#is this just a my family thing or is this common

[aplaceofnonsense]

Okay I just want to add to this:

- Windows wasn't a thing until 1983

That's right

The 'windows' computer wasn't a thing until 1983

And wasn't released until 1985

What does this mean?

personal computers/laptops just *weren't* a thing until early 2000s - mainly and widely used by Big Businesses in the 90s

for reference:

I was born in 1997 - This makes me 27 as of 2024 - I was 7/8 when my family got dial up *and* our first computer

That would've only been 2004/2005

I remember when DVDs were officially announced and released - i grew up on VHS

DVDs were *not* a common household item until at LEAST 2005

thats right

2005

Guys there was a huge tech boom in the early 2000s.....A lot of what we have is relatively new in the grand scheme of things....

Younger writers. Please, just know that you could not skip to different songs on a cassette tape, that’s CDs. With tapes you pressed fast forward or rewind and prayed.

Also, VHS tapes did not have menu screens. Your only options were play, fast forward, rewind, pause, stop, or eject.

Y’all are making me feel like the crypt keeper here, I’m begging you 😭

[my-castles-crumbling]

skiing - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 286

“Moony?”

Remus looked up from where he was gazing into the fire, shocked by Sirius’s voice. He was supposed to be long gone on the train, home for the holidays. “Sirius?” he gasped, his heart thrumming a bit. It had been doing that a lot lately around the other third-year.

Sirius, who was walking into the deserted Common Room, broke into a confused smile. “I thought you were going home!”

He shrugged, a bit abashed at being caught in the lie. “I…Full Moon is on Christmas. It’s easier for me to be here. I just didn’t want you all to feel obligated to stay.”

Sirius fixed him with an affronted look. “It wouldn’t be an obligation, Remus! We care and-”

“Well, why’re you here? I thought you were going home as well?” Remus retorted, crossing his arms and moving a bit so Sirius had room next to him on the couch.

“I decided I didn’t want to,” Sirius shrugged, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t think Mum cares enough to come get me, if we’re honest. I thought about asking one of you to come over, Peter's in France and the Potters are skiing, and I didn’t want your Muggle mum to have to deal with my family if they put up a fit, so…” he sighed. “I figured Christmas alone here was better than being with my family.” But then, a smile broke onto his face. “But now, we can spend it together, yeah? It’ll be the best Christmas ever, I reckon.”

Looking into Sirius’s shining face, Remus tried not to think too hard about why he, who was turning into a bloodthirsty monster on Christmas morning, wholeheartedly agreed.

[avelera]

Can we hear your thoughts on Jayce’s and Viktor’s intelligence? I can’t help but feel like Jayce is often…dumbed down. Which feels insulting to the both of them.

Rarrrr.... I should be doing other things... but this is a rage button issue for me... so....

Jayce is just as smart as Viktor.

The reason he doesn't come across as just as smart has multiple elements:

1 ) Arcane S1 in particular does a lot of sleight of hand to set up Jayce as facing down a corruption arc where he's tempted by fame and power. They achieve this in multiple ways. On an emotional level, they often zoom out for his more tender lines and zoom in when he says something dumb or unfortunate.

Intellectually, they tend to show things like his chalkboard after the fact, when he's not at it, but they show things like Viktor actively working in the lab quite a lot. Basically, we see Viktor doing a lot more active science stuff while he's doing it, but with Jayce we tend to see the effects of the science stuff he's already done, like presenting prototypes that are already made, him holding hexgems that are already created, showing equations and notes of his that are already complete instead of showing him making them.

Overall, this creates a visual impression that Jayce is the dumber of the two, because we see him doing less actively, but if you pay attention he's doing at least as much science as Viktor regularly, it's just more off-screen.

2 ) Viktor wouldn't partner with someone who's not as smart as him.

Viktor reroutes his entire life to work with Jayce after reading his notes on Hextech. It's insulting to Viktor's intelligence to think he would "lower himself" to working with Jayce. Jayce is his equal, his partner, they compliment each other and both accomplish things the other couldn't.

For my money, Viktor is the more out-of-the-box thinker, Jayce comes from a family of tool makers and he tends to think in straight lines, most of his innovations are direct results of the spells he saw his Mage do, like weightlessness and transportation, while Viktor tends to come up with things like the Hexclaw and the Hexcore.

But both are also craftsmen and tinkerers, and it was Jayce's idea originally to do magic with technology, Viktor is working with him to innovate on that vision.

3 ) Jayce is a better public speaker and he's physically attractive and muscular, in a way that makes people underestimate his intelligence. It is very common for people who are good at speaking, people who are of above average attractiveness and, god forbid, people who keep an exercise routine to be seen as less smart even though those things have nothing to do with one another. Because Jayce is seen as the "face" of Hextech it's assumed that he's the lesser intellectual partner, when the truth is, it's just a division of labor. Viktor is terrible at public speaking and doesn't like doing it, Jayce is charismatic so he does it.

He's not a gym jock, his muscles come from the forge where he makes absolutely mind-bogglingly advanced items like Caitlyn's sniper rifle and his own hammer, the guy is basically making Hadron Colliders over an anvil. But because people tend to judge based on appearances, people tend to think he's dumb.

4 ) Jayce thinks in straight lines. He's incredibly direct. The reason he agrees to raid the Shimmer Factory with Vi is because he's sick of politics and he's sick of the corruption, and he wants to just deal with a problem directly. That's why he and Vi bring out the worst in each other, because they both think like that, and straight lines aren't always the best way to tackle a difficult problem, but Jayce is a scientist, he's used to seeing a problem and just fucking solving it.

The problem is, that doesn't work for all problems. He's incredibly smart as an engineer, literally Ambessa can't even find a scientist in Piltover as good as him and Viktor, but he's not widely read. He's not a politician or a diplomat or a social scientist. This also lends to the perception that he's dumb but you'll notice, Viktor is never put in a position to make decisions like that, Mel is never put in lab to solve a scientific equation, and in general, most characters aren't put in a position where they have to perform at the top of more than one field in the way Jayce is, so yeah, Jayce ends up looking dumb because he has to handle being the leader of a city when he spent his life working on Hextech and promoting Hextech. Of course he's not going to be perfect.

But that's also another case of sleight of hand, we see Jayce failing at more things because we see him thrown in a position to impact more things. A lot of characters maintain their image of being smarter or more skilled than him because they're not asked to work outside their range of skills nearly so often.

[solaceseven]

Ashes of Tomorrow

↳ summary: in a world overrun by the infected, survival is brutal and trust is rare. when a lone survivor joins sukuna’s guarded group, tensions flare, and bonds form in the shadow of constant danger.

→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna x fem!reader

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: graphic injuries, violent confrontations, emotional trauma, loss of loved ones, mature themes, and anything you would expect in an apocalypse au.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 22k+

→ a/n: i’ve been debating whether to post this. it’s my first time working on something this big. please keep in mind that i'm still learning and growing as a writer. part two will be uploaded soon. i hope everyone enjoys it!

Six months. That’s how long it had been since the world fell apart.

Six months of chaos, death, and the relentless groans of the undead filling the streets. In that time, you’d lost everything—your home, your family, your friends. Five months ago, you buried your parents the only constants in a world spiraling out of control. Two months ago, the last shred of hope had crumbled when your team was ambushed. You still remembered their screams, the way they’d been torn apart while you ran.

Now, it was just you.

You’d learned to survive, though. To stay quiet, to move fast, and to keep a tight grip on the crowbar that never left your side. But survival wasn’t the same as living. With no one left, no safety, and barely any supplies, every day was a battle to find a reason to keep going.

That’s what brought you here—a decaying pharmacy tucked into the ruins of a crumbling city. The windows had been shattered, and most of the shelves were stripped bare, but there was always a chance something had been overlooked. You couldn’t afford to give up now. Supplies were running low—again—and you couldn’t afford to ignore even the faintest possibility of a find.

The building was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the wind pushing through shattered windows. The quiet always unnerved you. It meant nothing was here, or it meant something dangerous was lurking. And in this world, you’d learned that the latter was far more common.

You moved quickly, rifling through what little remained on the shelves. There was nothing—no bandages, no antiseptics, not even a stray pack of painkillers. Your chest tightened. You hadn’t eaten in two days, and your limbs felt like they were made of lead. The only thing keeping you upright was the faint hope of finding something useful.

A soft scrape of a boot on the tile floor broke your focus. You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as you instinctively gripped your crowbar tighter.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

The voice was low and sharp, carrying a weight of authority that left no room for disobedience.

You did as instructed, turning slowly to face the speaker. Your breath hitched when your eyes landed on him.

He stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his face half-shadowed by the dim light filtering through the broken windows. Tattoos coiled down one side of his face, stopping just shy of his jawline. His eyes were sharp and unforgiving, as if they could cut you down without the help of the knife in his hand.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you said quickly, your voice steady despite the fear prickling at the back of your neck. “I just needed supplies.”

The man took a step closer, his posture rigid but calculated, like a predator sizing up its prey. “This is our base. You’re trespassing.”

Your heart sank. Of course, the one pharmacy you decided to search had to belong to a group. You’d seen enough groups in the last six months to know how this could end—most didn’t tolerate strangers. But you weren’t about to beg for your life. Not yet.

“I didn’t know,” you said carefully, your gaze flicking to the doorway. A small, calculated step back might give you the chance to run. “I’ll leave.”

He didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as if assessing whether you were lying. A moment later, a faint laugh came from behind him, and more figures emerged from the shadows.

Four of them, all armed. One with messy snow-white hair leaned casually against the doorframe, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. Another had dark hair pulled back and an air of quiet authority. A blonde stood nearby, his sharp gaze locked on you, while a woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips watched you with mild curiosity.

“You’re alone?” the man with the tattoos asked, cutting through your thoughts.

“Yes,” you answered honestly. “I’ve been on my own for two months.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though weighing your words. “Convenient,” he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” you shot back, your exhaustion bubbling over into frustration. “I’m not a threat. I just need to survive.”

His lip curled slightly, not quite a smirk but close enough to feel mocking. “You and everyone else.”

You stared at him, chest tightening as the weight of the situation settled over you. These people had a base, weapons, resources—and they were ready to protect them. Meanwhile, you were barely holding on, the ache of hunger and the gnawing fear of being alone clawing at you every second.

“I’ll go,” you said again, lowering the crowbar. “I don’t want trouble.”

You turned toward the door, but something stopped you. The truth.

You wouldn’t make it. Not another month. Maybe not another week.

Your breath hitched, and you turned back around, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Wait.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated by your hesitation.

“I can help you,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you’d intended. “I was a med student before all of this. I know how to treat injuries—stitches, setting fractures, preventing infections. You need me.”

The room went silent for a moment. The woman with the cigarette exhaled slowly, the faint curl of smoke filling the air. The others exchanged glances, their postures shifting just slightly.

But the man in charge didn’t seem moved. “We don’t need you,” he said coldly, his gaze sharp. He jerked his chin toward the woman with the cigarette. “We already have someone who knows how to patch us up.”

You blinked, your stomach sinking as your eyes flicked to her.

The woman raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement on her lips. “Having a partner? Sounds useful to me,” she said with a smirk, dragging the cigarette from her mouth and exhaling slowly.

The white-haired one grinned, breaking the tension. “She’s got a point. Two are better than one, right?”

“She could be lying,” the leader snapped, glaring at him.

“She’s not,” the blonde cut in, his voice calm but firm. “If she is, we’ll know soon enough.”

“She’s alone,” the quiet one added, his tone measured. “If she wanted to ambush us, she would’ve had backup by now.”

The leader scowled, clearly unhappy about the shift in opinion. But before he could argue further, the woman stepped forward, crushing the cigarette beneath her boot.

“I’m glad I’m not the other girl now,” she said with a small smirk. Turning to you, she added, “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

You hesitated, your gaze flicking back to the man in charge. His fiery eyes burned into yours, full of warning and thinly veiled hostility. But he didn’t stop the woman from leading you deeper into their base.

For now, you were safe. But the tension in the room made one thing painfully clear: this wouldn’t be easy.

The girl led you down a dim hallway. There was a musty scent to the building, but you didn’t mind. After months of scavenging, you were used to far worse.

“You have a name?” she said casually, glancing back at you.

You hesitated, still feeling the weight of the encounter in the other room. Finally, you spoke, giving your name—a piece of yourself you hadn’t shared in a long time.

“Shoko,” she replied, offering a faint smile. “Welcome to our little slice of apocalypse hell.”

Her tone was light, even friendly, and it caught you off guard. After months of being alone—and year of studying medicine, where people tended to be formal and brusque—her relaxed demeanor was strangely comforting.

She gestured for you to follow her deeper into the base. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep. We’re not exactly running a hotel, but it beats sleeping in a ditch.”

You walked a few steps behind her, taking in your surroundings. The building was old but well-maintained, with concrete walls reinforced by wooden barricades. The air smelled faintly of motor oil and sweat, and supplies were stacked neatly along the walls—canned goods, medical kits, and ammunition. The group clearly had a system, and it was working.

Shoko led you to a small room at the end of the hallway. Inside was a thin mattress on the floor with a couple of blankets folded neatly on top. There was a single metal shelf against the wall, mostly empty except for a half-used candle and a box of matches.

“Not much,” Shoko said, stepping aside so you could enter. “But it’s yours for now.”

You set your pack down, the weight of it finally slipping from your shoulders. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the mattress. It had been months since you’d had anything resembling a safe place to rest.

“Are you hungry?” Shoko asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced at her, unsure of how to respond. Your stomach growled before you could say anything, and Shoko smirked.

“Thought so. Come on. We’ve got food in the common area.”

You followed her back down the hallway, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. Shoko didn’t seem to view you as a threat, which was more kindness than you’d expected from anyone these days.

“We’ve been here for about four months,” Shoko explained as she walked. “It’s not much, but we’ve made it work. Sukuna’s the one keeping us alive, mostly.”

At the mention of his name, your chest tightened. “The guy with the tattoos?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, that’s him. Don’t take his attitude personally. He’s like that with everyone. Even us.”

“Us?”

“The rest of the group,” Shoko said. “We’re all friends. We were on a trip together when this whole zombie thing started. Stuck together ever since.”

That explained their familiarity with one another—the way they moved and spoke as a unit, how they all seemed to know what the others were thinking without speaking.

Shoko led you into a larger room, where the rest of the group was gathered. They looked up when you entered, their expressions ranging from curious to indifferent.

“Everyone, this is—” Shoko said your name, her tone casual as she took another drag from her cigarette. “Be nice.”

The white-haired man was the first to speak. He grinned, leaning back against the table where he’d been sitting. “Didn’t think the boss would let you in. You must’ve made one hell of an impression.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” you replied dryly, earning a laugh from Shoko.

The dark-haired man beside him gave a small nod. “Suguru,” he said simply, his tone calm but not unfriendly. “Good to have you here.”

The blonde, who was sitting across from him cleaning a knife, didn’t look up. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Nanami,” Shoko said, rolling her eyes. “Can you not?”

“I’m being realistic,” he replied, his voice even.

“You’ll have to forgive Nanami,” Shoko said to you, her smirk returning. “He’s just mad the world ended and he doesn’t have coffee anymore.”

Nanami let out a quiet sigh and finally looked up. “It’s a tragedy,” he said in a deadpan tone, earning a laugh from the white-haired man.

“I’m Satoru,” the white-haired one said, grinning at you. “The fun one, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Annoying, not fun,” Shoko corrected.

“And you already met Sukuna,” Satoru continued, ignoring her.

Your gaze flicked to the man with the tattoos, who was standing in the corner with his arms crossed. His expression was as unreadable as before, but his eyes stayed on you, sharp and calculating.

“Try not to make things harder than they need to be,” he said, his voice low and cold.

The air in the room seemed to shift, the tension thickening for a moment before Shoko broke it with a clap of her hands.

“Alright, that’s enough brooding for one day,” she said. “Sit down. Eat something. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

You hesitated, glancing at Sukuna one last time. He didn’t look away, his gaze heavy with unspoken warnings. But he didn’t stop you when you sat at the table, your stomach growling at the sight of canned food and stale bread.

Shoko slid a plate toward you and leaned against the wall, her smirk softening into something resembling a real smile. “Welcome to the group,” she said.

For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to feel something close to relief. You weren’t sure if you’d made the right decision coming here, but at least for now, you weren’t alone.

The group ate together in relative silence, save for the occasional joke from Satoru or Shoko’s dry quips that kept things from feeling completely somber. You were too tired to say much, focused on the stale but filling meal in front of you. Every so often, you caught someone’s eyes on you—Nanami’s sharp but observant glances, Suguru’s calm but assessing looks, or Sukuna’s unrelenting scrutiny from across the room.

When you finished eating, Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “C’mon. I’ll show you where everything else is.”

You followed her out of the room, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief settling over you. It was surreal, being here, surrounded by strangers who were both your best chance at survival and a reminder of everything you’d lost.

Shoko walked ahead of you, her cigarette balanced lazily between her lips. “You’re lucky, you know,” she said over her shoulder.

“Lucky?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah. Sukuna doesn’t usually let strangers stick around. He’s a pain in the ass, but he knows how to keep us alive.”

You frowned. “He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.”

Shoko chuckled. “No, but he didn’t throw you out either. That’s something.” She paused, then added with a shrug, “Don’t take it personally. He’s just cautious. Losing people changes you.”

Her words lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of what you already knew too well. You didn’t respond, instead focusing on the tour as Shoko led you through the base.

The building was bigger than you’d expected, with makeshift defenses reinforcing every entrance and window. Shoko pointed out various rooms as you passed—a storage area packed with supplies, a small medical room, and what she called “the armory,” though it was really just a closet filled with mismatched weapons.

Eventually, she stopped in front of another door. “Bathroom,” she said, pushing it open. Inside was a simple setup—a sink, a mirror, and a bucket with a lid you assumed served as a toilet.

“It’s not glamorous,” Shoko said, leaning against the doorframe. “But it works. We rigged up a tank outside to feed water to the sink. You’ll have enough to wash up, but don’t overdo it—we ration everything.”

Your eyes swept across the small space, catching sight of five toothbrushes neatly lined up in a cup by the sink, along with a single, nearly flattened tube of toothpaste. The sight reminded you that this wasn’t just a safe haven—it was their home.

Shoko followed your gaze and grabbed a new toothbrush from a nearby shelf, holding it out to you. “Here. This one’s yours now.”

You nodded, grateful for even the smallest semblance of normalcy.

Shoko let you step inside and handed you a towel from a nearby shelf. “Get cleaned up,” she said, then placed a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll wait out here.”

Before you could respond, she pulled the door shut behind you with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet, dimly lit space.

You caught your reflection in the cracked mirror, barely recognizing the face staring back. Dirt smudged your cheeks, and your eyes were hollow with exhaustion. With a deep breath, you turned on the sink. The sink’s faucet sputtered before releasing a steady trickle of cold water, the sound echoing faintly in the small room. You cupped the water in your hands, its icy temperature biting against your skin, and splashed it onto your face and arms.

Using the small bar of soap sitting on the edge, you worked up a thin lather, the faint scent of something herbal breaking through the musty air. You wiped yourself clean in sections with the towel, rinsing and repeating until the layers of dirt and sweat were gone. It wasn’t much, but as you worked, the cold water and the simple act of cleaning up made you feel a little more like yourself again—a tiny piece of normalcy in the chaos.

You reached for the cup holding the toothpaste, squeezing a small dollop onto the new toothbrush. As you brushed your teeth, the minty taste hit your tongue like a shock, unfamiliar after weeks of chewing on dry food and stale water. It was almost overwhelming, but the sensation felt like a step back toward normal life. Spitting into the sink, you rinsed your mouth and ran water over the toothbrush, setting it into the cup.

When you finished cleaning up, you cracked the bathroom door open just enough to peek outside. Shoko was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and looked up at the sound of the creak. She handed you a bundle of clothes—a clean but worn pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.

“They’re a little big,” she said with a shrug, motioning to the size with a tilt of her chin. “But better than what you’ve got on now.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the clothes and retreating back into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you, the faint click echoing in the quiet space.

Slipping out of your towel, you quickly changed into the sweatpants and shirt. The fabric was soft against your freshly cleaned skin, and while the clothes were a bit baggy around the sleeves and waist, they fit well enough to feel comfortable. You folded your old, grimy clothes into a bundle, relieved to finally be rid of them.

Once you were done, you opened the door again and stepped out, clutching the pile of dirty clothes in your arms. Shoko’s gaze flicked over you briefly before she gave a small nod of approval.

Shoko led you back to your room and leaned against the doorway as you stepped inside. “Get some rest,” she said, her tone lighter now. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you sat on the mattress, Shoko hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, her cigarette dangling from her fingers, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice having someone new around.”

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard, and you found yourself smiling despite the heaviness in your chest. “Thanks, Shoko.”

She nodded and stepped back into the hallway. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” you said, watching as she disappeared down the corridor.

You lay back on the mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The sounds of the base hummed around you—the faint murmur of voices, the creak of footsteps on the floor above, the distant clang of metal.

For the first time in months, you felt a sliver of hope.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you going.

The next morning, the faint light of dawn filtered through the boarded-up windows of your room, accompanied by the muffled sounds of movement beyond the walls. You stretched, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles. It was the first time you’d slept without fear of being ambushed in months, and it was strange—unnerving, even—to wake up somewhere safe.

After a moment, you forced yourself up. The air was cold, and the thin blanket you’d been given wasn’t much help, but you didn’t complain. You pulled on your jacket and laced up your boots, steeling yourself for another day of navigating this uneasy arrangement.

As you stepped into the hallway, you heard voices coming from the common area. You followed the sound, hesitating briefly at the doorway.

The group was gathered around a table in the center of the room. Shoko sat on the edge of it, cigarette in hand as usual, while the others stood or leaned against the walls. A map was spread out across the table, marked with faint lines and symbols in red and black ink.

