#i think about smoker will twelve times a day

[pinkeoni]

loving ur smoker will activism keep fighting the good fight brother

Happy to serve 🫡

[taissasspidergirl]

cigarettes, cigarettes.

a/n: idk why i felt like dishing this out??? and it was so random too like 💀💀 also, melissa is adorable and deserves the best of hugs people 😎‼️ proofread but there might lingering mistakes left. leave feedback if you have any, enjoy reading you already knowww, mdni

w/c: 3.4 k words

warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of a casual affair, swearing, mentions of smoking, love used as a metaphor of addiction and smoking, drinking at a party, overly dramatic writing, attempts at humour, gay yearning. melissa is in love but kind of doesn’t know how to deal with it.

second part will be written. more will be told about the reader’s background, and we’ll have a deeper insight on when they started seeing melissa. let me know if i missed anything else :)

it starts below the cut 🤠

Sitting on the rooftop, your eyes are mindlessly trained on the landscapes drowned by lamplights. A cigarette hangs between your lips and you’re starting to taste the bitter, raw nicotine from how long it has remained unlit. You wish you could bring yourself to inhale the toxins and allow the rot to travel throughout your lungs, consequently tainting your oxygen, but you’ve decided that you do too much of it already, the smell of her lingering fragrance marking your bedsheets being enough to ruin your health. It was a deranging fact considering you weren’t even a smoker. You wanted to find an alternative addiction that would slowly, softly kill you. It’s better to crawl at the hands of death rather than someone. At least that is what you think. Though you were always kind of melodramatic in that way. She’d tell you that whenever you would plead with her to stay with you after your nightly secret meetings.

Looking back at it you feel a little embarrassed. All those wasted words and wasted time. Wanting nothing more but to go back to stop yourself from breathing three words that left a taste of bile at the back of your mouth even after weeks.

Taking the cigarette away from your lips you twirl it around your fingers, the paper now nearly melted off. You don’t want to throw it away, feeling ridiculous that you spent your money on a twelve dollar pack. Lying back to rest on the cold concrete, you carefully place the cigarette on your chest in an almost cradling gesture.

The cold wind blows past your face, the skin of your neck, touching the places that were traced by her lips. Your fingers reach for them and you swear it’s like she never left.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

A voice startles you, jerking you up. Instinctively you hold the cigarette like you’ve been caught. The act itself is unintentionally amusing, making the redhead bite back a smile.

“I don’t.”

“There’s no harm in it if you were.”

She casually strides up to you. She’s so pretty. She always is but you can swear that at this moment you’d be on your knees apologising to her for something you didn’t even do. And maybe that’s the problem.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.”

You stand up, dusting off your pants, wanting to leave. The further you stay the more your brain shifts to your first conflict. Memories of raised voices, of tears, flushed faces and accusing words quickly speed past your membrane.

“Then why is there a box peeking out of your pocket?”

“Why do you care?”

Melissa sighs, crossing her arms. She wonders if whatever you had to drink tonight warranted that behaviour. But she also knew you never really were the drinking type. This only somehow worsens things, knowing that you’re sober and somewhat justifiably annoyed.

Ava’s laugh breaks the tension brewing between you, reminding your surroundings. At Janine’s flat, a get together between colleagues.

“This is useless.”

You make a move to leave but she steps in your way. You almost want to laugh at her boldness.

“We need to talk.”

“We talked already.”

You grit, looking down at your shoes. She is being unfair. Sending you off, ignoring you for days and only talking to you when she needed to. Your friends did catch on to the shift of the atmosphere but couldn’t exactly place it. No one asked any questions either, knowing not to bother Melissa when she was having her pondering moments. It’s not like they could ask you anything either, always finding a sly excuse to get out of the conversation.

“Won’t you just cut the attitude and be serious about this for five minutes—”

“You have no right to tell me what to be serious about, Melissa. Not when you’ve got some questions to ask about yourself.”

You’re right. She knows you are. You have that same look on your face the day you pronounced the same words that felt like an open wound. “Why’d you have to ruin everything?” She asked, not frustratingly cried out. Then again her reasonings were justified. The agreement you had between you was simple. No attachments, no feelings.

With flushed cheeks she looks ahead of you. Her pride not wanting to let you know you aren’t exactly in the wrong, at least not really. Whatever it is, she won’t give you the satisfaction. Much to your great relief. Biting back your tears, you scoff, walking past her. She catches the subtle whiff of your linen scent, instantly bringing back memories of you spending rare mornings in her kitchen. Or evenings of her trying to teach you how to cook Italian food but ended up being distracted by the way you wrapped your arms behind her, placing soft kisses on her neck.

A couple excuses and farewells later you left the party, wishing everyone well and ignored Ava’s slight inquisition in your mood. You waved it off, joking that you’ve had many drinks in you and needed to rest. Which you should have seriously thought of before because Ava being inquisitive Ava knows you don’t really drink, failing at convincing you to slip a few drops of alcohol in the punch at a PTA reunion that one time.

“Something’s off with Romeo.” She points at Jacob and Barbara, who casts a curious look as you leave. He thought about it for a moment before speaking up again.

“I think Romeo is the wrong romantic hero to use here—”

“Can we drop the nerding for a second and gossip…I mean, talk about our colleague?” Ava exasperates.

Usually, Barbara isn’t one for gossip, but she had to admit your behaviour was strange.

“The other day I still saw her class lights on. I presumed it was to catch up on correcting papers but this has been the fifth time in a week.”

“What do you think it is? Heartbreak? Food poisoning?” Ava ponders, already thinking of the bake sale that you participated in, and accepts a plate of visibly raw cookies from a student out of pity.

“Or maybe it’s just stress and fatigue?” He hums, pretending not to know what she was talking about. The truth is, he was aware. At least he had some idea. He saw Melissa in one of your shirts once. Chalking it up to you two having a sleepover he dropped the thought but it was admittedly strange. He tried talking about it to Melissa in a completely innocent curious way, to which she quickly shut him down. He tried asking you, but you would always find a way to slyly change the subject.

“Another theory is either a relationship or a situationship gone wrong. Probably the second one. I haven’t seen that look in a while, that’s someone who needs to get lai—”

Melissa enters after, walking towards Janine and Gregory. She asks for you but they confusedly answer that you left. Right. She knows you did. But a part of her hoped you’d stay. A tiny part.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Digging into her life seems a bit unethical.” Jacob scratches his neck, acting as if he didn’t want to know what was really happening.

“It’s not unethical if we’re preoccupied.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but Ava’s right. We should be rightfully preoccupied.” Barbara supports, earning a slight indignant expression from Ava.

“What do you mean you can’t believe what you’re saying? I’m always right. Almost always.”

“What are we saying?” Janine interrupts, smiling cheerfully at the group. “Oh…is it about the appetisers? Look, I know they’re not exactly homemade but I tried to make it look presentable.”

Melissa is right behind them, peering through the groups' eyes. She catches on to Jacob’s uneasy smile, who grabs an appetiser from a nearby platter to avoid speaking. Ava clears her throat and resumes talking.

“We know they aren’t homemade. Maybe that’s what got our friend sour.”

Ever the sweetest person, Janine’s tone changes at the mention of you. You did look a bit off. She really thought it was the food but you reassured both her and Gregory.

“Thank God because I ate at least ten of those…” mutters Gregory, offering a teasing smile when Janine bats his biceps.

“What got our colleague sour?” Melissa questioned, or rather interrogated. She knew she somehow had to appear clueless if she wanted to avoid having a discussion. The incoming questions were already giving her a migraine. Though the only person she’d trust this issue with is Barbara.

“Now, I am in no way condoning gossip nor peering into personal lives—”

“Oh, just spit it Barb.” Ava eggs on. Barbara sighs and rolls her eyes before turning to Melissa again.

“We think it might be a case of a heartbreak. The opposite of you, actually.”

Ironic.

“Is that what it looks like?” Melissa ponders, trying so hard not to let her voice waver.

“Oh, yeah, speaking of how’s your date going?” Janine smiles, knowing a bit about Melissa’s “mysterious date”, consequently allowing the topic about you to change.

“It’s…it’s going okay. Ish.”

“Are you thinking about going official?” Ava nudges her shoulder, a conspiring smile on her face. “I would like to see who’s giving you that glow. Like where did you find them exactly? Wherever it is, maybe they have more.”

She fights back from blushing, her brain rushing to moments of you taking care of her, your soft praises, how your lips traveled across every inch of her skin.

“That good, huh?” Jacob quips, instantly recognising that look she has. She had it when you left to get coffee and he could’ve sworn she wasn’t just “tired”. She was unabashedly gazing at you. The woman’s eyes widened, wondering if she should shut Jacob up. But that will for sure sell her out.

“Leave the poor woman alone. She’s not who we are talking about at the moment. But you will have to tell me everything soon, won’t you, Melissa?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell you everything.”

“In any case, I hope it’s not too bad. I’ve seen that kind of heartbreak before.” Barbara winces at the thought of your solemn face. You were genuinely bright, not too talkative, but still a positive figure at Abbot Elementary.

“Let’s all drink in the honour of our Romeo and hope it’s not that case.” Ava pours drinks for everyone, clearly not using this as an excuse to get everyone to drink.

Melissa stares down at her cup before taking another sip, hoping the cup’s contents will wash down the churning feeling in her stomach.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The next following weeks went on as usual. You preparing your lessons, marking your students' papers. You think you’ve seen fiery red hair at your door but maybe that’s just your delusion.

Melissa’s week was fairly average like yours. Except that there is an issue. She’s not able to clear her mind out of you. That and you’ve left your shirt at her place. She wondered many times if she should call for you to pick up but has decided that your relationship is already awkward as it is. That and she still hasn’t told her best friend who had her smiling dreamily.

To make matters comedically worse Jacob is somehow connecting the dots. Asking her about the shirt you’ve left. Then about you and if you two talked recently. She tried to answer his questions normally but had a gut feeling that this wasn’t just innocent curiosity.

They were now at the professors' lounge room, having just had a lunch break with everyone except you. You said you needed to catch up on lesson prep and heated your lunch and left.

“Melissa I know it’s none of my business—”

“Damn right it’s not.”

“But I was just wondering—”

“Then stop wondering.” She shrugs, moving to pack her things from the lounge room. She liked to consider herself helpful but right now what she needed was to get home. And definitely not try to text you.

Jacob quickly stops her from leaving, blocking the entrance door.

“Jacob don’t make me start—”

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

She blinks her eyes, eyebrows furrowing.

“Look I know I shouldn’t care and it doesn’t concern me. But I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Before she could even answer the door opens, making them both jump in fright. Barbara looks between them and shoots a conspiratorial glance.

“Gossiping again?”

“No?” Jacob answers as he pretends to dust lint off Melissa's shoulders. “Just catching up on…the weather?” To be fair he was a bad liar.

She shrugs his hand off her shoulder, looking at Barbara. She knows she can’t hide anything from her. What is surprising is that she can’t even hide anything from Jacob. Either he was too observant or she was becoming too transparent.

