows you in, one foot then the other, as you wade through the steaming depth. He turns and lowers himself carefully, drawing you down with him. He sits you between his legs, bending them around you as you brace your knees to keep from crumbling.  

He pulls you to lean against him and sighs. Every bit of fatigue and frustration unwinds in that breath. You stay rigid as you feel all of him. He guides your head to rest on his chest then stretches his burly arms over the brim of the tub.  

You stare at the crux of ceiling and wall, frozen despite the heat roiling over you. You feel him twitch beneath the water. Against you. He is turgid and wanting and you can only wait until he takes what he desires. Until he seals your marriage in that final act of dominance. 

You linger like that for a time. His chest rises and falls. You let the rhythm calm you so much as it can. He groans as he sinks into the soak. 

You wince as he curls and arm forward, his hand dipping beneath the surface. He tickles along your stomach, up over the cushiony flesh and along your sternum. He circles your tits with his thick digit then centers on your nipple. He pinches the beaded bud and swirls his thumb around it. A tingle rolls over you. 

You tense and whimper in fear. You’re not ignorant to what husband and wife do but the gossip of the village women bodes of pain and woe. He hushes you as his other hand crawls over your shoulder and up your throat. He frames your jaw and lifts your head. He nuzzles your crown and plumes hot breath over your scalp. 

His other hand descends and he pokes along your thighs. He grunts and you suck in a sharp gasp. You shake and pry your legs apart. His large body cradles yours as his touch slips along your pelvis and his fingers glide over your cunt. 

He pushes his finger between your folds and pushes on your tender pearl. You squeak at the sensation that blooms inside of you. Unthinking, you latch onto his wrist and moan. 

He tuts and lifts his chin to rest on your head. 

“Be a good wife,” he bids as he rolls his finger, the tendrils creeping up your thighs and stomach with each flick. “Shh, shh, shhh.” 

You close your eyes and melt into him as your chest hammers. He drops his other hand to grope your chest again, as if to feel the tempo of fear and furor growing within. He growls as he plays with you, squeezing your bosom as his finger dances on your clit.  

You clasp onto his knees to keep from slipping down and whine. You might try to enjoy what you may before that last wall is stormed. One last delight before a life of duty begins. 

[hanafubukki]

Yuu being a little afraid of being pregnant, but the world of twisted wonderland has much better healthcare and overall treats children better

They're not getting any younger and neither is Lilia, so why not have a baby before they become too old to engage and raise them?

It doesn't take long, between the prescribed gummies from Riddle (their family doctor and old friend) and Lilia's ahem- enthusiasm, they start showing signs 2 months after they popped the question to Lilia

They remember how Lilia literally flew with joy when they told him they're ready. Of course after the initial joy they started discussing how they will go on about this, how Yuu will probably need to go on a vitamin rich diet, start doing pregnant yoga and require daily massages the farther along they get.

However Yuu's pregnancy seems to get harder everyday. A fact so alarming that they bring it up at their next checkup

"well? How's everything?" Lilia asked tentatively

"weeellll...." Riddle began with a sigh as he discarded the gloves " I have some good news and some.... neutral news?"

"neutral news?"

"I'll start with the good news!" He quickly added

"Good news is the baby's healthy! The growth rate is normal and they seem to be doing well"

"and the neutral news???"

Riddle but his bottom lip wincing "Neutral news is... The babies are healthy. Plural. There's 3 in there."

"...what"

Yuu and Lilia's faces were complete opposites. Moving at the same time, Yuu's face pulled into a horrified open mouth look while Lilia couldn't hide his grin. He fixed his expression once he noticed Yuu's horror.

"Luckily, we have magic here that'll make your labour be as easy as blinking, however you'll need to eat more. The reason why you've been exhausted is because you were only eating on account of one baby, sometimes if you're not consciously aware of the fact you're pregnant the body will not experience any additional cravings. In your case, you weren't aware just how pregnant you are"

"I.... How did this even happen- I mean what are the chances????"

"are we happy with this?" Riddle asked, looking only at Yuu with a gaze that told them they're his only priority

Yuu held eye contact and thought about it.

"...Yes. It'll be difficult but I want this"

Riddle smiled at both Yuu and Lilia. After everything, they deserved this.

"Very well then! I advise investing in a pump so that can lessen your load when the babies are born. If you need an extra fridge or an electric kettle please don't hesitate to ask, I know a guy" he says with a wink

Lilia smiled, trying to tone down his excitement "we appreciate your help Dr. Rosehearts"

Riddle scoffs "Oh please we go way back. Consider this my personal 'thank you' for helping me out back then, Yuu"

As they walked from the clinic to the nearest portal Yuu could practically feel the joy radiating from their husband. It was impressive how he managed to keep a hold on them and help them walk rather than outright carrying them and flying away

They decided to break the ice "soooo?"

They hear him him take a deep breath before scream-laughing. It honestly startled them

"I GOT A 3 FOR 1 DEAL!" of course this is how he chose to express his joy

Yuu groaned " anymore of this and I'm telling grim you hid his tuna away"

"aww so mean~ can't an old man be happy?"

"you're a particularly loud old man, and I too am old with a terrible headache so have some sympathy, sir!"

"ah anything goes for my cranky old spouse"

He peppered Yuu's face with kisses before carrying them through the portal

It's a good thing they preemptively bought multiple baby clothes (mostly because Yuu was scared of leaving the baby and Lilia in the kitchen together would lead to unsalvageable tatters)

Bonus:

"Well at least now Silver, Malleus and Sebek won't need to fight about being the favourite older brother"

"let's not kid ourselves batsy, they will still engage in petty competition"

"but we did kid ourselves.... 3 times kfufufu"

"no more cuddles for a week"

"wait no-"

Hello Anonie 🌷💞💚

THERE WAS 3!!! 😆😂 not only was lilia enthusiastic but so was his seed it seems omg 😆

Which makes sense because bats do tend to have more than one at once.

Everyone gets a baby! One for brother mal, one for brother sil, and one for uncle sebek. 🥳🥳

You get a baby and you get a baby and you and you 🤣

Riddle is so sweeettt 😭😭💞💞 I’m so happy. He’s attentive.🥺🥹

…”3 for 1 deal”!!!!! LMFAOO I’m crying 😂

This was adorable. 💚

[pankielovesfan]

ii16 spoilers under cut

MORE talk about fan similar to the other post because there is still a lot to say. This is more about what fan means to mephone

Compared to most of the other contestants, Fan wasn't originally created to BE a contestant, which I find most interesting. Fan was quite literally created to be a fan of the show and randomly appears in season 1 (and he also delivers food I guess). Even if Mephone4 consciously made Fan or not, his appearance and creation obviously meant Mephone wanted appreciation for the things he was making, as is Fan's main purpose and service to Mephone. Fan is technically a manifestation of Mephone's love for the show itself, but he is also expressing vulnerable happiness of which Mephone feels like he could not express properly considering his issues with vulnerability. This might be why he is so outwardly dismissive of Fan's strong emotional enthusiasm for the show!!

So Fan technically is a support Mephone desperately wants, but he can't respond well to- but this definitely means Mephone appreciates Fan's dedication as he quite literally wished for Fan to exist as he is, being such an engaged Fan. He expresses passion for the show in a way Mephone couldn't do himself! Fan gives Mephone support as complete opposite to what Mephone feels Cobs would have! And you know what else Cobs does that Fan has an extreme well known trait of disliking and being scared of? Change. Cobs constantly reinvents, makes new things, discards old things, but Fan latches on. He observes patterns, he begs for predictability, structure and consistency.

Another notable trait of Fan is his defensiveness. Even if he's not good at it, he's incredibly stubborn to protect his passion and love to no end, being incredibly irrational about it. Cobs is well. Yeah. Massive Passion Disliker. He don't gaf about that. Fan might've looked up to cobs and meeple, but god if he's not possibly a parallel that's the opposite. I'm going to walk into the ocean. Im forever gonna think about how fan was created to be a support. like his entire goddam purpose is to love something so much!!!! and give it so much attention! and he is having so much fun doing it!!! IT IS MAKING ME CRAZY!!!!

I'm not sure if the characters are partly "extensions" of Mephone or if they're Mephone projecting specific parts of himself, I believe most of all they are created from his desire (like, wanting a specific thing and that thing just appears for him if this is done unintentionally,) but either way I enjoy thinking about what each trait that manifested for Fan's character specifically would resonate with Mephone's experiences and why he would create him with those traits. or something.

My working theory is that Mephone labeled each character in his mind as one thing, such as "the jerk" for Knife and nothing more, letting the contestants take their own shape and personality as they gain more experience on the show, which I feel is validated through Lightbulb saying "I don't think we were all there yet" once seeing the season 1 contestants in alternate reality show! They build more of their personality as it goes along. I think Mephone has minimal control of the contestants personality wise after he's generated them, but i do think he influences their memories or experience with time or something?? I dont know. guess we will all see. Also this somehow isn't about fan anymore wow that's weird actually who am i where am i

relevant drawing. Time to collapse to my knees over this shit again

[crescenthistory]

Cariiiiina, love!

Congratulations on this amazing milestone, I am so so so proud of you! It’s a well deserved achievement and I really love your celebration event. (So sweet like you!)

I love your writing, your ideas, your thoughts! Just as I love the warmth of your blog and how sweet the insights about you and your wife are! Truly lovely people here! And that’s why so many lovely people gathered here!

A toast to you, and for the next deserved milestones on the way!

I wanted to ask if I could request a domestic Argue? With 49 family photos + 74 vhs tapes? With precious Remus Moony Lupin?

I thought of f!reader, and something along the lines of „as happy as the photos make it seem, the times weren’t happy. It was sad / hard and hurtful“ (could be applied to both/ one of them, whatever you think suits best!)

Thanks for considering! Lots of love, and congratulations!

- Lel

hi lel!! thank you so immensely much<33 you are just such an angel, i appreciate your enthusiasm and kind words so much 😭🤍 i'm glad my blog comes across the way i hope, big hugs to you xx loved this prompt:,)

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 49 "family photos" and prompt 74 "vhs tapes" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: established relationship, references to the war but not canon-compliant, melancholic, sweet fluffy hurt/comfort, referenced fertility struggles (hope&lyall) remus' self-loathing, lycanthropy

wc: exactly 1.6k

The Lupin Cottage was quiet in a way you had never experienced before.