Sukuna glanced up first, his sharp gaze locking onto yours. The room fell quiet for a moment, and you resisted the urge to shrink back under his scrutiny.

“Morning,” Shoko said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” you replied cautiously, stepping into the room.

Suguru offered you a polite nod, and Satoru waved lazily from his spot against the wall. Nanami didn’t look up, focused instead on sharpening a blade in his hands.

“We’re going out,” Sukuna said abruptly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You frowned. “Out?”

“For supplies,” Shoko explained. She gestured to the map on the table. “There’s a warehouse a few blocks from here. We’ve been meaning to hit it for weeks, but it’s risky.”

“Why?” you asked, stepping closer to get a better look at the map.

“Too open,” Nanami said, finally glancing up. “And there’s been an increase in infected sightings in the area.”

“Which is why we’ll stick to the usual plan,” Sukuna added, his tone firm. “Split into teams, stay quiet, get in and out fast. No unnecessary risks.”

The authority in his voice was undeniable, and you realized that while the group didn’t have a formal hierarchy, they clearly followed his lead.

“Guess that means you’re staying here,” Satoru said, looking at you with a teasing grin. “Unless you want to take your chances out there.”

Before you could respond, Shoko spoke up. “She’s not ready for that yet.”

Your stomach twisted slightly at her words, but you didn’t argue. As much as you hated to admit it, she was probably right. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

“What do I do while you’re gone?” you asked instead, trying to keep your voice steady.

Shoko shrugged. “Stick around. Get familiar with the place. There’s plenty to keep you busy.”

“Help organize supplies,” Nanami suggested, his tone clipped. “The pharmacy is our base for a reason, but it only works if we stay on top of inventory.”

Suguru added, “And if you hear anything unusual, be ready to defend yourself. This place might keep the infected out, but it’s not invincible.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you nodded, determined to prove yourself useful.

The group began gathering their gear—backpacks, weapons, and whatever tools they needed for the run. Shoko lingered behind, finishing her cigarette before snuffing it out on the edge of the table.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, giving you a reassuring smile. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

With that, she joined the others, and within minutes, they were gone.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You wandered the base, taking Shoko’s advice to familiarize yourself with the layout. The pharmacy had clearly been chosen for its abundance of supplies—rows of shelves held medicine, canned food, and other essentials, while the back rooms had been repurposed for storage and sleeping quarters.

As you worked, sorting through boxes and taking stock of the inventory, you couldn’t shake the weight of your thoughts. Being here felt like both a blessing and a burden. You were safe, but you were also an outsider, an unproven variable in a group that had clearly been through hell together.

You had to prove yourself. Not just to them, but to yourself.

Hours passed in relative quiet, the monotony of the work a strange comfort. You were just finishing an inventory of the medical supplies when the faint sound of footsteps reached your ears.

Your pulse quickened as you grabbed the closest thing resembling a weapon—a rusted wrench from a nearby shelf.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until a familiar voice called out.

“We’re back,” Shoko said, her tone as casual as ever.

Relief flooded through you as the group filed back into the building, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. Sukuna was the last to enter, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you.

“No issues?” he asked, his voice low.

You shook your head. “None.”

“Good,” he said, his tone neutral but firm. He turned to the others. “Unload and regroup in an hour.”

As the group began unpacking their haul, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride. You’d survived the day without incident, and while it wasn’t much, it felt like a step in the right direction.

But you knew this was only the beginning.

The following days passed in a blur of routine and quiet tension. You found yourself settling into the group’s rhythm, though there was still an unspoken divide between you and the others.

Nanami remained as reserved as ever, focused on his tasks with an almost mechanical precision. Suguru was polite, occasionally offering a word of advice or a small gesture of kindness, but he seemed to prefer observing from the sidelines. Satoru, on the other hand, was relentless with his teasing, throwing in snarky comments whenever the opportunity arose.

And then there was Sukuna.

He spoke to you only when absolutely necessary, his tone clipped and his words laced with an authority that brooked no argument. He watched you constantly, his sharp gaze dissecting your every move. It was exhausting, and no matter how much effort you put into proving yourself useful, it never seemed to be enough for him.

Shoko, at least, made the transition easier. She’d taken you under her wing in her own dry, unflappable way, showing you the ins and outs of the base and ensuring you knew how to navigate their system.

“Don’t let Sukuna get to you,” she said one evening as you helped her sort through a crate of medical supplies. “He’s always like that. Doesn’t trust anyone outside the group.”

You glanced at her, hesitant. “I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Shoko snorted, lighting another cigarette. “Yeah, well, we’re not exactly saints. You’ll get there.”

Her words were reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sukuna wasn’t just being cautious. He was waiting—for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong.

It was late one afternoon when your chance to prove yourself again came.

The group was in the common area, discussing plans for the next supply run. Sukuna was at the head of the table, gesturing to a map while the others listened intently.

“We’ll need to hit the northeast block,” he said, tapping the paper with a finger. “There’s a hardware store there. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some tools and parts to reinforce the barricades.”

“And if we’re not lucky?” Satoru asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

“Then we clear out the infected and keep moving,” Sukuna replied flatly.

The conversation continued, but you found yourself distracted by a low, distant noise—a sound you hadn’t heard in weeks. At first, you thought you were imagining it, but then it came again: a faint, pained groan.

Your blood ran cold.

“Do you hear that?” you asked, interrupting the conversation.

The group turned to look at you, varying degrees of curiosity and irritation on their faces.

“Hear what?” Nanami asked, his tone skeptical.

You held up a hand, straining to listen. The sound came again, louder this time, and you realized it wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from somewhere within the building.

“There,” you whispered.

The group immediately tensed. Sukuna stood, his expression sharp. He glanced at you and Shoko. “Both of you, stay here,” he ordered before motioning for the others to follow him.

“I can help,” you said instinctively, stepping forward.

“No,” Sukuna snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Stay. Here.”

Before you could protest, the group disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Shoko alone in the common area.

Your heart raced as you listened to the faint echoes of their footsteps, followed by muffled voices and the occasional creak of the floorboards. The groaning sound grew louder, closer, until you could barely breathe.

And then, silence.

The minutes stretched on, each one heavier than the last, until finally, the group returned. Sukuna was at the front, dragging a body behind him—a man, bloody and unconscious but very much alive.

You stared in shock as he dropped the man onto the floor, the thud echoing through the room.

“He’s alive,” Shoko announced, kneeling beside the man and checking his pulse. “And not infected.”

“He could still turn,” Sukuna said coldly, his eyes narrowing.

“No,” you interjected firmly. “If he were bitten, he’d have turned by now. It only takes a minute.”

Nanami folded his arms, his expression unreadable. “He’s still deadweight. We don’t have the resources to waste.”

“We can’t just leave him,” Shoko argued, her voice calm but firm.

“I’ll handle it,” you said before you could stop yourself.

The room went silent, all eyes turning to you.

“What?” Sukuna said, his tone sharp.

“I can handle it,” you repeated, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I was a med student. Let me help him.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened, and for a moment, you thought he was going to refuse. But then he stepped back, his lips curling into a cold smirk.

“Fine,” he said. “Nanami, take him to the infirmary.”

Nanami sighed but complied, lifting the man with Satoru’s help and carrying him out of the room. The sound of their footsteps faded as they disappeared down the hallway.

The infirmary was a repurposed office room, its desks pushed aside to make space for several cots lined up against the walls. Shelves held neatly arranged medical supplies—bandages, antiseptics, painkillers—all salvaged from previous runs. The faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Nanami and Satoru lowered the man onto one of the cots before leaving without a word. Shoko and you stayed behind, the silence between you punctuated by the man’s faint groans.

Shoko leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette. “Guess you’re on, doc,” she said with a faint smirk. “What’s the plan?”

You moved to the cot, inspecting the man’s injuries. His clothes were shredded, blood soaking through what remained of his shirt. A jagged wound stretched across his abdomen, deep and ugly, though not fresh enough to bleed him out immediately.

“We need to stop the bleeding first,” you said, reaching into the small medical kit you’d salvaged weeks ago.

Shoko exhaled a stream of smoke and gestured toward a nearby shelf. “There’s more gauze and antiseptic over there. I’ll grab it.”

You nodded, already focused on cleaning the wound. Shoko returned with the supplies, setting them beside you before crouching to get a closer look at the man’s injuries.

“What do you think his story is?” Shoko asked, her tone light but curious.

You shook your head. “Hard to say. He’s been through hell, that much is obvious. But if he made it this far, he’s a fighter.”

“Or just lucky,” Shoko said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Maybe both,” you replied, focusing on stitching the gash closed. Your hands moved quickly but carefully, each stitch bringing the wound closer together. It was crude work, the kind you never would’ve considered acceptable back when you were studying medicine, but it would keep him alive. For now.

“Not bad,” Shoko said, watching as you tied off the final stitch. “You’ve got steady hands.”

You gave her a faint smile. “Thanks.”

The man groaned again, his head shifting slightly. You placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, feeling his breathing even out beneath your touch.

“He’ll need rest and fluids,” you said, leaning back to assess your work. After a moment, you sat back on your heels and added, “But he should pull through—if he doesn’t get an infection."

“That’s a big if,” Shoko said, standing and stretching lazily. “Sukuna’s not gonna like this.”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the thought of facing him. His disapproval was palpable even when he wasn’t in the room. “I’ll deal with it,” you said firmly, trying to muster some confidence.

Shoko gave you a half-smile, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “Good luck with that."

When you stepped back into the common area, the rest of the group was waiting. Sukuna leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze locking onto you the moment you entered.

“Well?” he asked, his voice low and cutting.

“He’s stable,” you said, keeping your tone steady despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “But he’s weak. He won’t survive on his own.”

“That’s not our problem,” Sukuna replied coldly.

You stiffened. “You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can,” he interrupted, his voice hardening as his eyes bore into yours. “He’s not one of us. I’m not risking our safety for someone who can’t pull their weight.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but Shoko, still idly puffing on her cigarette, stepped in.

“She’s got a point, though,” Shoko said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “The guy’s barely hanging on. Sending him out now would just be a death sentence. We might as well have killed him ourselves.”

Sukuna’s sharp glare shifted to her, his expression darkening. “And?”

“And we don’t need that kind of bad karma hanging over us,” she continued, her tone casual but pointed. “Let him rest for the night. Patch him up properly, and send him on his way tomorrow.”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Sukuna as he weighed her words. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as his gaze flicked back to you.

Finally, he pushed off the wall and strode toward you, his towering presence suffocating as he stopped just short of invading your space.

“One night,” he said, his voice low and brimming with warning. “And if he so much as breathes wrong, it’s on you. Got it?”

You nodded, swallowing hard under the weight of his gaze. “Got it.”

Satisfied, Sukuna turned and walked away, tension dissipating slightly with each heavy step he took down the hallway.

Satoru let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

“Or she’s just reckless,” Nanami muttered, his tone as blunt as ever.

Suguru, who had remained silent until now, gave you a measured look and a small nod. “It was the right call,” he said simply.

You didn’t respond, your mind already racing with thoughts of what tomorrow would bring. For now, all you could do was hope you’d made the right decision.

The injured man stirred restlessly throughout the night, his labored breathing echoing faintly in the pharmacy’s quiet halls. You stayed close by, keeping a cautious watch for any signs of infection—or worse, the telltale fever that could signal the end.

Shoko had supplied you with a couple of clean rags, and you used one to wipe the sweat from the man’s brow. His skin was clammy, but his pulse, though weak, remained steady.

“Lucky bastard,” Shoko muttered from the doorway, startling you.

You glanced back at her. She had a cigarette between her fingers, though it was unlit. “How so?”

“He survived out there long enough for you to find him. And Sukuna didn’t kick his ass out the moment he saw him.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on adjusting the makeshift bandage over his wound.

Shoko stepped into the room, her expression unreadable as she crouched beside you. “You really don’t think he’s infected?”

You shook your head. “He would’ve shown symptoms by now. Fever, spasms, disorientation… but he’s coherent. Exhausted, but human.”

“For now,” she said, her tone carrying a note of warning.

You didn’t miss the implication. “If he shows any signs, I’ll deal with it.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, she nodded. “Fair enough.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the faint hum of wind outside filling the space. Finally, Shoko stood and stretched, her back popping faintly.

“Better get some rest,” she said. “Sukuna is going to want an update in the morning.”

You hesitated. “Do you think he’ll…?”

“Change his mind?” Shoko said. “Not a chance. Sukuna’s stubborn as hell. But if the guy pulls through, he’ll at least have a fighting chance out there. That’s more than most people get.”

She left without another word, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sound of the man’s uneven breathing.

Morning came too quickly. By the time the group gathered in the common area, you were dead on your feet, the ache in your back and shoulders a dull reminder of how long you’d spent sitting on the cold floor.

“He’s stable,” you reported when Sukuna’s sharp gaze landed on you. “The wound’s healing, and there’s no sign of infection.”

Sukuna didn’t respond right away. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, and studied you with that same piercing look that made your skin crawl.

“And?” he said finally.

“And he’s in no condition to leave yet,” you said, forcing yourself to stand taller despite your exhaustion. “But if he rests for another day or two, he should be able to manage on his own.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened. “Fine. One more day,” he said coldly. “Then he’s gone by tomorrow. No exceptions.”

You nodded, keeping your face neutral. Sukuna’s decision was final, and pushing back would likely do more harm than good. Still, the pit in your stomach only seemed to grow

A few hours later, you checked on the injured man. His color had improved slightly, though his movements were sluggish and weak. He blinked up at you, his gaze unfocused.

“Where… am I?” he rasped.

“Safe,” you said simply, not offering more. “For now.”

He winced as he tried to sit up, and you placed a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Don’t. You’ll tear the stitches.”

His eyes flicked toward you, confusion etched into his features. “Who…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you interrupted. “You’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

His expression shifted, a mix of fear and resignation passing over his face. “I can’t—”

“You don’t have a choice,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. Guilt flared in your chest, but you pushed it down. There was no point in giving him false hope.

By nightfall, the man was stronger, though still far from healthy. His movements were sluggish, and he winced with every shift, but his color had improved, and he was coherent enough to sip the water you offered him. As you helped him sit up, you couldn’t help but wonder if Sukuna’s decision had been the right one. Was it fair to send someone out into a world like this, knowing the odds were stacked so heavily against him?

But then you thought of the group—of how much they’d risked just letting you in—and you understood why Sukuna was so unyielding. Trust wasn’t something people could afford to give freely anymore. Compassion could get you killed just as easily as cruelty.

Still, you couldn’t stand the thought of sending him out with nothing. That evening, you packed a battered backpack with supplies: a bottle of water, a couple of cans of food, the blanket you’d found earlier, and a spare jacket. You tore a page from an old notebook and scribbled a few instructions: “Change the bandages daily. Keep the wound clean. If you feel feverish or the pain gets worse, don’t push yourself.”

The next morning, when Sukuna ordered the man to leave, no one spoke up to argue. Not even you.

The following morning, the man was gone. Whether he’d made it far or fallen victim to the harshness of the world, you didn’t know. No one spoke about it—not over breakfast, not during the day’s routines. The group moved forward without looking back, and you did your best to follow their lead, even as guilt gnawed at your insides.

You were restocking the med kits in the corner of the common area when Shoko appeared, a mug in her hand and a relaxed expression on her face.

“Thought you could use this,” she said, holding it out to you.

You blinked at her in surprise before taking the mug from her hands. The warmth seeped into your fingers instantly, a welcome comfort against the chill of the room. “What is it?”

“Instant coffee,” she said, pulling up a chair. “Barely tastes like coffee, but it’s hot, and it’s something.”

Grateful, you wrapped your hands around the mug and let the warmth seep into your fingers. “Thanks.”

Shoko leaned back, her gaze flicking to the supplies you were organizing. “Not bad, newbie,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re settling in better than I expected.”

“Newbie?” you asked, raising a brow.

Her smile widened. “Satoru calls you that.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Of course, he does.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” she said with a laugh. “He’s an idiot, but he’s harmless. Well—mostly harmless.”

The comment earned a small chuckle from you. “Good to know.”

Her tone softened as she looked back at you. “For what it’s worth, you’ve been doing fine. Better than fine, really. Not many people would’ve patched up that guy the way you did, even knowing he’d be gone by morning.”

You glanced down at the mug in your hands, unsure how to respond. “It just… felt like the right thing to do,” you admitted quietly.

Shoko nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You’ve got a good instinct for this kind of thing,” she said. “It’s why I spoke up for you. I figured you’d be worth keeping around.”

Her casual praise caught you off guard, and warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks,” you murmured, the word feeling inadequate for what you wanted to say.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, waving a hand. “Don't let Sukuna scare you off. He’s a pain, but he doesn’t bite—well, not unless you really piss him off.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Finish your coffee,” Shoko said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll show you how to get inventory done without losing your mind.”

“Deal,” you said, lifting the mug to your lips.

As she led the way to the storage room, a small smile lingered on your face. Shoko’s steady presence made you feel, for once, like you might actually have a place here after all.

Over the next few days, the others began to warm up to you in their own ways—some more obviously than others.

Suguru was one of the first to reach out.

You were sitting near the barricaded entrance, mending a tear in your jacket, when Suguru approached with something folded in his hands. He knelt down beside you, holding it out.

“Here,” he said. “Thought this might help.”

You took the fabric, your fingers brushing over its thick, durable texture. “What is it?”

“An old tarp from storage,” he replied. “I figured you could use it to patch that up properly.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, can’t have you walking around in rags—it’d reflect badly on us.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks, Suguru. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said as he stood, brushing some dust off his pants. He gave you a small nod before turning and walking away, his steps unhurried.

You watched him go, the warmth of his gesture lingering long after he disappeared around the corner.

Satoru’s approach, as always, was less subtle.

He found you crouched near the supply shelves, reassembling a broken lantern you’d scrounged up earlier.

“Whatcha doing, newbie?” he asked, plopping down beside you with his trademark grin.

“Trying to fix this,” you replied, not bothering to look up. “It’s not much, but it might help.”

Satoru leaned closer, watching you fiddle with the pieces. “Didn’t peg you as the handy type.”

You glanced at him. “What type did you peg me as?”

“Honestly? Thought you’d cry and bolt on day one.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “Wow. Glad I could exceed expectations.”

He laughed, completely unbothered. “Hey, I’m impressed! You’ve got guts, newbie. Gotta admit, I didn’t think you’d last.”

His teasing was irritating, but there was an unexpected warmth in his words. By the time he wandered off, you realized you were smiling.

Nanami, on the other hand, was quieter in his support.

You were dragging a crate of supplies across the common area when a hand reached past you and lifted it with ease.

Startled, you glanced up to see Nanami, his expression calm as ever. “You shouldn’t be carrying something that heavy by yourself,” he said plainly.

“I could’ve managed,” you muttered, embarrassed.

“Maybe,” he replied, setting the crate down neatly against the wall. “But why make things harder than they need to be?”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but before you could, he was already heading back toward the shelves, his focus back on his work.

And then there was Sukuna.

It was late, and the common area was dimly lit by the faint glow of a battery-powered lantern resting on the center table. You sat hunched over the table, scribbling in your worn notebook. The blanket draped over your shoulders barely kept the chill at bay, but the small comfort of the pages beneath your hands kept you focused.

The soft creak of a chair startled you, and you looked up to see Shoko settling into the seat across from you. She rested her chin in her hand, her sharp gaze flicking to your notebook.

“What’re you working on?” she asked.

“Just writing down what I remember from med school,” you said, glancing at her briefly before returning to your notes. “You know—stuff about infection treatments, first aid. Trying to make sure I don’t forget anything important.”

Shoko tilted her head, intrigued. “Let me guess. Wound care, fever management, that kind of thing?”

“Pretty much,” you replied with a faint smile. “It’s not like we have access to the good stuff anymore.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re not wrong. If nothing else, the basics will get you farther than you’d think. They drilled that into us pretty hard back in school.”

You paused your writing to glance at her. “How far were you?”

“Three years in,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “Long enough to know what I was doing, not long enough to actually finish.”

You nodded, finding a strange comfort in that. “Same here. Well, not three years—just one. Still feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does,” she agreed, her voice quieter now. “But hey, you’re not doing bad for someone who barely started.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Thanks. High praise coming from someone who’s ahead of me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said with a smirk, though her tone was light. She nodded toward your notebook. “What else have you got in there?”

“Just the things I think might come up. Stuff I’ve had to deal with already, mostly. Fevers, infected cuts, dehydration. It’s not much, but…”

“It’s something,” Shoko finished for you. “And that’s more than a lot of people can say. Keep at it. Writing things down helps—it’s easy to forget details when everything’s chaos.”

You hesitated before asking, “Do you ever write stuff like this? Just in case?”

She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Nah. I keep it all up here.” She tapped her temple. “I guess I’ve always thought that if I need something badly enough, I’ll remember it. Besides, Satoru’s got a freakishly good memory for this kind of stuff—he’s like a walking cheat sheet when he wants to be useful.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing from your shoulders. “I guess that’s one way to get by.”

“Hey,” she said, nodding toward your notebook. “What med school did you go to, anyway?”

Before you could respond, the sound of heavy boots echoed across the room, pulling both your attention toward the doorway. Sukuna stood there, his arms crossed and crimson gaze fixed on Shoko.

“Shoko,” he said, his voice sharp. “You’re on watch tonight. Get going.”

She sighed dramatically, but you noticed how she rose without argument. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t let the big bad zombies in.” She glanced at you and Sukuna. “Enjoy your chat.”

With that, she slipped out, leaving you alone with Sukuna.

“Studying?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and sardonic.

“Just trying to be useful,” you said cautiously, bracing for whatever jab he was about to make.

“Hmph.” He took a step closer, his gaze flicking to the notebook in your hands. “That’s useless.”