“Is anyone going to tell me anything?” Barbara raises an eyebrow, taking note of their awkward looks.

“It’s complicated.” Melissa sighs out, massaging her temples.

“I think this is something that you two need to talk about alone…” Jacob temptingly mutters, making a move to leave before the redhead grasps his wrist.

“Oh, no. You’re staying.”

It’s the least he could do for trying to dig into her personal affairs. His face is stricken with fear as Barbara’s confusion deepens.

“You might want to uh…sit down for this one, Barbara. But please don’t blame her for anything, I mean like she said it is complicated—”

“Wait, you knew about this?” Barbara inquisitions, her hand waving between her best friend and the frightened man.

“No, no, no! I mean I had some idea of it, Melissa was oblivious and I sort of figured it out—”

“Jacob. Quiet.” Melissa sits down on a chair, head dropping to her hands, mentally preparing for the incoming headache she’s about to get from all this mess.

“Will someone tell me what is going on? It’s not anything too serious is it?” Barbara takes a maternal tone, concern wavering in her voice at the sight of her friend in distress.

“You know I’ve been seeing someone?”

“Yes…? Did he…or they broke up with you? Sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s someone we know.” The redhead speaks between her teeth, shame coursing through her body. She takes a deep breath, looking at Jacob who sends her an encouraging nod.

“You know I will never judge you, right?” Her best friend moves to sit in front of her, taking her hand in hers and lightly squeezing it.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Messy.” Jacob completes, earning an exasperated look from the redhead.

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m here to listen. And not judge. That’s not what we’re here for, right?” She looks up at Jacob, who shakes his head and offers his hand in support, hoping the redhead won’t break his phalanges.

“You know we’re here for you no matter what, Mel.”

The support is surprisingly enough for her to gain a little courage. She has to do it. If not for her then for you. Silence ensues.

“It’s…it’s…well.”

When Barbara hears your name, she swears she thought it was a joke. But at the look of Melissa’s face, she knows she is being completely serious.

“For how long?” The question isn’t meant to be judgmental, but the redhead fears it is.

“Four weeks.”

“That explains everything. You tolerated Jacob’s jokes more than usual.”

“Wait…you aren’t…mad at me?”

“Sweetheart, why would I be? I’m in no place to judge you whatsoever. As long as you’re happy and safe, you are free to live your life and see whoever you want to.”

“O…okay. Thank you.”

“There is no need.”

The pair hug, while Jacob awkwardly clears his throat.

“So does this mean I’m safe and won’t get kicked out?” He shrinks back in his posture as Melissa gets up, Barbara stands with her just in case she needs to hold her back. 

“Everything’s all good.”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. I think sooner or later you were bound to find out anyway..”

“It is true that I started asking myself a couple of questions when you didn’t have your glow anymore.” Barbara nudges her, smiling at the way she fights back her blush.

“Yeah, well…it’s kinda over now, so…”

“Over? Oh, honey, this isn't over for the two of you. Not until you two had a proper conversation between adults.”

“But she’s–”

“Then tell her you’ll give her all the time she needs. But soon you will need to talk. If she does not understand that, then at least you gave it a chance. Don’t let her run anyway again.”

She knows she’s right. She can’t let this go any further.

“Let who run away?”

Janine walks in a tow with Ava and Gregory. Mr. Johnson, who walked in to look for trash, stayed when he heard something that might make his day interesting.

Melissa looked at everyone before catching your figure in the hallway. You two share a fleeting look before you leave. Everyone follows her gaze before looking back at her. Ava raises her eyebrows and sips her cup of coffee.

“This is messy.”

“Ava, stop–” Janine softly intervenes but Melissa shakes her head.

“No, she’s right. It’s my mess to fix.” She gazes at the empty spot you left, wanting nothing more but to stop you from leaving.

“Are we going to have to play matchmaker?” Ava excitedly whispers to Gregory, who places a hand over her shoulder.

“Looks like it. Or maybe this is something for them to fix themselves.”

“You’re going to have to tell us everything. If you want to, of course. No judgments here.” Ava speakers earnestly, though her voice is edged with curiosity.

“I think this is something for me to talk about later. See you after class.” Melissa smiles at the group one last time, nearly breaking into a grin when Barbara offers her a thumbs up.

She already screwed up once. She wasn’t about to let you go again. Even if you decide to let her go, she has to let you know what she had to say from the beginning. What she wanted to say.

[spindlewoed]

["Homo-sexual underground" internalized]

NEW TASK: Talk to the smoker again (optional)

***

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hello there, Gendarme.” The man offers you another one of his honeyed smiles, “I have to say, something feels different about you. Are you done with your twenty-hour mind project?”

As a matter of fact, I am.

Not really, I’d like to talk about something else.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyebrows rise minutely, “*Beautiful*. And what was your conclusion, if I may ask?”

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — He’s genuinely curious. 

It helped me have a little bonding moment with my case partner over here (point to Kim).

A waste of eight hours of my time. Don't think I gained anything from it. On multiple levels.

It was a very immersive thought process, very educational. I feel closer to the plight of the underground community now. I think you guys should form some sort of union.

I’m really not sure…

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant gives you a stern look before you can say more.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] — It is not your place to disclose my personal information, *officer*.

YOU — shut your mouth instantly.

It helped me have a little bonding moment with my case partner over here (point to Kim).

A waste of eight hours of my time. Don't think I gained anything from it. On multiple levels.

It was a very immersive thought process, very educational. I feel closer to the plight of the underground community now. I think you should form some sort of union.

I’m really not sure…

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He hums, contemplative. “Well of course. A measly day wouldn’t be enough time to comprehend the scope and grandeur of the *homo-sexual underground*, obviously.” He smiles again, his heart shaped lips almost breaking into a grin.

“But do tell, Gendarme. Indulge me. Have you thought about where you stand on the matter?” 

Couldn’t be me. I'm not one of those.

I’ve stopped obsessing over my sexuality, I’m afraid there’s no going back to thinking about it. That would be another eight hour project. Twelve if I’m honest.

[Electrochemistry - Heoric 15] Look for clues in your past. Try to remember.

[CHECK SUCCESS]

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Looking like a dust covered film, your memory slowly unravels in your mind. A young man, just like yourself. He’s taller than you by an inch or so. Slightly muscular, round figure. Kind eyes. An explosion of electricity travels all over your body as he places a casual hand on your lower back. No one else in the room seems to notice. Later, you’re in the janitor's closet, and small talk concerning your shared students turns into hit after hit of oxytocin as he kisses you. You don’t remember his name.

YOU — “Does it count if it was once, in a closet?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyes widen then he laughs, suddenly and openly.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] — He’s only making fun of you a *little* this time, sire. He's positively *delighted*.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Forgive me, gendarme. It’s always a pleasure talking to you." He composes himself, leaning back against the bricks. "But to answer your question - yes. I believe it counts.”

No, there’s no way. Forget I said anything.

Ok…

SMOKER IN THE BALCONY — He nods, waiting for you to reach a conclusion.

YOU — "Ok. But that was the past. How do I know that this is me, now?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He takes a drag of his cigarette while studying your face. As he exhales, his smile returns to his face like it never left.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] — He smiles a lot when you're talking to him. It’s a warm, smooth shot of dopamine every time.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “That’s up to you to figure out." He flicks the ash off his cigarette with his slender fingers. He adds, lightly: “But feel free to give me a call once you do, officer.” He winks.

Oho?

Uhu?

Ogh?

[Savoir Faire - Godly 16] Try to come up with something a little bit more eloquent.

[CHECK FAILURE]

YOU — (whisper) "Awooga…"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Pardon?”

KIM KITSURAGI — "Detective," the lieutenant interjects mercifully, "perhaps it's best we get back to the case, yes?"

YOU — "Yeah, I gotta go. See you. I mean, yeah. Bye."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He chuckles, waving his fingers goodbye. “See you around, Gendarmerie.”

[terrence-silver]

When did Terry start smoking cigars?

---

I think it's just one of those things that was 'always done' in his family growing up.

And when you grow up with something, it's just normal in your world.

His father undoubtedly smoked. Maybe even his grandfather. What if his own mother prefered those long, ladylike minty cigarettes in decorative holders? If he had any male family members we'll never know anything about, perhaps they were avid smokers too. Just the past-time of gentlemen of leisure and wealthy men in general; Unwrapping a cigar and smoking in the parlor or the study to the degree it might've been a given that one day Terry would take up the habit too, which he could've very early in life. Maybe as early as twelve or thirteen. You know how in certain families and cultures the adults tend to pour kids a little wine or give them a sip of beer 'purely to try it'? No? Well, in any case, I envision that for Terry. I can visualize him genuinely being taught to smoke and encouraged to because it was a class marker, no different from a young boy having fencing lessons or studying the piano. And what's best / worst, I don't think a young Terry himself protested the idea either. He just knew the day he'd be given to smoke was also simultaneously the day he'd be viewed as someone growing into his own. Not that anyone really knew, but I imagine by the time he was in Vietnam, he already developed a taste for expensive cigars, the manner his own superior officers, drill instructors, Sergeants and Commanders would smoke, not that anyone knew or that they would even believe it because he just didn't seem like the 'type'.

But, he very much was the type.

[duckiemimi]

Hi Mimi hoping you’re doing good If you don’t mind me asking do you have any headcanons personal or not on gojo and geto or any characters in general?

AAA what a lovely question! thank u for asking me! though i will go out to say, i think a lot of my headcanons have interspersed into some of my analyses (and fics!) 😭 i can’t help it—they’re so dear to me, sometimes i forget where i start and where they end :’) i try my best to separate, though! some of my headcanons are serious, some are plausible, and some just make me laugh. i’ll make this into a little list then:

⟡ geto and gojo did NOT get along when they first met. it was during their first class—yaga had just asked a question about what it means to be a jujutsu sorcerer. geto, the then budding honor student, raised his hand and voiced his thoughts (something righteous, something justice-driven). gojo, who was silent and aloof the whole class, couldn’t help but comment. they fought in the classroom an hour into their first day. thank god the gojo clan has money because they obliterated half the building.

(interestingly enough, that show of power was taken into consideration when they got promoted to special grades a month later!)

⟡ shoko comes from a jujutsu clan. it’s not a prestigious one like the big three, but they’re still very respected, akin to the inumaki clan. their innate familial CT is RCT—it’s why shoko couldn’t explain it well to gojo that one time; it was just muscle memory to her, innate! the loneliness took some time to learn, though.

⟡ utahime and gakuganji are related and come from one clan. they specialize in ritualistic, supporting CTs (like in the manga!). utahime went to school in tokyo, but moved back to kyoto because her family lives there and because gakuganji was the principal in that branch. (nepo baby utahime? then again, that could be said for a lot of characters here.) mei mei is her upperclassman by three years.

⟡ when gojo was younger, his retainers (along with multiple bodyguards, hidden and in plain sight) would take him out to walk around the city. it’s why he doesn’t mind traveling far for his missions because while they pile up, he enjoys the time he spends exploring different places.

