#maybe a little less... maybe a little more

[dreamsteddie]

Wowza. Part one blew up way more than I thought it would so here! Part two! I do have more thoughts about this so there might be a couple more parts to come. We'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

------

Eddie takes half a second to consider just not answering. Maybe throwing his phone away and never going back to the restaurant they went to last night so he never has to confront whatever it is that's about to happen. Maybe even fleeing the country and living alone on a sheep farm with no friends and go relationships ever again so something like this never happens again.

But then he thinks of Steve. Kind, funny Steve with the bright eyes and soft skin who looked at Eddie like he could fall in love with him and he knows that whatever comes next, Steve deserves for Eddie to see it through with him.

New Message: Steve H.

Hey

Just that one word sends Eddie's heart into his throat. He can see that Steve is still typing, those little ellipses of doom popping on and off the screen. Realistically, Steve probably doesn't know what happened, right? Eddie's pretty sure Steve wasn't in on it and it's been less than an hour since Eddie himself found out, so probably not.

Steve H: Gareth called me

Fuck.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

If Eddie's heart was in his throat at the first text, the second one has it dropping through his body and out of his goddamned ass. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to know. He was always planning to tell him, he was just hoping he could be the one to do it. Gareth being a little shit and calling Steve first was not part of the plan.

Steve H: He told be about the prank. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you expected and you were just being nice. We can pretend it never happened. No hard feelings.

Eddie slams his head into his pillow. This is such a cluster fuck he can hardly bring himself to look at the text but he needs to come up with some kind of response, like, yesterday if he wants any chance of keeping the man of his dreams from running for the hills because apparently, Eddie's friends are trying to destroy his life. He takes a deep breath and starts typing.

Eddie: Hey, I'm so sorry about that. I just found out about what they did an hour ago at practice. I didn't think they would just call you out of the blue like that, I was just about to text you.

Not completely true, but Eddie was going to text him about it, just after screaming into his pillow and making a couple Vudu dolls first.

Eddie: For what it's worth I really do like you and I would love to still take you out on that second date, but I understand if my friends scared you off and you want nothing to do with me. I know it's fucked up.

It takes a minute for Steve to respond, the typing bubbles ebbing and flowing as Steve types and retypes whatever it is he wants to say. Eddie is about ready to call it a wash and start googling sheep farms for sale in Ireland when a new text comes in, dispelling all thoughts of learning to sheer wool.

Steve H: Are you sure?

And fuck if that doesn't hurt his heart. Eddie has spent all of two and a half hours with Steve, he's a virtual stranger, but Eddie can swear he can feel all of Steve's secondhand insecurity through that one lonely sentence. Before he even registers what he's asking, he send a quick reply.

Eddie: Can I Facetime you?

Before Eddie can try to rethink his decision, his screen lights up with a notification. Steve is calling him.

Eddie scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone a little in his haste and almost missing the call completely. He manages to get it on the last ring, breathing heavily in a way he knows can't be flattering.

All thoughts about his lack of dexterity fly out the window when he looks into his screen. On their date, Steve was perfectly put together. Hair meticulously done, clothes freshly pressed, and a light sheen of lipgloss accentuating the perfect curve of his mouth. While Steve is still beautiful through the lens of his camera, it's clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red and a little puffy, hair out of order in a way Eddie thinks is probably unusual for him, and Eddie can see that he's wearing a well-loved beige hoodie.

"Hi," Steve says, waving a shy hand almost the same way he had last night.

"Hey sweetheart," Eddie says, keeping his voice low and gentle, desperate to soothe Steve however he can through the distance of their phones.

For a minute they just look at each other, neither one knowing what to say in a situation like this. Eddie sees Steve gearing up to say something, but he cuts in before he starts. There's something he needs to say while Steve can see him face to face.

"I'm really sorry about what happened!" He says, much lounder than he intended. "My friends were being dicks. I haven't dated in a while and instead of being normal fucking people they set up this whole stupid prank but I swear I wasn't in on it!"

Something about what he says draws a small smile from the corner of Steve's mouth, so Eddie keeps talking. "Besides, if they wanted to prank me they should have picked someone that isn't a literal fucking model in disguise. There wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't going to beg you for that second date."

At that, Steve gives a little chuckle and it lifts Eddie's heart from where it'd fallen onto the floor and puts in back in his chest 10 times lighter than before.

"Jesus, are you always such a flirt Munson?" he says.

"Only when the boys are especially pretty," Eddie responds.

Steve gives another little laugh at that before sobering up. He gives Eddie a long look through the phone, and Eddie lets him.

"Are you sure you don't want to just call it quits here man? Gareth was pretty adamant that I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for. I don't want you to feel like you have to humor me out of kindness." There's a forced flippancy to Steve's words that Eddie knows well from his own Munson Coping Strategies Handbook. Steve is trying to give him an out, but Eddie can tell that he doesn't want to.

For the first time since this all started, Eddie is well and truly mad. Gareth and Jeff had absolutely no business poking around in his love life in the first place, but now they've reached out to the guy Eddie already told them he liked to what? Tell him never mind actually, we don't think you're the right guy for our friend even though he told us very explicitly how into you he is.

Eddie lets all the frustration, anger, and tenuous hope building up in his chest fuel his reply. This one has to count, he can feel it. It's a charisma saving throw with the whole campaign on the line. He can't miss this one.

"Honestly Steve, if you asked me two days ago what I was looking for in a partner, I probably would have said I wanted to date another alternative metalhead or punk who likes playing DnD and getting high on the weekend." Eddie can see Steve's shoulders slump as his eyes dart away, but he pushes on, determined to make his point.

"But, I haven't had as good a time as we had last night in a really long time." Steve looks back up, eyes alight with the same tentative hope Eddie himself is channeling. "I think you're funny and interesting, and you have the absolute worst takes on ice cream flavors, and you're hot as hell. Like, seriously the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life."

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Critical success.

"So, about that second date."

-------

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow

[temiizpalace]

☆┊THE POCKY GAME

SUMMARY: playing the pocky game with your crush!