Your grip on the pen tightened. “It’s not useless if it helps someone survive.”

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You really think you can save everyone, don’t you?”

You met his gaze, refusing to back down. “No. But I can try.”

For a moment, something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something softer—but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “Try all you want,” he said, turning away. “Doesn’t mean the world won’t kill them anyway.”

His words lingered long after he left, heavy with an unspoken truth that you couldn’t quite unravel.

You were starting to feel it—the subtle shift in the group’s dynamic, like you were slowly being woven into their fabric. The tension that had clung to your every step when you first joined had eased, replaced by a quiet understanding of how they worked together.

You and Shoko had started growing closer over the past few days, the initial distance between you shrinking as casual chats turned into something resembling friendship. She often found you during quiet moments, dragging a chair over to share a cigarette and trade stories—or, more often, her sharp humor paired with a few genuine words of advice. It became a small comfort, those moments with her, grounding you in a world that constantly threatened to pull you under.

Suguru had started inviting you to tag along on supply runs, explaining their strategies in a calm, steady tone that made everything seem less daunting. He’d walk alongside you, pointing out key routes and landmarks to remember, his voice carrying a certain patience that put you at ease.

And even Nanami, in his quiet way, had begun to acknowledge you more, offering the occasional tip or simply nodding in approval when you finished a task efficiently

Satoru, meanwhile, had decided it was his mission to “toughen you up.” Almost every afternoon, he’d challenge you to mock sparring matches, claiming it was all in the name of survival. These sessions usually ended with him grinning while you tried to catch your breath, but even his teasing felt like a strange kind of encouragement.

But Sukuna? He remained distant—watchful and unyielding, as if he were waiting for you to prove him right about whatever assumptions he’d made.

One evening, after dinner, the group lingered in the common area, the glow of the lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Satoru leaned back against a crate, flipping a pocket knife idly in his hand, while Suguru and Shoko shared quiet conversation over a deck of cards. Nanami was seated at the far end, reading a book he’d found on a supply run. You sat off to the side, carefully stitching a tear in Satoru’s jacket that he’d insisted wasn’t worth fixing. The rhythmic motion of needle and thread helped you focus, even as the group's chatter flowed around you.

Satoru, as usual, decided to shake things up. “Alright, newbie,” he said, flicking the knife into the air and catching it by the handle. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve done to make it this far?”

All eyes turned to you, even Shoko and Suguru pausing their game. Sukuna was leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, but you felt the weight of his crimson gaze on you.

You hesitated, memories of near-death moments and desperate decisions flashing in your mind. “Probably the time I climbed out of a second-story window using a bedsheet rope,” you said after a moment. “The place was overrun, and I didn’t think I’d make it if I stayed.”

“Bedsheet rope?” Shoko raised a brow, a grin tugging at her lips. “Did it actually hold?”

“Barely,” you admitted, a small smile creeping onto your face. “I landed in a dumpster, which I guess cushioned the fall. But I smelled like garbage for days.”

Satoru laughed, loud and unrestrained. “A dumpster escape? Classic. You’re officially one of us now.”

“Better than some of your ideas,” Nanami said without looking up from his book, drawing an exaggerated gasp from Satoru.

“Hey, all my plans are genius,” Satoru shot back. “Some just... don’t pan out.”

Suguru shook his head, chuckling. “Sure, genius.”

Even Shoko snorted, and for a moment, the group felt lighter, their collective laughter a rare break from the grim reality outside.

You glanced toward Sukuna, half-expecting a cutting remark, but he didn’t say a word. He pushed off the wall instead, his boots heavy against the floor.

“I’m checking the perimeter,” he muttered, heading for the door.

The mood shifted subtly as he left, but no one commented on it. You leaned back in your seat, letting the warmth of the group’s humor settle over you, even if Sukuna’s stormy presence lingered at the edges of your mind.

The next morning, the pharmacy’s halls were filled with the usual sounds of life in the apocalypse: murmured conversations, the shuffle of boots, the clatter of weapons being prepped. You were still adjusting to the rhythms of the group, waking early so you wouldn’t miss anything important or be perceived as a slacker.

Shoko was already in the supply room when you arrived, reorganizing the shelves with her usual nonchalant efficiency.

“Morning, early bird,” she said without looking up from the gauze she was stacking. “Come to help, or just bored?”

“A little of both,” you replied, grabbing a box of antiseptic wipes to sort through.

She glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re catching on fast. That’s good.”

The casual praise made your chest warm, and you nodded, trying not to let your gratitude show too much. Shoko’s friendship—and the growing camaraderie with the others—was more than you’d expected after being alone for so long.

By mid-morning, Suguru and Satoru were in the common area, going through their usual supply check. Their easy banter filled the room, a contrast to the ever-present tension of survival.

“We’re low on canned fruit again,” Suguru said, examining the inventory list with his usual calm.

“That’s because you keep eating it all,” Satoru teased, tossing a can of beans into a crate with a grin.

Carrying a clipboard Shoko had handed you to update the medical supplies inventory, you entered just as Satoru’s laugh echoed through the room.

“Hey, newbie!” he called, noticing you. “How’s the Shoko torture program going?"

“It’s fine,” you said, playing along. “I think I’m surviving.”

“Good to know,” Suguru said, giving you a small nod. “We need survivors, not liabilities.”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but the bluntness still made your stomach twist.

“She’s not a liability,” Shoko’s voice cut in from the doorway, cigarette in hand. She glanced at Suguru with a smirk. “At least she doesn’t waste food or hog the bathroom.”

Satoru doubled over laughing, and even Suguru’s lips quirked upward. You relaxed a little, grateful for Shoko’s casual defense.

The lighthearted mood shifted when Sukuna entered the room. His presence seemed to absorb the air, silencing the banter as everyone straightened unconsciously.

“We’re heading out in thirty,” he said, his tone clipped. “Suguru, Nanami, Satoru—gear up. Shoko, keep the place locked down.”

“What’s the plan?” Suguru asked, already folding the inventory list.

“Pharmacy across town,” Sukuna replied. “We’re running low on antibiotics.”

Your ears perked up, but you hesitated before speaking. It wasn’t your place to offer, but the words tumbled out before you could stop yourself.

“I’ll come with you,” you said, the suggestion hanging in the now-silent room.

All eyes turned to you. Sukuna’s crimson gaze was sharp and unwavering.

“No,” he said flatly.

You swallowed but held your ground. “I know how to check expiration dates,” you argued. “I can identify what we need faster—”

“I said no,” Sukuna interrupted, his tone cutting through your words. “We don’t need anyone slowing us down.”

Before the tension could stretch further, Suguru stepped in, leaning casually against the table. “She’s been on a few runs with me already,” he said, his voice calm but pointed. “She’s been pulling her weight.”

Sukuna’s glare shifted to him, sharp and unwavering. “You’re responsible for her, then.”

“I’m responsible for getting the supplies.” Suguru replied smoothly.

Shoko exhaled a plume of smoke, adding her voice to the mix. “She knows what we need, and she’s been working her ass off since she got here. Just let her go."

Nanami and Satoru exchanged glances but said nothing, their silence adding weight to the conversation. Sukuna’s jaw tightened, frustration radiating off him.

Finally, his crimson gaze flicked back to you, his expression unreadable.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “But if you screw up, that’s on you.”

His words hung heavy in the air as he turned and stalked off, leaving the room tense in his wake.

Shoko smirked, extinguishing her cigarette. “Guess you’re in,” she said, her tone light.

The tension hung thick in the air as you geared up, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and determination. Shoko caught you just before you left, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she said softly. Her tone was steady, but her eyes held a flicker of concern. “He’s harder on people he doesn’t know, but it’s not personal.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, earning a small chuckle from her.

“He’s just… Sukuna,” she said with a shrug, as though that explained everything. And maybe it did.

The streets were eerily quiet as the group moved in formation. Sukuna led at the front, Suguru and Nanami flanked the sides, and Satoru kept watch from the rear. You were sandwiched in the middle, your grip on your weapon tightening with every cautious step.

The silence wasn’t calming. It buzzed in your ears, amplifying every distant rustle and creak. Shadows danced in the corners of your vision, each one setting your nerves on edge.

“Relax,” Satoru whispered from behind you. “If you keep clutching that thing like it owes you money, you’re going to wear yourself out before anything happens.”

You shot him a look but didn’t loosen your hold.

“It’s her first big outing,” Suguru murmured, his eyes scanning the road ahead. “She’ll find her rhythm.”

“Let’s hope she does,” Sukuna said, his tone sharp enough to make your stomach drop.

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to focus. You didn’t need his approval; you just had to prove you could handle yourself.

The pharmacy came into view five blocks later, nestled on a side street filled with overturned cars and shattered glass. The faint, acrid scent of decay lingered in the air, a grim reminder of the world outside.

Sukuna raised his hand, signaling the group to stop. He pointed to Suguru and Nanami. “Check the perimeter. Afterwards, see if you can find anything useful—tools or supplies. Satoru, keep watch at the entrance.”

Turning to you, his gaze was cold and unyielding. “You’re with me.”

Your pulse quickened as you nodded, following him toward the entrance. The glass doors had been shattered, and the inside was dimly lit by slivers of daylight filtering through grime-covered windows.

The pharmacy was a mess of toppled shelves and scattered supplies. Sukuna moved with quiet precision, scanning the aisles as he gave curt instructions.

“Antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectants. Check expiration dates. Don’t waste time.”

“Got it,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

The two of you worked in tense silence, the only sounds the faint rustling of supplies and the occasional creak of the warped floorboards. You crouched behind a counter, sorting through a dusty box of medical supplies. Bottles of saline, rolls of bandages—your hands moved quickly, driven by the need to prove your worth.

Sukuna moved like a predator, each step purposeful. His sharp eyes swept over the shelves as he rifled through the remnants of the pharmacy’s stock. Despite his harsh demeanor, there was an air of competence about him that was impossible to ignore. He was someone you could trust to keep you alive, even if he made it clear he wouldn’t trust you in return.

The brittle quiet shattered when a sudden crash echoed from the back of the store.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Sukuna spun toward the noise, weapon already in hand. “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding.

You froze, gripping your weapon tighter as your mind raced. He disappeared around the corner, his steps deliberate and silent. The shuffling groan of something inhuman followed, sending a chill down your spine.

A zombie.

The clash of metal against bone echoed through the pharmacy, followed by Sukuna’s grunt of exertion. Then you heard it—a second groan, closer and faster.

Panic surged through you. Another one.

You couldn’t stay put. Not when he might be outnumbered. Gripping your weapon, you crept toward the noise, your pulse hammering in your ears.

As you reached the corner, you peeked around it. Sukuna was engaged with one zombie, its decayed form lunging at him with jerky movements. He dispatched it with brutal efficiency, his blade slicing through bone like paper.

But he didn’t see the second zombie emerging from the shadows behind him. Its rotting fingers stretched toward his back.

You didn’t think—you acted.

With a burst of adrenaline, you sprinted forward and swung your weapon with all your strength. The blunt end connected with the zombie’s skull, the force knocking it off balance. It staggered, giving you just enough time to finish it off with a decisive strike to the head.

Panting, you stepped back, your chest heaving as the rush of the moment caught up to you.

Sukuna turned to face you, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. His gaze flicked from the crumpled body at your feet to your trembling hands.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched taut, heavy with unspoken tension.

Finally, he broke it. “You should’ve stayed put,” he said, his tone cold. But there was no real venom behind the words.

You met his gaze, steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “If I did, you’d be dead.”

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“Fair enough,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t exactly gratitude, but it was close enough. You nodded, forcing your breathing to slow as you steadied yourself.

Sukuna turned back to the now-silent storage room, his movements brisk. “Let’s finish up and get out of here. No more heroics.”

You followed him, your grip on your weapon firm. His acknowledgment, however grudging, was a step forward. And in this world, steps forward were all you could ask for.

The walk back to the base was quieter than usual. The others were caught up in low conversations, recounting details of the trip and joking about who carried the heaviest load. You could feel Sukuna’s presence just a few paces ahead of you. He didn’t say a word, but his usual tension wasn’t as sharp. It was subtle, like he was letting himself breathe for the first time in a while.

When the group finally arrived at the base, the routine kicked in like clockwork. Supplies were unloaded and sorted, with Shoko perched at the desk, her cigarette dangling lazily between two fingers as she directed the flow of items.

"Looks like you found everything we needed," Shoko remarked, her sharp gaze scanning the bags. "Nicely done."

"Decent work," Sukuna said evenly, brushing past her leaving the room.

You stayed quiet, trying not to draw attention to yourself. Sukuna’s acknowledgement back at the store had been enough of a surprise; you didn’t want to push your luck.

But as you grabbed your own bag of supplies and moved to help Shoko, Satoru appeared at your side.

"Hey," he said, sidling up to you with a grin that could only mean trouble. "So, I hear you went all knight-in-shining-armor back there."

Your cheeks burned. "It wasn’t like that," you mumbled, focusing on unpacking the supplies.

"Really?" Satoru watching you with an infuriatingly knowing look. "Because from what I heard, you saved Sukuna’s life. That’s gotta be worth a medal or something."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. "I think he’d disagree with you."

"Maybe," Satoru admitted, his grin softening into something more genuine. "But trust me, it matters. Sukuna doesn’t trust people easily. If he’s starting to, even just a little… that’s a big deal."

You glanced toward the storage room where Sukuna was organizing the supplies.

Maybe Satoru was onto something.

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," Satoru added with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He’ll still find something to criticize tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly. "Thanks for the pep talk."

As the day wore on, you couldn’t help but notice the small changes. When Sukuna handed out tasks for the evening, his tone wasn’t as cutting when he addressed you. Later, during dinner, he actually acknowledged you with a quiet question about the inventory—nothing extraordinary, but it was miles ahead of his usual silence.

Shoko caught you while you were restocking the first aid kits that night, her sharp eyes scanning you with a mix of approval and amusement.

"Good work out there today," she said, her voice low but sincere.

"Thanks," you replied, tucking a roll of gauze into a pouch. "I just reacted. I didn’t really think."

"That’s how it is sometimes," she said, lighting a fresh cigarette. She took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke before continuing. "But Sukuna noticed. He won’t say it outright, but he respects people who hold their own. You earned that today."

You blinked at her, caught off guard by her candidness. "You really think so?"

"I know so," she said with a faint smirk. "Just don’t expect him to roll out a red carpet or anything. He’s still Sukuna."

The thought made you smile despite yourself. "Yeah, I figured as much."

That night, as the group settled into their routines, you lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the others—Nanami flipping pages in his notebook, Suguru and Satoru trading jokes in hushed tones—made the base feel almost normal.

Your thoughts drifted to Sukuna, to the way he’d thanked you, however grudgingly. His walls weren’t gone, not by a long shot. But for the first time, you thought you saw a crack in them—a small glimpse of the person underneath.

It wasn’t much. But it was something. And for now, that was enough

The next few days passed in a tentative calm, the group settling back into their usual rhythm. Sukuna’s small shift in demeanor toward you hadn’t gone unnoticed, though no one dared to comment on it outright. His leadership style remained the same—blunt, no-nonsense, and occasionally sharp—but his treatment of you had softened ever so slightly.

It was in the little things. He didn’t bark your name like it was an insult anymore. When tasks were divided, he didn’t immediately assign you the least favorable ones. And when you spoke up during group discussions, he didn’t interrupt or shut you down. Small gestures, but for Sukuna, they might as well have been grand declarations.

Still, his trust was like the flicker of a distant flame—visible, but too far away to warm you just yet. You knew better than to expect miracles.

One afternoon, as the group gathered around the dining table for the next supply run discussion, you found yourself fidgeting with a pen, tapping it nervously against your notebook. Sukuna stood at the head of the group, a map of the surrounding area spread out in front of him, his intense gaze scanning the terrain for answers.

“We’re low on food and water again,” Nanami said, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “The nearest grocery stores are completely cleaned out. We’ll need to start looking further out.”

“That’s risky,” Suguru replied, leaning back in his chair. “The farther we go, the more likely we run into trouble—whether it’s other groups or something worse.”

“Maybe,” Satoru chimed in, popping a peanut into his mouth, “but we can’t just keep scrounging around the same empty buildings. Gotta roll the dice at some point.”

Sukuna nodded, his finger trailing across the map. “There’s a warehouse here.” He tapped a spot roughly a mile and a half away. “It’s a gamble, but it might still have something useful. We’ll split into two teams. One handles the warehouse, the other checks the pharmacy again for medical supplies.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Two teams for two dangerous locations? Bold.”

“Calculated,” Sukuna corrected. “Suguru, Satoru, and Nanami—you’ll take the pharmacy. Shoko, you stay back and keep the base running.”

“And the warehouse?” Suguru asked.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward you, and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll take the newbie.”

The room fell silent.

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “Me?”

“You’re not deaf, are you?” Sukuna replied, crossing his arms. “You’ve proven you’re not completely useless. Time to see if that wasn’t just dumb luck.”

The tension in the room shifted. Satoru’s grin widened, clearly entertained by the turn of events. Suguru remained expressionless, while Shoko gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Nanami’s lack of protest was the most surprising of all, though his gaze lingered on Sukuna for a moment before returning to the map.

“I’ll go,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay steady.

The walk to the warehouse was uneventful at first. Sukuna led the way, his steps confident and deliberate. You followed close behind, clutching your weapon tightly and trying not to let your nerves show. The silence between you felt heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of debris or distant echo of the wind through the ruined streets.

“You’re tense,” Sukuna said abruptly, his voice low but clear.

You glanced at him, startled. “What?”

“Relax,” he said without looking back. “If you’re this wound up, you’ll freeze when it matters. That’s how you get killed.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Right. Got it.”

For a moment, you thought the conversation was over. But then he added, almost grudgingly, “You did good the other day. Quick thinking.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, picking up his pace. “You still have a long way to go.”

Despite his gruff tone, his words stayed with you. Coming from Sukuna, even a half-compliment felt monumental.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its broken windows and rusted metal exterior casting eerie shadows in the fading light. Sukuna stopped just short of the entrance, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement.

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, gripping your weapon as you followed him inside. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and your footsteps echoed against the empty shelves.

At first, the search was uneventful. You moved through the aisles, grabbing what little remained—cans of soup, bottles of water, a forgotten box of granola bars. The weight of your bag grew with each find, and for a fleeting moment, you thought the run might actually go smoothly.

Then, from the shadows, came the guttural snarl of the undead.

The snarl echoed through the warehouse, freezing the blood in your veins. Your grip tightened on your weapon, your heart pounding in your ears. Sukuna immediately moved into action, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the darkness for movement.

“Stay behind me,” he barked, his voice low but commanding.

You nodded, falling into step just behind him. The guttural sounds grew louder, accompanied by the shuffling of feet against the cracked concrete floor. From the far corner of the warehouse, they appeared—three zombies, their rotting forms staggering toward you with alarming speed.

“Shit,” Sukuna hissed, raising his blade. “Stay sharp.”

He surged forward with lethal precision, his movements a blur of calculated violence. The first zombie went down with a single strike to the skull, its body crumpling to the ground. Sukuna didn’t stop, his blade swinging in an arc to take out the second one with equal ease.

But as he turned to deal with the third, you felt a chill run down your spine—a faint shuffle behind you. Your breath hitched, and before you could react, a decayed hand grabbed your arm. Panic shot through you as the zombie lunged, its teeth gnashing dangerously close to your neck.

“Shit!” you yelped, struggling against its grip.

“Hold still!” Sukuna’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, Sukuna was there. In one swift motion, he shoved you out of the zombie’s grasp and plunged his blade into its head. The creature collapsed in a heap, and silence fell once more.

You landed on the ground with a thud, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Sukuna loomed over you, his face set in a scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He extended a hand, and you hesitated for a moment before taking it. His grip was strong and steady as he pulled you to your feet.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer than you’d expected.

“I… yeah,” you stammered, still shaken. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” he muttered, his eyes scanning you for injuries. “You shouldn’t have let it get that close.”

“I didn’t—” you started to protest but stopped when you saw the flicker of something in his expression. Concern. He wasn’t just scolding you; he was genuinely worried.

“I told you to stay close,” he said, his voice low but not unkind. “I can’t cover you if you wander off.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said quietly, your fingers trembling as you wiped zombie blood off your sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Sukuna said nothing. Then, with a sigh, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was so unexpected, so uncharacteristically tender, that you froze.

“Just… stay close,” he repeated, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second before he pulled away. His gaze softened, just enough for you to notice. “I’m not dragging your corpse back to the base.”

Despite the gruffness of his words, there was an unmistakable warmth in his tone. Your chest tightened, and you nodded. “Okay.”

As you gathered yourself, Sukuna gave you a sidelong glance, his lips twitching faintly. “Guess we’re even now.”

“What?” you asked, blinking in confusion.

“You saved me the other day. I just saved your ass. So, we’re even.” His voice was calm, but the hint of amusement in his tone caught you off guard.

A small laugh escaped you, surprising even yourself. “I guess we are.”

Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you swore there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his face as he turned away. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Sukuna turned back toward the now-silent aisles, his posture tense but his pace slower than before. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still following, and when your eyes met, he gave a small nod of approval.

The rest of the search was uneventful, though you couldn’t shake the memory of Sukuna’s hand against yours, of the subtle shift in his demeanor. When the two of you finally stepped out of the warehouse, the late afternoon sunlight hit your face, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

As you walked back to the base, Sukuna kept a steady pace, his sharp gaze constantly scanning the streets for threats. But this time, he stayed just a little closer to your side.

The base came into view as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the barricades. Relief washed over you as you and Sukuna passed through the gates, your shoulders aching from the weight of your packs. Shoko was waiting at the entrance, her sharp eyes immediately scanning both of you.

“Finally,” she said, arms crossed. “I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it back.”