(it’s also why we saw him roaming the city alone in that one panel. maybe he was ten or twelve there? he’d sneak out during his homeschool lessons when it got boring. “tell me something i don’t know.”—a pre-pubescent gojo, probably.)

⟡ during these walks he used to go on as a child, his retainers would try to prevent him from lingering too long at one place because people talk. the people in town were all afraid and in awe of him; resentful, curious, scared. he looked different, he felt different, and every time he glanced in their direction, it would unnerve them to no end. a young gojo didn’t quite understand why at first. sometimes, they’d whisper the occasional cruel comment amongst themselves. gojo’s eyes are great, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear.

whenever they’d reach the end of their walks, back at the gojo estate, his retainers would always crouch down and cup his face, darting their eyes around, wary that a clan member might see (even worse—his parents). they’d tell him that everything those people said were lies and weren’t true at all. they’d tell him that he’s a good child. it’s a core memory for gojo.

⟡ geto was in the judo club in middle school. it made him feel a little less lonely at home and it was an outlet for all his frustrations, for all the things he couldn’t say. he was more himself when he moved. then in jujutsu high, he took all the martial arts lessons very seriously because now he had reason to fight and train so hard; a purpose; a meaning. even ten years after defecting, his form and technique was still impeccably perfect.

⟡ geto was a social smoker, meanwhile shoko is a chronic one.

⟡ geto stopped smoking after he took in mimiko and nanako.

⟡ despite his busy, busy schedule, a freshly graduated gojo always made time to see how megumi and tsumiki were doing. he’d help them with their homework (tsumiki was always receptive; it took megumi some time to accept homework help), he’d shower them in souvenir sweets, and he’d walk megumi’s dogs with him. he tried his best! he still does!

⟡ contrary to popular opinion, gojo does sleep. or at least, he tries. it doesn’t really count as sleep if it’s all dream, though.

⟡ in the early days, geto tried to get mimiko and nanako to call him anything but master. after a year of them calling him that, it just stuck, and in geto’s head at the time, it fit his public image, so he just stopped trying.

⟡ mimiko and nanako enrolled in non-sorcerer schools. education is important, geto told them, but the sanitization they had to go through at home, after school, was tedious. geto would always ask them what they learned in class, making sure they weren’t empathizing with the non-sorcerers, reminding them that facts are facts and there is no meaning to them. sometimes, while mimiko and nanako wait for a cult-member to pick them up after school, they’d watch their classmates hug their parents at the gate. sometimes, they’d think of calling him papa.

⟡ geto had a crush on gojo in high school, halfway through their first year. gojo never thought about that (romance, relationships, and such) till his third year. they never acted on anything during the two years in between when they were constantly together.

⟡ whenever geto and gojo would meet during those ten years, it would always be out of gojo’s request, though he’d deny it if you asked. geto would always try to stay away (he’s burned the bridge, goddammit, he can’t keep risking the distance), but then he’d take one look at gojo and it would be hard to. he’d always regret it after.

⟡ the first time shoko and utahime drank together, it was a little after shoko’s graduation. drunk and delirious, shoko started talking about how lonely she was, and how frustrated she was because her two best friends are so fucking stupid. utahime helped her home and swore to never tell anybody about it. now they drink together pretty often.

these are the ones at the top of my head! maybe i’ll add on if i remember some more, but thanks again for asking!

[g3n3s1s-l0v3]

got anymore yronica hcs :3 ... also maybe some becca ones !! / nf

I'm gonna eat them btw . uur hcs are so good .....

ok. this is my second time answering this cuz i wrote it almost all out and TUMBLR DELETED IT ALL ABSJHDKWKWKKZ. anyways…. I LOVE BECCA BECCA PRESCOTT MY BELOVED I LOVE U BECCA BARK BARK BARK VARK

YRONICA AYALA

scared of fish. loves going to the ocean with her gals and taking hundreds of photos but absolutely hates (at least live) fish

makes callum take her out on fancy dates once a month; doesn’t even really care about the date part just likes being able to take photos in expensive restaurants + likes bragging to her friends

loves rollercoasters (especially when she was young) but kind of stopped going on them when a friend laughed at her for how messed up her hair got after going on one when she was twelve

loves spicy food (its the main type of food her parents cook lol)

lives with parents + grandpa

makes fun of smokers but vapes occasionally when she’s really stressed

favorite fruit is apple (specifically granny smith)

makes fun of callum + aaaqil when they sit ‘too close’/brush hands/are generally in close proximity; does same things with eman

severe astigmatism but thinks glasses look bad on her so she refuses to wear them, resulting in lots of migraines and headaches. the cycle repeats

loves sitcoms

refers to callum as her discord kitten in her head; has only said it once (1) to eman on accident. refused to talk to her for two days after that.

mom is a chronic smoker

actually ive decided that yes im gonna giver her the chocolate allergy cuz. i mean, its such a common food thats in so many ‘gift’ type treats…. valentines day my beloathed…. so she kinda just. ignores it. but then gets sick cause duh. she’s allergic (PROJECTION BEAM BLAST)

made fun of people that dress ‘emo’ until she met eman -> hasn’t dont it since

heavy alcohol tolerance -> sometimes challenges eman to drinking games when they’re at parties together and almost always wins (sometimes she lets her win…. sometimes)

bad handwriting when she was young -> forced herself to learn cursive and almost never writes print

has a pet hamster

studying to be a nurse -> wants to work specifically with the elderly

lana del rey fan. favorite song is pretty when you cry (sigh… she’s just like me fr… ignore the projection happening here)

BECCA PRESCOTT

loves rainy weather; hates thunder. not scared of it per se, just feels like it ruins the vibes

terrible at arcade games, especially racing games. really competitive though, so she steers clear of them for the most part as to not totally freak out on her friends when she inevitably loses)

bad grades….

smokes pretty frequently. never around gavin though

has never drunk alcohol. never ever. really wants to though

very protective of her friends and family (obviously…. thats kinda part of the whole final girl thing lololol)

calls gavin ‘dipshit’ when its just the two of them

knows how to use a gun (very well) ((specifically a pistol but has messed around with rifles when out hunting with her grandpa)

dog person (husky, specifically)

loves music, especially indie and rock. big fan of britpop too.

hates the sight of blood (the type to get nauseous when seeing it) but learnt to power through that after the whole thing with wren went down

went to the circus a lot as a kid and loved it

hates the feel of cotton + very picky when it comes to clothing

has celiacs disease but not technically ‘allergic’ to anything else

learnt how to throw knives in the mist; plans to one day get revenge against wren

wrathful woman. god bless.

doesn’t read too much but has an appreciation for the classics

trust issues.

favorite food is bacon

took latin in highschool

doesn’t really understand ‘modern’ technology but does her best to figure it out

had a boyfriend before getting sent to the mist -> not necessarily still loyal to him per se, but feels mentally too old for most people in the mist and feels weird about dating other people

knows tae kwan do

born and raised in the midwest usa (northern kansas)

(yro. if u send me a ask for rose hcs i will absolutely do it. i just want a silly picture like the ones u keep sending to go with it. :3) ((actually ANYONE PLEASE SEND ME RQ’S IN MY ASK BOX I LOVE WRITING. can you guys tell im a fic writer….))

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

The bad news is that we failed to get into the book club. The good news is that means we can go pick up where we left off at the Whirling.

I mistakenly enter Cindy's room instead of the apartment block.

A hundred tiny feet scurrying beneath the grate. The rats of the city.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Ruination has come. The broken arches betray the once grand history of this building. It towered over the harbour, until *it* happened.

Form a guess about what happened.

[Discard thought.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - A great force from the northeast fired into the city. Heavy artillery shelled the coastline, fired from the water -- a straight shot into Revachol.

The tenement acted as a defensive wall against the worst of the shelling. Until it was destroyed, and they had a direct firing line.

Take in the ocean.

Look at the ruins in the water.

Time to go. [Finish thought.]

VISUAL CALCULUS - The waves of the Martinaise inlet roll over the fallen remains of the building. The dark waters obscure the better part of the remains.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - What didn't fall into the ocean was used as scrap; what wasn't used as scrap was thrown into the ocean.

2. Look at the ruins in the water.

VISUAL CALCULUS - Those arches acted as support for something greater than what you see now.

Only three storeys stand where nine to twelve once did. Restoration has failed. What the shelling took out was never re-built.

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - Underwater, iron helmets have sunk deep into the sand and the mud. Helmets of soldiers. And their fingerbones, too. And clavicles. Littering the ocean floor...

3. Who did this? This damage?

VISUAL CALCULUS - A fleet -- the combined armies of Occident and Graad, with Mesque volunteers. A five-nation army. Hundreds of vessels.

They massed airships further down, in the bay of Revachol. The artillery was so powerful, the ships not only required gyroscopic stabilization -- they were anchored into the ocean floor as well.

Many are still there to this day. If you squint, you can just barely see the shadow on the water, far in the northeast. Cannons still ready to placate Revachol.

+5 XP

4. "Hey Kim. Do you know who *shelled* our city?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "The Coalition," says the lieutenant. "But that was a long time ago. I think we should move on. It's chilly up here."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He does not like talking politics of this kind.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - He fears the discussion might lead to disagreements. As it often does.

5. Time to go. [Finish thought.]

🎵 Whirling-in-Rags, 12 PM

Smoker's still here.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Hi again, gendarme."

4. [Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about the way he carries himself?

+1 He's so different.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] - It's the sports, he's a sports guy, all about that physical prowess and athletic skill... Nothing else here.

Ok, back to pinball, then.

3. "Let's take a closer look." (Pull out the machine.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh, great." The lieutenant sighs.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - 'CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS' reads the golden lettering on top of the backbox. There's a small column of text underneath it. The machine is coin-operated.

INTERFACING - Get the game on, finger-boy! Those flippers are *ready*.

Lean closer to read the text.

Inspect the playing field.

Insert coin.

"Pinball isn't for me." [Leave.]

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - Above the painting of a moustached man climbing a hill, a column reads: 'Inspired by the legend of Cornelius Gurdi taking on the world's tallest peak, Corpus Mundi. The Mesque legends holds that when the nation is in danger, heroic Gurdi shall return and save his people.

2. Inspect the playing field.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The theme of the game is to explore Gurdi’s climb through the perspective of goats, and to ascend to the top of the mountain in a time of trouble.

The peak of the mountain is at the top of the playfield. All the balls have small goat icons on them, and represent the goats as they race up and down the mountain.

Areas around the playfield represent Gurdi’s climb: Places he was said to have camped, which the goats can discover. Get them to the summit!

3. What's with all the goats?

INTERFACING - Indeed. Think of them as balls.

4. And Gurdi?

INTERFACING - A mountaineer? A Mesque nationalist? A goat herd? Play the damn game already.

5. Insert coin.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - It takes a while to get into a rhythm, but pretty soon you're able to keep three goat-faced balls in play with with relative ease.

INTERFACING - Go-go, finger-boy!

KIM KITSURAGI - "I feel sorry for the goats. If they only knew the kind of guy old Cornelius really was..."

