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crooked-wasteland · 1 year ago

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The rapresentation of abusers in helluva boss is something that particularly frustrates me, Stella in particular, it seems to be done just to victimaze certain characters not to show the complex dynamics of those relationships. It seems to me the writers aren't mature enough to handle these topics properly.

Abuse and Vivienne Medrano

Christmas 1962, a man renowned the western world over for his revolutionary approach to animation sat in a withering melancholy as he watched what could only be called a cinematic masterpiece based on a novel classic. Walt Disney, now in the twilight years of his life, saw the walls closing in and his legacy coming to a close. This man, who pioneered the animated feature film, saw his greatest accomplishment as his greatest obstacle. The man responsible for the tales brought to life of Cinderella, Snow White, Pinocchio, and Dumbo felt trapped in his achievement. “I wish,” Walt lamented, “I could make a picture like that.”

To Kill a Mockingbird was a piece that challenged its audience. The discussion of a white man defending a black man in southern America, years before the civil rights movement. The movement that, at the time the movie hit cinemas, was in its infancy. Released during the height of the historically revisionist counter movement taking place to combat the rising push of African Americans towards their human rights. The last film Walt Disney ever saw the production of before his death in 1966 was The Jungle Book, a movie that was the epitome of “Safe” and a message that upheld the status quo of segregation.

It wasn’t until 1972 that the media of animation became raucously adult with those political and challenging concepts Disney felt were unattainable. Fritz the Cat was an X-rated animated film composed of vignettes that were unapologetically perverse, violent, and aggressively political. Critical of politicians and the police with a sympathetic if exploitative lens towards the LGBT and racial minority communities Brooklyn-based director Ralph Bakshi grew up around. Bakshi proved that animation was not strictly a child-friendly media and that adult animation could be financially and critically successful.

(For more on Ralph Bakshi's career and animation history)

If one has ever had the opportunity to listen to a Brad Bird (director of Ratatouille and The Incredibles) interview, it is clear to see that the success of Bakshi was generally quite limited. That animation is considered a genre and not a medium of art has resulted in animated films being knee-capped in the box office. There is far more potential to animation, highlighted by Howard Ashton in his collaboration with Disney studios during the Renaissance. Responsible for resurrecting the feature-length animated movie through The Little Mermaid and credited for the monumental success of Best Picture Award winner Beauty and the Beast, Ashton once said that the potential animation was ideal for musical theatre. The limitless possibilities given the medium gave the possibility of introducing Broadway to the common folk who didn’t live in New York and otherwise couldn’t afford the theater. He was quoted saying that live action musical films were “an exercise in stupidity,” highlighting the freedom that comes with a blank page.

However, the success of animation, and media in general, comes down to the message the media wishes to send. The reason the Disney Renaissance films have enjoyed their position as cornerstones of pop culture and creativity was because it did introduce the artform of musical theater into homes and made them readily accessible to everyone with an even heightened sense of fantasy that revitalized Walt’s ethos of making films for the child in everyone.

With Bakshi, it was the loud and violently political message of a revolution taking place. This continues in adult animation with the Simpsons, a series critical of hyper-capitalist America and the fallout of Reagan’s economic disaster that the effects of which are still being felt today and a satire of toxic masculinity and abusive family dynamics.

So, ultimately, the value of a piece of media is a cross between its social artistic influence and the message the creators are intending to make. While Medrano’s influence on the field of indie animation is often mischaracterized as a “pioneer”, the fact is that indie animation and pilots have existed and been funded before Spindlehorse existed. It is simply that Medrano has had the spotlight handed to her for the myth surrounding the production and subsequent success of his indie projects. Artistically, her influence can be summarized as a double-edged sword. For some, she is the motivation for inspiring artists to connect with the community to one day, hopefully, create their own work. On the other hand, she is the cautionary tale of why investing in an indie project is a financial risk for an audience member and a risk to the community as a whole that poses a real danger of making the indie sphere financially cannibalistic, as her public persona is off-putting to “normies” and her show is simply not good.

Much like Disney, the man in 1962, and Disney the company circa 2023, the revolution of animating "because you can" loses its luster very quickly. Without something profound to say, an entire company, regardless of its social influence, can fade into irrelevance despite still being "successful". The story of Disney is a cautionary tale for Indie animation as a whole and Spindlehorse in specific.

And that is the other axis on this chart. Her narrative lacks a message worth telling, and that’s very much due to her not having anything worthwhile to say.

“I really liked when things and shows and stories allow the characters to be flawed, and allow them to grow and to change. And I think that’s something that’s, you know, the world is not black and white. And I like things that explore the gray and that and the complexity, of life and mistakes and of things like that.” - Vivienne Medrano

It is not for want of mockery that I carefully transcribe Medrano’s words in her interview. To read the words aloud tells the story just as clearly as I have set out to do here. This is someone who is highly inspired by better media, who has ideas and a belief that she has something to say. But that is where the belief ends. There is no conclusion to that thought any more than there is one in the unfocused and run-on sentences she rambles along throughout the interview. She talks of “Things” without clarity, because she herself is a fundamentally incurious individual who has never once spent the time critically analyzing herself, let alone the work of others to better grasp what about it resonated with her. She merely consumes art insatiably and without any substance. Like a diet of fruit, it has a superficial veneer of positive value. Fruit would be considered healthy as it is “natural”. However, it is the nutritional equivalent of candy, lacking vital components that are necessary to sustain basic life, it is pure sugar. Her work, similarly, lacks any value of depth that would qualify as meaning.

Which comes back to what the message is in her work.

When it comes to others in the field of indie animation, Medrano does not have many friends. In response to the Lackadaisy situation, creator Tracy explained why she returned Medrano’s donation. For one, the donation was not Medrano’s money, but money she crowd sourced from her employees. While the $5k for the producer spot of the fundraiser would have not been a dent in her personal wallet, Medrano is so uninterested in supporting fellow creators while presenting an impression of camaraderie that she instead took money from the people she is in charge of the paychecks for to get her name in the credits of another creator’s work. In regards to why Medrano was declined her support, it was due to numerous individuals who had such an awful experience working for Medrano that they did not want her involvement associated with the project to any extent. When the money was returned, she made the situation extremely public and encouraged harassment by liking tweets attacking Tracy and the Iron Circus team.

A well-known member of Medrano’s crew, Hunter B, was leaked speaking crassly of other animation projects that were still in the process of production, met with support from other members in the discord. One of these creators being Ashley Nicoles from Far-Fetched. A former friend and creative partner on the Hazbin Pilot whose podcast streams featuring Edward Bosco and Michael Kovach single-handedly maintained interest in the show until the winter of 2021, free of charge. Ashley once spoke of how Medrano would speak disparagingly of an employee to her, saying that this individual was “Too unstable to work with”. Which, regardless of whether or not that is Medrano’s honest opinion, counts as defamation by an employer. It is the exact reason why most previous employers will not give a negative, detailed review of a former employee, maintaining instead to verify facts of the employment. If Erin Frost was more experienced and less involved in social media exposed culture, they could have easily sued Medrano and Spindlehorse for damaging their reputation in their field of employment.

Which circles back to Medrano’s self-assigned message of her show:

“Abusers rely on your silence. They rely on knowing you can’t retaliate without consequence. That they can tell any lies and vague around without getting called out. But we see you, and you don’t have the power you think you do anymore. A message I put into my work. “Fuck you!” - Vivienne Medrano

Medrano, who has vague and sub tweeted individuals like Lackadaisy Tracy, The Diregentlemen, Michael Kovach, and Ashley Nicoles. Medrano who has instigated and incited harassment campaigns knowing that no one can call her out without severe and relentless backlash from her cultish fanbase that she personally encourages through positive reinforcement of liking the tweets of fans. Medrano who relies on the silence of other creators in the field due to the fear of her ire collapsing their projects before they even have a chance to begin.

Vivienne Medrano with an extensive abusive history that continues to this day, has something to say about abuse.

What Medrano has to say about abuse comes from someone who has the position of superiority in all of her relationships, but feels like she’s the outcast and bullied loser. Her self insert that is repeatedly expressed in every character at one point or another is how easily they abuse those around them just because they can, but that the narrative justifies their “acting out” because they are sad. According to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, “An abuser externalizes the causes of their behavior. They blame their violence on circumstances.”

Indeed, the lists of abusive characteristics and traits, according to the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, overwhelmingly encompasses the characteristics shown by characters like Loona, Blitz and Stolas that Medrano repeatedly has attempted to rationalize, justify and minimize. Which, “An abuser often denies the existence or minimizes the seriousness of the violence [including emotional and mental abuse] and its effect on the victim and other family members.”

It is not surprising, then, that the conversation of abuse in Helluva Boss is often infuriating. The narrative underplays the harm done by characters we are supposed to see as “good”. Not allowing for them to grow or change, but ignoring and minimizing the behavior, justifying it through circumstances and perpetuating the false belief that victims are not, themselves, abusers.

One of the first blog post rants I ever made about mental health and abuse was the affirmation that not all victims of abuse are survivors. I wholly stand by that. Victims of abuse perpetuate abuse. A victim and an abuser are one in the same, whereas a survivor is someone who has actually done the difficult work of being self-critical. And the one thing we all are very aware of is how much Vivienne Medrano rejects criticism.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss #perpetuating abuse #narcissistic abuse #abuse breeds abuse #essay writing

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valentoru · 4 months ago

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|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 3]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

Freakanomics. One of the biggest upcoming bands recently. An industry that housed many millions of people all fighting for a chance on the “pedestal”. No pressure. You had no idea of the exact number of people but the amount of drama and discourse you’d seen on Twitter in the last twelve hours alone was enough to help you hazard a guess; far too many. Therefore, you reasoned that the chances of your running into Gojo Satoru ever again was slim. You would never have the insane misfortune of talking to him again. Especially considering that after your three years in the industry, you’d only run into him once and that had been The Night (though it had only been a handful of days since you had rather thoughtless kissed Gojo Satoru every time you though back to last Friday night you would call it The Night and it would stay that way the rest of your life), you would never cross paths with him again. In fact you were fairly sure that Gojo Satoru not only had no idea who you were and had no intention of learning—and probably had already forgotten about what had happened.

Unless, of course, you were incredibly wrong and Gojo ended up filing that complaint against you. In which case you would be seeing him again, in court, when you pleaded guilty.

You ultimately figured you shouldn’t waste any time fretting over it and focus on more pressing issues like; you needed to start pitching ideas for Yuta. Or like how Yuta was literally your PR manager, despite your past and current situation with Maki. Or the note that Megumi had left on the fridge door that morning telling you he had noticed a cockroach scurry under the fridge again, despite all the traps you lay out. Or the most crucial one; the band had so much attention and it was becoming daunting. It was making you nervous and you were really starting to feel the pressure. You were bound to crack at any moment. On top of that you were low on money again and your didn’t have the heart to ask your friends for any, you all were struggling. Your band was big but not massive, and the share you were all getting wasn’t amazing, they were probably in the same situation as you.

You opened your laptop with half a mind to search “Organs you can live without” and then follow that up with “how much can you sell them for?” But you had gotten side tracked by the 20 emails you had accumulated in the time it had taken you to make a coffee and sit back down. They were almost exclusively reminders of subscriptions. Nigerian uncles with a money mine. And a few newsletters you signed up for a few years ago. You quickly marked them down eager to get on to a couple lyrics Yuta had asked you to work on them you noticed one email. One email that was actually a reply. A reply from—holy shit. Holy shit.

You clicked the mouse pad so hard you almost broke your finger.

[email protected]

Y/N L/N,

The idea looks amazing. I should be at your studio next Monday, it would be great if we could meet.

Regards, SG.

Your heart skipped a beat. Then it began galloping. Then it slowed down again you could feel all your blood plusating in your ears and eyelids. Surely, that wasn’t healthy, but yes. Yes! You had potential business. Only potentially, so maybe, definitely maybe. He said great. That had to be a great sign then, right?

You frowned and scrolled down to reread what you had sent to him several weeks earlier.

Well if Suguru Geto, probably the most sought after male artist you could think of at the moment and he was currently the lead artist and organiser in a current cancer campaign event that was being held, came to your studio and gave you 10 minutes of his time, you were positive you could convince him.

Well…maybe.