“Ran into some trouble,” Sukuna replied gruffly, dropping his bag to the ground. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Her gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, her sharpness softened. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you replied, brushing off the lingering tension from the fight. “Just tired.”

Shoko nodded, but her frown deepened. “The others aren’t back yet.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders stiffened. “They’re late?”

“They were supposed to check the pharmacy,” Shoko explained, her voice tinged with worry. “They should’ve been back already.”

You exchanged a glance with Sukuna, unease settling in your chest.

“They could’ve gotten held up,” you offered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe,” Shoko said. “But I don’t want to sit around and wait. I was thinking of heading into the woods to scavenge. If we’re going to be stuck here longer, we need fresh supplies. I can check on the traps we set last week and look for forageable food.”

Sukuna immediately shook his head. “Not alone. If you’re going out there, you need backup.”

Shoko raised a brow, her hands on her hips. “I appreciate your concern, but we don’t need everyone exhausted before we even know if something’s actually wrong with the other group.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sukuna said, his tone brooking no argument.

“No,” Shoko countered firmly. “You just got back. You need rest. Especially if it turns out we do need to go after them.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Then she can go.” He jerked his thumb toward you.

Shoko glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “She just got back too, Sukuna. And this was only her second real run. She needs rest as much as you do.”

“Then who the hell is supposed to go with you?” Sukuna snapped, his frustration clear.

Shoko smirked faintly. “No one. I’ll be fine. I know the woods, and it’s close enough to base. I won’t be gone long.”

“Terrible idea,” Sukuna growled.

“Sukuna,” Shoko said, her tone softening but firm. “If something’s happened to the others, you’re going to need every ounce of energy to deal with it. Same goes for her. Let me do this. I’ll be back before dark.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking visibly. You could tell he hated this plan, but even he couldn’t argue with her logic. After a tense moment, he relented with a frustrated exhale.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But if you’re not back by dark, I’m coming after you myself.”

Shoko chuckled, giving him a two-fingered salute. “Noted. I’ll be back soon.”

Without waiting for further argument, she disappeared into the base to gather her things. Sukuna watched her go, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

“She’ll be fine,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were reassuring him or yourself.

“Better be,” he muttered, turning toward the main hall. “Get some rest. If those idiots don’t show up soon, we’ll have to move fast.”

You nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you followed him inside. Whatever was happening, you could only hope that Shoko and the others would return safely—and that when the time came, you’d be ready.

The peaceful hum of the base was shattered by the frantic sound of footsteps and heavy breathing as the group burst through the doors. Suguru and Satoru supported Nanami between them, his face pale and slick with sweat. Blood soaked the side of his shirt, staining his usually pristine appearance.

“Get Shoko!” Satoru’s voice rang out, urgent and louder than you’d ever heard it before.

“What the hell happened?” Sukuna barked, stepping forward, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Nanami.

“A zombie,” Suguru said grimly, adjusting his grip on Nanami. “It came out of nowhere—he pushed me out of the way and got hit instead.”

“Where’s Shoko?” Satoru asked, glancing around as though expecting her to appear at any moment.

“She’s out,” you said sharply, stepping forward, your heart pounding but your voice steady. “She said she wouldn’t be back for an hour—maybe longer.”

For a moment, the room froze, tension thick enough to cut through

“Bring him to the infirmary room. Now,” you ordered, already moving ahead to prepare.

Suguru and Satoru didn’t hesitate, following your lead as they guided Nanami to the cot. Sukuna was right behind them, his expression unreadable but his presence heavy.

“I can handle this,” you said as you grabbed the first-aid kit and spread out the supplies. “Keep him steady and out of shock. That’s all I need from you.”

Sukuna’s sharp gaze flicked to you. “You better not screw this up.”

You didn’t look up, your focus entirely on Nanami’s wound. “I won’t.”

Kneeling beside Nanami, you quickly assessed the damage. Blood was seeping from a deep gash on his side, but it wasn’t hopeless. Your hands moved methodically, cleaning the wound and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. Nanami winced but didn’t flinch, his breathing ragged but steady.

“This is going to sting,” you warned, applying antiseptic before packing the wound with gauze. His eyes fluttered open briefly, meeting yours, and he gave the faintest nod.

The room was silent except for the sound of your precise movements. Satoru and Suguru hovered nearby, watching but not interrupting. Sukuna stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his gaze fixed on you.

As you worked, you felt the weight of his scrutiny—but it didn’t faze you. You knew what you were doing, and for once, you didn’t need to prove it to anyone.

The next hour passed in a blur. You worked with precision, your mind cycling through every lecture, every clinical rotation, every ounce of knowledge you’d absorbed before the world fell apart. Nanami groaned once as you applied pressure to the wound, the sound making your heart race.

"Stay with me," you murmured under your breath, the words meant more for your own reassurance than his. Sweat trickled down your temple, your shoulders aching from the strain of leaning over him, but you ignored the discomfort. There was no room for it now. There was only the patient on the table and the life you were trying to hold together.

When you finally finished, securing the last bandage with steady hands, you leaned back with a shaky breath. Nanami’s breathing was shallow but steady now, his color returning, no longer ashen.

"He’s stable," you said, your voice hoarse from the intensity of the moment. "But he needs rest."

Suguru let out a quiet exhale of relief, his head dropping into his hands as if a weight had been lifted. Satoru clapped a hand on your shoulder, his usual grin subdued but still laced with gratitude. "You’re a lifesaver. Literally."

Even Sukuna seemed less cold as he examined Nanami. His usual indifference remained, but the hard lines of his posture softened just a fraction. He didn’t say a word, but the shift was noticeable. The tension in his shoulders loosened, even if only for a moment.

Hours later, the base had fallen quiet. Everyone had gone to rest, exhausted from the day’s events. Everyone except you and Sukuna.

Earlier, Shoko had returned and thoroughly checked on Nanami, confirming that your work had been solid. She’d cleaned and rewrapped the wound, impressed by your quick thinking. After making sure Nanami was stable, she’d retreated to her room, leaving you to keep watch over him.

Now, you sat beside Nanami, your hand lightly resting near his, watching for any sign that he might wake. His breathing was steady but faint, each rise and fall of his chest a quiet reassurance.

Sukuna leaned against the wall a few feet away, his arms crossed. The firelight flickered across his face, softening the usual sharpness of his features. For a long time, he said nothing, just staring at Nanami with a look you couldn’t quite place.

His gaze shifted to you, his crimson eyes intense but not unkind. “You saved him. You didn’t screw it up.”

You glanced at him, his words catching you off guard. It wasn’t exactly praise, but it was close enough.

“He means a lot to everyone here,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “You, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko.”

"We go way back,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. “We all became friends in high school. Different years, different circles, but somehow, we ended up stuck with each other.”

He let out a humorless chuckle, glancing down at Nanami. “We didn’t always get along. Satoru was a loudmouth, Suguru was too smug for his own good, Nanami was the uptight kid who thought he was too good for the rest of us, and Shoko… was the laid-back one who somehow kept us all from killing each other.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the mental image. “Sounds like you all balanced each other out.”

“Something like that,” Sukuna admitted, his voice dipping into something softer. “We went through a lot together—graduations, breakups, fights. By the time college rolled around, we were more like family than friends.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of something deeper beneath Sukuna’s sharp exterior. A bond he’d never admit out loud but clearly cherished.

“You’ve been through so much together,” you said gently. “It’s no wonder he means so much to you all.”

Nanami’s breathing filled the silence, steady but faint enough to keep you on edge. Sukuna hadn’t moved, his usual tension buried beneath something quieter, more introspective.

“You remind me of someone,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

The words caught you off guard. “Someone you knew?”

Sukuna nodded, his expression tightening. “Yeah. My brother.”

The admission surprised you. Sukuna didn’t seem like the type to talk about family—much less admit to having one.

“He was younger than me. A few years,” Sukuna continued, his voice distant. “Idiot kid never listened. Always thought he knew better than me. Too brave for his own good.”

He paused, exhaling sharply through his nose. “But he had this way of looking at the world, like... no matter how bad things got, he’d find a way to make it better. It pissed me off sometimes—how naive he was. But he made me believe it, too, even if I didn’t want to.”

“What happened to him?” you asked softly, though the answer was already obvious.

“He didn’t make it,” Sukuna said bluntly, his jaw tightening. “When the outbreak started, I tried to keep him safe. But the world doesn’t care how hard you try. It just takes.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Sukuna’s voice was calm, but the weight of his words hung heavy between you.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “He sounds like he was a good person.”

“He was better than I ever was,” Sukuna muttered, his voice quieter now. “He would’ve liked you.”

The comment caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got that same stupid stubbornness,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Always jumping in when you shouldn’t. Refusing to back down.”

You smiled despite yourself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Sukuna said dryly, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

You leaned back slightly, drawing in a breath before speaking. “I lost people, too,” you admitted, your voice trembling just enough to show the vulnerability you usually kept hidden. “My parents. My friends. I used to think if I just stayed smart, kept my head down, I could keep them safe. But it didn’t matter in the end. I still couldn’t save them.”

For a moment, Sukuna didn’t say anything, his gaze shifting from Nanami to you. He studied you, his expression unreadable, though something in his eyes softened—just barely.

“You saved Nanami,” he said finally. “That counts for something.”

You shook your head. “I got lucky.”

“It’s not luck,” Sukuna said firmly. “Not all of it, anyway. You’ve got instincts. You’re quick on your feet. That’s what matters now.”

His words caught you off guard again, and you glanced up at him. “Is this your way of saying thanks?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t push it,” he grumbled, but there was no edge to his tone.

You smiled softly, turning back to Nanami. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a better person than you let on,” you said quietly.

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, though there was no real amusement in it. “Don’t romanticize me, sweetheart. I’m just doing what I have to.”

“Maybe,” you said, glancing at him. “But it still matters. To them. To me.”

He didn’t respond, but the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but not in the way it usually was with Sukuna. There was something almost companionable about it, as if the space between you had shifted just a little.

As the hours stretched on, you stayed by Nanami’s side, Sukuna leaning against the wall nearby. Neither of you spoke again, but you could feel the subtle change in the air—a fragile understanding that hadn’t been there before.

Little by little, it felt like the cracks in Sukuna’s walls were beginning to show. And for the first time, you thought he might actually let you in.

Nanami stirred as dawn broke through the windows, his groggy movements drawing your attention. His eyelids fluttered before he let out a soft groan, his hand twitching as if testing the waters of consciousness.

“Nanami,” you said softly, leaning closer.

His eyes opened slowly, the familiar calmness of his gaze returning as he registered his surroundings. His brow furrowed, lips parting to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Don’t try to move too much,” you said quickly. “You’re safe. You made it.”

Nanami blinked, his focus sharpening on you. “You… saved me,” he said, his voice rough but steady.

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing now that he was alert. “It wasn’t just me,” you said modestly, though warmth spread through you at his gratitude. “Everyone helped.”

Nanami’s gaze softened as he studied you. “Still, I owe you,” he said, his voice firm despite his weakened state.

You shook your head. “I wasn’t about to let you die,” you said simply. “That’s not how we do things, right? We look out for each other.”

Nanami let out a quiet breath, almost a chuckle. “You’re tougher than I gave you credit for,” he said. “I’ll remember that.”

Sukuna, who had been leaning silently against the wall, finally stepped forward. He crouched beside Nanami, his sharp eyes scanning his friend for any lingering signs of danger.

“About time you woke up,” Sukuna muttered, though his tone carried an undertone of relief.

Nanami gave him a faint, tired smile. “You worry too much.”

“Tch,” Sukuna scoffed, standing back up. “You were half-dead, and I’m the one who worries too much?”

The banter between them felt lighter than usual, and you realized how deep their bond must be. Sukuna might be harsh, but the concern in his actions was undeniable.

Nanami’s gaze shifted back to you. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice steady. “If there’s ever anything you need—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted gently. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on getting better.”

Nanami nodded, though the gratitude in his expression didn’t waver.

Sukuna crossed his arms, glancing between the two of you. “Alright, enough of this sentimental crap. She did what she had to. You’re alive. Let’s move on.”

You shot Sukuna a look but didn’t bother arguing. Deep down, you knew his brusqueness was his way of deflecting.

“Rest,” you said to Nanami, ignoring Sukuna’s tone. “You’ll need your strength if you want to deal with him later.”

Nanami smirked faintly, already letting his eyes drift closed again. “I’m counting on it.”

As you stood and turned toward Sukuna, his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—acknowledgment, maybe even respect.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “Let him sleep.”

You followed him out, the tension of the last few hours finally giving way to a strange sense of accomplishment.

The base had returned to its usual rhythm, though a lighter tension hung in the air. Nanami recovered quickly, much to everyone’s relief, and the group seemed to move with a renewed sense of purpose.

Shoko convinced Satoru to organize the medical supplies—a task he turned into a spectacle, juggling antiseptic bottles until Shoko smacked him upside the head. Nanami, true to form, was already back to work, scanning supply lists and muttering to Suguru about long-term resource planning.

You were helping Shoko patch together another set of med kits when Nanami walked into the room.

He approached with his usual calm demeanor, though his expression carried a rare softness. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

You glanced at Shoko, who waved you off. “Go on. I’ve got this.”

Following Nanami into the hallway, you felt a flicker of nervousness. He turned to face you, hands in his pockets, his gaze steady but kind.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said simply.

“Oh,” you replied, caught off guard.

“For saving my life,” he continued. “What you did out there… it wasn’t something just anyone could do.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “I just did what needed to be done,” you said, shifting slightly.

He nodded. “Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t appreciated. Sukuna isn’t the easiest person to deal with, but the fact that he let you handle things out there… that says a lot.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Sukuna… he’s not as cold as he seems,” you said carefully.

A faint smile tugged at Nanami’s lips. “No, he’s not,” he agreed. “He just has a way of pushing people away. But for him to trust you, even in the smallest way… it’s not nothing.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you nodded slowly. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder briefly—a quiet gesture of gratitude—before stepping back. “You’re part of this group now,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”

As he walked away, you stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in. Being part of the group wasn’t just about surviving together anymore—it was about being trusted, being relied on.

The group gathered in the common area, their conversations weaving together as they planned the next supply run. Sukuna sat in his usual spot near the window, his sharp gaze scanning the streets outside, though he seemed less aloof than usual.

Satoru plopped down next to you, grinning. “So, I hear you’re officially one of us now,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

“Who told you that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nanami, obviously,” Satoru said with a wink. “He doesn’t thank just anyone, you know.”

Suguru chimed in from across the room. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, though his tone was light.

Shoko, leaning against the counter with her usual cigarette in hand, smirked. “She’s already better at following instructions than you, Satoru.”

Satoru feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “I am a delight to work with.”

“You’re a menace,” Shoko countered, flicking ash into an empty can.

As the banter continued, you found yourself laughing along with them, the sense of camaraderie filling the room. Even Sukuna glanced your way once or twice, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

For the first time since you’d joined them, you felt like you truly belonged. And as the group talked and planned late into the night, you found yourself hoping—not just for survival, but for a future worth fighting for.

The storm outside was relentless, wind howling through the cracks of the ruined building. Rain hammered against the broken windows, drowning the world in chaos. Everyone else was asleep, scattered around the dim room like ghosts of the lives they used to live. You sat near the window, your arms resting on your knees as you kept watch with Sukuna.

He leaned against the wall across from you, his silhouette sharp in the weak lantern light. His katana rested against his shoulder, its edge catching the occasional flicker of lightning. He looked like he belonged to this broken world—untouchable, dangerous, and carved from stone.

The silence between you wasn’t unusual, but tonight it felt heavier. The storm wasn’t just loud; it was oppressive, a forceful reminder of how small and fragile you were in a world that had already crumbled.

“You’re too quiet,” Sukuna said suddenly, his deep voice slicing through the sound of the rain.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “I thought you liked it when I stayed out of your way.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I like quiet. Not the kind that makes me think you’re plotting something stupid.”

Despite yourself, you smirked. “I wasn’t plotting anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might actually smile. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

The wind rattled the broken windowpanes, and you adjusted your position, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself.

“What’s the point of you being up if you’re going to freeze to death?” Sukuna muttered.

You frowned, opening your mouth to retort, but before you could say a word, Sukuna tossed a thick blanket in your direction.

“Use that,” he said, his tone brusque, as if daring you to comment on the gesture.

You caught the blanket, staring at it for a moment before wrapping it around yourself. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

The two of you fell into silence again. You found yourself sneaking glances at him—at the sharp line of his jaw, the faint tattoos peeking out from his sleeves. There was something about Sukuna when he wasn’t surrounded by the others—when he wasn’t posturing or shutting you out. It was almost like he didn’t mind your presence.

“Do you ever think it’ll get better?” you asked softly, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Sukuna’s gaze turned toward you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“The world,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the storm outside. “Do you ever think it’ll go back to how it was before?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned back to the window, his jaw tightening. “Doesn’t matter if it does or not. You survive, no matter what.”

You frowned. “But surviving isn’t the same as living.”

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Living’s a luxury. You can think about it once you’ve got surviving figured out.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache. You wanted to press him, to ask what he’d lost to make him so certain of that, but you bit your tongue.

Instead, you said softly, “It’s okay to hope, you know. Even if it doesn’t seem worth it.”

Sukuna’s gaze flicked toward you, and for a moment, you thought he might snap at you or brush off your words. But he didn’t. Instead, his expression softened—just slightly—and he let out a quiet sigh.

“Hope doesn’t keep you alive,” he muttered. But there was no edge to his tone, no real venom.

“Maybe not,” you said, meeting his gaze. “But it helps.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned back to the window, muttering under his breath, “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I’m right.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel heavy anymore. It was almost… comfortable. The storm outside continued to rage, but inside, for the first time, you felt a little closer to him.

“What was your life like before all of… this?” you asked, gesturing vaguely toward the broken windows, the storm outside, and the ruin the world had become.

He gave you a flat look, his crimson eyes sharp. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” you admitted. “I just… I like knowing. It’s easier to see people as human when you know what they were like before all this.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he let out a quiet sigh, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Graduated with a degree in art,” he said finally. “Ran my own tattoo shop for a while.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were a tattoo artist?”

“Still am, technically,” he muttered. “Not much demand for it now, though.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “That explains the tattoos.”

He smirked faintly, his eyes narrowing at you. “What? You thought I got them for fun?”

“Kind of,” you said, shrugging. “I mean, they’re incredible. They fit you.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he looked away, his expression shuttered once more.

“What about the others?” you asked, breaking the silence again.

Sukuna sighed, his fingers tapping idly against the hilt of his katana. “Satoru graduated in education, believe it or not. He was a high school teacher before all this. Loved making kids’ lives miserable—but in his own weird way, I think he was actually good at it. Suguru was a psychology major. Planned to go into counseling or something.” He paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Nanami got his degree in business. Corporate life suited him. And you already know about Shoko—med school.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “That’s… a lot to leave behind.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I don’t know that? We all had plans. Things we wanted. And then everything went to hell.”

You looked down at your hands, the weight of his words settling over you. “I was a med student, too,” you said quietly. “First year. I barely started before…” You trailed off, gesturing at the world around you.

Sukuna was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Why medicine?” he asked finally.

“I wanted to help people,” you said simply. “I guess it sounds kind of naïve now, but I thought I could make a difference. Maybe save a few lives.”

He studied you for a moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then he leaned back against the wall again, his gaze shifting to the storm outside.

“You’re still doing that,” he said, his voice low.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re still saving lives,” he said, his tone gruff. “Nanami wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you looked away, an odd warmth spreading through your chest. “I guess,” you murmured.

The two of you sat in silence for a while after that, the storm outside filling the space between your words. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. For the first time, it felt… companionable.

“Do you miss it?��� you asked softly.

“Miss what?”

“Your old life. The tattoo shop. Your friends. The way things used to be.”

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Every day,” he admitted.

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. For once, the walls he kept so firmly in place seemed to crack, just a little.

“I think we all do,” you said softly.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked toward you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place—something raw, unguarded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess we do.”

The storm raged on outside, but for the first time since it began, you didn’t feel so alone.

By the time the storm finally began to taper off, Sukuna pushed himself to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach—and the faint outline of abs beneath. Heat crept up your neck, and you quickly glanced away, pretending to adjust the blanket around you.

“I’ll take the next round of watch,” he said, his tone back to its usual sharpness.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to let me?”

“No,” he said simply, grabbing his katana and walking toward the door.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little. Despite the lingering edge to his voice, something about him felt… lighter.

Before stepping out, Sukuna paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Get some rest,” he said, almost begrudgingly.

It wasn’t much, but coming from Sukuna, it felt like a rare kind of kindness. You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

About a week later, after Nanami’s recovery and the group settling back into their routine, you were sent on another supply run. The mission was straightforward: split into two groups, sweep a nearby grocery store, and bring back whatever hadn’t been raided yet. Sukuna took Satoru, leaving you with Suguru and Shoko.

“Stick close,” Suguru had said as the three of you stepped into the dimly lit store. The air inside was stale, the faint smell of rotting produce and damp cardboard clinging to the space. It felt eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that always made your skin crawl.

You nodded, gripping your weapon tightly. Supply runs were becoming second nature, but the unease never entirely went away. Each unfamiliar building held its own dangers, and you’d learned to stay on edge.

It wasn’t long before the shelves yielded a few treasures—some canned goods, a pack of batteries, even a roll of duct tape. You crouched near an overturned display, brushing debris aside to grab a jar of peanut butter, when the sound of shuffling footsteps reached your ears.

“Zombie,” you whispered, rising slowly.

Shoko, who was scanning a nearby aisle, lifted her head. “Where?”

You pointed toward the end of the aisle. A lone zombie staggered forward, its milky eyes fixed on you. Its movements were slow, but it was still too close for comfort.

“I got it,” Suguru said calmly, stepping forward with his machete.

But as he moved, your boot caught on a broken shelf bracket jutting out from the floor. You stumbled, and in that split second, the zombie lunged.