"Wait, what 'kind of guy' was he then?"

"I'm pretty good at this." (Continue playing.)

"Enough with the fun." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "The kind of a guy who uses the word 'savages' a lot when recounting his travels. A Mesque nationalist."

"A racist mountaineer?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "An avid huntsman too," the lieutenant adds. "He was often photographed in his dining hall, surrounded by wall-mounted hunting trophies from every continent."

"That is *not* cool."

"Technically the human beings *are* at the top of the food-chain, so…"

KIM KITSURAGI - "He also hit his wife. And kids. Other people's kids too. Sometimes pets. Hateful little man."

"But you seem to be having fun?" He nods at the machine.

"I'm pretty good at this." (Continue playing.)

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - Your game is definitely improving. The jolly goats are flying all over the board and although a few plummet to their deaths you're never left with less than three.

Suddenly a special passage, leading to the summit, slides open at the top of the board. This is where the balls need to go.

Concentrate and aim for the narrow passage.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - Maneuvering a goat-ball into a position for a perfect hit isn't easy. More fall to their deaths, but finally the opportunity presents itself. One of them gets through.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - Tiny hammer shatters something inside the machine. Something glass.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] - An ampoule?

INLAND EMPIRE [Challenging: Success] - The last one.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The words 'PALE RUPTURE' light up on the speaker panel and the machine starts filling with a thick milky fog... something's happening.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Congratulations." The lieutentant nods. "This is where the game ends. It's a cheap way of getting more money out of the players. A stupid, nihilistic finale."

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - There's so much fog you can barely see anything. Some is actually leaking out of the machine and one by one your goats start slipping, disappearing into the milky nothingness.

INLAND EMPIRE [Challenging: Success] - Lucky goats. The fog looks soft and inviting.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Trivial: Success] - This *can* be navigated. The balls leave an almost imperceptible 'disruptions' in the fog. Use them to calculate where they hit next.

VOLITION [Challenging: Success] - The amount of focus it takes to predict when a ball-goat is in striking range is staggering, but it *can* be done. Focus!

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - You're down to your last goat, going mostly by sound -- eyes are useless at this point -- but that goat is something special. Five times you snatch him back from the jaws of death.

"Kim, it can be done -- just watch!"

[Reaction Speed - Legendary 14] Stay on the ball.

"Why do they even make these if it's impossible to win?!" [Give up, winning is too stressful.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "I am. I've seen it before. Played it too. You will eventually make a mistake -- and then it's all over."

[Reaction Speed - Legendary 14] Stay on the ball.

-1 Bad at ballgames.

No good, even with me changing into the beanie.

REACTION SPEED [Legendary: Failure] - How, if you can't even see it?

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The last goat plummets into the fog with almost suicidal glee.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - It killed himself to *spite* you.

INTERFACING - There goes nothing, finger-boy.

CORNELIUS GURDI AND THE MOUNTAIN GOATS - The machine is dead and silent. It needs serious maintenance before anyone can play again.

ELEVATOR - This small elevator is dimly lit by a bulb that's been glowing for ages. The latticed cage is open, inviting you to step inside.

Look in.

[Leave.]

ELEVATOR - Smells of nougat and sweat. Your head brushes up against the ceiling. There is a control panel to your right -- and just enough room for two people to fit in.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - The maintenance card under the control panel reads: 'Last Maintenance: 10 July '88'.

Look at the elevator controls.

"It says the last maintenance was in '88."

"I wonder what this elevator was used for."

(Close the doors and go up.)

[Leave.]

ELEVATOR - There are large rectangular buttons: 'Monter', 'Descendre', and an international: 'Call for Emergency Assistance'. That third one appears to be broken.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - A small steel plaque reads 'Halter 800'. Halter is a Königsteiner lift company who went out of business a long, long time ago.

2. "It says the last maintenance was in '88."

KIM KITSURAGI - "That it does." The lieutenant peeks in. "I say -- let's brave it."

"This elevator was last maintained in the *future*?"

"Eighty-eight... This elevator was maintained a long time ago."

KIM KITSURAGI - "No, it was maintained in '88 of the *previous* century."

"So it's *not* a message from the future?"

"That's disappointing."

"That means it's not really that safe, is it."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Look on the bright side: if it fails, we will only sustain minor injuries. I'm talking three, maybe four months in the hospital. Maximum five."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success]- It appears his whole enthusiasm is sarcastic.

3. "I wonder what this elevator was used for."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Seems like a small freight elevator for transporting machinery. For that -- it's pretty quaint." He taps the on the guttering light bulb -- it's golden in the dark.

4. (Close the doors and go up.)

ELEVATOR - The elevator screeches and rattles, like the belly of some ancient beast, as it carries you upward...

🎵 We Are Not Checkmated

Small windows, taped shut with black plastic. You can't see outside.

Boxes of tools and replacement parts line the shelves.

Schematics for a pinball machine -- futurism themed.

PINBALL MAKER'S COAT

+1 Empathy: M. Nyflox blues +1 Hand/Eye Coordination

This dusty old coat used to belong to someone called "M. Nyflox". The name is stitched into the silk lining. It smells of moths and ancient engine grease, but fits you perfectly. A strange, lonely emotion fills you when you tighten the belt around your waist.

The pinball machine has been taken apart and gutted.

LOGIC - So this is where they brought faulty pinball machines to fix them up -- a long time ago. Everything is covered with dust now...

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks around the dusty, crowded room, inspecting the tools on the shelf.

"Looks like they gave up on fixing the pinball machines at some point."

"This used to be a... pinball workshop."

Not interested. [Discard thought.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "At some point -- twenty years ago? Fifteen maybe. Before pinball went out of vogue."

2. "This used to be a... pinball workshop."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Looks like it. I'm guessing Martinaise North 22 used to be a pinball arcade before it became a hostel. There are machines left over..." He taps his foot.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - A creak, some dust falls off a shelf.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Downstairs in the hall -- next to the main door. One of them even works. I've seen one of the Hardies bang away at it."

3. [Finish thought.]

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST - You *clearly* see footprints in the downy carpet of dust covering the workshop floor.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Jackpot." The lieutenant takes out his notebook. "These, unlike everything else here, are *new*."

"Someone's been here -- within the last week or two."

"Let's have a closer look then..." (Crouch, study the footprints.)"

"Let's move on." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Three weeks maximum -- from the dust coverage. It could easily have been *one* week too. You know, officer..." He looks at you.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - This is so good it makes him forget the whole *Kimball* memory.

That would have made more sense if we hadn't left halfway through this section.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It was a *stereo-investigation* after all. It has now converged with our main investigation. Adding a new fact to *consider*."

Task complete: Explore the Whirling's secret passages

+30 XP

Level up!

2. "Okay. What does this mean?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "It means someone snuck through what seems like a secret route -- behind Klaasje's room. In the recent weeks. This may prove to be significant."

3. "Let's have a closer look then..." (Crouch, study the footprints.)

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST - Large prints, most likely made by boots. The size is hard to determine (sole could be bigger than vamp). The soles have left a pattern -- uniform, horizontal lines.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Challenging: Success] - One person has been here. They've gone back and forth. The tips point both ways.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Challenging: Success] - Shoe size is 41-42, maybe 43. It could be a large-footed woman or a small-to-average-footed man. This is, unfortunately, the worst, most vague shoe size there is.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - Of course! Damn...

"The prints look like one person went back and forth."

"This print doesn't look like the Odd-soled print we found at the hanging, Kim."

"This doesn't look like the workers boots from the hanging, does it?"

Get up. (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Between that," he points to the elevator doors in the corner, "and that," he points to the barred door.

2. "This print doesn't look like the Odd-soled print we found at the hanging, Kim."

KIM KITSURAGI - He inspects the tracks closer. "The size looks about the same, actually. They're not the same *shoe*, but they *could* be the same person."

3. "This doesn't look like the workers boots from the hanging, does it?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "No. These little... horizontal lines are different. They look custom made to me. Or some kind of foreign print? Hard to say. Still a *boot* though."

4. Get up. (Conclude.)

FOOTPRINTS IN THE DUST - Everything around you is quiet. The prints criss-cross the workshop floor.

4. "Let's move on." [Leave.]

There's a tiny hole in the wall. You see a bedroom on the other side.

BARRED DOOR - This is the barred door you tried to kick in before.

Lightly punch the door once more. Just in case.

"So what's on the other side?"

Unbar the door. [Leave]

Let the door remain barred. [Leave.]

BARRED DOOR - The door shudders a bit, as though it were laughing at you.

2. "So what's on the other side?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Unless we've veered off into a folded M dimension, I'm expecting to step out on the roof -- we could ask Klaasje about this route, see how she reacts?"

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Folded M dimension. A reference to the popular science fiction series *In System*. Look who's in a good mood suddenly (and reads science fiction).

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Yes. It *is* quite likely that we will re-emerge on the M-Plain. Brace for psychokinetic impact. (Or the roof.)

3. Unbar the door. [Leave.]

PAIN THRESHOLD - Bent metal, broken glass... your path lies strewn with the broken forms of everyday objects...

You are *The Destroyer*, the bane of inanimate matter.

Gaze upon me, stuff, and despair!

No, I'm just a disempowered individual trying to take my disempowerment out on everyday objects.

Yeah, I rip shit apart.

PAIN THRESHOLD - Look! There's a discarded milk carton on the floor. Why don't you destroy that, too?

Good idea. Fuck you, milk carton, this is all *your* fault!

No, I actually feel sorry for the things I've destroyed. (I'm sorry, milk carton.)

PAIN THRESHOLD - Kudos.

Thought gained: Anti-Object Task Force

ANTI-OBJECT TASK FORCE

Temporary research bonus: -2 Pain Threshold: Hurts! Research time: 2h 15m

Take a look at your hands. See how bruised they are? See those little scars? This is Exhibit A. The material world is holding you back. Containers, mailboxes, doors, chairs -- they are all your enemies. Always have been. Atoms themselves are in on the conspiracy, forming shapes and structures that you hate. You are energy stuck in a body. You are spirit trapped in matter. Break free! Beat up that lamp post! Let it know just how much objects *suck*.

Klaasje is already gone, so no surprising her. You know who we can tell about this, though?

🎵 Whirling-in-Rags, 12 PM

She's made around four months of payments for this room.

You see the yard below. The corpse is no longer there.

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Hey." He nods in greeting. "Was there something you needed?"

SUGGESTION [Trivial: Success] - Well, well, bringing him that new bird sure made a difference in his attitude.

3. "Garte, I saw another *thing* at the Whirling..."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Another thing -- great. I love those."

4. "Garte, what if I told you I got into the back room -- behind the *blue steel door.*"

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Oh? Okay. Well." He controls his excitement well. "I did hear you make noise back there. So -- good for you."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He's really, really holding himself back here.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - It takes a lot of willpower not to ask. Obviously he's been wanting to know what's behind the door...

"Aren't you gonna ask me what's back there?"

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Okay -- what *is* back there?"

"Skeletons. A mausoleum of the dead."

"Pinball machines. A pinball workshop."

