#i mean he was a pretty lonely kid so he was probably always bothering the scientists

[theaxolotlkween]

This is the only way I can accept that Van Kleiss might have a decent amount of knowledge about Rex's past.

i drew van kkleiss from memory if thats any help

[boowritess]

i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too. 

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear. 

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands. 

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago. 

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that.  It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly. 

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory. 

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at. 

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that. 

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man. 

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too. 

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling. 

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony. 

He approaches slowly, quietly. 

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you. 

“Oh, uhm. Hello?” 

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile. 

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly. 

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.” 

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new. 

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?” 

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little. 

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.” 

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record. 

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.” 

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.” 

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.” 

He pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip. 

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins. 

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?” 

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little. 

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle. 

“A little,” 

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile. 

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor. 

“And yours?” 

“Gojo Satoru.” 

__

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor. 

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly. 

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk. 

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall.  You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar 

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly  romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking. 

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening. 

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously  feeling quite jealous about.) 

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades. 

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what. 

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite. 

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same. 

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere. 

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.  

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean. 

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions. 

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade. 

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it. 

 By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk. 

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground. 

What’s heaven to a man born there?

__ 

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted. 

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.  

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return.  There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.) 

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children. 

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is. 

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply. 

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade. 

It had led him to a conclusion,  but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of. 

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late. 

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most. 

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home. 

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.) 

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant -  there, all the same.  As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen. 

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings,  notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone. 

You’ve never called him before. 

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly. 

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.” 

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet. 

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?” 

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,” 

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.” 

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.” 

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him. 

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.” 

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.” 

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?” 

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words. 

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.” 

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.” 

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.” 

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?” 

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright. 

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.” 

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know? 

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles. 

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?” 

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.” 

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain. 

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

__

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed. 

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction. 

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on. 

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it. 

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester. 

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late. 

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality. 

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet. 

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. 

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried. 

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there. 

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it. 

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear. 

(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?” 

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in. 

“....It?” 

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him. 

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths. 

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least. 

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is. 

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.” 

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most. 

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least.  He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one. 

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined. 

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,” 

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward. 

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly. 

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap. 

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you. 

“Of course,” He says  “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod your head and sip your tea. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?” 

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.” 

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them. 

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?” 

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply. 

“I thought you were a high school teacher.” 

He smiles. 

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.” 

You look befuddled. 

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist. 

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.” 

“You can’t use cursed techniques?” 

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.” 

Vulnerable. 

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words. 

“Is it that bad…?” 

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?” 

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.” 

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?” 

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.” 

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look. 

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. 

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over. 

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

__ 

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A  bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing. 

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat. 

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie. 

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles. 

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen. 

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary. 

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit. 

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached. 

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head. 

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror. 

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that. 

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic. 

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to. 

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results. 

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays. 

__

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it. 

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next. 

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident. 

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control. 

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing  heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure. 

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same. 

Then, he’s inside. 

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate. 

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that. 

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything. 

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do. 

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you. 

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for? 

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything. 

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line. 

“Showing signs of anxiety.” 

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting. 

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do. 

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,” 

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy,  but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling  of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. 

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump. 

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty. 

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns. 

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. 

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with… 

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms. 

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious. 

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job. 

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question. 

“Why’re you still here?” 

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.” 

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs. 

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.” 

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?” 

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking,  but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying. 

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient. 

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.” 

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.” 

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?” 

She gives Gojo a pointed look. 

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.” 

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head. 

“No. Your aura.” 

Gojo stares ahead. 

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.” 

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.” 

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?” 

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.” 

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.” 

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing. 

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input. 

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.” 

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare. 

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.” 

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened.  He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently. 

“I’m sorry you went through that.”  Gojo replies. 

He’s being sincere. 

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand.  She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone. 

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.” 

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is:  “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.” 

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too. 

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ 

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react. 

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away. 

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.” 

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head. 

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.” 

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”  Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread. 

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath. 

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

__

The case ends anti-climatically. 

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken. 

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser. 

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene. 

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves. 

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too. 

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him. 

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too. 

Above all, the offer is tempting.) 

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little. 

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire. 

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees. 

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body. 

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen. 

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most. 

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles. 

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~ 

He laughs to himself. 

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion. 

(sent 11:16am) For coffee? 

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up. 

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing. 

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you. 

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate. 

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so. 

“Hey,” 

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush. 

“They’re an important friend,” 

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend. 

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?” 

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,” 

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good. 

It’s a pleasant sort of day. 

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time. 

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too. 

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for. 

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story. 

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes. 

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do. 

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.” 

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you.  Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light. 

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him. 

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,” 

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh. 

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.” 

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs. 

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully. 

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater. 

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?” 

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.” 

Your frown deepens. 

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.” 

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?” 

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims,  soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours.  The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you. 

“What do you want?” 

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully. 

“Heard,” 

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him. 

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums. 

“Mm, there’s always next time?” 

“You say that every time!” 

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.” 

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout. 

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums. 

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?” 

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now. 

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly. 

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.” 

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy. 

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag. 

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo. 

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?” 

“Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?” 

You nod enthusiastically.

__ 

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while. 

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go. 

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school. 

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task) 

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out. 

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon. 

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that. 

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him. 

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend. 

Time passes  comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned. 

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember? 

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―” 

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind. 

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you. 

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?” 

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me?” 

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t like it. 

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.” 

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” 

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails. 

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft.  You become helpless in front of his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously. 

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling. 

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant. 

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?” 

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it. 

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed. 

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading. 

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved. 

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying. 

“Who are you?” He asks. 

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―” 

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,” 

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,” 

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.” 

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts. 

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you. 

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself. 

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice. 

“About time to get out of here, huh?” 

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together. 

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless. 

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?” 

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?” 

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day. 

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time. 

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close. 

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter. 

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away. 

“Okay,” 

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything. 

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you. 

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,” 

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying. 

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe. 

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,” 

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth. 

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.” 

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You….knew?” 

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” 

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge. 

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.” 

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?” 

You nod softly. 

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.” 

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk. 

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,” 

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh. 

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly.  Gojo squeezes where his hand rests. 

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own. 

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes. 

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. 

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t. 

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you. 

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,” 

You cry and cry and cry. 

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound. 

__

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him. 

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation. 

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,” 

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger. 

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it. 

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him. 

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan.  He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law. 

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

 He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation  especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run. 

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.) 

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets. 

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses.  It’s a lot like killing a curse. 

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide. 

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell. 

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets. 

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret. 

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair. 

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him. 

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all. 

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best. 

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job. 

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job. 

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them. 

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it. 

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind. 

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them. 

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7. 

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet. 

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark. 

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out. 

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around. 

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body. 

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins. 

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up. 

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?” 

“W-w-what…how did you…” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.” 

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must. 

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish. 

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic. 

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys. 

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too. 

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs. 

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?” 

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice? 

“P-please, I have—” 

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,” 

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent. 

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly. 

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen. 

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,” 

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms. 

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even. 

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders. 

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would. 

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

 With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving. 

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back. 

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone. 

__

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed. 

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself. 

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs. 

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…” 

The rest of the report  Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,” 

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod. 

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,” 

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence. 

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?” 

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor. 

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,” 

Gojo pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement . 

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” 

[theaxolotlkween]

Some Nanite Project headcanon doodles and their explanations, going from left to right:

I doubt that Rex would say this exact thing but the idea is that, being a fairly lonely kid and someone who was probably easily bored even back then, Rex would’ve pestered the people around him a lot, which you know. Fair. I hc him as being a lot like he is now, but obviously more childish. Because literal child. So very inquisitive, curious, trusting, and empathetic, but easily bored and reckless. I feel like he would play on his own (or accidentally injure himself climbing on industrial equipment which just seems like something he just. Did. It also makes him currently being an adrenaline junkie make more sense) until he got bored (or injured) and then pester all the scientists around him that would tolerate him for long periods of time.

Next up is that Van Kleiss and Violeta Salazar (Rex’s mom) had similar or complimentary roles on the Nanite Project and thus worked together a lot. Judging by how Van Kleiss talks about Violeta in Written in Sand, they probably had a similar dynamic to Rex and Van Kleiss in that episode, except with a lot less sand and threat of imminent demise. This would be really funny to me. Also pictured Rex just hanging out, because he seems like he would be a momma’s boy. He is acting out a very tense and dramatic romance between these two cars and they are finally about to kiss. I also feel like current Rex would love K-dramas.

I honestly don’t think Van Kleiss hated or disliked Rex when Rex was a young child. I feel like he would’ve found him amusing at best, annoying at worst, and sort of weirdly endearing, but never being outright mean to him. Based on the tolerance he has for Rex’s shenanigans in the show while he has almost none for anyone else, even his own allies, this had to have started somewhere. If Rex was a chronic botherer, then someone who doesn’t get easily or outwardly annoyed would be the perfect target. Van Kleiss also still is not explaining shit, his favourite activity.

Finally, Rex naming ZagRS. This is actually one that I’ve had since I was about 14-15 because there’s no reason given for her name to be what it is. Like it’s not an acronym like GLaDOS (Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System), and it sounds kind of like Zagreus, an ancient Greek deity that I cannot find anything on except for who his parents might be and that he might have some connection to Dionysus. In canon, Caesar mentions that Rex speaking Spanish makes him laugh because he has trouble with pronunciation. This recently led to a whole-ass rabbit hole where I came up with the theory that Rex has just always had trouble pronouncing words because of ADHD, which fed into my already existing headcanon of Rex having named ZagRS. Also I think that Caesar was another person Rex bothered a lot because Caesar has a tendency to be pretty chill. I kind of wonder if they had to keep Rex away from ZagRS because she was designed to destroy any nanites that got out of the holding tanks.

I honestly love making these theories and headcanons so if you want to see more or have questions just pop me an ask.

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about Curse Geto inspired by Medusa, where he has snakes for hair and will turn people to stone if they make eye contact.

Back in ancient times, Geto was a sorcerer from a prominent clan. He was the middle child of ten siblings and was on the quieter side. It wasn’t until he got his technique at eight years old that his family noticed him - and not in a good way.

Geto was powerful, and progressed at a rate that was envied by others of his clan. While they had the same technique - something along the lines of sound/air manipulation - Geto was still stronger than all of them.

By his teens, Geto had an ever-piling mountain of responsibilities. Only valued for his abilities, and abused for them too. There was a lot of pressure…and constant noise. All day and all night, Geto heard every single sound: one of his relatives crying, or fighting, singing or screaming

So. Much. Noise.

And no one bothered checking in on him.

He despised them.

Geto planned to escape but his clan would never allow that. In his attempt to run away, Geto’s clan managed to overwhelm his senses and kill him.

In the end, the ugly feelings of resentment and hatred consumed him. This was also an era where no one knew that sorcerers could become curses if they didn’t receive a proper burial; therefore, his body wasn’t properly disposed of either.

That’s how Geto became a curse who found his peace and silence by turning people to stone with one simple glance.

This was Geto’s fate.

***

Three centuries later, Geto has left behind the days of him rampaging and killing humans left and right. He’s a changed curse!

He doesn’t want to kill anymore, but the humans keep bothering him! They spread horror stories where he dwells, meaning many impulsive kids and teens cross his territory on stupid dares, and well Geto has to kill them now, doesn't he?

Geto is very protective of his territory.

***

Geto had always wanted a friend though.

Being a curse was lonely.

Geto’s snakes are the only company he has.

Though some days, they drag him down like an oversized crown. They are his true cursed nature, after all - one that Geto constantly fights.

His bloodthirsty babies will whisper to go to the village and turn it all to stone.

You know you want to, the snakes hiss.

Humans are nasty creatures. They have it coming, they repeat.

Imagine how energized you’ll feel after.

Geto can’t deny any of it.

***

The universe sends Geto (now a special grade curse) his first friend in the form of a 190cm human sorcerer with albino-white hair and white bandages secured around his eyes.

Oh yeah, did he mention this sorcerer was sent to exorcize him?

But Geto is like “NOT TODAY” and flees the scene.

Not that that accomplishes anything. This sorcerer - Gojo Satoru - is definitely following Geto’s cursed energy traces, exorcizing other lesser curses while he’s at it.

Gojo is probably following a random statue here and there leftover from Geto’s accidents. See, Geto can't see with his eyes closed, so if people end up crossing his path���

Well, it can’t be helped. Not with Gojo hot on his trail.

Then, Geto will think he’s safe, wiping the sweat off his forehead when a flower appears into his vision. Gojo is sitting right next to him, holding the flower out like an offering.

“Hi.”

Geto shrieks and runs away.

***

It seems Gojo is flirting throughout this chase.

Geto must show no signs of weakness and outrun this madness!

***

Gojo has cornered Geto once again. The layers of white bandages are no match for Six Eyes, since Gojo comments about how pretty Geto looks.