The jagged edge of its broken fingernails swiped across your abdomen, slicing through your jacket and grazing your skin. Pain flared as warm blood seeped through the fabric.

“Shit!” you hissed, stumbling back.

Suguru swung his machete in one clean arc, taking the zombie down before it could advance further.

“You okay?” Shoko was at your side immediately, her hands already pulling your jacket open to inspect the wound.

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, though the pain told you otherwise. The cut wasn’t deep, but it stung fiercely, and blood was already soaking into your shirt.

“We need to get back,” Shoko said firmly.

Suguru’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “We’ve got enough for now. Let’s move.”

By the time you returned, the pain had dulled to a throbbing ache, though it still made every step a challenge. Shoko had done her best to patch you up on the way back, but she insisted on a proper cleaning once you were safely home.

As soon as the doors swung open, Sukuna’s sharp gaze landed on you. His usual scowl deepened when he saw the blood staining your shirt.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, striding over.

“Zombie,” Suguru said curtly as he helped Shoko unload the supplies. “Got too close.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his focus snapping back to you. “And no one thought to handle it before this happened?”

“I’m fine,” you tried to say, but he was already in front of you, his eyes scanning the injury with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You call this fine?” he snapped, his voice laced with anger and something else—something that sounded suspiciously like worry.

“It’s just a scratch,” you insisted, though you winced as Shoko peeled back the makeshift bandage to reveal the cut.

“She’ll live,” Shoko said calmly, though her tone didn’t seem to ease Sukuna’s tension. “But it needs to be cleaned and stitched.”

“Then do it,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You need to back off first. You’re hovering.”

Sukuna muttered something under his breath but took a step back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t leave, though, his eyes fixed on you as Shoko worked.

The sting of the antiseptic made you hiss, and Sukuna’s jaw clenched at the sound.

“You should’ve been more careful,” he said after a moment, his tone softer but still sharp.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you shot back, your voice tinged with irritation.

His glare didn’t waver, but his next words surprised you. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He looked away, his expression hardening again. “Just… don’t do it again.”

The vulnerability in his voice was fleeting, but it was there, and it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your injury.

“I’ll try,” you said softly, offering a small, shaky smile.

Sukuna didn’t respond, but he stayed close, even after Shoko finished patching you up and the others had gone about their business.

The base had settled into its usual quiet hum. Most of the group had gone to rest, but Sukuna lingered in the common area, his sharp gaze darting toward you occasionally. He sat at the far end of the room, his katana resting by his side as if he were ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

For a man who claimed not to care, Sukuna was terrible at hiding it when he did. His usual scowl was still there, but it lacked its usual bite, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

As you adjusted your freshly bandaged wound, you caught his eye. He didn’t look away, his crimson gaze holding yours for a beat longer than expected.

“Get some rest,” he said finally, his voice low but carrying an edge of concern.

You nodded, the warmth of his unspoken care settling over you. As you lay down for the night, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude—not just for Shoko’s steady hands or Suguru’s quick reflexes, but for Sukuna’s reluctant, undeniable presence.

For all his rough edges, Sukuna had a way of making you feel… safe. And in a world like this, that meant everything.

The small infirmary room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a battery-powered lantern perched on the counter. You sat on the makeshift cot, the ache in your side persistent but manageable. Shoko had done an excellent job stitching the gash, but the occasional twinge was a sharp reminder of your carelessness.

The group had been quieter since the incident. Shoko and Suguru had checked on you a few times, offering updates about the supplies you’d retrieved and assurances that you didn’t need to push yourself just yet. Sukuna, however, had been noticeably absent.

Until now.

The door creaked open, and you looked up to see Sukuna stepping inside. His usual sharp expression was still there, but something about it had softened. In his hand, he carried a roll of fresh bandages and a bottle of antiseptic.

“You’re due for a bandage change,” he said, his voice low and even.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I thought Shoko would—”

“She’s busy,” he interrupted, setting the supplies on the counter. “And I’ve done this enough times to know what I’m doing. Sit back.”

You hesitated for a moment before leaning back against the cot, lifting your shirt just enough to expose the wound. Sukuna crouched beside you, his movements precise as he began unwrapping the old bandage.

The room was silent except for the faint rustling of fabric and the soft breath you drew to steady yourself. His hands, rough and calloused, were surprisingly gentle as he inspected the wound.

“It’s healing well,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Shoko did a good job.”

“She always does,” you replied quietly.

He nodded, pouring antiseptic onto a clean cloth. The sharp sting made you wince, and his crimson eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Sorry,” he said, his tone softer than you expected.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, not wanting him to feel guilty.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. As he worked, your gaze drifted to the tattoos curling around his arms and up his neck. You’d noticed them before, of course, but up close, they were mesmerizing.

“They’re beautiful,” you said suddenly, surprising yourself.

He paused, his hand stilling as he glanced at you. “What is?”

“Your tattoos,” you clarified, heat creeping up your cheeks. “The designs… they’re intricate. They suit you.”

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Thanks.”

“Who did them?” you asked, curiosity slipping into your voice.

“Someone I trusted,” he replied, tossing the old bandages into the trash and grabbing fresh ones. “Takes time to get them right.”

As he wrapped the new bandage around your side, you hesitated before speaking again. “They’re incredible,” you said sincerely.

He shrugged, his hands methodical as he secured the bandage.

On an impulse, your fingers lightly traced one of the lines on his forearm. He stiffened slightly, his gaze snapping to you, but he didn’t pull away.

“This one…” you murmured, your touch barely brushing the ink. “It’s so detailed.”

His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “Had it done by someone skilled. You don’t let just anyone leave their mark on you.”

For a moment, the tension between you shifted, something unspoken passing in the quiet space.

“I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt,” he said suddenly, the words coming out like they surprised even him.

Your chest tightened at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. “Thanks to you all,” you replied, your voice steady but warm. “Suguru, Shoko… and you.”

He shook his head, standing and wiping his hands on a rag. “I didn’t do much.”

“You were there,” you insisted, meeting his gaze. “That means something.”

For a long moment, Sukuna didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as if he was debating whether to respond. Finally, he nodded—just barely.

As he moved toward the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “It’s late. You should sleep.”

“I will,” you promised, watching him disappear into the hallway.

The ache in your side still lingered, but as you lay back on the cot, you realized something else had shifted. The heaviness in your chest—the weight of feeling like an outsider—had lightened, just a little. Sukuna’s walls were still up, but for the first time, you felt as if you might have gotten close enough to see the cracks.

The following days passed in a quieter rhythm. The group had decided to lay low after the supply run, taking time to rest and re-evaluate their next steps. You spent most of your time in the infirmary, both recovering and helping Shoko organize supplies. One evening, after the group had finished a simple dinner, Satoru nudged Suguru with an exaggerated grin. “We’ve got to get something fun going in this place. I swear, I’m losing my mind from all the doom and gloom.”

“Life-or-death scenarios aren’t entertaining enough for you?” Suguru replied dryly.

“Exactly,” Satoru said, ignoring his sarcasm. “We need a game. Something to lighten the mood. Who’s in?”

You looked up from where you sat, sipping from your cup of water. “A game?”

“Cards, maybe,” Satoru suggested, already pulling out a battered deck from his bag. “Or truth or dare. You know, something classic.”

Shoko snorted, leaning back in her chair. “If you make us play truth or dare, I’m outing all your embarrassing secrets.”

“Joke’s on you—I have no shame,” Satoru quipped, winking.

Nanami sighed, shaking his head but offering no real objection. Suguru shot Shoko a knowing look that said, Here we go again.

“You in, newbie?” Satoru turned to you, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

You hesitated, glancing at the others. “Sure. Why not?”

The game started with Satoru choosing dare and being forced to attempt a handstand, which ended predictably with him crashing into a stack of empty crates. Shoko took truth and admitted to once stealing Satoru’s wallet, just to see how long it would take him to notice. (It took a week, apparently.) Suguru picked dare and hummed a painfully off-key rendition of a pop song until Shoko guessed it, rolling her eyes the entire time.

The lighthearted atmosphere filled the room, the kind of rare reprieve everyone secretly craved.

“Your turn, newbie,” Satoru declared, pointing at you with a dramatic flourish. “Truth or dare?”

You glanced around nervously, feeling the weight of their attention. “Dare,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt.

Satoru’s grin turned wicked. “I dare you to sit next to Sukuna for the rest of the night.”

The air shifted instantly. Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward Satoru, narrowing with icy precision.

“That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, heat rushing to your face.

“A dare’s a dare,” Satoru said, his grin unrelenting. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

“This is childish,” Nanami muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” Sukuna said, his voice cold and sharp, his irritation obvious. “I don’t care for these games.”

“Oh, come on,” Shoko said, her smirk widening. “Afraid of a little company, Sukuna?”

The tension in the room mounted, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” you said, standing before the situation could escalate further. Grabbing your blanket, you walked over to where Sukuna sat. He didn’t move or protest, though his jaw tightened slightly.

“Happy now?” you asked, throwing a pointed glare at Satoru.

“Ecstatic,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself.

As the game continued, you kept quiet, hyper-aware of Sukuna’s presence beside you. He didn’t speak or look your way, but you could feel his warmth radiating off him, a sharp contrast to his usual aura of detachment.

“You didn’t have to do it,” he said quietly after a while, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, surprised. “What? Back out of the dare?”

He huffed softly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I meant sitting here. I’m not exactly great company.”

“You’re not as scary as you think you are, Sukuna,” you said, your voice steady despite your nerves.

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you refused to look away. “You don’t scare me.”

For a split second, something flickered in his gaze—amusement, maybe, or something deeper. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and he turned his attention back to the group, shutting down the moment before it could go any further.

The night wore on, the group’s laughter filling the space with an ease you hadn’t felt in months. And though Sukuna didn’t say much else, the subtle shift in his demeanor—the way he hadn’t outright refused to let you sit beside him—lingered in your mind.

The faint crackle of the dying fire filled the silence as you and Sukuna sat together. The others had long since retreated to their corners of the base to sleep, leaving the two of you behind. Neither of you made a move to get up, both content to sit in the quiet, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls.

“Do you think about the small stuff?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Sukuna turned his head slightly, his sharp crimson eyes flicking to you. “Small stuff?”

“Yeah,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the fire. “Like, I don’t know… food you miss. Stupid things you used to complain about.”

He huffed, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “Why? You getting nostalgic over bad cafeteria food?”

You snorted. “I’m serious. Don’t tell me you don’t miss anything.”

Sukuna was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I miss coffee,” he said finally, the admission low but honest. “Not this instant crap we scrape together. Real coffee. Black. Strong.”

You blinked. “You’re a coffee guy?”

He gave you a flat look. “What else would I be?”

“Tea, maybe,” you teased, a small grin tugging at your lips. “Something refined to match that whole brooding aesthetic.”

He scoffed, though you caught the faintest twitch of amusement in his expression. “Tea’s for people with time to waste. I needed something that worked.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Needed it for what? Running the shop?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “Long hours. Late nights. Coffee kept me going.”

You nodded, letting the quiet hang for a moment before speaking again. “I miss real bread,” you said, your voice wistful. “Fresh out of the oven, still warm. Not this stale, packaged stuff.”

“Bread?” Sukuna repeated, one eyebrow raising.

“Don’t judge me,” you said with a mock glare. “It’s a comfort thing. My mom used to bake on Sundays. The whole house would smell like it. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss it until… well.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, something softer flickering in his expression. “Sounds nice,” he said, almost reluctantly.

“It was,” you said quietly. “What about smells? Like fresh bread or coffee—anything like that?”

He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Rain,” he said eventually.

“Rain?”

“Before all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the broken windows and the storm outside. “When it didn’t smell like ash and rot. Just clean rain, hitting the pavement. It was… different.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I get that. The way the air used to feel after a storm, too—cool and fresh. Like it could wash everything away.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the firelight dancing between you. Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his presence that felt less intimidating and more… grounded.

“You’re good at this,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

“Good at what?”

“Getting people to talk,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Most wouldn’t bother.”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I like getting to know people. It reminds me that we’re still human. That we’re more than just survivors.”

“Optimistic,” he muttered, though there was no venom in his tone.

“Not really,” you said, leaning back. “It’s just… I don’t want to forget who we are. What we’re fighting for.”

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you, his crimson eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter.

“Is that a compliment?” you teased, though your tone was gentle.

“Take it however you want,” he replied, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

The fire crackled softly, filling the quiet space between you and Sukuna. The storm outside raged on, but for once, the tension in the room felt lighter. Sukuna shifted slightly, leaning his head back against the wall, his gaze flicking to you again.

“You’ve got a tattoo,” he said suddenly, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, caught off guard. “How did you—?”

“I saw it when I was changing your bandage,” he said simply, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, as if daring you to argue.

Your cheeks warmed. “Oh. Yeah. It’s, um… Saturn.”

“Saturn?” he repeated, his brow arching. “Why Saturn?”

You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’ve always been into astronomy. Saturn’s my favorite planet—something about the rings, you know? It’s just… beautiful.”

He studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “It suits you,” he said, his tone quiet but sincere.

The comment made your cheeks burn even more, and you quickly tried to steer the conversation. “I got it a few years ago. Back when things were... normal.”

“Who did it?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Maybe I know them.”

You hesitated, then said the name. His reaction was immediate—a quiet scoff, followed by a faint smirk.

“No way,” Sukuna said, shaking his head. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” you asked, blinking at him.

“I know him,” he said. “I used to work for that guy. Before I opened my own shop.”

“Wait, seriously?” you said, your eyes widening. “When?”

“Couple years before the outbreak,” he said. “What year did you get it?”

You thought for a moment, then gave him the date. Sukuna’s smirk grew wider, a flicker of amusement in his crimson eyes. “I was there.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “No way.”

“Way,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I was probably in the back working on a piece or setting up. Funny—I don’t remember seeing you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Imagine if we’d met back then.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and almost warm. “You wouldn’t have liked me much.”

“Oh, and I like you now?” you teased, though your tone was light.

His smirk widened. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. The thought lingered, though—what would it have been like to meet him in another life, when the world wasn’t falling apart?

Sukuna leaned back again, his expression turning thoughtful. “Funny how things turn out,” he said quietly. “All the places we’ve been, all the people we’ve met... and we still end up here.”

You nodded, your gaze drifting to the fire. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How small the world feels now.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft. “But I guess it’s not all bad.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the subtle warmth in his tone. “Not all bad, huh?”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze locked on the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur. “Some parts of it aren’t.”

The unspoken meaning hung in the air, and for a moment, you wondered if he was talking about you. The fire crackled again, filling the space with its gentle warmth as the storm raged on outside. For the first time in a long time, you felt the tiniest spark of hope—not just for survival, but for something more.

The days following your talk with Sukuna, something subtle but undeniable had shifted between the two of you.

It wasn’t anything overt—Sukuna would never be obvious—but there was something in the way he’d glance at you during group discussions, as though ensuring you were keeping up. A faint nod when you helped Shoko organize supplies or lent Suguru a hand with planning. And, most noticeably, how he seemed to position himself near you during outings, always close enough to step in if something went wrong.

One evening, the group had gathered in the common area after dinner. Satoru was attempting to juggle two cans and a flashlight, Suguru was cleaning one of the weapons, Shoko sat on the floor organizing medical supplies, her cigarette tucked neatly behind her ear, and Nanami was seated at the table, meticulously reviewing a list of the group’s remaining supplies, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You were seated cross-legged on a crate in the corner, flipping through a water-stained book you’d scavenged earlier that week. The quiet hum of the group’s activities created a sense of normalcy that felt rare these days, though the occasional clatter from Satoru’s failed juggling attempts punctuated the calm.

“Hey!” Satoru called, catching one of the cans before it could roll under the table. “What’re you reading over there, bookworm?”

You barely looked up. “Something about gardening. Thought it might be useful.”

“Gardening?” Satoru repeated, dropping the flashlight in his surprise. “We’ve got zombies roaming around, and you’re over there trying to grow tomatoes?”

“It’s called thinking ahead,” you shot back, your tone dry.

Suguru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “She’s got a point, Satoru. We’re not going to survive on canned beans forever.”

“Sure, but why doesn’t she do something more fun? Like, I don’t know, play a game with us?” Satoru grinned and turned to you. “Come on, newbie. Cards? Truth or dare? Something other than reading.”

You rolled your eyes. “Pass.”

“Afraid to lose?” he teased, leaning against a nearby crate.

“She’s busy,” Sukuna cut in, his voice sharp and commanding.

The room stilled, the air shifting as everyone turned toward him. Sukuna was seated near the doorway, sharpening his katana, his crimson eyes flicking briefly to you before settling back on his blade.

“She doesn’t need your crap right now,” he added, his tone flat but carrying an undeniable edge.

Satoru raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Didn’t realize I was stepping on sacred ground.”

Suguru chuckled, and even Shoko smirked, but Sukuna didn’t respond, his focus returning to his weapon.

The conversation shifted, the group’s banter filling the room again, but you couldn’t stop glancing at Sukuna. He didn’t look at you, but the faint tension in his shoulders seemed to ease when Satoru finally dropped the subject.

Later that evening, as the base settled into a quiet hum, you found yourself climbing to the roof. The stars were faint, scattered across the dim skyline like shy visitors in the night. The cool breeze was a welcome reprieve, and you leaned against the edge, letting your thoughts drift.

You didn’t expect to hear the door creak open behind you, but you weren’t surprised when Sukuna stepped out, his presence filling the space effortlessly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, stepping up beside you. “Needed air.”

You nodded, the quiet between you comfortable as you both gazed at the faint stars above.

“I love stargazing,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the wind. “Before all this. My dad taught me all the constellations when I was little. Like I told you—I love astronomy. Hence the tattoo.”

Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable but attentive. “That why you got it?”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at him with a small smile. “It’s a reminder of something constant, you know? No matter how much the world changes, the stars stay the same.”

He hummed quietly, his crimson eyes lifting to the sky. “Never thought about it like that.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You can see them better now,” you said, your tone soft but inviting. “With no electricity in the city, there’s less light pollution. Lay down with me—I can show you the constellations.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, his usual skepticism evident. “You serious?”

“Come on,” you said, grinning as you leaned back and lay down on the roof. The rough surface pressed against your back, but you didn’t mind. You gestured toward the stars above. “You might actually learn something.”

To your surprise, Sukuna shifted, his movements deliberate but unhurried. He lowered himself onto his back right next to you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours as he stretched out. His crimson eyes flicked upward, taking in the night sky.

“Alright,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “Show me.”

You pointed toward the stars, tracing invisible lines with your finger. “That’s Orion. You can see the belt there—three stars in a straight line.”

He followed your gesture, his expression softening as he took in the view. “I see it.”

You continued, pointing out other constellations and sharing the stories your dad had told you about them. Sukuna listened quietly, his usual sharpness muted as he seemed to absorb every word.

When you turned your head to check if he was still paying attention, you found him already watching you. His gaze was intense, his red eyes tracing your features in a way that made your breath catch.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, his hand brushing against your temple as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, warm against your skin, before he pulled away.

“You should keep your hair out of your face,” he murmured, his voice low. “Might save you some trouble next time.”

Your cheeks warmed at the gesture, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re full of advice lately,” you teased gently.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though there was no bite to his words.

The two of you lay there in companionable silence, the stars above seeming closer than they had in years. Whatever this was between you and Sukuna, it felt fragile but real.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t just surviving—you were living.

part two coming very soon. let me know if you want to be on the tag list.

[residentsweatgoblin]

I'm only coming from the perspective of Ireland and Spain (Just Cataluña really) but "golliwogs" (the racist dolls mentioned above) havent been a thing since the 80s (still recent enough to merit discussion but not something ive ever seen in my living lifetime) and while the dutch are definitely very weirdly defensive about their "Minstrel Shows" (the festive blackface) I cant say I'm familiar with any other european yuletide traditions that are still practiced today that are particularly racist/offensive (I am open and encouraging folks to challenge me on this with citation btw). Anway, let me share with you some actually good european winter solsticetime traditions. In Ireland we sit around and drink from dawn til dusk around a warm fire with friends and family because its too fucking cold out and most everyone has work off, and we watch prince of egypt / ben hur / high school musical. Theres not really a name for it, thats just what christmas day/stevens day is about. As for a more localised tradition, remember that bit where I said its too fucking cold out? Yea well aparently all the leaded fuel really did a number on us Dubliners because come christmas day, without fail you'll see folks congregate at docksides, launches and beaches all around Dublin for a 'Christmas Swim'. Now, diving into briny water in late december at the same lattitude as Hudson Bay (thats in Canada), should probably be a death sentence, but Irish waters are fed into by a series of warm atlantic currents, so while still being pretty cold, its actually not terrible to swim in. And yea, people just go do it, on christmas day, because there wasnt shit else to do on christmas day back in the day. I dont know if this tradition extends to other coastal areas of the country but it probably does, maybe not up north cus its fuckass cold up there.

Now in Cataluña, *smacks lips* oh theyve got the best shit ever.

First of all, the nativity scene, the iconic centrepiece of christmas, such a pristine diorama, youve got the iconic trio joseph, mary and joseph, the donkey that worked so hard to get them here, some gentle well kempt shepherds, angels, cherubs, a divine star, theres even three kings that happened to be passing through town...but arent you forgetting someone? Arent you forgetting the most important figure in the nativity? Arent you forgetting...

EL CAGANER

Or to roughly translate: the shiterrrrrrrrrrrr

This guys a little figurine included in the nativity scene, typically placed outside the stable (the guy has a sense of decency he just had to go is all) its a predominantly Catalan tradition, but its common down the mediteranean coast and even Portugal and Naples.

Traditionally its just a little peasant guy wearing a red catalan beretina but theres shops around Barcelona where you can get celebrity Caganers.

this shit is better than funkopops in literally every conceivable way

But you know whats also a classic scatalogical festive season tradition in Cataluña?