Sitting cross-legged in a plush armchair in the reading room on the second floor, you stared out the window. You could see how harshly the wind was treating the trees and you knew the walls of the narrow home were not thick, yet you couldn't hear a thing. You wondered if Lyall had set up a spell of some kind.

Despite the silence, the house was talkative, always alerting you to the other inhabitants' movements. The creaking by the doorway made you turn your head over the shoulder to see Remus leaning against the doorframe with a wistful smile.

"Hi, cariad," you greeted cheekily, smiling around the nickname his mother calls him. "You found me."

Remus huffed a laugh as he looked down, pushing off the doorframe and leaning on his indoor cane as he moved to sit in the chair across from yours. "Was wondering where ya ran off to. My mother hasn't scared you off already, has she?"

You shook your head with a small smile even before you could think of what to say.

This was your first time meeting Remus' parents properly – you had seen them in the passing on the platform or in doorways over your years at Hogwarts, but with the way the war immediately picked up after graduation, you were unable to spend an extended period of time with them. To be with them for the month of January now felt like a blessing; one you didn't take lightly.

"Hope is lovely, she could never scare me off," you assured Remus, holding his gaze to ensure he knew you meant it. "I just wanted to look through the house and found this room. It's sweet, I really like it."

You looked over the room, the shelves on shelves filled with worn out books, seemingly passed down over generations. There was a small fireplace and an even smaller television, beyond outdated but with a few VHS tapes and movies stacked beneath it that indicated it still worked. It was cozy, the exact thing you would have imagined the Lupins having.

When you looked back at Remus he was still looking at you, a deep look in his eyes. A bit haunted, but no less loving. Loving. You counted your lucky stars that you got to keep the man you loved.

"I'm glad you like it," he all but whispered. "It was my favourite growing up. It was actually supposed to be a bedroom for any potential younger siblings, but, well, that didn't work out, did it?"

There was more guilt than grief in his voice and you furrowed your brows, reaching out across the small space to give him your hand. He took it with a small smile, intertwining your fingers and squeezing.

You already knew why he didn't have any younger siblings; his parents struggled with even conceiving him and kept trying after he was born. They gave up the day he was bit.

"I can tell it's been well-loved. That's a good thing."

Another squeeze of your hand. "It is."

A look came over Remus' face, as if he remembered something. "Mum wanted us to keep our sentimentals in here, to make sure it remained a room of love. If you want, there should be a box over by the television. You can bring it over.”

Anyone else might not have been able to read the vulnerability in Remus’ voice, but you knew him better than that by now. “I would love to,” you said reassuringly, letting his hand go in favour of placing it on his shoulder as you passed.

The wide TV stood on top of a small shelf filled with DVDs and VHS tapes – some of which had handwriting on them, you could barely make out words like WEDDING and REMUS BIRTHDAY. Beside them were compartments with boxes of various contents, but you understood which one he meant by the look of it. There were tracks in the dust on top of it, showing that it was taken out semi-frequently, and you could see some pictures through the holes near the top.

Sliding it out of the shelf was no problem, but it was much heavier than anticipated, causing you to laugh at yourself as you carried it over. Remus was looking at you bemusedly and you just flashed him a bright smile and climbed up onto his chair, sitting on the armrest and placing the box in his lap by your feet.

“Show me. Please.” Your voice was quiet and earnest, laden in love and smiles as you looked at him.

You could swear you saw the tips of his freckled ears grow red at the attention, turning his head down towards the box abashedly. 

He brought up a thick photo album with dark brown and gold details on its outside. If the books on the shelves were worn, then this album was well-loved, with fraying edges and some pictures almost falling out. Your fingers itched to cast a preservation spell over it, but that was far from your place. For now, you just wanted him to show you every little detail of who he was and who he became. 

“This one is from when I was quite young – think toddler,” he narrated as he began to flip it open.

Any further explanation he might have had was cut off by the massive coo that escaped you at the sight of the front page. Remus John Lupin, aged 2, wearing a paper crown with his name on it and grinning at a  piece of cake, chocolate frosting on his nose and chin. 

You leaned forward, almost burying your face in the book to see, fighting back tears at the absolute sweetness that was baby Remus. “You were such an adorable baby,” you cooed, tracing the air just above the picture, scared to damage it. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen baby pictures of you before.”

“I was just a normal babe,” he tried to brush it off, redness now creeping from his ears and into his cheeks.

When you turned your face towards his, you were much closer than anticipated, only furthering your grin as you regarded his flustered expression. “No, love. You were adorable.” A quick peck. “Still are.”

You laughed and leaned your head on top of his, encouraging him to continue flipping through the album and showing you. If he was bothered by your teasing, he didn’t show it – on the contrary, one of his hands came to rest around your hip, steadying you, and his thumb traced loving, absentminded circles there. 

As he whispered commentary about the various pictures – Remus in his rain boots, Remus with sheep that wandered into the garden, Remus playing in the sand – and you kept gushing over how adorable he was, you felt gratitude settling comfortably within you. 

He stopped short when he flipped a page; no comments, no reactions, just regarded what he saw. It was an image of Remus, now around the age of 7, back to the camera as he decked the table in a new living room. It was dark, but you could just barely see Lyall in the background, working in the kitchen.

Eventually, he cleared his voice and spoke. “This was when they started taking pictures again.” 

Your grip on him tightened, giving him time and space to feel. You knew what he referred to. Humming in approval, you began pressing kisses to his tawny hair, making sure not to shy away from his touch, but instead lean into him. Show him you were there.

Remus began flipping through again, though his comments were much more sporadic now. You didn’t hold back on your cooing, commenting on his beautiful dimples and his cute I-got-dressed-by-myself-today outfits. His thumb kept going at your hip.

At the sight of an up-close picture of 8 year old Remus smiling awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to smile with teeth yet, he stopped once more to trace the line of the scar on his nose. “You know,” he whispered. “Seeing pictures like these is so odd. It was such a painful time, but it didn’t really translate to camera. Sans the scars, I almost seem like a normal kid.”

You drew out the kiss to his hairline so you had time to think of what to say. “You were a normal kid, though. Even with everything, you were always just a sweet boy. Still are.”

He breathed through his nose in a half-laugh, tilting his head up to look at you. “Of course you would think that, you’re in love with me.”

You hummed happily and leaned down to press a sweet kiss to his awaiting, soft lips. “I’m glad you’ve got that right at least,” you murmured before you pulled away, caressing his cheek as you watched him. “I like seeing pictures from then; both before and after. It’s a part of you and I do love every part of you.”

His smile was melancholic but no less genuine. “I will never understand that, I think.”

“You don’t need to, my love. You just need to let me.”

Remus huffed through a smile once more, dragging you closer to him by the arm around your hip and breathing you in. “I’ve never been one to deny you anything, have I?”

“Are you good for looking at more pictures or is it time to go help Hope with dinner?”

Remus regarded you for a second, smile growing. “Look through a few more, my love.”

[ardentpoop]

Hi! Can I ask your favorite character thinks about Sam, Dean and John? I love reading your character thinks they are one of the rare thinks make spn fandom stayable. Oh also did you also noticed people always ignores Sam and Meg's tension when talking about love intrests? It always looked weird to me because even thought they didn't really get something they clearly had atleast that friends think. Might be because she is a demon but idk or because she was with cas later. Also sorry if the ask is too long, I wouldn't mind if you won't answer. Have a great day:D

thank you, I appreciate that given how unpopular I am in certain corners of fandom :-)

I’m going to take your first question as what are my favorite traits of each of the winchester boys (using “boys” loosely lol) in which case:

sam: perpetually straddling the line between powerful and powerless (both hunter and hunted, both “good” and “evil,” perpetually a Boy and insufficiently a Man, “monster” whom we aren’t meant to permanently view as a monster because that label is reserved for our dehumanized foes, supposedly/fleetingly in possession of almost the same vaguely defined Innocence that “good girls” like jo embody - because that was sam’s childhood role in concert with dean’s childhood role as Protector, never mind that the former role is every bit as demeaning and restrictive as the latter role was originally unfair.) also I love that he loves books and that he argued passionately with john <3 my debate queen.

dean: HIS TEMPER!!!!!! the way it fills the whole room!!!! I have yet to meet a character capable of viscerally affecting me with his anger like dean can. I love that he is obviously someone who is deeply deeply hurt and that his feelings are totally unavoidable to everyone but himself and that his ideas about family are comically fucked and that, of course, he swallowed his father’s ghost with such desperate enthusiasm and ballooned from there into my favorite fictional patriarch of all time. I love that the world beyond the borders of his limited imagination barely exists. not completely unlike the normies I’m also very fond of how much he eats and of his little patchwork colloquialisms that bewilder people when they stop to listen to the actual words coming out of his mouth. and! his unchecked misogyny lmfao. I have a lot of fun with that, believe it or not.

john: your neglectful father as a miserable apparition fading in and out of your childhood memories 💕 simultaneously an angry drunk and a tyrannical drill sergeant AND the first person you wanted to see walk through the door when you were scared and alone, the person who could make your entire week by deigning to offer you a kind word for once 💕 wearing my t-shirt that says “I love abusive dads” on it rn because I can’t get enough of this guy or the worse guy he raised to take his place. also I love that he doodles while he thinks and that he leaves little pieces of himself behind in the places he’s been for samndean to hungrily trail after.

re: sam and meg - I personally like that they weren’t given the Traditional Romance treatment bc that way I especially get to do whatever I want with them creatively; kind of like how I’m glad sam and rowena never kissed or hooked up in canon. but yes sam/meg is one of my favorite rare pairs and is inextricable from Sam And Jo in my head. BUABS has its hooks in me forever. my tag for the former is “botched exorcism” and my tag for the latter is “pupal stage” 🤓

[lilac-5ky]

The Party (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Plot: You decide to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday

Tags: Birthday fluff, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Shibuya incident?What Shibuya incident? (year is 2018), Established Relationship, Gojo Senpai, Satoru being the adorable menace everyone loves, SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. MAKING. APPEARANCES, feels like an actual jjk ep at this point, (fic deteriorates a bit over the latter part as my mental health does, writing until 6 am is exhausting, i know im late but spare me)

Word Count: Slightly under 9k.

