#just an old man reminiscing about his youth

[nyxlarkyn]

YES!!! This has been the only thing I can think about after watching pt.1. How GOOD these dynamics are between those three along with Vi's relationship with Loris- Shield fighting Enforcer/Drinking Buddy/Vander Clone.

Isha is holding onto the role of an inner child/Powder for Jinx.

I keep seeing mother/daughter comparisons between the two. A nice sentiment but not what's playing out. Think of Brittany Murphy's "Uptown Girls" Where a young girl forced to grow up early falls into the care of a woman clinging to her youth. Isha and Jinx will be about the cycle of trauma children face under the corruption of the upper and under cities. Isha is forced to survive at all costs at a young age and Jinx is a damaged individual lost within herself due to the same conditions Isha currently faces.

She's introduced to Jinx almost exactly the same way Silco took Powder in; terrified for her life a child buries herself in an adult for protection. Silco raises a hand to the child and his cronies watch on afraid of what he may do to this kid. Jinx waves a gun at her child and the audience watches on with the same dread Silcos lackeys held. Both sparing the girl and choosing to protect her. When Isha risks her life to save Jinx, I couldn't help but think of how Jinx must've been at that age with Silco. How she made a name for herself as his psycho daughter. The weight of a child ready to risk their life and kill for you.

Almost all of Isha's movements feel like they're just Powders old animations being recycled or her actions directly mirroring hers.

Isha's wardrobe is also very detailed. She has a similar helmet we've seen Powder wear, her boots have a very prominent X stitched on one and the other has a very deep V silhouette, she has one glove that looks like Jinx's gloves, her other arm is covered and wrapped with a red string- reminiscent of Vis wrappings, she also wears a beaded chocker that's laced around her neck the same way Jinx and Sevika wears theirs.

Speaking of Sevika:

Jinx chose to gift Sevika a new arm made out of parts of the old punching game the girls would train on as kids. We know the significance it holds to Jinx, so her taking it apart for Sevika is huge. This act is her dismantling her old relationship with her sister to form a new one with Sevika.

Sevika's eyes reflect more silver this season than brown making her more reminiscent of Powder and Vi. Her hair being down later in the season and Vi growing hers out and dying it black adds to their mirroring. They also fight with mechanical fist(s).

Silco was a man both Jinx and Sevika answered to. Whether or not Sevika viewed him as a Paternal figure, he was her most respected authority figure. Both women have that grief over Silco and bond over their resentment towards him and aimlessness with him gone.

NOT SEEING ENOUGH PEOPLE TALK ABOUT JINX'S LITTLE FOUND FAMILY AND HOW PERFECT IT IS THEMATICALLY!!!

Specifically what I want to highlight is how Jinx found the two most important parts of herself that she lost in Sevika and Isha.

In Sevika she found a new Vi, a new older sister figure. She cannot fix things with Vi, she understands that, but her relationship with Sevika is something she can fix, and she can mourn Silco with Sevika in a way she and Vi could never mourn Vander together.

In Isha she found Powder, the person she once was who she can't be anymore. In many ways Isha gives Jinx the opportunity to protect and love Powder in the way she always wished others would do for her, quite literally Isha heals Jinx's inner child.

[nyxlarkyn]

Jinx's Dynamics Between Sevika and Isha Will be My Current Roman Empire:

Isha is holding onto the role of an inner child/Powder for Jinx.

I keep seeing mother/daughter comparisons between the two. A nice sentiment but not what's playing out. Think of Brittany Murphy's "Uptown Girls" Where a young girl forced to grow up early falls into the care of a woman clinging to her youth. Isha and Jinx will be about the cycle of trauma children face under the corruption of the upper and under cities. Isha is forced to survive at all costs at a young age and Jinx is a damaged individual lost within herself due to the same conditions Isha currently faces.

She's introduced to Jinx almost exactly the same way Silco took Powder in; terrified for her life a child buries herself in an adult for protection. Silco raises a hand to the child and his cronies watch on afraid of what he may do to this kid. Jinx waves a gun at her child and the audience watches on with the same dread Silcos lackeys held. Both sparing the girl and choosing to protect her. When Isha risks her life to save Jinx, I couldn't help but think of how Jinx must've been at that age with Silco. How she made a name for herself as his psycho daughter. The weight of a child ready to risk their life and kill for you.

Almost all of Isha's movements feel like they're just Powders old animations being recycled or her actions directly mirroring hers.

Isha's wardrobe is also very detailed. She has a similar helmet we've seen Powder wear, her boots have a very prominent X stitched on one and the other has a very deep V silhouette, she has one glove that looks like Jinx's gloves, her other arm is covered and wrapped with a red string- reminiscent of Vis wrappings, she also wears a beaded chocker that's laced around her neck the same way Jinx and Sevika wears theirs.

Speaking of Sevika:

Jinx chose to gift Sevika a new arm made out of parts of the old punching game the girls would train on as kids. We know the significance it holds to Jinx, so her taking it apart for Sevika is huge. This act is her dismantling her old relationship with her sister to form a new one with Sevika.

Sevika's eyes reflect more silver this season than brown making her more reminiscent of Powder and Vi. Her hair being down later in the season and Vi growing hers out and dying it black adds to their mirroring. They also fight with mechanical fist(s).

Silco was a man both Jinx and Sevika answered to. Whether or not Sevika viewed him as a Paternal figure, he was her most respected authority figure. Both women have that grief over Silco and bond over their resentment towards him and aimlessnes with him gone.

This post below inspire me to post this, because seriously why aren't more people talking about this.

[hunterrrs]

the gray curls and crooked smile

[xenosagaepisodeone]

you happen upon an ex-tumblr power poster who now lives on twitter. he is 30 (or nearing so), stripped of the eccentricities which illuminated his net presence when he was 19 but none of the grievances. he speaks of his hobbies, which remain unchanged from the previous decade, but with only dim enthusiasm- "was this series always this janky, or am I just noticing it now?" and so on. his vent tweets about work, relationships, friends and money punctuate his timeline in place of what would have been a joke or keen observation a decade ago. the world is confusing and frustrating to him now. things didn't work out like he thought they would. his way of living is calcifying and he worries he's losing the ability to see beyond himself. he comes close to reminiscing sometimes, about his youth, about old internet, about tumblr, before recoiling with embarrassment and disgust. and yet, with similar machinations to that of jungian enantiodromia, by attempting to live the inverse of his past, he becomes testament to it. a 30 year old man who navigates life as a 19 year old boy. he feels old, and seeing him makes you almost feel old too. but you know better. you can live forever. you can live forever if you keep posting on tumblr.

[reveluving]

angel in hell ; the ghoul x reader

summary: hell on earth is more tolerable with his light by his side.

warnings: allusions to s~mut (minors DNI!), very brief mentions of attempted su~icide, reader as an 'entertainer' is used loosely (for your creativity!), cocky (softer) hard-ass x beautiful badass darling trope mmm, reader was born before the war, age gap but not really (think him in his 40s & you in your 20s/30s but in 200-ish years old), strong language, bits of angst and more fluff overall!

a/n: just a little tester because I could not help it HAHAHA had this in my mind for a few days, and now that I've started the show, I have an excuse to post it 💅🏼 please enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my main m.list!

'You wondered how your dead father would react to your relationship with a deadly and smitten cowpoke.' ;

You were an entertainer before it all. The best of the best. A real knockout of the century and the kindest of them all.

If only you knew it had its downsides.

Your admirer (read: obsessor) being none other than the Overseer of 33 himself, forcing you into the vault lifestyle with him to be his beloved.

But your mental strength, your humanity, your free will was unbudgeable.

Not even the experiments could budge you.

Not until that one fucking serum.

You tried everything. Before and after your escape.

But the afterlife, or whatever the hell that existed outside of this godforsaken world, just wouldn't take you.

Your mama always said that by living a good, long life, the universe gets to show you what they had to offer.

Thank the heavens she didn't live long enough to take her words back, if she knew the hell her only daughter was put into.

And though the Vault taught you how to survive better than the poor souls on the surface, sometimes you wished you didn't remember how to. Yearning for the ignorance and the near-zombified state they were in over the pristine lifestyle that would jump out of you every once in a while.

At least whatever the underground snakes injected you with kept your youth intact.

Though, you weren't the only one reminiscing your old days, remembering the smiles that immediately bloomed from your presence.

Howard, The Ghoul remembers you.

Nobody at his great age could ever forget a sweet face like yours. Standing out from all the yuppies, despite being well-off yourself at the time, much like you were now. You knew your rights from your wrongs, and they were never for show. Regardless of the bags under your eyes on sleepless nights, or the scars that would decorate your skin after a rough-up, just until your curse magically wooshes it away.

Despite your scoffs, your wave-offs over your old life, that the present had no need for an entertainer, he would say otherwise.

All. The. Time.

Always countering your modesty with the highest praises, albeit sometimes lewdly.

But… not always.

He knew that you knew you were one of a kind if he was able to tell you his life before the bombs dropped. That he was able to tell you stories of his late family. That he was able to tell you that you were 'somethin' special t'him'.

You wondered how your dead father would react to your relationship with a deadly and smitten cowpoke.

But you were on your own now.

Always been for over two hundred fucking years.

At least, that was the way it was before.

Not anymore. Not with the foul-mouthed gunslinger and his pooch, who, to the chagrin of your man, adored you more than him.

Which, really, how couldn't you talk Howard's ear off for harming the sweetheart at first?

Disbelief was something he had lived with from the day he stumbled upon you in the badlands one fine night. The pretty little lady who didn't look like she could hurt a fly back then now aimed her trusty rifle at him with an unlit ciggy in between your lips. Not a tremor in sight as you looked through your scope.

He was half-tempted to be shot.

And well, you did, taking the shot. It did as good as a chocolate teapot, and as you quickly tried to reload, he took a good look at you.

You were a sight for sore eyes before, but today, gorgeous wasn't even cutting it, and if he wasn't daydreaming about your messy hair and sorry clothing article for a sleepwear, then he definitely was about that one night—your first night.

How you teasingly pulled the wide collar of your top down, revealing more and more of your velvety skin. How gentle your kisses were, brushing your lips along his neck like he'd finally break after a lifespan of wandering. How you looked up at him, lips parted and eyes dazed with lust and dare he say, affection.

He knew he was a goner.

But like all the time, he wanted to be greedy.

And for once in his life, after an eternity, the future was finally shedding him some light of hope.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: if something ain't right, no it isn't ❤️ don't worry about it, still hope you enjoy! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[lady-charinette]

The lucid moments of Queen Charlotte & King George:

they sometimes hide from the heavens under the bed and George asks how their kingdom is doing. Charlotte quietly confesses how sometimes, the world seems to close in on her too & she feels like she might just hide from the heavens forever. George cradles her hand whispers lovingly:"You've always been the stronger one of us." Charlotte:"Only because you gave me half of your strength."

George sometimes escapes his confinement and bursts into meetings, but he's lucid. Charlotte is momentarily stunned, but relaxes when George speaks normally with the higher members of the ton. She smiles and watches her husband, the king, attend to his duties. In these little moments, she feels like the paintings didn't have to add George in later, she feels like he was there all along for the still sitting.

George still goes to the fields, he's old now, but he can pick at the weeds and plant some vegetables at least. Brimsely swore he would always attend to Her Majesty the Queen, but whenever her husband is outside, he temporarily serves the King, on orders of Her Majesty. Brimsely knows the Queen trusts him above all to protect her king in Reynold's place

George sometimes draws her, draws her face, his artistic skill curiously weakens when he's of sound mind, but Charlotte doesn't seem too offended when she spies her likeness on their wall. She smiles brighter than the sun

They reminiscent of their youth together, George remarks on the make of Charlotte's dresses, they look just like they had when they were younger. Charlotte is too prideful to admit she still orders these dresses to be made because it's the only thing of George she can have with her everyday to keep her grounde

Amelia's passing wounded everyone deeply, George had still been lucid enough to have learned of it, which ultimately crumbled the pieces of his sanity over time. His lucid moments grew fewer and farther in between and Charlotte felt like she had not only lost a daughter, but her husband as well

George has his observatory in his residence at Kew, and sometimes when he gazes at the stars and searches for a glimpse of Venus, his clarity returns with full force. In those moments, he quickly writes down whatever thoughts flood his clear mind, to not forget them, forget that deep down in his madness, there is still a man. Charlotte occasionally visits his observatory and she always checks his journals for new notes. Little things he intended to remember. The names of all their children and their birthdays. Thoughts of Charlotte and how much he misses her. Most of them speak of Venus, how much he loves and adores her. The Queen learned early on that Venus has quite a few names. The Great Star. Goddess of Love. Charlotte. Lottie. And sometimes, his Queen.