“What?!? I- what?” Geto exclaims, too shocked to move away. Gojo places a hand on his cocked hip.

“What? No one’s told you look beautiful before?” he asks.

“…No,” Geto says. “Usually, the last thing people get to say- er, do, before they turn into stone is scream.”

“Oh���well that checks out.”

Geto’s eyebrow twitches.

Gojo continues on to say, “Your beauty is just too stunning!”

Geto is dumbfounded. And maybe a little touched. Are his cheeks heating up? Impossible, this form of his should be incapable of expressing human emotions and reactions.

To blush at such a comment…Geto must have more dignity than this.

***

One day later, Geto is sprinting through the forest while Gojo hollers behind him: “You know, you’re super boring. But at least pay attention to me!”

***

The next day, Geto weaves through the crowds on the street while announcing to people who can see curses, “DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

Gojo cackles as he trails after Geto.

***

To think Geto was a curse born from negative feelings of overstimulation, while Gojo wears a blindfold to not get overstimulated. They’re truly a match made in heaven.

Gojo quickly finds out that Geto isn’t malicious by any means. It’s just…he keeps accidentally killing people. 😭

For Geto, every day is a fucking struggle. After centuries passed, suddenly the silence wasn’t so good anymore. And it’s not even full silence since his snakes constantly hiss in his ears.

The big cities are overcrowded, and he’d stand out too much in the suburbs. Geto should really escape to the countryside.

It’s also a pain to run away from Gojo because that fool makes almost no sound when he moves.

Fortunately, Gojo has stopped claiming he’s giving chase under the pretense that he’s hunting Geto down.

That’s progress, right?

***

And maybe, Geto begins to look forward to Gojo’s visits.

Just a little.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

***

part 2

[chynandri]

My Thoughts on Ratchet After 14 Years

This is nearly 5000 words of my analysis and impressions of Ratchet as a character (...there are pictures, at least 😃). I can't say I've been interested in any other character for this amount of time so - he truly is special to me. I wanted to externalize all I love and see in him in one post, more for myself than anything as I've held so many thoughts in my head for so long.

This is largely based on my own inferences. I won't bother to make proper citation or anything, it's more of a huge ramble based on me rewatching basically all cutscenes, the movie, and rereading the comics. Almost every year I do a big Ratchet and Clank marathon like this, but I might get some things wrong or skip over some things as I'm focusing on articulating my thoughts rather than being completely comprehensive.

Ratchet's Beginnings

Ratchet’s background is pretty fundamental to all this so let’s establish that first.

I will be basing this post on Ratchet as he is in the original games, but I do want to say that I like movie Ratchet too! I don't think it completely cancels out all my thoughts because imo they captured all the main traits of Ratchet. In one scene he says he wishes to 'matter'... to others, as a person, to the universe? Maybe all three. And that is truly the most concise way to describe what drives Ratchet the most.

But for now all we can do is infer on his life prior to Ratchet and Clank 1. I think it’s not too hard to make some assumptions based on the circumstances or a few lines:

1. Ratchet seems to have fended for himself/lived alone.

2. He is likely self taught on rocket mechanics and general machinery. He has an intuitive understanding of how machines generally work and wings it.

3. He has been on Veldin the whole time and never had the chance to go anywhere else. He also could not afford many things.

4. TV (or Holovision) is the most accessible form of media and likely what Ratchet grew up with, as he is aware of and looked up to heroes like Qwark and Ace Hardlight.

Given these inferences let’s look at how Ratchet behaves in 1. He awkwardly addresses authority figures, is rude to Clank and others - he’s just very blunt and critical of people’s intelligence. And why is that? Thinking of how he had to probably rely on himself first and foremost, having street smarts and situational awareness must be important to him. And that he’s likely not had friends before Clank - he’s not gonna know how to act lol. Besides that, he’s honestly just a Guy and a teenage Guy at that. This is his Very First Time outside of the backwater planet he’s been ‘stuck on’ (his words) and it’s extremely exciting for him. And what is the thing that consistently gets him excited and motivated to do things? Fame.

He loves the idea of being famous, like the celebrities he’s seen on TV and the ones he meets while on this adventure. And while this is a pretty common desire for kids, let’s think about why this is for Ratchet specifically.

We inferred that he probably has been alone up to this point. This means: no friends, no family (the movie also makes Ratchet explicitly say how he had absolutely nothing to his name.) Family as we know becomes a huge part of Ratchet’s character arc later on. No friends or family means no support system: no attention, love, or validation. You see what I’m getting at. Ratchet always responds with pride and excitement when others praise and recognize his actions - puffs up his chest and grins, it’s very goofy and all. But you have to consider how he likely just did not receive this validation much prior to 1. Now he’s doing all this stuff and getting recognition. This is how he ends up acting very selfish and self absorbed, the most prominent character flaw of his. In his eyes, Clank’s insistence on him seeing the bigger picture is just not as important as all this sudden attention and new experiences that finally validate his pretty lonely and insignificant existence.

And let’s consider that Ratchet and Clank are not even really friends until the end of the game. For the most part, they are useful to each other in their goals. When Clank claims that it ‘isn’t like Ratchet’ to not care about what’s at stake, Ratchet responds with ‘and what do you know about me?!’ - and it’s true, what DOES Clank know about Ratchet, or Ratchet know about Clank? Clank, too, hasn’t had a long time to exist yet and this is his very first friend. But he does have a natural charisma and strong sense of morality - which leads me into some more core aspects of Ratchet’s character and inner conflict.

Ratchet's Struggles

In the first game and onwards, Ratchet and Clank are kind of like rivals in certain things often for a gag. To put it simply - Ratchet has no rizz or game. Clank often catches the affections of both robot and squishy people. He DOES always know what to say without even trying. Clank always does the right thing. And that’s the thing… in these same situations of talking to girls, or making a speech or commercial - Ratchet tries too hard.

Consistently, when put on the spot, Ratchet freezes up and all his bravado is gone. He stutters and stumbles and is just a mess and Clank has to speak for them. Ratchet visibly shows how frustrating it is that Clank has more rizz than him. He’s clearly jealous of how Clank always knows what to say and do and people just seem to like him more. And his pal is the star of a TV show while he’s the bumbling side character who gets fired anyway. Not only is Clank ‘better’ than him, Clank is getting more validation and attention than Ratchet is - the one thing Ratchet has lacked in his life.

But let’s consider the first time a girl DOES actively like and pursue Ratchet - Sasha. The first time they speak is cringe but cute. Sasha is describing the state of the art gaming console on the Phoenix and Ratchet is so impressed he says in a daze ‘will you marry me? 😍’ AND IMMEDIATELY SLAPS HIS FACE cuz he really was just NOT THINKING. But Sasha doesn’t seem to mind, she goes along with it! I think she can tell he didn’t mean to. And although it’s not been long since they met, her father tells Ratchet ‘she’s said a lot about him’. And… when Ratchet is recounting his fight with the Teranoids, she’s giggling along and very engaged with how he’s acting out his story like the silly guy he is.

And although the first 3 games occasionally emphasize how heterosexually interested in girls Ratchet and Clank are based on Ratchet’s comments about girls - when Sasha kissed him he’s just… quiet and bashful and has no smartass ‘cool guy who likes girls’ comments. He obviously has no experience or idea of what really goes on with girls or relationships lol. If you think about it - has he even really tried to like… flirt? He’s all talk about it, but doesn’t seem to put it much into action. He also associates popularity with girls as a part of fame.

But - he pulled a girl without even leaning into status or fame. What I’m getting at here is: Ratchet didn’t try hard in front of Sasha and she was so endeared to him. She LIKES how goofy and cringe and, in a way, how pure he is. She was probably like ‘can you believe he wanted to marry me just because we got a PS5? Hehehe’ at her dad. He was just his cringe, rizzless self and talked to her like she’s anyone else. We can infer that Sasha, as the daughter of the President, is not used to that and likes it.

But let’s think about why Ratchet feels he’s suddenly got to be a different person when on the spot? He tries to sound cooler and more well spoken (like Clank, Qwark… people on TV!) but he’s no good without a script. In Deadlocked, he even felt like he had to rehearse a bit before calling Sasha (this is why Ratchet’s characterization there is a bit weird to me, when they’re supposed to be more comfortable around each other).

This is all indicative of how Ratchet is not confident in his sense of self - and where do we get a confident sense of identity from? Our friends, family, culture, community. Things Ratchet did not have a lot of before meeting Clank. Ratchet may have asked what Clank knows about him in the first game. But what does Ratchet even know about himself? What consistently gets Ratchet angry and protective is when Veldin ends up in danger. Veldin was really all Ratchet knew for a long time, and we can assume he sees it as part of himself. But beyond that…

This is why Clank is so… so… SO… important to Ratchet and why he could literally be nothing without Clank. Despite Ratchet being mad at Clank’s uselessness and stupidity in the first game, Ratchet is genuinely upset at the idea of losing Clank when lightning strikes him. He awkwardly suggests that he and Clank stick together at the end of the game without directly saying so. It’s his first time having a friend and wanting someone to stick around. In the end… he’s not as independent or self assured as he thought he was.

Size Matters may be a weird spin off game but it did have a pretty important line: after fighting the Ratchet clones, Ratchet tells Clank that these clones weren’t that powerful because ‘I’m not half as good without you.’ It’s a really significant thing to say, and this sentiment echoes all across the games. After all, without Clank’s robot ignition system - who knew how long it would take for Ratchet to get out of Veldin, if at all? Would Ratchet have gotten as far as he has now as a person without Clank?

It’s an admittance of how much Ratchet truly depends on Clank for self worth even if he feels inferior to him - Clank consistently supports, loves, and believes in him despite his flaws. He basically never had this presence in his life. Clank is like his whole support system while at the same time, a source of his feelings of inferiority and jealousy. Although as time goes on Ratchet does thankfully make more friends along the way. Even though Qwark is nothing but trouble to them, I suppose Ratchet still bothers with the guy cuz he’s just that loyal to the few people consistently in his life in some way.

Ratchet's Home

And this leads me to another point. Ratchet’s lack of belonging, identity, and validation ends up having him go from occupation to occupation, world ending situation to world ending situation. In the second game he is markedly different now that he’s got military training and surprisingly (to me) doesn’t question Fizzwidget that much (though the goofy rough parts of his personality still shine through while out in the field). Then he’s the captain of the Phoenix for a while. But overall he’s just kinda unemployed until he’s gotta shoot people and save the world. When given a sense of purpose and belonging he seems serious about it, though how long he has a purpose and group to belong to is relatively inconsistent.

Aside from the meta circumstance that the Ratchet and Clank games needed a new plot, it’s in the Future trilogy where Ratchet started thinking deeper about his origins. As we often have new revelations or thoughts about ourselves and past as we get older, I think Ratchet finally started to realize… there’s quite a big thing missing from his life - which to him was his ‘normal’. Why IS he one of the few lombaxes in the universe? Why did they leave HIM behind? You can imagine the amount of sad thoughts from just asking that question, when coupled with his already shaky sense of self worth.

The way Ratchet acts in Tools of Destruction is interesting. Although he could hardly be qualified as an expert on his own species cuz he’s never even been a part of lombax society - this is something Talwyn does not hesitate to tease him about, which he seems to not take so well. Yeah he gets it, he’s a disappointing representation of his people. And for some reason he acts like the spokesperson for lombaxes when they come under fire by Tachyon. He takes it all SO personally, as if he invented the dimensionator himself. Which then really becomes all about how he’s invented a series of not too successful inventions and sees Clank as someone who doesn’t support him enough. He uses the lombaxes as a way to validate himself: ‘oh, so a lombax can’t invent anything useful?’ he says derisively at Clank and you know it’s not JUST about the lombaxes as a group. Here he is finally finding the reason for why he is the way he is and that his inherited inventive spirit just isn’t appreciated enough. With the way this games story makes Ratchet feel stupid and inadequate at every turn for his lack of connection to the lombaxes, I can see why his worst personality traits jumped out with all his insecurities.

I think Ratchet wanted to lift himself up by association with the lombaxes, to say he IS lombax enough and he knows what it means to be one! Which then made him lose sight of what really mattered - destroying the dimensionator before it breaks the universe and no one is safe. And ironically, when Ratchet realizes this and refuses Tachyon’s offer to see his family, Ratchet embodied the heroism of lombaxes more than when he was trying too hard to prove he was one.

Now put into perspective how Clank fully finds HIS own purpose and origins in this trilogy. I read an interesting YouTube comment on a Size Matters cutscene video that said something like ‘Ratchet is so against the idea of technomites and the Zoni being real, because he always had a feeling Clank was meant for something more and admitting they were real is like losing his friend.’ I thought this was so profound because Clank truly is all he has and could leave him when he’s found his own purpose and family.

Especially since for a while, Ratchet was prepared to do so himself after learning that there is a chance to save his family with the Great Clock. Even if it meant not ever meeting or remembering Clank, the biggest person in his life. But Ratchet's character truly reaches its most mature in ACiT. Instead of reacting negatively to Clank finding his own home and family while having a possible means of fulfilling Ratchet and Alister's desires - Ratchet is supportive and willing to let go of Clank. Because after all, they have to be their own people and Clank has supported him long enough. Just because Clank has found where he belongs, doesn't give Ratchet any right to selfishly keep Clank to himself. I feel so proud of Ratchet in ACiT, as it was clearly hard for him to let go of such an important person in his life. But the combination of what he learned in ToD and from Alister's own life led him to be at his best in this game.

