#if you somehow manage to read through all of this then congrats

[avis-writeshq]

heyyy omg I love your writings so much! congrats on your latest milestone, it's DESERVED 👏 can I pls request track one with spencer reid where he gets an epiphany and decides that he wants to propose to his girlfriend? just superrrr cute and fluffy 😍 thanks a lot!!

glue song – spencer reid

summary: “but you’re here, and so i love you.” in which spencer realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. pairing: s5!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: established relationship, fluff warnings: spencer in a knee brace (tell me why that’s attractive. why does he look good at his worst. face card never declines), he’s genuinely obsessed with you, not proof read oops a/n: thank you so much anon !!!! i’m so sorry it took so long to post; i kept changing and editing it hahaha i hope you enjoy it !! wc: 1.05k

“Careful watch your– no, pivot a little, pivot–” 

“I am pivoting! There’s nowhere to pivot to! Why is it so messy?”

You suppress a grimace as you manage to somehow squeeze your way through Spencer’s tiny doorway and into his apartment, the shoe rack on the side dangerously close to his damaged knee. You stumble a little as Spencer grips your shoulders tightly for support, his other hand holding onto a crutch. 

“Maybe we should move into a bigger apartment,” you muse, helping him to the couch. Your gaze shifts to his injured knee, your face falling. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I think about it. Which is pretty much all the time,” Spencer says, wincing as he finally collapses against the cool leather cushions. “Thank you for doing this.”

You look almost offended at his words as you brush his hair out of his face and into a makeshift ponytail. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?”

He hums as he feels the way your fingers pull lightly at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. “Thought you’d get tired of me. After, you know, everything.”

“None of that was your fault,” you remind him swiftly. “This–” you gesture to his knee– “isn’t either.”

He softens, leaning his cheek on your shoulder. You’ve been there for him through everything and he knows what specifically it is you’re referring to. He could see it from the moment his doctors informed you that he wouldn’t take the vicodin they had prescribed to him to soothe his discomfort. His thought process makes sense; he didn’t want to risk it. Regardless, he was left with a growing pain in his leg that didn’t shake even after taking toradol. 

“I’d never get tired of you,” you clarify, squeezing his hands. “You’re too pretty to get tired of.”

He lets out a proper laugh as he squeezes back. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being serious!”

He laughs again, shaking his head adamantly. “Liar.”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Spencer beams in your direction, pressing kisses against the soft of your jaw. “You’re right.”

A triumphant smile spreads across your face at his words. “Exactly.”

*** 

From his spot on the couch, Spencer watches guiltily as you hustle and bustle about in the kitchen, grabbing plates and filling them to the brim with the food you ordered from the Chinese place he loves. He feels bad seeing you work so hard looking after him; especially when you have your own workload to take care of. He doesn’t even notice that you’ve already placed his portion of food in front of him until you whack him lightly on his head with some napkins. 

“Stop it. I know what you’re thinking.” You shoot him a half-hearted glare as you snap open your chopsticks. “I want to do this. I truly don’t mind.”

“You’re already doing so much,” he insists, “I’m okay, angel, I swear.”

You are not easily convinced and you point to the list of things the doctor suggested you to do in order to ensure Spencer’s speedy recovery. “I have a responsibility, Walter. What will your team do without you?”

“They’ll live,” he assures, reaching a hand out to massage the muscles by your shoulders. “I think you’ve seen me naked more the past two weeks than you have our entire relationship.”

“Well it’s not my fault that you need to bathe,” you argue, stabbing at your noodles. “You love it really.”

His cheeks burn with embarrassment at the accusation. “I do not! It’s humiliating.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you soothe, smiling at him. “Besides, it’ll only be like this for a little while longer.”

“If you consider five months to be ‘a little while longer’,” he quips as he shovels food into his mouth.

You let out a laugh, not finding offence is his sarcastic blow. He thinks you’re a blessing and he figures that you definitely are. Who else can deal with the problems of him being, well, him aside from you? Spencer doesn’t know what he would do without you. How could he when you manage to push all the darkness and negativity away?

“I’m lucky to have you,” he says finally, his gaze on your face. “You’re so good to me.”

You hum in response, wiping your mouth and curling into his good side, draping an arm over his middle. “That’s true. You’re good to me, too.”

He brings his hand over your waist and kisses the side of your face in an act of reciprocation. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears at the sudden compliment and you can’t help the silly bashful smile that pulls at your lips. Your mouth opens and closes, deciding on what to respond with before you settle with a simple, “Thank you.”

It’s the honest truth. There’s a look about you that tells him that you don’t believe it, but he doesn’t say anything more to try and convince you. He tells it to you everyday; he’s sure that you’ll end up accepting the compliments more readily. Your being beautiful might have been what had drawn him to you in the first place. Although he isn’t entirely sure. He recalls a certain folktale about invisible stings and how it was tying him to you. There’s something pretty about that thought, the mere idea that you were made for him and he was lucky enough to actually hold you in his arms. 

You’ve turned the television on now, a romance movie playing on the screen with familiar actors. It’s supposed to be a comedy, at least that was what the description on the DVD said, about the main male lead reminiscing about his year that he spent with some manic pixie dream girl. Spencer doesn’t understand how that could be comedic but you seem to enjoy it. 

Spencer has tuned out the movie now, finding entertainment in the reactions you have. Your face morphs into different emotions with each dramatic scene and in that moment Spencer realises one very important thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“What was that?” you ask obliviously and you lift your eyes to look up at him. 

“Nothing,” he dismisses, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Just keep watching the movie, angel.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

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[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

A/N: 🚨🚨 Lobotomy Kaisen: Bootleg K-Drama Edition 🚨🚨 At this point, I am single-handedly running a low-budget, emotionally devastating K-drama, funded by ₩5 & the spare serotonin I found when my cat smacked me. This chapter? Peak “second lead deserved better” energy. If you squint (or are sadistic), our Nanago girlies are feasting tonight. To my loyal readers who send comments/messages—y’all are the reason this fic is still breathing. I had fully lost hope in this series bcs I thought no one wanted to read it anymore, & I had the worst writers block ever, but here we are, back from the grave. Small confession: I proofread this while high on my sleep meds (calm down, it’s all prescribed—ya girl’s got Olympic-level insomnia). So, if some bits feel like I hijacked my own fic mid-scene or if a random paragraph hits like Whiplash—congrats, you’ve found one of my self-inflicted plot derailments. Think of it as an Easter egg hunt: Find the bits that are just me roasting my own writing and/or hating on the men shamelessly. Bonus points if you guess which parts were written before vs. after I started hallucinating colors with smells. Don’t worry, next updates will be soon—turns out being delirious is my peak creative state because now I have too many ideas for my hands to be able to write before detaching themselves from me & asking for labor law rights. Now, let’s dive into this delicious dumpster fire. 🔥

Previous Chapter 15 (alt ending 2.6) - Ibiza (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 16 (alt ending 2.7) - Placeholder: This Should Have Been Love

Few Years Ago: Before Realizing

The Golden Era of Group Chats (Before You Ruined Everything)

Group Chat: Gohoe & his pimps 🏴‍☠️📜🍷

(Created by Hentai Kakashi. The name changed hourly. Nanami kept changing it back to ‘No.’)

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: Did you eat?

You: Yes.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: PROVE IT.

You: ??

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: SEND A PIC or it didn’t happs.

His English was still bad.

You: This is weird.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: Stop entertaining him.

After a while of staging an “accidental” run-in with you that day, the men had to return home—not because they wanted to, but because Yaga was dangerously close to storming in and dragging them back to Japan by their ears. Nanami reluctantly dragged Gojo away, though the latter’s protests were loud enough to echo through the entire airport. You promised to stay in touch, waving them off with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Surely, they’d have someone back home—someone more suited to their chaotic, high-stakes lives. And after all the harmless flirting, they’d forget about you once they got back to fighting curses and dealing with the endless drama of the Jujutsu world.

But they didn’t.

Instead, they texted. Whenever they had time. And you replied whenever you had time. It started out fine. Normal, even.

The time zones made it tricky, but you’d figured out a system. Calls were rare—Nanami refused to let you stay up past midnight, and Gojo somehow always picked the worst possible times—but texting was manageable.

The group chat, though, was a disaster.

It existed mostly as a place to roast Gojo. He’d been banned from sending voice notes after holding down the button and belting out an entire off-key rendition of Smooth Operator with his cute English. Nanami only typed in full sentences, like an exasperated father monitoring his delinquent child. And you? You contributed memes, the occasional insult, and once a video of Megumi’s dogs destroying your latest gaming console prototype, which made Nanami send a single, ominous, "That was preventable."

Sometimes, Gojo’s texts were absolute nonsense:

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: If I die, tell everyone I was hot and mysterious.

You: No one thought you were mysterious.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: No one thought you were hot either.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: YOU KNOW WHAT. BOTH OF YOU ARE BLOCKED.

Or completely deranged:

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: What if we kissed but also you let me name your next game protagonist?

You: Oh no.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: Don’t engage.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: Come onnnn 😚 I already have names picked out:

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: 1. DomainDripLord

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: 2. SixEyesSnipes

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: 3. xX_LimitlessCarryGod_Xx

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: 4. InfinityFlexxer

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: 5. HollowPurplePapi

You: No one is calling you Papi, freak. Kento, please install parental control in his phone; he’s spending too much time with 14-year-olds.

Nanami’s texts were, as expected, normal and adult-like in comparison:

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: I read an article about the burnout in the gaming industry today. Are you facing similar challenges?

You: Yeah. Work’s been exhausting.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: Take a break.

You: Wow. I didn’t think of that. Thanks, genius.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: …

And yet, sometimes, he too could be unhinged:

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: Gojo is currently attempting to cook.

You: Oh god.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: WHO SAID I COULDN’T??

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: The smoke alarm.

You: I just saw a guy at the store that looked exactly like a younger version of Kento.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: OH MY GOD BABY NANAMIN?? WAS HE WEARING A SUIT???

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: I am blocking both of you.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: [Image Attached: a blurry zoom-in of some random salaryman in a tan suit.]

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: NANAMI IS THIS YOUR SECRET SON???

You: DNA TEST WHEN?

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: You are both insufferable.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: THAT'S NOT A NO.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: [Nanami has left the chat.]

You: LMFAOOOO HE LEFT.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: He’ll come back. He always does.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: [Nanami has rejoined the chat.]

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: If either of you texts before 6 AM again, I will make sure you regret it.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: SEE?? HE CAN’T STAY AWAY.

You: Stockholm syndrome, honestly.

Daddy Blade🗼⛓️: It is not Stockholm syndrome. It is suffering.

But beyond the chaos of the group chat, real conversations happened in private messages.

Gojo was an unpredictable texter. Sometimes he’d disappear for days, only to spam you with a series of completely unrelated messages at three in the morning.

03:03 AM

Hentai Kakashi: Hey. R u up?

03:07 AM

Hentai Kakashi: No wait. Sleep. Nanamin will kill me if he finds out I woke u up. Again.

03:09 AM

Hentai Kakashi: But like. If u are awake. I had a nightmare. It was about… ducks. A whole army of them. Staring. Judging. I think I have enemies in the bird community.

03:15 AM

Hentai Kakashi: …Ok I’ll stop now. Goodnight.

03:16 AM

Hentai Kakashi: But if u wake up and see this, pls validate me. Ducks are scary.

Nanami, on the other hand, texted with the precision of a man writing formal emails even when sleep-deprived.

07:30 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: Good morning.

07:32 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: I assume you are still asleep. That is good. Sleep is important.

07:45 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: When you wake up, let me know if you need anything.

09:14 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: I received an alert about a financial transaction on your account. Did you just spend an unreasonable amount of money on coffee and, if so, was it necessary?

09:16 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: Never mind. That was a redundant question. Of course it was not necessary.

09:17 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: I am not controlling your finances, but I am concerned about your caffeine intake.

09:45 AM

Tax Evasion Daddy: I hope you had breakfast.

10:00 AM

You: How'd you get my spending details??? 💀 

But beyond the chaos, beneath all the sarcasm and petty fights, something real lingered in their messages.

Even in the absurdity of Gojo’s 3 AM texts, even in Nanami’s overly formal check-ins.

They weren’t just texting because they were bored.

And neither were you.

It should have been frustrating, but it wasn’t.

You started checking your phone between meetings, expecting their names to pop up. You caught yourself laughing at one of Gojo’s ridiculous voice messages. You reread Nanami’s texts at night, the weight of his words lingering long after you put your phone down.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this meant.

And that was the problem.

Because you’d never let yourself want something like this.

So you did what you always did when something felt too big, too complicated. You ran.

Not literally. Not yet.

But you started responding less. You claimed you were busy—which wasn’t even a lie, just a convenient excuse. You let calls go to voicemail. The group chat became an unread notification you swiped away without a second thought.

It didn’t take them long to notice.

Gojo was the first to call you out.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: You hate us now??? damn. Guess I'll go die in a ditch.

Sensei Slay☀️🦕: Or maybe you just love Nanamin more than me. Understandable. Tragic. But understandable.

Nanami’s response was quieter. Less obvious.

Sassy Daddy🗼⛓️: You’ve been distant. Is something wrong?

You stared at both messages for a long time, your thumb hovering over the screen. Then, because you were a coward, you pretended you never saw them.

Then the first time you ignored Gojo’s call, it was easy. A swipe of your finger, a breath held just long enough to pretend you didn’t see his name flash across your screen. The second time, Nanami called, and you let it ring until the silence settled into something heavier than guilt. By the fifth time, you started putting your phone on Do Not Disturb, convincing yourself it was because of work—because you were a trillionaire CEO with a company to run, not because your heart clenched every time you saw their names. Not because you felt like an idiot for wanting two men when you swore you’d never be the kind of person who couldn’t make a decision.

So you disappeared—not physically, not yet, but in the ways that mattered. Texts went unanswered, YouTube videos met with professional coldness. When Gojo sent a selfie of himself eating cake, whining about missing you, you left him on read. When Nanami sent a curt message asking if you were alright, you typed out a response—I’m fine, just busy—and stared at it for a full minute before deleting it.

You didn’t expect them to let it slide forever. But you didn’t expect them to show up, either.

It didn’t work.

Because two special-grade sorcerers were not the kind of men who let things go.

And the next time you walked into your office, sleep-deprived and convinced you’d successfully avoided your feelings, you found them both waiting for you.

Gojo was stretched out in your chair, his long legs propped up on your desk, sunglasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. Nanami stood beside him, arms crossed, his sharp gaze cutting through you like he’d already run out of patience.

You stopped in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Surprise Sweetheart” Gojo drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted his head to look at you.

Nanami didn’t smile. His voice was low, steady, and impossibly soft. “We need to talk.”

The jet lands before dawn. You didn’t know that, of course, not yet. You didn’t know that Gojo and Nanami spent the entire flight arguing about whether to ambush you at work or at home. (Nanami, of course, thought home was the better choice—less spectacle, less drama. Gojo, being Gojo, argued that spectacle and drama were necessary.)

You stopped dead.

Gojo grinned. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t our favorite CEO. What’s the matter, sweetheart? Forgot how to text?”

Nanami’s voice cut through, calm but firm. “We’re not here to play games. You’ve been avoiding us.”

Your throat went dry. “I’ve been busy.”

Your fingers twitched against your phone, a fight-or-flight response that neither of them would let you act on. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Nanami exhaled, slow and measured, like he was holding back a lecture. “We should be asking you that.”