"Tell me, Lottie, how are the gardens?". She smiles, "In full bloom, my dear.". There was an uncharacteristically but not unfamiliar grin on the king's face. "And tell me... how is your garden?" Charlotte laughed, spying the mischievous twinkle in her husband's eye. "It definitely could use some tending. Some watering. Some fierce plowing." Brimsely knew better than anyone to immediately send the guards and attendants away once the Queen hitched up her skirts and moved over to sit on the King's lap.

"I'm sorry, my dear Lottie." George spoke softly into their quiet bedroom. Charlotte tried to discern his expression through the darkness. "Whatever for, George?". George sighed deeply, "For not giving you as much comfort and support as you do for me, once my mind wanders again.". Charlotte can only hold her husband close to her and kiss his forehead, whispering softly into his thinning hair. "You do give me comfort, my dear. So much."

George often has nightmares during the night, whenever he calls for his attendants, more often than not, it's his wife that hurries to his bedside. She always manages to quench his demons. He's heard the whispers in the halls, about how cruel and cold his queen was. But not to him. To him, she was soft and warm. Oh, so warm.

At the birth of their last child, George worries for Charlotte's health and urges her to not have anymore babies. She tries to argue with him, but George snaps:"We have enough heirs! I know what it is that you try to do, I know my...my madness may pass down to any one of our children, but if I were to lose you while you give birth to another child madness shall consume us all! What shall I do mad with fourteen children to care for instead of enjoying the moments I have left with you by my side?"

George sometimes reads manuscripts of the love stories between older kings and their queens, he sometimes forgets them and discovers them anew, but he always remembers what each of these stories lacked to him. None of these love stories could come close to describe the endless well of love he harbors for his wife, in madness and in sanity.

Charlotte finds reading poems to be a waste of her time, but she keeps the small, crumpled pieces of papers very close to her heart. The handwriting is not always neat, not always eligible, but she knew them all by heart anyway. Even though he may not be physically near her, Charlotte knew she was never alone in ruling their kingdom with George's heartfelt poems tucked safely into the sleeves of her dress.

They sometimes run into each-other in the kitchen at night, it's always a fright at first, Charlotte doesn't know if George is in his right mind, but he always quells her fears with a boyish smile. "Fancy meeting you here, my queen. Care for some of the best pudding in all of Britain?" Charlotte smiles, her eyes misty. "Oh, you old fool. You'll upset your stomach if you continue eating pudding every night.". George caressed her cheek. "That never stopped you before, has it?" Charlotte sighed. "Oh, just give me that spoon."

Sometimes, in his calm state of mind, George wonders if his body subconsciously enters into madness on purpose. Not to drive him mad, no, a much simpler reason. Sometimes, George wonders if he falls back into madness because he knows if he does, Charlotte would always come to visit and spend time with him. Somewhere in the deepest corners of his mind, George doesn't mind being called the Mad King if it meant spending time with his dear wife.

Charlotte is Queen during the day, but when she visits George at night, she turns young again, the ache in her bones recedes and she's just a simple maiden with her farmer. Just Charlotte. Just George. Just them.

[live-love-be-unique]

Put your sweet lips on my lips

Summary: when your dad invites his new boss and his family for dinner you had no idea you’d be spending the evening with your high school crush and sharing a hot encounter in your home library with your parents downstairs.

Parings: Steve Harrington x freader

Warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving)

18+ Minors DNI

“Now remember, tonight is a very important night for your father” your mother says, tying a pink ribbon into your hair. She’d chosen everything for you and your dad to wear tonight, you all had to impress “We need to make a good impression” your dad had gotten a promotion and your parents had invited your dad’s new boss and his family for dinner and your mother was obsessed with making sure everything was picture perfect.

“Honey, Where’s my tie?” Your dad’s deep voice sounded down the hallway, as he walked into your room, buttoning his shirt. “Really Richard” your mother huffed as she went to find the tie that she had so carefully laid out for him on their dresser this morning.

“You look beautiful, peanut” he said warmly as you looked over at yourself in the mirror, hands smoothing down over the skirt of the dress your mother had picked out for you to wear tonight.

“Thanks Dad” you smiled as he kissed the top of your head. Your mother walked back into your room, helping your dad put his tie on.

“I bought two bottles of champagne, do you think that will be enough?” Your mother fussed about, going over everything as you and your dad followed her into the living room.

“It will be perfect, Mary” your father soothed, placing a gentle kiss on your mother's temple.

A sharp knock at the door broke the sweet moment. Your parents stood in front of the large mirror by the front door and made sure they looked as polished as possible, your mother smoothing a few invisible flyaways from your hair before your dad opened the front door, a beaming smile gracing his face. “Mr Harrington” he said warmly, shaking the other man’s hand.

Your dad ushered the Harringtons into your home, introducing them to you and your mother “and this must be young Steve?” Your father said, noticing the younger man as he walked through the front door.

If only your teenage self could be here right now, she’d have a fit! Your high school crush Steve Harrington was standing in your living room, shaking hands with your dad and making small talk with your mother. He looked like the kind of boy you would find in a Teen Beat magazine, with his pretty eyes and perfect hair and his easy smile just dripping with charm.

Then Steve turns and smiles at you as he says your name and oh shit, it’s not just a high school crush anymore.

Your mother ushered everyone towards the dining room as dinner was served, she’d spent all day on the perfect dinner party menu of Niçoise salad, steak diane and an amaretto brûlée for dessert.

Your dad was right of course, the night was going off without a hitch, your parents and the Harringtons getting along like a house on fire.

After dinner everyone had made their way to the living room with wines and port to relax, reminiscing about their youths; telling tales of escapades they had gotten up too, you’d stayed behind cleaning up the dinnerware and taking it to the kitchen. As your dad asked Steve his plans for the future you snuck off to your dad’s small office that housed your family’s library of books. That’s where he found you, leaning against shelves flipping through a book.

“So this is where you’re hiding?” Steve says, ditching his sports jacket onto the small desk by the door.

“Dinner parties aren’t really my thing” you chuckled.

“Mine either, too much schmoozing and trying to impress people” he smirks, falling into the large plush armchair, arm draped over the back, “I remember you, from school, you know”

“You do?”

“Sure, you sat up the back of Mrs Potter’s class. You always had your head in a book” Steve said, nodding his head towards the shelves of books that littered the room.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me, I wasn’t exactly memorable”

“Of course I would” he muttered, picking at a thread on one of the cushions. “So, what are you reading?” He gestured to the book in your hands.

Realizing you’d picked up one of your mothers Harlequin romance novels, something about a mountain man and his mail order bride, you tried to hide the cover of the novel against your chest, crossing your arms over it in an effort to avoid further embarrassment.

“Come on” Steve smirked, standing up and strolling closer to you “show me” he’d seen the blush that coloured your cheeks “it’s a dirty book, isn’t it?!”

“It’s not mine” you protested as he grabbed the book from your hands and opened it to the page you were on.

It was now Steve’s turn to blush, the page you were reading was of course one of the more raunchy chapters in the book.

“This is what you like huh? He pushed her against the wall, his large hands gripping her tight as she felt his large…” he read a line from the open page as you reached for the book.

Steve moved to hold the book away from you as he kept reading, he was a full head taller then you so he had no trouble. In the struggle you ended up between Steve and the bookshelf, one of his large warm hands holding your hip tightly as his deep brown eyes bore down on you with intensity.

“Tell me to stop and I will. Just say the word and I’ll walk away” you didn’t say a word, you couldn’t say anything, not with the way Steve was looking at you.

One of Steve’s hands moved to cup your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you. Body pressing against you as he deepened the kiss. His lips combined with his hands traveling all over your body causing all thoughts to leave your head except for one, Steve.

One of his large, warm hands grasps onto your thigh, hoisting it up against his hip as he looks into your eyes, silently questioning if you want to continue. You nod, not trusting your voice.

He slides a hand up underneath your skirt, fingers dancing up along your thighs and he maneuvers he trails his fingers along the lace on the outside of your underwear, teasing you. He finally touches the growing wet spot between your legs and over your underwear and then he dips his fingers inside you causing you to gasp. His lips pressed against the skin of your collarbone while he continues to slide his fingers in and out of you at a torturously slow pace that made you lose your mind.

“Steve?” You gasped as he kissed his way across your face and down your neck. You gripped him tighter as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot at the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Yeah baby?” He groans against your skin.

“I…I need…” your brain couldn’t form a coherent thought, not with the way Steve’s hands roamed over your body, setting every nerve on fire and not with the way his lips felt against your neck.

“I know, I know, I’ve got you baby”

Then Steve sinks to his knees and gazes up at you with those deep brown eyes, watching your every reaction as he lifts your skirt and bunches it around your waist, he drags your underwear down your legs and Steve groans as his warm hands keep your thighs spread open for him “You’re so pretty, you know that, baby?”

You watch as he licks his lips and stares at your body like he’s about to have the most delicious meal ever, savoring the sight of you like he’s got all day to do it, the raucous laughter of your parents drowned out by your heart beating out of your chest.

“Keep your eyes on me” he breathed and places soft kisses to your hips.“please I need to see you” he teases you with his tongue, moaning at the taste of you, your hands are in his hair holding him against you. You moan his name in a fractured sigh, with your other hand you lace your fingers together with his at your hip. You don't even care that your parents are downstairs, the only thing you can think about is him. and, fuck, it feels so good.

Steve eats you out like he’s a man starved, like he’s drunk on your taste. Threading your fingers through his hair, gripping a little as he moans into you.

“That’s it baby, I need to hear you” oh god, he’s so good at this You think as you arch your back needing to feel him even closer if that was possible.

All at once you feel the familiar knot in your belly tightening and you have to bite your hand to stop from crying out Steve’s name as stars explode behind your eyelids.

Steve places gentle kisses on your thighs as you come down from your impossible high. “Oh my god” you giggled breathlessly as Steve stood up in front of you grinning, eyes darkened with lust.

“I hope that was better than your book” Steve smirked and leaned in for another heated kiss as your parents called for you, the Harringtons were leaving.

“Now remember” Mrs Harrington said to your mother as you and Steve rejoined your parents “dinner is at our house next weekend, and don’t you bring a thing!” The two women laughed as you and Steve shared a look.

Another dinner party, you thought to yourself the perfect opportunity for me to return the favor.

Taglist: @m-blasterrr, @mvnsonslvt, @neymac21174, @maybe-not-this, @seatnights, @wheezyhyperfixates, @grunge-the-freak, @ettadear, @artsyfartsytheaterkid, @lma1986

[jttw-m0nkehs1mp]

Childhood Sillies

In which you reminisce the days of your youth. Innocent, playful and full of joy. And the occasional monkey that popped in once in a while...

Gn reader x Destined One from Black Myth Wukong

Trope: Fluff, slight angst

Warnings: None

Author's note: Was scanning through my gallery when I found an old video that I saved of someone who told about how they were younger and were catching fish in a pond. There was another child, a boy, who then bashfully caught all the fish he could and gave it to them. Ig u can see where this is going... Also, the story is set right before DO starts his journey.

The ending could be a bit rushed, I completed this at night and I am pretty tired rn. Grammar and spelling mistakes will be found too, English is nit my first language so pls be nice🙏

The evening breeze was nice and cool, a much needed refreshment after a long hot summer day. You were nestled under a large tree, it's shadow turned in the opposite direction of the sun as the bright ball of fire crept ever closer to kiss the distant horizon.

The grass felt soft under your fingertips and your nose picked up the scent of dusk. The very smell that you carried close to your heart, for it never failed to bring you back to simpler times, where your hands were smaller and your innocence much bigger.

You smiled as the warm thoughts cascaded through your mind once more and your gaze swept to the mountain not far from your humble abode.

Your family settled on this rich piece of land a few generations back and with time, became quite close to the locals of Mount Huaguo. The sound of the monkeys as they chattered and played about had become a constant part of your life. Not a day goes by without atleast one monkey that came to visit you.

Sometimes it would be a baby, small, curious and playful. Other times it would be an elder that bought calmness, wisdom and peace. The residents of Huaguo were diverse, with full monkeys to humanoid simians. All of them were smart and strong and very dear to you.

But there was one particular monkey that was exceptionally special. Ever since the first day you were both officially introduced, you knew you would like him.

He was quite shy at first, never uttered a word, yet despite his silent demeanor, his eyes held intelligence and understanding of everything around him. Ever sharp, ever observant and soon you learnt that no words were needed to communicate with him if you knew where to look.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your eyes drifted from the green strung peak to rest once more on the distant horizon. You heard that said dear friend of yours would leave. To where, you didn't know. You offered to join him but you were quickly shut down and told that it was a journey for him alone and that it would be extremely dangerous.