A/N: Happy late Birthday, my love 💙💙💙

Masterlist | Requests | AO3

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost there—watch your step!” You warn, only to lose your footing a second later as you smash head first into your boyfriend’s back.

There is no way Satoru doesn’t know where the two of you are headed. Even with his technique supposedly turned off and your shaky hands concealing his curious eyes, all the things that make Jujutsu Tech into the place that raised generations of sorcerers (yours, included) continue to exist, bearing witness to his intentionally dumb guesses.

“Is it the beach? Are you taking me to see the ocean?” Satoru excites. “Aw, baby! You should have told me so; I would have brought my swimming trunks with! Although, I hafta say swimming in December is probably a bad idea, my nipples will freeze and fall right off. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

A sigh evades your lips, expelled as a little white cloud of frustration. On second thought, his mouth was what needed to be covered. Preferably stitched.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we aren’t going to the beach”—aw, shoot—“and your nipples get to live another day.” Your teeth chatter. Tiptoeing behind him with upstretched arms is already hard on its own. Doing so in the cold is purely exhausting.

You lose count of how many torii gates you cross, the joint click of your shoes switching to an uncoordinated thump as you go from traversing cobblestone paths to climbing an endless uphill of stairs, your stroll, again, feeling like part of a survival show. Curse Master Tengen. They might have only been responsible for the barriers, though in your scare, that doesn’t stop you from holding them accountable.

We are going to die.

Or more like you are going to die, considering Satoru’s already secured himself a life net in the form of your poor broken-to-be bones, and that’s the best case scenario you can hope for, the worst being having to repeat your ascension from the bottom step up.

“Then, are we visiting Himeji Castle?” Satoru continues, the frigid temperature not enough to crack his spirit. “Because I know the single best place for Tama Tsubaki. So fragrant, so elegant, so deliciously sweet! You haven’t been to Himeji before, have you? It’s also known for its excellent leather craftsmanship. Last time I went there, they had these insanely pretty wallets with—”

“N-no!” You yelp, voice as strained as if you’re walking on a tightrope. Shivering, “Wouldn’t you have noticed if I took you on a 4-hour road trip?”

“But time always moves so fast when I’m with you.” He coos in response, his tone serious when he asks, “Wanna take a break? Promise to keep my eyes closed till we reach the top. And after that too, if you want.”

Silky lashes map out the inside of your palms as they flutter against them, sweet little butterfly kisses that convince you to withdraw your hands. After all, you’d hate for his birthday to be stained with blood.

Not yours, at least.

“If you dare open them, I’ll kill you.”

“How scary!” Satoru captures your frozen hand and slips it in his coat’s pocket with far too great precision for someone with impaired vision. You don’t complain. Not even when he makes you bump into every single step on your way up, giggling to himself, until, as promised, you reach the summit and he lets go for you to assume your previous positions.

“I don’t”—pant—“miss”—pant—“walking this w-walk.” You muster in between labored breaths, palms on your knees as you crouch forward like an elderly lady with chronic back pain. “Wh-what are you smiling for?”

“Nooooooothing!” Satoru chirps, soft dimples carving hard into his milky complexion. “Just takes me back to the time when you still called me Gojo Senpai is all.”

Your youth comes playing in your head like an old cassette forced to rewind, bittersweet recollections sending you on a sudden trip down memory lane.

You met Satoru at the peak of spring and fell in love with him over the course of fall—a swirl of autumn leaves coloring the currently naked maple trees red. Muddy soles and uniforms soggy from the rain. Chasing after an umbrella you agreed to share and hopscotching across shallow puddles. Laughing louder than the pending storm.

But before that, bickering. So much bickering that continuously tested the patience of those around you, arguments over video games escorting you to morning assembly, and plans to catch new movie releases sealing your goodbyes.

The bitterness of Shoko’s cigarettes and the promise to never smoke again. Arcades and electronics in Akihabara. Karaoke and conveyor belt sushi in Shibuya. Getting a stranger to buy you your first beer and puking your guts outside a convenience store in Shinjuku. The promise to never drink again.

Moon-viewing festival. The unforgettable sight of him in a yukata, your heart multiplying itself into your eyes. Stolen glances and not-so-accidental nudges. Your first kiss tasting of melon soda, your second burning faster than the wick of his sparkler. Another kind of promise.

The giddiness of first love filters the film pink. Five-minute dates behind the old gym in flash forward. Late-night expeditions to each other’s dorms. Your loss of innocence overshadowed by the sudden loss of Haibara. Tears that threaten to spill out of the sequence. Suguru’s betrayal. The strength to move forward.

You’ve come a long way since the days you cheekily called him Gojo Senpai without a care in the world, and even though tragedy managed to forever sully them, standing here with him now makes it worth the pain. Given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

Rolling the cricks around your neck and shoulders, you walk up to Satoru, a tug at the lowest hanging tuft of hair signaling for him to meet your height. Knees bent. Eyes still closed. Lips still curled. Features so undeniably beautiful at 29 as they were at 17.

“Don’t move.” You mumble, smiling softly as you watch him pucker his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, you fish out a pair of rectangular shades from inside your pocket and place them over the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go before we get scolded for being late again.” Your hand steals his this time around, ushering him forward. A speckle of heat shooting from your fingers to your cheeks. “I trust you not to spoil your own surprise, Gojo Senpai.”

You are less than thirty steps away from your destination when, without a warning, the man behind you stops moving, forcing you to halt with him.

“What is it?” You ask, your body reeled closer to his from the bind of your fingers. “If you’re gonna ask whether I’m taking you to Laputa, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m still figuring out the coordinates.”

“That’s not it.” He huffs a chuckle against your knuckles, tenderly brushing them against his cheek. “But drop a pin when you do. Always wanted to take a nap in that fluffy flower bed. I’m sure it tastes fluffy too, just like whipped cream.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You return, a yawn coaxed at the mention of napping. “So, what is it? Why did we stop?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, so am I, but we really are close this time. If you just—”

“You should kiss me.” Satoru announces with solemnity better befitting a declaration of war. He realizes that himself, bringing his free hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his skull. Awkwardly. Ears tinged red. Cutely. “That would warm me up.”

“Is that your excuse?” You ask, chapped lips rubbing together. Your heartbeat felt in your throat. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not when you’ve known each other for the better part of your lives. It’s not normal. You don’t think you are.

“Nope.” He balances things out with a boyish smile that doesn’t make things any better for the lovesick teenage girl residing in your heart. She doesn’t know any better but to fawn over it. “My excuse is that we haven’t kissed here before. We’ve kissed there,” you follow his pointer, first to a bench made of stone and then to a blind spot behind some shrubs, “and there—many times there, heh, but not here. So we should kiss.” He reasons with a simplistic, nearly childish mindset. One you can’t quite argue against.

Until his spell breaks on you rather unceremoniously.

“I thought your eyes were closed!”

“Well, they were, but then I—hah, stop pullin’ like that—started missing your pretty face too much. Can’t deny me the simple joys in life, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “C’mon, just one kiss. Then we can meet with Yuji and the others. Promise I’ll act extra surprised!”

“Y-you knew?” Your eyes widen.

“I’ve known for about a week now? Heard you two talking on the phone, plus the kids asked to be put on cleaning duty when they usually leave everything to Megumi. Then a ton of chairs started to go missing, and—”

You barely bother listening to the rest, too caught up in your thoughts for Satoru’s detailed explanation of where it all went wrong to matter. Every year without exception—from your 16th birthday party-for-two in that tiny storage room you were accidentally locked in together to last year’s all-out murder mystery dinner party—he’s managed to sweep you off your feet, and yet you can’t throw him one party without it being spoiled.

You aren’t a planner. You know that. You know, but somehow you hoped this year would be different. That, twelve years after his insistence to spend his birthday in your company alone took root, (“Why would I want to spend this day with anyone other than you, angel? We have tons of fun together, don’t we? Just me and my special girl. Speaking of, any special requests for your birthday? I have some ideas myself, hehe~”) and one year after he stopped waiting for an apparition to show up and celebrate with him, he’d allow himself to bask in the appreciation of the living.

“Are you mad?”

The buzz of his voice quiets down, the paleness of a winter morning dawning beneath snowy lashes as he peers at you from above the rim of his sunglasses. Snowflakes of wonder stirring in his irises that contain them like two perfect snow globes, trapped in them, an ageless moment of the past.

“I’m relieved.” Satoru whispers, so faintly you almost miss it.

“Re…lieved?”

“You brought everyone here, right?” You nod. “Without blackmailing anyone?”

“Just Nanami.” You admit. “And Ijichi—Shoko promised to take him out for drinks if he came.”

“That’s good.” His lips pull into a smile warm enough to thaw your worries. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of my own birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” you interrupt. “You aren’t the only one perceptive here, Mister Six-Eyes.”

He gives you a funny look, creases forming over his brow as an imaginary zipper is drawn across the corners of his lips.

You unzip it. “Please continue, Great Gojo Senpai.”

His eyes light up. Satoru isn’t one for honorifics, yet hearing you address him as such makes the lovesick teenage boy in his heart shudder with excitement.

“You know what birthday I got the biggest haul for?” A shake of your head prompts him to continue. “Seventh.” Figures, you add. He nods. “Wanna know what they got me? A Hokusai painting. You know. One of those wavy ones.” Only he would ever refer to a Japanese classic that way. “But seven-year-old kids don’t care about dead people’s paintings or Shinto shrine visits. They want adventure, balloons, and luscious Gâteau au Chocolat. The new Street Fighter game, maybe.” His fingers snap together. “They want Laputa.”

You forget your hand is still in his until it’s given a light squeeze, Satoru nervously fiddling with your fingers while he mulls over what to say next.

“Bottom line is, birthdays with the clan suuuuuucked. And then, as I got older, I grew tall enough to outrun those stupid goons watching over me. So I’d run straight to Suguru’s house, drag him to the station, and from there, we’d go to that one pastry shop in Shinjuku and buy every cake on display. We’d eat till we both got sick—hah, you wouldn’t think his stomach was this sensitive with all those curses he gobbled up, right?—and then a few years later we met Shoko, and she’d put out her cigarette on my share.” He hisses like a distressed cat. “Then we met you”—another squeeze—“and those were the best birthdays of my life. Back when we were all together.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t think I could have that again.” He cuts you off. “But you said you got everyone together, and while some of us are no longer here, a lot are. This is good. You did well. I’m relieved, really. I’m happy.”