You rolled your eyes, keeping your face carefully neutral. “I don’t have time for this. I have a meeting—”

“Canceled,” Gojo interrupted, leaning back in your chair with a grin that was far too smug for your liking. “Something about an emergency security issue? Wow, wonder who could’ve arranged that.”

You stared at him, your mouth parting in disbelief. “You—”

Nanami stepped in before you could finish. “You’ve been ignoring us,” he said, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it now, something dangerously close to frustration. “Avoiding us.”

You scoffed, looking anywhere but at them. “I’ve been busy.”

Gojo hummed, the sound low and teasing. “Busy running away?”

“Busy working,” you snapped, though the words felt hollow even as they left your mouth.

“Right,” Gojo drawled, his tone dripping with skepticism. “And we’re supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t really care what you believe,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest in a feeble attempt to shield yourself.

Nanami’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing just enough to make your stomach twist. “Then say it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Say what?”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, amusement flickering across his face like he already knew the answer. “Say that you don’t have feelings for us. That’s why you’re avoiding us, right? Because you don’t care?”

Your stomach dropped. You hated how easy it was for them to see through you. Hated that your usual defenses crumbled the moment they stepped into the same room. Hated that they could strip you bare with nothing but a look and a few well-placed words.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to join Kurt Cobain if you jumped from this height.

You forced a too loud laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “That’s ridiculous.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. Gojo just tilted his head, watching you too closely, his piercing blue eyes cutting through every lie you tried to tell yourself.

“Then look me in the eyes and say it,” Gojo murmured, his voice soft but commanding.

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, until Nanami finally broke it. “That’s what I thought,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that sounded almost like relief, but he was smirking too smugly for your liking.

Your throat tightened, your chest aching with the weight of everything you’d been trying to avoid. You wanted to argue, to deny it, to slip out of this conversation like you’d slipped out of their reach for weeks. But you couldn’t. Not when they were standing in front of you, not when the weight of your own feelings had finally caught up.

Gojo sighed, but for once, there was no teasing in his voice. Just something softer, something real. “You don’t have to pick, you know.”

That finally did it. Eighty-four floors were more than enough. “Kurt, please wait for me,” you thought.

Your breath was caught, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure they could hear it.

Nanami nodded, his expression softening just enough to make your chest ache. “We already decided. It’s the three of us. Not one or the other.”

The words hit harder than they should have. You’d spent weeks convincing yourself that loving them both was impossible, selfish, an equation that couldn’t be solved. But here they were, standing in front of you, telling you that the answer had always been simple.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your desk like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “You’re both so dorky,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.

Gojo laughed, the sound bright and triumphant. “Yeah, but we’re your dorks.”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this entire conversation. “Don’t encourage him.”

But there was relief in his voice. A quiet kind of victory.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself breathe.

---

Present Day

But that was before you fully let yourself fall for them, before you started having fleeting thoughts of a life with them—of lazy mornings tangled in sheets, of quiet evenings where their laughter filled the spaces between your heartbeats. Before you let yourself imagine what it would be like to belong to them, completely and irrevocably.

But now,

There was a line—an invisible, aching thing stretching between you and them. You weren’t sure when it had started forming, but you knew where it ended.

Right here.

Right now.

At the mall, with Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento trailing behind you, whispering like you couldn’t hear them.

Something something mania.

You didn’t care to listen. You had other priorities—like replacing your third shattered phone this month and reclaiming some semblance of independence. For how long were you supposed to keep hijacking Nanami’s phone like a child? How long were you supposed to pretend that this was normal? That you were normal?

You reached the phone store, found the model you liked, and walked straight up to the support counter, waving a salesperson over.

“I like this one,” you said, your voice even, though your chest felt like it was cracking open. “Can you get me a higher storage version?”

The salesman smiled, nodding. “Great choice. Very privacy-forward. I’m sure we have what you need.”

He stepped away to grab the phone, and you exhaled slowly, rubbing your palm against the swell of your stomach. Six months. Six months of waiting, of watching them orbit each other like you were an afterthought.

A prisoner, not a partner.

The salesman returned, holding up the upgraded model. “This should work. Anything else?”

“Yes.” You reached for the box, your fingers brushing against the cool surface. “I’ll take two. And two SIM cards. One of them will pay.” You gestured vaguely toward Gojo and Nanami, who were still lost in their private discussion, their voices hushed but not enough.

“She’s spiraling, Kento.”

“She’s grieving, Satoru.”

“She’s—”

They stopped when they noticed the way the salesman was staring at them, waiting.

For a second, they looked like deer in headlights.

Then, resigned, Gojo fumbled for his card, barely looking at the total. Nanami sighed, shoulders tense, running a hand down his face. They weren’t paying attention. They never paid attention.

You took the chance to test the new phone’s camera, snapping a few selfies to see if the quality was worth the price. Another salesperson handed you an unopened box of the same variant, and you thanked them quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

At the counter, Gojo fumbled with his card, absentmindedly agreeing to every add-on the salesperson suggested. He was too busy arguing with Nanami—about you, about how you were “going insane,” about how they needed to “handle this.”

Behind you, a girl—one of the employees—perked up, her eyes widening as she stared at Gojo.

“Wait… are you Gojo?”

Gojo turned, slow as death, his sunglasses sliding down his nose just enough to reveal the sharp glint of his eyes. Nanami stiffened beside him, his hand twitching like he was ready to grab you and bolt.

You didn’t even blink, already typing out a message to Haibara. The girl’s voice was background noise, an annoyance you didn’t have the energy to acknowledge.

But she wasn’t deterred. “I saw you guys on TV. You’re, like… so strong.”

You felt Gojo gesturing—probably for her to shut the fuck up—but it was too late. The damage was done.

You turned slowly, your expression blank, your voice flat. “Yes,” you said, cutting through the awkward tension like a knife. “They are them. You can have them if you like.”

The girl’s blush deepened, her hands fluttering nervously. “Oh, no, I—”

“But don’t get too attached.” You tilted your head, smiling too sharp, too cold. “They’re only out until their surrogate wife’s babies are born. Then they’re going back to jail.”

Behind you, Gojo exhaled sharply. Nanami tensed, his jaw tightening as he stared at the floor like it might swallow him whole. The male salesman—who had been ringing up your order—looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“…I just wanted to know how they’re so strong,” the girl mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled again. Fake. Strained. Hollow.

“Sure you did.”

A long silence stretched out, thick with something unnamed. The air in the store felt heavier, the fluorescent lights too bright, the hum of the AC too loud.

By the time the transaction was complete, the energy in the store had shifted. The male salesman was glaring at his co-worker like she’d nearly cost him his commission.

You didn’t care. You took the bag and walked out, your steps quick and deliberate, straight toward the next store.

You picked up some photography accessories, shooting a death glare at any male salesman who dared approach you, ready to mansplain his way into a commission. You didn’t need to listen to some mediocre Instagram photographer explain something you’d been doing nearly all your life. (Okay, fine, maybe you were projecting your anger onto innocent retail workers instead of your husbands, but in your defense, this wasn’t about them.)

A light, a few backdrops, a tripod—whatever you needed, you already knew which ones you wanted. The motions were mechanical, your mind elsewhere, your body moving on autopilot like a sleep-deprived robot with a shopping list.

The salesman handed you the receipt, and you took it without a word, your hands trembling slightly as you shoved it into your bag. You didn’t look at Gojo or Nanami as you turned and walked away, your steps quick and deliberate.

Then, before you knew it, you were being dragged toward the Mommy & Me stores.

And the walls started closing in again.

Gojo and Nanami flanked you, their voices low but insistent, cutting through the haze of your thoughts like knives.

“You need to rest,” Nanami said, his tone firm but distant, like he was speaking to a stranger—like he hadn’t spent the last six months auctioning off your bed, your life, your body.

“You’re overdoing it,” Gojo added, his usual teasing replaced by something sharper, something that felt too much like concern. It was the kind of concern that made your skin crawl, the kind that felt less like care and more like control.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when your chest felt like it was cracking open, not when every step felt like a battle you were losing.

The store was a blur of pastel colors and soft fabrics, a world that felt so far removed from the chaos in your mind. You stared at the tiny clothes, the cribs, the stuffed animals, and felt nothing.

Nothing but the weight of the twins growing inside you.

Nothing but the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that no amount of baby clothes or nursery decor could fill.

Nothing but the crushing realization that the men beside you—the fathers of your children—saw you as a problem to be managed, not a person.

You were drowning, and they were too busy arguing about the water to notice.

The baby store smelled of lavender and plastic, a cloying mix of nostalgia and artificial newness. You stood between Gojo and Nanami, one hand pressed absently to your belly, the other gripping the handle of the shopping cart as they debated the necessity of a wipe warmer.

“I’m just saying, if we’re going all out, we might as well,” Gojo mused, flipping the box over to read the specs like it was a tactical decision. “Imagine tiny little butts being caressed by warmth.”

Nanami barely glanced at him. “It’s a scam. Babies don’t care about temperature consistency.”

“They don’t care about their own temperature consistency. We, however, should care. What if cold wipes wake them up at night?”

“They’ll be awake anyway.”

You stood between them, a silent observer in your own story. Once, their bickering had been the background noise of your happiest moments. Now, it felt like white noise, like the hum of an appliance left running in a room you were never in.

“Like you both will be there when they need diaper changes,” you snorted, walking ahead, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

They didn’t hear you. Or they did but acted like you were some teenager, best left ignored.

You stared at the row of cribs. White. Mahogany. Scandinavian minimalism. They all blurred together. It wasn’t like they needed your opinion.

“The grey one matches the nursery theme,” Nanami said, nodding toward a sleek, modern crib.

Gojo hummed in agreement. “Yeah. And it’ll look good next to the changing table.”

You hadn’t even talked about it, let alone agreed to a theme. You opened your mouth. Closed it. They had already moved on.

The raccoon’s wardrobe was next—because, of course, they had to take that away from you too.

Gojo held up a tiny hoodie, designed for some bougie suburban dog. “You think the little guy would like this?”

Nanami gave him a long, exhausted stare. “It’s a raccoon.”

Gojo grinned. “Don’t talk about feral rizz like that.”

They shared one of those looks. The kind that made your chest tighten like a wound being pulled shut with the wrong stitches.

You exhaled. Slowly.

Gojo turned to you suddenly, almost like he had just now remembered you were here. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Your hand moved to your belly, a habit, a tether.

“I’m fine,” you said, which was mostly true.

They nodded and went back to discussing the best baby monitor on the market, and you wondered, idly, if they would even notice if you walked out.

You were the one carrying the twins. The reason they were here, picking out soft blankets and pacifiers. But standing there, watching them plan a future with such efficiency, such ease, you couldn’t help but feel like the unnecessary part of a perfectly functional equation.

Like a placeholder.

The baby store faded behind you, swallowed by the artificial glow of the mall’s overhead lights. You walked, your pace measured but unhurried, one hand resting absently on your belly like you were carrying the weight of the world and not just two tiny humans.

They wouldn’t notice you were gone. Not immediately. Maybe not at all.

The food court smelled like salt, grease, and something sweet frying in oil—like nostalgia and poor life choices. It was loud—families arguing over pizza, teenagers screeching over TikTok trends, and the occasional lost businessman tapping furiously on his phone like he was single-handedly saving the economy.

You ordered a burger. No truffle aioli, no organic bullshit, no “let’s elevate this dining experience," no "Darling, you can’t eat Nutella straight from the jar then horde the jar because you are too swollen to move,” no "Pookie, you fart stinky now pregnant,” nonsense—just a plain, greasy burger wrapped in crinkled paper. The cashier looked at your stomach, then at you, and asked if you wanted a second one.

You did.

You sat alone at a table, the kind that wobbled slightly if you leaned the wrong way. The first bite was perfect—warm, messy, real. The kind of real that wasn’t curated, wasn’t planned or debated over like a fucking nursery theme.

You chewed slowly, scrolling through your phone and watching a video of a raccoon stealing a hot dog from a toddler (it may or may not have featured Haibara and your feral son). It was the kind of content that made you feel seen.

Back in the store, Gojo was probably making some ridiculous argument about baby socks needing to be designer. “They’re not just socks, Nanami, they’re a statement,” he’d say, holding up a pair with little Gucci logos on them. Nanami would be exhaling through his nose, just patient enough to entertain it, but you could practically hear the “I’m too old for this” in his silence. Let them argue over wipe warmers and crib aesthetics.

Maybe, at some point, they’d realize you were gone.

Maybe.

But right now, you were just a woman eating a burger. Not a CEO. Not a wife. Not the mother of their children.

Just you.

---

Their POV

Inside the store, Nanami’s phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He shouldn’t have answered. He knew better. But his instincts told him otherwise, whispered that it could be Ino, that it could be someone from the higher-ups.

So he pressed accept.

A low chuckle slithered through the receiver, slow, deliberate. Unfamiliar. Familiar.

"Wow. You’re dumber than I thought."

His spine went rigid. “Who is this?”

"Aww, you forgot about me so easily after our wild night together, handsome?" The voice was all honeyed amusement, saccharine and sharp, like the taste of something spoiled.

“I'm loyal and I don't have time for your pranks. Good day.”

"You sound tense. Something wrong? Lose something?"

Nanami turned sharply. Gojo was still there. He was eyeing some godforsaken breastfeeding couch, muttering about comfort and lumbar support like the idiot he was.

But you—

His breath stalled.

"Where is she?" Nanami’s voice tore through the store, rough, unhinged, barely human.

Heads turned. Parents stared. A mother clutched her toddler closer.

Gojo twisted, the lazy slouch of his shoulders snapping into attention. His head swiveled. His Six Eyes darting around instantly.

But you weren’t there.

You weren’t in the aisle.

You weren’t anywhere.

He couldn’t feel you.

Not the cursed energy from your womb. Not the subtle pulse of your presence that had been second nature now.

Gone.

Nanami was still yelling, his grip on the phone so tight his knuckles blanched. “Who are you? If you think you can take her without consequences, I will personally cut your body into so many pieces your people won’t even recognize you.”

"Aww, so romantic." The voice practically purred. "Finally, you’re respecting your one true archnemesis."

The air thinned.

His stomach dropped.

"What do you want, Haibara?" His voice was deathly quiet.

"Me? Nothing." A pause, languid, mocking. Then, smooth as silk, Haibara added, "but the rest of the world wants your wife."

Nanami’s breath left him. Gojo came over, his face pale, his Six Eyes scanning the store like he could will you back into existence. Nanami turned to him, his fingers going numb around the phone as he lowered the volume and fumbled to put it on speaker.

"She’s got a bounty, Kento-dono." Haibara’s voice was light, almost lazy, but the weight of his words suffocated. "Crisp five hundred billion dollars. Do you know how many zeros are in that?" A chuckle. "Last I checked, quite a few. If you don’t know why, then ask your other idiot; he’ll know what bounty means on babies' heads."

Cursed twins.

A rare commodity.

Of course, it made sense.

Nanami’s grip on his phone shook. His vision blurred.

Gojo’s panic flickered white-hot, burning through the confusion, through the nausea curling in his stomach. His hand clenched at his side, his jaw tight enough to shatter teeth.

He knew what was happening. He'd had the same bounty on his head when he was born too.

"I called to let you know about the bounty on her head, and because I know you lost her again," Haibara continued, voice amused. "Thought maybe you two morons should keep a better eye on her. She keeps running off, and two Special Grades can’t even keep a regular non-sorcerer pregnant woman in check?"

Nanami couldn’t breathe.

“She was—she was just here.” Gojo’s voice was thin, like he was trying to convince himself, like if he just said it enough, reality would bend and you would be back, glaring at them, rolling your eyes, safe.