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: cursing, suggestive? not really tho

NOTES: happy pocky day!! I think this game is actually really cute teehee. what’s ur guys favorite pocky? (mines the chocolate or matcha one 🙏🙏)

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

GOES IN FLUSTERED, COMES OUT CONFIDENT

you caught him so off guard. he was just minding his own business, doing his thing, then suddenly you hit him with a game like this? really are you trying to kill him, prefect? does this count as a confession?? he feels hot, is his face red? he didn’t even know pocky day existed!

despite his internal panicking, how could he possibly say no to you? placing the biscuit between his lips, letting you have the chocolate side (or whatever flavor u want) like the gentleman he is. slowly, bite by bite his face inches closer to yours. his heart is killing him, but he doesn’t dare to lose. finally reaching to the midsection, his lips find yours, sharing a small sweet kiss before pulling away.

that was much more fun than he thought it’d be. how about another round?

riddle, trey, jack, kalim, silver, malleus

GOES IN CONFIDENT, COMES OUT A LOSER

he was so smug when you asked. say less prefect! he’ll play the game with you since you’re so desperate!

then suddenly he gets second thoughts once you both begin to bite down on the biscuit. little by little, the proximity between you two began to close, his heartbeat racing at the speed of light. thump thump thump. he could barely control his breathing and his palms were beginning to grow sweaty. by the time you’ve expected a kiss, he pulled away, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed.

his cheeks were burning hot and there was a discerning look on his face that screamed flustered. with all the talk he had before, maybe this reaction was better than the anticipated kiss. but where’s the fun in that? you pull out another pocky stick, putting it between your lips for a second time with a devilish grin. you’re killing him, prefect.

ace, cater, ruggie, epel, sebek

A LOSER

had to think long and hard about playing. not cause he didn’t want to, but because he knows he’s going to humiliate himself in front of you.

so how did he find himself standing in front of you, with a pocky in his mouth, inching closer and closer to your face after each passing second? this. is. bad. he’s actually going to fail and look like a godforsaken fool. is his face red? it’s red isn’t it? he should’ve known better. not even halfway, he backs up, covering the lower half of his face with his hand.

please forgive him, but he might just DIE and EXPLODE if he hadn’t done what he just did. it’s not just about his safety, it’s about yours too. please don’t tease him he’s already so embarrassed for being a wimp.

he’s already weak in the knees just being beside you, kissing you would be a whole nother story.

deuce, azul, idia

A FUCKING TEASE

another smug one. except this one has plans to win and actually stick to it. rather than just standing in front of you, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. you hesitate for a moment, taken aback by his bold actions.

the game grew intense, his eyes staring daggers into your own. you’re not even sure if he was blinking (he wasn’t). he took in your reaction, engraved it in the back of his mind, and plans to replay these moments like they were a cinematic masterpiece. just when you were about to pull away, his lips meet yours, sharing a breathtaking kiss.

your face was warm and wore an expression of shock. he loved it. ah, ah, ah, not so fast prefect. technically that was a tie! what’s a game without a winner? looks like another round is in order..

jade, jamil, rook, lilia

SOMEHOW A WORSE TEASE

pocky game? why would we want to do that when he could just do this?

cupping your cheek, he leans over and places a chaste kiss on your lips. it was a gentle kiss, contrasting with the way his hands traveled down to your waist, holding my you firmly in place. his eyes bored into you, enjoying your shock. he was smug. so smug. you could feel him smiling against your lips, leaning in closer and closer til you finally had the opportunity to push him away.

he only smirked in return, letting you go, grabbing a pocky and walking away as if nothing happened.

punch him. you wanted to punch him.

leona, jade, floyd, jamil, vil

A/N: jamil was self indulgent ngl

date published: 11/11/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[really-fanny-longbottom]

okay sooooo

i had this little thought right

okay so maybe like reader has been a part of the inner circle for a looooong time like since the batboys were kids and they've all been friends forever, naturaly azriel has been in love with her since then, and a few years ago he realised they were mates (she doesn't know)

this one time she walks into the townhouse in just a bra and trousers, casually just walking in drinking coffee while the rhys and cass are just flabbergasted (cass being cass is eyeing the goods real hard because shes always been hot and he knows it) rhys is smirking and all (hes no less honestly)

then az walks in and hes just like what the fuck, she tries to explain smth happened to her shirt on the way and hes just grumbling and takes off his own shirt and is like put this own (cass is naturally making comments that make az's blood boil)

then you can choose where that goes from there

lmfaoooo im so sorry i couldn't get this idea out of my head

its okayyyy if you can't write it!!!

hi! sorry it took me so long to post but i've been really busy with university and only now have i had some free time.

anyway, here it is! thank you so much for this request, i loved writing it!

i hope you like it! 🫶🏻

my hero

summary: a small but very happy incident.

warnings: none

pairings: azriel x reader

words: 2.2k

tick 

tack

tick 

tack 

"ugh," a heavy groan escaped your lips at the sound of the clock. you seated slightly, your head pounding without mercy. 

as you looked at the window, your eyes fought against the early sunlight, before adjusting and finally allowing you to fully open them.

it took you a few seconds to remember your surroundings, and to be honest, to remember anything. 

the confusion didn't last long when all the memories from last night hit you all at once. 

you had gone out for the night with morrigan. you went to rita's for a girls night.

a night with a lot of drinking and dancing and singing and drinking again — mysterious headache solved.

you looked down on you, seeing the shiny short black dress you had chosen for last night specifically. 

you passed your hands through your messy hair and took a glance at your bedroom, absorbing the chaos that a very drunk you had caused.

how could just a person cause such a mess?

tick 

tack

tick

tack

"ugh!" a loud annoyed groan left your lips again

at the sound of the clock that kept attacking your brain. 

before you could think twice, you turned and reached out to punch the clock, causing it to fall to the ground.

you lowered yourself on the bed sheets with an arm over your head.

this was going to be a very long day.

and that's when it you.

your eyes and two seconds later, your legs were fighting against the bed sheets. 

after losing that battle, you ended up falling to the ground with a loud noise. 

a small 'huff' came out of your mouth before getting up and running to the clock as quickly as possible to check the time. 