After that exchange with the elder of the mountain, your heart could not help but wrench with worry for your sweet boy. Sure, he may have grown to a man, with strength that well preceeded your own, but he was still the shy little boy you met so many years ago...

————

The air was humid as you dawdled around on the forest floor. With it's bright rays, the sun did not bother to give you any mercy today. Your hands rubbed at your face, which only caused you to feel the wetness of sweat between your fingers.

Not too long ago, you finally won the battle with your mother to let you play on the mountain. With the promise that you would clean your room before you left of course.

She did not see your fingers crossed behind your back though, nor how you climbed out of the window in your room, just to stumble back outside.

Your home was quite small, with no stairs that led to a second story or anything. The true problem was that once you landed outside of your window, you were covered in dirt. Not that you minded, it was just that your mother would have a heart attack.

With a small huff, you dusted yourself off, but it was no use for your dirty hands just smeared the mud around. Once you finished 'fixing' yourself, you then turned to the forest before you and your little eyes shone with childish glee.

And that is how little you started your new adventure. Your small legs carried you as fast as they could as you scampered to the shaded trees that rested on the ancient summit.

A few hours had passed since then and you had grown quite tired of playing around in the leaves or having failed attempts of catching your shadow. It was lonely without your fellow monkey friends, your mind confused as to where they were.

Were they playing hide and seek? They did so before...

You shook your head. No, they would have came out by now.

Your eyes scanned the trees. The birds were filled with song, but there was no monkey in sight.

Out of nerves, your little fingers started to toy with the fabric of your sleeves, your gaze now more worried. Did a monster come and ate them all..?

Tears pricked your eyes once you realized you were all alone. Would the monster find you and eat you too?

Just as you were about to run back home, your ears picked up the faintest sound. Laughter. In fact, the laughter sounded quite familiar too.

It was one of your friends!

You quickly dried the tears on your face and sprinted to where you heard it from. It was quite the distance away, which left you out of breath by the time you arrived.

You huffed against a tree, your form even more sweaty than before. When you finally caught your breath you looked up and gasped.

The sheer amount of closeness of Mt Huaguo surprised you, you had to crane your neck up, up, up to see the very tip. You were never this deep in the forest, and the dense shrubbery faded away into a clearing in front of you.

From the top of the mountain, you could see a waterfall and various rocky ledges placed on different levels of height. Each ledge had a pool of water, which also fell down in smaller streams that soon led down to where you were. All of the watery amounts that came down formed a large reservoir of cool fresh water. A stream was also present, as it led downwards on the opposite side of the mountain, which undoubtedly created another series of waterfalls as well.

A multitude of monkeys surrounded the water sources, with the most of them being submerged in the water whilst the rest sat under the shaded trees the forest provided.

More laughter stole your attention and you saw your friends busy with trying to make one another more wet. They chased one another in circles with the smaller ones latched onto the tails of the bigger children.

A smile broke out on your face and with a little squeal, you bounded towards them.

From tag, to diving competitions, to climbing trees, to even attempting to make the adults wet, you did it all. The dirt from your body had long washed away with the stream. Your friends teased you and compared you to a wet rag with your soggy clothes. You retorded by pointing out that they looked no better with their fur that stuck out in all odd angles.

The argument soon turned to a challenge and you found yourself scouring the cool waters for fish. Whoever got the most fish would be crowned winner and get bragging rights for the next whole week. An entire week! There was no possible way you could ever pass that up.

With a water pouch in hand, your eyes scanned the waters.

There!

You lunged and consequently made large splashes and ripples in the pool around you, but even with such a powerful move, your hands came out empty. This was not the first time you received such unfruitful results.

A sigh escaped your lips and you turned to your companions to see if they were in the same predicament as you. Much to your dismay though, most of them were skilled in the art of capturing fish and they were leaving you behind in the ranks.

You huffed. This was no longer all that fun..

Just as you were about to mope further, a soft tap on your shoulder stripped you from your daze. With a quick turn to the source, you found a little boy no older than you. He was obviously not human, with his fuzzy face and little tail that clung to his leg.

You recognized him. He was a bit distant from the rest. Occasionally he would join in to play, but those times were quite rare. You mostly spotted him from the sidelines and for some reason his gaze was always on you. When you caught him in the action though, he would always hide behind something, whether it be an older monkey or a tree.

He was an odd guy, but he seemed nice.

And now he stood before you, his arm outstretched as his hand held a leather pouch for you to take. His eyes were to the side and you swore you could see red under his fur covered cheeks.

You took the bag from his hands and opened it. It was filled with water and fish. Lots and lots of fish. You let out a little gasp and looked up again. The boy's gaze was still away from you and his fingers toyed with the loose threads on his clothes.

"Why would you-?" You couldn't even finish your sentence when one of your friends spotted you and called you out for cheating.

You weren't even mad, instead you laughed, giddy and joyful. The competition no longer felt all that important to you, not with the boy that stood in front of you. He caught all this fish not for him, but for you and it made you feel special inside.

With more giggles that slipped from your mouth, you turned to look at the boy in front of you again, a big grin in your face. He returned your stare with wide starry eyes and mouth slightly parted.

You may not have won the competition that day, but it was fine. You got something far more special.

————

The sun had just dissapeared from the sky, but it's light was still ever present. It painted the clouds in soft warm hues and bathed the world in a warm golden glow, a goodbye to the day, but a promise for tomorrow.

Your eyes drifted to the pond near your family home where a bunch of fish swam. You remembered how you placed them there all those years ago and started a whole new fishy empire.

The crunch of footsteps mase a soft smile on your lips when you spotted a familiar monkey in the distance. He was always silent, but after many scares and spooks, he made sure you heard him coming. Most of the time.

"Good afternoon, Destined One." You teased which caused him to let out a small huff when he finally sat down next to you. The man never uttered a word the day you met him, and that streak was still present, even when he grew into an adult.

It showed you that sometimes, no words were needed, and that silence could be one of the best conversations to have.

You looked to the sky where the stars started to appear. "So tomorrow you will leave, right?" You asked, but you knew the answer. His gaze turned to the side and he started to fiddle with the grass below his fingers. A clear sign that you were right. More moments of silence passed before you opened your mouth once more.

"Isn't there a celebration for you back on the mountain? Shouldn't you be there?" You asked again. From what you heard, there was lots of food and drinks to share. You were invited, of course, but politely declined.

You made the excuse that you were quite tired and did not have any energy to stay up late. It was a lie though. You just didn't want to wish your friend goodbye in hopes that he would stay here. With you.

Yet here he was and now a goodbye was inevitable. You were worried for him, worried for his safety. Many before him went on this quest and none returned. Your mind could not help but wonder if he would never come back too.

Something brushed against you and you soon realized that it was the tail of your dear friend. You turned to his face and he looked at you with those eyes of his once more. They always shone so brightly when they rested on you. The spark never faded ever since you met, and dare you say it, it might have even grown brighter through the years.

You could never pinpoint what it was, but now that the time of your parting approached ever closer, you started to realize what it could possibly mean. And you knew that your own eyes reflected such warmth too.

His face told you everything you needed to know. He would rather spend time with you than dance and drink the distress for the future away. He wanted his last moments on Mount Huaguo to be with you in which you happily obliged.

The both of you spent the night away with idle chatter in each other's arms. Even when the evening breeze turned cold, you never felt more warm and safe.

Time flew by so quickly and before you knew it, the sun greeted the lands once more.

Once the last star left the sky, so did your shy monkey boy too. But not without a soft kiss and a sweet promise for a brighter future.

End note: eh, ain't sure about this one chief

[shaisuki]

｡‧˚ʚ°ɞ˚‧｡ ─── OCEAN WAVES.

the sun's gentle with it's rays shining throughout the beach. the waves rolling along with the salty breeze. the sand's nice too. his footsteps disappearing when the waves rolls along with his problem.

he was free.

it wasn't so bad, after all.

he always wanted this but the need to save others came first but now there wasn't any of it. no curses. no overtime. just him. splashing with the cool water when the breeze fanning all over him and the sun bathing him in it's warm rays. there's no need to reminisce about the past but somehow it's time for him to look back.

sixteen.

sixteen he was when nanami gets a glimpse of how life flashes in your own eyes even it's not your own death.

sixteen he was when nanami first felt what death must feel like and the bitter taste it left with his tongue. bile rising and words stuck in his throat followed by the sensation of being choked. death didn't made him sick. it was the cruelness of how the world works for jujutsu sorcerers like himself and to haibara.

haibara was sixteen and so was he. the difference between him and haibara. he aged. haibara was sixteen forever.

the despair of being weak and being faced with the inevitable damaged him. it's part of the cycle, the system. he accepted it. embraced it but what of it to a sixteen year old?

and so he left. ran away.

away from the madness this world had to offer for someone like him. you're not the only who's damaged, kento. he thinks to himself sometimes and brushes it like a dirt when he moved on.

did he truly moved on?

twenty seven.

“nanami, long time no see.” you said the first time you meet him on the hallways of jujutsu tech. “i thought you weren't coming back — after that.” he can see how your shoulders shake, lips quivering. fully knowing what you meant. it has never been the same and with that you walked away from him.

it's like a slap to his face how he left you alone. you were there. felt the same pain of losing someone. you were also part of his life and he chose to ignore you. you needed him. the same he needed you but he was never good at his feelings and with his words and like a coward he is, he ran away from his feelings and to you.

hopefully, he won't run away again this time with you in the picture.

nanami didn't expect this that he would catch feelings at this stage of his life to you. a closure and make amends to you even it wasn't needed. you remind him of the happy times. the days of his youth and the last time he felt happy and with you, slowly, he was getting attached again.

“we're still allowed to be happy, kento. don't be too hard on yourself.” you say to him out of the blue. leaning your head in his shoulder and nanami moves his arm to cradle you. putting you in his lap and you fully lean in his arm. “you make me happy.” he briefly said to you and he watch as your eyes widens, tears pooling in your lashes and rolls to your round cheeks. his thumb wiping the tears and he found himself his reflection in the glossy eyes of yours. a man whose damaged to admit to himself. a man whose tired with the bullshit that he had to deal and a man whose capable of loving someone, of loving you.

far too damaged to function as one — to love. he couldn't afford to go through the same pain of losing someone again. he couldn't but the squeezing feeling in his chest tells him otherwise and he took a leap of faith again with you. he will protect you even it's the last thing he can ever do.

and with that his thumb brushing in your round cheeks. leaning down to catch your lips with his and just what like he imagined. all this years and he could have done this sooner. kissed you with love and adoration with the longing and the sadness.

the kiss it was fine. just both of your lips brushing with each other along with murmurs of your names. it's gentle that the tears won't stop pouring and nanami is there to wipe it all and kisses your tears away with the promise of starting again.

twenty eight.

after months of being with you, nanami will be always reminded of how history always repeats itself. of how things are out of reach for him.

you were gone.

“see you on the other side, kento.” you smile at him. he watches as the light and warmth in your eyes disappear. there's no tears for him and he wants to laugh at himself. he swore to protect you and guess who protected him — you. there's no regret visible in you more like relieved.

shibuya was cruel. walking around with corpses scattered in the streets and he carried your lifeless body and placed it on the ambulance waiting. you were far long gone to be revived and nanami kisses your forehead. the gesture you loved so much before walking without looking back.

at the brink of death — he sees haibara. pointing behind him and itadori was there. he was contemplating that itadori shouldn't be burdened and carry such heavy matter in his young hands but haibara was stubborn and nanami let out a small smile and with that he turned around.

“you take it from here.”

the salty air, the cool water and the waves gently splashing in the sand with his feet dipped in the grainy sand. nanami think this must be it. he served his purpose and along those ridged lines of the sand. the look in his eyes doesn't change. those brown eyes with the hardness although they're a little softer. he's contented.

nanami stretches his arm. looking at the sand beneath his feet. smiling at himself. feel the gentle breeze in his face. he wasn't tired anymore. it's not too bad he thinks as he continued to walk. waves rolling like a blanket being covered to your body at night. it was gentle. splashing himself with water and relishes on the coolness of it

in the other side of the beach he makes out a figure. a all too familiar figure. it's you. staring at the distance like you were waiting for someone, dressed in a white sundress. your head turning to the side to meet him, look at him with a smile dancing in your lips.

he stops in his tracks. can't believe what his eyes were seeing before his tentative steps turning into a full running to get to you.