(But come on they're so inseparable there’s no way Clank would be happy without Ratchet either. Because that’s HIS very first friend in the whole universe that gave HIM a place to call home even if it’s just the two of them in a small garage. It’s RATCHET who decided that he wanted to actually be friends with Clank, beyond fulfilling their goals, at the end of the first game. They’re… each other’s home 😭)

Alister represented a major turning point in Ratchet's own definition of himself. And in the end he chose not to be like Alister, to not let his identity as a lombax control his life. Unlike Alister, Ratchet isn't bound to a childhood of belonging to lombax culture and society. And though Ratchet shared Alister's goal for some time, the way Ratchet goes back to rescue Alister when he was captured just goes to show that Ratchet won't think like him. It's just not in Ratchet's character as we know it to forsake the present when up to now he has always, always been about loving and enjoying the present moment and all he could do in it. From Ratchet chastising Clank for not being able to have fun, to being a guardian of all that he loves in the present... it is a beautiful progression of Ratchet's character.

Ratchet so far has been given two chances to finally reach what he thinks should validate his own existence. But he chose to protect the present, the universe he lives in, the people who already give him a sense of self - most importantly, he chose self-determination.

However, he didn't know he would lose Alister with this choice. But it was out of his control, as Alister was too far gone and would act regardless of what Ratchet said. The shock of not only losing someone like family to him, but the sole link to his past and family sends Ratchet into depression and grief. His choice to own his life is not made with triumph as it should've been, but with deep regret and fear. From this point on he truly has a different vibe to him. His energy is dimmed, he gets down on himself more easily. He had his fill of the validation of being a hero, and with Clank choosing to remain with him he's content to retire from it all and try to go back to the things that defined him from the very beginning.

And exactly so as in the comics he went back to Veldin and being a mechanic. Though Ratchet seems his usual, careless self the comics reveal the huge amount of underlying emotions Ratchet has been struggling with in the aftermath of ACiT. The comics have Ratchet going through an utterly terrible time, as someone whose mental health is already fragile: Veldin is in danger once again, Clank recklessly kills himself for an hour, and he nearly lost Talwyn for good. Ratchet almost loses the three crucial things that defined him. Talwyn, Clank, and Sasha help Ratchet work through his guilt over what happened and taking time for himself, while also making a point of how self-isolation isn't healthy for him.

And eventually, Ratchet does get back on his feet and involved with his friends again - but not unscathed, as one major issue would still affect him. The pain of loss leaves Ratchet with a deep fear of experiencing, or being the cause of it, again. And this wound would be reopened too soon with Into the Nexus where we see him struggle to cope with losing Cronk and Zephyr on his watch - if the events of the comics weren't enough...

Watching the scene with him hiding in the crate and refusing to come out, the distance between the goofy and prideful kid we used to know and Ratchet as he is now has not felt more evident. Into the Nexus really highlights how Ratchet at this point just wants a secure and permanent place to belong to. Tal is so important because she may really be one of the few people who could understand and relate to Ratchet. Her family is missing too, she’s been lonely her whole life too. She is a link to lombax culture. She was there for him when he lost Clank. They see themselves in each other, and I think the opening scene of this game speaks a lot to how comfortable and perhaps emotionally reliant they are on each other.

It‘s understandable that Ratchet would let go of the pursuit of finding the lombaxes for someone who not only needs him, loves and supports him just as he is - but also someone he almost lost for good. She is also home and his family, even when or if Clank chooses to go back to his Clock duties. Ratchet just doesn’t want to lose anyone else, can’t handle the possibility of losing one more person - so he finally decides to end his eternal search for purpose, belonging, and validation and cling onto his sources of such things that were in front of him the whole time.

But as fate would have it, Insomniac really will drag out this whole finding the lombaxes thing even longer lol. This is the logical conclusion to the Ratchet and Clank story as of now, so Ratchet isn’t allowed to give up just yet.

Ratchet's Heart

WHY I started thinking so deeply about Ratchet’s character is because of how he is in Rift Apart. I LOVE Ratchet and Kit’s friendship so much because it highlights and reveals so much about each other!!! There’s probably a reason why Kit and Ratchet share a colour palette, and it’s because they’re kinda parallels:

1. They’ve let bad experiences in the past control their present and future - but it limits their world as a result. (Interestingly, Alister also let the past rule his life. But he was so obsessed with righting the past that he would endanger the present. Ratchet learned what not to do from Alister, but he kinda ended up being a different version of him.)

2. They’re both afraid of getting hurt and causing hurt - so they avoid it. They both have a tendency to hide away when feeling bad about themselves. They’re both seen as cowardly for this (Vendra and Rivet judging Ratchet for being too scared to find the lombaxes).

3. Ratchet’s advice to Kit when it comes to socializing is ‘don’t overthink it.’ I’d love to make a connection here to how Ratchet would overthink what to say on the spot or overcompensate for himself in the past.

Kit is potentially dangerous and doesn’t know how to be a friend. She’s caused real hurt before. But Ratchet accepts and believes in her, and is adamant about expanding her world, seeing all the good in her, and encouraging her to grow. Ratchet knows what it’s like to not be perfect, to be stuck somewhere, to make mistakes, and be rough around the edges. I believe this is why he is so kind to Kit, providing the validation and belonging and opportunity he would’ve wanted for himself.

And it’s to Kit that he opens up about his anxieties. Ratchet’s true feelings about finding the lombaxes… he’s so… defeated, unsure and doesn’t think much of himself anymore. This was also evident in how anxious he was about the parade celebrating them at the beginning of the game. Yet another indicator of how different Ratchet is now - younger him would’ve loved all the attention even if ‘unearned’ (cuz they haven’t been a hero for a few years). It’s crazy because he’s done SO MUCH and yet - from the way he talks to Kit he still doesn’t feel like he measures up to how great the lombaxes are. Or his parents, judging by his apologetic tone when he explains that his dad tried so hard to keep the dimensionator safe.

And let’s think on this idea of not measuring up - his self worth issues, he’s not exactly a successful inventor, overall flawed and clumsy personality, seems to only be useful for shooting some bad guys, plus not being able to prevent the deaths of some people very important to him - it becomes clear why he thinks so little of himself in comparison to the lombaxes legacy of being brilliant heroes and creators. Beyond the misfortunes that seem to happen around the dimensionator, Ratchet’s problems stem far deeper into his sense of self. So he tells Kit that even if the lombaxes are the perfect family - would they be disappointed in him, or he disappointed in them? He also doesn’t want to lose the life he has now, not when it has finally given him some stability.

But it is Ratchet’s very own kindness and faith in her that allows Kit to turn this issue on its head and address the crux of the problem and reveal the precious thing that ultimately defines Ratchet and his identity - perhaps more than wanting to matter and belong, what he had almost lost over the course of his life up to now.

I would like to say that in a word, Rift Apart is about possibilities. The alternate counterparts of Ratchet’s world and all the implications of it exemplify this.* The Clank sections directly use this word I believe, as he helps Gary fix the dimensions.

*(I don't know where else to fit this observation, but the ways Rivet and Ratchet contrast are somewhat relevant. Rivet, unlike Ratchet, has friends and a group to belong to earlier on in her story - so she doesn't end up falling into the same character pitfalls of being selfish or self absorbed. She and Clank share that big picture awareness. But she's lonely in a different way: having to be strong for herself and everyone else, she's a Ratchet that doesn't know how to be open and vulnerable. I just wanted to point out how cool it is that they considered all this as a 'counterpart' to Ratchet.)

‘Possibility’ is also probably… at the very heart of Ratchet’s character.

One of Ratchet’s defining character traits is his recklessness. He risks too much, takes too many shortcuts, doesn’t think enough when he should. But this is precisely why Ratchet is amazing at the same time. Of course it’s good he grew more careful as he got older. But the big thing to take away from his anxiety about finding the lombaxes and him wanting to stay safe and content with what he has is that - he’s almost lost that crazy and beautiful ability to risk it all and take a chance. Namely, on himself. And it’s ironic because he convinced Kit to risk it all and be friends with him, to go out into the world she’s so afraid of! And this is exactly what Kit points out to him, and expresses her belief that finding the lombaxes will turn out alright for him - even if he still struggles to believe so.

In the way he loves living in the moment, pushing himself to the limits, making weird inventions, pulling off unsafe stunts, throwing together scraps to fix and modify things against better judgement, trying to beat the odds, befriends strange little robots that are just as odd as him - Ratchet thoroughly, intrinsically embodies possibility. If you have nothing to define you, then you have so much freedom to define yourself. And that has been Ratchet’s whole life. Being able to not only think of all that’s possible, but being brave and silly enough to try to achieve them - that in itself, is an extremely valuable gift.

Ratchet is just not the same anymore because he is scared to be and act on what is the most natural and fundamental to him as a person - lest it lead to immense pain and loss. And as I have established multiple times in this post: Ratchet is at his best when he allows himself to just be… himself without pretense. Perhaps Clank knows or doesn’t know this, but he took it upon himself to try to help Ratchet find what makes him whole and himself again. Because the people around Ratchet can see that him completely giving up on what is in his heart would be truly sad and a loss to the universe he loves so much.

Ratchet and Clank were always meant to keep expanding their universe and themselves! That is the very spirit that propels this franchise. And by the end of Rift Apart, and even if Ratchet is still scared - he’s going to find the lombaxes, scared. He’s not going to give up on himself anymore: just as he didn’t want Kit to give up on herself, didn’t want Rivet to give up on Kit, and how Clank never ever gave up on him, believing in the possibility of him being a good and worthwhile person from the very start.

I feel really optimistic for Ratchet and wonder how they will (possibly?) end his character arc in the next game. I’m deeply grateful that Insomniac still cares about this franchise, and cares about Ratchet as a character so much. It truly is a unique privilege, I think, to see one character’s story develop and grow and change over a decade. I love Ratchet and all he is and represents so, so much.

[jtargaryen18]

Hounds of Hell MC 4: Ryder ~ Available today!

I’m not the settling type, but she’s in my heart. I’ll protect her from the Mafia or die trying…

Margot -- I've loved Ryder since we were kids, but he's never been the type to stick with anyone for long. Being a deputy sheriff means I see the world differently--by the law. He’s the opposite. The Mafia took my father from me. When they return to threaten everything I care about, including Ryder, I realize the line between right and wrong isn’t so clear. If we’re going to survive this, I’ll need Ryder’s strength. Maybe this time, we’ll face danger together.

Ryder -- Margot’s been right in front of me for years, but I’m the guy who never sticks around. Commitment? Not for me. Now she’s all I see. When the Mafia comes after the Hounds, everything is at stake. Margot’s not just a deputy sheriff -- she’s the woman I’ve always needed. The woman I love. I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.

Buy it @ Changeling Press

You'll also find pre-order links for Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords & Vivlio where it will be available on 10/31!

Enter my October Giveaway! (If you select 'fanfics' you'll get a newsletter with all my published titles but you'll also get updates on my fanfics and you'll get the chapters before they post here or anywhere else. Also, planning to do some extras like deleted scenes, extra scenes, and more!)

Excerpt

With the efficiency of a SWAT team, she ordered lunch, paid for it, and had them tucked away at a small table in the corner, enjoying burgers and fries.

“What’s that?” Ryder pointed at the tall, covered cup.

“Strawberry shake. They’ve always had the best shakes here. You want one?”

“Nah,” Ryder said. “Just a little concerned, is all. You’re starting with milkshakes. Milkshakes lead to donuts. Next thing you know, you’re going to lose your girlish figure and you’ll be stuck running radar out by the interstate.”

Margot laughed, a high, lovely sound. “Don’t worry about my girlish figure.”

“I like your girlish figure,” Ryder said, grinning.

“Since when?” A little of the humor faded from her expression at that. “I’m probably the only non-relative female you haven’t slept with in a hundred-mile radius.”

“More like a 50-mile radius,” Ryder said.

But he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked her figure. Margot was just about perfect. Nice rack. Great ass. A killer smile made all the more adorable for her dark eyes and the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Margot had a good head on her shoulders, too. He enjoyed talking to her, their playful banter. He couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t have these light-hearted conversations with Mercy’s newest deputy sheriff.

“It doesn’t bother you to be having lunch with a biker?” He couldn’t resist asking.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re having lunch with a cop?” Margo eyed him. “How did you get to town?”

“Rode my bike,” Ryder said. “Might not have been my best idea. I mean, I was okay getting here. Not sure how getting back is going to go.”

“How long are you going to stay?” Margot’s dark-eyed gaze stayed on him.

Shrugging a shoulder, Ryder finished off a French fry. “I’d like to finish the day out,” he admitted. “But now that I’m sitting here, I’m feeling pretty fucking tired.”

It was the truth and he’d never been good at keeping that from her. His friend’s gaze was knowing.

“Why don’t we take you home after lunch? I’d be glad to drive you back.”