10:07 am

"oh, shit."

you were late for your internship at the clinic.

"oh, shit."

you quickly begin to look for clean clothes at the same time you try to get rid of your dress. 

you manage to find something that looked relatively clean and put it on, your heart racing as you tried to get your hair to not look like a complete mess.

when you finished putting your hair in a more presentable state, you hurried to put on your shoes, but when you noticed the time again, you only managed to put on a sock before grabbing the first pair of shoes in sight and running out of your room. 

as you run for the stairs, you didn't have time to react before a body collided with yours and spilled coffee all over your t-shirt.

the hot contents against your skin forced you to let out a small scream and dropped the shoes to the floor as you struggled to pull the fabric of your t-shirt away from your body. 

"shit, shit, shit!" you cursed at the same time you blew on your t-shirt.

great, as if your day wasn't already going badly. 

"sorry," a small voice said.

you met your attacker's gaze as you looked up to see a beautiful female with green eyes and brown hair — morrigan's friend. 

right, you had forgotten that she had come home with the two of you — with mor. 

the female looked mortified as you stared at her annoyed. when you saw her opening her mouth to say something, you quickly stopped her.

"don't," you raised your hand at her, you didn't have time for this, "just. . .just go."

you pointed at morrigan's bedroom, whose door was slightly open. the female followed your direction, shrinking a little as she passed through you.

"idiot!" you cursed quietly. 

you looked at your bedroom and considered your options: the chances that you may find a new clean t-shirt in the middle of that mess, were very low and you were already late.

so you gave up and made your way down the stairs, starting to unbutton your shirt before completely taking it off, leaving you in your black lacy bra, and entering the kitchen.

rhysand and cassian who had been enjoying a late breakfast found themselves speechless upon your entrance. 

their gazes followed you as you moved to the sink and started working on removing the stain.

the males shared a gaze between them, identical smirks forming on both of their faces.

"good morning, y/n." rhysand greeted you as he took a sip of his tea cup.

you jumped startled, your eyes found theirs immediately, "gods, i didn't see you there."

rhysand's smirk grew wider. "oh, we know."

"did you get mugged?" cassian asked as he took in your figure.

you were barefoot with only one sock and shirtless.

"what?" you asked confused. 

cassian's eyes roam over your body.

"oh, no, morrigan's friend though it was a good idea to spill her coffee over me. freaking idiot," you murmured the last part, still focused on the task in hand.

cassian let out a snort "well, i'll make sure to thank her personally for this amazing view."

you rolled your eyes at his comment "oh, shut up, cassian. we grew up together, we've all seen each other naked at one point."

rhys smirked and grew before adding "sure, but we were either kids or teenagers at those times." 

cassian glanced at his brother, amusement all over his features "maybe we should go back to those times."

with another roll of your eyes, you tried to suppress a smile at your friend's comment while trying to get rid of the stain.

as on cue, the shadowsinger entered the kitchen to join his brothers for breakfast.

instead, he was surprised with a view of you shirtless — his shirtless mate.

the very reason, rhys and cassian had begun to tease you in the first place. 

what made this whole situation much funnier — the fact that you weren't aware of this detail. 

and things had just become a lot more interesting now with azriel in the room. 

his eyes widened at the sight of you but when he turned to find his brothers, his eyes darkened and a low growl was released.

"nice of you to join us, brother," cassian said casually as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

he can practically feel the heat coming off of azriel, like smoke coming out of his ears.

"what's wrong, az?" rhys asked him, knowing exactly what was going on but seeing azriel riled up was too funny to miss it.

at the sound of their voices, you looked up and your eyes found a pair of hazel ones.

"oh, hi, azriel." you greeted him with your sweet smile — the one he liked so much.

the shadowsinger found himself melting at your words, at the way you said his name. 

his eyes instantly softed, a small blush coming to his cheeks and a goofy smile on his lips, "h-hi, y/n." 

you gave him a warm smile before going back to your task.

azriel regained his composure at the sound of his brothers' muffled laughter. 

he sighed and rolled his eyes at their behavior, he hadn't catched a break from them since he revealed the mating bond on one drunken night.

cassian elbowed rhys gently in the ribs to get his attention, when his eyes found his, the general gestured with his head to the shadowsinger. 

"hey, az" cassian tried to contain his urge to laugh, he knew what was about to happen. 

"what?" azriel managed to say, his eyes still on your figure.

"we were just talking. . ." cassian started, his voice teasing "about going back to those times when we were teenagers." 

azriel face scrunched in confusion, he shot his brother a look. 

"you know," cassian continued, his peripheral vision caught rhys trying to control himself  "those times where we didn't care about being naked in front of each other." 

both rhys and cassian snorted at the sight of azriel's face turning red.

"what?!" the male let out a little too loud then he had intended.

rhys proceeded, "yeah, you know. when we didn't care so much about formalities. don't you agree, y/n?" 

you rolled your eyes again at rhys comment, "i think you two have too much free time" you chuckled, "cauldron has mercy on the poor females that will ended up as your mates."

"hey!" both cassian and rhys protested.

azriel smiled at your comment, but it fell when he observed both of his brothers eyes roaming over your body, grins splattered on their features.

azriel moved to the edge of the table, placing his hands on the surface of it before giving them a glare and clenching his jaw.

"stop looking at her like that before i break your faces" he threatened through gritted teeth. 

cassian and rhys were quick to lift their arms in surrender, both muttering a small "yes, sir." 

azriel rolled his eyes in annoyance. his attention was caught when he heard you cursed quietly. 

he sent one last warning look to the two males before moving to stand behind you.

he was so close, that all it took was another step of his for your back to be pressed against his chest.

azriel would love to know the feeling of that sensation, but he remained where he was.

he peeked through your shoulder and saw that you couldn't get rid of the annoying coffee stain. 

"gods, madja is going to kill me for being late." 

without a second thought, azriel took a step back.