“kento.” you murmur. foreheads pressed together and nanami could almost cry. you're here with him and he hugs you tightly. afraid that you'll disappear from him again. “you look so happy there. i'm really glad you're happy, kento.” you whisper to him but nanami shakes his head.

“i am. now i'm with you.” you giggle at his words. nuzzling at his chest and nanami draws circles in your back. if this was the afterlife it wasn't so bad now he's with you. he calls your name and you raised your head to meet his gaze.

“it wasn't so bad, after all.”

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 7: conversation

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy," she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn't even blink.

“I’m not.” You are. '

---

Megumi calls you back. You leave for Tokyo again, like a soul yearning for its body.

word count: ~6k; tws: none for now :)!!

19-6-2018

“So you’re really going to let go of them now?” your father asks. 

“...yeah.” 

“That’s good. I’ll miss that Itadori boy, though.” 

You will, too. 

In a way you suppose Megumi and Yuuji are very similar. They’d go well together, be good, fast friends and all that. 

They’re both undoubtedly good people, no matter how they’ve beat people up before and how different their beliefs may be. 

In Megumi’s case, everyone knew how good a person Tsumiki was, her younger brother included. Her kindness and virtue extended itself, inspiring other people around her. But Megumi was a good person, too— polite, patient (most of the time, unless it were Gojo— but who wouldn’t be annoyed by that man, right?), kind in his own way. He cared for you in all sorts of ways in the past, even then you could tell, gentle with animals and objects and your hand. Gentle in his own way. Giving you reminders despite the tiny calumniations sprinkled in (they barely do as much damage as comb bristles can), being sharp because he must have had to, kind because it was in his very nature. Easy on the eyes, tall, deep soothing voice— he ticked all the boxes for that, too. You bet that if things were different, and the two of you had stayed in touch with each other, you’d have fallen deeply in love with it by now. Yet that thought only makes you feel sour now that things hadn’t gone that way at all. 

And Yuuji, too— there was no explanation needed for Yuuji. Even Megumi could tell he was a good person. And at some times he was almost like Tsumiki. You weren’t ever surprised that you’d caught feelings for him, because— who wouldn’t? He was always popular, even if he was ignorant of his own charm around others. But he wasn’t just a good guy with a ripped torso, he was honest, perceptive and smart in conversations. Smarter than he ever credited himself for. Smart in a way you could never be— people with cute faces, nice bodies and good social skills were in a league of their own, practically. You’d thought that for a long time. 

Did either of them ever know how you felt? 

Probably not. Your heart was guarded, intensely so, and you’d never lay your feelings bare and out so easily. You weren’t the type of person to say you loved people as easily as others did, even within your own family. 

This, you presume, is probably an acquired trait, now that you think about it. You were much more different as a child, free with praise and love and unabashed affection as well as appreciation for the people around you. What changed?

(Everything.) 

You miss 2010. You miss Tsumiki the way you miss your mother’s cooking, miss her the way you miss when you wrote emails and letters and text messages to her with multi-coloured pens or your old phone that eventually broke a year after. You miss the conversations the two of you had, miss how you used to be your parents’ little angel. 

And in the end it all comes back to that, doesn’t it? 2010. Nostalgia. Reminiscing on old memories in a way akin to how the elderly do in their youth. That just made you seem more pathetic, because, weren’t you supposed to be making those memories right now, at this time of your life? 

You’re a teenager. You should be going out with friends, and having fun, not rotting at home ruminating on the past, with the only friends you’ve ever had hundreds of kilometres away from you (you weren’t sure if you could even call one of them a ‘friend’ anymore), and your acquaintances not close enough to replace them (how could they ever? How could there ever be a replacement for Yuuji?) 

In a way you feel your life is miserable: awkward, socially-impaired teenage girl with her only friend practically out of her life at this point; nothing special to your name besides a cursed technique that most times does you more harm than good; stuck not being able to completely get over friends she met at eight who left her as quickly as someone can blink their eyes; with the thinking process of a nagging, stubborn mother sometimes, or if not that then a blurry, mingled train of thought that gets delayed or lost when moving from station to station; someone not of use at all. Not miserable, you think to yourself like a slap to the face, pathetic. 

You’re not sure how Tsumiki is now— maybe she has a partner, or better friends than you were, or she’s busy being president of the student council or something (she’d be a sterling leader, of that you’re certain, that girl who you’d always known was bound to go places in the span of her lifetime). 

Hopefully, she’s alright, and doing the best she can in life. That’s all you wish for when it comes to Tsumiki. 

At this point, there’s no point in wishing to join them, or to linger on them and memories of the past. It’s a mosquito in summer heat, which is why, if it stays, you decide, you’ll just suppress and ignore it until it goes away. Even if you didn’t know how long it would take you to get over them— weeks, months, but goodness forbid a whole lifetime or forever— you needed to accept that you’d be like this for nearly the rest of your life: pathetic, lonely— ah, that’s the word that so very perfectly delineates the situation you’re in— and then some. 

So that’s why, when you hear your phone buzzing on your bed like a cicada during a balmy night, you assume it’s someone else. Yuuji must be busy settling in (he’s been texting you, and you took that as a sign that he wouldn’t call), and Megumi must be… —Well. Megumi has made a promise, and it’s not that you don’t believe in him, but it would be better to expect less than what you’d like to in order to evade disappointment. 

Must be someone else. A prank call, or a scammer, or something. Or a telemarketer, but you’d be surprised if telemarketers were calling you and not your father. And you were never one to pick calls up mindlessly anyway, so if it were some stranger out to get you or swindle you, you’d just hang up or check the number. 

If not either a scam or a telemarketer (well you suppose both of those could be scams in certain contexts), though, then you’d suspect it would be either Yuuji (Yuuji’s the one who has been texting you, after all, conversations strewn over checking in with the other over the past few hours or snippets of advice from you telling him not to bother Megumi very much, and to be cautious and keep himself safe) or Gojo— definitely not Megumi, and probably not Gojo either, but still it was more likely that Gojo was calling you instead of Megumi, so you’re considering it— and you can’t really remember Gojo’s number anyway, so what if an unknown number wasn’t a prank call or something—

You wonder if you should just pick it up instead of burying your head in your study notes and overthinking everything. 

But you know it’s definitely not Megumi. 

You check the phone. 

Well, you’ll be damned. 

It’s Fushiguro Megumi. 

You know his number by heart, after all. Keyed it in too many times to forget, and it’s not like he’d have any reason to change it. Not with the way he cares for things, inanimate objects, not with the tenderly quiet, secretly caring, emotionally jaded way he maintains them. 

“Ah… hello?” 

Your heart thumps in your chest and heat flares up in your cheeks with a frenetic speed. 

“Hi,” you blurt out, shakily. You’re sure your voice is quivering, yet your mind feels like it’s barely functioning, almost about to drown in a seven-feet-deep pool, so you can’t really tell. You can’t really hear yourself. 

You don’t know why you feel like this— no, you know exactly why, actually. It’s because you haven’t gotten over him. Your thoughts are scrambled but you know, for sure, that you’re like this because you want to get rid of feelings like these but you can’t. Or because you’ve been saying that to yourself like a mantra, for so long, even though a part of you wants it to stay— out of what, that’s what you don’t know; maybe desperation or nostalgia or an inability to stop dwelling on days long gone. But you know what this is— you’ve seen the movies, read the manga, watched the dramas. It’s romance. Crushes. Something you’re not quite able to call love yet, something you’re too scared to properly name, still, but something you can understand is one-sided nonetheless. 

“…hi. [Name].” 

“Hello…” 

What happens when two estranged childhood friends with a book’s worth of history behind their relationship that happen to be socially awkward teenagers actually have a conversation semi-beyond what keeps them estranged in the first place? 

“Hi— no, wait… how are you?” 

Pot, meet kettle, because you’re going off nothing but the fact that you’re at the very least surprised (the other emotions are too complicated to explain) that he’s speaking to you again, and not just on text, but he’s calling, and he sounds like he’s reading off a script, but the script is in a whole other language, somehow, and the uncertain nervousness in his voice is tangible, even for a deep, low voice like his. 

Script or not, you appreciate the effort, though. 

“I’m good, um… I’m happy you were able to call. It’s been a long time.” 

“That’s good.” 

There’s silence on the other line; time feels like it’s moving achingly slowly. But you’re mildly happy. 

Not happy, maybe, but you definitely feel light, as if you’ve been severed from the heaviness of everything else that has happened lately. This is the first time in years something like this has ever happened. 

“Ah, wait, I forgot to ask! Sorry, um.. how are you?” 

“I’m doing alright, too. Oh, wait, I should apologise. I didn’t tell you— thanks for helping with my injuries the other day. Gojo told me about it after you left. You… you didn’t have to, though. You shouldn’t have risked your health like that.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t mention it. You know why I do this, anyway.” Out of necessity or a need to be useful, you’re not even sure yourself, but he must know, to some degree, right? It seems as if he’d be the one to know the most of this, of you— at least, when matters came to this. “And I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Dr Ieiri probably ended up helping more with the bigger ones once the three of you got back. I mean, she did, right?” 

“…no. She said that she didn’t want to waste her time, so if injuries were more minor like mine, she wouldn’t heal them fully.” 

“...ah.” More minor? Seriously, doctor? You’d normally not question her judgement over matters that she had more expertise in dealing with, but seriously? 

“I’ll be fine, though. Most of the bandages have come off, and all.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

You wonder where he is now, on the bed, maybe, or sitting on the floor. You’ve seen the classrooms, but not the dormitories— you hope wherever he is, that it’s comfortable. That he’s okay. 

“We’re going to see a new student soon.” 

“Really? Have you met them before?” 

“No, but Gojo said she’s from the countryside. But we’re meeting her in Harajuku, for some reason.” 

“Oh, Harajuku! I miss it,” you let out a plaintive sigh, “I can’t wait to be back in Tokyo. You know, whatever happens, I still love that city like nothing else. I know how many people hate it, but I love it so much.” And you love it so much in the first place, mostly because of Megumi and Tsumiki. “Maybe she just wants to chase a bit of the sweet city life— I mean, you know how it is when country bumpkins go to the city for the first time… kind of. Or when they love the city— yeah, that’s a better way of saying it. I was like that, kind of.” 

“...if you’re worried about the train ride here and want to travel alone, I could always pay for you. Uh… wait—” 

“Oh, no, no! There’s no need, uhm— thank you anyway, it’s just—” 

“It’s Gojo’s money anyway.” 

“Pft,” you snort. Anything to seep out some of Gojo’s money like gluttonous leeches, right? “Nah, I’ll be fine. I mean, I don’t even think I’ll be able to come back in a few years’ time, and by then I won’t even be relying on my parents’ money for this stuff anymore— I mean, I will still be relying on their money, but I’ll be managing it as my own.” 

He chuckles lightly over the line, the silent way he shows his emotions, the way that goes unnoticed if one is not attentive to it. It feels like he’s whispering directly into your ear, and the heat on your face (which you weren’t even sure was still there until that point). Your heart skips a beat and it completely, absolutely shocks you. “...the offer still stands.” 

Yeah, you can get behind it if he’s like this now. What happened to him, anyway? Puberty hit him like a brick and gave him, like, one more ounce of emotional maturity? 

You shake your head like a character in a piece of crappy romance fanfiction. No way. Not now, at least. Calm down. 

(...you’re just a girl.) 

“Well, no take backs from now on, okay? Even if it’s, like, five years into the future, you’ll still be using Gojo’s credit card to cover for all my travel expenses.” 

He does it again, that low, soft, attractive sound. Makes you want to hit him and hit yourself at the same time, and then kick your feet up in the air giddily, and then throttle yourself, if it were possible, out of sheer embarrassment. “Yeah.” 

You’re having the time of your life. 

“Anyway, how is everything else? Like, are your studies and grades okay? Is the training you do alright to handle?” 

“My grades are pretty okay,” he answers, “Not like Gojo cares, honestly. And the training’s fine, it’s nothing I’m not used to.” 

“Gojo seems like he’d be a good teacher. When he wants to, he can command respect pretty easily, too. I guess he just… chooses not to. But I saw it yesterday, when you and Yuuji were passed out in the hospital.” 

It still strikes a pang of guilt in your chest, your inability to have done anything else besides calling Gojo over for help. 

“...I suppose he does.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How about you? Itadori, he… he can be an idiot sometimes, but he speaks of you really admirably. He talks about how smart you are a lot.” 

The thought of Megumi calling Yuuji an idiot of all things doesn’t feel like it falls short from him, but it still makes you frown— though, you realise that that’s just his way of expressing things, because in a way he’d treated you somewhat the same in the past, even if he hadn’t shown it outright or expressed it very vividly. Classic Megumi. 