Ryder knew she would. But he would disappoint himself if he left after lunch to go home and climb back into bed in that lonely, quiet house. Shaking his head, he ate another fry, thought it over.

“I’m tired. Just not sure I’m tired enough to go back to the house and hang out by myself.”

More concern bled into her expression. “At least take a nap in the lounge or something. No one’s going to give you shit for it. You almost died.”

He had. Axel and Hero both cut him worried looks the entire time he’d been there, working on that engine. Margot had a point.

“Well, with me getting back on my feet, let me know if you need help with anything at the house.” He meant it. “Clyde was as bad as you about never wanting to bother anyone. If you need help with anything, I’m right here.”

Margot nodded, eating her burger. After a moment, her gaze met his. Her dark eyes were glossy.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, Ryder,” she said quietly. “No warning. Just gone.”

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. Some emotion flashed in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“He loved you more than anything,” he said. “Clyde was so proud of you.”

A tear spilled down her cheek at the words. “I know he was. It’s just… I worked so hard to find a job back over here in Mercy so I could be with him, help him as he got older. And now he’s gone. Shot by some mafia asshole like he was nothing.”

Swiping at her tears with her free hand, Margot tried to regain her composure.

“Clyde didn’t deserve that. And I wish my brother had been able to take that asshole out. Slow. But Sawyer was there and now the bastard’s in jail.”

That stopped her cold. Carefully, she moved her hand out from under his, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. He’ll pay for what he did in the system. Spend a long time in jail. He’ll think about what he did.”

“Will he?” Ryder asked. “He’s part of a criminal organization, Margot. They have a lot of resources. Maybe he’ll go to jail, but he won’t think a second about your father. He won’t be sitting up in some jail cell regretting his crimes either.”

He didn’t like the way her confidence waned, but he had to say it. “He’ll be trying to find a way out of there. And when he does, he’ll be looking for some payback and he’ll have his entire crime family at his back.”

Margot’s spine straightened where she sat, meeting his gaze squarely. “I have faith in the system. That man will pay for what he’s done.”

Ryder wasn’t so sure about that. He didn’t give a shit about the system. “He will pay,” Ryder said, hoping that he’d be the one to mete out that retribution. What he wouldn’t give to have a shot at the sons-of-bitches who killed Clyde Donner and Morgan Davis. Who tried to kill him.

He had faith in Margot. She’d been through the training, worked in the next county over. Margot knew what she was doing. But she was new enough that she still thought the criminal justice system infallible. Had she ever had dealings with big crime families? Did she understand what she was getting into?

Worse, he worried that the loss of her father would cause her to make a decision that would put her in harm’s way.

“Okay,” she said, her dark-eyed gaze on him. “If you won’t let me drive you back home and you insist on trying to stay at the garage, I’ll make you an offer. If you’re too tired to ride back to the country, you can crash at the house. I don’t have a spare key on me. But I have one. I’ll leave it under that old stone squirrel my dad loved.”

Always looking after him. What would he have done all those long weeks after he’d gotten out of the hospital without her? Axel had been the one to help him change his bandages, got him in the shower. Margot took care of most everything else from changing his bedding and keeping up the house, to bringing him groceries and leaving him meals he could warm up and eat. She’d taken care of him, her daily visits something he looked forward to.

What he’d done to deserve her, he didn’t know. Maybe she needed to stay busy to deal with her own loss.

“Sounds good,” Ryder said after a moment. “In case I haven’t told you, thank you. For everything. I’m not sure why you took it upon yourself to take care of my dumb ass but I’m grateful.”

Soft pink darkened her face. “You’re welcome.”

Something occurred to him. “Wait. You’re working the day shift,” he pointed out. “Where are you going to be later that you need to leave me a key?”

“Tonight’s my first class,” Margot reminded him.

“That’s right,” he said. “Your self-defense class.” She’d been so excited about it, telling him about what she had planned over the last few weeks. “I think Sadie signed up for it.”

“She did,” Margot said, smiling. “I think it will be good for her after everything she’d been through. And I was surprised. The day we got you back into the hospital, she came with Axel. We had a minute in the hall, and she was just… apologizing to me for my dad. She was blaming herself because it was her ex that killed him. But it wasn’t her fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ryder said. “I think your class will help her.”

Something about the smile she cut him had his heart skipping a beat. Margot was a pretty woman. He’d always thought so. Unlike most of the girls he went around with, Margot didn’t do a lot to emphasize her natural beauty. Her nails were unpainted and short, and she wore only a hint of makeup most days. Her hair was put up in a precise bun, glossy and neat. Her uniform always pressed.

Yeah, sure. He’d seen Margot many times in her street clothes. She always favored jeans and simple tops. Her hair was usually pulled back into a ponytail and those days she didn’t wear any makeup. Not that she needed it. She was clearly comfortable in her own skin without all the paint and other enhancements women used to boost their femininity.

Her confidence was sexy as hell. Funny, considering Margot didn’t see herself that way. She didn’t realize she had the cutest ass, and her confident stride showed it off. What would Margot look like in a bikini, stretched out on a towel on the beach?

Shaking his head to clear it, he grinned. “Thanks for the offer of a place to stay,” he said. “Might take you up on it.”

Margot smiled. “Please do.”

The flirty little way she said that had him thinking thoughts he had no business thinking about his best friend.

[jreads]

A Total Coincidence (Part 01)

Rating: totally family friendly 👍🏼

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Foul language, Mentions of blood, It's pretty angsty

A/N: OHHHHH we're so back. If you're new here, welcome. If not, welcome back! I am extremely excited for this. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. You can comment on this post or the masterlist to be added to the taglist!

You work a tiring and thankless corporate job. It pays well but it’s draining. You put a façade on in the office, one of polite, unruffled professionalism, but it slips quite quickly as soon as you push your way through the polished revolving glass doors of the modern high-rise.

He knows all of this because he watches you.

It’s not creepy, he attempts to convince himself, because he goes to that coffee shop too. The cozy, dim-lit one that overlooks your place of work. Granted, he used to only go once every blue moon. He’s there far more often now, in a darkened back booth, at the same time in the day. 

A total coincidence.

Simon Riley never used to spend a lot of time in London. He has a permanent address there, under a fake name, just to smooth over certain legalities. He never bothered too much with the details. In between assignments he comes back to ensure everything is as it should be, and to water the small cactus on the windowsill, a joking gift from MacTavish following their op in Las Almas. It’s one of those low-maintenance ones; you should soak the soil once every two months just to ensure it doesn’t turn a duller shade of green. Simon is half certain he could feed the thing gasoline and it would still flourish. But he liked his routine. It was touch and go, busy, never too much time in one place. The injury threw a damn wrench in it all.

The team had been deployed somewhere in the South American jungle, attempting to uncover part of an elusive arms trafficking operation. While the job had been successful, Ghost had been rewarded with one in the gut. Hemorrhage, internal bleeding, the works. They had patched him up real well, but the Captain had insisted he take some time, at least until after Christmas. He hadn’t wanted to. There’s nothing to do. It gets all too quiet when he is left to his own devices. He gets restless. But in this café, under warm string lights and surrounded by chatter, it isn’t as lonely. Especially for the ten minutes just after 17:00 hours when you come in to place your order.

He isn’t entirely sure what had drawn him to you in the first place. I could have been any number of things. The light gait of your walk, the way you struggle with the heavy door, your sweet voice, or the way you treat the serving staff. They all like you. Especially the ginger kid with the glasses… he likes you a bit too much. It could have been the way you shrug off your blazer in the late summer heat, folding it into the crook of your elbow and rolling your neck. It could have been the way you usually fumble to hold everything in one hand, always one cup, one paper bag, along with your purse, jacket, blue light glasses. Peppermint tea, he had found out when he had walked too closely past you one day. You were delicately trying to pry the lid from your cup to let the drink cool and—even through the mask—he had smelled the fresh aroma of it. He lists all the possible causes of his interest as if there is some hidden, puzzling meaning behind them. Realistically, it’s probably just because he finds you real fucking pretty.

Whatever the reason, he has formed some strange one-sided connection with you. You haven’t noticed him, maybe you never will, because he sits in the darkest corner of the shop, hood pulled over his head and medical mask in place whenever he isn’t eating or drinking. He’s been reading a lot recently, James Patterson, John le Carré, but George R. R. Martin is his current. It’s a welcome change of pace. And a good excuse to spend the bulk of the afternoon here, nursing a black coffee and croissant BLT. 

It's still summer and in central London, it’s sweltering. The café has their AC blasting, but as the sun dips low between the buildings it reflects off city glass and into the tiny shop, heating it like a microwave. The warmth feels oppressive today, even with his change to an iced coffee. The hoodie doesn’t help. That’s one of the only downsides of being here; he can’t shuck the damn hoodie. The tattoos would draw enough eyes, but the scars would make people stare. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s people not minding their bloody business.

The ginger kid, Harvey, as his name tag says, sets an oscillating fan atop the espresso machine. Fat lot of good it’ll do on a day like this. As if in spite of his inner dialogue, its artificial breeze flutters Simon’s bookmark right off the table and to the wood-panelled floor. Reflexes faster than his memory, he bends down to grab it and bites his tongue to fight back what would have been a rather nasty string of curses. 

“You’ll have to watch it for a bit. No folding forward or back, or to the sides.”

“So I can’t even fucking move now, hey?”

“Just be careful. The stiches should hold, but I don’t want you testing it, alright?”

Well now he had just gone and bloody tested it. Fucking hell. He had copious bandages overtop, but he needed to make sure nothing had pulled. If it had, he’d be sitting in a pool of his own blood by dinnertime. Masking another grunt of pain and fighting off his dizziness, he heads for the bathroom. No one will bother the shit on his table, the employees are usually pretty good about that. 

The fluorescents flicker on automatically as the door shuts. He lifts his hoodie up and inspects the damage. Nothing is showing through, thank fuck. But he bets when he changes the wrappings later tonight, the gauze underneath will probably hold evidence of his stupid mistake. 

He hates it, the wound. And hates himself for it. It’s a reminder that he’s not invincible… that he’s anything but. That despite the skull mask and the layers of armour and the assault rifle slung over his shoulder, he’s only human. Weak. He’s had injuries before, stabs and slashes and broken bones. But none quite so severe as one well-placed gunshot wound. Usually he bounces back pretty fast, but this time…

Simon hates the paleness of the face in the mirror. He thinks, just for a moment, of throwing his fist into the glass, just to rid himself of the reflection. Opting instead for a frustrated sigh, he rearranges the sweatshirt once more before throwing the door open and rounding the corner, stopping just inches from where you lean against the wall, waiting on the barista.

Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the time. Your back is to him and you’re on your phone, texting away. He snoops, just a little. He’ll reprimand himself for it later. It’s your mother. She’s asking if you’ve eaten and sending pictures of a mischievous looking grey cat. He watches your shoulders shake in a light laugh. There’s a lock of hair obscuring the pulse in your neck and he wants to brush it away.

Enough, you bloody creep.

“Pardon,” he mumbles, pushing past you.

“Sorry.” You press yourself close to the wall as he moves, barely looking up from the screen. He can smell your fragrance. You’re so small compared to him; he can’t stop himself from picturing what his hand would look like splayed possessively over the small of your back.

Fucking hell, he needs to stop.

You’re oblivious to his thought process, engrossed still in the conversation with your mum. Only when the employee says your name do you look up, smiling even wider and profusely thanking as you reach for your cup. He likes your name, he thinks. It suits you. What would it sound like on his tongue if he said it aloud?

He’s going bloody soft. Simon theorizes that Johnny is largely to blame. He had been introverted before that op, preferring to work alone, avoiding interaction with others unless completely necessary. Since then, he found himself missing the raucous laughter of the task force, the cracking of army humor jokes. He couldn’t find it in himself to care much, though. After all, it’s not like it was making him any worse at his job.

His reputation had preceded him in the jungle. Once the cartel had caught wind of 141 touching down, they were talking about him, fear lacing their voices. El Crânio, they called him. The Skull. The kill count had been fucking brutal.

It feels strange to be thinking about that in a place like this. It’s like two different lives that don’t ever intersect. Three even, if he counts his real identity. Ghost, Simon, and William. Will is the name he gives to the barista here, the one on the bills that come to the flat, the one attached to the SIM in his phone, the one on the fake driver’s licence and motorbike certificate in his wallet. He hates it, but he wasn’t the one who got to choose it.

He watches the way you play a coin from your change between your fingers, spinning it over the back of your thumb before catching it. You tend to fiddle with things while you wait: debit card, pens, hair pins, like your hands are aching for something to do. He can empathize. He’s started biting his nails again.

The employees have worked fast today, and you have your tea and biscuit in hand in record time. It almost seems unfair. Five minutes he gets with you, watching at a distance. At least he knows he’ll see you again tomorrow.

And he does. Again and again and again. Over a few weeks, the hole in his gut starts to heal, but it’s replaced with a new one. Something more insistent and far less easy to treat.

One day, you’re late. He starts to ruminate without meaning to but naturally, his mind goes down darker routes. He shakes the unwanted thoughts off, trying not to dwell on just how much they unnerve him. But you show up eventually, smile still plastered on. He wonders if it’s real. 