"here," he told you.

you turned to find him taking off his own shirt.

your eyes roamed his body — his sun-kissed skin, his muscles, his illyrian tattoos. 

you loved those tattoos. 

"put it on," he extended his hand to you, holding out his shirt.

"oh, that's not necessary, az. i-"

"it's okay, y/n. i- i want you too. by the way, why don't you go get your shoes and i'll take you to the clinic? it's quicker that way and you don't have to walk." 

your face softened, "really? you would do that?" 

the corner of his lips lifted for a small smile, only you to make him feel this way.

"of course." 

you grabbed his shirt, "ugh, thank you, az."

you put it on and azriel tried to not let the sight of your small feature into his too big of a shirt to affect him, but he failed when his heart skipped a beat.

you moved forward and grabbed his cheeks, kissing him on the left one.

caught off guard, azriel tried to hide the fact that his skin had heated up under your touch. 

a new blush came to decorate his cheeks. 

"hm. . .i-" the male couldn't find his words with the sound of his heart roaming in his ears. 

"you're my hero, az" you gave a big smile before making your way to the stairs to collect your shoes. 

azriel stood there in the middle of the kitchen with a hand making it's way to his face to touch the place you kissed him.

cassian and rhys burst out laughing, not being able to remain composed of their brother in love. 

cassian got up from his seat and walked towards his brother, clasping a hand on his back.

"behold of the big bad scary shadow-," cassian leaned over in laughter, "shadowsinger" he managed to complete. 

rhys appeared on his other side, "oh, brother. only if your enemies could see you now, they would think how big of a fool they are."  

azriel clenched his jaw again, and when he turned to answer them, he was stopped by a honey-sweet voice.

"i'm ready," you told him from the entrance.

once again, the shadowsinger was left completely disarmed.

a goofy smile reappeared on his face. 

he didn't even spare a glance at his brothers before making his way to you, "let's go then."

cassian and rhys were left in the kitchen laughing to themselves.

•••

the trip to the clinic was quick.

azriel landed softly on the ground, keeping a hand on your waist and another on your back to make sure you were stable.

you took a step forward before turning to him.

"thank you again, az. you literally just saved my morning." 

and there it was that goofy smile again.

"oh, it's nothing really. my pleasure." 

you let out a small giggle. you reached forward, surrounding his neck with one of your arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek again.

azriel's heart raced and his voice caught in his throat. 

you took a step back "you're my hero, azriel. what would i do without you?" 

you caressed his cheek with the back of your hand before giving him one last smile and moving towards the clinic.

"hm, i-" was all the male managed to say while watching you entering the clinic with his shirt.

he watched as you grabbed the door, and turned to him to wave goodbye. 

azriel returned the gesture. it was at that moment that he realized how much power you had over him.

he didn't push away that feeling, in fact he embraced it.

it was about time to let the walls he had built so long ago disappear. 

and you were the right person for that.

azriel made a decision at that moment.

at the end of the day, he would come pick you up and ask you out on a date.

he would buy you flowers, tell you how he felt and take you to dinner.

he just hoped you felt the same way.

and that you said yes.

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @avajustreads @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @agirlwithwifiandalaptop @987coley

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because I couldn't find your blog.

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[bottledpillz]

I really wish that schools become more accessible and soon.

I got kicked out of school because of my health issues. I was maybe a little less than halfway through gr 12 and I got kicked out.

I got told to find somewhere else because I'm too much for the school to handle and I caused too many problems for my classmates. Oh and I can't forget about how the vice principal I had lied to my parents about me being violent??

He said that because I asked him not to touch me when I was more lucid and able to speak and comprehend what was going on after coming out of seizures and fainting for I don't even know how long.

The friends I had at the time had to hover over me so he wouldn't grab me and try to drag me down the hall to the office apparently 😀

I ramble too much 😓 oops but yeah schools should be more accessible!!

When I say “school should be disability accessible”, I don’t just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldn’t be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is “spotty” (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldn’t miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? “Either get a doctor’s note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.”

I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldn’t have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but that’s only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.

Disabilities aren’t always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. It’s already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is “accessible”

[nubsdolls]

SYPNOSIS ; g/n reader x sparring partner! bakugou, fluff, not proofread .. matching bracelets , enjoy ! xoxo, jord .ᐟ

A/N; this was supposed to be a lil drabble but this came out longer than i intended .. anywaayss. I PROOOMISEEE im gonna start posting more i’ve disappeared for sosososso long.. in the meanwhile take this, luv u guys !!!!!

sparring partner! bakugou that swears he only bugs you 24/7 to “get your ass to training grounds” because you need to improve. no other reason because of course, he cant stand you.. or anything about you, for that matter.

so no, it doesnt “mean” anything when sparring partner! bakugou comes up from behind you to, “fix” your form. adjusting you by signaling you to rotate to the side by giving your hips a little push, nudging your elbows up so your face is protected by your hands.

sparring partner! bakugou who always insists to be near you, discreetly, if he can. because he obviously doesnt want it to seem like he cares, because he doesnt. even during training or maybe even an attack on the school? near you. covering you and making sure warn you of the sneak attacks from behind you.

and even though you practically hate sparring with him, because hes so damn ruthless, ensuring a trip to recovery girl by the end of it, its weirdly the highlight of your days. hearing the ding! of your phone, followed by the usual message from him.

: training grounds. 5 mins

even when its five in the goddamn morning. you never fail to meet him there.

and after a small while of this cycle, you make the (probably) safe assumption you guys are, friends? acquaintances?..hell, maybe you were even on kirishima’s level of ‘friend’. toleratable? at the least.

so while on one of your free days afterschool, youre shopping with the bakusquad. mina, jirou, denki, sero, kirishima, and obviously, bakugou. god knows how they convinced him to tag along.. you get lost in a cute little merch store, spotting matching all might bracelets. ew, corny. who would even get those?

ca—ching! “aaand heres your change, have a nice day!”

you would.

though, you probably shouldve thought this out.. who were you gonna match with? ofcourse, it could always be mina, but she also didnt absolutely fixate on all might. but, there was, one person you had in mind..

and sometime in the week after the hangout, at the end of your—no less than brutal, training session, you tiredly brought it up.