"Nothing. The black gaping maw at the end of Time."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Yes. Ha ha. What's *actually* behind there?"

3. "Nothing. The black gaping maw at the end of Time."

+1 Apocalypse Cop

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - He shakes his head. "There is no gaping maw. If you don't want to tell me you don't have to. It's okay."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - *But please do still tell me!*

2. "Pinball machines. A pinball workshop."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Hah! I knew it. I've always wondered where those machines by the door came from -- *and* they told me there was some kind of pinball thing here too..."

"I knew it." He repeats. "Were there any back there? In working order I mean?"

Uh, not anymore.

"Why? Do you want to play? Because I might be up for a game…"

"Didn't check. Pinball isn't relevant to the investigation."

"Didn't check. Pinball is stupid."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant nods in agreeance.

+1 Reputation

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "I was... just wondering." He appears to be making a calculation in his head. "If you found pinball machines there..."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - He was *wondering* about something business-related. About how much money he could make off one.

"Thinking of turning this place back into a pinball arcade?"

"If you're thinking of selling those pinball machines, I want a fat cut. C-Suite shit." (Beat your chest.) "I'm a disruptor."

"I feel a capitalist plot coming up."

+1 Communism

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Capitalist *plot*." He rolls his eyes. "The pinball we have in the corner now is broken -- I want to diversify the entertainment options."

"It wouldn't hurt to get a little life in here. Other than the hellish karaoke machine. That one's always *causing trouble*."

+5 XP

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Yeah, those numbers he's adding up must be making good sense to him right now.

4. "There's a peephole in the wall."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - He startles. "What wall?"

"Upstairs in the secret back room -- right next to Klaasje's bedroom. I found it when I found the pinball machines."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "I'll have it fixed at once. Thank you for letting me know. I assure you -- the Whirling does *not* abide spying on its guests."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - The colour has drained from his face.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - What a shame. To fix such a good peephole.

"Are you sure *you* haven't been spying on your guests?"

"Couldn't you *keep* the hole there? What if there are some hotties staying in that room…" (Wink.)

"Alright -- you've been notified." (Conclude.)

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Absolutely not." He breathes in and out. "Fuck you for even implying it. It wasn't me, it wasn't my staff. The establishment will look at it and ascertain what it was."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - Well, he's definitely not lying -- he wouldn't endanger this business like that.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Sir, he was only asking a question. It's his job -- and mine. See that it's covered."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Yes. I absolutely will." He calms his breathing. "Sorry. It's been a bit of a day -- and now a hole in the wall."

2. "Alright -- you've been notified." (Conclude.)

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Thank you, I'll patch it up personally. Was there something else about the establishment? I hope not..."

+5 XP

There isn't, so that's going to conclude our time here today.

[izzyfitzes]

isabelle “izzy” fitz. twenty-six. nightmare baby. 

the clinking of ring clad fingers. containing multitudes. “girls who lived with their grandmas are real.” falling in love with strangers. the gossipy hairdresser stereotype personified. owner of at least sixteen pairs of sunglasses. chain smoker. sex as self harm. laughs because if she doesn’t she’ll cry. never not running from something.

isabelle fitz’s parents were not ready for children. they could barely handle themselves, spending most days after their twins were born ashing cigarettes into empty baby bottles and assuming that things would be “just fine.”

izzy’s brother noah was a colicky baby. the twins were with their parents in the rundown house in chicago for two months before noah’s crying got to be too much and the two were promptly shipped off to their grandmother’s small farm home in glen ellen. she lived there alone, largely dismissed as a crazy old lady. she spent most of her time feeding her sheep and tending to her garden. 

izzy and noah were incredibly different children. izzy could talk to a brick wall. she was excited by most things, bounced off the walls, and could generally have fun anywhere. noah was quiet, usually letting his sister talk for him, and would much prefer to sit in his room and read than go to any of the wild parties his sister would attend. 

when izzy was seventeen, the farm house burned down. it was a whole to-do, and was determined to have been an intentional fire. most people assumed it was set by noah. he was an easy one to blame, and he never denied it.

[redacted]

when high school came to an end, izzy didn’t really know what to do. she wasn’t very good in any of her classes, would’ve much preferred to marry rich and settle down in a gorgeous mcmansion in some quiet suburb and raise three kids, who she’d lovingly name mason. all three of them. 

so she went to cosmetology school. she found a real love for hair and style, and stuck with it, which she very rarely does with hobbies and tasks. she works at tres beux now.

personality wise, izzy is super outgoing, personable. loves to be loved, generally speaking, and will go to great lengths to feel liked, or even loved. sometimes she’s not sure who she really is any more, because she’s so focused on being who she thinks someone else wants her to be. sometimes she gives off an almost manic pixie dream girl vibe in a more chaotic way just to appeal to those around her. she’s volatile and impulsive, doing whatever feels good in the moment with little regard for the later consequences. a lot of this includes heavy substance abuse and a lot of sleeping with people just to feel loved.

she hasn’t seen her parents since she was twelve. they sometimes send her birthday cards, but they’re usually about a week late and hastily scribbled on. a quick “have a good yr” at most. her grandmother died two and a half years ago, celebrated by a small funeral and leaving to izzy her flower beds and about twenty dollars. she lives in a trailer now.

i am a mess for wanted connections im so sorry but i love to brainstorm. also i’m sorry this is nawt my best work but my brain is scrambled eggs trying to put izzy into words. iykyk. 

here’s her pinterest. here’s her playlist. here’s her musing tag. here’s her wc inspo tag.

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

"so long and goodnight" is just a more polite way to say "fuck off and fuck you"

Word Count: 2121 (AO3) (My Fic Masterpost)

Originally Posted on 11/27/2024

Rating: T

Summary:

Jon can't stand to watch Tim fall apart. Granted, everybody's falling apart, but, well... this one feels the most like it's his fault.

For Whumptober 2023 Day 17, Prompt #3: "Leave me alone."

"I told you a dozen fucking times, Jon. Leave me the hell alone."

"We are worried about you- " Jon tries to get through to Tim, at least a little bit, and if that means that he's bothering him during his smoke break, then so be it. Tim never used to take smoke breaks, Jon had honestly thought that Tim wasn't a smoker at all, and then everything happened; Sasha, Jon thinks, is what broke this particular camel's back, because it was only after they learned about her that Tim could reliably be found outside for fifteen-minute intervals at ten, twelve-thirty, and three on any given workday.

"You can worry about me on your own time, in your own office. Fuck. Off." Tim gets close enough that Jon can smell the cigarette smoke on him, though of course it's a smell that doesn't really fade off of him anymore. Jon wouldn't be surprised if he was a multiple-packs-a-day man, if he could hypothetically cram that much in forty-five minutes out of the workday, or else just chain smokes before and after work.

It's not like he can judge, really. He gets it; the habit he picked up in University- and it only took so long because Grandmother had sensitive lungs and she wouldn't allow it in her house- had taken years to shake, and he didn't even manage to fully kick it. Besides, it's not like there's much to worry about in the way of cancer, is there? If either of them lives long enough to get it, it'll be a miracle in its own right.

"Fine. Fine. Technically, this is company time and I'm still- I won't get into that." Jon starts to correct Tim about the 'your own time' comment, and just as quickly backpedals when he realizes that it's probably a really bad idea to pull rank right about now, especially for this kind of conversation.

Drastic measures, he thinks wryly to himself, as he digs in his own pocket for his own carton of cigarettes. "If you won't talk to me, then I'll use my own smoke break for its intended purpose." Jon says, and he's sure that a bit of his frustration has leaked into his voice. He pulls a cigarette out of the pack- and he's not even entirely sure of when he purchased this pack, it has to have been over a month ago and it's only half-empty, and he'd be proud of himself if it were any other circumstance and he wasn't in the middle of- of- well, he hates to call it a relapse, because he's not exactly about to light up the whole pack, but that's the best word he can think of.

"Do whatever the hell you want." Tim replies, tersely, and with a bit of resignation in his voice, like he's already arrived at the conclusion that nothing's going to get Jon away from this current situation aside from bodily dragging him back inside. Jon doesn't verbally respond, just takes it at face value, and lights his own cigarette and takes a drag.

They stand together in silence for a few minutes, before Tim takes the butt of his cigarette out of his mouth and drops it to the ground. He squishes it under his shoe, with quite a bit more force than Jon really thinks is necessary to extinguish it, but he's not about to say anything about it. That would just be causing more trouble than it's worth, at this point.

Tim shoves both his hands in his pockets, turns, and makes to storm back inside, but Jon- stupidly, impulsively, without even taking two seconds to think about the consequences of his actions- reaches out and catches him by the crook of the elbow.

Tim stops short as soon as he feels the resistance from Jon, as soon as it's clear that he's anchored himself to the spot. Well- if Tim really wanted to, there's not much that Jon could do to stop him from just continuing to walk, and either bulldozing past Jon or dragging him along, depending on how strong his grip is.

He looks back at Jon, after a moment, and roughly shoves Jon's hand away. Jon doesn't blame him for that particular move, and doesn't get upset about it, really; just pulls his hand back towards himself. Tim stays still, just staring, not saying a word. Jon waits, to see if Tim's going to say anything, and when he eventually decides to try again, to try to say something that Tim might listen to, Tim starts talking at the same time that he does.

Jon shuts up the second that it's clear they're both talking; he's not here to bulldoze him, contrary to how Tim is acting. Contrary to how Tim seems to feel like Jon is behaving, he's not here to steamroll or anything, just to try to have some semblance of a normal conversation, for just five minutes, maybe. That's all he's asking for.

"Don't act like either of us has anything left to say to each other." Tim grits out, and Jon takes half a step back, almost without realizing it. Jon thinks there's plenty left to be said, still, because maybe if he apologizes again and correctly, keeps talking and saying more words until he's eventually managed to get his point across in the way he's been trying to this entire time, maybe things won't be as horrible anymore.

Or maybe that's just the fact that he has said everything that really needed to be said, and he's unhappy with the result that it got him, and he somehow is still clinging to the hope that words can salvage anything.

"If this were- if circumstances even resembled normal, I'd have quit and blocked your number a long time ago by now. This isn't- I'm not here by choice, Jon, and I don't think that you've managed to actually absorb that." Tim sounds a little breathless, a little desperate, now, like he's at the end of his rope, like this is something he's reiterated a dozen different times in a dozen different ways and this is just the latest in a long chain of repeating the same message over and over again.

"I think I've absorbed it fine," Jon says anyway, "And the fact that you want to leave doesn't change the fact that you're still here, and I am still obligated to give a damn when you're driving yourself into the ground right in front of me. Yes, I know you'd rather be driving yourself into the ground literally anywhere else, but that's not the circumstance we find ourselves in, so at least let me help how I actually can."

Jon doesn't, exactly, know how he can help, in the hypothetical situation where Tim agrees to it; he can't exactly give Tim more vacation time, because it's not like he'd actually be able to use it; nor can he fire him, or undo any of the spying or anything he did in the middle of his paranoid craze.