“They’re extending my day,” you’re telling the server. “Not by much, just one or two hours.” Something about an expedited move from digital to hardcopy files. “At least it’s overtime pay.” 

He doesn’t like it. The days are getting shorter; it’s getting darker earlier. He doesn’t like the idea of you walking home alone in the shadows of the London streets. Crime is on the rise; there’s all sorts lingering around the city at night. But then again, it shouldn’t bother him. It’s not his commute; you’re not his.

He sticks around most days though, just to make sure you get out alright. 

Today is different. It’s different because it’s 19:00 hours and you have dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring at nothing in particular and when the barista hands you your drink you say thank you, but you don’t smile. You always smile. And he’s trying to tell himself that it’s none of his business, that it’s not his problem but it is. Suddenly, it’s his biggest problem.

He holds the door open for you as you leave because it’s all he can do. You thank him, quietly, but don’t even look up from the floor. He won’t follow you; that’s crossing a line, a breach of privacy. So, he turns towards his own flat, looking back only once to see you disappear behind a street corner.

He sees your haggard face in his dream that night.

The next few days are more of the same. Even the coffee shop employees are starting to talk about it. How you look tired, shaky. Harvey talks about asking for your number as a way to cheer you up. The baristas all shut him down pretty quickly.

Weeks pass. He’s almost done the Game of Thrones series. But you’re only getting worse.

It’s October now, and the autumn chill is starting to set in. You wear a black trench over your office clothes, tugging it closed to fight the cold of the wind. Your eyes look bloodshot, hollow, like it’s been weeks since you’ve slept. He knows the look intimately; he sees it enough in the mirror. Ginge has asked for your number anyway, and you’ve politely declined. Ever the diplomat. He feels bad for smiling at the dismayed look on the boy’s face. Luckily, it hides behind his mask.

It rains the next day. Torrentially. It’s the kind that can dampen a thick cotton sweater within seconds, so he begrudgingly takes an umbrella with him. The shop is warm and ambient, a world within a world. The coffee tastes better on a day like today, warm, bitter, and reviving. He loses himself in his book, looking up only to realize that it’s passed your time. He thinks for a moment that he might have missed you, but that’s impossible. He could have blindfolds on and still feel your presence. 

You haven’t shown up. There’s a twist of something akin to anguish in his chest and he tells himself to calm down. Maybe they kept you late; you’ll show up eventually.

Except you don’t. 

Soon, the workers are wiping down tables and raising chairs. He has no choice but to abandon his station and venture back out into the cold. Something is off. It might seem silly, but he’s learned never to discount his hunches. So, he sets up camp in the courtyard, umbrella obscuring what little is visible of his face, and he waits. And waits. And waits. 

It’s nearing 22:00 hours when you finally exit the elevators and break for the revolving doors. He knows something is wrong immediately, your feet are moving too fast and you’re casting glances over your shoulder as if you’re being followed. As soon as you exit the building you’re running, as fast as your heeled pumps can allow.

“Fucking hell.” He’s up within seconds, umbrella closed and leaving him open to the onslaught of rain. He jogs to try and keep up, a safe distance behind but you’re too fast. By the time he rounds the corner, he’s lost you.

He’s checking each cross street, turning back on himself. The patter of raindrops is almost deafening, the cabs sending sprays of sludge up from the gutters as they race down the laneway. But through it all—as he’s been trained to—he hears sounds of a struggle. A scream, half muffled. It’s yours. He knows it immediately. Simon follows it as if he’s tracking you. One block north, one west. A half. Retracing his steps. There’s no sounds past the slick splash of car tires on wet asphalt. An alley lies to his left, no streetlights. He’s about to venture down it when you come hurtling around the corner, straight into his chest. Your coat is ripped, hair soaking, and he swears there’s blood on your clothes. Your tired eyes are panicked and laced with fear, looking at him with desperation. He doesn’t have time to be shocked. Because from behind you comes a hooded man, tall build, muscular, though not nearly as big as him. Taking hold of your forearm, he draws you behind him. The man pauses.

“Can I help you?” Simon asks. His voice is anything but friendly. The man seems to size him up and decide the fight is unwise, turning on his heel and walking briskly back the way he came. Good. He’d go after the guy, but he sure as shit isn’t leaving you alone in the middle of the street.

You ‘re clinging to the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking like a leaf. He has slid into that lethal calm familiar to field work, assessing the location, noting information, protecting. Once the man is out of sight, he’s got your face in his hands and your skin is so soft but so cold.

“You alright?” he asks, already fully aware of the answer. You can’t even speak, barely looking at him, just back down the alley as if your pursuer might remerge. Shock, he thinks. What was he supposed to do with a civvy in shock? Get them to a safe place, speak calmly and stably, check for injury. 

“Right, come on.” He pulls you lightly by the arm and you follow without much resistance, probably too weak to refuse. Like hell he’s letting you go anywhere by yourself right now. It’s almost unsettling how small your wrist feels in his hand, fragile, too easily breakable. 

His flat is warm, but you’re still shivering. Simon had deposited you on the couch after helping you shrug out of your destroyed jacket. A blanket sits around your shoulders now, and the kettle is boiling. He’s retrieved his somewhat depleted med kit from the bathroom, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Distantly, he curses himself for not replenishing bandages from the drugstore. There’s a nasty cut on your upper arm, open and bleeding, a knife slash. Anger isn’t something he can afford to feel right now.

“Let’s have a look,” he says, more to himself then anything. You haven’t said a word to him. But when he dabs at the wound with clean gauze, you grasp at his forearm, inhaling sharply. 

“I know. I gotta clean and stitch it though, alright?” He’s never been great at patch ups, but he has been trained. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but you can’t keep bleeding either. Fucking hell, he wishes he had gentler hands. Or something stronger than ibuprofen. 

“You drink?” he offers. You nod. Good enough. He brings you back a glass of whiskey. You down it, wincing at the strength, offering the empty glass back to him. He takes it, placing it on the low table before assessing you again. 

Clean. Disinfect. Needle, thread, vertical mattress stich. Under up, under down and tie off. This would be a breeze for the field medic. But his fingers are thick and much less nimble. You keep clutching at his arm through the sleeve, squeezing to stave off some of the pain. His eyes flicker up occasionally to check your face, but your own are tightly shut. He can tell you’re gritting your teeth, but you barely make a sound. Impressive, though it’s probably partially due to adrenaline. He ties off the final stitch. “Done.”

When you open your eyes there’s relief in them. And a loosening of tense muscles that is worrisome because it’s happening too fast. Your upper body is swaying, and your features are going unfocused, and he knows what happens next. 

He manages to cradle your head just before it hits the arm of the sofa.

Bloody fucking hell.

You wake up in a bed that isn’t yours. 

It’s plain. In fact, the whole room is. Grey-brown drywall and exposed brick. White sheets, white bedspread. The only real piece of décor is a bookshelf, spanning a considerable length of the wall, practically exploding with titles. What the hell? 

You rise onto your elbows only to gasp in pain. 

It’s a nasty looking cut, red and swollen around the edges but tied together with neat stitches. The sight of it opens a floodgate of memories, one after the other, ending with the man who saved you, shrouded in darkness.

Shit. This wasn’t good. None of this was good. You need your phone, but all of your belongings had been in your handbag, lost in that alley. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, onto cool tile. Tiptoe out the doorway, taking in pieces of the quiet apartment as you go. Industrial design, morning light, a view of the city, a tiny cactus on the sill.

“You’re awake.” The Manchester accent is heavy and laced with concern. You spin on the source only to stop dead. 

His brown hair is so light it might as well be blonde, eyes dark with the shadow of lowered brows, skin peppered with pale pink scars. Prominent ones over his left eyebrow and bottom lip. The hint of a tattoo peeking out the collar of his t-shirt. Though eerily beautiful, his face is one that might send people running. But you find you aren’t afraid of him, not in the slightest.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there?”

If you liked it, please let me know! 🩶

[glitchy-creations]

Update of this post!

I did all of the sketches for the character pairings I wanted to do for this ship dynamic and decided that I wanted to colour this one first! This one is with my Telemachus design and my oc Pyrrha!

I’m going to include more info about Pyrrha under the cut because it’s gonna be a lot and I don’t want to obscure y’all’s scrolling 👍🏻

Pyrrha info

To start, Pyrrha’s “original” name was also Ambrosia (I liked the irony of a demigod child of Hades having a name that mean “immortality”), I have since given her the nickname Pyrrha (based off her hair colour lol) to help differentiate her from my goddess oc of the name name!

Pyrrha originally started as a Percy Jackson oc from like my middle school days. Every now and again I allow myself one “Mary Sue” type character, and Pyrrha was that character for PJO. I have a hand full of other OC’s and Pyrrha is literally the only one who’s a child of the big three, I don’t even had a Roman demigod who’s one of the big three. Pyrrha was pretty much just an amalgamation of things i thought were cool about the universe; so she’s a demigod child of Hades and is a Hunter of Artemis who’s lived a rather long life. I was still wanting to keep close to canon lore as well even back then, so she’s always been way older than the other characters to adhere to the fact that Hades never broke the pact he made with his brothers about not having more demigod kids after WW2. She has since grown to be a more “Greek mythology media in general” oc like Ambrosia. With that in mind, her lore does tend to change based off the lore of whatever media she’s in!

Her General Lore;

In the past two years I think, I’ve decided that she’s originally from Ancient Greece, Sparta specifically.

Her mother was a mortal and came from a well off family though was a very independent woman. She was a “follows the beat of her own drum” kind of person.

While she never seemed interested in marriage (she actually never married) she was someone who valued fidelity. She was quite upset with Hades when she discovered that he was married while he was seeing her and was very sympathetic towards Persephone.

Despite that, she did love Pyrrha very much and the two were close when Pyrrha was young.

Pyrrha’s mother did, however, die when Pyrrha was young. She didn’t know her father outside of the stories of the gods and her maternal grandfather was always busy so Pyrrha grew up a very isolated and lonely childhood.

Pyrrha did seem to inherit her mother’s independence so she never seems bothered by the loneliness. She would usually keep to herself and entertain herself by learning to hunt and use a bow.

Pyrrha would later be sent to train under Chiron. I haven’t decided how this came to be, but I’d probably go with the idea that Hades had a hand in it. Maybe he saw her talent in archery and thought Chiron could help train her, or maybe he thought Chiron would offer a more stable, fatherly role for her.

She thrived under Chiron’s guidance and would excel in almost anything she did. Chiron would become a fatherly figure to Pyrrha and he was the one who gave her the nickname “Pyrrha” in the first place.

Note: I personally like this Reddit comment when I come to estimates ages of the characters in the Iliad so it’s what I have roughly based Pyrrha’s age on! She’s roughly three years younger than Odysseus.

Pyrrha did meet a young Achilles while with Chiron. She’s roughly eight years older than Achilles so ngl she thought he was a little bit of a brat (I the idea of little Achilles having a little bit of an inflated ego because he’s a demigod, had a prophecy about him, or a little bit of both lol). The battiness did mellow out over the years 👍🏻

Despite their little “rivalry”, Pyrrha did see Achilles as something of a little brother for lack of a better word. She did care for him, he just annoyed her more often than not 😅

This is a common occurrence with Pyrrha mostly because she didn’t have a strong family unit before Chiron. She tends to apply familial titles to the people she’s close to and care for.

Pyrrha would train with Chiron for most of her early life, though she would occasionally travel if the urge struck her. This was especially common in her later teen years. She would occasionally travel to Ithaca or other closer city-states.

She met a younger Odysseus a couple of times when she would visit Ithaca, but they weren’t like best friends. It was more like “oh, there’s that quiet girl who’s surprisingly good with a bow who I bump into every once in a while.”

When Pyrrha was roughly 22 she tried twice to join the Trojan War. It was more out of a desire to bring Helen back home to Sparta than for glory or anything. She may not have lived in Sparta for many years, but there was still some loyalty there. Of course she was denied both times primarily because of her gender.

She met Artemis sometime after (perhaps a year or two later when Artemis was not helping Apollo and Troy) and devoted herself to Artemis (the nature of how the hunt works varies depending on the media). I should probably mention that Pyrrha is aroace, so she also has no desire to marry or have any sort of romantic/sexual relationship with anyone.

As I mentioned in the second image, Pyrrha met Telemachus when he was 10. I imagine he was like the embodiment of child like curiosity so when he saw this strange woman with red hair and a bow walking around Ithaca’s marketplace, he just sort of started following her (Telemachus honey….no…)

Long story short, Telemachus ended up growing on Pyrrha and she sort of just started teaching him archery. Of course Penelope knew what was going on (Pyrrha promptly brought back little Telemachus home when she realised she was being followed) and was okay with it as long as Telemachus wasn’t getting in trouble.

Again, as I mentioned in the second image, Pyrrha and Telemachus started to form a “mentor-student” type relationship over the next ten years. He was also the one to decide first that Pyrrha was kind of like a big sister or an aunt figure to him. She also had a very good relationship with Penelope.

Once Odysseus returned to Ithaca Pyrrha would become closer to Odysseus as well. It definitely would prompt her to visit more often.