Tió de Nadal

Look at this jolly little guy! Originally he didnt have the face or the legs and wasnt so small, once upon a time he was just a big log that you dragged into the house and assigned some personhood to for the hollywood season. Starting from the feast of the immaculate conception, every night before bedtime you give the tio a little bite to eat, and is covered in a red blanket to stay warm, then on chirstmas day or christmas eve, the kids beat the tio with sticks while singing songs, usually with lyrics ordering tio to defecate. After all the song and dance is done, you lift the blanket up and low and behold, tio has shit you out a beautiful pile of presents! Typically comprised of nuts, torons, candies, dried fruits and small toys, what a swell guy! Anyway, to get back to the topic of the post, im not trying to detract from the broad points, but for real it was kinda making it sound like every European country is the Netherlands and we're all out here cheering on blackface on christmas day. Again, if anyone knows of any other sickeningly offensive european holiday season festivities let me know, Im open to education and not just making shit up about other peoples of the world.

my only advice is to BE CAREFUL posting about holiday traditions around europeans. you'll post something casual like "anyone else watch the old Grinch movie every year? what a classic" and a european will appear as if summoned and say some shit like "funny how USAmericans always CONVENIENTLY forget that Not Everyone On Earth is from The USA…….. no of COURSE we dont watch 'the grunch' or whatever the fuck that is…. our tradition is to attend a community showing of Glummdorf the Racial Stereotype"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Baby, I'm Cold

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your boss is a stubborn man but even he can get sick. (plus!reader)

Character: August Walker

Day Twenty-One of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - I swear I'm not sick

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Mr. Walker leaves his bag at the door, his jacket too. You move his shoes so they sit neatly on the drip tray and hang his jacket. You pick up his briefcase and carry it up to his office. As you near the closed door, you hear him coughing from the other side. 

You slow as you approach and knock on the door, “sir, I have your things.” 

He coughs again then calls through hoarsely, “in.” 

You twist the handle and dip inside. You set the bag on the leather armchair where you always do and retreat as your employer sniffles. He lets out a crackly sigh after. He sits behind his desk, silent, stony. His usual self except for the raspy breaths he lets out. 

You don’t await his dismissal. You know if he has to tell you to go, it means you’ve overstayed. Mr. Walker prefers discretion. He prefers solace. It makes your job both easy but difficult. 

You leave and go down to the kitchen. At this time, he won’t have eaten. He’ll need dinner. With his cough and stuffed nose in mind, you prepare him some chicken and rice soup. You put a thick hunk of artisinal bread with it and a cup of tea.��

You carry it up to him and announce your purpose at the door, “dinner, sir.” 

He grumbles. You know his sounds well enough to enter. You bring the tray to his desk as he sits back in his chair, unmoving, eyes closed, hands firm around the rests. You hear the rattle in his chest from there. 

“Anything else, sir?” 

He opens one eye and the icy blue chills you. His single iris flicks down as he considers the tray. He opens his other eye and sits forward. He swallows another cough. 

“What is this?” He touches the mug’s handle. 

“Tea, sir. I found some ginger. I added a touch of honey--” 

“Why?” 

“Why, sir?” 

“I don’t drink tea. I haven’t ever drunk tea. It’s for my mother. So why--” He snaps his mouth shut and his throat strains as he holds back another cough. He lets out a single croak and clears away the rocky crags. “Why are you serving it to me?” 

“Oh, uh, sir, it will soothe your cough--” 

“I’m not sick.” 

“Yes, sir, the air is dry this time of year,” you agree. 

“I don’t want the fucking tea.” 

“Sir.” 

You come around and take the cup. He sits back again and turns the seat away. You hold the steaming cup and quickly head for the door. You stop, remind by his reprimand of something else. 

“Your mother and father will arrive tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged their room and all else.” You confirm. 

“Great, you did your job,” he sneers dryly. 

“Sir,” you murmur and turn to the door. 

Just a few more hours and you’ll be free. It’s the holidays and even Mr. Walker gave you a day to spend with your family. Though you suspect it’s more that he doesn’t want you around his.  

For the three years you’ve worked for him, you’ve never met a single other person in his life. You clean the house, you pick up his laundry, and you order groceries. You are peripheral. You are the tedium that fuels the more concerning parts of his life. 

🌟

Your mother and stepfather are arguing on the porch. Again. Your aunt and uncle are showing off their toddler grandchild, and your brother, the terrible twins, more than a decade your junior, are flipping through their phones. You sit and observe it all. 

You glance at the window, your mom’s anger expounded in the wag of her finger. You get up as the smell of ham draws you into the kitchen. You check to make sure it’s not overdone then piddle around, trying to distract yourself from the chaos. 

Your back pocket rumbles. You ignore it. It’s some promo trying to entice you into ordering food. On Christmas of all day. As the vibration persists, you assume it’s some poor telemarketer, forced to make the rounds for a bit of overtime pay. 

You ignore it. You work on finishing the brussel sprouts your mother left in the strainer. You cut of the ends and slice an X into them. Your phone starts again. You don’t put down the knife until the third call. 

Walker. 

You hesitate but pick up. Why would he be calling, today of all days. You fix your posture as you answer, as if he can see you. 

“Mr. Walker,” you eke out, nervous you might have missed something. 

“Hello, is this...” a woman says your name curiously. 

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you affirm. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you, especially today, but we are in need of some help,” her voice is tremulous. 

“I told you,” a male can be heard more distantly. “We shouldn’t bother them. There’s a reason they aren’t here, dear.” 

“Pish,” the woman dismisses. “Very sorry again but my son--” 

“Katherine,” you say, “Mr. Walker’s mother?” 

“Yes, Auggy is my son,” she tuts. “As I was trying to explain, he’s doing rather poorly but he’s refusing my care. He’s always been awfully stubborn, you know?” 

“Kath,” the man drones. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” she squeals at him. “He doesn’t want his mommy fluttering around him like an old hen, but you understand, he’s my baby. I’m worried. And so we were looking and saw your name. A girl’s name so you must be someone special.” 

“Katherine,” the man sighs once more. 

“I’m his housekeeper, ma’am,” you explain. 

“Hum, oh, of course. You would be,” she says. “Oh, my, I’m afraid I’ve assumed so much.” 

“Is he still coughing then?” You ask. 

“Oh, yes, terrible. He sounds as if he’s swallowed glass.” 

“We’ll call a doctor,” the man intones. 

“Octavius, please, which doctor do you suggest we call? They all fly out of the country on their salaries,” she chirps. “Honey, please, if you don’t mind, you might be able to coax him. If you are his maid, you’d only be doing your job. He can’t turn you away.” 

You frown. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. He would and he will. 

“Lucine, please,” your step father’s voice blows through with a gust as he comes inside. His anger is forged into his tone and the door slams. You wince. 

“I can be there,” you tell Katherine. It won’t make a difference but it will get you away from all this. 

🌟

Katherine as good as drags you through the door. You didn’t even knock before she swung it open. She’s a tall woman, plump, and her face is rosy. She’s not what you expect. 

“Yes, come in, come in,” she says. “Oh, what’ve you brought?” 

She gestures to the canvas bag on your elbow. 

“Just some stuff to help,” you explain as the warmth of inside seeps beneath the chill in your cheeks. “Hopefully.” 

“Oh, yes, how clever of you.” 

She takes the bag and you let her. She sets in on the bench and unbuttons your top button before you can stop her. You gently catch her hands then do the rest yourself. 

“Sorry, dear, sorry. It’s only, I’m so worried.” 

“He’s a man, he’ll be fine. If you’d stop pecking at him, he wouldn’t be hiding,” a man appears in the archway to the den. He’s big like Mr. Walker, with white hair and paler eyes. He crosses his arms in the same way. That must be the father. 

“He’s sick! You heard him. He wouldn’t listen--” 

“He was doing just fine, Katherine.” 

“Tosh, you don’t know that. You never were there when he was home sick. He needs his orange juice and chicken noodle.” 

“He needs you to stop,” the man you assume is Octavius reproaches. 

“I can check on him but... it’s probably just a cold,” you say as you slip out of your boots. 

“So long as you try.” 

“Right,” you grab the bag and twist the handles. 

You go to the bottom of the stairs and look up. You peer side to side, from mother, to father, both tentatively watching you in turn. It seems Walker puts everyone at arm’s length. 

You take the first step with trepidation. Then the second. Up and up, you climb until you reach the top. You turn down the hallway and come to the office door. You bite the inside of your lip and knock. You don’t get an answer. 

You look at the bag in your hand and contemplate running back downstairs. You can say you tried and got the same result. Still, that Walker doesn’t shout for you to scram is worrying. 

You knock again to the same result. Several more taps go unanswered before you are faced with another decision. Do you go in, just to make sure? 

It would be a waste. You left your family, Katherine waited around for you, you suppose you can brave Walker’s wrath to give her the gift of knowing all is well. 

You inhale and hold it in. You enter the office, peeking through as you do. It’s dim but for the light of the glass lamp on the desk. As you look for the broad figure behind it, you find only an empty chair. 

You frown. He must be in his room or-- 

The grumble jars you. You squint as you try to see through the dark. You find Mr. Walker on the leather settee near the artificial fireplace set into the wall. Great. You should go. You can do that still. He’s not answering you so obviously he doesn’t want to be disturbed. 

He coughs, a sharp, agonizing cough that makes even your throat hurt. You let your breath out. Ugh. He’s a big boy, literally, he can handle it. Right? 

Shit. 

You cross the room and turn the dial on the artificial fireplace. It lights up, casting a soft glow over the office. You turn to find Walker shivering on the cushions, arms crossed as he hugs himself, legs bent to accommodate the short furniture. 

“Mr. Walker, I brought some cough drops and some cold medicine,” you say.  

He groans and doesn’t move. He hacks again, the couch frame creaking under his weight. Why? You shouldn’t feel bad for him. Not for as unpleasant as he’s consistently been. 

You move a leather stool closer and sit. You cradle the bag on your knees and sift through the contents. You take out the bottle of Buckleys. You shake it and reach with your other hand to touch his shining forehead. His eyes pop open and his mustache twitches. 

“Mr. Walker, I have cough syrup--” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, only to cough again. “I don’t want that—sh-- *cough*-- shi-- *cough*” He devolves into a fit and you wait patiently. 

“If you don’t want it, you should try some of these ginger drops.” 

“Why are you here?” 

You steady your agitation. “Your mother called me.” 

“Why did she--” He can’t finish the question. 

“She asked me to help you. I’m trying but I can’t do much if you won’t let me. However, you are my boss so you can tell me to go back home to my family,” you shrug. 

He looks at you then closes his eyes. He shifts onto his back and lifts his legs, extending them over the armrest. He is ridiculous big on the short sofa. 

“Do whatever. I thought you were a maid, not--” 

He can’t finish the insult but you get the gist. You dig around in the bag and take out the tin of menthol rub. You uncap it as his face contorts in an effort to repress his coughing. You hold it out under his nose and he sucks in and flinches. 

He grabs his nose as you recoil and blinks, “what is that?” 

“Just menthol, it will clear your airways a bit.” 

“Oh,” he furrows his dark brows. 

“Typically, you put it on your chest but it’s kind of greasy so--” 

“Do that,” he insists and sniffs deeply, “it’s helping.” 

“Oh, uh...” you stare at him. 

He’s sallow, the brims of his eyes reddened, and his face drawn. You nod and lightly touch the gel. You hesitate. You won’t be able to reach him and... right. 

“Can you...” You look at his shirt collar, “unbutton.” 

He coughs again, a rumble in his chest, and he clumsily pinches his buttons until he frees them. He pulls the fabric apart to reveal his furry chest and you stand. You move closer and bend over him as you gently trace beneath his throat, that little crook of bone above his muscled pecs. You focus on spreading the menthol as he breathes deeper, further puffing out his chest. 

“Better?” You ask. 

He makes a noise, something akin to a purr. You rub the cream in until It’s absorbed then pull away. You cap the container and put it back in the bag. You put it all on the stool and back away. 

“Where are you going?” Walker mutters. 

“To wash my hands,” you say. 

“Mmm, be quick.” 

You take his orders and hurry out. You come down the hallway and dip into the bathroom to rinse your hands. As you dry off, you nearly squeal as a shadow appears in the door. Katherine wrings her hands as she shifts back and forth. 

“Is he okay?” She asks. 

“He’s fine, I think. Just sick. Stubborn.” 

“Oh, very,” she agrees with your last statement. 

“I’m just trying to get him to take some cough meds,” you explain. 

“Ah, good luck,” she trills, “I will make some tea, if you like?” 

“Uh, yeah, we can try that,” you agree. 

She hurries off and you go back down the hall. The smell of menthol and the crackle of the fake fire welcome you in. You go to the settee as Walker lays quietly, breathing in and out, as his shirt remains open. 

“I think the cough syrup will help,” you say. 

He doesn’t respond. You watch the cadence of his chest. Is he asleep. You move around slowly, trying not to knock anything with your hip or step too heavy. You gather up the bag. He can probably sleep it off. 

You let out a squeal as you feel a brush against your bum. You spin as Walker’s arm extends to you and he catches your hip. You stutter in surprise. 

“S-sir!” 

“I’m sick,” he whines, though the surrender is hardly a triumph. “Please...” 

You stare at him. You don’t know what’s worse. The brave face or the pathetic victim. 

“Baby, I feel so bad,” he squeezes and you look down at his large hand. He must be really sick if he’s calling you that. 

“It’s alright, Mr. Walker,” you take his hand and move it off your hip. You lower yourself onto the edge of the couch and bend his arm over his chest. “Your mom’s going to make you some tea.” 

“Mmmm,” he drones and reaches for you again. “Don’t leave.” 

“Sir,” you look down as his touch follows your sleeve to your shoulder then curls down your back, stopping on your waist. You grab his wrist again. “I’ll stay, just... relax.” 

“Yes, baby,” his fingers dip into your soft side, “whatever you want me to do.” He tugs free of your grip and trails along the top of your butt, “just stay.” 

You narrow your eyes and once more stop his stray hand. You cling to it as you direct it away from you, keeping hold of him to keep from another rogue groping. He’s sick for sure. So sick, he must be delusional. 

“Alright, I'm here, Mr. Walker.” 

He opens his eyes and looks at you. You wince at the intensity in his glassy irises. His cheek ticks and he hums again. 

“Mm...” he drawls weakly. “So... soft.” 

[sflow-er]

Henry and Simon’s dynamic over the three seasons

For YR Faves Fest 2024 organised by @youngroyals-events Prompts: 2. Favourite teen side character (+ 7. Favourite not-quite friendship)

In one of my replies to the recent side character ask game, I briefly mentioned being partial to the dynamic between these two. So for this Faves Fest, I decided to elaborate with an analysis post (featuring screenshots of variable quality)!

I want to preface this with a brief acknowledgment of Henry’s privilege and classism. It is not my intention to diminish them. I do, however, feel that it’s a bit apples-to-oranges to compare them to Simon’s views (citrus pun intended). 🍊 is politically active and has put in the effort to form his own beliefs, while 🍏 shows us time and again that he is ignorant of the world outside the elite bubble and not inclined towards deep reflection. He is largely a product of his upbringing and the (liberal conservative) values imparted by his parents.

While Henry doesn’t grow enough to change his core views and values in the canon timeline, he does change his views on Simon. This isn’t enough progress for them to become actual friends before we leave off (I doubt Simon could be friends with someone who only exempts him), but I would still argue that they end the show on amicable terms.

And yes, I mean that in a mutual sense, even if Simon doesn’t soften towards Henry quite as much as Henry softens towards him!

So, let’s dive in!

Dialogue taken from the English CC and [abbreviated or corrected].

1.01: the tax debate

Henry: “Take my dad’s estate, for example. They’re struggling to make ends meet because of the high taxes.” [Simon chuckles and explains his views] Simon: “Like your dad. [Do you know how much he gets in EU subsidies every year]”? Henry: “And what the fuck does your dad do?”

Like most viewers, I find it a lot easier to relate to Simon’s views than Henry’s here – but I do think Henry often gets judged quite harshly for insulting Simon at the end. His comment does not come out of nowhere (cf. Stella’s unprompted dirty look at Simon and Sara when she talks about welfare scamming).

Henry only knows that his father has said their estate is struggling, so of course he won’t take kindly to Simon suggesting that they are actually getting undeserved subsidies instead. It’s also important to note that this estate isn’t just any old farm. It was granted to one of his ancestors as a reward for their services to the Crown, which makes it a core part of his family history. As we learn in 1.04, Henry is a Society boy and very proud of his noble ancestry, and Simon’s comment likely feels like an insult to his entire family. So although his retort is unquestionably rude, it is understandable that he lashes out.

Also, Henry has no way of knowing that Micke is a deadbeat. He is just applying a common stereotype (and potentially making assumptions based on the views Simon just expressed on welfare).

1.02: parallel but separate experiences

Early in this episode, we see Simon side-eye Henry and Walter for the paid tutoring. He decides to follow their example, but as we know he can’t actually afford it, we can already guess it won’t go as well for him as it did for them.

Next, we see Henry in the group as the rowing team ignores Simon at morning training. The camera also pans to him and Walter when August gives that bizarre speech about Simon’s class journey.

These moments highlight how different life at Hillerska (and beyond) looks for Henry and Simon. They are technically coexisting and even doing the same things, but their experiences are nothing alike.

However, there is also some potential for development here. August’s words about rowing bringing people together (and also about the class journey) should absolutely be taken with a heap of salt, but as we no longer see any open animosity between Henry and Simon, we can still wonder if rowing played a part.

Being on the same sports team is an entirely new frame of reference for these guys. They are no longer just the sosse and aristocrat who have been going to school together since pre-canon and clashing over their views; they are crewmates. They may be able to ignore each other for most of the time, but they may also have to do some team activities or even cooperate on occasion. At the very least, they will be around each other several extra times a week from late September/early October to Christmas break. This could definitely help to put them on more neutral ground.

1.05: Henry pays attention to Wilmon

In this episode, Henry learns more about Wilmon than the average Hillerska student. He is present when August tells the Society that Wille and Simon “hang out”, and also when Wille changes the plan from Simon to Alexander.

What’s more, he actually looks fairly thoughtful leaving that last meeting. We don’t know if it’s just shock over Wille’s ruthlessness, if he’s thinking about the plan to set up Alexander, or if there’s something else on his mind.

Now, this may veer into overinterpretation, but for the sake of thoroughness, let’s also include the blink and you’ll miss it moment before the Lucia procession where Henry notices Wilmon texting each other. In this cropped screenshot, you can see him looking at Simon, who has just put his phone down and is looking over at Wille.

1.06: Henry shows restraint

As we know, Henry is the only classmate who tries to treat Wille normally after the video, asking if he “saw the match yesterday” (he absolutely knows Wille didn’t). What is perhaps less noticeable is that he also shows more restraint than most of his schoolmates when the rumour mill gets going.

In this scene, Henry is pretty dispassionate reminding Walter that Wilmon sat next to each other at movie night and the two of them talked about it. There is a stark contrast to Walter, who absolutely pounces on that bit of gossip.

That one quick scene could just be a coincidence, but the same thing happens when Wilmon return to school. Instead of engaging with the others who are all eagerly talking and whispering, Henry is already sitting at his desk minding his own business when Wille arrives. His only reaction to Simon showing up is this quick look, which is immediately followed by his show of kindness to Wille:

So the restraint does look very intentional.

As an aristocrat, monarchist and Society boy, Henry is loyal to Wille, who he now knows has been carrying on with Simon for a while already. He also knows how far Wille went to protect Simon, despite the fact that Simon had actually supplied the drugs, so he is going to side with Wille.

What’s more, Henry’s behaviour in these scenes also confirms that he isn’t hostile to Simon. We can surmise he probably doesn’t think Simon is the most appropriate choice of partner for the crown prince, but he is willing to take his cues from Wille. We never see him sneer, joke, or say anything nasty about Wilmon as a couple (cf. Stella and Fredrika joking about surrogacy).

We are also shown his reaction to Wille hugging Simon before we move on to season two.

2.02: the floorball hug and walk-by

The first interaction between Henry and Simon in S2 is them celebrating a floorball goal with a spontaneous hug, as seen at the top of this post. What a difference a term makes!

Now, I don’t think this moment is meant to signify that they are friends all of a sudden, and I do feel it comes slightly out of the blue. I suspect it was included as a nod to those who already liked Henry after S1, but I for one would’ve preferred to actually see their reconciliation.

But then again, if their initial antagonism was always class conflict rather than personal beef, maybe there was no need for apologies…? Maybe each of them just accepted that the other was going to be around and decided to try and get along (potentially aided by their shared rowing team history)? Henry is following Wille’s lead as we already saw – and as for Simon, I doubt he would be hugging Henry even in the heat of a game if he held a grudge. Whether we saw it or not, they have moved on.

In the same episode, we also have the locker room scene.

Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t believe Henry actually overhears the entire conversation, but he may have still heard something about them having to wait two years (as Simon did raise his voice for that). It’s also possible he comes out of this scene assuming that Wilmon still “hang out” in secret. In any case, he probably assumes that Wille wants to keep the whole thing quiet, as per the usual “policy” on queer relationships among the upper classes. In addition to his monarchist ways, he also seems to be casually friendly with Wille in S2 (keeps inviting him to do stuff, from coffee to pranking Sprucewood). So it makes a lot of sense for him to keep whatever he overhears or suspects to himself.

2.03, 2.05 and 2.06: book report scenes

While Henry must be a nightmare to have in the group, he and Simon are nice to each other in all the book report scenes. This is further proof that they are in a place where they can talk civilly and even work together.

They start the project before the rowing race and only present it the day before the gun range scene, which means they had these group sessions for at least a few weeks (the timeline is a bit wonky here).