By the time Satoru finishes talking, you find yourself at a loss for words, blankly staring at his unaffected expression. It’s easy to forget how vulnerable he can be in those rare outbursts of sincerity; easy to forget that the one branded as the strongest is a person who cries and breaks too, and even easier to let yourself be deceived by that happy-go-lucky attitude. But as a smile begins to take shape upon your features, you can see where he’s coming from.

You are relieved.

“What are you smiling for?” Satoru asks in the same manner you did earlier.

“Nooooooothing!” You shamelessly steal his line. “Just thinking about the sorry look on your face when you realize there’s no chocolate cake.”

“You evil witch!” He proclaims, mouth hanging slack and forefinger pointing in accusation. “Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t buy candles either!”

“Actually…”

You take hold of his finger before he can protest any further. Not that he wants to when both his hands are enveloped in the warmth of your smaller ones, childishly swinging by your sides. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Arms overlapping as you both step closer, chuckling at a joke only your eyes seem to know.

“About that kiss.” You begin, laughing again at the small, exasperated mhm your boyfriend lets out, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the high neck of his sweater. “Are you still feeling cold?”

“So cold.” Satoru wiggles his shoulders as if he’s truly shivering. “Warm me up before the cold hand of death takes me away. Pleaseeeee.”

You aren’t one to deny him. Tiptoeing forward, you crane your neck so you can reach higher, while he bends his knees to shorten himself, meeting you halfway. Heavy breaths are shared as your noses brush together. The subtle notes of bergamot on his clothes blending with the wintry crisp in the atmosphere. Eagerness tugging at his bottom lip.

You might not be one to deny him, but you definitely are the type to tease him.

“Why don’t you do it? Why should I be the one to kiss you?”

“Wha—because I asked you!” Satoru quips.

“And?”

“And I have Senpai rights. Plus you didn’t pay boyfriend tax this morning, and come think of it, you didn’t wish me a Happy Birthday either!” He gasps like he only realized that just now. He builds his entire case around it. “Birthday Boy demands it. You have no choice but to give in or you’ll be cursed for your next seven birthdays!”

“But I thought you didn’t like your own birthday.”

“Baby!” Satoru finally breaks, his voice reduced to a high-pitched whine. “Even so, you can’t be mean to me on my own birthd—”

His lips are warmer than yours when you nullify the distance, conveying the softness and fruitiness of your stolen chapstick. A smirk is written on them, bitten away as you drag his hands closer to your body, foreheads bumping together and sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. He giggles into your mouth, whispering how hot he finds it when you take the lead—moaning at the way your tongue presses against his, and disregarding the three sets of footsteps that enter the scene.

“Sensei!” A somewhat recognizable, albeit squeaky, voice calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Way to ruin the surprise, Itadori!” Another, angrier, squeaky voice scolds.

“Idiot, you just said there was a surprise. And I told you both to go easy on the hellion.” The last of their group tries to deadpan, somehow sounding more ridiculous than his peers.

“Pft—F-Fushiguro!” Nobara and Yuji laugh in sync, too preoccupied with poking fun at their classmate to notice your form erasing itself from existence behind Satoru’s back as he turns around to face them.

“Yuji! Nobara! Megumiiiii!” His tone is colored with a falsetto when he addresses his favorite (target) student, prompting the duo to keep harassing him with countless pokes at his confetti-laced spikes.

Your plan to use poor Megumi’s torture as a decoy to flee the premises goes to waste as your hand is held out in the open, with Satoru showing you off to them like the big prize at the end of a wrestling match.

“Oh, future Mrs. Gojo Sensei!” Yuji is the first to acknowledge your presence; the effects of the gas are all but worn off as he timidly waves at you. “I didn’t know you were here! What brings you to school today?”

“That’s quite the title, Yuji. Told you to just—ugh!—call me by my first name.” You struggle to pull your wrist out of Satoru’s grasp. You lose. “Also, no need to keep playing charades. He knows.”

“You told him? Then what was all of this for?” Nobara comes forth, a pink balloon dramatically deflating in her hands.

“Actually, I figured it out myself! Aren’t you proud to have such a smart teach—”

“No!” Two out of three shout in unison. You almost do so yourself.

After their back and forth escalates into a full-blown debate on who’s more intelligent, Satoru or Megumi’s shikigami (the results to be announced on a future episode of Are You Smarter than a Toad?) and happy birthdays are wished, Yuji asks the one question you feared answering the most.

“Sensei? Miss Y/N? What were you doing out there in the cold?”

Their own curiosity beats Megumi and Nobara to the classroom as they stall their entrance, with Satoru being the first to hit the buzzer.

“You see, Yuji, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they—ahahouch! Love really does hurt! It hurts so badly!” He yelps as you stomp on his foot hard enough to cripple an average man.

“Don’t you dare use me as a test subject for the talk, Satoru!”

“What talk, darlin’?” He smiles coyly, not losing the chance to brag. “Oh, you mean the talk about how you fell victim to my charms and couldn’t wait till we were alone to kiss me? Guess I still got it, despite the extra candle on the cake.”

“Aww!”

“Eww!”

“Gross!”

The reactions vary.

“You’ll get another candle lit up in your memory if you keep spewing shit like this!” Your attempt to step on his shoe is countered by his technique.

“Hey, no cursing in front of my precious students!” Satoru chides. “We’re supposed to set an example for them, not taint their innocent souls!”

“Satoru!” With a tremendous roar, the door flies open, startling the three students to jump behind their teacher and you to follow suit.

Principle Yaga stands by the frame, his authoritative tone coursing through your body as it recalls every punishment he ever subjected you to. The soreness in your calves from running laps around school for being late. The dryness in your eyes after surviving one of his excruciating educational VHS tape sessions for being “cheeky” and the ache in your fingers from scrubbing the gym floors squeaky clean—courtesy of being caught sneaking back into the dorm with tousled hair in the dead of night.

You almost feel sorry for Satoru acting as the wavebreaker for the incoming tsunami, but then you remember how the majority of your crimes were incidentally committed in his name and wish him good luck. He deserves whatever earful he gets, possibly something along the lines of “Sixteen minutes late? Are you trying to break a world record?”

“You think Gojo Sensei will die?” Yuji whispers. “He’s at that age when a lot of celebrities die, right?”

“He’d better not! I didn’t bring any funeral wear with me.” Nobara answers back.

“Can’t you read the room?” Megumi rasps. “Plus, that’s the 27 Club you’re talking about. Gojo Sensei has outlived that.”

“Didn’t take you for a clubgoer, Fushiguro.” The two of them snicker, prompting Megumi to sigh as he again points out their idiocy.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru bravely puts himself forward, your line of defense falling apart like a house of cards you’re made to support on your own. “Are you here to wish me a happy birthday? How thoughtful! Guess it’s true what they say: People mellow down with age.”

“Sixteen minutes late—”

The man’s mouth twitches furiously as an invisible countdown starts in all your heads, none of you expecting the situation to simmer down before it boils over.

“But I’ll let it slide this once. Happy birthday, Satoru. I’ve stopped hoping that the years bring you wisdom and fix your bad habits. It’s pointless; every year you turn more impudent than the year before,”—is that supposed to be a birthday wish or you getting kicks from throwing shade at me?—“but I wish they bring you happiness. I made this with you in mind. Hope it’s to your liking.”

You watch as Principal Yaga reveals a felt doll from behind his back, handing it to a repulsed Satoru, who makes no effort to conceal his personal feelings, let alone express gratitude.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to be?” He asks, shaking the doll so quickly you only catch a glimpse of its fluffy white tail and stitched black sunglasses—a cat?

“It’s you.” Its maker replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he has a name. Satoru, say hello to Catoru.”

Four of you share a look among yourselves, too stunned to say a thing until Satoru and his doll counterpart face you, the latter being held up by the scruff of his neck. Just like an actual cat.

“Do I look like this?” Satoru asks, and you all go quiet, with three hands simultaneously nudging you to represent them. Traitors!

“I mean, there are times when you do act like a cat—kinda?” Your voice is pinched up, hands moving frantically to dispute your words as your boyfriend’s face turns sourer than umeboshi. “But you look ten times—no, a hundred times more handsome! I promise! If anything, you resemble a—uh, Turkish Angora? Those are super beautiful!”

“You’d better get along.” Yaga warns. “I designed Catoru with a sweet tooth like you.”

“I don’t want a little mochi thief in my house!”

Yaga marches back into class without waiting to hear Satoru’s concerns about the impending depletion of his secret mochi stash. The kids tail after him, leaving you to comfort Satoru with a gentle pat on his back. “Let’s go inside, mm?”

The atmosphere inside the classroom is significantly more promising than what Yuji showed you on FaceTime this morning. All desks are pulled to the side in a rough T formation, with the spread of food you spent two nights making carefully put in order, from platters full of golden-crusted corn dogs and crispy chicken fingers to dainty cupcakes decorated with Konpeito candy and colorful mochi of every filling you could think of. Inumaki serves bar, and you’re pleased to see people returning for seconds, with Yuji waving his hands while praising your popping candy cake poppers to his taciturn upperclassman.

Balloons hang near the ceiling—a flag garland dangling from one end of the blackboard to the other. A gigantic birthday message spans across the surface, with smaller wishes sprinkled in abundance, some consisting of mere congratulations and others expressed with heartfelt emotion. You can easily guess who wrote what based on handwriting alone; Megumi’s by far the tidiest.

You knew leaving the decorations to Nobara was a smart choice. She knows it too. She doesn’t waste the chance to boast to Maki about it, the older girl twirling a bouquet made of lollipops between her fingers while gazing at the drifting clouds outside the window.

Satoru was right. This is good. You have every reason to be proud, too.

In the far back of the room, the adults have struck up a conversation with Panda, who snaps a picture of your entrance. The two party poopers—Ijichi and Nanami—look up from their quiet exchange.

“Satoru! You came!” Principal Yaga’s pride and joy steps forward with open arms, a party hat pulled taut between his round ears. “Congratulations on your birthday,” says Panda, planting two identical party hats on your heads. “Let me take a picture of the two of you. Couldn’t get an angle from back there.”