“Hey, he’s smarter than people give him credit for, okay? Wait until you see how talented he is at things other than sports and martial arts. You’d be surprised after trying the meatballs he makes. Would be good if you asked him to give you the recipe sometime; I make them, like, once a week, at least.” 

He sighs, “...I will. But the point is, he cares for you a lot.” 

“Yeah, beautiful soul, that guy. Loves people the way curious children love nature.” 

“That would be a fitting way to put it.” 

“How are the dogs?” 

“My shikigami?” 

“Yeah. Do they have names?” 

“The black one is Kuro and the white one is Shiro.” 

“You named them black and white?” 

“Look, I named them when I was barely six years old, and six year olds aren’t exactly the best when it comes to these things…” 

You giggle, “So the name stuck?” 

“Yeah, sort of.” 

Real cute. 

“What about your father? How is he?” 

“He’s okay, but, well. I guess we’re not that close anymore.” 

“...I see.” He probably can’t imagine a version of you who wasn’t immensely close to her parents. You couldn’t then, either. 

“We’ve been talking even less now that my mother’s in the hospital, but at least I get to talk to him before he eats, maybe. I’ve been doing most of the cooking now that my mother isn’t here and my father doesn’t really know how to handle himself in our kitchen without her guidance.” 

“Oh… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?” 

“Cancer.” 

You can practically hear the gulp he’s taking, the bobbing of his throat— sensitive topic. “I’m… so sorry to hear that.” 

“It’s okay, don’t be,” you reassure him, “I should have told you that day anyway. I was just… exploding at everybody on that night. I should apologise— I’m sorry for how badly I treated you.” 

“No,” he goes, “No, you shouldn’t. I understand why you were like that that night. And it was mostly my fault, too, so…” 

“No, no, I’m serious! Feel free to ask almost anything as long as I have actual answers to your questions and all.” 

“Still… I just wanted to know. Sorry if I caused you any trouble.” 

“No— you didn’t do any of that at all, don’t worry! I’m alright with people asking about this. Ah, anyway… besides Yuuji, do you have any friends?” 

“Itadori and I aren’t friends.” 

“Trust me, if I asked him, I bet he’d beg to differ. Yuuji’s like that with people— soon he’ll be more important to you than you could have ever thought at first.”  

“Whatever you say,” he sort of grunts, “But I don’t have any friends, I think… except you, maybe. What about you?” 

You were honestly expecting him not to consider you a friend at all, and at this point so much has happened that wouldn’t even be that bothered if he no longer thought of you as one but called you anyway out of his commitment to his promises, or as an apology. 

“I’m surprised you can still call me a friend,” you say. Calling people instead of talking to them physically does something to your inhibitions. 

“...should I not?” 

“No, no, I’m happy,” you say over the phone. You’ll forget this conversation tomorrow, at least, when the sun has risen and the night returns back the hold you have over yourself, your composure, to you. You’ll act like this never happened. So you’ll say whatever you want to now, disgorging yourself of years of withheld secrets. “I’m happy that we’re still friends. I think I like that. 

“Yeah?” 

“Um— yeah, it seems like a good place to start,” you grin slightly. “And I, well. I don’t really have any friends beyond Yuuji,” —You’re not even sure if Tsumiki still sees you as a friend— “Even if I may have acquaintances like Sasaki or Iguchi it still feels like Yuuji’s one of the only people I can give that kind of title to, so, um… the more the merrier?” 

“That’s… nice.” 

“...it is, isn’t it?” 

“Thank you.” 

Why? “Okay.” 

The two of you go through the next few seconds in silence, time feeling like it’s blending and bleeding into a mix of years and events. You can hear the light, steady sound of his breathing from the other line. If you could, you’d sleep to it— fuck the phone bill, you’ll be the one paying it in your father’s stead this time if it was for this. 

It’s comforting, and you don’t want to break it— the quiet. If he can hear you now, can hear how you’re breathing through a smile with your chest only slightly moving, you hope it feels the same as the sound of his breathing did for you. You hope it feels just like home. Like a warm pillow in the one place you love the most that you bury your head into when the weather gets especially cold. 

“Fushiguro!” 

Oh dear. 

Wincing at the sound of the creaking door’s shrill shriek as it's opened and then hits the wall, you know exactly who it is— you’d recognise that voice anywhere. 

“Is that Yuuji?” 

“Oi! I told you not to barge into my room like that!” Megumi shouts. 

“Huh? You’re calling someone? Sorry. Wait, is it [Name]?” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“Hi, Yuuji.” 

“Can I talk to her?” 

“Is it alright if we do, Megumi? Just for a few seconds.” 

“Fine,” he sighs. You can practically hear that eye roll. 

“Yo!” he cheers. 

“Has everything been okay lately?” you ask. 

“Yeah. We’re meeting a new student soon.”

“Ah, yeah. Megumi told me.” 

“—Oh, and my uniform came in! It looks pretty neat.” 

“That’s good. Maybe you can send me a picture once you start wearing it, then.” 

“I will!” 

Things are going better than you thought they would. 

21-6-2018

It’s been a few days now. 

You don’t know Sasaki and Iguchi well enough to call them friends, but the three of you do know each other. You had never decided to change any contacts with them, and considering that they and you were never closer than acquaintances, friends of a friend— you had never really regretted it. But now that Yuuji is gone— and you know he’s not dead, but still— you wonder whether you should have gotten closer to them, just to be less alone once Yuuji left, even if it could not be the way things were with Yuuji. (“I thought I was a pretty lonely guy, and sometimes I still do. Like— I mean, you’re a lonely girl too sometimes, I think,” he had told you as you patched him up.) 

Still, Yuuji and you were two peas in a pod— so they’re bound to ask what happened to him soon enough, especially Iguchi. 

You’ll have to start getting used to spending your Thursdays alone. And then you’d have to start getting used to every other day without him, too. If you went to the arcade or watched movies or sing-screamed the lyrics to English songs you don’t know the Japanese translations of without his presence there, you know how it wouldn’t feel the same. In life it’s not what you do that matters, you’ve come to realise— it’s who you’re doing these things with. That’s what puts meaning to it all and makes all things done in your life worthwhile. 

The two of them pass you by during lunch. 

“[Last Name]? —Oh, hey!” Sasaki says as she turns around. 

You almost scream and run away like a mouse fleeing from the eyes of a vicious house cat, tremors in your voice. “Hello…” 

“Where’s Yuuji, by the way? The occult club’s going to fall apart without him.” 

You pause. “He transferred to another school…” 

“Huh?” she goes, Iguchi almost reeling back in shock. “Transferred? But why? We’ve barely even made it to the middle of the year!” 

“I… I don’t know, it was something really urgent,” 

23-6-2018 

Your room is a cluttered mess— lucky as you are that it’s the weekend, the past week has been a rollercoaster that knocked your room’s usual standard of cleanliness off track. Scattered all over your desk were worksheets, notebooks, graph paper pages and foolscap paper, chicken-scratch writing and meticulous notes scribbled all over them to compensate for your absence the day after the incident took place. 

It isn’t the time or the discipline you lack— it’s just that it’s going to be awfully tedious. You’ll have to wipe your desk again, and clean the walls, and sort through all your clothes, too, since you haven’t been folding them in any way that isn’t merely fastidious and nearly careless. So as you get to work, you suppose that calling someone wouldn’t hurt. 

Maybe you could call Megumi. That would be okay. 

For the past few years, you’ve never noticed it. So when you do, it hits you like a bullet train at the fastest of speeds. 

You miss him. Not just in the way you miss 2010, the way you miss the past, the way you miss and mourn the person you used to be. It had been so obvious for Tsumiki, but not for him, and now that you know this it’ll be another quiet revelation— another rediscovery of fragments of yourself concealed by memories. 

You miss him— all of him; you yearned to be his friend again because he was unlike Tsumiki who you knew cherished you as you did her; you miss him regardless of who he is now, because somewhere inside him is the boy who read dog books and brought you to the school library and ran your finger through water when you burned it. Somewhere inside him is the person who offered to hold your bag as he walked with you through a snowy garden, and helped you when your nose bled. 

So it would be okay to call Megumi right now. 

“Fushiguro speaking.” 

“Hi, Megumi. Are you busy?” 

“Not right now.” 

“Want to call?” 

“Fushiguro!” It’s Yuuji. “Wanna go—” 

“I said I’m not going!” 

You chuckle, “Be nice. Were the two of you supposed to go somewhere?” 

“Nothing important. Gojo said he wanted us to ‘bond’ with each other, so he concluded that we could watch a movie. Some kind of gory horror film or something.” 

He’s… actually making an obvious effort not to scold Yuuji that much or call him some insulting, derogatory term this time… wow. 

“Ah, yeah. Yuuji likes his horror movies.” 

“Anyway, anything urgent you wanted to tell me?” 

“No, I’m just… uh—” you laugh nervously, “I’m just a little bored.” Nowadays you’re not really sure what he’d do— scold you, maybe, or roll his eyes so hard that you can hear it over the line, or he may even flash into a quick bit of awkwardness and hesitation through his words. 

Or maybe— and this was the worst of it all, he’d ask why you were calling him, and his bouts of awkwardness would have only been something temporary, soon to be replaced once again by anger and annoyance, the same he gives to everyone else— even if you knew he didn’t always mean it, per se. No more special treatment for you. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, uh… I have to clean, and usually it’s not as much as what I have to do today, so I just thought that since the only other person in the house is my father and we don’t really talk much anymore, we could, um… chat for a while. Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

“Uh-huh, so.” You stand up, leaving your phone on your desk and putting the call on speaker mode. The mountain of papers and books is a wasteland and your desk has been degraded to a landfill— the state of it would make your mother a wailing mess— no, she’d faint instantly as soon as she saw it, becoming worse of a mess than the table itself was. “Anything interesting happened lately?” 

“Not really.” 

“Oh—! Yuuji sent me a picture of his uniform the other day. Was that one special?” 

“Yeah. But they let students make adjustments to the uniform, and he said he hadn’t changed anything, so I think that was Gojo’s doing.” 

“Oh, well, that’s Gojo. It suits him, though, right? Not to sound mean or be presumptuous, but…” you chuckle, “When you wear the uniform, you look so formal. It’s not a bad thing— it’s just that Yuuji’s just always been more casual like that. And the red of the hoodie goes with his hair, too!” 

“I guess so.” 

“I can’t imagine you wearing anything other than the default uniform, though. Not to insult you, I mean, you still look good in the normal uniform, I just— can’t imagine it.” You remark, sorting the materials and books by size and subject. You’ve got to handle some of the drawers, too, now that you’ve started and can’t stop your momentum just yet. You can already feel the dust particles that have gathered on whatever is inside them still, jostling around once you’ve taken them out. 

“If you’re going to say it like that, you can just say it outright.” 

“No, no! I mean that I just can’t imagine you wearing, like, Yuuji’s uniform. Wait, what do the other students’ uniforms look like?” 

“The second years?” 

“Yeah. Did they choose the normal ones?” 

“Inumaki did. They have three boys and one girl, but only two of the boys wear the normal uniform. Okkotsu has a special uniform in white.” 

“Oh, I see,” you nod your head, “It’s a nice uniform, though. I wish I could wear a uniform that pretty.” 

“You could always enrol yourself here,” he suggests, “They’d welcome you with open arms.” 

“Maybe they will,” you chuckle, “But my mother would be adamant on me staying in the ‘normal’ world. She’s unyielding like that.” 

“And your father?”

“Wouldn’t mind, at least I don’t think…” you say, “I’ll have to wonder when to tell him if I do end up in jujutsu high; you never know when he’s mad. He’s always unpredictable like that nowadays and it’s not… particularly pleasant.” 

“I see. It would be good if you were here, though. You would be closer to Dr Ieiri that way. And it would do good, because, um… well, I’d like you here. You’d be… good for the people around you here.” 

“Ah, you— you would?” you ask, slightly phased— not like he hasn’t been a bit nicer to you since you’ve seen him again (maybe it was the awkwardness, maybe it was the guilt). “Thank you,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging up sheepishly, heading to the dusty drawer (you haven’t touched it in what feels like years, usually excluding it from your list of things to clean). 

After a scrupulous amount of wiping away at the dust outside of and surrounding it, you open the drawer with a slight bit of anticipation— you don’t expect much, but you’re a person who lingers on the past like a ghost that has forgotten how time has passed. There wouldn’t be much in this drawer to reminisce on, you presume, but you still approach it with an eager fascination— you’re the type to do so, after all. 