But you weren’t here.

You weren’t anywhere.

"How do you know we lost her?" Nanami’s voice was barely controlled. Feral. "Do you have her with you?"

"Nope." Haibara popped the ‘p’ like this was a joke. "I’m just better at keeping an eye on her. Even when I’m away. Maybe I should’ve had the Six Eyes." He laughed.

Gojo twitched.

"Just tell us where she is," Nanami ground out, the blood roaring in his ears. "I don’t have time for your buffoonery."

"Oh? Do you need me to throw out the trash too? Wipe your bum while I’m at it?"

Gojo’s fists trembled. The tips of his fingers burned.

He needed to find you. Now.

"How long has the bounty been up?" His voice was eerily calm. The storm before the end.

"Dunno," Haibara hummed. "Fifteen minutes, maybe? But assassins are already bidding. Thought you would’ve figured it out by now."

Fifteen minutes.

That was eternities in their world.

Gojo felt sick.

Haibara sighed, almost disappointed. "Guess you two have been distracted. By diapers. By a future you both don’t even get to have with her."

Nanami felt something in his chest crack.

Gojo didn’t blink. His head pounded. His throat closed up.

A beat. "Don’t worry. I’ll wipe her tears when you both are sent to jail. Never even having held your kids."

The call ended.

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick like tar, pressing down on them until it felt like they couldn’t breathe.

Nanami’s pulse thundered, but his body felt numb, like the blood in his veins had turned to ice.

Gojo exhaled slowly. Too controlled. Too blank. Not real.

“We don’t tell her.”

Nanami swallowed, but the bile clung to his tongue.

“No.”

Gojo turned in a full circle, his Six Eyes scanning the store with a desperation that made his chest ache.

“She was right here,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

He looked at the empty space where you should have been, where you had been just moments ago. His hands clenched at his sides, fingernails cutting into his palms. She was right here.

He took another step, eyes darting across the store. His breath was sharp, shallow, desperate.

Nanami was already scanning the store, his fingers flexing at his side. Too rigid. Too restrained. His heartbeat drummed against his ribs. Fitting rooms. Entrances. Exits. Every possibility turned over in his mind, methodical even as panic curled around the edges of his thoughts.

"Check the fitting rooms. I’ll check outside."

“No.”

Gojo’s voice was a blade, cutting through the air. His fingers flicked up, Six Eyes burning. His sunglasses were already gone, abandoned, shoved into his pocket like an afterthought.

A pause. A breath.

Nothing.

“I don’t see her.”

Nanami froze.

If Gojo couldn’t see you, it meant you weren’t just a few aisles away, not lingering by the checkout line, not waiting by the bathroom. It meant you were gone.

Mall security was useless. The intercom announcements, the slow, confused clerks asking what you were wearing, asking if they had a recent photo. As if they needed to describe you.

You wouldn’t just leave.

Nanami’s jaw locked. “She wouldn’t just leave.” His voice was tight, forced through clenched teeth. “Would she?”

Gojo’s hands curled into fists. His breath stuttered.

“She’s six months pregnant, Kento.” His voice was hoarse, like the words scraped against his throat. “She wouldn’t just—” His breath hitched. “Unless we made her feel like she had to.”

The thought hit them both at the same time.

The way you had been quiet lately. Not in your usual, calculating way. Not the way you went silent before striking a deal or winning an argument. But distant.

The way you let them pay for everything, when you were the kind of woman who once bought entire companies just to prove a point.

The way you had stood there, hands on your belly, as they planned a life around you, but never with you.

Gojo was pacing, running a hand through his hair like he wanted to tear it out. The sight did nothing to calm the sick feeling creeping up Nanami’s throat.

Nanami swore under his breath. “We’re fucking idiots.”

Gojo was already moving.

Three minutes.

Two of them wasted on panic.

On scanning every store, every floor.

On his mind spinning through the worst possibilities.

What if someone had found you first?

What if they never—

Then—

On the corner of the tenth floor, in a wheelchair, there you were.

Eyes closed.

They were near you in an instant, but Gojo ran faster than Nanami, something frantic in his movements, like he was reliving a childhood memory he’d buried deep. He appeared next to you, his hands trembling as he pulled you close, his voice breaking as he spoke.

“Hey, why—hey, wake up!” he said frantically, his hands cupping your face, slapping your cheeks lightly as if trying to rouse you from a nightmare.

But before Nanami could check your pulse or shush Gojo, you blinked blearily, your voice soft and groggy. “Ahh. I just fell asleep. Let me go.” You tried to shove Gojo away, but your voice came out pleading, more vulnerable than you wanted it to be. You got up, only to realize he wasn’t letting go, his arms tightening around you like he was afraid you’d vanish again.

---

Your POV

And he did. He held you close, the way he used to before he’d taken everything into his hands and ruined it. His grip was desperate, his breath uneven against your hair, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Not because you wanted to, but because you could feel the fear radiating off him, the way his hands shook as they pressed into your back.

You didn’t know what was going on, but you were going to enjoy their suffering.

“Why’d you run off?” Nanami asked, his voice low but strained, like he was holding back a storm. “If you were tired, you could’ve said so.”

When you didn’t respond, Nanami assumed the worst, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Gojo. Gojo, ever the one to voice the unspoken, broke the hug to look at you, his hands still gripping your shoulders like he thought you might bolt.

“You were trying to run away and got tired, so you fell asleep?” he asked, his voice cracking at the edges.

Nanami’s eyes looked pained, his usual composure slipping as he stared at you, waiting for an answer you weren’t ready to give.

"Are you insane?" Gojo’s voice was sharp, almost shaking.

“You’re pregnant. You don’t just—” He exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his forehead like it physically hurt to process what was happening.

You pointed at the food court like a scolded child, your expression blank.

Gojo’s laugh was choked. A breathy, broken sound.

"A fucking burger, sweetheart? You ditched us for a burger?"

You didn’t look at them.

Now, they were the ones feeling invisible.

“Why were you sitting on a wheelchair? It’s not our fault to be worried,” Nanami said, his voice rising slightly, the frustration bleeding through.

You shrugged, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t know, Kento. You didn’t put enough chairs in the mall anticipating my arrival. How callous of you.”

The insult sounded weak even to your own ears, but you still turned and walked away like it made perfect sense.

---

You had fought.

You had screamed yourself hoarse in a parking lot, your voice cracking on every expletive, every demand.

You had taken a step back, your pulse pounding. “I’m driving.”

Nanami’s voice was low, firm.

“No, you’re not.”

Something inside you snapped.

“You’re not my fucking babysitters.”

Gojo didn’t flinch, didn’t meet your eyes. “We know.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “Then why the hell are you treating me like a goddamn child?”

Nanami’s head tilted, his gaze sharp. “Do you know how fast you were driving earlier?”

You set your jaw. “I didn’t crash.”

“Yet.”

The word cut deeper than you expected.

"You’re not fucking serious."

"You’re not actually banning me from driving—"

"Like I’m some delicate little—!"

But they wouldn’t budge.

Nanami’s jaw was set, unmovable, his hands clenched at his sides. Gojo wouldn’t even engage, wouldn’t throw the usual “aww, sweetheart, don’t be mad at us” line your way.

They had already decided.

You hadn’t mattered in that decision.

Gojo had tried to coax at first. Soft words, gentle hands reaching for yours. You had slapped them away.

Then, Nanami snapped.

"You almost killed them."

The weight of it hit your chest, something hot and tight and suffocating.

You wanted to argue, to scream, to rip the keys out of Gojo’s hand and prove them wrong.

But Nanami’s eyes pinned you in place.

Gojo, usually so quick to defuse things, said nothing.

Neither of them would budge.

The world felt smaller.

Like a trap had been laid around you before you even realized it.

And when Nanami exhaled, his eyes flickering over your face, his voice softened.

“Get in the car.”

The parking lot was suddenly too quiet.

Nanami was breathing hard, like he had forced the words out against his will. His fingers flexed, curled, dug into his palms like he was holding something back.

Gojo wasn’t looking at either of you. His lips parted, then shut. Like there was nothing to say that could fix this.

And maybe there wasn’t.

Because the worst part?

They were right.

You had driven too fast. Too reckless. Like you had something to outrun.

And now?

They were overcorrecting.

The leash tightening.

And you could do nothing but choke on it.

They didn’t let you drive.

That was the first sign something was wrong.

You reached for the passenger’s side door, but Nanami was already there, his hand closing over your wrist with careful, deliberate restraint. No force, no brute strength—just quiet, unshakable control.

"The back seat," he said.

Not the passenger seat.

The backseat.

Not a request. Not a suggestion.

A verdict.

Nanami opened the back door for you, his face impassive, too neutral. That dangerous stillness he fell into when he was hiding something, when he was choosing his words carefully, when he thought you were too fragile or volatile.

Gojo didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t tease you for looking pissed. Didn’t even flash that usual “baby, trust me” grin.

They didn’t comment on the way your shoulders shook.

Didn’t say a word about the way you turned your face to the window.

Didn’t acknowledge the way you looked, for just a second—

Like you might cry.

Gojo just shut the door after you, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the car like this was normal.

Like you hadn’t spent your entire life steering yourself, controlling the wheel, deciding the speed.

Like you hadn’t spent the last six months fighting to not become a passenger in your own life.

Like you hadn’t been the one navigating the world before they even knew your name.

The car pulled out of the lot in silence.

You stared at the back of Gojo’s head, at the tense line of his shoulders. He wouldn’t even meet your reflection in the rearview mirror.

That sick, crawling feeling in your gut didn’t fade.

You stared out the window, arms crossed over your belly, jaw tight enough to hurt. Your babies shifted inside you. You didn’t know if it was from your tension or theirs.

---

Soon, Jujutsu Tech. loomed ahead, dark and empty, carrying the kind of stillness that only places drenched in death could hold.

"I want to go home," you said, your voice flat, distant, barely concealing the anger burning underneath.

Gojo turned, smiling, but it was wrong. Too thin. It barely touched his eyes.

“We won’t be long, sweetheart.”

A lie.

Nanami’s fingers brushed your wrist. A grounding touch. A silent plea. Maybe an apology.

You stared at his hand like he was touching someone else.

Then they were gone, swallowed by the heavy wooden doors.

You sat there in the locked car, tapping your nails against your phone case, opening and closing an app without reading a single word.

The minutes dragged.

You leaned back against the seat, staring up at the sky.

Inside, something was happening. Something big.

You could tell by the way the air shifted.

By the way the crows in the trees scattered.

---

Their POV

Inside, the air was thick with something rotting.

Not literally—though the higher-ups always carried the stench of old paper and slow decay—but something worse. Something insidious.

Gojo stood loose-limbed, hands in his pockets, head tilted just so. A predator’s angle. Nanami had that look—the one that meant he was already seeing blood.

Across from them, the elders sat in their sunken chairs, bodies swallowed by the deep shadows of the paper screens. Silent spectators to their own machinations.

Nanami spoke first. “How long?”

The head elder blinked, slow and disinterested. “Excuse me?”

“How long,” Nanami repeated, voice even, “have you known about the bounty?”

The elder gave a thin smile. “Since the moment it was placed, of course.”

Gojo laughed, sharp and ugly. “Of course.” He turned to Nanami. “They knew. They sat on it. Probably made bets on how long it would take for us to notice.”

Nanami inhaled slowly. Exhaled. “Why weren’t we told?”

The elder’s sigh was almost theatrical. “Because it was irrelevant.” He tilted his head, birdlike. “If you had been competent enough, you would have realized much sooner.”

Something in Gojo’s expression went blank. Empty in a way that was dangerous. “Right. Because why warn the people actually protecting her, right?”

A second elder, thinner and somehow more cruel, tapped his fingers against the table. “You misunderstand, Satoru.” His voice was soft. “We wanted you to notice.”

The temperature in the room dropped.

Nanami’s fists clenched. “Explain.”

The elder’s smile widened, and when he spoke again, it was with the confidence of a man who had never once feared consequence.

“You should get rid of her.”

Silence.

Then, smooth as poison—

“Your very existence has already increased the world’s cursed energy tenfold. You want us to believe this pregnancy was an accident? That you, the strongest, somehow failed to control your own body?” He clicked his tongue. “How sloppy, Satoru.”

Gojo’s jaw ticked.

The elder leaned forward. “Tell me—what do you think those things will become? Ordinary sorcerers?” A chuckle, dry as old paper. “They’ll be anomalies. Unstable. Stronger than you, in ways even you cannot predict. If they survive.” A pause. “And that is an uncertainty.”

Nanami didn’t move, but something coiled behind his ribs.

“They could die in the womb, you know.” The elder’s voice was almost gentle. “Too much power, too small a vessel. You should be grateful. It would be kinder than what awaits them.”

Gojo’s fingers twitched.

The elder continued, undeterred. “But let’s say they do survive. That you don’t watch them wither from the inside out.” His smile thinned. “What then? You think the world will let them live?”

A long pause.

“We don’t need them.” The elder’s voice turned flat. “We need control.” A tilt of his head. “They would be better off as cursed objects. A weapon to be wielded, rather than something that could one day turn against us.”

He folded his hands.

“You already make things difficult. Why multiply the problem?”

Silence.

Gojo blinked once. Then again, like he hadn’t quite heard.

Nanami—who had spent his entire life perfecting the art of restraint—moved first.

His ratio blade cut through the air, through bone, through everything the elder had been. His head hit the floor with a wet thud.

Gojo followed. No Limitless, no Infinity—just force. His hands closing around the second elder’s throat, his smile sharp, shining.

“Wrong answer.”

It was over in seconds.

No grand battle. No drawn-out screams.

Just work.

The kind of work that left blood in the cracks of your hands and the scent of death in your hair.

Nanami exhaled. Gojo wiped his hands on his dark pants like he had touched something dirty.

“They were never gonna let her live,” Gojo murmured.

“They were never going to warn us.”

A long pause.

Then Gojo grinned, all teeth, all vicious relief. “Well. Problem solved.”

Nanami sighed. “Let’s go before she gets impatient.”

Outside, you were still sitting in the car.

Unaware of how close you had come to not existing at all.

---

Your POV

You were starving. Again.

Pregnancy did that—one second, you were fine, the next, your body was demanding something salty and fried like it was a life-or-death situation.

The car was too quiet. The night was too still. You drummed your fingers against the door, the rhythm sharp and impatient. Your entire existence had been reduced to craving fulfillment, and right now, that fulfillment needed to be deep-fried and covered in salt.

Then—movement.

A teenager, white-haired, passing by with his hands stuffed in his pockets, face partially obscured.

Target acquired.

You rolled down the window. “Hey, kid.”

He stopped, turned, and blinked at you.

“Do me a favor,” you said, pulling out a crisp bill and holding it out. “Run into the store and grab me a soda. And—” you paused, adjusting your outfit because you didn’t want to be bullied for a mid-fit (he seemed like the type who would)—“some samosas or chips. Just get whatever looks good.”

The teenager tilted his head. “Shake.”

You frowned. “No. Soda.”

“Bonito flakes.”

“…What?”

He nodded, very serious. “Salmon.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose. “No. Soda. Chips. Something salty. Preferably fried.”

“Bonito flakes.”

Your eye twitched. “Are you messing with me?”

“Shake.”

A pause. A long, painful pause.

You stared at him. He stared back.

The tension thickened.

A single leaf drifted by, carried on the wind.

Finally, you pinched the bridge of your nose. “You know what? Never mind. Just get me Shoko.”

“Salmon.”