Your shoulders get squeezed as Satoru smooshes your faces together, the pointy tip of his hat nearly taking your eye out when he tries to steal a kiss from your cheek. You squint—and snap!

“Hey, can you take another? I think I wasn’t looking straight.”

“No do-overs!” Satoru interferes before Panda can even open his mouth. “Don’t worry! Getting a bad picture of you is impossible when you look perfect at any given time. Right, Panda?”

His former student glances down at the camera, letting out the exact same sound your computer makes when a Windows program crashes, and then rushing to mask it with a hearty chortle.

“Of course, Satoru! You got very lucky; Y/N is as beautiful as she is kind-hearted.” He shows you a grin that’s mostly teeth. “You know, she worked really hard for this party. We barely did anything ourselves.”

Not true; you all did your part…

Your eye is endangered once more, with his lips finding their target this time around. “That’s my vanilla caramel drizzle cupcake muffin baumkuchen pie to ya!”

That’s half your macchiato and half your bakery order, you argue silently.

“Shame Yuta couldn’t make it.” Panda continues. “Heard he’s down with a cold, though he did send you his gift via Maki.” A fuzzy thumb points at the closet-turned-gift-depository, where various bags and packages are stacked into a pyramid. “Anyway. I’ll let the two of you mingle. Come over if ya want more pictures of you taken. Got lots of props too.”

Your eyes follow as he returns to his post, spotting Shoko experimenting with a pair of groucho glasses. Nanami shakes his head disapprovingly, leaning back into his chair while Ijichi’s stutter is visible from where you and Satoru stand.

You glance up at him, a default smile plastered on his lips. Unreadable to others, but painfully obvious to you. The face he’s searching for is not among those present.

“Everyone seems to be having fun.” Satoru points out.

“Y-yeah.” You croak.

“Can’t believe you got everything down. Class looks like it did back then. Even the wobbly pom-pom on the party hats.” He squeezes the one on your head. “That caught me off guard.”

“Well, it would’ve been a greater surprise if you didn’t eavesdrop on my private phone calls.”

“That ain’t on me, sweets.” He whisks your hand into his and drags you onward. “Not my fault I was born with heightened senses. Better get used to it; our kids will probably take after me in that aspect.”

You shrug his comment off, watching as Satoru stows the cat away in the closet and dramatically dusts his hands off. “Another great addition to the world’s creepiest collection.” He grumbles.

“But Catoru is the cutest so far!” You object.

He is about to answer when a sound akin to that of someone choking has you both turning toward the makeshift buffet where Ijichi is downing water straight from the jug, his sunken cheeks a scarlet shade of red.

“Shit! He must’ve discovered the jalapeno poppers.” You bite your lips into a straight line, feeling somewhat responsible.

“Nice job!”

“It wasn’t my intention!”

Your plea of innocence doesn’t resonate with Satoru, who gives you a thumbs up before forming a cone around his mouth and shouting at Ijichi—chuckling at the hurried way the man searches for an escape between chairs and people.

“Ijichi! Oi, Ijichi! I-ji-chi! Over here! Come wish me a happy birthday!” He waves his arms around like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, declaring—unlike Tom Hanks—that he’s coming to him instead.

“Don’t go around terrorizing people, ‘Toru.” Your voice has him stopping his march to peck your lips.

“Promise I’ll be a good boy. You’re free to punish me if I’m not.” He smirks, finger-gunning you all the while stepping backwards in slow motion.

“You never are!”

“Hmm, that’s only because I’m the best. And you’d better prepare a handsome reward for when we get home, ‘cause the best always wins.” A flirtatious wink makes you question how many people listened in on your exchange, praying that the answer is none.

You take advantage of Satoru’s absence to pay a visit to your old friends, mentally counting the days since the last time you all gathered up. It’s been way too long—the beer you’d promised to catch up over turned into a distant fantasy.

“Gonna get yourself nauseous if you keep staring at that whirlpool, Shoko Senpai.” You plop down on the closest vacant chair, the bored brunette humming without lifting her eyes from the lemonade swirling inside her cup.

“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.” She states, managing to sound both mesmerized and disinterested at the same time.

“And? Seen anything yet?” You lean closer.

She retires with a sigh, dark circles looming below her hazelnut eyes. “Nothing yet.”

“How about now?”

Pulling your trump card—aka one of those miniature vodka bottles you specifically brought with her in mind—from your pocket, you pour a generous amount into her drink, reminiscing about the time she accidentally spiked Satoru’s soda and had him swimming on the floor.

It takes one sip for Shoko to liven up, a sudden jolt of energy coursing through her veins as she reaches out for the bottle.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You chuckle. “Big praise coming from someone who actually saves lives.”

“Big words coming from people who openly drink in front of underage students.” The man to your left observes, absentmindedly picking at the tentacles of the octopus sausage on his plate.

“Kento! You made it!” You tip from one side of your chair to the other, arms dangling empty as he dodges your hug. “Having fun?”

“Please stop acting like him. I know the years in his company have caused your twisted personalities to merge, but the world is already wretched enough with one Gojo Satoru around.” He munches on the “good part” of the dissected octopus, discarding the tentacles inside a carefully folded napkin.

“But to answer your question, whether I’d rather spend my Friday afternoon explaining to everyone I know that the man in the picture dancing inappropriately with half-naked models in Ibiza isn’t me but a look-alike or sitting here, chaperoning a bunch of kids and making sure no one kills themselves, then yes. It’s not as horrible as I expected. And you’re as good of a cook as I remembered.” He wipes his mouth. “But I’m still clocking out at 7 sharp.”

“Come on! I did what I had to do to get you here!” You giggle, experiencing a little of the same rush Satoru feels when he’s poking fun at Ijichi. Oh no. “I am glad you’re enjoying the food, at least!”

A sound viler than any curse’s wail pierces through your ears as a TV cart is dragged into the room. You recognize it as Yaga’s old torture device—those five-hour black and white tapes gleaming menacingly on the lower shelves, with an unknown machine piled atop the cassette player. You aren’t sure what its purpose is until Yuji connects a microphone to it.

“Everyone—ah, ah, ah! Can you hear me?” The boy dabs a palm against the microphone, sounding loud and clear across the room. “Fushiguro, can you hear me? Fushiguro—ah, ah, ah!” The last of his ah’s interrupted by Megumi’s calling him out in front of their live audience.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to Gojo Sensei’s birthday party! I’m Itadori Yuji, and I’m happy to have co-hosted this event with Miss Y/N.”

A couple of heads turn in your direction, Satoru’s among them. It’s easy to make out his silhouette when he dwarfs everyone around him—Principle Yaga on his side and an antsy Ijichi lurking behind them.

“I enrolled in this school a little over a semester ago by accident.” Yuji continues undeterred. “Back then, I didn’t know any more about curses than the next person. Not that I do now.” He scratches through his hair. “Honestly, it was a lot to stomach, especially the part where I get to share my body with another. I was told I’d be better off dead, and I did die once. I was supposed to be dead, but then Gojo sensei gave me a choice, and I’m here because of that choice. More than a helping hand, he’s been a guiding light to me, and on behalf of all of us, thank you, and Happy Birthday!”He bows. “I hope you have a good one!”

Yuji holds out the microphone for Satoru, the two of them sharing a high five with an affectionate pat seeing the boy off.

“Thank you, Yuji, for this wonderful speech!” Satoru grins, evidently moved by his student’s words. “Everyoooooooooooone! Give it up for the man of the hour, the one and only, the most incredibly handsome and magnificently strong sorcerer known as Gooooooooooojo Saaaaatoruuuu!” His body twists in a pirouette, peace signs and heart signs flying everywhere as he lands with a finger pointing at where the imaginary camera would be.

Unsurprisingly, no one is impressed. Cricket sounds almost audible.

“Wow, okay. Tough crowd, I guess.” His lips comically jerk to one side of his face, his tone turning nasal before switching back. “I won’t bore you with individual thanks and other useless formality crap.”

He smirks at the way your mouth rounds a silent gasp. Nanami notices too, posing a question you shrug off.

“To cut it short: first-years! You’ve all proved yourselves as worthy sorcerers and worthier humans. As a reward, I’m proud to announce your reward in the form of a—c’mon guys, drum your desks a little!—luxurious, one of a kind, ten outta ten, uniquely planned field trip by moi!”

“Is it Paris? Are you taking us to Paris?” Nobara dreams out loud.

“Sensei! How about Universal Studio? I saw them post their newest churrito flavor on their webpage.”

“Can I sit this one out?” A gloomy murmur begs.

“Great thinking, Yuji! Unfortunately, Nobara, we won’t be going overseas this time, but, Megumi, you’ll definitely want to reconsider once you hear our destination, which iiiiiis—excitement is free, everyone!—Parque Espana!” Satoru claps for his suggestion.

Three dejected faces say pass in unison, with only Megumi daring to complain about Satoru taking him and Tsumiki to the theme park every second Sunday when the two were younger. You remember that. Some times you’d tag along, and you’d all grab ice cream while staring at that humongous roller coaster the kids were too short to ride.

Undefeated, Satoru directs his attention to the second-year students, the three of them loitering by the chip bowl. His tone turning grave, “Second years, I’m honestly very disappointed in all of you. In our two years of knowing each other, you never thought to throw your favorite teacher a party for his birthday. You’re lucky I don’t have the authority to drop you a grade, but still. You fail!”

“Fish Flakes!” Inumaki expresses his supposed disagreement.

“Huh? You never even told us when your birthday was because you didn’t want us knowing your real age, you blindfolded idiot!”

“Maki, not now!” Panda anxiously gets in her way. “Cool it!”

“You should have figured it out yourselves.” Satoru toots. “Moving forward! I’d like to give my special thanks to the moon of my life, my sun, and my stars.”—you knew watching Game of Thrones with him was a very bad idea—“Y/N! Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy; everyone knows how much we love each other.

It almost feels like you have the limelight shining on you, with every person eagerly awaiting your response. You gulp hard, whispering so that only Nanami can hear. “You were right. Please save me.”

“What is it, Buttercup? You already have my heart, but if there’s anything you’d like for me to do, then now is the moment to say it.” Satoru smiles sweetly, his voice dripping with honey.