“the other day—while we were at the mall, i saw these matching all might bracelets—“ pant, “i kinda just bought on it on sight, annnd i didnt really think of who to give the other half to before i did.. but i know you like him, so..”

you trail off, simply suggesting it as you move over to sit down on a bench, taking a drink of water, while also, pulling out the bracelets from your pockets and reaching your free hand up to show him.

sparring partner! bakugou scoffs upon seeing the bracelets in your hand. golden age and bronze age all might bracelets.

“thats stupid. im not wearing that shit.” he growls, crossing his arms. his voice a little panted from training. you were getting better. not that he would tell you that directly, of course.

“chill, dynamight.” you roll your eyes playfully, emphasizing his hero name on your tongue. “i was just suggesting it, if you dont want it its fine.” you explain casually. even if, the sentence did hurt your feelings a little.

“ill just give it to izuku.” you shrug, you guys were friends, pretty close if you did say so.

and you almost swear you saw bakugou’s eye twitch. a glint of, jealousy? in his eyes as you bring up the green haired boy’s name.

he lets out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. “tch. whatever, give it to that nerd. not like i care.” before he reaches down next to you for your water bottle, taking a swing, airsip.

setting the bottle back down next to your thigh, he speaks up again. “‘aight, hurry, we arent done. round two.” he adds harshly, motioning with his hand for you to get back up.

“come on. please? one more minute. its so eaarlyyy.” you whine, almost pouty as you throw your head back. still exhausted from the sparring just a few minutes ago. 6am and hes annoyingly productive.

“hurry or i can blast your ass right here.” he glares down at you, grumbling through gritted teeth.

“im getting uupp, geeez.” you groan, lazily getting up from the bench and almost coming up to meet his full height.

later in the day, during class training, you figure you should probably find izuku to give him the other matching half, one already on your wrist.

you couldve sworn you remembered putting it back onto your other wrist so you wouldnt lose it. maybe it was in your dorm instead? whatever, youd just have to give it to him tomorrow.

today, you were working in partners, testing out new possible moves, strengths, weaknesses, and overall just trying to improve on any weak spots.

and like always, sparring partner! bakugou was next to you. basically having claimed you as his designated partner for anything by now, glaring at anyone who even suggested you work with them and not him.

and as your throwing hits at him, trying to catch him off base with your quirk, you notice a glint coming from under his gauntlet, you pause a moment.

its the matching half of your bracelet, all might’s golden age bracelet.

he notices this. feeling his ears dust the slightest pink from, embarrassment? and he uses this moment of weakness to gain the upper hand, pinning you down on the floor.

and youre completely shocked by the sudden move. somehow flipped on your chest to the ground, arms tucked behind your back with his knee holding you down.

“stay focused.” he hisses, reprimanding you for your bad habit.

“thought you said it was stupid?” you mutter. tilting your head to the side ever so slightly to look at him. a sly, cheeky smirk on your face.

“it is.”

maybe it wasnt so stupid after all.

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part twenty-five

1043 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four

That morning…

Eddie it really sucks that you’re the only you  other than the fact that two eddies would be amazing on it’s own, i realized that you don’t know how it feels to have your attention it’s so intense dude you’re so intense in the best way, of course i can only hope that i get to experience that feeling more in the future maybe in the present, too p.s. i got your book again yesterday, here’s hoping second time’s the charm -H

Yesterday, Eddie thinks, he should have been more present and paid attention to what H’s note said. He’d sort of gone into tunnel vision when he’d been - however jokingly - accused of not understanding one of his books. It kind of made him wish for the first time that he could talk back. He’d contemplated just walking up to Hagan during lunch, but decided not to. He wouldn’t want to make anyone suspicious of the guy, no matter how much of an asshole he tends to be to everyone else. Eddie just isn’t that kind of person. 

The audacity of a jock who’s admitted to only reading books for school - and for Eddie - to allege that Eddie needs to read a book more than once in order to understand it. 

Has he read all of his favorite books more than once? Yes, but that’s only because they’re his favorites!

And does he notice something new nearly every reread? Also yes, but he chooses to believe that’s what Tolkien intended. It’s like a scavenger hunt of foreshadowing and little things to get excited about even when you know the ending. 

Anyway, Eddie is decidedly less preoccupied today and he’s been wondering what book H is reading.

His curiosity leads him to venture into the school’s library before he heads to the lunchroom. 

He tries to recall which books he’d checked out the last couple of months. Once he’s compiled his mental list, he tracks them down one by one. Eddie checks the card that’s in a pocket inside the front cover of each book on the off chance that Hagan’s name is logged on any of them - it’s not. 

Eddie does find it interesting, though, to see a pattern in a few of the names he does see. Those that pop up multiple times are mostly people he recognizes from Hellfire.

He slowly eliminates each book until he’s left with one that’s not on the shelf. The Return of The King. The last book in the The Lord of the Rings series. 

Most staff - like the students - at Hawkins High aren’t very happy when they see Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson approaching them. The school librarian isn’t one of them, though. Eddie’s been traipsing through this library for the better part of four years. 

Before he’d procured his prickly personality and style as a defense mechanism to the hostile environment of high school in rural Indiana, Eddie found shelter among the creaky furniture, shelves lined with books, and Ms. Hewitt.

She’s seen his sorry face more times than you can count and has always greeted him with a smile. Today is no different. 

He asks her about The Return of the King.

“Someone beat ya’ to it. Nice young man, he was.”

And while Eddie wouldn’t necessarily refer to Tommy Hagan as nice, he would for H. 

Eddie thanks and bids her farewell and then he’s off to lunch. 

He’s still having trouble conflating Hagan and his better half as the same person. 

So, H read the last book of an already complicated series without any backstory. No wonder he was so fucking confused. Eddie laughs to himself just imagining it. Against his better judgment, he’s hopelessly endeared. 