You were better at actually doing campaigns than pitching for them. Communication was probably your biggest weakness. Okay, absolutely your biggest weakness. But you had the opportunity to show how important this cause was to you. You could practically jump for joy. This was something you’d always been passionate about.

You sighed and packed up your stuff and head for the studio. You needed to record some music and if you didn’t get out of public soon you would end up screaming.

When you got to the studio you made a beeline for the communal kitchen.

You stood at the coffee machine working out the rhythm for the song you were working out for the group, you also tried to figure out how you were going to tell Yuta, after all you had done this as a surprise for him. Your brain was practically full of fuzzy thoughtless thoughts, your whole body on autopilot. You span around only to be met with a scowl.

You startled, almost dropping your coffee.

“Fu—Jesus!” You clutched your chest and took. A deep breath. “Maki! Your can’t scare me like that—you shouldn’t even be in here!”

“Y/N.”

That definitely wasn’t unnerving. Maki never used your full name. Not unless she was reprimanding you for biting your nails or damaging your hair.

“Hey! How was your—”

“fiday night.”

Fuck. “—weekend.”

“Gojo.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I saw you two. Together.”

“Oh, really?” Your surprise sounded painfully playacted. Maybe you should’ve taken theatre in high school instead of band.

“Yeah, at the party.”

“Oh, cool! I didn’t see you or I would’ve said hi.”

She frowned at you. “N/N. I saw you. I saw you with Gojo. You know that I saw you, and I know that you know I saw you because you’ve been avoiding you.”

“I have not.” You feigned bewilderment but your efforts were once again in vain.

Maki gave you one of her formidable “get real” looks. It was probably the one she used when she argued with people in high school. She wasn’t exactly fond of her sister, Mai, either. She knew how to argue, how to manipulate. That was a fact. She was fearsome and indomitable, one of the things you loved about her—but not right now.

“You haven’t answered any of my messages. For the past two days. We usually text like every hour.”

She was right, you did. You switch your cup to your left hand for no reason other than buying time. “I’ve been…busy?”

“Busy?” Makis eyebrows shot up. “Busy kissing gojo?”

“Oh. Oh, that. That was just…uhm.”

She nodded as if to encourage you to finish the sentence. When it became apparent to Maki that you wouldn’t, she finished it for you.

“No offence N/N, but that was the most bizarre kiss ever.”

Stay calm. Stay calm. She doesn’t know. She can’t know. “I doubt that,” you retorted weakly. “take that upside down spiderman kiss! That was bizarre. More bizarre than—”

“N/N you said you were on a date that night. You’re not dating Gojo are you?”

It really could have been so easy to confess the truth. Since the very start of your friendship you and maki had done more moronic things, together and separately; the time you panicked and kissed Gojo Satoru would become one of them. One you would laugh about during “girls night” over some form of alcohol.

Or not. There was a chance that if you admitted to lying now, Maki would never trust you again. Or she would never go out with Yuta. And as much as the thought of your best friend dating your ex made your whole body physically repulse and shrivel up inside, the thought of your best friend being anything but happy made you shrivel up more.

The situation was depressingly simple; you were alone in the world. You had been for a long time, ever since high school. You trained yourself to not make a big deal of it. You were sure many people were alone and found themself having to write down made-up names and phone numbers on their emergency contact forms. During college music had been your only way of coping and you were perfectly ready to spend the rest of your life making music for yourself and have your own baselines as your faithful companion till you ran into an old acquaintance from when you were younger—Maki.

In a way it had been love at first sight. You entered the dorm room, she was the only person there, and also the only woman you’d come across in the little time you’d been at the college.

When you were in the communal area and all the other people were around you were only males and predominantly white ones, you began to regret picking music production as your study.

That was until the blue-ish haired girl with a pretty face and glasses plopped next to you and muttered, “so much for inclusivity, am I right?” That was the exact moment everything changed for you.

You two could have just been allies, as the only non-males potentially in your entire year. You could have found solace together when some bitching was needed and ignored each other otherwise. You had lots of friends like that—all of them actually, circumstantial acquaintances who you thought fondly of but not very often. Maki though, had been very different from the start. Maybe because you found out you both enjoyed spending your Saturday nights eating junk food and falling asleep to rom-coms. Or maybe it was that she had insisted on dragging you to every debate group and wowed everyone with her bullseye comments. Maybe it was her opening up to you and explaining how hard she had worked to be here. The way sometimes her family hadn’t even supported her, truly they didn’t believe she could make it as far as she has. Or when one of her professors for music making asked her if she was in the wrong class and truly, was confused. The fact that people still didn’t trust that, despite the evidence through grades, she was more then capable of being here. They thought she was less than that, much much less.

You, who’s path had been a struggle but no where near as much of a struggle, was befuddled. Then enraged. Then in absolute awe of the perseverance and ability to harness her doubt and turn it into fierceness.

And for some unimaginable reason, Maki seemed to like you just as much. And when your budget hadn’t quite made it to the end of the month, Maki had shared her instant noodles with you. When your computer had crashed without backups, Maki stayed stayed up all night helping you recreate the baseline that was apart of an assignment due the next morning. When you had no where to go over the holidays, Maki would bring you home with her to her closed off estate on the outskirts of Japan and let her family ply you with delicious food. And when you had felt like you weren’t good enough to be in a band and produce for the world, Maki had talked you out of it.

The day you had met Maki’s rolling eyes, a life-changing friendship was born. Slowly, you’d began to include Megumi and become a trio, but Maki…Maki was your person. Family. You hadn’t really thought it was even possible for someone to like you.

Maki never asked for anything herself and in the few years you’d known her, she’d never shown interest in dating anyone—until Yuta. Pretending that you had been on a date with Gojo was the least you could do to ensure her happiness.

So you bucked up, smiled and tried to keep your tone reasonably even when you asked, “what do you mean?”

“I mean that we talk every day and you never mentioned Gojo. My best friend is supposedly seeing the superstar singer Gojo Satoru and somehow I’ve never heard of it. You know his reputation, right? Is this some kind of joke? Do you have a brain tumour? Do I have a brain tumour?”

This was what happened when you lied. You have to tell more lies to cover the original lie, it was like a domino effect, each lie got worse and worse and less and less convincing than the previous. There was no way you were could fool Maki. The was no way you could fool anyone. Maki was going to get mad, then Yuta would get mad, and Megumi too. And then you would find yourself utterly alone. The heart break would make you flunk out of everything, you would lose your visa and your only source of income and move back to Canada where it always snowed and people ate moose and—

“Hey.”

The voice was deep but squeaky. It came from behind you and you didn’t even have to turn to know it was Gojo. The fuck was he doing here? Just like you didn’t need to turn to know the warm weight steadying you, a firm but barely there pressure applied to the centre of your lower back, was Gojo’s hand.

About two inches above your ass.

Holy crap.

TAGLIST(23/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @lavender-hvze @fushism @angstmuncher @fackeraccount

AN:

Chat. This😈😈

#⤷limitless #jjk #jjk smau #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smau #maki zenin #inumaki toge #megumi fushiguro #kugusaki nobara #yuji itadori #ryomen sukuna

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starlost-mochi-x · 1 month ago

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studio - han jisung

pairing: han jisung x reader

summary: you join jisung for a producing session

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, crack, chill jisung

a/n: han would be so much fun to produce with and you can't change my mind

The producing studio was filled with the soft hum of equipment as you sat across from Jisung, both of you focused intensely on the computer screen. The blank canvas of the rather large music project felt daunting, but Jisung’s limitless energy was infectious, putting you at ease. He'd come into the studio with two iced Americanos, a million-watt smile, a pair of cute glasses, and a head full of amazing ideas.

Only the 4th gen ace, you had thought to yourself amusedly as he'd settled down.

“Okay, let’s try something new,” Jisung suggested, his eyes lighting up as he adjusted his headphones. He took a swig of his iced Americano before setting it down carefully on the side table. “I want to hear what you’ve got.”

You hesitated, unsure if your ideas were on par with his. But Jisung, ever the encourager, nudged you gently.

“There’s no right or wrong here, yeah? It’s about creating something that feels like us. Something that feels unique and special.”

You nodded, picking up your bass, hands a little clammy, and tentatively played a chord progression you had been working on. To your complete and utter surprise, Jisung’s face broke into a grin.

“That’s fire!” he exclaimed, fingers already moving over his keyboard to add a beat.

The time seemed to blur and fly by as the two of you worked together, layering melodies and harmonies, Jisung with practiced, flowing ease, and you with slight hesitance and intrigue. Jisung hummed softly for a few seconds, then suddenly broke into a rap, the flow raw and unpolished but electric, his hands waving energetically in what you could only assume was a flurry of rapper gestures. You couldn’t help but laugh at the unfamiliarity of his movements.

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious,” he teased, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. The atmosphere was light and collaborative, professional yet comfortable, filled with shared laughter, occasional banter, and back-and-forth teasing.

Hours passed without notice, but the track was taking shape. The sounds you created together were vibrant, a reflection of your combined, juxtaposing music styles and tastes. Jisung leaned back, so far incredibly satisfied with the progress.

“See?” he said softly, a satisfied smile on his lips. “We make a great team.”

You couldn’t help but agree as you looked at him, realizing that not only was he an incredible artist and producer, but someone who made the process feel like magic. He was so easy to work with and talk to, taking your ideas on board and adding his own flair to it while allowing your unique visions to shine throughout.

You made a mental note to gatecrash 3RACHA's producing sessions more often in the future.

a/n: yay new dividers ! thanks to @anitalenia

#skz #starlost mochi fics #stray kids fanfic #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz scenarios #starlost mochi #stray kids #han jisung #jisung skz #han jisung stray kids #jisung scenarios #jisung stray kids #han jisung fanfiction #jisung fanfic #han jisung fanfic #han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #jisung fluff

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ukgk · 8 months ago

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SSP PLUGIN RECOMMENDATIONS

Do you want to customize and expand your desktop buddy experience further? here are some handy links to miscellaneous plug-ins I’ve gathered from around the web, or you can even program your own, and they can also be written in any programming language so the possibilities are limitless! plug-ins are essentially extensions or add-on built for SSP. I’m not a plugin developer myself, and have yet to test out each one of them for extended periods of time, so please refer to the readme files/ instructions provided by the developers (github usually has info) on how to use them if you get stuck or encounter issues. these are just some of the more recently updated ones, I'll be adding more to the plugin page of my blog if you're interested.

Weather Station by Zicheq (of Ukagaka Dream Team) A plugin for both users and devs, for getting weather data! As a developer, you can set your ghost up to receive weather data from this plugin, to then do what you will with! Weather based comments? Outfit changes? Something else totally unrelated? It’s up to you! This plugin will handle the messy details of the user inputting their location and gathering the weather data for you. … (read more here)

Discord Rich Presence by Ponapalt (main dev of SSP baseware) This plugin is designed for displaying the name of the primary ghost you have open on the ‘currently playing’ status on the Discord for Windows application in real-time. also compatible with displaying your currently played song in FLUX (a really awesome music player ghost by Zi).

CeVIO-Talker V2 Plug-in by Ambergon This Plug-in was initially revealed for Day 21 of the Ukagaka Advent Calendar collaborative project in 2022. using this you can have a fully voiced ghost with a realistic sounding voicebank speak to you out loud! (in English too?) it Requires ceVIO Creative Studio and SSP 2.6.45 (or newer) to work, ceVIO is a vocal synthesizer software commonly compared to Vocaloid and UTAU that works via text-to-speech method. the primary difference between Vocaloid and ceVIO is that ceVIO is built for both TTS/speech and creating vocals for songs in music production. you can download a demo of CeVIO if you would like to try it out here.

GhostSpeaker by apxxxxxxe like CeVIO-Talker, this Plug-in was initially revealed for Day 17 of the Ukagaka Advent Calendar collaborative project in 2023. it’s a successor to the Bouyomi-chan plug-in and utilizes a free (Japanese) text-to-speech software called VOICEVOX and COEIROINK so that your ghost can verbalize their balloon dialogue and speak to you. you can listen to a demo in this github link.

GhostWardrobe by apxxxxxxe allows you to dress up your ghost in different coordinates, mix and match pieces and save and load the outfit combinations from the plugin menu.

CharameL plugin by Umeici This software allows you to enjoy watching ghosts directly interact and chat amongst each other freely on the built in instant messenger.