“Actually, there is. Can you put me down?” You kick your legs around while he hoists you up in bridal style, your unjust abduction having occurred in the blink of an eye.

“Anything and everything for you!” He kisses the top of your head, holding you close to him even after letting your feet touch the ground. “Alright, that’d be all! I hope everyone gets to have the time of their lives. Now, let’s get this party started!” He throws the microphone up in the air.

Nothing happens.

“I said, let’s get this party star—whatever.” Satoru gives up half-way through raising his arm again. “Yuji, play something fun!”

“On it!” Yuji salutes him, and the two of you walk away from the blackboard.

A faint sigh echoes behind you, its relief cut short as Satoru grabs the microphone once more. “Ah, right. Ijichi, I’ll see you in my office on Monday. I’d wear a headband if I were you.”

“I’ve c-committed a mortal sin, G-Gojo!” Ijichi struggles to say, uncertain of the crime he’s being accused of, yet hopeful for Satoru’s forgiveness.

“You are such a menace!” You throw a playful punch to his chest once he sits you on his lap, away from the eyes of people gathering around the karaoke machine, and close to Nanami, who departs with a disgusted scoff.

“You love me for it.” Satoru’s lips press softly against yours, incapable of hiding his smile when you pull his face in for another kiss, the tight squish of his arms making sure you’re going nowhere.

“I do.” You affirm, rubbing your nose on his. “I love you.”

“How much?” His eyes crinkle fondly.

“Hmm, like, a lot?” You giggle, your fingers absently brushing through the trimmed hair on the back of his skull. “Enough to spend half a lifetime by your side and still find you the most incredible person in all of creation.”

“Wanna spend the other half too?” His breath on your cheek colors your skin red, your eyes momentarily lost between shades of blue.

“Come back with a ring, Shit-toru.”

“That’s not the way you talk to your future husband!”

“He’s here? With us? Right now?” You gasp, frantically looking around, until Satoru forces you to face him with a thumb on your chin, his other hand squeezing an innocent touch around your thigh.

“Satoru!”

“Scared your future husband will see us?” He throws his head back, laughing at your panicked state. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight him for you. And win. After all, I am the strongest.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he did it! He said the line with only—”you glance at your phone—“six hours left before the day ends, what an amazing record!”

A shrill screech fired from the other side of the room interrupts your banter, the microphone turning into a lethal weapon in Panda’s massive palms. The students appear to have divided themselves into couples, fighting over who gets to go first until Inumaki takes the initiative with a rap song—or, more accurately, sings over a rap song, as the only words in his roster revolve around onigiri ingredients that are mentioned nowhere in the lyrics.

“Stop hogging the mic!” Maki attempts to steal it, backing away as the boy teases to unzip his collar. She knows better than to push her limits while unarmed.

Panda still gets in the middle. For precaution, you assume.

“Reminds you of something?” Satoru comments on your riveted attention. “They’re just like us. How we once were. Young and full of dreams.”

“Nah. You were always a horny bastard.” You slap the inappropriately placed hand away before you get up and sit where Nanami was previously stationed. Poking your tongue at his devastated expression.

Conversation between the two of you is kept to a minimum after a different tune begins blasting from the speakers—Yuji and Megumi take over the stage with Takada-Chan’s most recent success, one of them performing the vocals to perfection while the other merely mumbles yeah’s whenever the song calls for it. Next are Nobara and Maki, the two girls belting out to an anthem of empowerment that has the boys in the room gulping uncomfortably among themselves.

The mood shifts completely when Yaga pours his soul into an 80’s power ballad, his raspy voice transforming into the smoothest velvet, complemented by Panda’s harmonies. Even Satoru praises his old teacher, cheering him on from the bleachers with a makeshift napkin-banner.

You don’t realize your boyfriend’s gone until you see him with the microphone in hand, bending the cable as he makes quick gestures for the floor to empty, performing what is possibly the cheesiest, most romantic love song ever written, and ushering you to join him once he drops to his knees—quite literally at your feet.

You ruffle his hair and shove his goofy expression away. No matter how charming his singing voice may be, he’ll never get you to sing in public. Similar to how he’ll never catch you admitting how loudly your heart beats in your chest, despite the fact that it’s written all over your face.

God, you hate this man. So much that part of you wishes you’d spent his birthday like you did every other year—tangled in his sheets and kissing till you cannot breathe.

As soon as the karaoke session ends, Megumi and Yuji exit the room to bring in the cake, with Satoru jumping them for a thorough inspection. The dessert is inspired by one of his favorite confections. Handmade mochi bites are spread evenly between three layers of fluffy strawberry cake, the entire enterprise covered in fine red bean paste and topped with vanilla buttercream, strawberry cutouts, and, of course, more mochi in a light pink shade to recreate the world’s largest daifuku.

You lost count of how many failed attempts it took to create your own recipe from scratch, but the look on Satoru’s face is better than any payment you could possibly ask. He struggles to find a word that describes his feelings—phenomenal being the one he ends up using. Definitely better than chocolate cake. Perhaps even on par with the legendary Laputa.

Everyone gathers anew for the birthday boy to blow out his candles, awkwardness sweeping through the crowd as, one by one, you come to the conclusion that there is no available lighter.

you search through your pockets for a lighter, finding none. Shoko’s unhealthy (and supposedly cut) habit comes in clutch, with the brunette handing Yuji the keys to her office. The boy sprints outside at full speed, idle chatter put on pause as the TV starts playing on its own, the song selection window traded for a relic of the past.

“Is this even working?” A young Shoko taps the camera, tilting her body at a curious angle. Short skirt rolling up.

“Probably not. That shit’s ancient, but feel free to test it! Maybe try showing it something funnier, like your pant—”

Horny bastard. Right on the money.

“Cut it off, Satoru.” A voice makes both you and present-day Satoru shudder, its owner taking the camera from their friend’s hand to shoot footage around the gym. “Yaga Sensei told us to use this to document the Goodwill Event, not film amateur gravure.” The frame shakes once more. “Looks good to me.”

“Pft, what’s the point?” Satoru flicks a pebble at the camera. “So he can make a quick buck out of me destroying those brats? The outcome’s already decided. Now turn this thing off. I wanna lay under the sun without some junk in my face.”

The camera zooms in on him splaying his limbs on the grass, possibly near the track field, based on the slight hint of red inside the green.

“The only junk in your face is your face itself.” Shoko deadpans, making him chase after her while Suguru continues filming them until they turn into a pair of flickering dots.

“These two.”

The world is turned upside down as a close-up of his bang takes over the screen. Realizing that himself, he pulls the camera further away, cat-like irises shining like pure amber under the sunny sky. You’ve missed their warmth.

“Preparation for the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Day 1.” He declares, and the screen goes black in an instant, white noise reigning over the space.

Your hand seeks Satoru’s on its own, the faint sound of his name dangling from your parted lips, both your breaths catching in your throats. He’s left gawking at the screen, reciprocating your touch with shaky fingers that try to anchor him to you. It’s safe to say this was not part of your plan.

“Weird. Thought it’d be one of those old workout tapes.” Nobara reveals herself as the culprit behind the incident, ejecting the tape back into its box and later standing with her hands pinned to her waist. “Gojo Sensei, I recognize you and Ieri, but who was that third person in the video? Bangs Guy.”

Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one to have absolutely no information on Suguru. Aside from the adults, the second-years were all present during last year’s attack, and Megumi knows whatever has slipped from Satoru during his stay at the Gojo clan’s compound.

Nobody rushes to respond; all of you tuned in on Satoru even though only Shoko, Yaga, and you are directly gazing at him, his face contorted with a pained grimace he tries hard to disguise.

“Geto Suguru was—”

“My best friend.” Satoru grins at Principal Yaga’s attempt to help him, grasping your hand more confidently as he confronts the girl. “Geto Suguru is my best friend.”

“Huh. Guess there’s hope for everyone.” No one’s left with any courage to laugh at Nobara’s poor attempt at a joke. “Where is he now—”

“Senseiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” A voice gains volume as the door bursts open, Yuji pouring into the classroom with the lighter held over his head like it’s the Olympic flame. “I g-got th-the—” He tries to breathe, ending up only saying, “Fire. Wish. What. Miss?”

“Yuji!” Satoru makes you follow him to the door. “You’re right on time! And no, you didn’t miss anything. Just stories of the past.”

“Stories?” Yuji wipes the sweat off his forehead. Still very much exasperated. “But I…like stories.”

“I know you do.” Satoru’s eyes settle on yours, the clamor in his eyes hushing for the first time in years. “But birthday wishes are meant for a future that’s yet to be written.”

“Thank you!”

Appreciation falls from your lips as a long-drawn yawn, every second you spend huddled under the kotatsu’s warmth begging to lull you to sleep. Today was a long day. So long, it feels as if it spanned an entire lifetime.

Satoru plops down beside you, the neckline of his sweatshirt diving low over his collarbones as he chugs his share of hot cocoa. Yours remains untouched while you switch between the same two movie options, incapable of picking one over the other.

“What do you have for me?” He asks, running his fingers over the ceramic rim. A melodic string instrument-like sound is induced.

“Okay so. Got the cult classic Sixteen Candles, which we’ve probably watched more times than Molly Ringwald had to practice her lines for the role, and I also have La Boum, in case you’re feeling more adventurous, and I don’t know. Frenchy, maybe.”

“Hmm, I mean. When you phrase it like that…”He acts as if he’s seriously contemplating his choice, only to snatch the remote from your hand and choose La Boum. He smiles slyly, curling near your chest. “It’s what you obviously wanted to watch. And I always choose, so.”

“Forfeiting your birthday boy rights?” You hum, tenderly combing through his freshly washed white strands. He smells just like his cake, you think. “Be careful. There are still nine minutes left before your birthday’s over, and you’re robbed of your rights for an entire year. Think you can make it?”

“Will you be with me during those horrid days?” His voice turns muffled.

“Always. Now, before the movie starts and you ruin the fun with your excessive blabbing, how about you reach under the kotatsu for your gift?” You suggest, chuckling as his head lifts up, cerulean eyes shining with unfeigned surprise.

“Angel! You shouldn’t have!” Satoru beams whole as he drags the heavy box out, shaking it in an attempt to feel out its contents.