Of everything there, the most noteworthy are two things you grabbed almost immediately— you could never forget how they felt, and the weight that they held in your life back then: a letter, addressed but never delivered to the person you were talking to right now, and a cigarette with a hastily scribbled slew of numbers on it and a lipstick mark on its end. 

Oh, that letter. That letter.  

From what you remember, you’ve never rebelled against your parents before. At least, not with anything major— for a long time, you were their good girl, and you never disobeyed them, as much as you wanted to at times. You still are, still stuck with that age-old drive to be useful. (But was there even a point in that anymore? At least, was there one with your parents?). You didn’t picture yourself as any kind of righteous goody-two-shoes, but you definitely weren’t a rebel or a delinquent. You followed their instructions and seldom ever questioned what they told you, and so it had always been subtly implanted in your brain that they would be alright with anything you did or said. Yet the first time you did actually start to question them, you realised that their belief in your ‘obedience’ as pure love— and maybe it was; you loved them so much you were blinded and trusted them with everything and did anything they wanted their baby to do— you realised they only treated you so lovingly if you were not an actual person with your own ideals and beliefs. 

(But they still loved you, right?) 

Even now, you still do obey them and listen to them. If your father needed anything, he could consider it done; if your mother wanted her clothes to be patched up you’d try your utmost best to withstand the pricking of needles and bring it back to her hospital room with bandaged fingers. It was like that with your mother: even if at times it seemed like the only pain she wanted for you was callouses from a pen or pricks from needles, at other times you feel she could have known you’d end up like her, maybe. Maybe she saw it as a curse: the worlds the two of you were born in were different, and she wanted you to stay in yours, lest you die or live in a world of endless pain. 

You’ve been doing it for a long time: being dismissive of yourself, prone to self-prostration, subservient; the lovingness of a mother, the sweetness of a teenage girl (you hoped), the kindness of a caring friend. Maybe it was Tsumiki— maybe it was because you’d always seen this in Tsumiki. She was always smiling, always caring; taking on the weight of motherhood before she could carry the weight of her school bag. Hugging you with her saccharine smile; braiding her hair with gentle hands and holding your wrist with her hair tie on it even gentler. (You still have it with you. You had planned to start taking it off more once Yuuji left, but you suppose some habits take longer than a week to develop.) All while having that sickening, fantastical, mysterious sweetness of a teenage girl in what you now understand could have been a hidden misery— because caring for someone like a mother while suppressing the thoughts that spoke to you to act like a child was something you wanted to replicate until you realised you understood it. And then you no longer wanted to recreate it. (Maybe that was the way it was for every woman or girl you knew: watching someone you loved hurt themself or not being able to do anything to prevent it when they started. Life was a cycle that way. A very annoying, frustrating one full of unfortunate circumstances and wrongly-picked out decks of cards.) 

“…you know what? I think I may be able to come,” you tell him. 

“You don’t have to go against your father for our sake.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. I think I know who to ask for help. Thank you, Megumi.” 

“Hi, Dr Ieiri?” 

“Kid? That you?” she goes, the slightest bit of excitement stark against her usual deadpan tone. “I thought you’d never call because of that old man.” 

“Haha, yeah— sorry to disturb you, but, um, Dr Ieiri? I may want to take you up on that offer, by the way, but um, I’m still on the fence. I mean, I know I want to be like you and do what you do but… I don’t know, I’m not quite sure about leaving the two of them alone here and all. But anyway, I just called you because I wanted to ask if there was, you know, any way you could get me to Tokyo somehow. I need to pass something to someone, but, um… I guess I’m going with this with the hope that I’ll change my mind and join you. But I’m… perpetually on the fence for now, I guess.” 

“Pft,” she snorts, “You little rebel, I’m in. I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you so much.” 

24-6-2018 

The decision and the plan were made as swiftly as you could. 

You decide to tell your father— you wouldn’t want to deceive him, after all. At least, you’d give him a quick notice. And then you’d leave. Like a snowflake before the first day of spring. He’ll probably tell your mother.  

“I’m leaving for Tokyo for a while,” you say, “I’ll be back before you can even realise I’m gone. Invitation from Dr Ieiri.” 

25-6-2018

“Why?” your father asks, the night before you leave. He suggested going out together at least once before you left. He always knew when you were making white lies. 

“I guess that maybe I’m just too much like you, Daddy.��� 

For the first time in years he hugs you on the doorstep, patting you on the back on the day you’re set to leave. “Make sure you study and work hard,” he reminds you. 

“I’m leaving for Tokyo,” you announce.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy,” she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t even blink. 

“I’m not.” You are. 

“You know, your father travelled all over the country to see me again after we’d first met.” 

“Oh. Okay?” 

“And he’s always been dedicated to his job and dedicated to helping people.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I’m saying that the two of you are very similar. I’ve lived through this story before,” she states, “And you look just like your father right now.” your mother says. She hasn’t smiled the way she used to— you remember it vividly, that vibrant gleam in her, the liveliest and loveliest of life— in ages and you don’t think she will, not now of all times. 

“Really? Sometimes he says I take after you more.” 

“You will.” 

It doesn’t feel like a curse. Even if it usually would make your heart well up in guilt, it doesn’t feel like a curse. 

Maybe she knows that her time is running out. Maybe this is resignation. Whatever it is, you hold her hand first, but you’re also the first one to let the other go, your fingers slipping away from hers. You leave the door for the last time in a while, making another round in your life of that carousel of abandonment and reuniting and departures. 

25-6-2018 

Dr Ieiri greets you with a calm smile on her pallid face. 

“Good to see you again.” 

“It’s good to be back here,” you sigh. 

It is. 

You keep your hand on your other hand’s wrist, holding them in front of you. The cherry hair tie on it feels warm against your skin as you exit the station, summer heat embracing it softly. 

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[genevievefangirl]

Gen's Top 100 DBDA Fics - PART 6

For all caveats/rules/backstory, please read the Master Post

Lemonade & Sunrises By: paraph @paraphwrites Rating: M Tags: AU - A Quiet Place, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Summary: Set in "The Quiet Place" universe. Edwin and Charles navigate their time through New York City through the first year of the invasion. * No prior lore for either fandom required to enjoy! My Notes: This one is truly a work of art with its prose and story composition. I have never seen The Quiet Place, but damn did this fic make me want to.

Letters addressed to the fire By: zmorak @zmorak Rating: T Tags: AU - WW1, Hurt No Comfort, Diary/Journal, Angst, Slow Burn Summary: Diary excerpts of Lance Corporal Edwin Nicholas Payne (1900-1989), British Foreign Correspondent, Journalist, and Poet, dated between August 15th and November 1st, 1916, Somme. *** You, Charles, may be the best man and the kindest soul I have ever had the luck to meet. I will not delude myself so much as to think that we will see each other in old age, but I do dearly hope that in the years to come, we will meet again; with both of us standing on our own two feet, we'll share a bottle of scotch, and reminisce with grief-ridden fondness about this inferno that brought us together. My Notes: This fic made me cry, and not many fics do that. The day I first recommended this in the server everyone reported back that they cried. It was a very memorable day lol. Really a beautiful piece of work. I love historical fiction and the quality of the prose is truly spectacular.

Loud Bark, Deep Bite By: hyperiion Rating: M Tags: Case Fic, Fluff and Angst, First Kiss, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Charles didn’t mind being underestimated. When he told people he was the brawn of the detective duo, they usually gave a small, placating smile. Charles would take a hundred of those moments for just one of these: when the demon, ghoul, or witch of the week gave him an appraising glance and found him wanting, only to find that ghost-strength is so much more than appearances. A year after the events in Port Townsend, the Dead Boy (and One Psychic Girl) Detective Agency has fallen into a rhythm with cases. A mage kidnapping ghosts upends their rhythm, and with it, Charles' bottled-up feelings. My Notes: Ghost soup! In this case fic, the crew faces a mage kidnapping ghosts! I particularly like the final confrontation because Charles gets to be all heroic.

Nothing Left to Hide By: RoseGanymede95 @oxbellows Rating: NR Tags: Hell Aftermath, Arachnophobia, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: “You’re-” Charles has to stop before any more words can come through, because another round of sobbing overtakes him, forcefully enough Edwin thinks a living boy might break his ribs like this. “You’re. Scared.” Charles tries again, and the words sound like they’re being punched out of him, each one a broken, jagged thing, “Of. Spiders." Grief crashes down on Edwin like a physical weight. This is about Hell. My Notes: Charles having a breakdown over Edwin's fear of spiders is not something I knew I needed, but it is spectacular.

Of a youth who loves me By: Aliquis @riceinthechurch Rating: T Tags: Friends to Lovers, Codependency, Protective Charles Rowland, First Kiss, Religious Guilt Summary: The boy Charles rescued from Hell, so frail without his waistcoat and ridiculous britches, had been nearly unrecognizable as his best friend. Charles would do anything, compromise any dignity, to make sure Edwin never has to return to the pit. He just has to figure out how. My Notes: Charles loves Edwin so much that he tries to make a deal with a demon to sacrifice himself instead and it is just so in character (and dumb) of him. I love Edwin being super pissed about it too because that is also perfectly in character!

Overloaded By: babyseraphim @babyseraphim Rating: T Tags: Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Before Edwin had been strapped to Esther’s torture table and very rudely used as a magical battery, he had been under the impression that the use of iron was the only way to inflict pain upon ghosts in the mortal realm. However, because he was Edwin Payne and the universe seemed intent on making him pay for his ridiculously on-the-nose surname for all of eternity, those rules apparently did not apply to him. My Notes: Edwin dealing with long term pain after Esther's torture table is not something I had even considered until I read this fic and let me tell you the concept has stuck with me. Especially since (spoilers) the pain doesn't go away. This is something that Edwin has to just deal with. The way that Charles assures Edwin that he isn't a bother and that they will stick together through this is heart warming

Promises & Voids By: NuriaSchnee @nuria-schnee Rating: M Tags: Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Temporary Character Death, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Edwin gets hit with a "death" curse, which eats his soul away until he disappears completely. With no way to stop it or break it, Edwin spends his last hours with Charles, and makes him promise that he will continue their work in the agency without him. My Notes: You want to cry? Here's a fic for you. It does have a happy ending to make up for it, but DAMN that first chapter broke my heart. Charles holding onto a fading Edwin until he disappears is just HEARTBREAKING!

remind me that i am a fool By: blladnna Rating: G Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protective Charles Rowland, Hurt Edwin Payne Summary: When Charles saw the boy curled up at the end of the hallway, his first thought was that it couldn’t possibly be his best mate. The figure had none of Edwin’s prim and proper urgency, lacked his drive, his grace. Whoever the boy at the end of the hallway was, his spirit had been truly and thoroughly broken. As he approached, Charles saw that he was wrong—that boy was Edwin, just not any version of him Charles had ever seen. “Please go away, Charles," Edwin said. "You’re being cruel.” or When Edwin goes back to Hell, instead of being torn apart on loop, he suffers through the only pain worse. Watching it happen to Charles. My Notes: I really love fics that make Hell worse and this one fits the bill. Charles trying to convince Edwin that he is *real* this time is just so good.

right. never finished it. By: taableclofh Rating: M Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Orpheus and Eurydice Summary: Charles never knew what the ending to Orpheus and Eurydice’s story was. Never bothered to finish it. Never felt the need to, did he? All he knows is that he cannot exist in a world where Edwin is not there beside him. My Notes: Getting out of hell is a lot harder in this fic. Edwin not remembering anything between his different reincarnations after his various deaths leads to some interesting development for Charles as we get to see him change while Edwin stays the same.

The Case of the Broken Orb By: JJ_Queenie Rating: NR Tags: Love Confessions, Inebriated Edwin, Protective Charles Rowland, Dreamsharing, Hurt/Comfort, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunken Confessions Summary: Edwin breaks an orb that shows a person's greatest dream/desire and absorbs its powers, so now whenever someone touches him he sees their greatest dreams. Unfortunately the dream energy is also making him incredibly loopy and he is doing things and spouting out things he never normally would. His friends try to scramble to find a cure while also making sure Edwin doesn't get into too much trouble, soon finding that an inebriated Edwin is a lot harder to contain than they initially expected. My Notes: Usually, I don't go for humorous fics, but this one is HILARIOUS! Edwin without any inhibitions is a sight to behold! But this fic is not only funny, it's really heartfelt <3

[the-pessimists-paradigm]

Hi! Are you comfortable with angsty topics?

If you are, what do you think about the brothers (or just Lucifer) coming to terms with the fact that the time with us (or MC) is running out (be it sickness, health, life exchange, etc)? Can it be gn please?

Thank you so much!!