You shot him a look.

And then—

“Uh, hey.”

A new voice. A new presence.

You turned to see a dark-haired young man walking toward you, his expression a mix of mild concern and secondhand embarrassment.

The teenager—Menace Flakes—perked up. “Shake.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The newcomer sighed, rubbing his temple before looking at you. “Sorry, he’s not trying to mess with you. That’s just... how he talks.”

The dark-haired guy scratched the other’s cheek. “Sort of. It’s his cursed technique.”

Well, that was oddly homoerotic for some reason, but it wasn’t your problem.

Then his words caught you off guard. You glanced back at Menace Flakes, who blinked at you expectantly, as if he hadn’t just given you a goddamn aneurysm.

“Cursed technique?”

“Yeah,” the new guy replied. “His words make things happen. If he said something normal like ‘give me a Lambo,’ it could go south real fast.”

Huh. Weird.

You exhaled. “Fine. Whatever.” You waved a hand. “Could you buy me something to eat? You know how pregnancy is.”

The new guy nodded, but didn’t move.

Instead, his expression shifted—subtle, but sharp.

His eyes drifted downward.

Not at you.

At your stomach.

You tensed.

The air around you shifted, and for the first time, you saw his shoulders square, his stance change—like he had just registered something wrong.

“You’re—” He hesitated. “What are you?”

Your jaw locked.

Not who.

What.

Your stomach. The part of you that was currently housing two tiny freaks of nature.

He was looking at it like it was a nuclear warhead.

You exhaled slowly. “You cannot be serious.”

But he was. His fingers twitched at his side, cursed energy humming just beneath the surface.

“I can feel it,” he muttered, eyes locked on your stomach like it was about to lunge at him. “The cursed energy—it's massive. It’s—unnatural.”

You stared at him. “Yeah, no shit. I’m six months pregnant with Gojo Satoru’s kids.”

He did not look reassured.

“You are lying,” he said flatly. “No women want him.”

Menace Flakes, meanwhile, nodded sagely. “Salmon.”

“Stop helping,” you snapped.

---

The dark-haired one exhaled sharply, clearly debating whether to exorcise you, arrest you, or just straight-up pass out.

And then—

The air split open with a crack.

A presence—massive, overwhelming, and unmistakably obnoxious.

And then—

“SWEETHEART! BABY! LOVE OF MY LIFE!”

Gojo Satoru exploded onto the scene, arms spread wide, sunglasses slightly crooked, radiating pure, undiluted drama like he had just crash-landed in a soap opera.

The dark-haired one froze.

Menace Flakes blinked.

The pregnant woman in question exhaled. “Oh, great.”

Gojo landed beside you in a flourish of long limbs and expensive fabric, dramatically pressing a hand over his heart like he was personally enduring your suffering. “I felt your distress from inside the building and thought—oh no! My delicate, vulnerable wife must be suffering!”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “I was just trying to get them to buy me a soda.”

Gojo gasped, looking scandalized. “WITHOUT ME?”

The dark-haired one, still standing there, fists clenched, visibly struggling to process any of this, finally managed, “Wait—what?”

Gojo turned to him with the kind of slow, patronizing patience that made you want to file for divorce on the spot. “Yuta-kun.” He gestured toward you with a flourish, his tone unbearably smug. “Meet my wife.”

Yuta’s soul momentarily left his body.

He turned to you.

Turned back to Gojo.

Then back to you.

“She’s married to you?”

Gojo grinned. “Yes.”

“…Willingly?”

Gojo staggered back like he’d just been mortally wounded. “Excuse me, Yuta, I’ll have you know my wife adores me.” He turned to you, batting his lashes and pouting his lips in a way that made your insides almost immediately forgive him—like he could do no wrong. “Right, sweetheart?”

Familiar heat dropped in your stomach; he hadn’t looked at you like this in months.

But the way he was acting made you wonder if he was bipolar, like the unlicensed part-time mental health diagnostician you were.

A few months ago, you’d turned to psychology and philosophy to try to justify his antics or at least understand the reasoning behind them, but then you’d given up—mostly because you realized that even Aristotle and Carl Jung would be confused.

You stared at him. Then, without breaking eye contact—

“I was literally about to walk into traffic.”

Gojo cackled, delighted. “Classic my wife!”

Yuta, meanwhile, was still trying to reboot his brain. “And the cursed energy—?”

Gojo clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ah, yes, my future children. Purse friendly—Gojo's, if you will.”

Yuta made a noise that could only be described as an existential wheeze. “Sensei, you’re telling me she’s pregnant with your kids, and that’s why she’s emitting that much cursed energy?”

And then—

A new voice.

Calm. Measured. Deeply exhausted.

Nanami, walking up like he had just spent the last ten minutes cleaning up Gojo’s mess, casually fixing his cuffs as he passed a hand over Menace Flakes’s head.

“Our kids.”

Yuta’s soul made a desperate attempt to leave his mortal shell.

Gojo beamed, clapping his hands together. “Yep! Kento’s involved too!”

Yuta let out a strangled sound, while Menace Flakes—completely unfazed—nodded. “Okka.”

“Thank you, Toge-kun.” Nanami said.

Gojo finally turned back to you, all smiles. “Now, my love, my moon, my gorgeous trillionaire—what’s this I hear about you running off?”

You exhaled sharply. “I was hungry, and you idiots locked me in my own car.”

Gojo gasped, reeling. “A travesty!” He turned to Nanami. “Ken Ken, we’ve wronged her.”

Nanami sighed. “You wronged her.”

“I wronged her,” Gojo conceded solemnly. Then, bright again—“So! Riceballs? Soda? My life’s mission is now to make sure my pregnant goddess is fed.”

And with that, Gojo climbed through the window of the car like an overgrown raccoon, all his limbs too much like giant spiders in a miniature toy car, while you stared at him in abject seen-it-all.

Nanami, a functional adult, got inside like a normal person. “See you around, Yuta. Inumaki-kun.”

Meanwhile, Yuta just stood there, staring into the void, rethinking every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Inumaki patted his arm.

“Bonito flakes.”

---

Their POV

It had started to rain when Yuta and Toge walked off.

It came down in sheets, soaking through your clothes, clinging to your skin like a second betrayal. The city blurred around you—distant headlights, muted neon signs bleeding into puddles on the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared, muffled by the downpour.

But you didn’t run.

You walked away.

You didn’t run.

And that was worse.

Gojo’s heart stuttered in his chest, his mind racing to string together words fast enough to stop you, to slow you down, to do something before you slipped too far from reach. The cold wrapped around your frame, tightening like an omen, and he hated it—hated the way it took the space he was supposed to fill.

"Hey, wait up!" His voice cut through the storm, sharp with frustration. But beneath it—something raw. Something he didn’t have the luxury of hiding anymore.

You didn’t stop.

Nanami exhaled sharply beside him, his eyes locked on the way your shoulders curled inward, how the rain clung to your skin like a second betrayal. Your steps were slow, measured, as if you were daring them to catch up. Daring them to prove you wrong.

You wouldn’t have left if you thought they’d follow.

That truth lodged itself deep, ugly and undeniable, and it made Nanami’s jaw go tight, made Gojo’s hands clench at his sides.

Then—

"Darling."

Nanami’s voice, low and steady, cut through the storm. No hesitation. No desperation. Just certainty, like he was willing you to turn back.

And you froze.

Gojo felt it before he saw it—that moment of impact, the unspoken recoil of a wounded animal caught in headlights. Not fear. No. Worse.

A kind of hurt so deep it turned to silence.

When you turned, your eyes burned—lit with something Gojo had never seen before. Something that made his breath catch in his throat. He had seen you angry before, seen you upset, seen you hurt. But this—this was different.

"I’m not a project," you said, your voice cracked open at the edges. "I’m not something you can fix."

Gojo flinched.

Actually, physically flinched.

The smirk that usually softened his presence was gone, stripped away by the weight of what you had become under their hands. And in its place—something uncomfortably human. Something like guilt.

"We’re not trying to fix you," he murmured, softer than he ever spoke.

You laughed. Short. Sharp. Bitter.

Nanami felt it like a shard of glass pressed into his ribs.

"Then what the hell are you trying to do?" you demanded, your voice full of something neither of them had ever been able to name. "Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like you’re trying to be with me."

Nanami stepped forward. Not out of anger—out of control. His hands curled into fists at his sides, fighting the instinct to reach for you. To pull you back in. To erase whatever distance you had put between them.

"We’re trying to help," he said, slow, careful, but even he could feel the crack forming.

"Help?" You spat the word like poison. "Is that what you call it? Whispering behind my back? Making decisions for me? Acting like I’m some delicate fucking thing you have to handle?"

Gojo moved before he could stop himself, before he could think. His hand hovered in the air, fingertips twitching, unsure.

Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

Like he already knew he had lost that right.

"We’re just worried about you," he whispered.

You stepped back.

And that—more than the words, more than the rain, more than anything else—was what made the air between you go thin.

Gojo and Nanami exchanged a look.

You hated them for it.

Hated the way they always seemed to understand each other when you couldn’t even get them to look at you like you mattered.

Finally, Nanami broke the silence. "We see you," he said. "We’ve always seen you."

Your breath hitched. Your hands curled into fists.

Gojo knew what came next before it happened.

He saw it in the set of your shoulders, in the way the weight of everything—the waiting, the watching, the giving, the sacrificing—broke you down all at once.

And then you snapped.

“What exactly have you two done in all of this time?” Your voice was low, dangerous. “I’ve been here—sitting, waiting, watching you both… loving you, supporting you, making sacrifices…”

You were shaking now, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

Gojo wanted to say something.

Nanami wanted to fix it.

But they both knew—

---

Nanami’s POV

She wasn’t something they could fix.

He knew that now.

It was in the way she stood, shoulders squared despite the weight pressing down on her. The rain clung to her skin, darkened her hair, but she didn’t shiver. She didn’t fold in on herself like before.

She just looked at them, and for the first time, Nanami realized she wasn’t waiting for an answer.

Because she already knew what she wanted to say.

"What have you done?"

Her voice cut through the rain, sharp and jagged as glass.

"Have you done anything but murder people for me? Huh? Have you done anything but that, because I’m still here. I’m still left behind! I’m six months pregnant, carrying twins, and all you’ve given me is your guilt and your selfishness!"

Nanami felt Gojo tense beside him, felt his breath hitch—but neither of them said anything.

Because what was there to say?

Her words were truths, ugly and cold, carved from the wreckage of everything they had left behind.

"Did you even bother to fix anything?"

She took a step forward, eyes burning, her voice raw from all the things she had swallowed down until now.

"Did you go to therapy? Did you even think for a second about how this actually affected me, or were you too busy fucking each other in every corner of the universe while I—I—was treated like a ghost?"

Gojo let out a shaky breath.

"Okay… Okay, that’s… that’s actually a good idea."

Nanami turned his head sharply, but Gojo was already looking at her, rain dripping from his lashes, his expression unreadable.

She blinked. "What is?"

This time, it was Nanami who answered. His voice was quiet, but no less firm.

"Therapy. We should… We should go to therapy."

He expected her anger. Expected the fire, the bitterness that followed.

"You think therapy will fix this?"

She laughed, but it was a hollow thing.

"No amount of talking will fix the fact that you two have torn this apart, one betrayal at a time, one “Don’t let her find out Satoru,” at a time, huh Nanami. Look at me. Therapy won’t bring me back from the way you made me feel like I don’t matter."

Nanami swallowed.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

"We didn’t mean to—" Gojo started.

"You didn’t mean to?!"

Nanami winced as her voice cracked.

"You think that’s enough? To not mean to?"

She dragged a hand over her face, and Nanami felt a strange heat build in his chest. Shame.

She was right.

She had always been right.

"Maybe I don’t want your guilt. Maybe I want you to actually show me that you care, without treating me like some side project when it’s convenient for you!"

He took a step forward. A mistake.

She stepped back, shaking her head, her walls rising between them like steel gates slamming shut.

"I’ve had enough."

There was no finality in her voice. There was no anger. Just exhaustion.

She had given them everything.

And they had taken all of it without once asking what she needed in return.

"And no amount of affection will erase the fact that you both ignored me. That you let me feel invisible—that you didn’t think about how lonely this entire situation would make me feel. You wanted me to just... accept it."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Gojo looked like he wanted to say something, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

But he didn’t.

Because she wasn’t done.

"Yeah, therapy sounds like a good idea."

Nanami felt the weight of her words before she even finished.

"Maybe it’ll help you two figure out how to actually be. Because right now? You’re just two men who can’t even figure out how to take care of their own wife and call “smothering and ignoring” love."

The words weren’t meant to hurt.

But they did.

They stood there, soaked to the bone, and neither of them knew what to say.

Because there was nothing they could say.

And then—

She stepped forward.

Not toward him.

Toward Gojo.

And Nanami stood there, watching, as she pressed herself against him, her fingers gripping at his jacket like he was the only thing keeping her from breaking apart.

Gojo didn’t move at first.

Then his arms wrapped around her, slow, hesitant, like he was afraid.

Not of her.

Not of the storm raging inside her.

Afraid of what she had just said.

Afraid of what it meant.

"I’m scared, Satoru."

Nanami heard the words, but they weren’t meant for him.

"I never wanted to be a mother."

Her voice cracked.

"I never thought I’d be one. And now I feel like I’d die if something happened to them. I never even got to process it; I have been on flight, flight or freeze constantly. I need to breathe; my body hurts. I’m tired..."

Nanami exhaled, something twisting sharp and deep in his chest.

"And I don’t have you both."

Her fingers dug into Gojo’s jacket.

"I should have been the most supported woman in the world, but I’m not. No matter how rich or successful I am, it doesn’t matter. I wanted my husbands to know first, to care, to fix your discresions before they got worse. But instead, I feel like a fucking surrogate. Like I’m just—"

Her voice broke, the words crumbling under the weight of everything she’d been holding back. The tears came then, hot and relentless, spilling down her cheeks, getting swallowed in Gojo’s shirt, as she choked on the truth they’d been too afraid to say out loud.

She choked on the words, and Nanami thought he might break apart with her.

"Like I don’t matter to you."

Gojo’s arms tightened around her.

He froze.

Nanami did too.

Because it was true.

It had always been true.

"I don’t need your worry. I don’t need your regret."

Her voice was breaking apart, unraveling in the space between them.

"I just—"

Nanami closed his eyes.

"I just need you to see me. Not whatever version of me you think exists. Not whatever you think I should be. Me."

The rain was falling harder now.

Neither of them moved.

Nanami wanted to reach for her.

But she hadn’t come to him.

She hadn’t let herself fall apart in his arms.

Maybe she was still afraid of him. Of the way he had dragged her out of that closet. Of the way he had taken her away from Norway, against her will.

So he didn’t step forward.

He just stood there.

Watching.

And Gojo—Gojo finally moved.

He was crying, but the rain stole the proof before it could exist.

"Let’s go to couples therapy," Gojo whispered.

---

A/N: 🔥 COUPLES THERAPY ARC UNLOCKED 🔥 This fic has now reached its Enemies to Therapy to Lovers phase. 🧐 I’ll wait in the comments. 👀

Next chapter 17 (alt ending 2.8) - Invisible (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[yanderedrabbles]

congrats! Ur work has rlly paid off

If ur not uncomfortable(if u r pls ignore), how'd u do it? I've started out at the same time and dont even have quarter the amount u have which rlly bums me out and makes me want to stop posting

One totally simple secret- I post a TON. Like almost every day.