"How?" Tim immediately calls his bluff, nearly shouting with the force of it. "How can you possibly help by being even more present in my life where, and I cannot stress this enough right now, I don't want you anywhere near me? This isn't something to be talked out, Jon! This is the kind of thing where one party leaves, and neither of us ever speaks to each other again! The toothpaste isn't going back into the tube, the fucking- I don't know what the hell other metaphor would work, here, but the trust is broken. Irreparably. You're not- you aren't even human anymore, not entirely, and you honestly believe that I'll ever- ever- trust that you're not going to use your- your- your fuck-ass, Eye of Sauron interrogation powers on me? You honestly think I'm ever going to trust you again, to the point where I can call you a friend, after all of this?"

Tim laughs, in an angry sort of way, without any actual humor in it. "There is nothing that you can say or do to help me, Jon. Just leave me the hell alone, so that I can occasionally pretend that I've actually managed to leave."

With that, Tim storms inside, not waiting for Jon to say anything in response. Jon doesn't try to stop him; he doesn't even know what he would say if he did.

Tim is right. There's nothing that Jon can do to combat that; there's nothing that Jon can do to make any of what Tim said any less true. Tim is trapped here, against his will, the same as everybody else. Tim is trapped with someone he doesn't trust, and Jon doesn't exactly know how to get that trust back, if it's even possible to do so; in their circumstances, it's more than likely a lost cause, exactly as Tim said.

It's not like Jon is much better, in the whole 'trusting people' department, and in his case, none of the people he's struggling to believe won't go behind his back have ever actually done that. They haven't proven his paranoia right. He doesn't know how to even begin to broach the idea of going back to trusting someone who's hurt him before.

It's not like he can leave Tim alone, though. As much as Tim may want him to- as much as the both of them want him to, in all honesty, because avoiding Tim is easier than trying to navigate the minefield of their conversations nowadays- Jon can also very plainly see that Tim is, as he'd said before, driving himself into the ground. He at least wants to be a decent enough person to try to pull him away from that.

As Jon takes two steps towards the door back inside, he hesitates; he stops walking almost as soon as he starts, as the thought occurs to him that maybe he's not the right person to help. He's not going to pretend that he's not a major part of the problem, here; he's not going to pretend that a lot of this isn't his fault. The question that he's asking himself is, despite being a part of the problem, can he be a part of the solution?

Or. Not solution, really. He doubts that this is a problem that can actually be solved. Alleviated, mostly? Made less intense, somehow. Slowing down Tim's descent into whatever it is he's making himself into.

Melanie, he thinks wryly, would be the perfect person to talk to Tim. They can bond over their mutual hatred of everything they're stuck with, especially me.

He doesn't even think he's wrong in his own assessment. If Tim or Melanie ever talked to each other, Jon thinks they'd get on like a house on fire- the problem with that is, neither of them would ever listen to him, or pull themselves out of their own heads for long enough to make decent conversation with each other. That, and... the feeling of camaraderie in the Archives is, despite how much he misses it sometimes, something that he thinks would feel alien now.

Besides- Jon's not exactly about to shove anybody closer to each other, whether or not he thinks they'd wind up being friends. He's... at this point, he thinks that if he tries to do anything else to make things better, it'll just get worse, and it's to the point that he really doesn't want to know what "worse" would entail.

He checks his pocket, to make sure his carton of cigarettes is actually closed, and heads inside as well, a good distance behind Tim. He glances around outside, one last time, before heading in; he's both mildly surprised and resigned to notice a tape recorder sitting on the ground just by the door.

He doesn't know how long it's been running, and he wouldn't be all that shocked if it had gotten the entire conversation. Still, he clicks the stop button, and brings it inside as he goes.

He doesn't say anything when he gets back down into the Archives; it's not like anybody would listen, anyway. Tim's got his headphones on, and is doing something on his laptop; Melanie's sharpening one of her knives; he doesn't see Martin or Basira, but he doesn't doubt that they're here, somewhere. There's no reason to interrupt anybody at the present moment.

Instead, Jon just goes straight to his office, and puts the tape recorder on his desk. He pops the tape out without bothering to listen, and puts it in his desk drawer where he's started keeping all the tapes that don't have Statement recordings on them.

[pinkeoni]

Hoodie Byers sketch

[hiwofumi]

𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗘𝗡 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗥𝗘

You and Yoshida hit the road, headed toward a night you’ll never forget.

contains fem reader and hirofumi yoshida in an established relationship, fluff, smut, smoker reader, road trip, motel room, pool sex, and loss of virginity. 3,626 words. inspired by bleachers’ song, rollercoaster. here is an entire playlist.

hellooo, it’s been a while! this is my dreadfully late gift to @blueparadis for snow’s gift exchange. I decided to align it with valentine’s day as a nice treat, but it’s actually long overdue from the holidays (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠) bella, thank you for being so, so patient with me, and happy valentine’s day, baby! and thank you to dear violet for beta reading this fic! 🖤

𝟭 ︱ 𝖶𝖤’𝖫𝖫 𝖡𝖤 𝖫𝖮𝖮𝖪𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳, 𝖮𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳𝖲

He’s overdosed with burning rubber, shifting cities, and a fine lady in his passenger seat.

Digits of varying uses illuminate the dashboard, the clock reading a little past twenty-two. Rush hour has long passed, and apart from the occasional truck or blinding headlights on the opposite side of the road, the expressway is desolate.

You’ve quieted too—Yoshida glances to see if you’ve fallen asleep. But you’re watching another worn out city pass from your open window, your hair restless in the wind.

He was the one who received a call from Public Safety that morning. Briefed on a feral devil playing havoc with the peace of a rural town, he reached frantically for the nearest pen and paper napkin and jotted away. The final question: “Are you willing to take the job?” And he responded, “I’ll let you know once I’ve talked to my buddy.”

(Private devil hunters didn’t have buddies. But youthful rebellion defied most things.)

“That’s sudden,” you said matter-of-factly on the other line, static singing in the background.

“It is,” he replied, eyeing the paper napkin scribbles in his hand as he held the phone. “We won’t be alone though—devil hunters from Public Safety will be coming too.”

“That serious, huh?” you leaned against the wall where your phone was attached. “Will we be driving there ourselves?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s a twelve-hour drive. What do you think?”

“Half a day,” you said, tipping your head back in contemplation. “Have you ever driven that long?”

“Not at all,” he said. “And I don’t think Tako could take it. If we’re going, we’ll have to make a stopover at some point.”

He named his car Tako. Compact, secondhand, and certainly not up with the times—but Tako was “beautifully flawed, just like you,” in his exact words, and you grimaced with every reminder. You’d accepted your fate of third-wheeling him and his car, but jealousy lingered.

You emphasized your eye roll while he couldn’t see you. He seemed to care more about Tako’s well-being than his own.

“Hmm . . . did you say they needed us there tomorrow?” you said, preserving a casual tone to keep him oblivious.

“I did,” he took the bait.

“All right . . . if we take this job, we can leave this afternoon, then check in somewhere later at night.”

“Sounds good to me. We’ll continue our trip in the morning and arrive there by noon.”

“So it’s settled,” you affirmed. “We’re taking the job.”

“We are,” somehow, you could sense his smile growing on the other end. “What time do I pick you up?”

“Maybe at . . .” you glanced at the wall clock hanging above your fridge, “four.”

When he arrived at your block, you were standing on the pavement, clutching the strap of your duffel bag from your shoulder. You tossed your bag into the backseat and rode shotgun, chirping, “You ready, Hiro?”

Early into the ride, the fresh breeze rolled into your lungs, ejecting the smoke you’d put in them beforehand. The wind weaved with your hair, and the sun glimmered against your skin while it set. Amidst a red light, you faced him and asked, “What were you doing before you got the call?”

He was leaning against the steering wheel, watching the countdown before he looked at you. He smiled and answered, “I was thinking about you.”

Out of reflex, you chuckled airily and faced the other way. “Weirdo.”

The light flickered green as he yelped, “Ouch!”

When the sun sank, cars poured in. Entire roads were eager to go home while you were just leaving yours. You sat in traffic as your stomach gurgled, marking the first stage of your regret for the spontaneity of your travel.

“Got any food in here?” you asked, facing Yoshida’s direction for the umpteenth time after staring out into the dreadful sea of vehicles enveloping Tako.

“None,” he answered curtly. His right hand was holding the steering wheel—or rather, gripping it. He rubbed his mouth, now dropped to a frown instead of its bright state, before resting his arm on the window.

You sighed and faced your window again, your fist pressing your cheek. “I should’ve prepared some before we left.”

Yoshida responded with silence. He never relied on words when he was displeased, trusting the quiet to speak for him. Time continued to pass, but the traffic did not.

“I’m thirsty. Do you have any water?” you asked again later.

“I don’t,”

“Ugh,” you threw your head against the headrest. “When will this end?”

“I’m upset too,” he said calmly. “I gotta pee.”

“What if you peed outside?”

“And got myself arrested?”

You scanned the small space for something useful, finding an empty soda bottle in the pocket of your car door. “What about in this bottle?”

Yoshida scowled as you held it up to him. “Baby, please.”

Your body was in a state of drought and famine; nothing to come out of your mouth would be of any help.

Tako wriggled free of congestion thirty minutes after your exchange. Yoshida stepped on the gas pedal harder than usual, and you failed to resist screaming out of your window, “Finally!”

He parked at the first fast-food restaurant in sight. As you unbuckled your seatbelt, he turned the car off, yanked the key out, and hurried to leave. “Wait, what’s your—”

“I’ll have a burger,” he said before he slammed the door and bolted to the establishment where his savior awaited—the bathroom.

You ordered large burgers, fries, and orange juice in pairs. You moaned as soon as the flavor set in your mouth, barely chewing before you swallowed your first bite. He ate slowly in the driver’s seat, watching you with amusement. You devoted your attention to your meal and your meal only, but you fed him fries every so often.

“I’m packing us food next time,” you said before taking another mouthful of your sandwich.

“I’m using the bathroom before I hit the road,” he answered with full cheeks, licking the mayo off his fingers.

You continued your journey content and relieved at last. The night was getting quiet, but with your tanks refueled, it was your time to disrupt the peace.

The last set of songs on the radio station were ones you and Yoshida knew. Yoshida’s palms banged the steering wheel to the beat, and you tapped on your door from the outside as your arm hung from the window. You replaced lyrics you didn’t know with gibberish that made him giggle. You screamed the ones you knew together, pointing fingers at each other whenever the word “you” appeared within the lines. You sang your voice and heart out, and finally, you ran out of breath.

You panted with laughter as the radio announcer bid goodnight. And then you fell into silence, the kind that reassured you were both fulfilled.

A cigarette burns from your hand now. It’s been six hours since you departed, and it would take six more to arrive at your destination.

Yoshida reaches for your thigh and gently squeezes. “Should we call it a night?”

In his momentary glance at you, he spots hypnosis in your eyes, likely from watching the world go by through your window. “Yeah,” you say. “Let’s get some rest.”