“You know that doesn’t work with me. C’mon. I’ll pause for you.”

He wastes no time to untie the light silver bow that ties the box together, taking, however, his sweet time to review each and every object placed within. Carefully, he lays everything out on the table, small gasps evading him at a constant and maturing into a full-on shriek as he spots that one rare Digimon trading card you bust your gut trying to purchase via private online auctions.

“I—um. I know it doesn’t sound too good ‘cause I’m your girlfriend and I’m supposed to know everything about you and what you want, but I really had no idea what to get for your birthday. So I decided to get you a bit of everything from your favorite things. You can blame me for weaponizing nostalgia later.”

You clear your throat with a quick sip of cocoa. Licking your lips, “Anyway. It’s really no biggie as you can see. I just bought off some trading cards, ported a few of your old favorite games to a current generation console—yes, Street Fighter included—and made you this silly beaded charm with our initials for your phone, since they are back in fashion.

“I know it’s not much, and you could buy those things at any given time, but—time is something you cannot buy, right? Your childhood, your youth. The so-called best years of your life. I wanted you to have that back, even if just for a day.”

It’s been minutes, and Satoru remains quizzically silent, to the point where the array of kisses aimed at your neck comes as a true ambush. You’re knocked to the floor, giggling and flailing while he shows you his affection in every way possible, kissing you, praising you, hugging you—loving you.

“H-Happy Birthday, Toru.” You repel his face enough to say. “Y-you know, a thank you would be nice to hear!”

“As if you don’t know what I’m about to say.” Satoru grins, holding your palms to his mouth. Kissing them one by one, repeatedly, and slowly. Multiple times each. “You are my childhood. And my youth. And the best years of my life—they are all you. Everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll live together.”

“How’s that for a thank you?” He chuckles, quickly breaking the tension with a final kiss on your nose. Perhaps the only part of you that’s not tinged red. “That being said…”

“You want to go for a quickie?” You sniffle against your will.

“See? You do know everything about me.” He reaches for the deck of cards with the swirly brown backside. “It’s time to duel!”

A/N: sorry for hastily written ending. had no time, oopsie!

[accio-victuuri]

some cpns in my head today…. 🍭🍬

not @ them proving that they do read what’s on the internet. with yibo who spoke about reading what people posted about him when he was sick. also zz who shared a review about ygy that he liked and then his thoughts about melons. they do have time to look and read. i just hope they don’t get too caught up in some doom scrolling and check more about the good things people say about their works.

it wouldn’t hurt if they visit the bjyx supertopic too lol . which we suspect they do. 🙈🙈🙈

there is also some talk about how WYB is in today’s road show. of course he is still coughing and there is still some trace of him being sick but the fuck. look at him. in HD and unedited, this is sick yibo? so handsome! He was also smiley and attentive. speaking so well. amazing.

the speculation is, for the past days, GG is doing Condor Heroes work early. Like 7:00 or 8:00 AM. then on the 26th, when WYB had to cancel, he arrived 9:00 AM. Then when WYB went back to work, XZ arrived at CH set before noon. people are thinking XZ gave extra time to be with WYB today before he has to join the One and Only promos again. and that’s why, even if the sickness is still there, our WYB was still in a good mood. 😌

THEM. 💓💓💓

Da Peng attending a 10:05 showing of One and Only. It could be because it’s the earliest showing in the morning but I love how he’s not scared of 1005. knowing how certain people got “mad” about him for being “cpf-friendly” when he’s really just a decent human being who appreciates those who support the film.

BUT WHAT I DEFINITELY WANNA TALK ABOUT IS FREAKIN KAI XIAO ZAO POST. This one. ⬇️

the logical explanation : the post is about chengdu world university games. which coincidentally, yibo made a promotional vcr for.

the cpn explanation:

1. The freakin time it was posted 18:00 ( YIBO ) and the premiere day of One and Only. They could have easily used 10:05 to represent XZ like they usually do but somehow they used 18:00.

2. Spicy Wonton which is what they ate during CQL filming.

3. How the color RED is the theme of it. I’m thinking how the E-Mark dance crew are wearing all red jackets in the finals ( if you see the trailers ).

4. Youth??? Dreams??? Enthusiasm??? Uhmmm. These buzz words scream One and Only to me.

-END.

[sleepingdayaway]

Gala Tea

Based on the game Coffee Talk. Which I highly recommend you check out, and I’m a sucker for cozy games. Also I’m no barista. I’m just a person that enjoys games-

Characters: Gala and Barista (you)

Rain falls down outside on the street as you watch, the night owls that roam the night, from the safety of your warm building. The sound of your playlist echoes around the room, as well as the strong scent of coffee that lingers around. It wasn’t until the machine next to you that broke your trance, as you turned around to face your stock of ingredients. Everything appears to be in order and nothing is lacking for the night; the ringing of the bell from your door catches your attention.

A polite smile is placed on your lips and you turned around to face the person, “Welcome! Please have a sea-”

In front of you is one of your regulars. A werewolf with a large intimidating build that would surely scare many people at first glance. Multiple scars covers his arms as well as band-aids to cover some of them, with quite a few also marking his face. The exhausted look that is etched on his face, ages him quite well. After all, Gala isn’t necessarily very young, thanks to his werewolf life span.

The polite smile is replaced with a small genuine one, once your eyes laid on him. Gala takes a moment for the rain water to dry up a bit before walking over and taking a seat on one of the many chairs in front of you. The chair creaks for a moment under his weight, but it doesn’t budge after that as he leaned forward on the counter.

“Good evening, [Name].” A tired smile is shown as he greets you warmly. Ever so polite you greeted him back with a bit more enthusiasm. He glances around for a moment before speaking up. “Am I your first customer for the night?”

“Yes, you are Mr. Gala. Lucky you since that means you’ll have the fresher ingredients right away,”

Gala perks up at your words before shaking his head with small chuckles escaping his lips. “Now then you’re making me feel special with your words.” He replies as he leans a bit forward on the counter.

The aura of comfort that this small coffee shop gives to him is nothing to scoff at. Either after or before his shift does he try to make time to stop by and enjoy a drink here. Gala is thankful for finding this place that opens late at night during his working hours, that serves good coffee. Lyric-less music fills his ears as he enjoys this moment with you.

A hazy gleam covers his eyes as he stares at you, leaning forward with his head resting on his propped up hand. The soft yellow glow of the lights inside bounces off your figure. He notices you turning around to grab at familiar ingredients to create a certain drink that soothes him well.

That’s one of the small things he enjoyed about you. How you always have an accurate reading on what every regular that comes here feel like drinking on these nights. Gala always appreciates the challenges that you take on with their silly requests.

Never hesitating to lend an ear to whoever comes in. Whipping up a hot drink that will assist to whoever is willing to open up. The way that you somehow were able to bring people together with just coffee and a few conversations. People that he now considers close friends with, and even managing to bring him and Hyde even closer.

It’s with this feeling that he hopes that you also adore his company.

Without hesitation did you turned back and gave the man a teasing look, “Oh? Have you not felt special before? That’s a shame, I feel like you would have earlier since two of my drinks are named after you.”

Gala’s hazy stare was replaced with a shocked one when you looked back at him. He barks out a laugh with a pink tint to face, a bit embarrassed that he might’ve been caught staring, before responding, “I believe it’s only because those drinks were made specifically for me.”

You laughed softly while preparing the Blue Pea for a specific drink in mind. Grabbing the small cutting board with the ginger root and a knife; making sure that the root was cut properly. The milk also being prepped once the ginger has been cut.

The silence between the both of you was not tense. How could it, when you seemingly only radiate trust and a sense of peace. If Gala is going to be honest, it feels as if he could wear his heart on his sleeve around you.He wonders that if he presents it to you; would you handle it with the same warmth that fills the soul of many?

He is broken out of his thoughts when a familiar drink is placed in front of him. The beautiful color of blue that is matched with the art from the milk with bits of ginger in the mix.

Gala looks up at you and is a bit off guard when he notices the look in your eyes. A gaze that expresses everything at once and it feels like he’s seen it before. Locked in an eye contact that converses a silent longing did you finally speak out.

“One Gala Tea for you, on the house.”

Ah.

Now he remembers where that look you gave him was from.

It’s the same one he catches himself making for you.

[cathartidae]

o yeah building off of what mae said, ive not really been scared or friendly towards wasps for most of my life but recently cause of all the wasp posts you reblog, when i go out to water the garden ive started observing them and DAMN!!! they're so cool. mostly the ones in my garden seem to be enjoying the sunflowers and its so interesting to watch them climb around and rest on leaves a bit. huge fan of how youre bringing more appreciation for nature and the little nature things into the world

YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET I AM ACTIVELY BLOWING UP :( im so so delighted that my enthusiasm for nature has gotten yall more into typically disliked bugs and im really glad i can get people to share my enthusiasm over time :D

[bengiyo]

Hidden Agenda Ep 8 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Zo and Joke went on a date to the amusement park and we learned that Zo went here with a boy in high school with whom he thought he shared a mutual attraction. That boy, Puen, sneered at Zo and told him he was wrong, and we also learned that Zo's former best friend made fun of him for this. Thus, we gained context for so much of Zo's reticence and his fear of making people uncomfortable. Later, we ran into Puen at the coffee shop Pok works at and learned that Puen did share Zo's feelings but was just scared in the closet. This resolution was enough to allow Zo to feel comfortable calling Joke his boyfriend and to properly kiss him.

In other threads, there was a weird bit with Joke's grandma where she pretended to be homophobic to make Zo struggle, and also we checked in with Pok and Jeng's closeted affairs. I appreciated Aou and Boom's enthusiasm, but am unsure what to do with the knowledge that Pok is being brave about the closet and Jeng is sympathetic about it.

Joong is very charming.

I feel like they should not answer repeated calls from a disturbing number and just block them.

Oh wow. Thank you, Zo.

Dunk's physique goes severely underutilized in BL.

Louis also has just so much screen presence.

Now I'm considering Louis and AJ as a pair... I would like to see it.

This Poom guy has a long neck.

I don't care for Poom.

Jeng said, "Meet me at our spot," and is now being crushed by performative heteronormativity.

Thinking about Sailom and Nuea, and how I argued that Nuea being out makes him in some ways safer than Lom as Jeng has to come clean about the high schooler.