The only month I didn't post almost every day was January, and while I don't have a screenshot of my activity, my notes absolutely plummeted. From about 2000/day to about 400/day. It took the whole of February and most of March to get them back to my pre-hiatus levels.

Let's look at the stats:

I didn't post a new fic yesterday or today and you can see how my notes tanked from around 2000 to about 1000 in just a day.

POSTING FREQUENTLY IS THE BEST WAY TO GROW!

I'm sorry to yell at you gorgeous, but it's true. While I put a ton of work into variety and into improving my craft, the biggest factor has been posting frequency. It keeps me on top of common tags and recommendations, so new readers are a lot more likely to stumble on my stuff. It keeps my current readers engaged. It's the main way I've gained followers.

Okay, we got that out of the way? Let's get into some of the more nuanced practices that boost reach.

You can see that my fic length varies a lot. There are plenty of posts under a thousand words, but also a few topping ten thousand.

I think that having variety keeps things interesting for my readers. Most of us don't have time to sit down and read a 10k word fic every day, but we still want to have our yandere fix. That's where my shorter stuff comes in.

I think having variety in length also draws in new readers. You might be skeptical about reading a 12k word smut if it pops up on your dash and you have no clue who the author is, but you're probably down to read the quick 600 to a 1000 word drabble. And if you like it, you might just check out more of my stuff! Yippee!

I also aim for variety in style. Let's look at some of my more popular posts:

Yandere Best Friend

Yandere Greek Champion

Yandere Yakuza

Yandere Fairytale

Did ya notice anything? All four are pretty popular fics on my blog, and they're all VERY different. In length, in formatting, in the approach to storytelling.

Variety is the spice of life! Have fun with your writing, experiment, take risks. If it doesn't work, then at least you took the chance and learnt something. Your readers are not going to complain, I promise.

Editing is also a must. You're almost always going to miss a typo or two - they're like mosquitoes in summer, they somehow always manage to slip through the cracks - but a fic should be pleasant to read. If I see five typos in the first paragraph, it's a bit of a turn-off. Most apps have a built-in spell check, and I've recently been experimenting with Grammarly. Even just doing a final comb-over before you post makes a huge difference.

Tag your stuff too! I have my go-to set of tags that I usually use on my posts, but I'm always on the lookout for new tags that are applicable to my posts. How else are people going to see your stuff? How else will Tumblr know to recommend you? Use tags babe, I promise they don't bite.

Oh, and don't forget to ask for feedback either. Beta readers and writing groups are the backbone behind so many famous real-world authors. Your Tumblr moots will be happy to skim over your stuff and give you some pointers. We're all in this together, and that means striving to get better together.

And finally, I'm always trying to learn more about writing. All the tips and tricks behind it. All the ways I can make my stuff just a little better - my dialogue a bit more snappy, my prose a bit easier to read.

My go-to writing guy is James Scott Bell. Especially Voice - the secret power behind great writing. James is funny and easy to read, so I HIGHLY recommend his books on writing. Currently, I'm reading How to Write Pulp Fiction and it's soooo helpful. Am I actually getting better as a writer? That's debatable, but I'm constantly putting in the effort and I think my readers can sense that.

"But Val, I can't write every day! I've got obligations, work, school, a hundred different things to get done! Hitting 2k words daily just isn't possible for me!"

I hear ya kid. But guess what? I couldn't clock 2000 words a day at the beginning either. But I forced myself to sit down and write as much as I could between all my other obligations. Over time, you'll learn to write faster. You'll learn to push through all the small worries holding you back. You'll learn to optimise your workflow so that you clock an easy 1k in an hour.

Every little bit counts. Even if all you can spare is 300 words a day or half an hour of editing, it adds up. By the end of the week, that's already a 2.1k fic ready to go.

I used to think writers were just insanely talented and naturally creative. And I have no doubt so many are. But it takes practice and patience to improve.

We all get those moments when we ask ourselves if we should even bother. What if I'm a total hack? What if I'm the worst person to put paper to pen since the author of My Immortal? What if what if what if -

Stop. Just keep writing.

Don't listen to those voices. If you do, you won't write anything at all, and how are supposed to improve if there's nothing to improve upon?

Sometimes, it's like a kick to the jaw to see another writer doing well. Why isn't that me? What are they doing that I'm not? I deserve it just as much as they do, so why am I not getting the same amount of notes?

Don't even bother entertaining thoughts like those. Take a deep breath and then keep writing. You have your own voice and style that your fans love. Your only competition is with yourself.

There you have it. Simple as it gets.

I promise you, you're an author worth reading. You have fans who love you, who can't help but scream when you post a new fic. Just keep putting in the hours and it WILL pay off.

[sophieinwonderland]

"They're Hellenists now?!"

I love the title here, and how this r/systemscringe member is freaked out that systems do, in fact, exist in all religions!

That's right! Nowhere is safe from us!

Yes dear, people do tend to talk differently in spaces where they can be anonymous and not have their lives and reputations be ruined due to rampant ableism. The fact that many systems would be afraid to say this aloud because of social consequences, including losing support from friends, family, and possibly even their employment is really not the slam dunk you think it is.

I don't know why I keep reading takes from these subreddits when they all make me lose braincells every time.

First, seeing yourselves as separate people is fine. Healthy multiplicity is a valid goal.

But even if it wasn't and you take the outdated view that you need to see yourselves as one person in order to heal, people do counterproductive things all the time.

"Real people wouldn't do this because it's counterproductive" is the biggest indicator that you have somehow managed to go through your whole life without ever interacting with even one single real person. Because if you ever had, you would know better!

I know it's hard for you people, but please at least try to use your brains for once!

It's only one alter who wants to practice, so it would feel dishonest to claim they themselves, as the alter writing that post, was a follower of Artemis. It's likely they have a different religion.

Again though, this is an anonymous account.

And more importantly, people with DID... and I know this is a shock to r/systemscringe... ARE HUMAN BEINGS!!!

They are not a monolith, and even if some are reluctant to come out as having DID in public, it's pretty absurd to think they all will.

And it being a covert disorder doesn't mean that nobody with the disorder will ever talk about it. It means that it can be hard to detect given that amnesia can make switching hard to remember, and a lot of the experiences in it are internal. If someone with DID doesn't tell you, there's a good chance you wouldn't know. From the outside, they might just seem forgetful, and to change moods a lot.

The disorder being covert doesn't give you an excuse to fakeclaim anyone who talks about having it!

It's infuriating that r/systemscringe's standards for fakeclaiming is literally just... saying that you have a disorder...

And one final point is that for the people who are ashamed and won't talk about it, the reason for this is because of people like those on r/systemscringe who will treat them like they're either lying, crazy, OR BOTH! And the way to fight shame and normalize talking about DID and OSDD is to be brave, take risks, and talk about having them in places that aren't just about those disorders.

So congrats to that one user who went and spoke about their alters in the Hellenism subreddit. It's only a small step forward, but progress will be made by a million small steps like this one.

[httpiastri]

❣️ getting into your dream uni/school and pepe and paul if possible :>

❣️ – send me a prompt and one/a few drivers and i'll tell you how i think they would react!!

pepe marti

pepe will have been talking about & manifesting this for ages. not in a way that makes you feel pressured, but inspires you to work hard to get into it – not because it will make him happy, but because it's your dream. do you get what i mean? he's extremely excited and supportive all the way, and when you tell him that you got in, it's like all the pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place.

pepe is the type to say "hey, let's go check out your soon-to-be uni" at 2am, out of nowhere, during summer break when you're moving in there in just a few months. and when you say "well, i've already been there", he answers "but have you seen it at night?"... and then he's the type to drive the 1.5 hour it takes to get to your dream uni, hold your hand while walking around the campus, flashlight pointed at the buildings and asking you where you'll have your classes and where you'll eat your lunch. and then he points at random benches telling you about the summer afternoons you'll spend sitting on them with your newly made besties, or nodding towards lecture halls and explaining what types of classes you'll have in them ("racing strategy 101" and "twitch streaming with your platonic boyfriend" being two of his favorite ones).

and somehow, he makes you even more excited to start uni than you already were.

(and then, he drives you the 1.5 hour home again in his car, smiling at the sight of you all curled up and asleep in the passenger's seat, the content look on your face making him so happy because you made it!)

paul aron

paul doesn't get overly excited with you too often, but when he does, you bet his smile won't ever fade. when you tell him the news as you're walking home from a date, trying to make it sound like no big deal, he stops in his tracks and just gapes at you. then, he stumbles over his words, before managing to get out a "are you for real?!". and when you nod at him, he wastes no time pulling you up into his arms, a loud cheer erupting from his chest as he squeezes you tight.

paul would be so proud of you that he doesn't even know what to do. he wants to share it on his instagram story, tell everyone he meets on the street, scream it at the top of his lungs from a mountain. he knows he isn't allowed to, unfortunately, so he settles for telling all of his family members. he gets very frustrated when ralf seemingly doesn't care more than just a "that's great, congrats", but he knows he can trust the female members of his family to give you the reactions you deserve. his mom and sister are both over the moon, hugging you and gushing over it all, and paul just watches like "🥰 exactly what you deserve".

i think paul also really wants to help you prepare as much as he can, like helping you read through the course catalog, going furniture shopping (if you're moving away for uni), buying stationery with you... i also think he would definitely buy random stationery in the places he races in, so one day he just goes "oh i got you this notebook in barcelona" or "look at this pizza pen i got in imola, it's going to be your lucky pen in uni"....

[hochsleep]

Chapter 1: Just survive somehow

• Era: Season 1

• Warning: profanity, typical TWD violence.

• Summary: You and your little sister Lottie have to escape from the walkers in the forest. You both almost become lunch for the living dead, but suddenly you are rescued by a stranger, and thanks to persuasion you manage to get to his camp in the quarry. But it seems that the relationship between you does not work out. You will have to find an approach to him, because otherwise you will not survive.

• Word count: 4k

• A/N: Well, I've written...something. I actually have no idea how I'm going to combine this fanfic and the Daryl Dixon x OC fanfic on ao3 (there's a link in the pinned post on my profile page if you're interested), but I'm going to try. Yeah, I literally wrote in an introductory post a couple weeks ago that I wouldn't be writing big works on Tumblr and where are we now? I haven't been very consistent in what I've said. Anyways, posting the first chapter now.

I know it might be a bit boring in the beginning now, I'm not a big fan of the first episodes or chapters in series and books myself, but you have to start somewhere. I'm still just getting into the subject of Y/N fanfics, so I'll be learning as I write the work. What I can say now.

Please correct me in the comments if you find mistakes! Of course, I double-check my work before publishing, but something could still slip through. Especially since you, as an English-speaking audience, will be more attentive to turns of speech, slang and so on. Let me remind you that English is not my native language and I use a translator (you can read more about it in the attached post in my profile). So feel free to make corrections, I am always open to help and constructive criticism!

Oh, and also, congrats to everyone on the release of TWD: Daryl Dixons season 2!

Enjoy reading!

Then.

"Come on, Lottie, hurry up!" - you shouted to your little ten-year-old sister, who ran after you between the trees in the forest.

“Y/N!” a little girl shouted, following you but lagging behind every now and then.

A few walkers was getting closer, and it was like Lottie could barely move her legs. She had to run faster. She should have saved herself. But could you blame a ten-year-old girl? She’d had to lose her family and friends in the last few days, and there were the living dead walking the earth. The world has changed at the snap of a finger. Lottie probably still hoped it was just a bad dream.

You too.

You had to watch your neighbor across the street, Mrs. Faulkner, pounce on your mother and start biting chunks of skin off her neck without much effort. That's hardly realistic. But that's life now. All those radio warnings about a virus spreading in Europe turned out to be true. That it was incurable. That the dead will rise up and walk the earth again. That their bite would kill you and make you come back to life after a while. It all seemed so distant and unrealistic that you, like most Americans, just changed the channel on the TV or radio when you heard the news of the virus again. After all, there's been a lot of crap and "incurable" diseases throughout human history. If a plague in the Middle Ages couldn't kill the entire world's population, why would some disease do it in 2010 when medicine is booming almost everywhere in the world? Bullshit.

Where are you now? Running with your little sister through the woods while at least four walking corpses are chasing you? This whole thing really does feel like a cheap horror movie. Or a scary dream. A scary dream in a cheap horror movie.

“Lottie! You can’t stop!” you screamed while your little sister looked back and slowed down at every opportunity.

You had a hard time running yourself. Not that you’ve been a fanatic about physical activity in all the years of your life. Yoga and Pilates were your max and only on feel-good days. But the adrenaline in your blood was doing its thing and it allowed you to run faster and longer. Which was not the case with your sister. The girl was tired and breathing hard. She kept looking back to see how close the walkers were to the two of you, even though you had forbidden her to look back.

“Y/N, they’re close! They’re going to catch up with us!” shouted Lottie panting.

You started frantically looking around for a place to take cover. Apparently Lottie wouldn’t be able to run for much longer. You were breathing hard, too, and your legs were sore from the exertion. You had to hide. But where the hell could you hide in the middle of the woods? In the long run, you could hide behind a large tree, but the walkers had already spotted you and were following you, so that option was no longer viable. Climb a tree? You could if you knew how to climb trees. But even so, how long can you and Lottie stay in a tree? You’d have to come down sooner or later, and walkers don’t feel tired or weak, so you couldn’t expect them to give up and fall asleep at some point. No, they’re going to wait until the food comes down from the tree. And again, you can’t climb trees. But Lottie can. What are the chances she’ll agree to climb a tree while you distract the walkers? What’s the chance you’ll survive? How’s she gonna get back down and survive in the woods alone? She’s barely ten years old, for goodness sake, and she didn’t get out into the wild until the last few days! You're all she's got. She's all you have. So it’s just the two of you hiding and surviving together.

“Come on, sweetie, just a little more!” you grabbed your sister’s hand and dragged her forward.

Now.

“Carl! That’s not fair!” shouted Lottie as the boy stuffed the last five hazelnuts into his mouth and grinned cockily.

“It’s all fair, whoever got there first takes it all,” Carl said with his mouth full.

“I’ve just turned my back and you’ve already eaten it all! We’re out of nuts!” frowned Lottie.

“Daryl will find more when he goes hunting,” Carl only shrugged innocently.

“Then you’ll have to ask him yourself,” Lottie snorted and got up from the plaid she and Carl were sitting on.

Lottie approached Carol and Sophia, who were ironing clothes. Sophia’s father was a cruel man as far as Lottie could tell. He had forbidden his daughter from playing with the other two children at camp simply because he had decided to. And now the creepy man sat on a folding chair with a bottle of beer in his hand and strictly made sure Sophia stayed close to her mother and helped her with her “women's responsibilities” as he called it. It sucked.

“Hi, Sophia,” Lottie smiled at the girl, “and Mrs. Pelletier,” she nodded to Carol.

“Hello, honey,” Carol smiled gently at the girl. Sophia looked at her father warily and not noticing the vehement objection on his face, she smiled and nodded to Lottie.

“Carl ate all the nuts, but I brought you what I managed to salvage,” Lottie pulled a few hazelnuts out of the pocket of her jean shorts and held them out to her friend.

“Thank you,” Sophia said quietly and quickly tucked the nuts into her pocket while her father turned away.

“When can you play with me and Carl? Maybe tonight?” asked Lottie hopefully.

“Maybe tomorrow?” answered Carol for Sophia when she saw her head lowered frustratedly. “I’ll talk to Daddy, honey,” said the woman to her daughter, stroking her back.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Lottie sighed and went on to find something else to do besides playing with Carl. She was still mad at him a little about the nuts.