2.04: Henry snitches on Wille and Felice

The lunch scene at the start of the episode starts with this bit of vicarious interaction, as Henry and Simon (and Wille too) are amused by the nonsense Walter is spouting about girls:

Also, Walter's monologue feels more comphet every time rewatch it, but I digress.

As this post is focused on Henry and Simon, I’m not going to dig too deep into Henry’s role in spreading the story about Wille and Felice. Suffice it to say that he did tell his canonically gossipy bestie Walter, and it was recently pointed out to me that he seems to have let something slip to someone else as well. In the common room, Walter goes “det var du som sa till…” [you were the one who said to…] just as the focus shifts to Wille and Nils, which suggests that Henry either purposely told someone or misspoke without realising it. The latter would explain why he seems genuinely appalled when Wille confronts him, but it’s not a hill I’d be willing to die on!

If Henry did spread the story on purpose, I assume it was because getting with Felice was considered a credit to Wille and also “fair game” to tell, unlike the relationship with Simon that Wille wanted to keep hidden.

Still, Henry and Simon are definitely on better terms in S2. Even though Henry inadvertently causes pain to Simon with his part in the Wille and Felice thing, they still keep working together on the book report without any animosity.

Insofar as Henry’s lacklustre effort can be called working. Simon is a bigger person than I am for not blowing up at him when he announces minutes before the presentation that he won’t be taking any questions.

3.01: background Henry

We start S3 off with this one-sided interaction where Henry reacts to Wilmon kissing with a mild smirk. No more waiting or secrets to keep.

3.02: double standards on the camping trip

It’s not entirely clear what Henry is thinking when he says the infamous line about gay couples being allowed to share but not straight ones. I think some people read it as him deliberately putting Wilmon on the spot, but personally, I doubt he even realises it’s going to make them uncomfortable. He’s just noticing the double standard and pointing it out to mess with the teacher.

While Simon is very clearly not pleased with Henry for the comment (glares at him while saying to Wille that people are going to think they plan to have sex), he does not seem to hold that against him. Because what we do see them doing soon?

Sitting next to each other by the fire, even though Henry could’ve easily sat with Walter and Simon with Wille:

Also, it seems Henry isn't new to camping, as he tells Wille that part of the fire is too hot to grill a sausage in.

The part where things get interesting is when Henry acts classist towards the Marieberg students.

Henry seems to be down with meeting Rosh and Ayub, who are there as Wille and Simon’s friends. But after Fredrika brings up New York, he agrees that the situation turned “stiff as fuck.” That stiffness was entirely Fredrika’s fault (I think she is at least semi-consciously trying to mark herself as the most compatible partner for Stella there), but Henry seems to feel it was more about Rosh and Ayub not fitting in.

He also sneers and makes nasty comments when the other Marieberg students get into an altercation with Malin, which elicits a frown from Simon.

And yet, Simon does not condemn Henry as strongly as he might have done in the past.

Importantly, Simon tells Wille “it wasn’t the right time for everyone to meet.” This indicates that he could’ve imagined them all getting along at a better time, and it’s pretty clear that also includes Henry. Furthermore, “you [meaning Wille and the others] don’t realise how privileged you are sometimes” is actually a pretty neutral way of putting it. Simon would have been entirely justified if he had said the others were classist pricks, but he blames their privilege and lack of understanding instead of their character.

All of this forms a backdrop for my interpretation of the scenes in the next episodes.

3.03: First of May

Simon: “You do know that you’re not off so you can party the day before, right?” Henry: “Uhh…what?” Simon: “It’s the First of May.” […] “The day of the labour movement?” Henry: “Okay, so what’s their style? How do they celebrate?” Simon, scoffing: “You don’t celebrate. You demonstrate.” [Henry and Walter share a chuckle]

This may be a controversial take, but I don’t think Henry is being particularly nasty to Simon here.

He actually looks and sounds quite sincere asking how the labour movement celebrates. When he and Walter laugh, it reads more as “there he goes again, our very own sosse, saying wacky things!” than the kind of disdain he expressed towards the Marieberg students in the last episode.

Simon also doesn’t take the laughter as an insult; he’s just stupefied by their ignorance. Also, note that he already scoffed at Henry’s question, marking the question as silly.

This exchange is immediately followed by Vincent attacking Simon for his beliefs, which feels like an intentional trick to create contrast between his and Walty’s treatment of Simon.

3.04: the lollipop

In this scene, Henry starts out asking quite nicely and seriously if Simon has another lollipop, as if they had that kind of rapport. Simon makes a face, but then he just shakes his head and nicely says no. It’s only then that Henry switches to offering money for the already half-eaten lollipop, to which Simon reacts with disbelief.

He does not, however, get snarky with Henry. He settles for exchanging a look with Wille as Walty go on to complain about the hunger strike. Only when Henry isn’t present anymore does he point out to Wille how ridiculous Henry was being.

In a sort of parallel to the lunch scene, Simon and Wille now share a chuckle at the wacky thing Henry said:

Feel free to disagree, but I actually wonder if this could be a common pattern between Simon and Henry. They have accepted that they aren’t going to see eye to eye on many things, but instead of getting into conflict, they just roll their eyes/laugh at how the other can seriously believe/say such things. Then they let the conversation move on to something else.

Which is a perfectly valid dynamic. They can acknowledge that their outlooks on life are wildly different without hating each other for it.

3:06: Henry includes Simon

Look, I dislike the library scene as much as the next person. The talk that Henry interrupts between Wilmon was so much more important than anything he could possibly say. It was just a moment of comic relief that didn’t add anything to the story.

Except… Now that we are tracing Henry and Simon’s “not-quite friendship” arc, this scene does give us a conclusion.

Henry: “Hi! Uh, what are you wearing tonight?” [He rambles on about clothes] Wille: “I don’t know if… If I’m coming.” Henry: “Okay…?” Simon: “I don’t know if I can come either.” Henry: “Oh come on, you two have to come!” [He rambles on about how much fun it will be] Simon: “Yeah, we’ll see. I have to go now.” Henry: “The point is that we have to be together! This is the only night we have together, maybe ever. [I mean, we are brothers!]”

In Swedish, Henry goes “vi är ju bröder” just as the music starts. This has been translated to “we are like brothers” in the English CC, which is already quite something, but the little word ju makes the original even stronger. It means that something is true, so instead of just saying they are like brothers, Henry is saying that is what they are.

(In the dub, there is an audible pause after like, so Henry is actually using it as a filler word. They should have put a comma in the CC to denote that.)

Given that Henry prefaces this ramble with “you two have to come” and barely stops to acknowledge Simon’s exit, there’s every reason to assume he is still talking about all of them. He is saying he considers himself, Wille, and also Simon part of the brotherhood that will be disbanded indefinitely come morning and wants them all to have one last night of fun together.

Simon never hears the brothers part and is of course frustrated with Henry for interrupting, but he still takes his leave on a casually friendly note. He gets that Henry wants him to come and have fun (Henry is unaware that Simon doesn’t drink when he tries to persuade them by talking about the alcohol). Thus, Simon politely says “we will see” even though he has zero intention of going.

We do not see them interact at the party when Simon goes after all, but we do hear Henry being ushered away when Simon comes to talk to Wille. We don’t see it’s Henry, but someone insists that he wants to stay just as Walter and Alexander leave, and all three of them were there moments before:

I’m tempted to end this with a parallel to Wille’s initiation party.

Way back in 1.01, Henry and Simon were explicitly shown discussing the first party with their friends. They never talked about it with each other or interacted there – Henry attended as part of the in-crowd, and Simon only got to go because he procured the alcohol. But for this last party, it’s Henry who has procured the alcohol, and he specifically invites Simon to come. They still don’t hang out as they are both there with their respective friends, i.e. in their own bubbles, but those bubbles do bump into/brush past one another without clashing.

Kind of like Henry and Simon’s lives.

Thank you for reading this marathon post! I hope my take on these two brings something to your next rewatch, whether you agree with me or not!

[ivyvenus333]

satosugu fic rec list!!

16 fics, 20k - 260k words (ordered by word count), lots of slow burn and angst with happy endings:), all on a03!

✪ – stsg staples (if new, start here ;o) | ✵ – personal favs

+ blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me (flyingmonkiesattack)

"Or: Getou Suguru is married and doesn't believe in soulmates. But when he meets Gojo Satoru, he can't help but be enthralled by the man." (Soulmate-identifying Marks, Cheating, ANGST) wc: 20k / Complete

+ loved you first (flyingmonkiesattack)

“Satoru is used to being clingy with his best friend, draping himself all over Suguru at any and every opportunity. Suguru never seems to mind, giving back just as much as he takes. And then he gets a boyfriend, and Satoru’s world comes crashing down.” (Jealous Gojo Satoru, Getting Together, First Time) WC: 21k / Complete

+ ✵ i'll become your wound (ordinarymonsters)

“He would know this voice anywhere—the softness of it, the warmth. It curls around him, achingly familiar. It’s been ten years, but there are some things not even time can erase. He’s certain he would even recognize the smell of him. The air is thick with coffee beans and breaded pastries, but if it was all stripped to nothing, Satoru would know the slight spice and clean scent of Geto Suguru as well as he knows himself.” -Or, it’s been ten years, and this is how they fell apart—only to fall back together again." (Getting Together, Falling Apart, Second Chances) WC: 23k / Complete

+ ✵ me and my husband, we're doing better (interludewings)

“In which Satoru Gojo decides to adopt two children, only to discover that he accidentally married his ex-boyfriend, Suguru Geto, during a drunken episode just months before their breakup. Now, they find themselves living together, forced to maintain the facade of a loving couple. This leads to a series of petty tricks, cringe-worthy pet names, and the unexpected challenge of raising children together.” (Exes to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Family Fluff)  WC: 46k / Complete

+ crash course on intoxication (velourfantasy)

“There might not be any curse more twisted than love, but frequent alcoholism sure does come close. Gojo Satoru and Getou Suguru are in the prime of their lives. They share an apartment together at the same college, they're studying things they both like, and their best friendship is just as strong as ever. It's everything Gojo hoped for and more...until he walks in on his best friend getting laid at a party he forced him to attend. Or: Gojo realizes his feelings for Getou run much deeper than friendship, jam packed with alcohol-induced incidents and metaphors.”  (AU - College/University, Roommates, Unrequited Requited Love) WC: 48k / Incomplete (pray that we get an update soon.)

+ ✪ carry me home (valleykey)

“The boy shifts on his feet. “The year is two thousand and eighteen? Common Era?” Slowly, smile still plastic on his face, Suguru faces Satoru. This fucking dumbass. “Satoru,” he says, dangerous edge to his voice, “what did you do?” Satoru makes some bastardization of a sound, half between a laugh and a cough. “...Whoops?” “I,” Suguru grits, pinching two fingers together, “am this close to mass murder.” He’s joking. Probably.  ///OR: Shortly before Getō would have massacred a village, he and Gojō are thrust eleven years forward into a would-have-been future that Getō is conspicuously absent from.” (Time Travel Fix-It, Geto Suguru-centric, ft. mental spiraling) WC: 58k / Complete

+ ✪ 愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you) (cosmichorrour)

“A lesson in love is a lesson in swimming. Except for Suguru, it’s getting dropped into the deep end with the tide licking at his neck, no kickboard or life preserver keeping him afloat.  (Or: This is how Satoru finds the ocean.) (“in love with your best friend things + butterflies in the stomach things.”) WC: 67k / Complete

+ what's it worth to you? (FrozenChopsticks)

“Geto Suguru has done some wild shit for a dollar. He's worked crappy jobs, he's endured awful bosses, but this might be the craziest yet. How hard could it be to be a sugar baby for some pretty boy with a couple million followers online and enough money to run a small nation? Very hard, apparently. And it's not just Gojo's high-maintenance behavior that's hard on Suguru. (no pun intended) Neither man has done this before, but it's a good thing they are both experts at pretending like they know what they're doing. And accidentally falling for each other isn't exactly what they had in mind.” (SUGAR DADDY, Influencer Gojo Satoru, Graduate Student Geto Suguru, SMUTTY) WC: 86k / Complete (so angsty. so horny. FrozenChopsticks >>>)

+ ✪ little things to live for (LyricalPary)

“Suguru is ten years old when Gojo Satoru comes into his life. He's nineteen years old when Gojo Satoru becomes his life. (or, falling in love with his childhood best friend during their annual trip to Okinawa was never part of the plan).” (Growing Up Together, Summer Romance, Hurt/Comfort) WC: 101k / Complete

+ ✵✵✵ crimson supernova (serenadewave)

“"You don't know what you're talking about," Suguru says dismissively, his voice laced with quiet indifference and a hint of irritation. The deliberate clink of books and pens echoes in the stillness, a subtle reminder of the distance he’s putting between them. His gaze flickers toward Satoru. “And get off my desk.” Satoru’s lips curl into a smug smile as he rolls his tongue over the lollipop hanging lazily from his mouth. Unbothered, his eyes sparkle with mischief. "Or what, Professor?" OR: It started out as a game, just something for Satoru to pass the time in lectures so as not to go insane. Really, that's all it was. How the hell it managed to erupt and morph into this, Satoru has no idea.” (Professor Geto Suguru, College/University Satoru, Teacher-Student Relationship, both are adults, SLOW BURN) WC: 104k / Incomplete (THE slow burn of slow burn. I would genuinely sell my soul for this fic. the weekly updates keep me alive).

+ ✵ (when facing) the things we turn away from (Darkness747)

“Suguru had let it go too far with Satoru. But what else was he supposed to do when Satoru was right there, looking at him in the beautiful way he always looked at people? What else was he supposed to do when he could feel Satoru’s body heat from across the bed? Or when their hands accidentally brushed as they walked through the hallways at school? Suguru’s heart broke within him, reconstructing, swelling, bleeding, and breaking again each time Satoru’s eyes met his, looking at him in the beautiful way he really only looked at Suguru. Or (in a less poetic version): the coming-of-age American high school trope but it's Satosugu.” (AU - high school, ANGST, Teen Romance) WC: 109k / Complete

+ you left your mark (FrozenChopsticks)

“At 28, Gojo Satoru's got a whole lot of things going right. He's got a business he loves, co-workers who adore (read: tolerate) him, and a kid he looks after. To his mother however, there are a whole lot of things he's doing wrong. In a bid to assuage his mother's worries about her son staying single forever, he visits a matchmaker. What he expects is a fun time to laugh about later. What he gets is a run in with the man who loved him and left him eight years ago. Geto Suguru is a different man from the boy he grew up alongside and shared so many firsts with. Even if Suguru has been assigned to find Satoru his future wife, they both can't deny the tension that still simmers between them. And Satoru's going to do just about anything to get back the man he fumbled so long before…”  (Matchmaking, Second Chances, Tattoo Artist Gojo Satoru, Romantic Dramedy?) WC: 112k / Complete (Tattoo Artist Gojo Satoru. TATTOO ARTIST GOJO SATORU.)

+ for you, my life (TokyoBunny)

“A story where Gojo didn't- couldn't kill Suguru Geto that day and the windfall that came with his weakness in that moment.” (if gojo saved geto, And they fell in love, caretaking) WC: 136k / Complete

+ split (ohsocyanide)

““Speaking of,” Nanami said, possessing all the eloquence of someone who knew precisely how devastating words could be, “I heard you were getting a divorce.” "A separation," Gojo corrected him primly.” (Married Geto/Gojo, Parents Geto/Gojo, AU-Canon Divergence)  WC: 142k / Incomplete

+ see you through my eyes (svarozhich)

“Satoru Gojo is the pinnacle of strength and standing at the apex of the jujutsu world comes with a price paid in lonely hours and haunting memories. Not so long ago the now-empty spot beside him was occupied by someone capable of reaching out through Infinity and keeping up with his pace; another name worthy of standing equal to his. A best friend he killed with his own hands. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons happened almost a year ago. Suguru Geto is supposed to be dead. -- “So what actually happens when in assumption the body dies, but turns out the soul does not?” A story about second chances.” (AU- Canon Divergence, Post-Shibuya, Fix–It of Sorts, Getting Together) WC: 231k / Complete

+ ✪ coanda effect (bunniehoney)

“The JJK motorsport AU based on Formula One.” (Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Driver Gojo, Team Principal Geto) WC: 262k / Complete (The woman, the myth, the legend herself. Basically invented satosugu.)

++ drop your fav fics in the comments below challenge, go!

[manorinthewoods]

When I arrived to Arkis Rock, on the very outskirts of the continent, it was barren.

The isle is quite remote. It lies just beyond the Bastion Archipelago, safely ensconced in a position of complete strategic irrelevance. Though it was quite large for an island, the population, when I arrived, was a few hundred, concentrated in two fishing villages on the coast. The island was dominated by crags and forests, with a small mountain in the center where I was to make my castle.

It was exile, no doubt about it. I was too high-ranking to be tossed out like a common criminal, but that was cold comfort, this far from the mainland. There was almost no trade. The villages were impoverished. The villagers were growing inbred, for want of fresh blood. I and my retinue were the first outsiders they had seen in decades, aside from miscellaneous bureaucrats and officers who lived some way up the island.

The only thing that could have saved me was luck. And luck I had... for some measure of it.

The island had no economic potential. I could have perhaps attempted to open a mine, but without the assurance of something worthwhile in the rock I could not do so in good conscience. The soil was poor. The wood held no value for shipbuilding.

But then there was a book.

The official who owned it said that he had taken it from an older fishing family, whose health and fortunes had declined rapidly over the generations, in lieu of taxes, which they could not provide. Supposedly once they had been wealthy - the whole isle wealthy - but the money dried up. But there were no records which recorded the source of this fortune, nor memories remaining in the town of those days.

The book was unassuming. The paper had been manufactured from local reeds, and tore easily under my hands. Pages were missing, or ink smeared. Half of the whole, perhaps, was illegible or destroyed. And yet, in what remained, I found something quite curious.

The book bore reference to some old reef off the coast. Supposedly, if one sailed to this reef, and threw a sacrifice to the waves, one could draw something from the deeps. The pages describing what it was were missing, of course, but the effects were outlined clearly. One could extract youth and health, knowledge and power. And gold. And fish.

So I rowed out to the stormy seas, and threw a black cat into the water, and the next day, a chest washed up on the beach.

The chest alone could be worth a fortune. It was eerily ornate, covered in oceanic iconography and engravings of strange and coiling things in the deep. There was a starfish on its front, and gold framing the whole structure of the thing. The stone was a bleached white, like limestone, only incredibly dense. A chisel could not scratch it, nor pry the lid off, until I approached.

Perhaps what could have been inside was some terrible book, teaching dark rites one is not meant to practice. Or a trident, woven of enchanted gold, ominous, with seafoam green blood twisting and warping along its engravings. Or it could have just been gold, ever so much gold. But none of these were what was inside.

What was inside was a thing, which could open the lid of its own accord when I drew near, a thing with eyes and tendrils and beaks, and far too many teeth. And it chirped, a terribly discordant noise, in no tongue of man, no tongue my ears could even hear. And I bled, and I understood, and I began my work.

Honestly, I don't regret it much. When you look at it from a greater perspective, our lives are... insignificant. There are places men cannot dream of, heights that cannot be reached except with blood spilled. And though my acts were perhaps reprehensible, they were not unclean. I am purer than I have ever been.

And no matter how great an army you muster, to march upon my fortress, you cannot think to claim my life. For before it mixed its blood with mine, entered through my heart and filled the hungry void, I had already finished my door. And although I could have waited, stood at the threshold just long enough to look you in the eyes as I ascended, I am not a fool.

You will not find me here. But you may find my grail. And your army has quite a lot of fresh blood in it. And I have no doubt, at this point, that you know how to reach me.

You offended a high ranking noble and got reassigned to the remotest location possible. Two years later and this 'banishment assignment' has resulted in you becoming fabulously wealthy.

[bloggerspam]

A Christmas Carol AU

Inspired by a prompt found in the @haunting-heroes-creative-games :) (i.e. back on my shit again)

When a 15 year old Jason, pissed at Bruce for taking Robin away from him, finds his birth certificate he realizes Catherine Todd is not his real mother.

Just as he resolves to go out and search for his birth mother, Jason finds himself accosted by three ghosts in his room, talking about A Christmas Carol of all things.

===

"So, what? We're gonna Christmas Carol him?"

Dan scoffs, crossing his bulky arms with an unimpressed look. "We hated that movie."

"I didn't." Dani chirps, disturbingly cheery, "I didn't see it!"

"We hate Christmas," Danny corrects, "But the movie was alright, and the logic is sound."

"I don't hate Christmas," Dani once again interjects cheerily, "I've never participated!"

"Sound my ass," Dan growls over her, throwing his hands up. "We don't even know this guy!"

"Minor detail." Danny insists, "Tuck can look him up."

"He's a fucking Bat, Danny." Dan scrunches up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose just like Vlad does when he's disgruntled with any of Dad's shenanigans.

"He's a Robin, actually." Dani pipes in, "And he's just a kid. How hard is it gonna be to pretend to be this kid's Ghosts?"

"You're a kid," Dan reminds her, crossing his arms, "And you didn't believe me when I told you sticking a fork in the outlet would shock you."

"I believed you," Dani sniffs haughtily, crossing her arms and pointing her nose up with a snooty voice, "The warning simply did not deter me from doing it anyway."

"We don't have to convince him we're his Ghosts, or even that we knew him before," Danny reasons, needling, "We just have to convince him that we're…"

He hums, pointing at Dani. "Past."

He points at himself, "Present."

He points at Dan, "Future."

Dani does a little cheer, arms up and twirling into the air before landing with her legs over Dan's shoulders, hands and head settling atop Dan's fiery, but harmless, hair. It flickers, before going limp into long white strands that Dani messes up by gently scrunching up the strands and running her fingers through them.

Dan lets her, huffing and looking weirdly like a downtrodden, wet cat. "Why am I future?"