Everything after that is kind of dependent on what media she’s being included in.

Lore that’s subject to change:

The nature of Artemis and her Hunt is one thing that’s subject to change. This also ties into Pyrrha and her apparent eternal youth or “immortality”.

I think most are familiar with how the hunt works in PJO; young women vow themselves to Artemis, reject romance in all forms, and are given semi-immortality as long as they keep their vows and aren’t killed in battle. As Pyrrha was originally a PJO oc, this was the original reason for her young appearance.

Outside of PJO, I generally think of the hunt as it was depicted in mythology. I think this Reddit post does a good job at kind of summarising/explaining the hunt in mythology. Pyrrha would absolutely devote herself to Artemis for life given she is aroace, it wouldn’t be a big life altering decision for her and would probably provide her another sense of community or familial support in her mind (she would see the other hunters as her sisters as they are sister in arms so to speak.)

This would then bring her semi-immortality into question. I feel like it would probably depend on the media’s lore, or it just wouldn’t be questioned. Perhaps Artemis gave it to her as a gift as she had sworn herself to Artemis for life. Perhaps she’s garnered the favour of another god or maybe her father had something to do with it. Idk, I kind of don’t want to make it too specific to where it can’t be a flexible detail.

Even her demigod status is something that is (very rarely) subject to change. This is mainly in reference to Blood of Zeus and maybe the Hades games. I’m not sure if either media grants Artemis any kind of group of hunters (BoZ definitely hasn’t shown any evidence of one, though Artemis hasn’t been shown as a main focal character…yet).

This prompted a little discussion with me and a friend where I mentioned that if she was given god status at any point, she’d probably be a goddess of kinship; particularly if non blood related kinship. Obviously, this would be because she had a tendency to form familial bonds with close friends as such.

This point, however, hasn’t been fully fleshed out. BoZ hasn’t really explored the idea of a mortal becoming a god (not sure if it will be touched on in future season) and I’m not super familiar with the detailed lore of the Hades games. My biggest concern is keeping Pyrrha’s lore as close to the media’s canon lore as I can which is why these are flexible detail points.

I think that’s all I have for now! If you made it to the end, thanks for taking the time to at least skim my ramblings lol. I don’t want this to get any longer than it is, so if anyone has any suggestions feel free to ask me!

Also Pyrrha and her lore is not meant to be taken seriously as a part of actual Greek mythology. I have tried to keep as close to mythology as I can while having creative liberties for my of and her “universe”, obviously she’s not a real mythological figure and shouldn’t be treated as such! She was made just for fun! 💕

[starsdippedintea]

Consider: The BSD Gang on a Playground

More specifically, a swing set. (This works as adults or children.)

•Ranpo would beg [read:force] Poe to push him, which Poe would do willingly. I think Poe would save the swing for Ranpo as well.

•Chuuya would be going in circles. He'd show off his gravity manipulation so much. Dazai probably reaches put to touch him at random times, causing Chuuya to fall. Chuuya would probably beat him up anyway.

•Dazai would either swing without holding onto the chains, or he'd be that one person that tries to go in-between the swings and try not to get hit.

• Nikolai is that one kid who sits on the swing sideways, twists it around and spins, tries climbing the swing frame, you know what I mean. No one wants to swing next to him.

•Fyodor would hate swinging, but Nikolai would try and force him into it using his ability.

•Sigma wouldn't do anything odd. He'd be that one kid who you never talk to but don't mind sitting next to because he's pretty chill. He probably avoids swinging though, because he's terrified Nikolai will swing next to him.

•Akutagawa would use Rashōmon to push himself on the swing. Poor lonely Akutagawa. If he's dating Atsushi, then Atsushi would definitely offer to push him, but Akutagawa would be far too stubborn to accept.

•Atsushi is scared of swings at first, until Dazai tells him that "cats always land on their feet!" and suddenly he's swinging as high as possible and breaks his leg.

•Kenji and Kyouka would be in the sandbox. Do I need to say more?

•Kunikida wouldn't swing. He just wouldn't. Instead, he'd yell at Yosano and Nikolai for using the swings improperly, and he'd be sitting in the shade with a cold drink.

•Yosano would stand on the swing. Maybe Kōyō would help push her, but I think Yosano would just kind of swing her upper body back and forth until she's moving.

•Kōyō likely wouldn't swing, but if she did, she'd sit on it prim and proper, and not swing too fast or slow.

•Lucy wouldn't even bother. She'd create a swing inside of Anne's room and leave everyone behind. Go Lucy.

•Gin is competive. It feel that in my heart and soul, and you can't convince me that she wouldn't be swinging as high as possible, especially with Chuuya around. I can see her just sitting on it as well, probably saving it for her brother.

•Higuchi would be playing tag, but if given the opportunity to swing she wouldn't go particularly fast. She'd probably stay around three feet off the ground.

•Fukazawa and Fukuchi sit on a bench and watch them play. (Mori does not exist for obvious reasons.)

[midnighthwng]

look up // 2min

soulmates will always find their way back to each other. no matter what.

₊˚.⋆ pairing: lee know + seungmin

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ genre: angst + comfort

₊˚.⋆ warning/s: major character death (i promise i make up for it)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ word count: 3.1k

₊˚.⋆ ao3 link

──────────

it’s late. 

minho and seungmin are driving down some wet road after a little vacation to minho’s hometown, a celebration of sorts, because minho’s graduating next year and seungmin is... well, still in his second year. but it was an academic year that they both worked hard on. that, in seungmin’s book, was something worth taking a vacation for. 

“i think that’s dumb,” minho playfully snaps. of course, he can’t ever truly be mad at the sweet and dandy man in the passenger seat, who he considers himself lucky to regard as his boyfriend.

seungmin is giggling as he says, “anything i say is dumb to you, but you’re actually thinking i’m right.” 

minho shakes his head for the nth time in the conversation, probably a bit too much for someone holding the wheel. “why would i agree that i’d be a shark in my next life? i’m obviously gonna be a cat.”

“just because you like cats now, doesn’t mean you’ll be them when you’re reborn,” seungmin tutted. neither of them really remember how the conversation started, but when you’ve been on the road for more than an hour, anything can serve an interesting topic. especially for these two.

“i think sharks are pretty cool, but the only thing i have in common with them is that we don’t like humans.”

seungmin gasps in faux offense, twisting his torso to face the older. “you don’t like me, honey?”

“you’re less of a bother than all the others out there,” he rolls his eyes.

“you don’t like hyunjin? or jisung? or chan-hyung?” seungmin prods. his face was getting closer and minho could consider it a driving hazard, because god knows he’s trying his best to repress the urge to kiss him on his stupid, pretty face.

he can’t stop the smile from spreading because of the question though, but he holds in his laugh. “now you’re just guilt-tripping me.”

seungmin giggles his way back to sitting properly, the tight seatbelt causing a bit of a strain to his neck because of his antics. 

“kidding, as always. well, how about me? what would i be in my next life?” ah, so that’s how the debate began.

minho scoffs. “dog. easily.”

“what breed?”

“do you have to be so thorough?” he’s laughing now, both at the ridiculous topic and how adorable seungmin is acting. “golden retriever.”

“you’re so basic!” seungmin is laughing, too, though there wasn’t really anything funny about it. there was something in the air that causes them to act like fools in love everytime they’re together. at this point, it’s probably not an act anymore, really. “i’m totally gonna bite you if i see you in my canine form.”

“goldens don’t bite,” minho quips. 

they probably can, he thinks in his head, but they both throw whatever at each other if it means winning the argument. with love, of course. they haven’t had a serious fight in years, save for the first few times they met. 

how was seungmin supposed to know that minho was looking him up and down because he had never seen someone so adorable but so hot at the same time, and not because he wanted to coax him into a fist fight? that night ended with multiple bruises, but the month ended in tears of laughter when minho finally gained the balls to tell seungmin how he really felt that night and how he felt about him in general. truly a textbook love story.

“well, i will!” seungmin punches the other’s arm lightly. probably not safe for a slippery road, but no harm was done. 

minho rolls his eyes, “whatever. and stop talking like you’ll get reincarnated before me. we’re going together.”

“bit dark, hyung,” the younger comments but still a bit giggly. “and you know that’s not what i meant.”

minho starts sniffling and faking sobs, wiping away non-existent tears. “i’ll be lonely without you, honey.”

“stop!” seungmin busts out laughing again. “and keep your eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, it’s slippery out here.”

minho wishes he had listened. 

the next thing he knew, they’re surrounded by blinding white, and monitors are beeping around them, and he thinks he hears hushed voices here and there. he wasn’t sure what was real and what was only imagined by him. he’s sure, however, of the painfully crimson hand he was clutching, cold and unconscious.

“i’m so stupid, fuck... please...” he pleads to seungmin. tears and blood and snot getting everywhere, but why would that ever matter when his lover was getting weaker and weaker right in front of him? “i’m so sorry, please stay with me... say something!”

his eyes widen at his own tone. “no, no, i didn’t mean to yell... just please...” he feels a pinch of movement under his tight grip and the world spins a little slower.

“h-hyung...” seungmin tries, but coughs blood on minho’s cheek with how close he is. 

“minnie?” 

“hyung.”

“i’m here, baby. talk to me, go on.” minho becomes decreasingly aware at how desperate he sounds. everything in his world has shrunk to only them. only seungmin and minho.

and the pristine sheets stained with red that came from whatever wounds they’ve both sustained from the crash. and the god awful beeping machine next to them. which he doesn’t realize was picking up speed. “-back t’ you.”

“what?” minho clutches the younger’s hand tighter, too tight for a weakened body, but neither of them mention it. “you can do it.”

“i’ll... i’ll come back. to you,” seungmin finally breathes out. no one’s counting how many minutes it took. “promise... wait for me.”

minho’s breathing is chopped up and unstable and he should probably be in another hospital bed getting his own condition checked, but nothing matters to him but seungmin, not even his own health. “stop. stop that. you’re not leaving me, don’t leave me.” 

“i can’t.”

“you can. be strong for me, please.” his eyesight is starting to wither because of how much he’s cried in the past ten minutes, maybe thirty. 

“no i,” seungmin is trying to wheeze now, if not for his punctured lungs that make it all the more difficult. “i can’t breathe, hyung.”

minho adjusts himself so they’re even more in each other’s faces. “do it with me. come on.” the heart monitor is getting rapid now, and the sound finally registers in minho’s ears and in his brain. “inhale, exhale, inhale, seungmin!” 

a single tear makes its way down seungmin’s cheek. “i love you.” 

“i lov- no, seungmin, please. please!”

... 

arms grab minho by the shoulders and he’s sure he knocked someone’s teeth out until his vision completely goes dark.

-

minho stares at the clock. he’s been waiting for something, but he has already forgotten. it’ll probably come to remind him of itself later.

then the calendar right below it. plus one to the year since he’s been on autopilot. exactly, too , he realizes, as he fixates on the bold letters that spell out the fifth month of the year. 

he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket before he hears the ringtone, set to an audio he had labelled ‘important, pick up’ . robotically, he ‘accepts’ and brings the speaker to his ear. “what?”

“i’ll be there to pick up the stuff soon,” the voice speaks. it belongs to him and seungmin’s best friend, or one of them, hyunjin.

“sure.” he zones out on a piece of plastic that landed on the foot of his coffee table. their coffee table. how does he describe the things in his own home anymore? was it even a home at all, when the thing he called home was personified by the tall and handsome brunette, and had perished in his arms?

“hyung.” hyunjin sounds urgent to an outside ear, but minho can hear the pity laced in a single word.

“hm.”

“is everything ready, i said?”

“yeah. yeah.”

he’s not sure if a whole minute passes before hyunjin asks the dreaded “how are you doing?” question. at least it wasn’t “are you okay?” this time.

“next question,” he says blandly instead.

“hyung...”

“stop. i’m fine.” he isn’t. they both know it. but who can blame them for trying to avoid the reality?

“...okay.” there’s a knock at the door. minho doesn’t immediately realize it’s hyunjin. “open the door.”

he hauls himself to the door and opens it to hyunjin, who wears a blank face. but minho can see it in his glossy eyes, what he wants to say. “i’m sorry.”

instead, hyunjin’s mouth opens with “let’s get these downstairs.” ‘these’ pertaining to the half dozen boxes of seungmin’s stuff that took a lot of time, sweat, and tears from minho to pack up. 

it’s sunny when they step out from the apartment. minho wishes he could say he hadn’t been outside in months, but life required him to drag his body to get necessities every once in a while. 

he’s not sure what’s been pushing him to keep going. maybe he hopes seungmin is proud of him for doing so. maybe he hopes seungmin will keep his promise. 

no one can fault minho for believing it. seungmin had always been a man of his word.

he’s only brought out of his thoughts because hyunjin halted right in front of him, almost dropping his stack of boxes. “hey, puppy, puppy!”

minho looks over hyunjin’s slouched figure to see a dog. quite big, but he guesses golden retrievers grow fast. 

must be at least a year old, he muses. the dog knocks minho out of his observation when it jumps onto him, promptly fully knocking over his boxes. “what’s the deal?”

he can tell hyunjin’s holding his laughter when he helps him pick up the stuff that spilled out from one of the containers. the tape must have gotten loose.

they’re almost done when gold shines in minho’s peripheral. he picks up a necklace; simple, flat heart with a small “M” engraved on the center. 

he doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until hyunjin speaks, “hey, you okay?”