He’s late to lunch, but it’s not as if he was planning on paying for what the school thinks passes for food, anyway. 

When he takes his seat at the head of the table, Jeff places an apple from his homemade meal in front of him without even looking his way or pausing his debate with Gareth (the freshman who’d flipped Eddie’s world upside down by unknowingly revealing H’s identity as the one and only Tommy fucking Hagan).

Eddie absentmindedly munches on the fruit as he takes up his usual lunchtime hobby of gazing at a certain jock’s table. He finds it sort of odd when Harrington - Steve - forces Hagan to play musical chairs or some shit, but Eddie’s not intrigued enough to care, really. He does catch sight of Hagan’s red face and clenched jaw, though. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the guy was pissed. 

The change of seats provides Eddie with something more worthwhile to look at, so he’s not complaining. Steve seems in high spirits, and Eddie feels his own mood brighten in return.

When their shared elective comes along, Eddie finds himself jittery as he awaits the boy’s arrival. It makes him feel sort of silly, but not enough to lessen the excitement when Steve finally arrives.

The jock takes his seat between Eddie and Carol and turns to greet the latter.

“Carol, Robin.”

“Steve,” the girls say simultaneously without looking in his direction at all. Eddie doesn’t pretend to know what’s going on there, and he honestly doesn’t want to.

Steve then turns to his left to face Eddie, and the last thing he needs is to be limited to the same dry conversation - if you could even call it that - so he cuts him off once he starts.

“Ed-”

“Steven Harold Harrington III. How now?” Eddie has never been the best at English accents, but he figures it gets the point across just fine.

Steve’s face splits into a grin before he forces his expression into a stoic one. He continues to adopt the most heinous English accent Eddie has ever heard - including his own. “That’s His Majesty Steven Harold Harrington III to you, Edwin,” he says snottily.

Eddie can’t help but break into his own grin. Never mind the fact that Eddie’s name isn’t fucking Edwin, but Edward. Few people embrace his antics, let alone engage in them. 

Eddie is so gone on this boy. He was kidding himself thinking he could stay away. 

Steve Harrington might just be the end of him.

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[spitdrunken]

Notes: Reader is not explicitly Adami (MC), but you can choose to read it that way. Somewhat headcanon-heavy, mild mouth torture, implied kidnapping, creepy behaviour lol. Scarletella x Reader, or Scarletella has a slightly more hands-on approach to learning your language.

You have no idea where you are. You’re not alone, though.

The man with the scarlet umbrella steps around you with slow, tentative steps, circling you. At no point is there the sound of his feet hitting the floor. When you attempt to take a step away from him, his umbrella is lowered in a flash and stops your movement. His arm brushes against yours. It passes clean through your skin, only leaving a slight layer of cold moisture on your skin. He’s like mist. Elusive, but no less oppressive. Even if you had been able to run, there is nowhere for to go in this never-ending sea of red.

The apparition clothed in red tilts his head at an angle that, had he been human, sacrificed part of his spine. His speech isn’t as soft as your ears as his touch. It’s a string of incomprehensible noises, part guttural and raspy, part rolling and rumbling like a distant thunderstorm. There is no hope in your mind that you could repeat any of the noises. And yet, he does. It doesn’t take long for you to take note of the fact that he’s saying the same things, over and over and over again. It offers you a clear view of the black void inside his mouth.

You swallow a mouthful of nervous spit, and his red pupils dart down to follow the bobbing of your throat. Then, his own neck shimmers as if copying the movement. Now that you don’t think you might die at any moment, your mind is granted a moment to catch up with the situation. The tips of his umbrella still prick into your back. Perhaps the best decision would be to try and communicate.

“Um…” In less than a blink, he leans forward, eyes no longer trained on yours. Instead, they’re drawn to your mouth, but still you press onward. If you’re given no other choice than make a ‘dumb horror movie protagonist’-esque decision, you might as well give it your all. “Do you, maybe, have any idea what’s going on? Are you— Oh.”

His form in front of you flickers, almost appearing translucent in parts. In contrast, his hand looks real as can be, and it’s only when he reaches out that you realise his touch is no longer ghostly. Cold fingers prod at the tiny gap in between your teeth. Forcing your mouth further open with them, he wraps his fingers around your tongue before you full and well realise what’s happening. Spit dribbles down your chin. Your face scrunches up, you shake your head, but you stop moving as soon as he squeezes down harder. With a scratchy noise, the nail of his little finger scrapes along your molars.

“Shtop!” You say, though the word in incomprehensible to your own ears. Your tongue wriggles, futile, against his touch. For a moment, he stills entirely, even his grip on you slackening. His mouth closes. Then, when he opens it again, you catch a glimpse of a pink tongue just like your own where there had been previously nothing.

He tries to copy what you said. The tip of his newly-created tongue tips forward as he tries to form the ‘s’. After a couple of attempts, his smile falls, and his nails once again dig into soft flesh. A shudder travels through your entire body. As you remain quiet, he starts to actively scratch at your tongue, making tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

“Stop!” You repeat, and he once again stills, before trying to copy the noise once again. It’s with a kind of frenzy that he tackles the task and, you wonder for just a moment, what it is he is actually trying to achieve by doing this. Your heart races in your ears. Maybe, just maybe, if you taught him enough, he would… Let you go?

[felassan]

EuroGamer: 'BioWare knew the deepest secrets of Dragon Age lore 20 years ago, and locked it away in an uber-plot doc'

Original creator David Gaider on how "some of the big mysteries are being solved".