LUCIFER

Lucifer was drowning in paperwork, slumped over by his desk when he saw the time. The decades spent with him were taking a slow but aching toll on your human body. It was a realization that suddenly occurred to him, your graying hair, and your increasing amount of wrinkles. Your pained smiles as moving became harder worried him, he tried every remedy he could think of, but eventually came to the conclusion that this was meant to happen. Although he made sure to cherish you even on your deathbed, it still lingered that there wasn't much time left.

Expanded Version

MAMMON

Mammon was listening to some RnB music while looking through his old photoshoots when a vintage song came on. The release date of the song reminded him about your first date together, and although he looked as young as ever, you were aging along with time. He never admitted his worry, but it was as plain as day to the average observer, His frantic internet searches as he realized your death was inevitable. The aches in your muscles, the sagging of your face, your smile lines. He held your face in his palms, kissing you softly and letting death gently take you away.

Expanded Version

LEVIATHAN

The characters flashed around on Leviathan's screen with hilarious dialogue, an action-packed roguelike from the 90s. His retro game system crashed again, as he noticed his first save file. It was a game he'd played with you a few times. As he looked back on those fond memories, he thought about you now. He loved you now just as much as before but grew concerned. It hurt him to see your pained back, dark circles and thin lips. He noticed your fatigue after concerts and competitions. Knowing you wouldn't be around for eternity, he put special care into your last moments, showering you with love.

Expanded Version

SATAN

While studying the arts of the human world, Satan was amazed by the Mona Lisa. The colors and the historical value all appealed to him, however when researching, he couldn't help but ponder upon your own end. He remembers exploring old museums and educating himself on the realms, but as his knowledge traveled through time so did you. He observed your smile, ever-so-radiant, wrinkles holding onto the edges, the spots on your skin, the pains that weren't there before. He started watching you more, holding you while he could.

Expanded Version

ASMODEUS

Every stroke of the nail polish was beneficial, complimenting his youthful signature look. Asmodeus painted every last bit of fingernail, carefully inspecting his work he proudly showed off his work. He started applying makeup to your face, savoring every smile line and wrinkle you had, every special and unique mole. Although he used to hate aging, he appreciated your natural beauty, highlighting it. He knew you would eventually pass, so he did things he normally wouldn't do, going out of his way, being extra affectionate, making sure you had a peaceful rest surrounded by the man you love.

Expanded Version

BEELZEBUB

As Beelzebub ate five Hell's burgers blissfully, he reminisced on the times you spent at restaurants together. He tasted every bit, nibbling to show it care. This was much unusual from his typical pace, ravaging through meals, he savored it for you, knowing what burgers can do to a human body, knowing it wouldn't last long. He began cooking more for you, noticing that your body was becoming weaker day by day. Even in your weakest moments, he held you and quietly shed tears.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor was listening to relaxing piano music as he slept in bed with you, holding on tightly. His snores filled the room as you woke. Usually a heavy sleeper, Belphegor jolted to the unexpected sound of your joints creaking and popping. He cuddled closer, knowing you couldn't hug him forever. Even when he hated humans, he knew how easily they could die, be killed off. And although he knew this was going to happen, he didn't want it now. He let you rest, awoke early in the morning to do laundry, to attend class. You slept on his lap when you passed, cementing his favorite human's death as a peaceful one, one that he couldn't get over.

Expanded Version

This is my first angst attempt, so feedback is appreciated!

[dissociation-station123]

LAD FANFIC: SYLUS X READER

CHAPTER ONE: FOREBODING & FORLORN STRANGER

Angst warning: Reader is neurodivergent and has been through a lot.

Sorry if it’s a bit boring! Promise to make future chapters more interesting!

~

After a long exhausting day, at your typical soul crushing office job there is one place you often find yourself. It was a place of convenience and escape. A hole in the wall bar just down the street from your apartment.

You discovered it on your journey to the corner store for a cheap quick meal after working overtime. There were no flashy neon lights, just a generic white sign with black font that said bar above a glass door. Inconspicuous and plain, you felt a strange kinship. So one day you decided to walk in. Months later you became a regular, where no one bothered you but acknowledged you.

That is where you found yourself tonight on a Wednesday, around eight. In the same barstool you always sat. You glance down at the dark wooden counter, worn and stained by time. Used and abused by drunken guests, if you could relate to an inanimate object this is the one you might choose.

You lift up the glass and take a sip of your usual, a bourbon with a drop of coke. This has become a routine, it is both comforting and suffocating. Yet after each sip the stress of the day melts away with the smooth burn of the liquor.

You turn around and survey the scene. The space is mostly empty. The same regulars sit in their self designated spots. A group of college kids chat excitedly in a corner booth. The older patrons are quiet as they drink, occasionally looking up at the one television. The younger group is boisterous and loud. You hear one student complain about the sticky table and smell. While the other rebuttals that the drinks are cheap and strong.

You felt as if you were somewhere in the middle of this demographic, not a bright-eyed youth but also not old enough to be receiving AARP brochures in the mail any time soon. You exhale feeling a big weight on your chest. You gulp down the rest of your drink and signal the bartender for another. She smiles and nods to let you know she will prepare it. You are not drunk enough to wave away the thoughts about life that begin invading your mind.

The years are going by way too fast. Along with it you lose friends and family for varying reasons. At a young age you refused to follow a path common for people of your age, sticking to your principals loyally. Your ideals deter you from having children. No white picket fence, mini van, or golden retriever. So now you sit on the aged barstool alone, no true responsibilities waiting for you at home.

There was one concept you fell victim to, marriage. It was a toxic steel crate of misery. A life of walking on eggshells and mentally checking out. You do wonder if it was mostly your fault because you felt so numb. The idea of love and happiness twisted and gnarled. You felt so much relief when it ended. When you escaped.

As your brain takes you on a nightmare of reminiscing, you feel a strange stillness around you. Slowly you blink and come back to the present. The eerie silence makes goosebumps form on your skin. You look around to find an exit or the reason; that is when your gaze falls upon a tall stranger. His reddish eyes are full of confidence and mischief. You sensed under the surface something more sinister.

The man walks slowly to the bar to sit a few stools down from you. “The strongest drink you have.” His voice is deep and authoritative, but also melancholy. The bartender's eyes widen in curiosity and fear, as she smiles and acknowledges his request. She is just now finishing your drink, so she sauntered over to you.

”Holy fuck he is hot.” She whispers as she sets down your glass, you laugh and shrug. You live in your head most days so you rarely notice others. Yet you could not deny how attractive he was. He wore what you assumed to be a designer sweater that clung to his well defined body. A thin silver chain hangs from his neck. He wore those dress pants very nicely. It is hard not to stare.

You take a sip of your glass and sneak a peek at his face. He stares at his hands lost in his own thoughts. He has sharp chiseled features and his white hair is both strange and striking. He is a walking statue, truly breathtaking.

Since you grew up in a volatile home, you acquired a unique skill. You were able to pick up on the mood of those around you based on certain factors; posture, expression, tiny sighs, or gestures.

As you study this stranger you notice he is slouching his large frame, eyebrows scrunched together and there is a pout on his lips. Also the fact he walked into a bar like this during a weeknight. Something must have happened to him.

“Hey! His drinks are on me.” You call out to the bartender. She grins at you sheepishly. A face that hints that you might have an ulterior motive. Your eyes widen as you shake your head. You regret your statement but it was too late to withdraw.

“If you are propositioning me I am not interested.” The man says matter of factly, not even looking in your direction. You laugh a bit embarrassed. He then turns to you with a raised brow.

“Me? I mean look at me.” You point to your oversized sweats and t-shirt. He merely lifts a brow, a slight frown on his face. “No, that wasn’t my intention! I swear!” You mumble throwing up your hands and he smirks, your heart leaps to life. You take a breath and collect yourself. “You just seem upset. It’s a token of kindness from one damaged soul to another.” You grab your drink taking a large awkward gulp.

“How presumptuous of you, sweetie.” The man chuckles but remains stoic. “But I appreciate it.” He lifts his glass in your direction and you do the same. Both of you leaning the glasses back and finish the contents in one chug. He smiles at you, impressed and you melt. You curse yourself and his good looks.

~

After the stack of empty glasses one would assume that you would be deep in conversation with the stranger. You could usually get people to tell you their life story without even asking. Merely your presence alone makes most people comfortable, even sober.

But this beautiful man simply basks in the silence. Not that you minded. Quiet often brought you solace. In a way just sitting and drinking with another being made your night a bit more tolerable.

“Closing up soon.” The bartender announced to you both. You look around and see only a small number of regulars remain. She places one more glass in front of you both and begins cleaning for the night.

“Cheers!” You say and he nods, lifting up the glass. You let out a sigh after finishing the contents and stretch like a pleased cat. You feel his reddish eyes studying you but you ignore him.

Gathering your bag you ask to close your tab. You choke a bit when you see the total. But recover quickly, proclaiming that you must treat yourself occasionally and it wouldn’t break you completely. Just a few additional replacements of instant dinners and you would recover.

You stumble a bit when you stand but a large hand steadies you. You look up giggling and nod in thanks. You give him a thumbs up that you got this and he releases you.

Without words you both express your goodbye. You don’t look back as you exit. You laugh to yourself amused that this encounter was the most excitement you had experienced in a while.

The chilly air makes you shiver and slightly sober up on your walk home. The moonlight guided you peacefully to your front door. You clumsily fumble with your keys but eventually make it inside.

Pitch black and no sound but the steady hum of the AC greets you. You try not to feel saddened by the atmosphere as you turn on the hallway lights. You make it to the kitchen and tiredly search for a cold bottle of water from the fridge, thankful to find one behind the bottle of chilled wine.

You pull a large bottle of Advil from your bag and take out a few. You swallow them with the water. The frigid liquid feels soothing as you consume it greedily.

Tossing the empty plastic into the recycle you shout, “Three pointer from half court!” As it successfully swishes in, you place your hands together, setting them to the side of your face to reenact the famous NBA shooter’s goodnight emote.

You put away your bag and hang up your keys, proud you didn’t just toss them somewhere for your sober self to search for in the morning. You eye the shower in contemplation but your exhausted body pushes you towards your bedroom instead.

Haphazardly you toss your sweats and t-shirt on the ground. You audibly sigh in relief as you remove your bra adding it to the pile. “That’s the stuff.” You tiredly mumble and collapse into bed.

Sleep takes you swiftly as you starfish across the mattress taking up as much space as possible. Your last thought giving praise to alcohol for existing to wash away any form of loneliness that might linger.

~

The blinding rays of sun hit you making you groan. Morning has come too soon and your alarm startles you a few moments later as you struggle to go back to sleep.

The splitting headache makes you whine in protest as you fumble to silence the assaulting tone. “Fuck!!” You scream out in frustration but you know you only have yourself to blame.

You slowly and carefully make your way out of bed. Feeling every ache and pain with each movement. Your knees crack and you curse even further. “Coffee! I need you!” You say dramatically as you wobble your way down the hall and into the kitchen.

You groan as you lift the kettle to fill it up with water and then plug it back in pushing the button down. You open your cabinet and grab the instant. You shuffle around adding ice and the rest of your essentials. You tap your foot until the water is finally ready, pouring it into your mug. You relish in the first sip, moaning at the sweet bitter concoction.

The hit of caffeine gives you the much needed endorphins to continue with your morning routine to get ready for the work day. Though you did move a tiny bit slower than usual.

The image of the strange man comes to your mind as you move on autopilot. You wondered what made him come into that bar. You should have tried to speak. You shrug realizing you would most likely not see him again.

After a shower and getting changed you felt a lot better. Stretching, you sigh contently as your joints pop. “Alright let’s get through the rest of the week!” Grabbing your bag you head out to commute to the office, your favorite playlist ready.

~

“Do you mind working some overtime today?” Your coworker asks with a smile. You plaster on a positive expression. You knew the question was a nicety not truly a request but an order. You agree, trying your best to hide your frustration. “You are the best Y/N! My daughter has a soccer game later.”

“Ooo well tell her good luck for me.” You answer and they agree happily as they begin packing their belongings up for the day. Shouting thank yous to you and to have a good weekend. Thankfully it was Friday so you could not be too upset about it. You had nothing going on so in a way you believed you deserved to stay over others.

You kept things in the office at surface level. Casual conversations to appease those around you. You kept your head down and stayed out of the spotlight. Working served one purpose: to pay bills. So you avoided creating a close bond. The work itself came easy to you but maintaining the social mask was exhausting.

“I really appreciate you staying. You are vital to us.” Your manager says as she walks towards your cubicle. If anyone but her would have said that you would have called bullshit. You were lucky enough to work for a genuine person.