You were on duty on the roof of Dale’s motorhome, a kindly older man who tried to change you every twenty minutes and told you to go get some rest. But the duty was actually a rest. You just sat on a folding chair on the roof of the car and watched the surroundings. Dale and Glenn were basically doing the same duties, only with a shotgun in hand. Just in case. You weren’t trusted with a shotgun. It didn’t make much sense since you couldn’t shoot. And you weren’t very good at close combat. So you just had to keep an eye on the area around the camp and warn them of possible danger. It’s no big deal. Except that the merciless Georgia sun was as hot as anywhere in Africa. It seemed that way to you, anyway. You were sweating in every part of your body, your hair sticking to the damp skin on your back, your clothes wet with sweat, and you were as tanned as if you’d gone to a tanning salon. The only thing that kept you warm was the powdered lemonade Dale had made, some old nature magazine from the glove compartment of Shane’s jeep, and the cowboy hat Andrea had lent you. Even though you've spent the last ten years of your life in Georgia, you've managed to hide from the heat until this day. Whether at home in your stepdad's garage under a fan while he blames his barely living car. Or at work in the supermarket by the house. There were old air conditioners that you thought were your age, but you didn't complain as long as they worked. Especially hot days you spent in a cozy old cafe from the 50's, where your mother worked as a waitress and let you lounge for hours in the coziest booth close to the fan. In general you had no need to sit under the sun in such hellish heat without a hint of shade. How could there be any shade on the roof of an old mobile home? You have to melt like a piece of butter on toast.

You heard someone climbing up the ladder to the roof. It definitely wasn't Dale, you'd have realized from his static grunts. It was Lottie. Her old pink cap appeared before you saw your sister.

“Hey,” you smiled at your little sister, “I thought you were hanging out with Carl and Sophia.”

“Carl’s a jerk today, and Sofia can’t play with us, her dad won’t let her,” the girl snorted and sat on your lap, because sitting on the sun-hot roof of the car wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Hey, I’d take a swear jar from you right now,” you tried to look at Lottie with a stern big sister look, but it never really worked. It looked ridiculous and hardly got any respect from the kid.

“Sorry,” the girl sighed, “but Carl is really behaving badly today. He ate the last of the nuts while I was distracted and didn’t even have a chance to protect them…”

“Are you really upset about the nuts?” you chuckled.

“No, more of an injustice…I was hoping we’d split the nuts fairly between the three of us, but Carl ruined it,” Lottie rested her head on your shoulder sitting on your lap.

It was so damn sweet. The way Lottie loves you. There’s often tension between sisters, but not in your family. Charlotte was born when you were 13 and that’s a really big difference, but you always wanted a brother or sister. And even though sometimes you had to miss seeing your friends to take care of Lottie when Mom and your stepfather, your little sister’s father, were working late, you still loved Charlotte with all your heart. Although it’s hard not to love her. She had a mild-mannered personality, rarely acted cranky, and sometimes acted like a little adult. At least you were a more rambunctious child at her age, according to your mother and other relatives. Only as you got older did you become a calm and peaceful person, and as a child you could afford to kick the asses of the boys who hurt you in junior high school. Charlotte, on the contrary, preferred to solve conflicts peacefully and disliked violence already at the age of ten. The age when children can be really violent, but your sister was not. Now, however, she seems to be really angry with Carl. But it’s probably because of all the stress you’ve both been under for the past three weeks. Everyone’s been on edge right now. That’s the way the world is now.

“I’ll find you some new nuts in the woods,” you said, stroking your sister’s soft hair.

“You’re afraid to go into the woods,” sighed Lottie.

“I’ll ask Glenn or Amy to come with me.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to ask Daryl? “Lottie looked at you in anticipation.

Oh, that’s right. Daryl. Well, that was a bit of a problem.

Then.

You tugged at Lottie’s arm, who was stumbling at almost every step. The walkers were coming faster and faster. Your courage and confidence were running away from you just as fast. But you did not let go of your sister’s hand and kept moving forward.

“Y/N!” the little girl’s shrill cry echoed throughout the forest.

You turned around and saw one of the walkers grab the hood of Lottie’s sweatshirt. A tall man with a rotten open wound near his collarbone, with gray cadaverous skin, white eyes, and rotten teeth and nails. Death itself came closer than ever to you and your sister. And you had no idea what to do.

“No! Let her go!” you screamed in panic at the walker as if he could understand you.

“Y/N!” large tears flowed down the little girl’s cheeks.

You closed your eyes, preparing for the worst. You knew it would happen sooner or later. From the moment your neighbor ate your mother. From the moment your stepfather John set himself up to feed the walkers two days ago so you and Lottie could escape. Since the world died. You knew you were going to die, too. And your ten-year-old sister, who didn’t have time to live. It has to happen, whether you’re ready or not. But you are ready. Death has taken over the world now, and who are you to fight it? You just hoped that you and Lottie wouldn’t have to suffer and…

With a dull thud, the arrow pierced the forehead of the walker that had grabbed Lottie and he finally fell to the ground dead. Lottie threw herself into your arms without thinking, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist and sobbing into your chest. You looked around in incomprehension until you saw a man with a crossbow. He put down the remaining three walkers with the remaining arrows. Clearly and without missing. Like he’d done it every day before the outbreak.

Man paused, looking at you and Lottie sobbing in your arms, and then without a word walked over to the corpses to pull his arrows from their skulls. Right now, however, you didn’t have the strength to say a few words. You didn’t have the strength to say a barely audible “thank you” for saving your life. The man looked at you, chewing his lower lip and without saying anything, lowered his head and walked away as if nothing had happened now. It would have been nice to stop him. But you were still standing still.

Now.

Daryl was sitting on a log outside his and Merle’s tent on the outskirts of the rest of the camp. He was cleaning squirrel blood off his arrows and hunting knife. Well, thanks to him, the camp wasn’t starving. Lottie and Sophia didn’t like eating something cute like squirrels, but there’s no choice. And while you weren’t thrilled about it either, better squirrels than the inedible berries you and Lottie had been poisoned with before you got to camp at the quarry. It was… unpleasant. You almost silently approached his “Dixon den,” as Shane called the tent of the brothers who preferred to stay away from the main group. But for an experienced hunter and tracker like Daryl, it wasn't hard to hear the branches crunching under your feet. Of course he noticed. Daryl turned toward you, where you froze for a moment between the bushes and snorted.

“What do you want, girl?” he asked, staring again at the dirty arrow in his hand..

“Hey,” you smiled shyly and moved a little closer, not noticing the vehement protest on his part. “Am I interrupting you?”

“If I tell you what you’re doing, will you leave?” Daryl didn’t look away from his work, still not looking at you.

“I don’t know…I guess?” you shrugged uncertainly. You didn’t want to annoy him, but you had promised something to your little sister. And yourself too.

“So what do you want? A chat? That’s not for me,” Daryl shook his head.

“I wanted to ask you for help to be honest,” you pursed your lips as you always did when you felt uncomfortable.

“Try it,?” Daryl finally lifted the piercing gaze of his gray-blue eyes to you and you felt even more uncomfortable.

“Take me with you on your next hunt,” you blurted out, deciding it wasn’t worth beating around the bush. Not with Daryl Dixon.

“No,” he answered immediately and went back to cleaning his weapon.

“Daryl, please,” you insisted. Not that you expected him to answer any differently. “I need to learn at least the basics of wilderness survival. You probably remember the state you found me and Lottie in in the woods…I can’t let that happen again.”

“Why? You’ve warmed up to a camp with people who can handle weapons. Just stay close to them,” Daryl snorted.

“I’m not stupid, Daryl, I realize this isn’t forever and sooner or later we’re all going to have to separate. When that happens, there’s no one to protect Lottie but me,” you sounded more determined than usual. Of course, it took a few days to pull myself together. “So I’m asking you to help me. Teach me how to track prey and how to tell poisonous plants from edible ones. Please.”

“Look, you’re sure of yourself, huh? Coming in here and making demands like I owe you,” Daryl was starting to get annoyed, it was obvious. He didn’t like the way you were being pushy, asking him for something like you had a right.

“I’m not making demands, I’m asking for help,” your confidence began to wane after his words. Daryl didn’t know you well. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have had the nerve to call you cocky. Or just at least a little bit of confidence.

“I’ve already helped you out on my own head…I won’t do it again, you’re not a goddamn charity case here,” Daryl chuckled.

“Okay, then what do you want in return?” you asked firmly.

The question wasn’t about your curiosity about wildlife, your life and your little sister’s life depended on you. Your only family. This is not a case where you can afford to back down and give up.

“As if you have anything to offer,” snorted Daryl dismissively.

"What would you want?" you asked, hugging yourself tighter around your shoulders in a protective gesture.

Daryl's right. What the hell could you offer him? In this current world, money has no value. Not that you had a lot of it, but it was the first thing you thought of out of habit. Then what? Daryl is an excellent hunter who has all the necessary survival skills and is good with a gun. That's why you asked him for help and not anyone else. Shane could teach you how to shoot, which would undoubtedly be very useful in the current circumstances, but it's not enough to survive in the woods without a group. Not without someone like Daryl, who is as well adapted to life in the wilderness as you could tell from a week of knowing him.

Back to the question, what could you offer him? What would Daryl Dixon want?

"I want you to talk less and get back on your own," Daryl squinted looking at you for a few seconds and then lowered his head again. The conversation wasn't going well.

"Why did you save me and my sister in the forest? Why did you bring me here? We might live a little longer being in a group, but when this is all over, we're both going to be eaten, so why did you have to build up to this moment?"

Daryl was silent. Like that day a week ago before he brought you to camp. Really, why did he do that? He felt sorry for Lottie. A dirty little girl, messed up to death. You didn't look like you really tried to save her during the walker attack and Daryl wondered why. How scared were you? Didn't believe in your own strength? Did you want to die? He didn't know. But he knew for sure he wasn't going to let a child be eaten alive by a rotting reanimated corpse. Not in this world. Would Daryl have helped you if you were alone in the woods? He wasn't sure. You seemed resigned to your situation and didn't try to escape, so why would he rescue you?

He already did anyway. And dragged you both to the camp. And then that same night he had a fight with Shane, who wasn't sure about the idea of leaving you here. And he got a good laugh from Merle, who thought he was being too kind to someone in the Dixon family. But you don't need to know that. You're lucky it was Daryl and not Merle who came across you in the woods. You'd be wandering around the woods now, rotting from the inside out, wanting nothing more than to eat anything alive. Just like your sister.

"Your sister needed a place and I helped you, that's the whole story," Daryl only nodded his shoulder.

"Why?" you persisted.

"Damn it, girl, what are you babbling about! I helped you, who cares why?" Daryl frowned and abruptly stood up from his seat in a flash of anger.

"I just..." you cringed at his loud tone and backed away slightly.

"Stop bugging me with this, okay? I saved you and your little girl, that's it! That's all you're gonna get from me, you understand? I don't want to teach you anything, I don't need you, save yourself!" Daryl waved his hand, yelling at you and you didn't even realize why you pissed him off so easily.

You looked at him frowning in incomprehension. Why the hell is he yelling at you for no good reason? And looking so angry, like you'd done something terrible to him. You didn't understand Daryl Dixon and his mood swings. That's why you tried to stay away from him, especially the first couple days. You were grateful to him for saving you, but he didn't seem like someone you'd easily connect with. And Daryl had just proven that to you again. You only came to him with the request because no one else could handle it but him. But apparently he's really not interested in this at all. You didn't want to and couldn't force him. You just hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as rude and aloof as he seemed at first glance. After all, he wouldn't have saved you if he was the way he showed himself to others. You'd just have to find a way to approach him and then maybe something would work. But now you weren't so sure.

"Well?! Don't look at me like that, get out of here!" he shouted one last time, turning away from you.

You snorted disappointedly, and after staring at his back for a few seconds, you turned around and hurried back to camp. You were mad at Daryl, that was for sure. Just like Lottie was mad at Carl, but you had a better reason than a handful of nuts. And you might have wanted to yell back at him, but not that it made sense. You'd learned to control your negative emotions a long time ago, and you weren't about to let years of self-discipline go down the drain because of Daryl Dixon. That's on him. Maybe you'll try again later when you've both cooled down, but definitely not in the next few days.

Daryl was difficult, but you have to find an approach to him. Not for your own sake. Certainly not for him. For Lottie. For the chance to prolong her life as long as you could.

Then.

“Hey!” you followed the stranger after a few moments of daze.

You almost lost sight of him, but he wasn’t trying to be quiet, and you could still hear the sound of his footsteps on the leaves on the ground. So as soon as your body began to obey you again, you followed him, holding Lottie’s hand tightly in yours. The man didn’t stop no matter how many times you called out to him. How rude. But in the present world, one didn’t think much of it. And you didn’t know him, but he wasn’t exactly friendly before the end of the world. And yet, you stopped the man from grabbing his wrist when you caught up with him. He turned around and looked at you with a frown, immediately pulling his hand from your barely perceptible grip with force. You seemed to have hit something wrong.

“Thank you,” was the first thing you said when he finally paid attention to you.

“Forget it,” wheezed the man with the familiar Southern accent you never got in the ten years you’d lived in Georgia.

“What’s your name?” you persisted.

“Go where you’re going,” the man snorted and turned away again to walk away.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” you said before he could get a few steps away from you and Lottie, “I…I mean we have nowhere else to go.”

The man stopped for a moment without turning around, as if thinking about something.

“Do you live somewhere? Somewhere with people? You’re the first person I’ve seen in a week…I mean of living people,” you stared at his back without stopping to speak.

Hope flared in you. If there are still people alive, then you and Lottie have a chance.

But the man didn’t answer, only turned to glance at you. Your tangled hair, tied back in a low ponytail, your dirty knit sweatshirt over your once-white T-shirt, your mid-thigh jean shorts that were also dirty and torn on the side of your left leg, your broken knees with blood on them, your worn and dirty yellow sneakers. He looked at the little girl next to you. She had big eyes like yours. And while yours looked at him with weariness and a mute request you still hadn’t spoken aloud, hers were full of fear. Her long hair, braided into two pigtails, was also disheveled, and twigs and dry leaves were sticking out of it from the fact that she had been on the ground under the walker that had tried to eat her. Her denim overalls were stained with the rotting blood of the living dead, and the hood of the sweatshirt she wore over the rest of her clothes was now torn off. There was only one rubber boot on the girl’s feet, the other having come off in the process of escaping from the walkers. The man thought it must be very uncomfortable to run around in rubber boots. The girl held your hand and appeared behind your back, gingerly looking at her savior.

“Y/N, I’m scared…” said Lottie quietly, pressing her cheek against your hand.

Y/N. The man mistook you for this girl’s mom. A very young mom. But it seems that wasn’t the case. Although the two of you had enough outward similarities to think you were related to each other.

“Do you have a place to stay? Please…we’ve been walking through the woods for three days without food or water,” you asked quietly.

The man looked at you with a piercing stare and was still silent. But he didn’t stay silent for long.

“Please,” Lottie said even more quietly, looking out at him from behind you. And then he gave up.

How could he refuse to help a little hungry girl in one rubber boot.

“Follow me,” he said, looking into your eyes for a second, and then turned and walked on, expecting the two of you to follow him.

Of course you both did. Now the hope in your heart is much brighter.