Oh lord we got another biter.

Now Poom is gonna be in the apartment while the danger music is playing?

So stressed about this mail from the stalker after all the bombs that have been mailed in the past years.

Nooooooo. Poom knows about the spare key now.

Bro didn't even wait like a day before coming back and fucking with Zo. This is legit scary.

He's wiretapping Zo's bedroom WTF?

I hope we're done with this guy after that confrontation.

I like Zo taking an emotional leap to be intimate with Joke even if he doesn't think he can be sure, and also that his nervousness about his first time was acknowledged.

Welp. Looks like both couples fall apart next week.

I'm not sure I like the stalker plot, since it seems to offer inherent comparison with Joke's determined pursuit of Zo under potentially hidden pretenses. Still, I'm glad we've left room in the show for the breakup and reconciliation to maybe not feel rushed.

[darkdoverpseeker]

(forgot age range)

🕊️ looking for 19+ partners to write mxm! i have this particular oc i'd like to write~

he's pretty. masculine like a peacock. gender envy, who? i'm being harsh, but his physical appearance is his most redeeming quality. he comes from the slums (prostitute's son) and depending on the au we play him in, he will do anything to get himself out of the mud or is content to control to stay in the slums only if he's the one leading (gave up on escaping and fell into sin's embrace??) in most verses, there are elements of rape/noncon and assault in his backstory. you can fit so much trauma, abuse, and rage in this bad boy.

he's an arrogant, cold, self-entitled prick because he knows he's hot shit. he looks down on everyone, including himself; people are all just tools, and isn't life the game that decides who is the most useful? he's determined, cold, ruthless, and oh-so emotionally stunted. he doesn't know how to love, but he wants to. most of the time, anyway. he's very bitter and thinks he deserves better. god complex + crippling self-hatred.

anywho, that's where YOUR OC advertiser voice comes in!

i'd love to pair my boy against someone who will piss him off or a himbo. i am not looking for sub-bottoms. i want them to be at each other's literal throats. give me the bickering, the dom x dom energy, everything. maybe your oc is the one is knock him (violently) down several pegs, scare the shit out of my guy, make him worse (stay toxic!!) teach him how to love, enforce his dog-eat-dog ideology, break him, trauma-bond with him, or yk, let me manipulate the hell out of your muse (villain and his guard dog) ^^

when it comes to bedroom dynamics, i play my oc as a switch/power bottom. he likes getting dicked down, but he very much wants to stay in power.

i have a few ideas, but i would love love love to hear yours if you had any.

a few things about me-

21+ F writer lazy-lit. i can break the discord word limit multiple times, but only if the situation calls for it/i want to act like an author paid by word

i love worldbuilding and making complex characters + relationships.

i will give the enthusiasm i am given. i can only send so many memes before it gets awkward.

my response time can be from minutes (rapid fire) to a week or so. this depends mostly on my interest in the rp and my schedule. i am a uni student, so please have mercy on me.

i'm pretty active ooc and would appreciate a ooc relationship! send me memes, fanart, pinterest boards, songs that remind us of our idiots, and i'll do the same!

kink friendly. i have maybe three limits, so pretty much anything is on the table.

historical + modern settings, omegaverse, size differences, angst, hurt/more hurt, hurt/comfort, dub/noncon, fantasy, political funsies, power imbalances, breeding, monsterfucking, dead dove themes, wuxia etc have me foaming at the mouth.

if you got this far, you're probably interested, so please react and i'll hunt you down! for the love of god, please respond to my dm...

like if interested !

[avatar-of-the-blank]

Would you trap me in your corridors like a rat in a maze, I'd appreciate it

I UNDERSTAND HOW LOVEABLE AND WONDERFUL I AM AND HOW AMAZING AND YOU SHOULD ENTER THEM MY CORRIDORS ARE HOWEVER I SHALL VOICE SOME CONCERNS??? THE ENTHUSIASM IS GREAT BUT I AM A TAD BIT FRIGHTNED OF SOME OF YOU! THAT IS NOT HOW THIS TRANSACTION WORKS, I AM THE SCARY YOU ARE THE SCAREES.

[crystalsamethyst]

I have let myself be extremely vulnerable recently and I don't know if it's something people really care about but I'm going to talk about it.

The fact that I've been sharing the whole picture of who I am across several platforms is something I never thought I'd be able to do. There has been so much embarrassment and shame in my personal life over me writing fanfiction and latching on to series that I could barely even admit it out loud even though it was my entire sense of self. I couldn't talk about what I was writing. I couldn't share it. Even if people were genuinely interested, I'd have a panic attack thinking their perception of me would be altered and I'd lose everything.

Sharing what I write is extremely difficult because on one hand, it's a part of me, but on the other hand, there are things I have to incorporate for the stories that don't represent me at all and I'm terrified of people coming to the wrong conclusions about who I am as a person. Even if the writing is 100% aligned with what I wanted for it, that still doesn't mean it's always who I am or what I like or approve of for real life.

I also never thought of myself as a 'real writer' until I finished my own original book since fanfiction 'doesn't count' (in my irl world).

My username on fanfiction sites is different than the ones I share things about my actual life on and it will probably stay that way. It always felt like such a disconnect but I intended to stay anonymous, post what I wanted to, and not get found by a select few people who seemed to be able to find and shame me wherever I went (still found me on some of the sites but by then they didn't hold power over me at least)

So recently, I've been linking my work which is on AO3 under the same username I use for all sites I've posted fanfics on. I've even put direct links to my AO3 in some of my online profiles. There's a lot of my old work out there that I don't want to be represented by but someone liked it so I'm not going to take them down.

This is a very vulnerable process for me, admitting that I am a person and here is what I like and here is what I write. It might take a while until I'm comfortable sharing everything I wanted to post, but if I eventually do, I really hope people won't come after me for it (super unlikely scenario but, anxiety). I'm not scared of online hate, but I'm terrified of losing the respect and friendships of those I've connected with even if there is nothing even 'socially' wrong with the stories.

I really appreciate the support I've gotten so far. Especially with the TGCF community. I've had to learn a lot on my own since I started posting things like 13 years ago, and I'm still figuring out AO3 and learning new terms. I sometimes feel like a new young fan just now learning how the internet works.

I've been isolated a lot of my life and have several mental health issues plus autism so I'm super knowledgeable in some areas but completely in the dark in others that might seem incredibly obvious and commonly known, and it's the same for fandoms and websites. (I've actually been apparently using Tumblr wrong this whole time too for the like system. I've been using it mostly as bookmarks or read laters. Whoops.)

On a lesser note, I also never imagined I would start drawing again. I actually used to be pretty good at it but again, was shamed and ridiculed for a lot and compared to others so I stopped for a really long time. I'm glad I can share it without being tooooo embarrassed anymore.

It means a lot to me to be so supported, and I would tag a few of you specifically but I don't want you guys to feel called out. But please know that your support and enthusiasm means the world to me and I appreciate and care about you very much. Thank you for helping me feel safe while I'm letting myself be vulnerable.

[toxicanonymity]

Are you still working through requests of are you pretty much caught up on them?

Far, far from caught up. I'm fortunate and very grateful to have such a large, highly-engaged community here. I don't think there's ever going to be a "caught up" state for this blog since each answer begets more asks, which is amazing.  The link below from my header addresses why I don't plan on closing my ask box to catch up.  I appreciate y'all understanding and rolling with how I do things kinda differently.

About requests

Basically I float around in a growing pool of our combined ideas and kinda do what flows. I think that provides the most bang for our buck in terms of effort/time to quality/output. This can look a lot of different ways, examples: 

Lazaretto - The sex pollen ask was from late March and I liked the concept but started to think the moment might never strike until I got inspired by jack white's song a few wks ago. 

Tommy's hard day (MFM) - I had tommy x reader x Joel asks since early April and finally did one last wk based on continued popular demand. 

Aches - I think this ask was just submitted a day or two before I wrote it, same with the original free use and the ask that led to stepdad!Joel. I was in a good headspace for those despite having older ones in my box.

Movie night - I think I wrote movie night like same day bc it went so well with my thots at the time.

grisly details below

When I say far from it, I mean triple digits, bearing in mind some are similar and many are joelkemon-specific (50+ between night walks and raider?). Sometimes those don't fit the current storyline/direction or not yet. For example, stepdad sleeping with your mom (see post mortem below lol), pregnancy scare with stepdad, or night walks being a peeping tom again. But I hang onto those for future consideration (the Tim Rockford murder board is real).

Since there are so many in this bucket I tried answering a couple of them as "hypotheticals" and ended up with like 10-15 asks over the next couple of days reading those as canon lol (affectionate - LOVE the enthusiasm, curiosity, and ideas). This would be easy to roll with if it was a small detail instead of whether they're even on speaking terms, or if I hadn't already started the next parts of the story and could just "skip ahead," but I did that to myself. Anyway funny thing is I would have gotten there (/will get there) just not yet at the time so it kind of reinforces my mindset of not wanting to sacrifice quality/flow to catch up.

I'm really grateful to everyone who shares ideas and asks, y'all really make this blog (I think y'all know that though).

That being said, I am due for an inbox clean-up and may need to pass on certain general ones (not Joelkemon specific). Idk if it would be a faux pas but I could possibly see if other writers want to do certain ones i can't (ex: stuff I'm not familiar with like A/B/O).

[sadfruittheatre-rp]

I've been getting a lot of personal blogs that don't have RP sideblogs following me lately, and while I appreciate your interest in my blog and the silly little guy it's about, I feel like I need to make a bit of a PSA.

Please don't like the threads I have going on with other people. I am a very small blog and it kind of clogs up my notifications and needlessly gets my hopes up to have something to actually reply to.

You can like asks, art, shitposts or whatever else, and you can even interact by way of sending asks, but please don't touch my threads. This also includes reblogging (which is not a thing that I have yet personally run into but I am worried enough about it happening that I feel the need to say something now before it does happen)

RP blogs and mains with visible RP sideblogs can like whatever the hell they want (including threads they're not in, so long as they don't reblog them) because I know I am strictly dealing with RP blogs. But personal blogs, as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, y'all are guests here and thus don't quite have the same rights as other RP blogs. I'm not trying to scare anybody off, but I need to set some boundaries in order to make my own notifications more manageable.