Rest of post under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

"As I write about the secrets hidden in Dragon Age's mysterious Fade, and as I uncover some of them playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard, one question keeps rising up in my mind. How much did BioWare know about future events when first developing the series more than 20 years ago? That's a long time, and back then BioWare didn't know there would be a second game, which is why Dragon Age: Origins has an elaborate and far-reaching epilogue. Why lay so much lore-track ahead of yourself if you don't think you'll ever get there? But look more closely at Origins and there are big clues suggesting BioWare did know about future Dragon Age events. There are obvious signs in the original game, such as establishing recurring themes like Old Gods and the Blight and Archdemons. But there's also Flemeth, Morrigan's witchy mother, who's intimately linked to events in the series now - more specifically: intimately linked to Solas. Does her existence mean Solas was known about back then too? There's only one person I can think of to answer this and it's David Gaider, the original creator of Dragon Age's world and lore. We've talked before, once in a podcast and once for a piece on the magic of fantasy maps, where we discussed the creation of Dragon Age's world. And much to my surprise, when I ask him what he and the BioWare team knew back then, he says they knew it all. "By the time we released Dragon Age: Origins, we were basically sure that it was one and done, but there was, back when we made the world, an overarching plan," he says. "The way I created the world was to seed plots in various parts of the world that could be part of a game, a single game, and then there was the overall uber-plot, which I didn't know for certain that we would ever get to but I had an understanding of how it all worked together. "A lot of that was in my head until we were starting Inquisition and the writers got a little bit impatient with my memory or lack thereof, so they pinned me down and dragged the uber-plot out of me. I'd talked about it, I'd hinted at it, but never really spelled out how it all connected, so they dragged it out of me, we put it into a master lore doc, the secret lore, which we had to hide from most of the team.""

"This uber-plot document was only viewable on a need-to-know basis, he says, and only around 20 people on the team had access to it - other senior writers mostly. And even though Gaider left the Dragon Age team after Inquisition, and then eight years ago BioWare altogether, meaning he didn't work on The Veilguard at all, he believes - by looking at the events in the new game - his uber-plot lore "has more or less held up". That's impressive. What's even more impressive, or exciting, is that back then he also envisaged a potential end state for the entire Dragon Age series - a point at which it would make no sense for the series to carry on. "I always had this dream of where it would all end, the very last plot," he says, "which I won't say because who knows, we could still end up there. But the idea that this uber-plot was this sort of biggest, finite... That the final thing you could do in this world that would break it was there as a 'maybe we would get to do that one day'... There was just the idea of certain big, world-shaking things that were seeded in that arc, some of which have already come to pass, like the return of Fen'Harel." You've read that correctly: the idea to have Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, reappear, was seeded all the way back then, way before Inquisition - the game in which he does actually reappear. But the concept for Solas, as a character who was Fen'Harel in disguise, was a newer idea. "That spawned from a conversation I had with Patrick [Weekes] and a number of other writers," Gaider says, "as an idea of 'what if you had a villain that spent an entire game where he's actually in the party and you get to know him?' Now, the god version and his larger role in the plot, yes that was known, but not that he would be presented as a character named Solas." Fen'Harel being known about means the other elven gods were known about, which means all of that stuff Solas reveals about his godly siblings - that they're not gods at all but evil elven mages he locked away behind the Veil - was known about back then too. "Oh yeah," Gaider says. "Everything that Solas tells you [at the end of Inquisition DLC, Trespasser]: it's all part of that original uber-lore - that was all in our mind." But why have so much lore if you're not certain you'll get to ever realise it? Well, to create a believable illusion. By creating an "excess" of lore, as Gaider describes it, Origins made Thedas feel like an old and believable place. A place with history, rather than a Western set that was all facade and no substance."

"BioWare also did something canny with the lore it did relay then, too: it shared it through the voices of characters living in the world, making it inherently fallible. In doing this, Dragon Age veiled its truths behind biases. The church-like organisation of the Chantry proclaims one truth, while the elves and dwarves proclaim another. Sidenote: you can experience this yourself through different racial origin stories in Dragon Age: Origins. This way, there's no one, objective, irrefutable, truth. "To get the truth, you kind of have to pick between the lines," Gaider says. So even though elven legends are coming true through the existence of Solas and The Veilguard's antagonist gods, it doesn't mean that's the one and only truth. There's truth in what the Chantry teaches and what the dwarves say, he tells me, which ignites my curiosity intensely. BioWare has also been tricksy in how it's rubbed out the lore the further back in time you go. "In general, the further the history goes back, we always would purposefully obfuscate it more and more," Gaider says - "make it more biased and more untrue no matter who was talking, just so that the absolute truth was rarely knowable. I like that idea from a world standpoint, that the player always has to wonder and bring their own beliefs to it." It leads into a founding principle of Dragon Age, which is doubt - because without it, you can't have faith, a particularly important concept in the series. It's where the whole idea of the Chantry's Maker comes from and with it, the legend about the fabled Golden City - now the Black City - at the heart of the Fade. This is the very centre of the lore web, and, I imagine, it's close to the series endpoint Gaider imagined long ago. All secrets end there. Did Gaider know what was in the Black City when he laid down Origins' lore? That's the question - and it startles me how casually he answers this. "Oh, yeah," he says. "What was in the Black City: that's the uber-plot. I knew exactly. "Was it as detailed in the first draft of the world?" he goes on. "No. I had an idea of the early history because that's where I started making the world. So the things that were true early-early: I knew exactly what the Black City was and the idea of what the elves believed, and what humans believed vis-a-vis the Chantry - that was all settled on really early. Then I expanded the world and the uber-plot bubbled out of that.""