#ukagaka #ukgk #download #DL #plugin #resources #cevio #cevio ai #vocal synth #webcore #2000s internet #(these are all very modern plugins so not really but shhh i need the algorithm to cooperate #yes they work w/ old ghosts like mayura)

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less-dev · 6 months ago

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We're making a Starbound/Terraria inspired space sandbox game!

We're making a 2D sandbox game similar to Starbound! Or uh, terraria in space.

#nodev contains shitposting

#planetarium contains dev progress

Specifics under the cut

Who are you?

Aspen - Project Lead, Programmer, Pixel artist, Sound Designer.

Hey! I'm Aspen, I've been programming and making games for many many years in basically every engine there is... But never felt the drive to finish one, until now! I consider myself very experienced in the engine we're using (Gamemaker Studio 2.5) and have confidence we'll be able to make this game a reality. I also run the Tumblr account, so assume it's me behind the wheel as a default. Thank you for checking the game out!

Alec - Concept artist, Character Designer

H a l l o I'm Alec, I like writing and drawing and painting and designing shiiiiiiiit. I adore world building and have frequent bursts of creative possession in which I conceive and birth the greatest ideas and concepts in a mere moment. Otherwise, I can be a total dumbass and completely useless. I'm good at colours 👌 I have been a 85% a home-brew DM for about 2 years now and that is the greatest proof of my ADHD-given God powers of creativity. Slay.

What a cool guy!

Design pillars

Immersion. Above all else, I would like roleplay (casual or serious) to be natural and well supported. I would like players to find engaging with the world, and it's characters to be very personal.

Innovation. Tropes such as "You spawn in a green forest and can walk left or right" will be actively avoided. Biomes will have generation that presents more unique movement opportunities. Such as geysers in rock pools launching players high up, or giant twisting vines that hold up chunks of land to hop between.

More quality less quantity. Planets will be significantly more content-dense than Starbound, and perhaps controversially travel between them will be more difficult/expensive as well. This would encourage players to take advantage of all the resources presented on each planet, instead of hopping from one to the next. This would also encourage us throughout development to give each planet as much love as possible. Each planet should feel like a 'miniature terraria world'. Though actually achieving that is easier said than done.

Meaningful content. Procedurally generating creatures from 100 different pre-set monster parts could technically produce limitless alien creatures for players to encounter. But in both No Man's Sky and Starbound. I find this novelty to wear off quick, these creatures are not manually, meaningfully crafted and beyond an unusual appearance and some shallow gameplay changes... They do not create much of a memorable experience for the player. In my opinion, anyway. I would rather hand-craft every creature and make them all significantly unique and interesting. That's not to say procedurally generated creatures won't ever have a place in the game, but they certainly wont be as prevalent as others games.

Okay well... What's finished?

Fundamental lighting shaders akin to Starbound.

Some world generation brushes and basic commands.

A text mark-up language (heavily optimised), and game chat.

Extensive custom debugging tools

Hard and soft-loading of chunks to save on as much memory and CPU usage as possible.

Complete unloading, and compression of chunks on top of the previously mentioned system. As well as a live-saving system.

Setting, Story baseline, and conceptualization of the first 3 playable species. Each species will have a different starting planet, and immediately different playthrough.

Designs and cultures of several additional unplayable races.

Character proportion tests, sprites and sketches.

First-pass on collision functions.

Weighted Tile variance and tile connections.

CONCERNS

Multiplayer. While I have made an online multiplayer game before and it's definitely doable for this game, it would require some practice in a one-off test game to be fully confident. It would also take a LOT of time.

Modding. As far as I know gamemaker games are notoriously difficult for players to modify. Something like Unity is far easier even without mod support. Gamemaker on the other hand is difficult even if I want to design systems in favor of modders. This is kind of a problem for later, I have faith there'll be something we can do to make it work... But a cursory look says it won't be easy. I would be extremely disappointed if there was nothing we could do.

#starbound #gamedev #indiegamedev #indie #roleplay #programming #game design #terraria #world generation #sandbox #planetarium

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mlleclaudine · 5 months ago

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Miniature Artist Transforms Household Objects Into Tiny Scenes Full of Whimsy and Wonder

by Regina Sienra - My Modern Met, May 28, 2024

Artist Tatsuya Tanaka continues to immerse us in the whimsical world of his creative miniatures. Having devoted himself to building these tiny scenes every single day for the last 13 years, his creations are as exciting and fresh as ever. As charming as his miniature art is, the true beauty of his ongoing art project lies in his materials of choice. Tanaka uses household objects—from ordinary white bread to a simple wallet—to breathe life into these little worlds.

Tanaka's miniature compositions are part of his never-ending Miniature Calendar, a project that has seen him create a new scene with household objects and tiny people daily since 2011. His images are influenced by anything from pop culture and world events to seasons and holidays. Lately, his feed has taken great inspiration from spring with cherry blossoms appearing in many of his leisurely compositions—including one of bikers by a riverbank and another of a serene carriage ride by a sakura tree. He also celebrated Star Wars Day with an R2-D2 sauce dispenser and Mother's Day with a heart bouquet.

Despite his use of everyday objects, Tanaka's miniature scenes exude a sense of wonder and adventure. In some of his latest creations, his tiny characters visit a spoon-based waterpark, take a brush boat to go dolphin-watching, and play a game of table tennis on a deck of cards. And since leisure is enhanced by a little culture, his cleverly crafted images take us to a jazz concert lit up by the pages of a book. And he has another music-themed piece where a piano is made out of a cassette tape. His imagination is limitless!

Pop culture is also a massive element of Tanaka's work. He recently included some beloved characters from Japanese productions, like Dragon Ball and Studio Ghibli. In one of his most clever recreations, Chihiro from Spirited Away rides the train; but if you look closely, the windows are actually made out of blue eyeshadow. Meanwhile, Nobi from Doraemon cries with the help of two slices of onion; and the golden details of Dragon Ball‘s prideful Vegeta‘s suit are actually pieces of tortilla chips.

To stay up to date with Tanaka's creations, make sure to follow him on Instagram.

Tatsuya Tanaka: Website | Facebook | Instagram | YouTube

#miniature scenes #found objects #Tatsuya Tanaka #My Modern Met #May2024 #long post

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sweettjrose · 4 months ago

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Man i wish we had a mickey centric movie

Ik we have the christmas specials and the three musketers but man What I woudn't give for a full movie with him as...you know him! Not really playing a role just him

My friends have been all making up ideas about what his movie could be about and MAN everytime I Wake up and realize it was just us #=@÷ around on discord and its not real I just go 😟 no detective mickey movie yet

YOU *points through screen* WHAT ARE YOUR IDEAS FOR MICHAEL OF MICE OF MICE OF MICHAEL MOVIE WERE COLLECTING IDEAS LIKE POKEMON CARDS 🫵🫵🫵

Oh trust me, I 100% agree.

Despite being the mascot of Disney, Mickey feels really underutilized at times it would be cool for him to get a whole movie dedicated to him that really focuses on him as a character. Like an official Disney Animated Studios one.

As for movie ideas, I mean if it isn't obvious enough by looking at my account (and it seems like you're on the same page), I would love some sort of mystery movie with Mickey playing as some kind of detective who is trying to prove himself.

I think the best way to go with a Mickey Mouse movie would be to play into his strengths and his character works best (imo) in adventure/mystery stories and as an underdog. The detective role is perfect for Mickey as it utilizes all of his strengths and weaknesses in such a economic and meaningful way.

There's a reason why the comics have pivoted to mostly him being an investigator. It brings to light his personality the best as he gets to show off his sense of justice and dedication to make things right as well as his empathy for others and ability to connect with people. There's even a chance to dig into his flaws like his stubbornness, out of control curiosity, and seemingly limitless faith in his own capabilities.

Also I have an ulterior motive. This would be the perfect way to really bring the Phantom Blot back into public consciousness as the main villain of the movie. And not just that but make him considered an official Disney movie villain where he can sit at the cool kids table with Ursula, Maleficent, and the like. A big movie would also be fitting for the first animated appearance of his unmasked face since he has had animated masked appearances before, but not unmasked. Also you could still easily fit Pete in a villain role as some kind of "partner" underling as they've worked together in the comics quite a bit.

As for the plot, I am open to anything. They could do a reimagining of Mickey Mouse Outwits the Phantom Blot (Censored version obviously) since that was pretty popular. Or something new. Maybe it would be cool if it could also have some kind of meta story to it where it is a reflection and commentary on Mickey Mouse as a character and how he's changed over the years and in different media. Maybe even a criticism on how he's been mostly a mascot and not really a character lately.

But those are my thoughts. Thanks for asking.

#mickey mouse #phantom blot #answered

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kaiso-woo · 1 year ago

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Just Stay.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

-> Masterlist

PART 1 of my ‘Stay Series’ - a long hypothesised journey of a relationship between Bang Chan and Reader.

WC: 6.8k | Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition.

Notes: Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, CaféOwner!Reader, Fem!Reader, Idol!Chan, Barista!Chan, Suic!de (Strong Descriptions), ANGST (LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, NO NEED TO SQUINT), Fluff (At the End)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

PART 1

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

If this were the case, could you then be compared to a lonely garden gnome, fated to ponder life’s every aspect through a single perspective? Would you shrivel away from the light, choose to accept the pitiful concept of simply existing and allow your garden to wither; green to grey, flesh to bones, petals to stems? Perhaps your coping mechanism is to simply scream. Shut the doors. Close your blinds. Block your ears. Scream. Dry your eyes. Breathe…

Scream.

He does none of those. Instead, his eyes flutter closed momentarily, chest heaving, hands shaking, before he pulls himself away and picks up the computer mouse again. They’re becoming more frequent, or maybe he’s becoming more attune to them.

He doesn’t witness these deaths, exactly. He feels them; what it’s like to have the frigid wind tug at your hair, howling in your ears, the moment of impact with the blistering ground causing him to flinch violently, hand clamped over his mouth in a desperation to quell any yell; what it’s like to have your vision swim, blotting in and out of darkness, your throat constrict as though a pressure is forcing its way from inside out, desperate, erratic gulps for sweet sweet oxygen achieving nothing; what it feels like to stand there, shivering, your heart rate increasing tenfold, breaths quickening to mere pants, as you will every instinct in your body to remain still – ‘do not move’, you think, ‘it’ll be over soon’, you remind yourself, ‘the lights are closer now, and they’re fast, they won’t stop’.

How dearly he wishes for them to stop.

He’s better at dealing with them now, definitely more subtle. The panic that envelopes him every time he realises something is about to happen however, will never leave him. He’ll drop what he’s holding, frantically disappear into one of the empty rooms in the company building, lock the door and rake a hand through his hair. The number of times the stylists have grumbled at him for messing up his styled hair is limitless, but he doesn’t care, why should he?

The studio door clicks open, and his head snaps to the sound. Immediately, he attempts to steady his breath, and pulls his expression into his signature straight smile :] as Jisung enters the room, a plastic bag filled with takeaway containers in his hand.

“Eh? What’re you doing here…?” Chan grins, his eyes widening dramatically. Swiftly, he swipes his computer mouse to the top of the screen to check the time.

2.23am

“It’s so late Jisung, were you practicing choreo?” he continues, hitting save on his keyboard so he doesn’t accidentally delete his work while distracted. “I brought you food,” Jisung mumbles, lowering it onto the coffee table and carefully unpacking it all. Chan’s mouth begins to salivate excessively as the smell of chicken wafts towards him, but he rubs his face and resists the urge to sit down with Jisung and eat to his heart’s content.

Jisung plucks a drumstick from the box, “Why are you working here alone?” he questions, a sad pout on his chubby cheeks as he wanders over to the computer, careful not to drop any crumbs. Chan shrugs, hoping it’ll satiate Jisung’s concern.

It doesn’t, of course, and his pout morphs into a small frown. Jisung tries to shove the chicken into Chan’s mouth, offering it to him demandingly. “You eat, you eat,” Chan waves it away and turns back to his computer, “You wanna listen? I think it’s almost finished, something’s just not right with the auto tune… I think. It sounds off,” he picks the headphones off the desk and holds them out for Jisung, who has taken a bite of the chicken happily and is munching away. Again, he tries to give Chan the chicken drumstick, and refuses to take the headphones until Chan is eating the chicken.