Relief hits your numb butt once you step out of the car and into the open parking lot of a standard motel. The night is crisp and silent as you and Yoshida carry your bags separately and amble toward your temporary abode.

𝟮 ︱ 𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖳𝖠𝖫 𝖡𝖮𝖣𝖸; 𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖲𝖮𝖴𝖫𝖲

You request a room with two beds only to learn after that it was futile.

The room leans on vintage wallpaper, clean white sheets, and warm light from the wall lamp between your beds. It’s as out of style as it could be, but it’ll do for the night.

Yoshida uses the bathroom after letting you go first. He comes out likening your current appearance: in fresh sleepwear and a small towel dabbing his wet face, his hand pushing his long fringe up.

You’ve cleared your bed of your things to sit on the edge and face his. He mirrors you, bouncing on the mattress when he plops down and opens his arms to you in invitation. You lurch forward willingly, and his arms lock over the small of your back. It occurs to you that your separate bed would be useless for the night.

With the lights off, you lie together. It’s as if any space where you don’t share one breath and heartbeat is senseless.

The outdoor light seeps through the curtains of your window, allowing the wall clock in front of your bed to reflect its numbers. It’s past midnight. His fingers thread through your hair. You shift your head closer to his chest, pushing your ear to hear the life inside, speaking in calm, steady tones.

You play with his hand, pressing your palms together, studying the lines etched and tracing them with a gentle finger. It tickles him, the faintest sensation left in the wake of your touch, and he indulges.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” you speak against the creases of his shirt, cheek pressed to the fabric.

“It wore off.” His arm folds under his head as he eyes the ceiling. “What about you?”

He seems to hold you tighter, lightly bracing your shoulders. His staying awake means you won’t be listening to his soft snores, or staring at his ajar mouth with quiet adoration.

“I dunno,” your arm rests across his stomach. “I’m never sleepy when we’re out of town.”

For a moment, he’s soundless, only the mild strokes of his palm up and down your shoulder. “That pool outside . . .”

He pointed it out earlier when you passed it on your way to the room. It was cyan in all its stillness, illuminating in the dark. You know what he’s hinting at.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” you ask, looking up to see his face, only to find his eyes veiled by an overgrown fringe.

But through the dark strands, you find mischief glinting back at you. And it tugs the ends of his mouth up as he entices, “Aren’t we used to that?”

𝟯 ︱ 𝖨 𝖥𝖤𝖤𝖫 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖤𝖭𝖤𝖱𝖦𝖸 𝖱𝖴𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖮𝖴𝖦𝖧 𝖬𝖤

Only as you stand a few inches away from the pool do you remember that you’re on official business—not a vacation.

You didn’t pack any swimwear. So instead of taking a dip, you and Yoshida stand awkwardly hand-in-hand in your pajamas, wary faces reflecting in the water when you lean forward with caution.

“Do we just . . .” he starts, but never finishes. You glance at him, thinking how ironic it is that he’s apprehensive now when he had gotten the idea moments ago.

But you’d already taken the steps to arrive at this point. You got out of bed, stepped out into the studded, cool night, and strutted on the concrete leading to the pool. Why turn back now?

You drop his hand, failing to notice the confused look he gives you before you pull your shirt out of your head. You look at him once the shirt meets the ground; framed by his dark strands are two astounded eyes. You grin devilishly at him, thumbs sliding beneath the garter of your pajama pants.

Yoshida’s mouth hangs open at your overt choice of stripping. His eyes skim your back as you stray toward the pool, taking in the shade of your skin, the hook that keeps your bra in place, and the fabric that bends to the shape of your hips going downward. He flushes, urgently looking away.

“Hey,” you glance at him again, your feet submerged as you descend the steps of the pool, and lilt playfully, “Don’t back out now.”

Tiny smooth stones press against the soles of your feet. He shuts his near-dry mouth, then swallows. Your uncovered state is nothing he’d quite seen until this point. But it would be foolish to spend the rest of the night gawking in a moment dedicated to you and him.

The uncanny warmth of his body radiates as he peels his clothes off, t-shirt and sweatpants meeting your pajamas on the ground. He follows into the pool in a pair of loose boxer shorts.

Icy water engulfs your shoulders down. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s fucking cold,”

Yoshida catches up with you soon, his arms sliding around your waist from behind. “Will this do?” he asks, holding you to his chest. His skin is damp but warm, and your head slots perfectly under his chin.

“That’s perfect, Hiro.” You tell him softly, settling into his frame. Your hands rest on his folded arms; your heels press against his feet. In that cozy stance, he proceeds to waddle.

You giggle as you sway together, the water sloshing. Soon, you break free of his grasp to splash him, and his arms cross over his face to defend himself before retaliating with bigger splashes. You chase after each other in the pool, noisy spurts from flailing arms on opposite ends. You don’t surrender until water enters your nose and mouth.

As you cough relentlessly, he approaches with wry laughter and asks, “Are you okay?”

He wishes he’d stayed far when you answer with the biggest splash of water shoved into his face. He backs away with his face in his hands, the ugly taste of pool water in his mouth, and the painful feeling of it in his nose. He coughs it out, just like you, but mixed with a sense of betrayal that soon translates into more eager playfulness.

He turns to you again and scoops you into his arms with a wide grin. “Should’ve seen that one coming,” he says as you giggle and try to wriggle free of his grasp, but to no avail. You give up and let him lift your feet off the pool floor, your arms wrapping around his neck.

His hair is soaked and flopping over his eyes, making it hard to see the affection held for you under it. You smooth it back with a gentle hand so you can admire him.

You often craved a clear view of his face—his hair usually concealed half of it. You wanted to see him, and you wanted to be seen by him. It had become a habit to push his hair back whenever you felt like it, and he’d always thought you never noticed how his heart fluttered over it.

But you always have. You feel it when your hand moves from the back of his head to the peak of his neck, where his drumming pulse resides. You see it in the expansion of his dark pupils while his glimmering gaze fixes on you.

His forehead is exposed, droplets dappling his cheeks from your childish frolic. His breath warms your face as you inch toward his lips. He welcomes your kiss with a knowing tilt of his head, a parted soft mouth, and a light squeeze of his arms around your body.

Yoshida numbs you from the rest of the world by filling all your senses, starting with the small noises of his moving kiss, progressing to the nudge of your back against tile and stone. A gasp enters his mouth after the impact, and he swallows willingly.

His warm lips brush your cheek, sliding down your jaw and lowering to your neck. He opens his lips to the curve that links your shoulder, hard teeth grazing your skin. It’s new, and it’s admittedly scary, but you tilt your head in flowering welcome.

“Is this all right, Hiro?” you ask softly, lacking breath. He leans back, leaving your skin cold to meet your shy gaze.

“If you’re not sure, we can stop.” His words reassure with sweet undertones. You realize from his calm that he’ll accept any direction this goes.

You’re in a pool of heat now. Your breath has strayed from its usual pattern, and you take pleasure in his keen grip. You’re passionately aware that under your skin is a beat attuned to his doing, his intimate intentions. You know it’s under his skin, too. With him infecting your every nerve and vein, you come to a decision.

“I want this,” you whisper, hand gliding over the back of his head. “Do you?”

Yoshida’s gaze glimmers with intent, struck by a wave of certainty. “I want you more than anything.”

You find confidence in confirming. You reach for the lock of your bra and unhook it, paying rapt attention to the growth of his eyes as they set on your naked chest. You toss the piece behind you to the elevated floor.

Flushed but resolute, he reaches forward and cups your breasts, cutting your breath midway. He massages the plush with firm but gentle hands, and a slow current of ecstasy cascades through your clenched body. He leans past your neck to take your nipple between his lips. Your mouth slacks in pleasure, echoing a shocked whine as you tip your head back.

His tongue’s motions jolt and relieve you at once, your chest lifting and falling against his face with urgency. Underwater, your pelvis aligns with his crotch. You press further into each other naturally, two sensitive parts rubbing in heated motions.

Yoshida’s eyes flutter up at you before he pulls back, the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue. He leans toward your ear and whispers, “You drive me insane,”

His fingers slide into your panties, and your back arches when he begins to stroke in the raw. A warmth scatters to your stomach, rising to your chest.

He leans back to heed the pleasured twist of your face. He drinks the pinch of your features, the rapid tumbles of your sounds. Livened, his two fingers ease into you carefully, but the pain of it only helps your cries.

“Should I stop?” his voice carries concern from the strain of your fingers digging into his back. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to. And you know this—you can tell from how his fingers continue to nudge their way in, stretching you further. You don’t want to, either.

“No,” you gasp out, indulging in his motions, “Don’t stop.”

He’s delighted, and it translates to the intensity of his fingers’ thrusts, so long and slender. His lips brush over your ear. “You take it so perfectly,”

As graceful as you are in absorbing the bliss of his advances, you still want more. “I want you, Hiro. I want to feel you.”

He’s been hard, clenching tight. A fever that burns even in water, spreading beneath his flushed skin. He tugs his boxers down, holding his length to your cunt after pushing your panties aside. He takes the need that’s been weighing on his stomach, and he slides himself in with a smooth stroke.

“Fuck,” he moans breathlessly, throbbing against the squeeze. “Oh, fuck. You feel so good.”

You clutch his back desperately, fingers digging into shoulder blades. “Hirofumi,” you shiver, cunt clenching around his girth. He rocks his hips in a steady rhythm that melts you from the inside and renders him weak.

He leans toward you as you wind each other tightly, his head dipping into the bend of your neck, scraping your skin with his teeth. You sense your blood concentrating on the chafed spot under his lips. His pace picks up, and your fist curls in his hair.

He lifts his head to admire you again. Your vision is in motion blur, coming from a light head that hasn’t gotten sleep, but your narrow gaze keeps the sight of him intact. Your fingers skim his parted mouth, brushing over the mole underneath it. Your rushed breaths fog the gap between your faces, but you look past this, leaning in for a sloppy kiss.

You take his taste into your mouth and lose yourself in the seconds, the rough scrub of your skin against the wall, and the mind-melting pure ecstasy. Your lips no longer push with his own, parting entirely to moan. “Ah,”

Your head falls back, reaching for the sight of twinkling stars. Right below, your body jerks with the repeated motions of his hips, and your cunt constricts around his length, urging him.

“Fuck,” he pulses on as you squeeze him, beating furiously amidst rapid movement until you loosen and he reaches his high. With a swift tug, white blends with the water of the pool.

The high subsides with heaving chests and hot faces. He lets your feet meet the floor slowly, running his palms up to your hips afterward. Your arms loosen around his nape but remain entwined, and you lean in to kiss warmly.

“Are you all right?” he asks gingerly, hazy eyes setting on you. He rubs your hips, squeezing with care.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. Tired, sore, but utterly content and comforted. “I’m perfect. What about you?”

“You are perfect,” he grins, barely apart from your face, making your chest bubble. “Geez. You’re too pretty.”

“Stop,” you giggle, hitting his back lightly. “Just answer my question.”

His smile softens, and his answer is earnest. “I feel great, honestly.”

“Yeah?” you ask, drawn by his gleeful demeanor.