“It’s fine. Not like I have any exciting plans.” You joke laughing to yourself. She looks a bit disheartened by your words. A small frown on her face.

“You're such a sweetheart. Y/N let me set you up with…” you hold up your hand and shake your head. She sighs as you cut her off.

“I appreciate it, I do, but I’m fine.” You say hoping to quickly end whatever plans she was thinking of. She looks at you suspiciously and you laugh. “I promise!”

She glares at you, “You truly promise?” Her voice was laced with concern. Her hands placed on her hips in defiance.

“I promise!!” You respond again and she finally smiles brightly at you. “Thanks for worrying about me though. It’s nice.” You feel a somber emotion and try your best to ignore it. She suddenly pats your shoulder, you could tell she wanted to hug you but she respected and understood your boundaries.

“Alright. Well don’t stay too late. Thanks again.” She watches you closely as you nod. “I bought some of those chips you like! Feel free to take some.” You weren’t sure why you were blessed with such a caring human for a boss but you were thankful.

As she leaves you take a sip of your afternoon coffee and turn towards your monitor. The clack of the keys were soothing as you finished up the last spreadsheet. You decide to stop by the small store for dinner since it would be late.

~

The chime of the bell above the convenience store alerts the regular late night cashier you have walked in. “Hey you!” The man smiles, always welcoming and you mimic his wave.

Even after visiting the same store throughout the years neither one of you bothered to truly introduce yourself. But you both were always kind. It was a mutual respect.

“Let me fry you up some fresh wings and wedges.” He proclaims excitedly and you were thankful.

“If it’s too much trouble…” you begin but he shakes his head to dismiss your pleasantries. “Are you sure?” You say for good measure and he laughs.

“It’s no trouble I promise. For my favorite customer it’s nothing.” He says and you feel a bit better as you give in. You nod and he smiles sweetly. He makes his way over to the small freezer and begins preparing your food. “Another late night I see.”

You shrug, “I don’t mind. Seems I’m not the only one.” The man chuckles as he works. You walk towards the refrigerators and pick up a carbonated beverage to go with the chicken.

The small exchange ends as you tell him to have a goodnight. And he responds with ”a see you soon.” The familiarity of both the clerk and store itself made you feel at ease as you made your way home.

~

It was now Sunday and the regime of dreary office banter and spreadsheets awaited you tomorrow. You stare at the bathroom mirror wiping the fog from the glass. Your reflection startled you, dark circles under your eyes and a sullen expression.

The quiet that surrounded you was tangible; thick and suffocating. You needed to get out even if it was only for a few hours. You quickly threw on clothes and made your way out the door.

Your feet carried you as you walked. Your mind is filled with a dark stream of consciousness. As you look up to see where they took you, a white sign and the same bar. You let out a hum fondness.

You walk in and freeze upon entry. Nestled amongst the handful of exhausted regulars, sitting in the barstool you designated as your own, was the stranger from the other day. Your eyebrows raise as you make your way over. Glancing at the bartender she shrugs as if unsure why he returned as well.

The man looks over at you and nods. You mimic his gesture and take a seat beside him. “I was hoping to run into you again.” You were not sure if you would ever be prepared for his sultry voice.

You point at yourself in a state of confusion and shock. This causes him to smirk slightly. “I don’t like owing anyone.” He signals for a drink and the usual woman smiles in response, already knowing which poison you prefer.

You felt a sense of panic build. If you accept this gesture you would be a bad human. “Ooo no! No need. It was not a big deal.” You stumble over your words. You fidget awkwardly as your drink is set down beside you. “It’s fine. I’ve got this. Thank you though.” You lift up your card to hand over to start a tab. A much larger hand beats you to it, with a shiny black card that leered back at you condescendingly. ~You are poor~

“I do not like when those around me don’t obey my command. You paid me a debt and so I am returning the favor.” His tone was serious. You almost scoff but those red eyes glared into your very soul. You simply pull back and pick up the glass while taking a sip. “Good.”

A bit of awkward tension hangs around the both of you. Your mixed up brain is irritated by his sternness yet elated at his praise. You also did not appreciate the display of wealth. You were unsure how to respond. “My name is Sylus.” He says raising his glass.

You hesitate still trying to figure him out. But after a few seconds you do the same. “Y/N.” You mutter observing his mannerisms. He is still slouched a bit but maintains his stoic persona. He was very difficult to read.

“Cheers.” He calls out with a smile that does not reach his eyes. You nod and you both throw back the whiskey. You could tell he was trying to determine what type of person you truly were. Neither one of you willing to start a conversation made this a bit harder.

You were not expecting to ever see him again. You were still reeling from his presence. In your bar, your comfort, a mysterious stranger returns. You weren’t sure if what you felt now was foreboding or excitement.

[dovveri]

cancelling lsrfm over easy mv being filmed in a church is so stupid (just saw sth on my fyp and like easy is so old like yall be doing everything to bring them down bcs theyre popular) i swear to fucking god and yeah i used his name in vain WHAT ABOUT IT christianity has NOT been persecuted as a religion for centuries

speak up when idols are doing blackface or ca bcs black people are still persecuted today, when idols get caught up in scandals like burning sun bcs women are still raped daily, when idols are supporting genocide bcs thousands are dying in palestine every day. dancing in a church and wearing items that are reminiscent of the devil? be so fucking for real rn. how much media uses the devil as a source of entertainment? how many children have christian religious leaders sexually assualted? how many lgbt+ youth have been kicked out of homes bcs of homophobic and transphobic interpretations of the bible?

man some people are so pathetic theyll use any excuse to bring down those in popularity to make themselves feel better 🙄

(also id like to say starbucks hasnt explicitly funded the genocide and kpop stans that have cancelled yunjin bcs of it need to do some fucking research before they hop on the hate train - starbucks have only released a statement against their workers union for supporting palestine, but companies like mcdonalds, sodastream (pepsi, coke, etc.) have directly contributed to the deaths of thousands of palestinians and its those compaines that should be the focus of boycotts, not starbucks, bcs when u buy those products, that money is going into killing another palestinian person.)

[bird-inacage]

The Heart Killers: Character Styling Update (Firstkhao Focus)

I know these photos have been released for a while now, but I'd like to comment on the character design. P'Jojo clearly has a very specific aesthetic he likes. There were concerns that the styling in the pilot felt too reminiscent of Only Friends, particularly as First and Khao had only just performed as Sand and Ray.

With this recent update, P'Jojo has shown a great eye for playing into that visual language he loves, and taken it up a notch. He's really leaning into Vintage Americana with this series, and I personally love everything about this. He's now differentiated each character's own visual identity much more clearly through wardrobe.

First, well FIRST. Good lord. Kant is going to be one dapper fella. He's got this old school, suave, hipster gentleman thing going on, which has me weak. The little scarves and waistcoats?? The spectacles? I see a lot of men dress like this in old timey, retro barber shops. The increase of skin ink is a very welcome addition too. First looks hella sharp and it's really matured him up to boot. A man who has grand theft auto charges on his record and moonlights as a private investigator of some sort. The fact we get to watch this man get his flirt on? Legendary. The spectrum of his styling lends itself to being casual and quirky as well as more imposing/intimidating.

Moving onto our resident murder baby. Twee lil Bison is giving Baz Luhrmann's Romeo & Juliet. His outfits have more of a street rat edge, which feels youthful in a boisterous, devil-may-care type of way. This gives Bison a bit more grit than in the pilot and I personally like that, as I don't think I've seen Khao play someone more rough around the edges. (Even though Ayan and Ray were sold as 'bad boys', they were still quite clean cut). It also distinguishes him from his brother Fadel. I feel like we could get wild, free-spirited energy and/or an absolute loose cannon. It took me a while to get used to the new haircut but it's growing on me. Khao will make anything work.

I know Khao recently commented that despite wielding a huge gun, people are still calling him cute. But come on, he does look so baby though, bless his little assassinating cotton socks.

I MEAN. LOOK AT HIM.

All in all, I'm really enjoying that Kant and Bison's personal styles are more at odds with one another. That they don't look like an obvious match at first glance, because that should bring some interesting points of tension into the mix.

[dylanisdazed]

so yall know i got an online job. well its online but its also local and today i had to meet with the boss man. he's like 65.

i went in there late cuz i had the kids and stuff so i waited until parker was home to watch his brothers.

so i walk in his office and he closes the door.

he says you drink? you look like you like to party.

i kinda laugh. like idk what this old man means. im 23. yeah i do like to party.

so i say yeah, i like to drink.

he says what do you drink?

i say pretty much anything but i really like bourbon.

he has glee in his face. "BOURBON! my boy! that's a man drink. that's awesome, it'll put hair on your chest! I've got bourbons I'm sure you've never had."

so he tells me to sit down. he pours half a glass of bourbon in the office. i drink it with him. then he pours another. he asks about my major and my life and i tell him about adam...

he's been married to a woman for 40 years and they have 3 children.

He talks about being a teen in the late 70’s/early 80’s. Honestly the conversation wasn’t too bad but as he talks about all the exploring he did…with marijuana, other drugs…and sex…he shifted his eyes and was staring into my soul.

Then without asking he pours a third drink. And moves over closer to me. I should have just said I didn’t want anymore but there really is something to the whole power dynamic that I just drank it. I felt so uncomfortable. I’m alone with him in his office and he’s got the door closed (no one else was at the office it was 6 pm) and I’m drinking a third glass of bourbon with this guy.

He watches me sipping the bourbon and says “I have to say, you’re a beautiful boy” normally I would be flattered hearing that and I just can’t describe why but it’s like I instantly felt how millions of girls must feel everyday when an old man in power is trying to take advantage of me. But I’m also polite and southern and idk so I smiled and said thank you and to help my nerves finished the drink.

He goes “you must really be a good time Dylan, you can hold your alcohol. I’m gonna have to use this whole bottle on you”

And that’s when I really felt weird and scared. Not to mention I had accidentally left my cell phone in my Jeep.

I sorta laughed and said I’ve got to drive home and I have eaten much today. He goes “Come on we’re just getting started”

I say I really need to go, my kids are waiting on dinner and he replies “you’re just a boy yourself, it’s interesting hearing you say your kids. It makes you even sexier.”

I laugh and say thanks but I need to go. I started to stand up and he put his large hand on my thigh (he’s like 6’5) and sort of held me down.

He said “you’ve got to have at least one more drink with me, an ending drink.” I just felt kinda helpless and didn’t have my phone and I was getting pretty drunk at this point so I said okay. He said “good boy”

He pours a last and stronger drink. I sip it as he stares into my soul and talks about how his wife is in Arizona and he’s pretty lonely and reminiscing on his youth and fun sexual explorations. He put his hand back on my thigh and started rubbing up towards my cock. I feel kinda dumb because I just sat there. I was scared and shocked and drunk.

He told me I had a pretty mouth and began unzipping his pants.

Then. THANK GOD. His office phone rang. He looked defeated. He picks up and I hear his wife. “Why are you still at the office? Your phone pinged you at the office.”

“Yeah honey, I’m just finishing up reports, I’m in no hurry with you out of town.” Blah blah blah

I finish my drink. Stand up and head to the door. I wanted to get out of there while he was still on the phone because I could tell he wouldn’t stop me or say my name while his wife was on the phone. I just turn around and do a wave and pretty much bolt to my Jeep.

I start driving immediately, wanting to get away from him. Then I start bawling. Nothing even really happened and maybe I’m just over dramatic or more innocent than I thought but I felt dirty and scared 😭😭

I’m driving drunk and crying and I called my mom. She tells me to tell Adam and so I do but when I get home Adam is waiting for me and consoles me but…he’s the most calm, gentle hearted person I know and he’s like homicidal angry.

“GIVE ME HIS NAME. IM GONNA KILL THE MOTHER FUCKER”

I’m like no ur not gonna do anything like that…

He’s like I’m waiting outside that office and I’m gonna kill him.

😭 it was kind of scary but also very heartwarming and sorta hot seeing him that way 😂

Anyway……. I’m sorry for the long and poorly written story.

I’m okay and we’re taking care of the matter and Adam is also okay and didn’t kill anyone 😂💚

Thanks for the love and concern.

It’s been hard the last few days because I keep thinking about it and wondering what would have happened if his wife hadn’t called. I can’t help it, but my body starts to shake violently when I think of it. I’m shaking now writing all this. 😭😭

But just know overall I’m okay and things are being handled. 💚💚

I’m not gonna talk about this again, at least not for a long time because it scares me.

Please don’t ask me questions about it. 💚💚 I felt like I owed an explanation though and I appreciate all the concern and well wishes.

Now back to fun Dylie!!!