As Jisung listens to the song, Chan’s mind drifts back to the corners of his thoughts, the shadows that have been swirling there for a long while now. He doesn’t know when it first began, doesn’t want to remember it to be honest. He was in his room, dozing off into a comfortable sleep, the purple LEDS providing a soft glow to the darkness.

It was abrupt, swinging into him out of nowhere, but he sat bolt upright, hands grappling with the sheets desperately. His vision swam, and he retched on dry air. He groaned and keeled forwards, hands suddenly clutching his chest as it tightened painfully – corkscrewing into his heart, but at the same time it was as though someone was trying to pry it open. He retched again, and he regretted in that moment that he had chosen purple to light his room earlier. The colour was making his head pound, his belongings swimming in and out of his vision, worsened by his unstable swaying.

In a panic, he crawled over to the side of his bed. Then with a last hacking cough, he vomited onto the floor, the acrid taste on his tongue causing him to recoil, the stinging burn in his throat making his eyes water. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t see shit anymore. A dry sob escaped his lips, as he desperately tried to fumble for something to ground him back to reality. He saw speckles – grainy, fuzzy, surreal.

The world tilts, and maybe he falls off the bed too. And he’s gone.

“It’s not the auto tune effect – it’s the timing of the bridge,” Jisung drags Chan back to reality, his head bopping slightly to the music. Chan blinks and scoots aside to allow the younger to fiddle with the computer mouse, rewinding the audio so he can listen again. Chan is finishing off the chicken drumstick, so he hums in acknowledgement instead to Jisung’s feedback. “Yeah, it’s the bridge. The vocals need to be delayed a little,” Jisung concludes, “Want me to fix it up?”

In the silence of the room, Jisung pulls over another chair and gets to work. Chan watches him contentedly for a while, happy to absorb himself in the clicking and tapping of his first child’s proceedings - watching him edit and perfect the track they’ve been working on for the past few months. Jisung glances at Chan, his concentration breaking, “You’re unusually quiet.”

Chan reaches over and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, “Just thinking.” “Right... well, eat more. And then go to bed,” Jisung insists, briefly squeezing the hand on his shoulder in return. Chan sighs and hoists himself out of his chair, sinking back onto the couch so he can easily dig into the food. “Thanks mate,” he mumbles, and when the man makes no move of acknowledgement, Chan smiles softly and nibbles on some more chicken.

He woke that time, on the floor of his bedroom, dangerously close to the stinking heap that was his vomit. His head pounded, a dull ache ringing in his skull as he mustered all his strength to simply stand up and pull over the blinds.

“What the fuck was that?” He groaned, resting his head on the window and basking in the warmth of the early morning sun, so comforting, so full of life – a steady presence. After he spent the next ten minutes gathering his wits and cleaning up the mess, he brushed it off as food poisoning; maybe something in the food Hannah cooked last night (he’d never tell her that, of course).

On another day, in another place, maybe a few weeks from then, he had returned to Korea, jumping straight back into his busy schedule. They were in the middle of an interview, not the first, and certainly not the last. In hindsight, he was thankful he had chosen to stand in the back row. At first he thought he merely needed to cough, a ticklish sensation wrapping around his throat, a ghost of a hand caressing his neck. He swayed dangerously when he felt it tighten harshly, so suddenly, and his heartbeat escalated, his legs becoming jelly.

His head snapped back as his whole body teetered over the edge of the platform he was standing on. A searing pain blazed across his neck for a second, causing him to grapple with it in shock. Changbin grabbed his arm at that point, preventing him from completely falling over backwards.

“You okay?” he whispered, careful not to draw too much attention to the pair, professional as always. Chan corrected himself and tried to control his breathing, forcibly inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. He pulled a face, his eyes wide, and waved his arms a little, “Thanks. Almost lost my balance there.”

Throughout the rest of the interview, he remained silent, thinking hard. What just happened? And why did it feel like… he had just been… hung?

It took him months to string two and two together, months of spontaneous moments of death, in which he remained alive. He’d be drowned countless times, be stabbed infinitely, shot in the head, electrocuted, run over by train… after train… after train, until he fully accepts that these were all connected.

As time wore on, he began to hear things too, inner monologues he supposed, of their voices. He figured if this condition, whatever it was, lasted long enough, he’d soon be able to see it too.

Stay. Just stay. Stay’s. It’s you. You’re not staying. He was burning in the middle of a fire. That much was obvious by the scorching pain on his skin, brutal enough that he just wished he couldn’t feel. He screamed into the couch pillows, knowing full well that the studio was soundproof, but paranoid all the same that any of his members would hear him.

‘Thank you Stray Kids, for everything.’

Stay. He couldn’t tell at this point whether the pain was his or from the person who was dying. Both, perhaps. All this time, the people who were dying, the people who were killing themselves, were Stay’s. Or maybe this time was a coincidence, maybe this person just happened to be a part of the fandom.

It wasn’t though.

More and more often, in the midst of some version of death, he heard thoughts, whispers:

“You got me this far Stray Kids.” “Skz you’re my everything.” “Keep fighting Stray Kids.”

“Chan, I love you.” “Thank you Chan.” “Life was good thanks to you, Chan.”

Fuck. This. Shit.

Stay.

His members were either dense, playing dumb or he was an incredible actor and the sneakiest being on all of planet earth. He had no idea how he had managed to hide this, for so long, and not hear a peep out of any of them.

Sure, he attributed his puffy eyes (from tears) to a lack of sleep, or too much time in front of a computer screen. Maybe his lack of sleep could be contributed to insomnia, not that he genuinely didn’t want to sleep with the fear that he might wake abruptly to a strangling death. Again.

More recently, in an attempt to be more cautious, when that panic settles in - a familiar feeling of fear, 'I can do this. I'm going to do it. I want to die. Do I want to die?' - he'd excuse himself to the bathroom.

“Chan hyung’s gone to the bathroom.” – posts Hyunjin.

Yeah. To die.

He yawns, stretching as he returns to the studio from a genuine bathroom break. He’s excited to return to his work; a sample he’d stumbled across waiting to be incorporated into a new song. After he shuts the door, he checks the time on his phone.

There’s an hour and a half until 12am– he needs to do Chan’s Room soon too, it’s Sunday. He was comforted by Chan’s Room, to see so many Stay’s on his lives, thankful to have them there, rather than at the top of a building, or sinking at the bottom of a river. He decides that the sample can wait – it’s saved anyway.

He flipped his black hood over the top of his cap, carefully adjusting it so it was presentable, and began to set up the live. He had a few songs in mind that he’d play for you all but was really hoping you’d contribute to the song suggestions too. He smiled, and he laughed, and he danced along to the songs, joyously reading your comments and responding with enthusiasm despite it getting later into the night.

Then the mood shifted when his eyes skimmed over a particular comment. He froze, and his bubble of security popped. He wasn’t sure if he had managed to blot you out, or if the fear had only crossed through after you had sent that message, but he was positive that the person who typed the question, was the person currently pressing a knife to his heart – a small, sharp prick on his chest.

Chan inhaled sharply and swivelled in his chair, “Yeah don’t… don’t hurt yourself, yeah?” The chat exploded with questions and comments, wondering why he was bringing it up and offering words of comfort. The sharp pain on his chest receded slightly, but the fear was still there, the emotional pain ever present. “Just because you have a lot of stress, it doesn’t mean that you have to relieve it by hurting yourself.”

There. Same user. New comment. ‘Your future isn’t worth living for’? Bullshit.

“If you think about the future… it’s best to just keep away from that and find different ways of relieving stress.” Self-consciously, he fiddles with his hoodie drawstrings and swivels in his chair again, desperate to hide the panic flicker across his features briefly. The knife was back.

“You never know what’s going to happen in the future. Something might go wrong, then there might be a turning point and then- from then on you feel really, really regretful,” he’s rambling at this point, thoughts unhinged, spluttering and mixing like mush in his brain. He just needs to get you to stay.

He takes a deep breath, and drills his eyes into the camera, pleading with what little he could offer, “If you really, really can’t help it or if you really just don’t know what to do or you’re really- really lost, as I’ve always said,” he smiles, eyes shimmering, “come here; look for me, ask me, talk with me.” He waits, praying, fiddling his thumbs below the desk.

And the agonising feeling fades, leaving him deflated, relieved.

“I’ll try my best to relieve your stress,” he concludes, then spreads his arms wide. He knows Stay didn’t ask for it, but he was offering one of his hugs more for himself than them.

His relief would be short-lived. He can’t save everyone.

I guess, it’s about time I introduce you. You, not as one of those who have given up. Not as one of those who have caused Chan’s suffering. I introduce you, as simply you. You, who carefully pulls your keys out of the café door. You, who draws down some of the shutters with a soft smile. You, as wonderful, loving, bubbly you.

You make your rounds around your haven, your café. It’s a combination of everything you could possibly imagine to be creative. It’s been your dream to create a safe hub for the public that incorporates a library, a café, study area, art studio, computer labs, rehearsal room and even a recording studio.

Pets were welcome, of all kinds, as long as they wouldn’t fight with each other, and you were open from 7.30am in the morning until 1am the following day.

If anyone fell asleep studying, working on music or reading, you’d leave them where they were and pull out the blankets you kept in storage. The policy for this was simply a bond of trust. Customers could stay working for the night as long as they didn’t mind watching you drift around in the morning in your bedhead and PJ’s, slowly beginning to set up for a new day.

You would always offer them a morning hot chocolate, coffee or tea, free of charge, but more often than not, they’d leave their money on the counter when you turned away, refusing to let you best them in a game of generosity.

Books could be borrowed, studios and study rooms booked, pets left in the backyard day/night day care. Equipment was supplied in all the rooms, instruments for loan, computers to log into, art tools for perusal. The rule for these? Don’t break them. If customers break them, they pay for them.

If something run’s out, let you know. You only offered the basic necessities anyways, so you restocked them yourself. Anything else customers bring for themselves. It was safe. It was cosy. It was yours. Yours to give. Admittedly, you still had to pay off the loan you took out to set up the place, and if time grew short you were considering shutting down the recording studio – it was the least used area.

You pushed the last few stray chairs in as you considered whether to make yourself a final cup of tea before settling down in your apartment upstairs. There were two people currently dozing in various locations of Café Studio, one of whom was a regular. A third customer was sipping the last dregs of his coffee, watching your humble movements out of the corner of his eye.

“Mind if I call it a night on one of your couches?” he asks, scraping back his chair to place his mug on the counter by the coffee machine. That’s James. James fucking Jamison. Always here for whatever reason, never not here, where you wanted him to be. You withhold a sigh and the temptation to pinch the bridge of your nose, “Yeah, go for it. You know the drill.”

You welcome all customers, all are valuable guests. Except for him. He just won’t take a hint.

He saunters idly over to you, hands in his pockets, and clears his throat, “So… are you sure you won’t be free any time this week?” You can feel his eyes drilling into your back and scrunch your nose distastefully, pulling out your phone as if to check something, “I can’t, I run this place.”

He’s still staring at you, so you whisk your earphones out from a pocket in your apron and plug them into your ears. It doesn’t take you long to press shuffle on your playlist, and immediately your current favourite song begins to play, as if it knows exactly what would help you through this situation, or maybe they knew.

“What if you just shut the place down for the day?” he asks with an awkward laugh, running his hand through his hair dramatically. So cool. You roll your eyes and turn around to face him, internally dancing to the song in your ears. You give him a once over, genuinely considering him, “I can’t shut down my only source of income for a day.” “Even for-”

“Especially not for you.” The two of you stare at each other and you can sense that somewhere in those blue eyes of his, you’ve angered him. He’s not pleased, and he never has been with your constant rejections, but so far he hasn’t tried anything. He would be stupid to do so, with surveillance cameras set up everywhere and two customers sleeping not far away.

Go kill yourself.

You wince as sharp pain crackles across your forehead, “Sorry what?” James blinks at you quizzically, his sizzling demeanour vanishing at your confusing outburst. “I didn’t say anything.”

Go. Kill yourself.

You hiss, hand clutching your forehead, and stumble into the nearest table. James is onto you in a second (“Woah there”) trying to support you, when the table was doing just fine. “Back off,” you snap, pushing him away, which causes you to stumble back into the window, the last one without its shutter pulled down, “and shut up.” Again, he blinks at you, ever the stupid dolt he is.