“Yeah.” He answers, affection carved into his lingering gaze. “I’m in love.”

You laugh lightheartedly. “So am I. Deeply.”

Satisfaction blossoms in his chest, his smile bending toward a playful smirk. “Way into it?”

You nod, instantly giving yourself away. “Way into it. I think you’re perfect for me, Hiro.”

“Of course I am,” he leans in, bumping his forehead into yours. “No one else can have you but me.”

With a smile seemingly permanent, you kiss his lips. “There’s no one else I need.”

Your head rests on his shoulder as he carries you back to the room with reverent adoration. After a brief and shared shower, you dry yourselves, lie together, and fall asleep.

@tokyometronetwork

[doccywhomst]

real talk, which doctor would you smoke a blunt with? what would even happen if a time lord smoked weed

i remember something from "Alien Bodies" (EDA) about how timelords can't really get drunk (and therefore probably can't get high), but fuck that. let's play in the space for a bit. *drugs, smoking, alcohol cw*

first doctor: he pretends to discourage drugs and alcohol around humans but then goes to other planets and is like "this is the snorgal ham plant and it does unthinkable things to your mind and body" before swallowing it whole

second doctor: he's a chatty drunk and a quiet smoker, he's so chill that you think he might be dead until he randomly says something like "jamie? how many hats do you think i can wear at once???" in a distressed voice

third doctor: he's done literally every single drug you can imagine for scientific purposes. this man has been crossfaded upside down and sideways. jon pertwee was out here lookin like this in the 70's and he had a villa in Ibiza. bitch smokes weed.

fourth doctor: he doesn't even need drugs, my mans is already sky high from the adrenaline rush of one eternal manic episode. he's never been sober in his life. 

fifth doctor: look, i love him, but he'd be a total dad about it. he'd say some dad catchphrase like "no, no, you know me - i stay on my toes, i stay sharp" and then swing a cricket bat and break a priceless vase

sixth doctor: you pass him the blunt and he laughs. "what, that's all? no triglyceride tetrachrolonitrine 5? no Lady's Nightgown? no double helix paper?" he pulls this monstrosity out of his pocket.

seventh doctor: he's so fucking neurotic that you can't even get him to sit down. he tries but then he sees something shiny and goes to investigate. it was a cyberman. he commits some war crimes.

eighth doctor: legally not allowed to have any kind of stimulant or depressant, per Liv's orders. keep him away from the coffee and sweets. he hasn't slept in four months, thirteen days, nine hours, forty-five minutes, seven… eight… nine seconds. yes, he's counting.

shalka doctor: smokes HELLA kush, on god, but you already knew that.

war doctor AND ninth doctor: continues to smoke lethal amounts of weed and drink fruity cocktails to cope with specters of the past. jesus christ, that's his fifth strawberry daiquiri in twelve minutes. someone hide the white rum.

tenth doctor: he has girls' nights with donna where they hotbox venusian saunas and listen to katy perry. don't let the existential dread set in. don't let it set in. let's do some karaoke.

eleventh doctor: 

twelfth doctor: you know, i've seen all of his episodes many times, and for the entire duration of his run, i never saw him stop vaping weed. must be the respiratory bypass. he's always spewing thick clouds and flipping everyone off with both hands. it's an interesting cinematic choice.

thirteenth doctor: her tardis literally looks like the inside of a disco ball and you think she's sober??? well, you'd be right, because she doesn't know how to find a dealer and she's too scared to ask. someone help her. 

please please tell me which one you'd pick, i genuinely want to know. i think that every single Doctor is a disaster and smoking with any of them would result in my immediate demise, but if i had to choose, it would probably be twelve. let's go out blazing.

[spinel224]

The Soulmates- Laxus x Oc

I FINALLY FINISHED THIS!! This is a small glimpse into Nelly and Laxus relationship. or the beginning of it atleast. theirs is definetly the most complex out of them all as Nelly and Laxus have known each other the longest. I just love him okay! hes so handsome :( also i messed up a bit with the timeline, Nelly is twelve when she joins fairy tail and thirteen when this story begins.

summary: Nelly has been in Fairy tail for a few months at this point and is starting to settle down and met everyone. though there is one person who is still a mystery to her, Makarovs grandson Laxus. what do the fates have in store for these two?

Growing up in Fairy Tail was not what I had expected. As I had been born to a magic negative village, it felt strange suddenly being surrounded by it on a daily basis. At first it felt suffocating, like I was in a cloud. It was nowhere near the feeling I had when near Acnologia, however, it felt like I was drowning in a lake with a thick cover of ice on the surface. Though Makarov and Gildarts did a lot to help me adjust to the feeling as well as helping me get used to using my magic in a controlled and safe environment, and a couple months after my arrival I turned thirteen. 

As a member of Fairy Tail, that meant I was constantly surrounded by other people, and due to years of isolation, I had a hard time making friends. The first child to approach me was the redhead I saw on my first day. She was very nice but had a suffocating feeling surrounding her due to her magic power. That made it difficult to interact with her at first. Her name was Erza Scarlet and she was weirdly strong for her age. Though I was introduced to another girl shortly after my arrival. Her name was Cana Alberona and she used card magic. She was really nice but she seemed sad sometimes, she’d stare at Gildarts with this look of yearning alot. We were both fairly shy which made it easy for us to understand each other. 

Shortly after meeting Cana and becoming friends I was introduced to a boy with raven hair and a bad stripping habit. He was easy to get along with and never pushed me to talk. It was weird that we got along as well as we did. His name was Gray Fullbuster, and he ended up declaring me his sister a few months into our friendship. I mostly avoided the guys, they were so loud it was hard to think around them, except for Gray at least. Though after a while I became more and more comfortable in the Guild. There was just one person I had yet to meet.

His name was Laxus Dreyar and he was Makarov's grandson. I had seen him around the guild but he was always angry. He constantly had headphones on and walked away from people when they talked to him. But one day, our fates became intertwined. I was walking through Magnolia by myself. There was a bakery that I had heard Erza had told me about when we had officially introduced ourselves to each other. It was only a few blocks away from the guild and my confidence had been growing. Gramps had been helping me feel safe enough to explore Magnolia alone and to start doing things myself. 

I had been listening to music with the music player Gildarts had given me to help when things got too loud for me. I took a deep breath and soaked in the nice weather. It felt nice to be able to appreciate the sunshine properly, as previous to my joining the guild I was frequently in survival mode. Continuing my walk I had my eyes closed listening to the music in my ears, until I walked into a wall. Taking a step back I opened my eyes. Two guys stood in front of me, sneering. One had a cigarette hanging from his mouth and the other stood leaning forward. 

I took my headphones off and apologized for running into them and turned to walk around them. The smoker pushed his hand out in front of me. “This a Fairy Tail brat?” The other guy confirmed his question, noticing my guild mark on my chest. “Think we can get a decent jewel if we hold onto her for a bit?” the other man grunted in agreement. Panik overtook me. I started to turn in order to run towards the guild hall when one of the men grabbed me. I quickly turned towards my assailant and bit him as hard as I could and went to run again. I fell and landed hard on the ground, one of the guys had hit me down. They stood over me, sneering angrily. 

The smoker reached for me again as I sat on the ground. Then a bright light- which caused me to close my eyes- and a loud crashing sound was heard. Opening my eyes once the light died down, I saw the two guys covered in soot and frozen in place until they fell backwards into the ground. “Don’t you know it's rude to bother someone smaller than you?” turning towards the new voice I felt my eyes widen in shock.

Laxus Dreyar stood behind me with his hands in his pockets and his headphones on his ears. He glared angrily at the two men on the ground, “Picking on the newest member of Fairy Tail? That's probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard” The assailants stood and after shouting a few insults towards the lightning mage, booked it as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Laxus walked up to me and held his hand out, “You’re that girl Gildarts found right? You okay?” Nodding quickly I tried to reassure him I was fine, until I put pressure on my right ankle at least. Grimacing, I folded over a bit from the pain. “Yeah you look fine.” He started sarcastically with a hint of a smile on his face. 

He helped me to a nearby bench and sat down with me. “What are you doing by yourself? Isn’t Gray or Cana normally with you?” He asked, and I explained that I was trying to build my confidence and get used to Magnolia as my home. He nodded in understanding. Looking down he scratched his neck and asked, “So where were you headed?” I told him I was going to the bakery I had heard about and wanted to try some of their sweets. “You should probably get your ankle checked out though. It may be broken.” Agreeing with him I went to stand, only to be pulled onto his back before I could register what was happening. He started to piggyback me back to the Guild hall. 

When we got back- after much arguing about him carrying me- Makarov had my ankle checked by one of our healers, who said it would be fine in the morning. I was relieved that I hadn’t broken it trying to run away. Makarov asked me what had happened and once I opened my mouth to respond I was interrupted. “A couple losers tried to kidnap her. She fell when one of them knocked her down.” Laxus had explained what had happened. Makarov then decided it would be a good idea for me to have someone with me while out for the time being. Just to be safe. 

The next morning I was talking to Cana. “Nelly! Follow me real quick.” He called out to me while heading towards the door. Confused I looked to Cana for help and she smirked at me, pushing me out of my chair. I walked out of the guild to where Laxus stood looking back at the doors. He gestured with his head for me to follow him. “How's your ankle?” He asked quietly as we walked together. “It's fine now! It doesn't even hurt!” I replied excitedly. He nodded his head as a response. I noticed he was slightly faster than me and I had to sprint a little to keep up. He seemed to notice and slowed down a bit so we could walk side by side. 

As we walked we spoke about our interests- favorite music, foods we enjoyed, even our magic- he even told me about his father and how he got the scar over his eye. It felt strange, in that short time it felt like we had known each other forever. Eventually Laxus stopped and walked up to a door, holding it open for me. It was the bakery I was going to yesterday. I blushed and rambled about how he didn’t have to take me here. “Hey, those assholes interrupted you yesterday.” I stopped arguing and we walked up to the counter ordering our food. I went to pull out some money when Laxus pulled out enough money for both our orders. 

He left me no room to argue and we sat down at a table after we got our food. The strange thing was, it didn’t feel awkward at all. It felt right. Like we were always supposed to do this. We spent a lot of time together after that. We never specified if we were friends or not. But we also just kinda knew what we were, to and extent at least. Being with Laxus felt easy, safe even. He had proven twice in such a short time that he would keep me safe. 

After that we were inseparable. We went on walks together and he showed me different shops and places he felt I'd enjoy. The other members of the guild started to joke about how cute we were together and asked when our wedding was going to be. It always made me blush and get all nervous. Laxus would start yelling about how we were still teenagers and had met only recently, but never tried to correct them about our relationship. 

As time passed we got more and more close, yet never did anything pass hugging and the occasional cuddling. As we got closer I noticed my dreams had changed. Instead of the usual destruction and death I was shown it morphed into peace and tranquility. No more screaming and no more mountains of corpses, just fluffy clouds and flower fields. Laxus was my rock growing up, my safety net. As we got older however, he started to change. Then our fates began to shift, and my rock began to erode.