“no- yes.” liar. “yeah. this... i gave it to him. for our anniversary.”

hyunjin raises his brows, the way he does when he encounters something shocking or obvious. “keep it. why is it even in one of these?”

“i don’t know...” minho sighs. he doesn’t know what he would have done if he realized too late that he threw this away. “i just packed without paying attention, i guess.”

“you should have called us for help. you always can, alright?” the younger finishes up with the one box and sets a hand on minho’s shoulder. “even if it’s been a whole year since you talked to us...”

minho can’t look anywhere near hyunjin in shame. “i know. and i’m sorry about that.”

“hey, no worries,” he tries chasing minho’s line of sight, offering a small smile. “i know it’s been hard. we loved him, too.”

minho swallows a lump in his throat. how long had that been building up? “yeah. thanks.”

the dog, who minho already forgot about in their exchange, approaches them, specifically the hand that minho still clutched the gold necklace in. it sniffs up and down on it, then suddenly snatches it and runs off.

“hey!” minho shouts, running after it. hyunjin has half a mind to be sensitive and not pull out his phone to film this. he thinks it would have been funny any other day, though.

the two run around the block until the dog, annoyingly, settles right in front of the apartment’s entrance. minho heaves and pulls the jewelry back out from the dog’s mouth. he doesn’t mind the slobber getting all over him for some reason. he even pockets the necklace.

“don’t take things that aren’t yours,” he scolds. he comes back to hyunjin actually giggling his ass off now and pulls him up by the collar to finally put the rest of the boxes into the car.

“thank you, hyunjin,” he whispers. sincerely so, as if thanking him for something else other than helping him pack up. and maybe he was.

hyunjin smiles a little brighter than earlier. “always, hyung. i’m also just a phone call away if you need someone to talk to. me and the others.” 

minho nods. “i’ll remember.”

they go in for a hug, hyunjin tightening his hold a little more. when they let go, it’s like a light bulb flickers on top of the younger’s head. “it’s changbin-hyung’s birthday soon! come see usss.”

“i’ll try.” and that’s all hyunjin needed to hear before he beams at him and finally drives off.

minho hears a whimper beside him and realizes-

“you’re still here?” he asks the dog, as if it’ll respond. but honestly, it might as well have understood him, because it whimpers again and marches toward the entrance of the building.

“who are your owners...? whatever, come on, get inside.”

minho wouldn’t do it normally, letting random dogs (or a dog in general) inside his house, but there was something about this one that he couldn’t resist. call him crazy, but the dog appears to be smiling when it looks up at him, and it’s ruining his heart. when they enter the apartment, it even waits for minho to enter before it shuffles its big paws inside, too. 

“it’s not much,” he’s still talking to it, “not anymore.”

minho watches as the dog prances around the living room. there’s a table near the tv, low enough that it could sniff the few picture frames displayed on it. to minho’s confusion, it whimpers at the pictures.

“what’s wrong? you don’t like them?” his brows furrow into each other as he picks one up. “i think we look alright here.” 

in the frame, the wind was a little too strong to the point of knocking seungmin’s hat into the air, making for a perfect candid shot of the two of them chasing it. they knew it was a good decision to tag hyunjin along that picnic date.

the dog nudges another one of the frames until it falls, concerning minho even more. it was one of seungmin’s, a shot of him facing the sun setting while they were on a bridge somewhere. he definitely did not force minho to take that fake candid shot. 

minho crouches to pick it up and replace both frames onto the desk. the dog noses at his pocket and whimpers again. “jeez. i may not know much about dogs, but do you guys really cry this much...?”

he thinks for a moment before dialing on his phone and waiting probably half a second before hyunjin picks up. “hey, you know that dog earlier?”

“uh, yeah, what about it?”

“he keeps following me around and crying at our stuff,” he comments. the dog is just looking at the pictures again. 

“you let it in your house?”

“well, i wasn’t gonna leave it out in the heat...”

“...sure, hyung. what breed was it again?”

“it’s a golden.” minho was about to ask why it could have possibly mattered, when it clicks. “golden retriever. i gotta call you back.”

“hyung-” and all hyunjin hears is the line dropping.

minho starts petting the dog, to its joy. “you recognize this guy?” it whimpers again before it starts looking around the house. “you have some really odd qualities...”

it leaves minho’s hold and starts trotting toward their shared bedroom. it looks untouched, bedsheets laying undisturbed, but a layer of dust collecting over that. dust covering everything, really. he’d started sleeping on the couch, the fear of his own memories of him and seungmin in that bedroom and on that bed being too much to bear to be able to sleep in there again.

“you won’t find any treats here, if that’s what you want,” he follows anyways. the dog stops in front a packed box. “shit, we must have missed this one,” he sighs.

the dog paws at it, like it was saying “open it” or something crazy in minho’s head. so, he does.

inside, they find a polaroid camera, and a bunch of photos scattered under it. guess i left this here on purpose. he and the dog sit down next to the box as he shuffles through the photos. well, more like showcases them to his new friend.

“this was from our trip to jeju. we were with our best friends.” he chuckles and points to a part in the photo, “you can kind of see them in the back here.”

shifting to another film, “a picnic near han river. he said he loved this place the most, ‘cause the sky is always so pretty when you look up.” 

a tear is trekking down his face now, multiple following after. the dog whimpers at the sight. “i miss him. he’s probably happy in the sky, since he loves it so much.”

the dog is pawing at him, quite rough with how big its paws are and how textured probably from walking around on the street. where did this thing come from, again?

“what?” minho asks it, then suddenly, it’s jumping on him and licking all over his face. minho can’t bring himself to be disgusted over it, but he’s still confused as fuck. “hey buddy, we just met.”

that seems to trigger something in the dog’s mind, because now it’s sitting and whimpering and probably on the verge of barking at minho. “we just met, like an hour ago. I’m not your owner, you don’t know me-”

and it’s barking, really loudly. right in his face. “now you’re just being mean, puppy,” he chuckles. the dog makes a sound akin to a human huff and looks around again. 

it knocks the box over, spilling the photos out, and minho watches in amusement as it seems to be looking for something specific. it gently grabs one into its mouth and nudges it into minho’s hand.

a picture from when they went on vacation to gimpo. that same day... “why did you give me this?”

it’s like it's losing patience when the dog steps onto the pocket where the necklace still is. minho takes it out, and the dog whimpers at it again.

his tears are still flowing when he starts laughing. “i’m gonna get called insane.” the dog’s head tilts.

“...seungminnie?”

rapidly, the dog’s tail is wagging and he jumps back onto minho to knock them both flat on the floor, licking and barking (happily, of course) in his face. 

“what the hell,” he exclaims, still laughing at how ridiculous this all seems to be. “your next life.”

the dog stops his movements and just lays on minho. he really looks like he’s smiling at me. he almost can’t breathe under the dog’s weight and because of the snot building up in his nose, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“surely took you long enough,” he breathes. the dog smacks him in the face with that big paw of his, and minho’s crying even harder because that’s exactly what he would expect seungmin to do.

“kidding, as always. hm...” he trails, scratching softly behind the dog’s ears. 

“i’ll call you sky.”

──────────

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i hope i actually made up for the mcd aha i don't usually write angst (i've never even written it without the fluff to counter it) but i really like how this one turned out.

it was originally written for a scriptwriting class i had, so if it had a little too much dialogue, that's why (i tried my best converting it into para forms o7)

thanks for reading :D thinking of putting my other fics on tumblr too but if u'd like to read them while they aren't here yet, they're on my ao3 already :)

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽

[artsybug0]

So to explain, the ai Actor Millie offered to ask Eddie to babysit my kid, and she called him her older brother but used quotations so like, 'older brother'. so that leads me to think she just means like they friends but have a sibling like relationship so i wanna ask, what is Actor Millie & Eddie's relationship like? Friends? Sibling? Sorry to bother but i just got curious, sorry! - V

Yes yes yes!! I’m so glad that worked!

Millie has a family like relationship with Eddie and Barnaby no matter the Au!!

Eddie is always an older brother figure to Millie

And Barnaby is like a father figure for her too!

Ofc Millie has a dad already (adopted) but Barnaby reminds her so much of him and because she no longer lives with her family she feels home sick but Barnaby helps with that so much!

Millie also is the eldest daughter so she didn’t really have an older sibling to take care of her like she took care of her younger brothers!

(Actor Au)

Millie is a little antisocial. Just a little! She often isolates herself and purposely sits away from people and read on her phone!

If you pay attention to her outside of “she’s hot” you’ll notice that she actually seems very lonely. Before and early in her acting career(?) she didn’t have much time to even make friends. She’s always running around working too many jobs not to mention she used to be in college (she barely graduated-)

Have you guys seen Frills video that shows Wally being tired and stressed from his job? And their post explaining how all of them worked their butts off only to barely make enough for rent and food?

IMAGINE THAT BUT NOT HAVING ROOMMATES-

So she didn’t have time to make many friends and the people that do interact with her usually are just because she’s “a pretty little thing”

Eddie took notice of this. Eddie is the most observant after all. He felt sad and guilty about how lonely Millie seems. Even though she denies and try’s to not act like it.

So Eddie decided to start inviting Millie to join them when they hang out (probably against Wally’s wishes lol. At this time he would of been still cold and distant from her because he doesn’t know her true intentions. He’s super protective over his friends so when she did start to hang out with them he kept an eye on her just in case. Millie was no exception to his cold behavior lol) and eventually they did become her actual friends. And she loves them all dearly and would do anything to keep them happy, healthy, and safe. (I really do mean anything- she’ll murder for them fr)

Also! Millie hates being picked up. She only tolerates it when it comes to people she cares about or a bodyguard she trusts (like Max!) it makes her feel vulnerable and not in control of the situation. But she actually genuinely loves being held by Barnaby. When she gets home sick she’ll ask him to hold her and he does! He holds her in his arms and she takes a nap. When hugging or cuddling for too long she’ll fall asleep haha! So she keeps hugs short usually.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

sometimes my brain sends me asks, because i truly love nothing more than to answer special interest questions, and today on the walk home from work i thought “who reads more, adam or belle?” so now i’m gonna answer this question in great detail, after pondering it the entire walk.

when they were children, i think adam was reading a bit more, only because he had more books to read. but in terms of time spent reading? it was probably pretty even. adam was hyperlexic, reading way above his reading level, and belle just didn’t really have much else to do. once she learned how to read, it became her favorite activity ever. and of course, they were both drawn to reading for the same reason: escape. they had very different worlds to want to escape from, but at the end of the day they were just lonely little kids hoping there was more out there.

adam especially started reading more when he went off to boarding school (ages 10-12), then university (13-15). he LOVED studying literature, even as his mental health declined from losing his mother, books were really all he had left. belle was still reading a LOT at this age though, so once again, adam probably only had her beat in terms of number of books. but belle probably won in terms of hours read, considering adam was starting to get into… well, other vices.

in the teen/young adult years, belle definitely read more. adam was really losing sight of himself, especially upon the death of his father just before he turned 16. reading wasn’t fun or interesting to any of his “friends” so he masked that part of himself pretty quickly, having much more a need to be liked and accepted, rather than being “true to himself.” meanwhile, belle was still reading so much! she still hardly had any books to read, but she somehow managed to find every possible book tucked away in that village and she read the HECK out of it. she was of course growing up and getting more involved in both her inventor aspirations as well as helping maurice with the farming. (which, i’m sure she’s helped him since she was little, but obviously as a teen she could Actually help.)

during the curse, adam wasn’t reading at all. i can see him trying to, once. some point early in the curse, he’s incredibly depressed and his mind wanders to childhood, to his mother, to those brief shining moments where he knew what real joy felt like. he’s drawn to the library. he finds a book that he remembers loving. but he’s still not entirely used to his claws, so he accidentally rips a chunk of pages. suddenly enraged, he rips the entire book in half. he probably starts pulling books off the shelf in anger, making a huge mess and ripping a few more in half before growling and leaving, back to hide away from the world. after that, he doesn’t bother to try reading again. honestly i feel like he spent most of his time under the curse just sleeping and not taking care of himself. just… very depressed and angry. the staff tried to keep up routines, always making meals for him, but i think he struggled to eat (and has for many years) - which is why maurice’s finds that unattended feast when he visits the castle.

when belle comes, everything changes, of course. belle rekindles that love of reading within adam, the same way she rekindles his entire being. slowly but surely, he remembers how much he loved it, how much it cleansed his soul and filled his heart every time. it’s similar to what he says to her after they dance: “i haven’t danced in years. i’d almost forgotten the feeling.” he still worries about ripping the pages, but he’s more patient with himself now, as belle’s presence calms him so much. and for a while, they’re both reading all the time! especially together. they take turns reading aloud to each other. i think, even years and years down the road, this is still how they signal to the other that they need comfort. “will you read to me?” and even after the curse when they’re still courting, they just read and read. i mean you KNOW belle just wants to DEVOUR that library !!!!