‘Heh… funny.’ Why’d I say that?

Desperately, you swivel and press your forehead to the cool of the glass window, groaning in agony. The music playing in your earphones becomes too much, so you tug them out of your ears, your phone lighting up on the paused song of “Silent Cry”, by Stray Kids.

I wonder if it’ll still be funny after- if I-

You crack your eyes open and peer outside, dimly trying to discern whether this was a voice in your head, or a voice in real life. It spoke with a pained clarity, exhaustion numbing what could have been a voice of laughter and passion. How you knew this, you had no idea.

“Hey, are you good? Are you on your period or something?” James piped up helpfully, and if you weren’t so heavily concentrated on scanning your surroundings outside you might have kicked him out of your store right then and there.

Then you spotted someone. A lone figure, shrouded in the hazy glow of a streetlight, leaning over the bridge railing. Café Studio was located on the banks of the local river, wide enough for boats to barge through, deep enough to be terrified of the unknown creatures writhing within.

You watched, the incessant pounding in your head diminishing the longer you stared at the figure. If he wasn’t standing in the middle of the light, you wouldn’t have spotted him in his completely black outfit. Someone certainly wasn’t one for colour. He leaned further over the railing, clutching his beanie to his head as though afraid it would fall off in the wind.

In seconds, you had ripped your phone and headphones from your apron, leaving it on one of the tables, and fumbled with the key to unlock the café door. It was chilly out, but you ignored the goosebumps speckling your skin, and James’ confused fucking shouts – like would the guy stitch his mouth shut please.

That was him. The idiot leaning too far over the railing was the one whispering nonsense in your brain. How you came to this conclusion was to anyone’s guess, but it was him. In the seconds it had taken you to sprint over to him, he had clambered on top of the railing, balancing precariously, his hands in his hoodie pockets, gazing into the depths of the water.

Maybe in another life, if you weren’t out of breath trying to stop him from ending it all, you might have been enamoured by his features. As you drew closer, you could make out the defined cut of his jaw, his wide shoulders, plush lips tinged with pink from the cold, dark eyes alluringly intimidating. This wasn’t that life though, and you paid no attention to any of it really.

A dawning realisation settled on your features however, after a brief assessment of his face caused you to realise that you knew him, perhaps not personally, but still knew him. “Bang Chan?” you whisper, the name falling from your lips in a panicked whisper, “Chan no…” your legs work harder, and you pray almost deliriously that he doesn’t do it. Don’t do it. He can’t.

“Bang Chan!” you yell, losing all sense of discipline as he sways gently, contemplating, “Chan!!” he doesn’t appear to hear you, absorbed in his own mind. You’re there, you’re right there, and this time, when you call desperately, “Christopher!” his eyes snap up to meet yours.

It’s this particular moment, that will be ingrained in your mind in the following years. The way his eyes spark in shock at the sight of you, then relax, as though he understands, and has complete control over everything in his life.

Without hesitating, you snatch at his clothes and tug him backwards. His heavy body crashes into yours, but you don’t care. You wrap your arms safely around his waist as you tumble to the paved path in a heaped mess of clothes and limbs.

He wriggles around in your grasp, trying to position himself more comfortably, and eventually wind up staring each other dead in the face, blinking through your lashes up at him, his palms on either side of your head.

An uncomfortable silence settles between you, fizzing in the limited space between your faces. Then without warning, you roughly shove your hand behind his head and pull him down into a hug, tears beginning to stain your cheeks.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” you croak, needlessly shoving your hand underneath his beanie so you can tangle it into his curled hair, “What the actual fuck, were you doing?!” you cling to him tighter, and your breath escapes in garbled gasps that quieten to silence when you feel the trickle of wet tears on your neck.

Gently, you remove your hand from his head and relax your body, allowing him to remove himself from you if he so wished. He burrows his face further however, his arms collapsing onto his elbows, and suddenly you can hear him sobbing.

The tears on your neck weren’t your own. He sounds so broken, crying his heart out as though he were a lost little child who dropped his ice cream. The raw emotion and lack of restraint in his sobbing scrapes at the threads of your heart, and again, you’re crying. Crying with him, for him – understanding everything, and nothing at the same time.

Eventually, you wipe the tears from your face, trying to figure out what to do next. You need to comfort him, talk to him, remind him that he’s worth this world, and the world doesn’t deserve him because by god- if anyone knew even a scrap of what this man meant- he’s laughing. Why is he laughing?

His warm breath tickles your neck as he chuckles, his sobs magically morphed into an amused laughter, which is the most concerning thing by far. Chan pulls away from you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs and hastily dries the tears on his face.

“Sorry. I am so sorry you had to see that,” he grins, and you frown at him. “Sorry I had to see what? You almost jump off a fucking bridge, or your tears? It better not be the latter Christopher, or I’ll gladly rewind time and push you over myself.” Almost immediately, you regret the words tumbling out of your mouth when his face crumbles again, “Would you really?” he whispers, sitting up beside you.

“No. No I was kidding. I was just- you’re allowed to cry, Chan,” you sit up too, and then it’s just the both of you, sitting alone, a strange pair, by the railing of a bridge. “So you know who I am then?” he dutifully asks, gingerly fixing his beanie and offering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you take note of the way his posture deflates, and add quickly, “But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters is that you tried to…” your words die in your throat at the reproachful glint in his eyes, shimmering eerily in the lamplight. Instead, you stand up and offer him a hand. He cautiously accepts it, allowing you to help him stand with you. “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you,” you smile, giving his hand a shake. He stares at you, bemused, and shakes your hand back. “Christopher Bahng. And… thanks.” You’re not sure if he’s thanking you for stopping his plummet to death, or for helping him sit up, or for letting him cry… he could be thanking you for a lot of things, so instead, you do the next best option.

“Want to head over to my café? I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” you offer, flicking your head to the still lit building, where fucking James is standing outside, ogling you from afar, his hands on his hips. “Sure… only… I assumed you’d know I don’t drink coffee,” he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets again, and as your eyes slide from James and then back to the man in front of you, you suddenly struggle to process everything that’s just happened.

“Why would I? We just met,” you flash him a coy smile and lead the way. You stroll into the café, holding the door open for Chris so he can step through, his hands still in his pockets. James makes to follow, but you slam the door shut in his face and lock the door swiftly.

“Uh…” Chris begins, his eyes wide, asking for an explanation. “No questions. He won’t leave me alone, and that’s that,” you grin brightly, then rush to disappear behind the café bar and begin to prepare him a drink. He seats himself on a stool and tries to watch as you work. You grow uncomfortable in the silence, especially with him watching you so closely, so you instinctively begin to ramble.

“This is Café Studio. You might have noticed by the sign out front.” He nods, indicating he’s paying attention. “I run this place entirely myself, and I live above…” You tell him everything you can think of, from the studios attached to the café, to your favourite pets that frequently get dropped off for day care or overnight stays. His eyes light up when you mention the recording studio, and you have a feeling he’ll go back to the topic after.

In no time, you have two hazelnut croissants prepared, a steaming mug of white hot chocolate for yourself, and a mug of caramel hot chocolate with a dusting of cinnamon for him (you refuse to tell him what’s in his drink, which makes him pout sadly because he loves it). You lapse into silence as you eat and drink, and you know you need to breach the topic again, somehow, you can’t just leave it unattended.

“Can I ask…” you begin, but he interrupts you smoothly. “I just wanted to see what it would look like.”

Chan knew he could never tell you that he’d experienced death a hundred times over in the past months. You’d think him insane.

You knew you could never tell him you heard his voice, loud and clear in your head. He’d think you delusional.

“About that… recording studio… does anyone use it?” he inquisitively asks, and you shake your head sadly in response, wiping croissant crumbs off your face. “Not really… I’m considering selling it. I need to repay the loan I took out, and if the recording room is just dead weight then I don’t see why-” “Don’t. It won’t be dead weight,” he hurries, and is about to say more before he reconsiders, “Mind if I check it out?”

Of course you don’t.

Chris returns to his hotel later that morning. It’s 4am by the time you crawl into bed, recounting the events of the day in a sluggish fashion. Only 2 and a half hours ago you had pulled him away from certain death.

A shiver disturbs your spine as you replay the memory, and you curl tighter into your blankets. What if you hadn’t? His inner monologue certainly didn’t sound like he simply just “wanted to see what it looked like.”

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself through the rest of the morning, living off a few hours’ sleep at most. Thankfully, there aren’t many customers to begin with, giving you a chance to get organised a little later than usual. Chris had left with a small smile and a wave, and you watched him disappear down the street, a part of you worried he’d decide to try the bridge again.

He returns in the afternoon with the same small smile and wave, shocking you to the core. He’s got a cap pulled low over his eyes, hood pulled neatly up, and a black mask obscuring most of his face.

The only reason you recognise him this time is because of those actions, and the particular way his eyes crinkle, disappearing when he genuinely smiles. Quietly, he asks for the same drink you made him earlier that morning and asks to borrow the recording studio – “change of scenery,” he explains casually.

As the days go by, he visits as often as he can, always with those same twinkling eyes, and always still carefully covered up. You have no idea how he’s managed to convince his company to continuously let him out in public without staff, nor how long he’s staying here for.

He must be on vacation or something because this was certainly not Korea. You frequently check up on him too, never hesitating to ask whether he needs any support. He shakes his head every time and stares at you unblinkingly, trying to convey a message through only his eyes.

You’re already helping him. This haven, your haven, is helping him already. You don’t know this of course. Nor do you know that his odd connection to suicidal Stay’s has ceased. He hasn’t felt them in ages, and in a twisted way, he’s relieved – hasn’t felt this light in a while.

“Mind if I book the whole café out for a day?” he mumbles to you from your side, his hands nimbly working with the coffee machine to produce an order for a customer. One day he had asked if you could teach him a few things on the machine. Before long he knew how to make every drink, and happily watched underneath his mask as customers sipped his creations.

Every drink that is, except for the special one you made for him – it was actually your Mum’s recipe. You refused to teach him, but he could easily figure out the ingredients and method to make it for himself by now, if he really wanted to, which perplexed you every time he asked you to teach him.

Truthfully, he didn’t really want to know. He just liked seeing the tiny crease on your forehead and adorable smile whenever you refused. And now… he had even more reason to come back. For the hot chocolate. Definitely.

“The whole-? Library and everything?” you inquire, as you refill the jar of chai powder. “Mhm,” he hums, nodding to a regular as they float by, “Staff want us to film a Skz-Code Episode while we’re here, and they left it up to us to decide where.” “Oh. Sure. What do you need, for me to close up for the day?”

“I want you to stay though. Don’t disappear upstairs to your apartment… please. Can you stay and… watch?” he innocently asks, and you stare at him in surprise, clipping the jar in your hands shut with a snap, “Am I allowed to?”

It turns out that would be their last day. They returned to Korea on the following. In hindsight, you wish you had hugged Chris tighter when he tackled you with one before they left after filming, raising the eyes of several staff members and causing the Skz Members to chuckle with one another.

Chris was hugging you because he would miss you, and he was afraid that if he left, the traumatic episodes would return.

You were hugging him because you were full to the brim with Stray Kids’ warmth and happiness, but also because an unfamiliar safety nestled into your stomach as he hugged you, burying his face into your neck – the same place he had where he first met you.

“See ya soon, mate!” Felix called, carrying a box of your brownies. He had given you his recipe, and you eagerly followed its instructions while you watched them record their episode, smiling contentedly at their tinkering laughter, “These taste better than mine!”

“No one can beat Felix’s brownies,” Hyunjin muttered through a smile, but he’s happily munching on one of yours all the same. Jisung also has his mouth stuffed, his chubby cheeks wobbling as he nods his head. Seungmin offered you a polite handshake, and Jeongin an energetic round of high fives.

Somewhere in the distance, Changbin calls out your name, and performs a half heart above his head. You complete it, sticking your tongue out playfully. Not surprisingly, you and Chris have to duck back inside the café to hunt down Minho, who’s been playing with the cats left in your care for the day.

You didn’t find out that Stray Kids were leaving until that night when you spotted a live of them on your YouTube at the airport, and your heart plummeted with a sadness you couldn’t explain.