[dialalagirl]

As you wish pookie <3

Let's start with how I perceive you. You're fun, really fun to talk to and you feel warm. Despite my nervous and sometimes distant nature, your attitude and general behavior helped me speak my mind without worrying too much. Your blog never fails to bring a smile to my face and i look forward to seeing your posts which doesn't happen often for a long time, because I'm easily distracted and bored. You've somehow managed to keep me fixated on your blog lol, congrats. Besides all this, you having cancer in both sun and moon makes me think that you'd be amazing with empathy and could easily read people without much effort on neither their nor your part, it comes to you naturally. And that carefree aura? Fuck yeah i CRAVE friends like that 😭. I feel that you'd be an amazing one for late night talks and pj-parties; and your relaxed, welcoming demeanor is most likely appreciated by more people than you'd think <3.

Moving on to the one I believe would suit you best: I'd say laito!

I do have a second one in mind tho sdjkdfn subaru could also suit you. Here's my reasoning:

Laito~

You see, he's just there to have a good time and relax, he's been through way more than enough 💀. Honestly I can see him spoiling you rotten, and you two would have late night (day??) talks all the time. He'd talk to you abt anything once he believes you're genuine about how you feel with him. This includes his childhood memories, traumas, random things that intrigue him, and honestly anything to keep the conversation going if it means you'll stay with him. Besides, it's a perfect opportunity to explore together, if ykwim ;>

Subaru~

I was going to say subaru first, but laito's charming personality stopped me. The reason being, subaru is more subtle with his affection; he doesn't outright say it or show it without hesitation. He does it secretly, you'll kinda have to read between the lines in his words if you wanna hear his affection. Don't get me wrong, he does voice his emotions, just not as openly as laito. Most of the time, I feel like he'd rather try to show it through actions rather than words because tbh I'd be bashful to say what's in my heart too lol. Deep talks would happen more often with him tho, once he trusts you enough to talk about himself with you, you're not leaving him bbg he can't have the one person he cares about leave him behind <3

So yea, hope u like it <3

JBIDBCIEIDNIWIBCUUBWLJHDB-- I LOVE THIS, why are you are being so sweet to me omfg, I'm dying over here of diabetes and I don't even mind <33 thank u so much for being my DL cupid :DD

never thought Laito would be such a great fit for little ol'sexually shy me, but actually rn? totally buy it especially considering his AMAZING route in more blood

and I got my fave too: suba buba -- my favourite brand of bubblegum!!!

why am I being spoiled today with all the goods and all the best people? <333

[rins1cle]

Random Poseidon headcannons I thought about while re-watching Poseidon's and Sasaki's fight.

(Editor note: This is mixed crack, platonically and romantically 💀)

- He would probably eat a mannequin than show emotion tbh

- Probably smells like pool chlorine and fish shit

- Dude would have the nastiest breath known to the solar system like think of Shrek when he farts in the water. I feel bad for humanity fighters ngl.

- His hair probably smells like a dead bay.

- Man would give you a 'fuck you' note and call it a confession

- Beware of kissing this man, he probably would bite your lips off mid make-out.

- Let's be real if you some how managed to get him to simp for you, good luck congrats you managed to read through the impossible quiz that his his courting scheme🤩.

- Dude would give you gifts at the most random occurrence and or advice like the most out of pocket advice (less on the gifts for platonically).

- If you somehow managed to be besties with this man he would defo let you ramble about random shit.

- I feel like he's the type to buy a shit ton of aquatic plushies and memorize them all by name.

- Y'all would study together (aka Poseidon just berating you for not knowing smth).

- You could off handedly mention smth about what you like or a hyper fixation, expect smth related to that to be at your door with in an hour. He would deny buying it even up on his deathbed.

Øff topic but like I just realized Poseidon gives like the upmost toxic tsundere known to exist bro.

- he hate sit when you eat fish or any seafood infront of him and will sulk for the next century about it.

- Is the type to react like "FUCKFUCKCUKCUCJSHITHSIT-" when he realizes he's in love with someone.

- Would send you a facebook 'Good Morning' image.

- If you compliment anything about him, expect it to amplified by 100x the next time you see him.

- If your getting something from a cabinet or smth similar, he would do the thing where he covers part of the cabinet with his hand to save your head from impact. The moment you ask him about it he would just olay it off as gentlemanliness. (this man has no gentlemanliness bffr). Would laugh at anyone else if they hit their head on smth and call them pathetic.

- Coffee addict and workaholic.

- If you ever wanted this man to hang out with you, you would need to physically drag him out of his office.

- I have a gut feeling he has like either a 12+ step skincare routine or he used a 13 in 2 and calls it a day 💀.

- Imo, this man is a 9/10 for looks but a 2.5/for personality, dude has the same amount of personality as my right big toe.

- Big family man.

- He would totally buy you expensive jewelry no matter what you say about the price.

-Would break your wrist if you try to pay for the bill.

- Is embarrassed about his partheon.

Alr my brain has no more juice-

[mondaymelon]

congrats on 500 followers melon!!! since you're technically supposed to be celebrating, i won't request anything unhinged (yay!!!)

could i request a vanilla-scented, blue & white envelope, jealousy, and⚡, sincerely kazuha?

thank you so much in advance, almighty and omnipotent melon, my favourite xiao simp in the entire world <3

i...i got carried away writing this. enjoy the extra length, rei!! love you ♡ enjoy ✩ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

To the beloved one who reads this,

How do you fare? The wind tells me such things, but the tongue of the breeze is one that takes decades to master.

...Hm, alright. I'll stop now. I'm sure you're already wondering what this is all about. Haha, you didn't expect me to write you a letter, did you? Or perhaps you did. You know me well, perhaps too well.

As for why I'm writing this... I can't say it's my first time doing such an act, but it's certainly filled with anticipation all the same. Yes, I do have your number, but I wouldn't want to bother you with such selfish frivolities, would I? That's why I came up with a solution, this letter, the one you're holding in your very hands and reading with your very eyes. That way, once you're free, you can read the words I'd like to speak.

Now then... ah, how should I begin this? I've explained my reasons... so I suppose I should begin to elaborate further.

...Although, that's quite the... awkward topic to delve into. It's rather selfish of me to wish to say these things to you... however, I feel like it's been a while since we've been able to, well, hang out. Just the two of us. There's always someone there, bothering every moment we have, disturbing the connections between us... ah, I've said too much.

Point is... is... is it okay to be selfish, just this once? As much as it shames me to say, or rather, write these words to you, I really detest it when they dare trample upon our precious time together. These moments are for us, and for us only, and for them to foolishly... ahem.

I suppose one could say that I'm jealous.

I, the always calm and collected Kazuha. It's strange how things somehow play out, isn't it? But then again, we've known each other for a long time, well enough to begin to show our true colors, so perhaps, in a way, this could've been expected.

I am certainly not proud of what I have said today... however, they leapt out of my hands and onto the paper. These words are true to my heart, and ones that I've wished to say.

Apologies for any disruptions I may have caused you. If you'd like, you can choose to ignore this letter. I understand.

That said, if you choose to consider... me... then, should we discuss times where we'd be able to meet up? I heard there was a new coffee shop that opened near downtown, perhaps we could meet up there? I've got quite the number of tales to share with you... best be prepared.

Then, I will await a response, if you will.

Thank you, and my apologies.

Sincerely,

Kazuha

(a/n) ohhh thank you dearest rei for sparing me from your unhinged wagner thirst i praise thee rei i praise thee

ANYWAYS I FINALLY GOT A REQUEST DONE!! i have ignored my duties for too long but i promise i'll try to get through every single event request !

find the event here! <- (finished)

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #157

1. Hello, first of all thank you for all your hard work 🫶 really appreciate! I'm looking for a fic i read about a year ago: unfortunately i can't remember much, so i apologise if it's a vague description. I also think i might be mixing some facts with this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39533883 so i’m sorry if i’m making it hard to find. Trigger warning from here on (depression, su! c!de): the fic was set in the crowley's flat and the characters were canon (im pretty sure it was set a short time after S1's canon events, but somehow C still had holy water). Crowley had just suffered some sort of physical and emotional trauma (r@pe? sorry, i can't quite remember) and couldn't trust neither Aziraphale nor himself. He fell in a state of depression and couldn't see any other way out but use the holy water in his safe. (Spoilers) | remember a scene where he weakly walked to the safe and wrote a note, then tried to reach the thermos but was stopped last second by Aziraphale. Thank you in advance🫶; and if you manage to find it, congrats😅 - anon

2. Helloo I hope it's not too hard to find but I lost a fic on ao3 a bit ago I didn't finish reading and was hoping someone recognise it, it starts off with post apoca-nope Crowley being confronted by demons in his flat who tell him to stay away from aziraphale and summon a screen through which to view him. buuut since there was no audio they all missed a conversation between aziraphale and god in which god gives him a golden string (I think) and explains that metatron has been giving orders independently from god, then asks aziraphale to go to heaven and stirr up trouble. And that's when I accidentally closed the Tumblr app and lost it :( - anon

3. so theres this fic i was reading where its post canon but basically crozira gets locked up in heaven and crowley does his snake thing and releases them both (was in the beginning ish) but thats all i remember 😭😭 im sorry if this is too much to ask for, thank you in advance!!! - @stars-v3ria

4. Hello! I hope y'all are doing all right in what I imagine is a swamp of new asks from season 2's approach. (Writing this in the final few weeks til release.) I'm writing in search of a lost fic--I've scrounged through the Aziraphale's True Form tag but come up empty. It was T, M, or E rated, and more or less a true form sex fic, but may or may not have included genital sex. The part I remember (which I think was the focus of the story, it being a oneshot) was framed as a divinity/grace kink scene in which Aziraphale revealed his true form to Crowley. It was overwhelming to him (verging on pain iirc), but also very beautiful, intense, and possibly sensual or sexual. The part I really remember, though, came at the end-- Crowley, crying, used their safeword, which was "Amen." And after that I think it was more on the tender side. Would you happen to have encountered such a story? Thank you very much for your time, and potentially that of your followers-- I very much appreciate all the work you do for the fandom. <3 P.S. In case this reaches the author, and you with to remain anonymous, please know that the fic really stuck with me and I was merely searching for it in hopes of leaving a comment to that effect. &lt;3 - @elderly-worm

5. Hello! I was recently told about the (cursed) movie script and was told that there is a fanfiction of Book and Show Crowley saving movie Aziraphale from movie Crowley. The person said they're sure they read it on ao3 but cannot find it now and I'm extremely curious. Any help would be very appreciated and thank you so much for the library you're doing here, helped me to find a lot of gems. - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[marchwardenofmordor]

How my original ocs throw hands (and how you’d fare in a fight):

Aelf/Sereuraidd: delivers the most fantastic, psychologically devastating, echo-chamber SLAP across the face followed by him just fucking launching himself at you like the L4D hunter if you even think about opening your mouth in response. You’re extremely unlikely to win. He held back out of pure grace because he didn’t want to mess up his hair. You end up flat on your arse, incredibly embarrassed, he has chunks of hair and skin under his nails and he is fucking disgusted.

Folcwyn: stares intensely. It all happens so fast. You wonder what sort of deep seated psychological issues this tiny hairy transman has to be able to twist you into a balloon poodle in such a short space of time. If you somehow manage to match his freak, fighting him will be like trying to wrestle a cat into a bathtub. Fights dirty. You’ll survive but come out of it significantly worse for wear, and you definitely won’t do it again.

Gwynvaer: dishes out gut punches on the regular but if you really piss her off, expect to get haymaker’d so hard that when you wake up your clothes are out of fashion. One hit knockout. How embarrassing for you.

Gwalchmai: Gives you a sporting chance to hit him first. If you do hit him, pray it knocks him out. He’s a fair fighter but by the gods it will be painful, both for you and anybody watching. If you don’t back down first, he will encourage you to do so. You’ll win if you’re lucky and fast enough.

Meredin: She kills you outright. She hasn’t got the patience for your bullshit. If you manage to survive the initial murder attempt, she will cheat and does not fight fairly. You either have to be incredibly strong, or… yeah, no, you have to be incredibly strong or you’re dead.

Seithenyn: cries during confrontation and gingerly yanks your hair. If you even slap him, he will fold like a deckchair. Congrats, you won the fight, but at the cost of looking like a complete prick. Why would you hit him? You monster.

Rhagfyr: just dont. He will be upset about it afterwards. Like Seithenyn, why would you even hit him, you horrid creature? However unlike Seithenyn, he puts you through a wall and you’re lucky if you even survive.

Gwydion: Can’t throw hands. He can, however, read you to filth in such a way that you will never psychologically recover, even after years of therapy. You’ve physically overpowered him, but he has dealt you irreversible mental damage. That being said, hitting him was worth it. He’s a twat and deserved it.

Gelert: you just wouldn’t fight him if you knew what was good for you. He’d be reluctant to attack you, and would simply push you out of the way or take the punches, opting for peaceful defence, but if you pissed him off enough, you absolutely would not survive the encounter, or even make it out in one piece. You would be a pile of chewed up bones and viscera. He’d prefer to hold you back and ask you why you’re angry so you can solve the problem verbally instead of getting physical.

[alovesreading]

hello, i hope you’re doing as well as we all can be. i just wanted to let you know that constant repeat literally changed my life. around a year and half (?) ago i was getting really depressed, anxious, and generally unhappy with…pretty much everything that wasn’t related to alex turner in some way. i have autism and his work (+ miles’s) is my special interest, so i know i’ll reliably be able to cheer myself up just a little if i’m doing anything involving them. one night at 4am, i was trying to find literally anything to keep me occupied so i wouldn’t spiral again. i somehow managed to come across cr. i’m not kidding when i say i read everything that was up (something around 12-14 chapters iirc?) before 6am. it became the reason i woke up every day, i just had to find out what ella and alex were up to and if they’d ever figure out how chronically in love they were. i won tickets to one of the am concerts in my area shortly after that and i reread my favorite chapters to celebrate. i watched all your life updates and chapter updates and i’ve been keeping tabs on you since. i gained more reasons to wake up (ie getting engaged) but i always come back to cr. 💚💚 much love to you.

(ps, sorry for any typos or silly formatting, it’s currently 4am for me. i just wanted to send good things your way with the way things have been)

Anon, this is probably the most special ask I have ever gotten. Nearly brought me to tears.

Constant Repeat was born out of a fight against the claws of depression while stuck working on the road for almost a year. Being in the truck month after month was draining, and the only thing keeping me sane was plotting silly fics on my laptop.

One of those fics ended up being Constant Repeat. I wrote so damn much in such little time, and I thought it would be so stupid to post it but with some encouragement, I gave in.

Never in a million years did I think any of my little made up stories would make an impact on anyone, at least not beyond entertaining people for a bit.

So reading this has just made my heart grow about three sizes in my chest. I’m so proud of you anon, for how far you’ve come and all that you’ve accomplished so far. I’m sending you a billion hugs and all the love in the world. And a massive congrats to you on your engagement!!!! 🥹🥹🥹

Thank you for your support, for being here, and coming back despite the lack of new content. I hope with all my heart to be able to put out something new for Ella and Alex’s story very soon.

Know that when next chapter comes, it’ll be dedicated to you.

Again, thank you for this. Wishing I could hug you through the screen, but I hope you feel the ghost hug while reading this 🤍🤍🤍

[subzeroparade]

I finished!!! With DLC and everything, now I’m a squid baby hanging out with the Doll for the rest of eternity. Super excited that my self-imposed ban on lore videos and fics are lifted, and now I can read!