when they’re first married, they’re traveling quite a bit. adam is so excited to show her everything and take her everywhere and BELLE IS SO EXCITED TO DO THAT!!!!!!!!! so they travel a lot. and are still, of course, reading on their travels. but it’s definitely less than usual. and i think belle was writing more than reading, because she really tries to keep a log of every place they go.

once they’re back settled at home though, doing their king and queen thing, i think they DO still read a lot, but for belle it’s harder because she just DIVES into all her queen ideas and plans. she’s SOOOOO !!!!! AMBITIOUS!!!! so she’s really busy. and she still reads a ridiculous amount, leaving adam baffled. like WHERE does she find the time?!? but she’s not just reading for fun now!! she’s also studying at the university of paris. they’re not always IN paris, so i guess you could say she was the first zoom university student?? she’s like always in correspondence with the headmaster as well as other professors of the university, just always Studyingggg gosh she loves it so much. she CRAVES learning.

after hearing about adam’s silly little literature degree, she obviously knew she needed to get her hands on that. AND MORE!!! she also definitely gets like multiple degrees over the course of her life. probably gets another in mathematics and another in like, biological/natural science or something. “just for fun.” (again, adam is baffled by her. but also very in love!!!!!! he loves his girlboss wife!!!!!!!) she probably qualifies for masters degrees but at that point in time, you really didn’t get a masters unless you were becoming a professor. which she was like 👀 about but then her husband had to remind her that she is already The Queen and does QUITE ENOUGH during the day. whatever 🙄 she DOES do a lot within the education system though, that’s always her biggest job as queen, her entire reign. reforming and expanding !!!!!!!!!!! it’s what she cares about The Most 🤧🤧 so she may as well be honorary headmaster of EVERYTHING, thank you very much.

and during this time, adam reads very regularly. i think he and belle also like to read books “together” in the sense that they both have a copy of a book and they basically have a tiny little book club with each other. just having to read some chapters and then discuss it after a week, or whatever. they’re so very nerdy, you guys. i can’t make this up. anyway, my point here is that i think during this period early in their marriage, adam is a lot better about staying on top of their book club plans. just because belle is doing a thousand million things at all times and she has adhd so it’s nearly impossible for anything to stay on track. meanwhile adam like, simply does what is required of him as king, and then goes and does hobby stuff (belle helps him find hobbies!!!! so proud) and one of those things will be reading some of their book.

so ANYWAY, it happens pretty regularly where adam will say to belle, “good morning! are you ready to discuss chapters 10-20 this evening?” and she’s like OGHDKFJS YES OF COURSE???? I DIDNT FORGET?????????? WHATS THAT!!! (and then she runs away when he turns around). but she’s thankful for those morning reminders because 9 times out of 10 she finds the pocket of time to speed read the chapters. so they still have their cute little discussion in the evening <3

and lastly, of course, comes the children!!! a lot of this stuff i’ve been saying (belle studying at university, adam & belle having their little book club) still happens when they have kiddos, but of COURSE an added bonus is STORY TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is a sacred practice in the beaumont family. like pretty much every night, the children gather in the master chambers (often cozy in the big bed!!!!!) and either belle or adam (they take turns) reads a story to them. of course, life sometimes gets in the way, and as the kids are varying in age, different bedtimes and such, so they don’t do this EVERY night. but they do it a lot. this family is alwaaayyss reading. adam and belle get SO excited when each of them learn how to read (especially belle getting to see her DAUGHTERS learn how to read, of course!!!)

reading is just truly one of THE love languages of this family, and sometimes it makes me weep thinking about how it all started with two lonely children who never should have met, both finding themselves with their noses stuck in books, longing for the adventures and other worlds that the pages contained. and now they get to share all those adventures with the ones they love the most… it truly is the most beautiful of tales 🥹

[croctus]

how would each verse of zero think of each other?

HOOTS N HOLLERS oh man i love questions like this, sorry i took a while to drum up a reply.

something kind of important to understand about him is based on the verse, hes pretty significantly influenced by whatever he ended up needing to do to survive- which always ends up being a key aspect of his life- and why hes never very normal lol.

mainverse zero used humor and compartmentalizing The Horrors as a coping mechanism. he raised himself almost entirely alone from adolescence on, picking through the scraps of the old world slowly teaching himself engineering tricks to survive, and made himself a persona of someone charismatic and unpredictable and magnetic, because he was lonely and because it was something to do. eventually he found kinship with others that society cast aside, and made himself a little found family where he could lean into this persona even harder. overall hes happy with his life, and would proudly state he’s overcome some pretty rocky things in his life to get where he is. he’s a kind person despite being kind of a big showboat blowhard who talks a lot of talk about being evil and dangerous, but this isn’t really something that bothers him- rather, he insists his henchmen abide by his code of ethics and act in the purpose of putting on a big loud show and making more paperwork for the city officials/police.

he would think red is a freak and find the idea that he could be pushed to that kind of behavior deeply disturbing. he wouldn't want to think too much into how much he could 'secretly' be like him. red would anger him to a degree, because he thinks he's strong enough to 'be himself' under that sort of environment, but he isn't 100% sure and that sucks for him.

he would think nix is also a freak LOL, but some sort of cruel mockery of himself in the form of a dorky superhero under the thumb of THE MAN. he'd very much pull a 'aren't you tired of being nice? don't you just want to go ape shitt?'

red likewise has been on survival mode since around his teenage years- he was a well-meaning and sweet kid despite being a little rowdy and getting into trouble here and there, but his acting out was mostly due to his parents working very busy hours and not having a lot of time for him. he never places the blame on them, though, and slowly started to consider himself kind of a burden on them when he continues to get into trouble and lacks the resources to know how to change. in his teen years he gets a part-time job to save up, and eventually runs away from home and tries to make it on his own for about a year before, oops, zombie apocalypse. his behavior doesn’t change all at once from here, but he slowly finds he needs to be more and more cruel to the world around him to avoid backstabbing or resource strain, and eventually ends up living in an echo chamber of a mall full of yes-men that further enforce an us-versus-them mindset where he finds sympathy less and less for outsiders and more and more for exclusively those who he’s already looking out for and has some semblance of trust for. beyond this, his humor-as-coping still develops, but twists in a pretty cruel direction of pushing his own boundaries further and further to avoid having to really reflect on himself, in a semi-constant dissociative improv.

he'd think zero is a cringy nerd playing comic book pretend and that it's annoying he has so much opportunity and resources in a still-functional city but he's still working out of a warehouse with a bunch of untrained punks scheming up how to glitter bomb some gala or other.

he'd see nix as weak, and a little sad, and not understand why he doesn't crack under the pressure of being a manufactured superhero image or scream something ridiculous on tv just to see what happens. it would be pretty frustrating to him! he'd prob say nix is a tool.

nix is probably the most even-tempered out of any verse because he’s had an incredibly structured existence his whole life, and no room to develop a lot of the purposely annoying habits and humor youd see in ur standard zero- but there are ghosts of it. hes still fairly cheerful and affable and good-humored, but less likely to run his mouth without any clue where he’s going with something, and far less impulsive. he probably runs with his empathy MORE than his counterparts however, and deeply feels a connection with people society has wronged, butt he more struggles with how to make meaningful changes in peoples lives to ‘fix’ their situations, since he is purposely kept from fully understanding the depth of the corrupted systems he lives within. thus he can come across as ignorant and sort of naïve, which in combination with his personality can come across as annoying to some- especially the city’s villain population lol. since unlike his counterparts he has not built a little community for himself, hes still a little lonely though, and understands social cues a little less.

he'd see zero as a dark reflection of himself under a 'bad timeline', but the more he thinks about it, the less zero is exclusively constructed of flawed behavior and misery- and this would start to kind of make him feel a little sick and anxious.

red would completely disgust him, though, and he'd really struggle to believe this is even a version of himself at all. he'd not really like to think about it at all- nor really enjoy that both alternate versions of him consider themselves- or are considered by others, to be 'evil'.

[saytrrose]

huh. you should do kinger whimpering hcs instead (kidding... unless?)

Of course Torch, a wise ask indeed. There’s no pairing here, so I’ll do my part.

Kinger Whimper/Noise Headcanons <3

- Kingers personality is already sort of like a wet pathetic cat. While he doesn’t cry easily, he goes mumble to himself, his voice often low and quiet.

- Anyway, this is a nsfw post. So let’s get into that. Kinger is sensitive. He’s very sensitive, after all think of how pent up he might be after years and years of just being pretty lonely. Hes not used to anyone in the circus being touchy with him in the slightest- until you of course.

- The slightest touches, so small- ranging from your hands on his shoulders or just laying with him likely has his breath shaky. He already has a trembling problem but now with you, he feels like his heart is probably pounding a dozen times per second. Just brushing your fingers along his chest has him struggling not to utter a word.

- He’s so touch starved, he can and will probably whimper if you kiss him, but kiss him hard. Even if it’s very planned, expected what you will do Kinger is almsot always caught off guard. He’ll yelp a little bit, not loud but a sound of suprise most definitely.

- Actually touching him, and I mean touching him, hes the kind to hide his face in his hands, or close his eyes to not feel so exposed. Hes nervous, regardless what you two are doing really but when doing more intimate exchanges of course hes a flustered mess. He mumbles like he always does- incoherent words under his breath that don’t make sense but sound perfect to the ear anyway.

- He can’t keep quiet easily, it’s a known fact between you two. His whines are very breathy, out of control and he can’t suppress them well. They most often sound short and repetitive, quick ones, just because he can’t focus on anything to save his life- especially in an act like that with you.

- He gets clingy, while at first he might shy away and his body language will seem to move away from you- once you’ve gotten him hot and bothered he’s gonna be insufferable.

- Grabbing at you, pulling you to him, he’s going to be a complete lost cause honestly. Burying his face in your neck, trying to be as close as possible as he groans. Hes pretty desperate.

- I hope you guys decided to do this in a room- because Kingers not a very quiet person. He isn’t loud- but he’s consistent. His mumbles merge with his little whines and it turns into drawn out words, perhaps your name sprinkled in there atleast a dozen times when he gets close.

-He’s a cutie :)

[kaelyn-stocktonmil]

Depressed/Lonely Self-Rant

Ok so...I don't really know what I'm doing at this point, pretty sure I'm just doing whatever my mind says is right, alongside hoping maybe there's someone out there who gets it who might be kind enough to give anything from encouraging words, to an offer to be friends.

And I know that's asking for a lot in this world. So this is basically just me venting so...if you stick around to the end of this, congrats...if not, I don't blame you.

So, everybody knows what depression is. Seasonal depression, chronic depression, temporary, etc. And believe me, all of them get overlooked in a lot of ways. People always say that it's just depression, things will get better, it's just in your head, etc. But it's still someone going through a hard time. Sometimes anti-depressants help, sometimes they won't make a dent in the things people feel.

I'm beginning to think I might have some form of chronic depression. Most days I'll seem fine for the majority of the day, and next thing I know, a cloud just falls over me after I do, or see something...most of which relates to how lonely I am. My friends have all but disappeared, or distanced themselves from me...my best friend has had enough of being the middle-woman between me and the others, to help work things out and said it in probably the nicest way she could that I'm on my own in terms of figuring things out with the others...even though I just wanted to hang out. The worst part is that whenever I'm with my best friend, and the others are on, they suddenly aren't against spending time with me...but the moment my bestie is gone, so are they. I reached out to ask to hang out, and they quite literally told me they weren't trying to be rude, but none of us want to hang out with you, so kindly go fuck off... I haven't bothered to reach out since, and that was at the start of January...

I get it, I'm a hard person to be friends with. I suck at reading social ques, I'm stubborn, I'm clingy, and yes, I can be oblivious, and sometimes I hurt the people I love without realizing to or meaning it...but I never meant to do any wrong by my friends. I was the one to introduce my bff to my other friends, because I wanted to be polite and friendly...and now my friends don't want anything to do with me, unless I'm with my bff...

So, what am I supposed to do? Keep burying my head in the sand and asking what I did wrong or wait? Because while I know the logical answer is to wait, my emotional mental state can't keep taking hits like this! I was so desperate as to get on my Xbox and start looking for posts, and both times I've gotten accepted, because it's ONLY BEEN TWICE, I got accepted by a little twerp who finds joy in trolling his SMP members with his Admin abilities by killing us 100 times, and thinks everyone is enjoying it and won't take no for an answer, and someone my age who kicked when he asked how my day was and I said repetitive, and he didn't hear it the first time, for what I assume he thought I was a damn kid! I HATE MY VOICE!

I'm depressed, I'm alone- because at this point "lonely" isn't what it is, my friends want nothing to do with me, and my best friend probably wishes we had never met with how tired I've made her

, and apparently according to her, I’m depressed for nothing. I don’t know what to do. I’ve lost everything important to me, and I have no Idea if I can get it back. And I’ve tried to find an alternative, I told you! We all know how well that went! I feel like I’m stuck in the movie “Groundhog Day”, but 1000 times worse. I’m living like tomorrow might be better, but it never is! 

I don’t know what to do...no one listens, and no one hears. No one sees that I’m NOT OK...and if they do...they don’t care.