What… a strange… dream.

Everything become’s more surreal when you discover an envelope by the coffee machine the next morning, tucked neatly under the corner where Chris would usually stand to make his coffee’s. You pull it out carefully; there’s no name penned on the front. Curiously you pull out two sheets of paper. The first you open is in Chris’ handwriting (he had been leaving random notes and scribbling his signature wherever he could during his visits, so you were relatively familiar with it now),

A B C D E F G I wanna send my code to you Eight letters is all it takes And I’m gonna let you know

Lyrics. You flip over the paper and stare in a daze at the phone number scribbled there. Further down the page, there’s more lyrics, but from a different song.

Together, I feel time has flown so fast In my time, memories are crowded I didn’t know the sky was so clear like this until I met you I thought the sun was only scorching Thank you for coming to me And becoming the same shadow as mine before approaching the light

“Chris you cheesy ass,” you laugh, heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest.

You can STAY.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you almost forget about the second piece of paper. It’s a receipt. And on the bottom, are more words written in his handwriting.

The loan for Café Studio has been paid off, and the rent on your apartment. It’s all yours now. You can thank me when I come back.

Your eyes widen, and a small gasp leaves your lips. You fumble for your phone and add his number to your contacts. Then sparing no second, type out a message.

(A/N: When dialogue is in script format, it's meant to represent text messages)

You: “No you did not”

In the few seconds that you stare at your message, that you sent to Chris, disbelief written across your features, your phone buzzes with a response.

Chris: “Oh but I did”

You laugh, the sound gradually increasing as you throw your head back, giddy, a delicate pink tinge warming your cheeks.

“Something good happen?” James interrupts, rapping his knuckles on the counter to get your attention, “No side barista with you today? Who was he anyways, and what was with that mask?” “He’s… a good friend. Care for some tea?” “But I don’t like-” “Perfect.”

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe that time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

Chris: “Are you awake?” You: “I am now” Chris: “Sorry go back to sleep” You: “I was kidding Christopher” You: “Of course I’m awake” Chris: “That’s not a good thing” You: “Look who’s talking” You: “Are you all good? Can’t sleep?” Chris: “Just felt like a chat”

They only visited him in nightmares, he discovered, which was still an improvement from before.

You: “Sure” You: “Care to explain your latest Insta post?” Chris: “No haha” You: “You burnt Stayville to the ground” You: “I think that deserves an explanation”

Chris smiles and flops back into his pillow. It certainly was an improvement from before. His mind was working over the possibilities, the many different choices he could make from here on out. Did you have something to do with this condition? Were you the solution to it all? What was it about you, exactly, that drew him to you?

You can thank me when I come back, he had written.

He thinks… he’ll be back for sure.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> PART 2 -> Masterlist

Yay! Milestone Event 1, Check!

Feedback is always appreciated, negative and positive alike. I apologise for any editing or formatting errors, I’m forever learning.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

#bang chan #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan angst #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x you #bang chan fic #suicide #feminine reader #cringecheeseycornycrap #swearing #wth idk what other tags to include #just don't read if you can't handle dark themes and SEVERE angst and strong descriptions of suicide :D #bang chan imagines #skz #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader

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liquorishblack · 4 months ago

Text

What JJK men smell like, which fragrances they wear and which fragrances they like on you (part 1)

Character: Satoru Gojo (listen, I had planned to cover at least 3 characters in one post but then I startet rambling about my favourite sorcerer and this happened)

Word count: 1.200 (more characters will follow in separate posts)

CW: none, maybe slightly suggestive here and there…

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so please forgive me any mistakes.

So, I’m a huuuge perfume junky and I have the biggest jjk brainrot atm so it was only a matter of time until the question what the jjk characters may smell like and which fragrances they could possibly wear crosses my mind. I wrapped my head around it and this is what I came up with:

What Satoru Gojo smells like / which fragrances he would wear:

This one was easy and I have no doubt that I have found the perfect fragrance for our beloved strongest sorcerer. I can't imagine him wearing a particularly intrusive or heavy fragrance, rather something that gently surrounds him, like the limitless surrounding his body. His scent is perceptible but not clearly recognizable as a perfume. When you stand next to him, it seems as if he simply smells incredibly good, clean and well-groomed by nature and the scent seems to cast a magical spell over you that makes you want to get closer to him. It’s an attractive and enveloping scent without trying too hard and by no means overwhelming. A scent such as…

…Apollonia by Xerjoff:

This fragrance is part of the shooting stars collection and represents the universe. So, if you’ve ever wondered what it smells like in space, this might be it!

Apollonia is a powdery, musky scent with a woody base. It’s fresh, slightly sweet and creamy. The ingredients are white florals, iris butter and white musk. Sounds minimalistic at first but this fragrance will get you a lot of compliments. A pure nothingness that allures your nose and makes you want more. But due to the woody-musky basenote there is even something mysterious and slightly dark to it which has a tempting and seductive effect on everyone who perceives it.

On another note: I find the whole Universe and shooting star theme highly suitable for Gojo since all his ct’s are based on astrophysics. Also, Xerjoff is a very established luxury brand and the prices for such a little scented water are quite something, I can tell you that! But, that’s obviously no problem for Gojo cause he is loaded and doesn’t seem to mind spending absurd amounts of money on clothes and stuff.

But enough about that because there is another one that would suit Gojo quite well. For some reason Apollonia strikes me as a very serious fragrance - perhaps even a little melancholic, which is somewhat fitting (I think we all agree that Gojo has some dark spots on his soul, which he skillfully hides under his bubbly and cocky demeanor) but I don’t see him wearing Apollonia in his everyday life. Perhaps this fragrance would be it for special occasions, like the 24th of december or on date night. I can see his younger self wearing this fragrance regularly but for his daily business as an adult he could do with something more uplifting, I think. A fragrance like…

…Dancing Light by Olfactive Studio:

Inspired by the aurora borealis or northern lights, this fragrance has something magical about it. Just like Apollonia, it develops an alluring aura that surrounds the wearer as it progresses. I call these kind of fragrances “your skin but better scents” since they’re not trying too hard and are quite hard to grasp but this circumstance makes them all the more mysterious and attracting. The scent starts off very green but develops into a fresh, creamy scent with floral accords and some spicy sweetness. Compared to Apollonia, Dancing Light is fresher, more sparkling and perhaps even a little fruity here and there, but less woody. In my opinion the perfect match for a dynamic young man who likes to have fun, exudes a lot of energy and who doesn’t take life too seriously. While Apollonia can be perceived as somewhat melancholic, Dancing Light is more of a fragrance that exudes a good invigorating mood due to it’s fresh green notes.

The ingredients are fig milk, mint, pineapple, pine needles, flowers like freesia, neroli and jasmine. The base is composed of sandalwood, vetiver, musk and amber.

I can definitely see Gojo wearing this fragrance at Jujutsu Metropolitan Curse Technical College, while teaching or out in the field, exorcising cursed spirits, because it lifts his mood and gives him a refreshing, invigorating feeling, even if he's been on his feet for hours. But in more serious or intimate situations where he wants to present himself not (just) as the strongest sorcerer but (also) as Satoru Gojo, he might opt for Apollonia since it represents the depth of his soul so very well (which is not for everyone’s eyes)… additioning to that, Apollonia would make it probably easier for him to seduce you. Not that he needs this help, but he wants to make sure that his scent lingers with you throughout the next day, so that you don’t forget about him or the memories of the shared last night. As if you could…

For a cozy night in or on a casual day out I can imagine him wearing something like…

…Musk Therapy by Initio:

I don‘t know why but somehow I find this fragrance matches his wardrobe very well… like the casual clothes we see him in on the official artworks at times. As the name already suggests it‘s a very comforting scent. It‘s clean, pure and somewhat cozy and soothing. The scent itself is creamy, fresh, slightly fruity and sweet with light floral undertones. The most dominant note is (as the name suggests) musk, accompanied by bergamot, mandarin, currant, magnolia and sandalwood. A scent that will make you want to crawl into his hoodie while you two are snuggled up on the couch on a cozy Sunday afternoon.

Which fragrances he would like on you…

As everyone and his grandpa knows, Satoru Gojo has a freakin’ sweet tooth, so I think he would definitely fancy gourmand scents on you. They’re not only feminine and sweet but also incredibly sensual, addictive and sexy.

An example of such a scent would be Velvet Tonka by BDK:

As the name suggests, it’s silky, creamy and therefore not too sweet for a gourmand fragrance - quite the opposite; Velvet Tonka is not a sticky sugar candy but rather outrageously elegant. It hugs the body like a silk scarf on bare skin - insanely sensual and sexy. But it doesn't lack a certain warmth that makes it feminine, innocent and cuddly. You definitely need to be careful with this fragrance because it’s definitely addictive and you could run the risk of Gojo burying his nose in the crook of your neck all day long and once you're undisturbed, he won't be able to keep his hands off you.

Another option would be…

Escapade Gourmande by Maison Mataha:

This one is basically creme brûlée out of a bottle - like for real real. That’s exactly what this fragrance smells like. There is caramelized sugar in the top note, vanilla and tonka bean in the middle note and benzoin and musk in the base. Also a creamy gourmand, but it still has a smoky spice, which makes it something really special. His beloved kikufuku mochis will be long forgotten, I can tell you that!

If you want something really sexy that taps into Gojo's darker parts (you know, the ones that come out when he gets drunk on his own strength or while he’s pulling weeds), maybe for a special date night I would recommend….

Bois Doré by Van Cleef and Arpel’s:

Less innocent, more badass and mysterious. A smoky, woody, not so sweet vanilla but damn sexy. He will go feral!

Thank you so much for reading this far. Likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated.🫶🏻

Yours truly,

Ava 🖤

#jjk #jjk headcanons #gojo satoru #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk satoru #gojo jjk

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years ago

Text

Team Prime, Part Three

CW: Angst, but lighter than previous parts; talk of recovery from serious injuries

Word Count: 4330

Other pieces: This is part of a mini-series.

Bob returns to Lemoore a single man.

There’s fallout to the cancelled wedding, but not as much as he would have thought. Jessica’s dad puts on a blustering performance, threatens Bob, but it rings hollow. It’s all for show.

It was a mutual decision between Bob and Jessica. In the end, after their long talk in the parking lot of the bakery, there was no big reason. No cheating, nothing nefarious. They were just two people who met very young and who grew up and apart in the intervening years.

-----

The next few months, Bob does nothing but work. He isn’t mourning his failed engagement, not precisely, but he does feel unmoored by it. He met Jessica in the eighth grade and decided early on that she’d be his wife one day. Every decision since then has been with a lens to that future life: married to her, possibly kids. His future, for the first time, unfolds before him without any firm plans. Everything feels hazy, unfocused. Limitless.

Without the goal of marrying Jessica in mind, Bob has nothing to focus on but work.

Work, and the regular updates that Eric gives him about you.

*****

If one is going to get annihilated in a head-on collision, it’s preferable that the other driver be a very, very wealthy man. That way, when your life is irrevocably changed, you can take said wealthy man to civil court for an obscene amount of money.

Your medical bills are handled. You have enough money in trust to take care of you for the rest of your life. Once you graduate from the studio apartment where you relearned how to live, you find an apartment in San Diego, near Hannah and Eric.

Your recovery has been miraculous, according to your doctors, but it’s hard for you to not focus on what you’ve lost. What remains lost. What may be lost forever.

Your balance is dicey now. You spend a weekend staring at your collection of cute shoes—stilettos and sling-backs and platforms, kitten heels and fuck-me pumps. The designer pairs, you sell them. The rest you donate. You replace them with sturdy sneakers, the kind elderly women wear, and you pretend you don’t care how stupid you look wearing them.

Your fine motor skills are shaky too. You struggle with small buttons, zippers. Your handwriting used to be smooth, but now it’s jagged printing. You used to do a trademark cat’s eye with liquid eyeliner every day, but now you can barely manage even brushing powder across your face.

Your speech is better. If you remember to take a breath and relax, you almost sound like yourself. But when you get frustrated—which is often—or when you’re tired or otherwise upset, you start to stutter.

Your memory, especially your short-term memory, is precarious. You learn coping mechanisms. You learn to use association and vivid imagery to remember new things. You keep a Moleskine notebook tucked in your pocket, and soon it is filled with questions and things to remember.