Not to diss Elden Ring, gods know I love the Lands Between, but Bloodborne’s story just hits different. With ER it feels like it’s all a giant family squabble, but in Bloodborne it’s the collective human hubris that fucked everything up. The Great Ones in BB seem to be way more sympathetic and often victims of men’s actions, where in ER the Outer Gods appear to be more malevolent. Idk, it’s almost like Marika and the Greater Will is a success story of how to commune with the Great Ones properly and establish a mutually beneficial world order compared to whatever they were trying to do in BB. From a “all soulsborne games are connected” perspective it’s pretty neat.

With that said, I’m dying to know your takes on the lore. I’ve always felt in the beginning (the beginning of the game as well, to a certain extend) everything was your normal level of Victorian horror——vampires, werewolves, hunters, scholars that seek higher knowledge, but all under control and supernatural events were few and far between, known only to certain individuals. It’s only until the event of the Fishing Hamlet and the establishment of the Healing Church, or even after the schism of the Choir and the Mensis, that things went publicly tits up. Are you in favor of the events of the game happened in literally one night, or that Yharnam is stuck in a limbo? How long do you think has passed since the heyday of Byrgenworth and the event of the game (I want to say 30ish years based on Willem’s age and since he’s the only one alive from that time it’s a good time indicator. But then again is he actually alive? Extending his existence through unnatural means sounds like something he’d totally do)? Did our action really change anything? Did killing Rom allow the Mensis Ritual to succeed by weakening the veil and beckoning the Red Moon, or they were going to succeed/already did anyway and we were just breaking the illusions that everything is “normal”? Since the Healing Church is a new power (although how they managed to build so many grand architectures in such short amount of time is beyond me, the magic in this world is not known for its construction powers lol), who ruled Yharnam before them in your headcanon? I read theories that the Vilebloods were the ruling class before the Healing Church and they themselves have Pthumerian ties, which is interesting and adds another layer to the conflict between the Healing Church and Cainhurst. But I don’t know how plausible that theory is.

So sorry for my rambling, I just have so many thoughts in my head and excited to share them with you before I do the same in your comment section 😭 Anyway, since AO3 is back up it’s great time to start diving into BB fics!

Wow this sure is An Ask :’)

First of all, congrats on becoming A Squid! Enjoy godhood. 

The rest of this under the cut for length.

BB and ER are certainly vastly different in their storytelling. I remain a big fan of how the spectrum of ER’s themes run from Greek tragedy to medieval succession struggles. Personally, I find the familial plot points of it to be the most interesting - as well as the vast passage of time and sense of decay and mythology imbued in the world. Admittedly I don’t care as much for shipping in ER - outside of writing Godwyn/Fortissax, obvs - because the legacy and mythos parts of it seem so incredibly rich by comparison (hence why I don’t write BB characters as being related, as many people seem to - I burnt out on family drama themes writing for ER).  

BB, by contrast, is somehow very immediate in its history, in its active crisis, and it feels very grounded in humanity in a way that ER does not. In ER I feel constantly reminded that we are a shitty little lowly Tarnished and cannot pretend to understand the millennia that have past - even since the Shattering - or the scraps we’re now sniffing at in the wake of all that. But humans in BB feel close enough to the gods that they’re compelled to reach for them - scholars, clergymen, institutions, etc - only to realise the gods are crueler and more incomprehensible than even those of ER, while the consequences of their actions are significantly and viscerally more personal. ER has gods as a product of divinity and mythmaking, and BB has them, in a weird sense, as a facet of the Promethean impulse gone horribly wrong. If you really want to know my take on some of these specific questions, I’ve answered similar ones under the ask tag - but am occasionally cagey about some of these, because I use them for plot points in future fics. I’d rather a reader go in not being too familiar with my speculation, and that my conjecture is a means to an end (storytelling) rather than just info-dumping of “here’s what I think happened” - but that’s just my personal inclination. (Which is not to say I don’t appreciate other people’s elaborate lore speculation because I do, and there are some great and heavily-researched headcanons that I don’t always share but love to rotisserie in my head.)

As for what I can answer - 

Are you in favor of the events of the game happened in literally one night, or that Yharnam is stuck in a limbo? 

Semi-answered this in a previous ask here but since cosmic what-the-fuckery is pretty abundant otherwise, I like parts of lorecrafting to be pretty grounded in opposition to that - so I do believe Yharnam folk experience multiple nights of the Hunt, a rhythm of descent into madness influenced by the moon and the slow dissolution of the Church. I think dawn comes for them, but they know the next night will be worse, each new moon another instance of the city unravelling around them.  

How long do you think has passed since the heyday of Byrgenworth and the event of the game? 

Touched on this a bit here. This is based on the pacing I establish in my own writing, but I give the events between the Hamlet and the PC Hunter’s arrival about 50 years, give or take. 

But then again is he [Willem] actually alive? 

I think about catatonic rocking chair Willem like a potted plant on a windowsill. Decorative. 

Did killing Rom allow the Mensis Ritual to succeed by weakening the veil and beckoning the Red Moon, or they were going to succeed/already did anyway and we were just breaking the illusions that everything is “normal”?

Hammering this out for an upcoming fic, because I haven’t entirely made up my mind - also about whether the Moon creates the Dream before Mensis usurps Mergo’s Nightmare, or vice versa - or whether the two happen around the same time, and what their separate or overlapping goals are. I do think Mensis has different goals than the Church, to a certain point. I’ve had some pretty interesting discussions with mutuals about this (and feel free to share thoughts if you have). 

Since the Healing Church is a new power (although how they managed to build so many grand architectures in such short amount of time is beyond me, the magic in this world is not known for its construction powers lol), who ruled Yharnam before them in your headcanon? 

I tackle this with worldbuilding in The Feast We Were Promised, if you’re inclined to read it. Tldr: nothing exists in a vacuum, certainly not in a society with the kind of complexity demonstrable in Bloodborne, so obviously there was both a system of belief and system of government before the Healing Church politicked and/or strong-armed its way into power. 

As for cathedrals (and this is where being a historian by profession is pretty useful in worldbuilding): you could built pretty remarkable structures with pretty efficient timing, especially in the late 19th century. To use a nearby example of my own, Sacré-Coeur basilica at Montmartre took about 60 years from scratch in the latter half of the 19thc (as in there was nothing there before, no minor structure) and that’s considered long - it probably would’ve taken less time without the multiple wars and upheaval over that timespan. Likewise, a structure like Notre-Dame (the Paris one, not the Montreal one) underwent extensive restorations and additions in the 19th century, especially under Viollet-le-Duc (whose students would go on to do the same thing to gothic cathedrals elsewhere in France), but the baseline of the structure was already there - which is what I propose in the case of Yharnam: that much of the city’s civil and religious urban structure was already present (perhaps in the form of Pthumerian ruins in some cases). As in most European cities, buildings sometimes date from the Roman Empire and are gradually embellished, redone, or expanded upon over the course of the following centuries/millennia when funds are plenty and the ruling class is willing. If you think about what Haussmann did to Paris in less than twenty years, I imagine that to be the kind of equivalent of how the Church “cleans” up Yharnam and modernises it. But it’s my own preferred headcanon to imagine Yharnam was a little underwhelming before the Church’s public works; it could’ve also already been a splendid, thriving city.  (I did some work on Viollet-le-Duc's gargoyles like a decade ago, I highly encourage checking out his early drafts of them, they are remarkable images).

I read theories that the Vilebloods were the ruling class before the Healing Church and they themselves have Pthumerian ties, which is interesting and adds another layer to the conflict between the Healing Church and Cainhurst.

I touch on this in Feast a bit as well, but I think it’s really open to interpretation and you can make all kinds of convincing and interesting arguments about Cainhurst’s Pthumerian legacy. Again, on a grounded level beyond cosmic fuckery, I imagine Cainhurst and Yharnam’s larger territories have a centuries-old conflict a la English vs the French type of situation, and every skirmish and hostility arises out of this longstanding hostility and struggle over land and resources. I do think Cainhurst is tied to Pthumeru, though, via actual legacy, in a way Yharnam is not; and so I think Cainhurst would have claim to the labyrinths and the Healing Blood in a way that would threaten the Church’s supremacy in Yharnam and have ultimately kicked off hostilities, etc etc, until you get to the Cainhurst Massacre. 

All that to say enjoy your squidhood and any BB fics you read :)

[tunabesimpin]

Omg omg omg omg hi. HELLO HELLO, I BECAME A RECENT FAN OF YOUR BLOG. I really like your art style(especially the lipstick one) LOLOL and your ocs are really adorbs. TUNA & FLOYD = forever. And congrats on your milestonnnesssss!!! You deserve it 💪

I've been shying about the idea of sending you a art request (The sea-side party one) , cause like what if I mess up on it and stuff BUT I've finally gathered enough courage to send you it. ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Please don't force yourself to do this particular request if you're not feeling like it btw!

Soooooo................... MY SECRET IS THAT I STILL DONT KNOW HOW TO SWIM :( I'm too scared of the deep waters 😬 so I'd probably just be sitting on my butt while drinking my coca cola! I would be wearing an extra large white T-shirt with blue swimming trunks and some sunglasses 😎 cause I look like a total boss with them on! My favorite color is Periwinkleeeee!!

I would be drinking my coca cola then suddenly, I would probably be flapping in the air trying to pull away from Floyd's strong grasp, HE WAS GOING TO THROW ME INTO THE OCEAN??!!

"Wait a damn second! Floyd LEECH, im bein serious! Don't betray me like this!!"

"Fugu-chan can't just sit around doin' nothing at a party as fun as this! >;D"

And then Jade would come up from the ocean and promise to catch me, obviously I wouldn't trust his cunning dumb ahh!

"Floyd is correct, please loosen up and have fun, Prefect-san."

"NOOOOO, I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SWIM YOU ROCKHEADS."

"In that case, I promise I will catch you. Oh, and wouldn't you want your sunglasses back? They happened to fall while you were flailing around. :)"

"....... SOMEONE HELP A PERSON OUT! ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ"

Hehe... I'm so bad at drawing that I just used picrew to give you a more accurate picture of my oc...

Her name is Jessica, nicknamed Fugu-Chan by Floyd! Shes a very energetic individual... (No worries about the ooc-ness, I would still love the effort and your generosity for doing this request.. JUST LIKE CROWLEY BUT BETTER!!)

YOUR SO COOL FOR DOING THIS BTTTWW ♥️♥️♥️♥️💩💩💩💪💪💪

--- Despite all of Jessicas plans of staying on the shore and pleas to the leech twins, she somehow still ended up being dragged into the ocean.

"Ahaha~! Don't worry Jade is in there somewhere~" Floyd proudly remarked as he carried Jessica over his shoulder. The water was no longer shallow enough to see the bottom, no less see any sign of Jade nearby. Jessica clenched onto Floyd's back as she yelled "No way! No way! He's not even close! Just bring me back to shore!!!" Floyd rolled his eyes, letting Jessica's words roll through one ear and out the other. He finally stopped in his tracks and pulled Jessica forward enough to be face to face.

Floyd gave a pout and frowned "You really want to go back to the shore?" Despite Floyd's puppy-like face, Jessica was firm "YES." A sinister smile got rid of any sort of faux innocence the eel had tried to show "Too bad~" Without warning, Floyd chucked Jessica into the air towards the sea. She screeched with all her might as she braced herself for the water.

"My my, have you no trust in me at all?" Barely a toe in the water, Jessica peaked an eye open to see Jade somehow managed to catch her. Jade shed crocodile tears "I must say it's heartbreaking you belived we would abandon you here." Jessica blinked, still processing all that happened. At the sound of Floyd's maniacal laughter she finally came back to reality "You two!!! I'm going to barbeque you i swear! Don't you dare drop me!" ---

>V< Thank you for the kind words aaa you're submission was wonderful I appreciate your understanding sm!!! The way you wrote too was so fun to read I just had to play off of it too!!! >O< <3 Thank you for participating in the event I hope you enjoy!!! ^^

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hiii congrats on 1.5k! ♡♡♡

I'm requesting for an option one:

✨so to participate for this one, all you have to do is give me a character from a fandom and why you picked them, and any information about yourself you want to give me, and i’ll write you a blurb and tell you why i think your chosen character would like you.✨

And I'm choosing James Potter simply bc his characterization on both fanon and canon is interesting in general. I love his sunshine personality, the sheer arrogantconfident attitude and the love and adoration he has for his friends (the man became an animagus for his bsf and died for his wife and child ffs),, and honestly the description "it was james who had an ego the size of a lake but a heart to match it" that sold it to me. I also kinda have a thing for cute confident guys in glasses and messy curls maybe but let's ignore that

About me,, so I consider myself a stem girly (studied bio and I'm working in a lab atm), I'm sorta a black cat person, an introvert, and I have this tendency of keeping to myself most times, I'm consider the weird, chubby, quiet art kid bc i love arts (like doodling and sketching) and I also like singing along to songs when I'm working on things,,, I had like a phase where I kept changing hair colors monthly and my current style is a bit modernized vintage 70s outfits and casual corporate wear bc sometimes I like exuding the energy of a strong independent woman who can do great things bc I consider myself as one!!

I think that's all for me,, thanks so much and congrats again!! ♡

hi!

thanks for participating :)

(first of all, that’s one of my favorite quotes from atyd omg)

i think james would be drawn to you just because you’re a lot different than he is. he’d find you fascinating, and he’d make it a point to get to know you. he’s a very social and easygoing person, and i don’t think he does very well on his own. one of his main love languages is definitely quality time. but while i think he’s a social person, i do think he also gets a little burnt out. everyone relies on him to be the positive one, and it would be hard on him always being that person for everyone else when no one would be it for him. with you, he’d never feel like he had to put on a front. you’d be easy to calmly talk to and open up to, and he wouldn’t feel like he needed to entertain you or keep the conversation going. you’d be content to have a quiet day with him if he wanted one, and he would never say no to getting to spend time with you.

he would find your interest in art really endearing. whether that be in the way you expressed yourself through clothes, the songs he’d catch you singing to yourself, or your sketches you’d show him. james is a very talented person, but i don’t think he’s a very artistic person. so he’d think it was really cool that you were, and he’d always be up for hearing about it. he’d also think your interest in science is cool. he’s smart in a certain sense and gets passable grades, but being a top performing student isn’t really that high on his list of priorities. your education being important to you would show him that you’re really driven and hardworking, and he’d be really proud of all the effort you put into things.

—

he’d also definitely pick you as his partner in potions because of your skill in the lab.

he’d watch over your shoulder as you mixed ingredients into the cauldron, slightly bewildered at how nonchalantly you were reading through your textbook and brewing the potion with ease. every once in a while you’d look up and ask him to help you, or you’d explain what you were doing as you worked.

sirius would gripe from the adjacent table where he was sitting on his stool, in a temporary timeout from remus because he’d somehow already managed to fuck up their potion.

“it’s no fair! how come you get the good partner and im stuck with moony? he won’t even let me touch the cauldron.”

you’d chuckle, continuing to read through the instructions. “i wouldn’t either. i’m barely letting james help.”

“hey!” james would say, feigning offense as he threw an arm around your shoulder. “i’ll have you know i’m very helpful. one of us has to carry the ingredients all the way over from the shelf and back. what would my mum say if i let you do all the heavy lifting?”

“yes, how very chivalrous of you,” you’d tease, leaning into his side.

he’s grin down at you, passing you another jar of ingredients as he read the textbook over your shoulder. “i know. that’s just the kind of guy i am. i’m all about teamwork, love. a joint effort and all that.”

“sure you are, potter.”

you’d playfully roll your eyes, taking the jar from his hand. he’d continue watching in silence as you worked, resting his chin on your shoulder.

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thanks again for participating! sorry this is a little short, i hope you enjoyed it :)