"Because." Danny doesn't continue, because he knows it makes Dan annoyed. True to form, his scowl gets worse, like sucking on a lemon. They all know why anyway.

Dani grins, triumphant and knowing, letting her voice go real deep, "The future," she intones into Dan's hair, "is here."

"The future is now," Danny corrects her, but doesn't lose his smile, floating up to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"The future is already here," Dan mumbles his correction, or is it a follow-up? "It's just not evenly distributed."

"How about you distribute some of those muscles, Gibson," Danny sighs, shaking his head "Waiting for puberty is such a drag, and we both know you didn't get the mass from Vlad's side of the family."

Dan makes a moue of disgust, but it serves him right. The consequences of his own actions, and whatnot. He looks up at Dani, who simply shrugs. "I think you'll do great." She leans down to give him two pats on the arm.

"So how's acting out A Christmas Carol gonna help us stop this Jason guy from blowing up?" Dani fiddles with Dan's hair, tongue poking out as she attempts a braid, "Will he even see us? Ghosts in this dimension taste funny."

"He'll be able to see us, it's magically rich enough for some ghosts to maintain a semblance of themselves," Danny explains for the third time. Dani and Dan hum at different pitches, and even though Danny is the common denominator he kind of hates that Vlad has more of a lasting impression on them. "The ectoplasm here is scarce and mostly corrupted, though, so it's rare."

"So there's lotsa bad ghosts here?" Dani eyes the messy braid she's made, proud, even as Dan's silky hair immediately causes it to fall apart, "Or 'mentally unsound' or whatever Frostbite called it."

"No," Dan grumbles, annoyed and indulging all at once, "Corruption begets ecto-rot, but the scarcity means they're not strong enough to actually retain their sense of self enough to rot."

"Shades," Danny explains when Dani looks even more confused, "There's lots of shades."

"Is this one of the Olympian dimensions?" Dani groans, flopping over Dan's shoulder as he sits down on the sofa, "I love Pandora and all, but if I see Zeus again I'm gonna lose it."

"It's one of the hero dimensions," Danny hums, taking over braiding Dan's hair the way Jazz made him when they were little, "There's a couple of Amazons walking about, but on the whole no Olympians."

"I don't know why he didn't just dump me in a Norse dimension." Dan leans back and closes his eyes to their ministrations. "Especially with my current occupation."

The three of them are sitting in Dan's apartment, a large loft studio located somewhere in the UK of the aforementioned hero-dimension. Alber-something, Danny can't remember. Doesn't need to, it being a different dimension from his anyway.

Dan doesn't have a lot of things: a sofa and TV, a bed in the corner, a decent but small kitchen. They're still trying to figure out decorations, but Dan on the whole is a minimalist so it's been slow going.

He's working as a bartender these nights, whiling away his odd existence now that his form has stabilized.

And wasn't that a trip? Learning that hey, adult lightning halfas shouldn't really be mixed with teenage ice halfas, actually!

Apparently, ectoplasm can become corrupted if you try to combine incompatible sources.

Apparently, side effects include (but are not limited to) unmitigated violence and a devastating need for vengeance.

Sound familiar?

"This dimension has a lot of time continuity errors," Danny reminds him, "Dropping you here gave the least amount of pushback."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan flaps a lazy hand, "Praise be the speedforce and flashpoints and whatnot."

"Plus," Dani adds softly, absent-minded as she watches Danny finish up the braid, "Lotsa heroes to help out if you relapse."

Dan heaves a slow, controlled sigh. Danny and Dani both pretend they don't notice.

"Is it bad?" Dan doesn't open his eyes, his voice is so low Danny can only hear him by virtue of his ghost powers, "Like me levels bad?"

"No." Danny shakes his head, leaning into his older self, his older brother of sorts, "He decapitated eight crime lords, killed a couple of assassins, maybe an innocent or two depending on your definition of things."

"Past tense?" Dan scrunches his nose. They all hate how confusing Time Shenanigans are.

"He's living as Red Hood, right this very moment."

"Red Hood?" Dani questions, "That his hero name?"

"Crime lord alias." Danny corrects her, "But he's more of a vigilante these days. Has a bat on his chest and everything."

"But it's bad enough to warrant a trip to the past." Dan points out, "Bad enough for us to try and persuade him. Does he relapse?"

"Not…exactly." Danny scrunches his face, not wanting to explain Clockwork's ambiguity.

Dani floats to spread over Danny and Dan's laps, sprawling out and purring like a cat. Self-soothing, though it's more for their benefit than hers.

"Like Dani said, there’re lots of heroes here, and he doesn't have powers." Danny continues, petting at Dani's soft hair, "The world doesn't end. He doesn't have the means to, even with the ecto-rot."

Danny pauses, and chooses his words deliberately and carefully. "And deep down, Jason Todd is a hero through and through. Relapse would be…difficult. His Obsession is similar to yours."

Dan lets that sit for a moment, but nods, Danny moving a little with the motion. The tension slowly bleeds out as they wait like that, enjoying each other's company.

"If the world doesn't end," Dani whispers, "Why is Clockwork sending all of us?"

Danny thinks on that, on his meeting with Clockwork. The Ancient's voice when he explained what would happen.

He thinks about Jason Todd, about Bruce Wayne, and Catherine, and Sheila. He thinks about Batman, and Robin.

He thinks about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, about Damian Al Ghul, about Cassandra Cain, and all of Jason's Outlaws.

He thinks about a tattered uniform that stays up in a glass case for a long, long time.

Most of all, he thinks about Dan.

He thinks about regrets and one bad day away.

And then he stops thinking about it, because sometimes the past is the past, and other times, it's the future that never happens that haunts you instead.

"You know, Dani." He settles on, "I'm not sure. He probably has his reasons."

Dan leans heavier onto him, and they lean together like that, with Dani in their laps.

Ghosts of decisions made, unmade, and never to be.

Follow the story on AO3 here!

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word “gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[penkura]

Special Gift

Summary: Zoro watches your kids while you're out for the day, making sure they don't sneak any peeks at their Christmas gifts under the tree.

Note: So this uses the kids from my OP Men as Dads series, but before the twins are born. Hope you guys enjoy! I'M SORRY IT'S SO LATE, I GOT SO BUSY TODAY.

“I just need you to watch them for a bit while I’m at the doctor, I’ll bring some dinner!”

Your request made Zoro sigh at the time, though he was joking around when he said ‘I guess’ with a roll of his eyes that made you laugh before kissing him. You’ve been together long enough that you know he’s kidding around, he doesn’t mind watching your kids, they’re always good for him and the day usually ends with all three of them taking a nap together. It’s also something you love coming home to, it gives you some quiet to work on a few things if you need to, especially now being pregnant and having to get your house ready for the newest member of your family.

Still though, watching your kids for a few hours is no problem for Zoro. If they need anything they go to him, they’ll convince him to play a game with them or read a children’s book to them, anything to spend any time with their dad. At six and four, Keitaro and Kuina are both bright and active, eagerly awaiting Christmas and the moment they get to open their gifts. You rarely have worry about them acting up bad enough to suggest calling Santa and telling him not to come by, the two are that well behaved for you.

No one believed that was possible with Zoro as their father, but you knew better when you first saw him with your son after he was born. More so when Kuina was born, she had him wrapped around her finger instantly and nothing she does could ever make Zoro upset with her. Keitaro is the same, he doesn’t ever want to get in trouble, he heard you yell once when someone cut you off in traffic and it was enough for him to not want to hear it again. Not like you’d ever yell at him or his sister, you spoil and dote on them too much anyway.

While you’re gone Zoro does what he can to take somethings off your plate, getting you’re kids involved with the laundry or sweeping floors, while he tries to knock out the dishes for you (Sanji never believes you when you tell him this is a common thing in your house). Eventually, he hears the sound of something being shaken from your living room, before little voices start talking and he has to keep himself from laughing too loud.

“Umm…I think it’s a puzzle?”

“A puzzle!”

“It’s yours, Kuina!”

She nearly squeals at the mention of it being her gift, Zoro walks in just in time to see her grab one and start shaking it, trying to figure out what it is by sound alone too. He’s sure they won’t start trying to open anything early, you trust them enough to leave the gifts out a few days before Christmas, but he’s going to watch then just to be safe. If anything they’ll just shake a gift that isn’t theirs and hopefully not break anything. They probably won’t even find the gifts you made to announce your pregnancy or just think it’s a random toy.

He still can’t believe there’s going to be a third one this time next year, even after you planned it all.

“Hey now,” they both almost jump hearing Zoro speak up, him smirking a bit since they were starting to get a little too close to looking in gift bags, “Don’t be peeking, you won’t have any surprises.”

“Daddy!”

Keitaro pouts a little but moves back to sitting on the floor while Kuina gets up and runs to Zoro, having him lift her up to his shoulders. Once she’s there and giggling, Zoro crouches down by Keitaro and ruffle this hair, making him whine.

“Looking for something?”

“No…”

“Mommy said there’s a special gift for us!”

“Kuina!”

She’s confused why Keitaro didn’t want her to say anything, but it just makes Zoro laugh a bit. You’re not giving them any more information than that, they’ll have to wait, but he can’t blame them for being curious. It’s only a couple more days until they learn what it is, he’s sure they’ll keep trying to sneak in and take a peek at their gifts until they figure it out themselves.

“Come on, leave the gifts alone for now, okay?” Zoro pats Keitaro’s head again before standing up and nodding to the kitchen, “Mom will be back soon, let’s get something to eat.”

They both complain a little, since they’re so curious about whatever this special gift is, but they still agree and go to the kitchen with Zoro.

A couple more days before things change, Zoro will enjoy these moments of having just two kids, before it turns to three and things get even more hectic than they already are. He’s looking forward to it though, he’s rather have a busy life than a boring one anyway.

[beecha]

cough cough as a Buddhist I do agree :\

it's just Christianity is one of the most common religions and a lot of people commenting probably live in countries with lots of Christian people so maybe that's why they think this post is about (edit: Christianity)

but even in a "chill" "cool" religion I am still being told by my family and temple these exact things

*sigh sigh wish I had bigger lungs to sigh with*

not to be anti-religious but i do wonder if teaching children that they are innately flawed and sinful is, perhaps, not a healthy worldvi

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Beautiful Stranger

(6) Oh, We're Dancing In My Living Room

Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Fem!Reader

Summary: It's time for you to celebrate your first Hanukkah and the boys to celebrate Christmas for the first time

Word Count: 887

Warnings: Pure fluff~

A/N: Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas! I've never celebrated Hanukkah so I hope I did it justice! If I got anything wrong please let me know so I can fix it!

December 7th, 2023Two weeks after Thanksgiving, the scent of fried potatoes and cinnamon lingered in the air as you celebrated your first night of Hanukkah with Wanda and the boys. The living room was cozy, lit by the soft glow of the menorah set on the windowsill. Billy sat snugly on your lap, giggling as you adjusted him to get comfortable, while Tommy stood beside Wanda, his eager little hands helping her steady the candle.

The room fell quiet as Wanda began reciting the blessing, her voice gentle and melodic. She paused between words, guiding Tommy through the unfamiliar phrases. You watched her with admiration, her patience shining through every syllable. It was one of the countless things you adored about her—how she could turn even the simplest moment into a gentle lesson filled with love. Billy’s little voice joined in, clear and perfect, mimicking Wanda with a confidence that made your heart swell.

When the blessing was finished, Wanda handed the boys their small gifts and a pouch of shiny chocolate gelt. The foil coins caught the light as the boys ripped into them excitedly.

“Oh, chocolate coins!” you exclaimed with a laugh, holding one up to inspect it. “I used to get these in my stocking every year!”

Tommy grinned, his excitement bubbling over. “Really? You had chocolate coins too?”

“Yup,” you said with a smile. “Looks like Hanukkah and Christmas have some things in common.” The boys beamed, clearly delighted by the connection.

As Wanda headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner, the boys taught you how to play dreidel. It took you a few rounds to catch on, but soon you were spinning the top like a pro—or so you thought. The boys, with their boundless energy and infectious laughter, kept winning, leaving you mock-pouting at your growing pile of lost gelt.

Just as you were about to snag a victory, Wanda’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Come on, you three, dinner is ready!”

The boys whooped, grabbing their gelt and darting off, leaving you to sulk. Wanda met you at the doorway, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned in for a kiss. “What’s got you all pouty, pretty girl?” she teased, her lips brushing against your cheek.

“They kept beating me, and I was finally about to win,” you said with a dramatic sigh, earning another kiss from her, this time on the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t worry, love. We’ve got seven more nights of this,” she reminded you, her smile coaxing one from you in return.

The dining table was a feast of golden roast chicken, crispy latkes, and an array of colorful side dishes. The boys chattered excitedly about their dreidel victories as you sat beside Wanda, sneaking glances at her and marveling at how lucky you were.

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆

December 24-25, 2023The house was bathed in soft, twinkling lights, the Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner, its ornaments glinting in the glow. Wrapped gifts lay neatly beneath it, the fireplace crackling softly in the background. You could barely contain your excitement as you handed the boys matching plaid pajamas.

“Family Christmas pajamas!” you declared, grinning as Wanda shook her head fondly at your enthusiasm.

The boys were quick to change, giggling as they admired the bear graphics on their tops. Wanda’s shirt said “Mama,” yours read “Papa,” and the boys’ shirts proudly displayed “Little” above the bears.

“It’s perfect,” Wanda murmured, leaning into your side as you both sipped hot chocolate, her arm draped lazily over your waist.

The boys begged to open one gift each, their wide eyes and pleading voices impossible to resist. “Okay, just one,” you relented with a laugh.

They tore into their gifts, unwrapping Nerf guns and immediately launching into an impromptu battle, their laughter echoing through the house. As bedtime approached, you and Wanda helped them set out milk and cookies for Santa before tucking them in.

“Goodnight, boys,” Wanda whispered, pressing a kiss to each forehead.

“Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, Daddy,” they chorused, their voices sleepy but filled with happiness.

The next morning came early, the boys bounding into your room with uncontainable excitement. You carried your mugs of coffee to the living room, settling onto the couch beside Wanda as the boys dove into their presents. Wrapping paper flew in every direction, and their squeals of joy filled the room.

When only two gifts remained, you exchanged a look with Wanda, a shared smile of anticipation. “Alright, boys, these are from your mom and me,” you said, handing them each a box.

Tommy and Billy tore into the packages, their eyes lighting up as they revealed shiny Nintendo Switch Lites. They screamed in delight, throwing themselves at both of you in a flurry of hugs.

“Thank you, Mommy! Thank you, Daddy!” they shouted.

Wanda chuckled, ruffling their hair. “Now, let Daddy put the cases and screen protectors on them before you start playing.”

“Yes, Mommy!” they replied in unison before scurrying off to admire their new consoles.

The rest of the day was spent amidst the chaos of new toys, chocolate-stained fingers, and snow falling gently outside. You watched it all from the couch, Wanda nestled into your side, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

It was, without a doubt, the perfect Christmas.

[pheenixbabe]

elephant in the room 🐘

rant about the state of online shifting; "get-it-off my chest" moment

part 1. scripting trauma/ being a bad person in a dr how many people are really doing "bad things" or scripting in trauma in their dr? lets be so fucking for real here. why is it that everytime someone "morally corrupt" it gets exposed months apart and the "culprit" is some small ass account with like ten followers? its not common. and im not saying it never happens. but shiftok is always on about these people and im like...who tf are yall talking about? they find one bad apple and then decide the whole community needs to be reminded how fucked up it is to do xyz.

i mean lets be realistic, how many people are going out of their way to script something traumatic or harmful? the majority of the online community (reddit, tumblr, tiktok) always talks about shifting for their s/o, adventure, frienships, family or a better life in some way. how many people are deliberately scripting to harm themselves or others? and is the number really so much that we need thinkpiece after thinkpiece about it?

aand when others behave immorally or get traumatized in their dr they will experience it. they will see the effects of any bad things they do to others. they will feel the trauma first hand and suffer from what theyve scripted in many ways. we dont need to punish these people. their dr will do it for them.

P. S what about when you shift to a dr like the walking dead? or even mha and keep in the war arc? thats traumatic. hell, even an idol / fame dr can be traumatic and those are hella common! yet nobody bats an eye or reprimands it...odd...

part 2. racebending race doesnt exist. i saw a shiftoker (a white one too??) act like someone was crazy for saying it! the whole concept was created by europeans! white mans burden, race based social classes, and eugenics all seems natural to yall? i mean logically its not odd to anyone that modern racial concepts were made by the same group of people in the same time period...? the time period people needed excuses to kill, rape, steal from and enslave other groups... search up "who created race" and then report back to me..anyways..

name one good thing that splitting people up and assigning them identities based on their background does for us? its caused mocking of those that dont fit the mold their race gives them, harmful views of other because of their racial group(s) and low self esteem from outside perceptions of your race. oh and division among groups on top of everything. so what is the point of holding on to race? abandon it! shift to be white, asian, black, indigenous, do what you want! youre not "changing your race" until you shift to become a different species (and theyres obvi nothing wrong w that!).

and some people say "if you script your another race your downplaying the racism poc face" but not every country has the same type of racism the states has. not every country is even as racist as the states. for example if im shifting to be fully south korean born & raised, and live full time in south korea, its not likely ill experience racism. and even so you can just...script out racism? like what...some people literally hate shifters who dont script out racism and expect everyone to script it out, but then turn to say that they cant change their race because of racism...huh? genuinely dont get that.

P. S im only really preaching abandonment of race so flippantly in regard to shifting. in this reality we're kinda stuck with it at this point lol.

P.S.S and it seems shifters from the usa hate racebending the most! as an american, i wonder how much of that is being intimidated that the concept of a racial hierarchy, that our nation has been built upon for centuries, can be shattered so easily...and therefore obviously proves it as obsolete. food for thought. (half joking here teehee)

[moonspirit]

Jealous aruani are fun and all, but...what if it's their friend that's the reason for the jealousy??? No love triangles.

Annie suddenly feels a twinge of irritation when she sees Pieck say something to Armin and they laugh together. Or maybe Armin overhears gossip about how Annie Leonhart and Connie Springer look so cute together. The next time he sees Connie, his stomach twists. And it's terrible!

Considering how Armin and Annie both have self-esteem issues...well, I can see how that could happen. Irritation, doubt, jealousy, and self-loathing for feeling that way about a friend. it's just painful, stupid and awkward. I have no idea how they will solve this😗

Hello jealousy anon! As promised, and thank you for the ask, it made me laugh xD

Because of-fucking-course there's nobody more capable of causing problems for Aruani off more than their very own family xD If you ask me, outsiders don't have the type of talent the other four have in creating misunderstandings and unnecessary chaos xD Plot-required-3rd-party-love-interest who? Move over, here's Connie the Springer man!

At first it's all quite unintentional. Connie spends time with Annie because Circumstances and Coincidence and hardly notices Armin's watery puppy eyes gazing at him from a depressing corner. It's not like Armin ever says anything out loud either because of course, he's happy! He's happy Annie has a silly friend that makes her laugh and forget that she's awkward and possibly frightening around people. He's glad Connie comes prepackaged with a whole lot of shitty jokes that happen to tickle her. He's really fucking glad Connie treats Annie like he treats everyone else!

But. Connie can also... dance. Really well. Like the guy's got those moves and can easily take Annie for a nice spin. He also... makes her laugh, like... a lot? A lot lot? Hm.. has Annie ever laughed like that with me? Uh... yeah, nevermind that, um- oh god, Connie's been looking pretty nice lately in those suits and he's rather good with the whole easy-fashion thing and uh- well shit, it's Connie, he's my friend, he's not- no, I mean, that photo in the newspapers was just an accidental shot, of course Annie was just laughing at his bad joke but well... she did look really happy with him and, oh shit--

Man.

Pieck on the other hand, doesn't fuck with people more than necessary. I don't actually see her getting *too* close with Armin but they do become very good friends! They have a lot in common, (for example music) and vibrate on the same atomic level of "yeah this is wrong and backhanded and probably will get us arrested in 18 countries but lets do it hehe". Hc that they probably get off to a slightly rocky start as Pieck doesn't put much faith in Armin's "naivete" and harbours resentment for his blowing up of Liberio's port, but as time goes by, they grow closer!

Maybe... too much closer for someone's liking 💀

Because okay? Annie gets it, she finds politics too boring and her takes end up being too cynical and skeptical in the room. Technically, she's glad Armin has someone in Pieck who will humour his ideas with a generous (but nice) dash of realism. Also, they enjoy picking out records together and she often finds them nodding their heads to a new tune once home.

She's glad, okay?

She is, she really is-

*sound of a thigh being stabbed followed by sounds of Reiner screaming*

Pieck is a cheerful girl tho 🥲

On a serious note, both Aruani are going to feel like total crap about this jealousy tho. Because as you said, it's their friends, their literal family who they share a lot of time and space with, and if anything could be clear it's that none of them want to see Aruani unhappy. So its not real, it's not anything to worry about, it's all just in their heads-

And yet.

Tbh the extra funny bit about this is gonna be when Connie and Pieck realize what they're doing to their poor lemonheads xD

"What! We're making you jealous?! wHAaT?? ... Hell YEAH, LET'S TURN IT UP!"

🥲🥲🥲🥲

I mean what else did you expect lol, Pieck and Connie are that duo who are going to derive more entertainment from their very own organic, homegrown family-drama than the moving pictures being shown in the town-square.

Suddenly it's all: "HEHE Armin, I bought Annie CAKES, see? FIVE Cakes! FiVE delICIOUS cakes and *I* am going to give it to her! Me!"

and: "Annniieeeeeeee~~ Oh no, why the long face this morning? Btw did you know Armin wants kids? Like a lot of kids? He told me- oh, he didn't tell you? Hehe I thought you'd be the first to know hehehehehe"

Their approaches to fanning this dumpster fire are different 😌

Their solution when things get too Sad?? Lock Aruani up in a room. Always ends well.