The biggest difference, though, is your moods. Before, you never struggled with depression or anxiety. You felt sad, sure. You had acute stress from work. But you have bleak lows now that you’ve never experienced before.

You often fall into black moods now. All of the things you wanted for your life—a partner, maybe kids—seem impossible. Dating in California before was a tedious nightmare. Now? Now that you have thick scars running across your scalp, just under your hair? Now that you have similar scars all over your body from where the doctors flayed you alive to put you back together?

Now that you can barely handle makeup, that your clothing is all soft and loose with minimal buttons and zippers? That your feet are encased in thick-soled old woman shoes to help keep you from teetering over?

It seems impossible. No one will want you.

You have anxiety now too, great spikes of fear that can push you into panic attacks if you aren’t vigilant. Crowds make you nervous. You know deep down that no one is noticing you, but you feel eyes crawling over you, taking in your scars, taking in the unsteady way you walk sometimes.

It’s anxiety that prickles when Hannah tells you that she and Eric are planning a little get-together. She’s come over for dinner, and even if it’s just store-bought pasta with store-bought marinara, it’s another achievement for you to cook on your own.

“It’s not an engagement party,” she clarifies as she blows over her bite of pasta before eating it. She chews, swallows, then casually adds, “we just thought we have a lot to celebrate and should have a party.”

“That sounds fun,” you reply.

She glances at you. “We thought we might celebrate you.”

The anxiety flares up instantly. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think—”

“You’re a medical miracle,” she cuts in. “Don’t you think the people who love you want to celebrate that you’re still here with us?”

You snort bitterly and shake your head. “I’m not the person you knew before.”

“Bullshit. You are.”

You shake your head again, and you feel the tears of frustration start to rise. Hannah always does this; she always steamrolls you, waves off your concerns. She doesn’t understand how different you are now—or if she does, she refuses to admit it to you.

“I can’t work anymore. I can’t date. It takes me so long to read a book now. I get headaches—”

“You’ll find work that suits you,” she interrupts again. “Once you’re ready. And you can date. And who cares how long it takes to read a book? Do you know how many people don’t even read one book a year? Jesus, stop with the pity party already—”

“It’s not a pity party—”

“The hell it isn’t!” She sits back and crosses her arms. “It’ll be a small gathering, okay? Family and close friends only.”

“I don’t like being the center of attention.” You run the tip of your tongue along the inside of your teeth, a tic you picked up when you search your memories. “I don’t even think I liked it before the crash.”

“You won’t be, I promise. It’ll just be a cozy little gathering. Eric got a new grill, so you already know dad and the rest of the guys will be circled up around that.”

You smile in spite of your roiling unease, in spite of your lingering frustration that no one in your life will admit out loud that you’ve been diminished, that your spark has faded. “Okay,” you tell her. “I guess that sounds okay.”

*****

Eric’s the one who calls him to invite him to their party, but Hannah is the one who plucks the phone from her fiancé’s hand to chirp in Bob’s ear.

“Hey, Bob,” she says with little preamble, then launches into a litany that she must be giving all of the guests. About you.

“Look, she’s got scars, obviously. And she talks a little slower now, and sometimes she stutters. She’s super self-conscious about all of it, and I promised her that everyone would be chill. So don’t stare or talk too much about the accident.”

“I would never make her feel bad,” he replies, a little defensive.

“I know. But I mean she’s hyper self-conscious, so just treat her like she’s a boring, regular person, okay?”

“Okay. Got it.” He bites his tongue, doesn’t add that you’ve never been boring or regular to him, and he doubts you are now too.

She thanks him, tells him that they’re looking forward to seeing him. Then she hands the phone back to Eric, and the conversation shifts from you to Eric’s new grill, which he describes in such loving detail that Bob has to laugh.

-----

Bob still has buddies in Miramar from when he graduated from Top Gun, so he flies in a day early and stays with them.

He finds himself nearly sick to his stomach as he gets ready for the party. His hands, usually so steady, tremble as he shaves. He fusses with his hair, redoes the part at least three times, then grimaces at his reflection. He looks like a complete nerd, but when he musses his hair, he just looks like a nerd who’s trying too hard.

He knows why he’s so nervous. He’s been broken up from Jessica long enough that he can admit it now. He can admit that he had a crush on you; that he’d grown excessively fond of your sweet nature, your sense of humor.

And then you nearly died. You are, according to Hannah, self-conscience about the changes in your life. He’s supposed to just treat you like a regular person, but you’ve never been just a regular person to him, even when he was engaged and shouldn’t have had any feelings for you.

Now he’s about to see you again. He’s single, and his future stretches out in front of him full of possibilities. He wonders if there’s even a chance you might be a part of it—boring, regular you.

-----

There’s no lead-up to seeing you again: when Bob walks up to Hannah and Eric’s house, he can hear the muffled din of laughter and music in the backyard…but you’re sitting outside on the steps of the front porch by yourself.

The sight of you pulls him up short, and he’s granted a long moment before you notice him. He can look his fill. It’s late afternoon, golden hour, and the sunlight gilds your features. Your eyes are shut, and your face is turned to the light like the face of a flower.

He barely notices the thick scar that goes down the line of your neck. He does notice your short hair, but only because it changes the shape of your face. It makes your cheekbones stand out more, makes the fragile shape of your skull more obvious.

That’s what makes his breath catch in his throat, seeing you sitting there, looking so alive. It slams him back in those terrible days right after the accident, sitting in the hospital with Eric and grimly waiting for the news that you died.

You’re here. You’re alive.

You don’t see him at first, so Bob has a moment of grace to swipe at his eyes under his glasses. To pull himself together.

Then you open your eyes and turn your head. You see him, and you gift him a smile that is tentative. Guarded.

He realizes it a beat later: you don’t recognize him.

“Hello,” you say, and you sound the same—only more formal, like you’re enunciating each syllable purposefully. “Everyone is in the back yard.”

Bob nods, walks up the sidewalk to you. He swallows hard. Treat her like a boring, regular person, he reminds himself.

“Hiding out here?” he asks.

You lift your shoulders in a shrug. “I needed a break from everyone.”

“Want some company?”

You shake your head, but the smile stays fixed on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he cuts in. “But I kinda hate that moment in a party when you walk in and everyone else is already there, so they all turn and look at you at once. When all the eyes are on you and you’re suddenly worried that your zipper is down or you have something on your face….” He trails off when you giggle—an honest-to-god giggle—and he smiles down at you.

You pat the space beside you and Bob sits.

“I know you, don’t I?” you ask after a beat. “From before, I mean.”

“You do.”

“Don’t tell me. Let me remember on my own.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you sit quietly, taking in the sounds of the party happening behind you. Taking in the sinking sun, the wind rustling through the hummingbird sage. Bob’s heart hammers in his chest, and it feels so loud that you must hear it, he thinks. You must hear how nervous he is, how tense—

“You’re B-Bob?” you ask, and when you stammer his name, he notices how you duck your head, bite your lip and furrow your brow as if you’re angry at yourself. But he doesn’t address it because you do remember him. He still exists in your memories.

“I am. You remembered.”

You lift your head and look at him, your expression sad. “It takes me a while now.”

“Maybe I’m not very memorable,” he offers gently.

“No, you are.” You say it matter-of-factly, without an ounce of guile or flirting. “I didn’t remember your name right away, but I knew that I knew you from before.”

“How so?” he asks, but you don’t answer him—you only smile softly, then turn your face back towards the sun.

-----

Hannah is the one that finds the two of you. She gives Bob a look that he can’t quite place—cool, thoughtful—but then she claps her hands briskly and leads both you and him into the backyard.

It’s just a small party, as promised. Bob recognizes the other people since most are in the wedding party. He finds Eric with the other men, clustered around the massive grill, and he falls into their conversation.

For most of the party, he doesn’t get to speak to you. He tries to keep you in his eye line; he watches as you stand along the perimeter, seemingly reluctant to join any conversations. Hannah draws you in, keeps an arm around your waist to keep you from fleeing.

Bob knows the accident has changed you, but he can’t quite see anything beyond the short hair, the handful of visible scars. You’re in a cute dress that hits just below the knees, white sneakers. You have a little notebook that you keep pulling out on the sly, taking notes, and he wonders if it’s a memory aid.

It’s your behavior that is different. Before, you were assured. You walked through the world like you belonged there, but now you seem uncertain. Your smile seems tentative, like you’re expecting the frivolity and joking to turn on you at any moment.

Halfway through the evening, Hannah comes over to where Bob and Eric are talking.

“Sorry to interrupt, boys,” she says. To Eric, she adds, “she’s getting tired, so I’m gonna step out and take her home, okay?”

Eric nods, but the offer is out of Bob’s mouth before he can stop it.

“I can take her home,” he blurts out.

“Oh, no, that’s fine—”

“You’re the hostess,” he interjects. “You should stay for your own party.”

She gives him that same inscrutable look, and her eyes dart over to Eric for a split-second. Bob makes a note to ask his friend about it later.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

Bob nods. “If she’s okay with me driving her, I’m happy to help.”

-----

The car ride starts silent, but when the two of you hit San Diego traffic and crawl to a standstill, you start to talk.

“My sister said you were engaged,” you say. “I’m sorry to hear that it ended.”

He’s touched, and he glances over at where you sit with your hands folded in your lap. “We just grew apart.”

“Because of the military?”

“Not everyone can stick out the long-distance thing.”

You nod. “My high school boyfriend and I broke up because of the distance once we went to college.”

Bob perks up; he’s never heard you speak of an ex or anyone you’ve dated. “Yeah?”

“Well, it was the distance and the fact that he kept falling dick-first into other girls.”

It startles a laugh out of him, and he feels his cheeks pinking at the casual way you say the word dick. You chuckle with him, then add, “of all the memories I lost, that asshole still lives in my head.”

He knows that Hannah admonished him to not talk about your altered state or the accident, but it feels like the natural flow of conversation. So he asks about your memories, your amnesia. What you still have and what you’ve forgotten. You explain how the long-term stuff stays rooted, and how you remember the months before the accident hazily. And how Vegas is a blank except for flashes and impressions.

“What sort of flashes?” he asks.

You hum, press your head against the back of the seat and stare up at the ceiling of his rental car. “None of it makes sense.” You don’t add anything else, and he doesn’t press you.

There’s another moment of quiet as the traffic creeps forward, and then you turn to look at him. “Hannah said you were at the hospital. Were we…friends?”

“We were.” The words come out rough, a croak of sudden emotion. “I helped you with some of the wedding planning.”

“Oof. Sorry about that. I remember the giant three-ringed binder. Another thing I’d like to forget.”

“It wasn’t bad at all. Not for me. We made a good team.”

The words set something loose in your head—you sit up, startle a little. “Team P-prime.”

Bob grins. “That’s right. The best of the best.” He holds out his hand for you to slap it, to give him five as the two of you used to do when Team Prime was mentioned…but you misunderstand the gesture and reach out, hold his hand instead.

He squeezes your hand and waits for you to let him go first, but you don’t, so the two of you stay like that for the rest of the drive to your place.

-----

Maybe it’s the feeling of your hand in his, but Bob’s emotions roil and churn as he parks outside of your building. He kills the ignition and lets go of your hand reluctantly.

“Can I walk you to your door?” he asks.

You smile, but there’s an edge to your voice. “I can walk myself.”

“I was raised to be a gentleman,” he replies. “My mama would slap me upside the head if I just dumped a lady off at the curb.”

You laugh. “Oh, I’m a lady then?”

Bob laughs too, climbs out of the car, comes around to your side to get your door. “You’re a menace is what you are, but I’ll still walk you to your door.”

He knows you’ve been changed, but this feels so much like before. The two of you gently teasing each other, that easy camaraderie that blossomed like desert flowers after a rain. You thread your arm through his when he offers it, and that close, Bob can smell you. You even smell the same; you have the same lightly smoky, woodsy scent.

At your door, you take out your keys and fumble them in the lock, but Bob doesn’t step in to help you. He lets you get it yourself. Hannah wants him to treat you like you’re just boring old you, yet…

“It was good to see you again,” he says as you stand in your doorway. The way you gaze back at him gives him courage to say more, so he adds, haltingly, “I’m glad….I mean, you…you have no idea how good it is to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Are you going to cry?”

“I might,” he answers, honest. There’s a tightness in his chest that could turn into tears.

“Would you like a hug?”

He would. He nods, and you hold your arms out to him. Bob Floyd steps into your open arms and enfolds you in his own. He lays a palm against your head, presses you carefully to his chest when he feels your arms wend around his waist. He doesn’t cry, but he’s close—because you’re so wonderfully warm, so solid against him, that he’s reminded of how close you came to dying…but you didn’t. You’re alive and for this too-brief moment, you’re in his arms.

*****

You get the text a few days after the party.

Is this still the number for the other half of Team Prime? You frown for a beat, then remember.

No, it belongs to a menace now.

Thought so, comes the reply. Then how’s your day going?

Such a normal question. Bob seems to be the one person who strikes the perfect balance—not treating you like an invalid, but also not pretending that you weren’t nearly crushed to death in a car crash.

That’s how it goes with him. Him north in Lemoore, you south in San Diego, but once you get into the habit, the two of you text every day. Then you start calling in the evening, the two of you chatting like the oldest of friends, and it bumps against something in your brain, some buried memory that is just begging to be excavated.

-----

Hannah and Eric’s wedding date creeps closer. You try to handle the anxiety that bubbles up the back of your throat, but as the day draws closer, you feel more and more uneasy.

It’s that eyes-on-your feeling. The feeling of people watching you, judging you. Everyone knows the wedding was postponed because of you, and you have significant guilt about that. You sister could already be married if it weren’t for you.

You try to talk Hannah into appointing a new maid-of-honor, but she waves you off. Like she always does.

“Everything is pretty much handled. What’s it matter now?” she asks.

What does it matter? It matters that the maid-of-honor walks down the aisle too, gives a speech at the reception, generally handles any minor bumps. Which is fine for normal people, but when you need thick orthopedic shoes to keep your balance, walking down the aisle suddenly seems like a freak show. When you stutter, suddenly the prospect of giving a speech feels like a nightmare. You try to tell her so, but she waves you off again, this time with an edge of anger in her voice.

“What do you mean, normal people? You’re normal,” she says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.” She crosses her arms, glares at you. “Explain it.”

You try, for the thousandth time, but Hannah just shakes her head and cuts you off halfway through your meandering list of excuses.

“Look, let’s assume I want to swap you out at this point. It’s too late in the game. You already have your dress, and you already did most of the planning before.” She pauses, narrows her eyes as she considers her next words.

“Besides, if we changed the maid-of-honor now, we’d have to change out the best man too.”

“What do you mean?”

You swear you see something flash across her expression—something teasing, devilish—before she answers, “I think Bob would protest pretty loudly if he didn’t stay paired up with you.”

You feel your face heat up instantly. “It’s n-not like that.”

She reaches out, pokes you between your ribs where you’re ticklish. “What’s it like then? You had a crush on him before. You had it bad for him, in fact.”

Another unfortunate side effect of your injuries: you’re not a very good liar anymore. You’re not as quick on your feet. Old You would have a deflection already queued up, ready to roll smoothly from your mouth, but New You only mumbles a flimsy excuse about needing to get home for something important you have to do.

-----

Thing is, you remember. Maybe not precise moments from before, but you remember the plane ride to Vegas. It’s hazy in your memory, but what’s there is the feeling of his hand in yours, his words right in your ear. You can’t remember what he was saying, but you remember hugging him afterwards.

What’s more concrete is the memory of the feeling—a crush or love, or just the general pleasure of being in his company. At the party a few months ago, just sitting on the porch with Bob brought those memories back. You remembered how he smelled, the clean scent of him. You remembered the calming aura of just being near him.

And even if you hadn’t had feelings before—he had been engaged then, after all—it wouldn’t be hard to fall for him now. The two of you talk all the time. He tells you about his job, about his family and his childhood and books he’s reading and a movie he just saw. Over time, he opens up about his failed engagement, and you’re honored that he trusts you enough to tell you these things that he likely doesn’t share with others.

You, in turn, trust him. You tell him about your struggles in your recovery, the frustration and fear that you’ll never be the same.

You edge up against your deepest fear, but you never exactly give it a voice. As much as you love talking with him, love having him be the first thing you think of when you wake up each morning, you know it can never become more.

If you follow the natural progression of things, you can’t see a future with Bob Floyd. Or anyone, really. But with Bob, a man in the military…he needs someone who can handle things at home when he’s deployed. He needs someone who can move across the country in a moment’s notice, who can give him children and look after those children while he’s off flying fighter jets.

You can’t even thread a zipper on its track. You have nothing to offer him.

But you can’t say those words out loud, so you make self-depreciating remarks, you refuse talk of the future, and you hope he understands the oblique way you’re trying to tell him that he shouldn’t allow any feelings for you to take root.

That you’re struggling to do the same for him, to keep him from burrowing so deep in your heart that he’ll never be dislodged.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #top gun maverick #tropes and tales

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felixethereal · 10 months ago

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𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎, 𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎, 𝙎𝙇𝘽𝙎

𝐒𝐋𝐁𝐒 𝐗 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒

Everything that I EXPRESS and Everything that is IMPRESSED of me.

When all is gathered, it completes who ‘I’ am now.

ㅤ

Meet the second campaign of SLBS X STRAY KIDS collaboration, ‘EXPRESS, IMPRESS, SLBS’. Our newest collaboration is all about expressing self, and the true ‘self’ Stray Kids members portrayed.

The iconic hand gesture, bold typography and eye-catching accessories in Stray Kids members’ hands. The ways of expressing self is limitless and even a smallest thing like cellphone case is a part of myself, a way of showing ‘me’.

The drop of our special collaboration ‘EXPRESS, IMPRESS, SLBS’ accessories will begin from Today, at SLBS online stores and SLBS STUDIO.

ㅤ

What’s in my hand, what I own speaks who ‘I’ am. Be ready for SLBS x STRAY KIDS collaboration accessories and the ‘Self’ Stray Kids will express.

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valentoru · 2 months ago

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|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 17]

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

It was Thursday night, you would be leaving for the airport in eight hours to catch your flight to LA. You had missed fake-dating-Thursday as Satoru was already in LA. Not having fake-dating-Thursday this week pained you a little, it seemed it hadn’t really occurred to you how much you enjoyed it till it had gone. You would see him in fourteen hours though, that was a bonus.

You weren’t really sure why not seeing him saddened you so much, you clearly really relied on his presence in your life to keep you company.

You shoved some underwear into your suit case, it was full. Too full. When you had closed it, the edges didn’t meet. You had to climb up on your bed and sit on your suitcase in order to zip it shut.

When you had finally won the wrestle with your suitcase, you went into the kitchen where Megumi and Maki were waiting for you. You had told them you would only be a minute and ended up taking an hour. You plopped down in the other chair at your dining table, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them.

Maki reached her hand over and rubbed your back. “Packing getting to you?”

“Yeah. It sucks. I hate packing.”

“Well, you could go and nap, we have like four hours till we need to get ready to go.”

“I would, but I’m actually going to go to the studio and practice.”

Maki’s hand halted. “Y/N.” You lifted your head up, Megumi and Maki were sharing a look. A look that your couldn’t quite decipher.

Megumi sighed. “Y/N you’ve been spending so much time at the studio, like, twelve hours a day.”

“Yeah, we’re worried. We’ve hardly seen you.”

If you were being honest, you had kind of been kind of been hiding from them. Or well, not them per se but definitely from Maki, considering she is the only one out of the three of you unaware of you and Satoru not actually being a couple. If you didn’t spend time around her there was no reason to lie, thus, the lie couldn’t get any worse. But you also wanted to keep practicing for Geto’s event, it was convenient timing if anything.

“I’ve just been busy, you know Geto’s event means a lot to me and I want to be my absolute best.” Well at least there was some truth.

“And you will be, but if you overwork yourself you’re just going to exhaust your talent.”

You sighed. She was right, actually. You had been burning yourself out. You had known when you got home at 4am on a Wednesday, but chose to ignore it. You were enjoying the distraction, when you were in the studio there was no one there to lie to, there was no one there to pretend to be dating, the was no one pecking you, bugging you, just you alone with your thoughts. Which had actually given you time to handle the situation with Toge outing your “relationship” in a much more civilised way—especially compared to your initial reaction.

“No you’re right. I’m actually going to go and catch some sleep, like you said.”

“Good.”

Megumi, though not speaking, gave you a nod of approval.

You got up and went back to your room quickly setting an alarm on your phone. You sunk into your bed and closed you eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

Your alarm had scared you awake. You practically sat up straight in your bed. It had been a long while since you had to set one, you forgot how loud they can be.

You laid in bed for a while, simply mustering up the strength to get out of it. When you finally did you felt like your head was spinning, you'd had one of those naps where you didn't feel any better after it. You stumbled into the kitchen and quickly got yourself a much needed glass of water.

“Hey sleeping beauty.” The voice had almost startled you. You spun on your heel to be met with Yuji. It felt like forever since you had actually seen him like this, the last time it was just a one on one conversation with the two of you you’d ended up arguing about Yuji’s obvious feelings for Megumi.

Yuji was sat at your breakfast bar, his note book under him. You walked over to where he was sat, resting your elbows on the worktop. “What you writing?”

“Just some lyrics for Nobara.” You tried your best to get a peek of it, however, Yuji shut the note book and put it aside when he caught wind of what you were trying to do. You never really got why he was so protective over that note book, but you never questioned it. Everyone had something they didn’t want people to see, you figured that was just his.

“Okay.” You straightened your spine. “Okay, Im going to go freshen up then I think we can go to the airport.”

Yuji nodded. “I’ll go tell Megumi and Maki you’re just freshening up then we’ll go.” He spilled out of the stool and disappeared to Megumi’s room.

You went to your room and quickly threw on some comfortable clothes and grabbed your suitcase and carry-on, quickly checking through your notes on your phone to see if you had ticked off everything you needed. You had, luckily. You were free to go. You quickly left your room, being sure to shut your bedroom door behind you.

You were going to see Satoru soon.

The thought almost startled you. You’d been doing a fairly good job of not thinking about him, or how you hadn’t seen him all week. Not at fake-dating Thursday, not even in passing. You hadn’t seen him all week, it felt like a part of you had gone missing. It had never really dawned on you how much you relied on his presence in your life. You never realised how much you relied on “norm” which for you consisted of; seeing Megumi every morning, going to work, seeing Maki and seeing Satoru.

But for now, you had to not think about that. You had bigger things to think about. Like airport security, something your deeply despised. You loved flying and travelling however you could not stand airport security. You understand the need for it you just hated how longwinded it was, and how time consuming it was, and how mentally and physically draining it was.

You slipped your trainers on stood up. “We ready to go?”

Maki nodded. “Yep! I helped Megumi pack while you were asleep and Yuji and I came over here fully packed so we’re ready to go!” She was beaming. Over the last few weeks she had been a lot more smiley, you almost felt responsible for it, if you hadn’t of lied to her she wouldn’t be with Yuta. She would still be miserable. Given you’d put yourself through utter misery for close to 3 months but it was worth it to see you best friend so happy.

“Let’s go then.” Megumi grabbed his keys and opened the door, holding it open for everyone. One by one you filed out. Megumi locked the door and you left the apartment complex.

The whole travel you thought about Satoru. You allowed yourself to. You were excited to see him—not that you’d let him know. Despite the worries that had once circled your mind upon agreeing to sharing a room with him, you were honestly excited for it. Sharing a room with him wouldn’t be so bad, not at all actually. You enjoyed his company, a lot. He was fun to be around and it turned out you actually did have a lot in common with him.

This was going to be an amazing trip.

TAGLIST(34/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @littlecritteryay @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt @art-n-rot @aastrobliss @herdemisee @tikideedee @tittiesarenice @fire-child-kira @csolya

AN:

Did you guys miss me ehe…

The uploads are going to get verrrry slow now since I’m starting college again so I don’t really have time to write, so it likely will be weekend before I’m doing anything, I’m so sorry guys, I’ll try and get stuff to you as quick as I can and keep checking my account for updates because Im sure some weeks I won’t be able to upload at all with the amount of workload imma have I can’t apologise enough!

#⤷limitless #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smau #maki zenin #megumi fushiguro #ryomen sukuna #itadori yuuji

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