"Gaider shows me the original cosmology design document for Dragon Age: Origins as if to prove this - or rather for the game that would become DAO. The world was known as Peldea back then. I can't share this with you because I see it via a shared screen on a video call, and because Gaider doesn't want me to, mostly because the ideas are so old they're almost unrecognisable from what's in the series now. But I can tell you it's a document that's just over a page in length, and that there's a circular diagram at the top showing the world in the middle and the spirit realm ringed around it. And on that document is reference to the Chantry's beliefs about a God located in a citadel that can be found there. Gaider says BioWare knew about Fen'Harel (the Dread Wolf) 20 years ago when it was developing Dragon Age: Origins, and that he'd one day reappear. The Fade wasn't known as the Fade back then, either, but as the Dreaming, because it's the place people go when they dream - an idea that lives on still. And if that sounds familiar to any fans of The Sandman among you, it should. "I'd say The Sandman series was probably fairly prominently in my head," says Gaider. "I liked that amorphous geography that was born from the psyche of collective humanity. I'd say yes, if I was to point at something specifically, that's probably where the very first inspiration of it took root." It's a lot to take in, but it reinforces the admiration I have for Dragon Age. Just as I have when hearing about the creation of my other favourite fantasy worlds, such as A Song of Ice and Fire, I begin to understand the magnitude - and the deliberateness - of the plotting that went on. I wonder if one day the Dragon Age series will end in the way Gaider first imagined, albeit slightly altered by the many other pairs of hands shepherding it along now. What a curious feeling it must be to know, so many years in advance, where things might go. Where that end is, I don't know, but I do know we'll take a significant step towards it in The Veilguard. After all, we're coming into contact with gods who were there at the recorded beginning of it all. "Yeah - we have access to people who can tell us the truth from first-hand experience," Gaider says, "although again, it depends on what the writers did with it. But if they continued the tradition of Dragon Age, you never know for sure if Solas is telling you everything, or what you're learning is the entire truth. "But yes, some of the big mysteries are being solved. I mean, will they one day definitively tell you about the Maker? Will we crack the big mysteries of the world and just make them answered finally? And does that ruin one of the central precepts that Dragon Age is founded upon? Maybe," he says. "Ultimately, that lore, when you make it big and you hint at it and hint at it and hint at it, it becomes a Chekhov's Gun of sorts. Eventually you got to pony up.""

[source]

[shalotttower]

Will-o'-the-wisp

Title: Will-o'-the-wisp

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader (female)

Summary: Reader encouters fae!Chrollo and breaks some rules along the way.

Word count: 1700+

Notes: yandere!Chrollo, fae!Chrollo, abduction, manipulation, AU, modern setting with fae, Chrollo is charming af and a bit creepy as usual, Reader is doomed long before they know it and slightly depressed

You walk home the same way every day, like many people do. There's comfort in routines. Comfort and security which you crave. The familiar routes, the repetitive programs on TV and the books you've read a million times. You like to know what happens next and hate surprises.

The fourteen-year-old you wouldn't approve.

Maybe even express a little pity, because she always thought you two were destined for an adventure, like in fantasy books you used to devour one after another. Every free second was spent reading or dreaming, but life went on and adventures didn't happen. The girl grew older, a lot more careful and a lot less hopeful.

When you finish work, it's usually around six. Your adult self is practical and prefers to save money on the bus, besides, every other time you take it, you end up having to stand, squeezed between people. It's not worth the frustration; a fifteen minute walk isn't that long and the crime rate in the area is low.

There's a small grove nearby that nobody has bothered to turn into a park. The residents made their own paths in time, put a few signs so the joggers wouldn't get lost, but that's it. Once or twice a month you stroll through there, picking up trash left on the side. People make you want to move to the woods altogether sometimes.

That's how the day starts or ends — with crossing a bridge which connects the grove to your neighbourhood.

And this is where you see him for the first time.

The man looks so out of place among the rustic wooden railings and rushing water below. Nobody wears this kind of clothes here. Expensive and elegant, something that blends well in a big city. They don't stare at passersby like he does either. You hate when people do that ─ block already narrow spaces by just stopping midway. Or groups who spread across the entire sidewalk.

"Excuse me," you say politely. Polite is good. Polite can be used as a shield and always makes you look better than you are. "I need to pass."

He smiles, then moves aside. "Of course."

His face is exactly what you imagine when thinking of pleasant: beautiful grey eyes with long lashes, pointed chin and a strange mix of delicate and sharp edges.

"Thank you."

The smile widens. "You're welcome."

---

It's time to accept that you've grown into an average person with a simple desire to live in comfort. Dreaming isn't your strength anymore, the last book you picked up was several years ago. Movies bore you fifteen minutes in, even if everybody else praises them; the idea of a relationship seems exhausting.

You do enjoy gardening.

Growing tomatoes is a far cry from distant fictional lands, but they taste nice with a pinch of salt.

The condo you live in doesn't have enough space and light, so you chose a small patch of ground in the grove to start a garden. A few tomato plants and some herbs like chives and basil. It might be illegal, yet nobody has come to yell at you. Most people don't pay attention to what's happening here, as long as you don't damage the trees or leave trash.

You water and prune, weed, add fertilizer if needed. There're some flowers too; mother told you that marigolds scare pests away from veggies and keep the soil healthy. They're pretty, little orange spots.

---

You find a crystal at you patch. Azure would be too bland to describe its color ─ maybe more like a mix of cerulean and moon stone. It's round in shape, polished so nicely that the outlines of your face are reflected in the surface. Did a magpie bring it? Or a kid? The thought of someone poking around your garden makes you frown. You hope they didn't step on your basil.

The stone is heavy and cool. You turn it around, entranced, before stuffing it into the pocket of your jeans. Maybe you can ask the neighbours' kids about it later.

"Would you look at that," you mutter and bend to inspect a tomato plant. Two green fruit, each no bigger than your knuckle, hang there, sprouted over the weekend. "Hello, my pretties."

---

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It's past 1 AM, you should sleep; instead, you keep twisting the stone in the moonlight.

You asked kids from around here, but nobody claimed it.

Maybe it's a lucky charm, you've had a wonderful day. Got a call from your cousin in the morning, she has't contacted you in a long while and it was nice to catch up. After lunch, the resource manager praised your work, then an elderly lady from the store complimented your cardigan.

At a certain angle, the stone seems almost glowing. A summer night sky condensed into a tiny orb. Your fingers trace its smooth surface without much thought until eventually it drops onto the pillow by your side.

You don't notice when exactly you fall asleep.

It's the strangest dream you've ever seen.

Gone is the condo building with its stuffy kitchenette and old pipes that constantly rumble. Instead, you feel damp grass underneath your feet. Wind brushes through the hem of your nightdress, carrying the scents of rain and moss. So many shades of black and raven blue swirl together that you barely recognize a signpost nearby. It's the grove, but you've never seen it like this, as dark as it can be only at night.

It's uncomfortable to stand barefoot, with a chill creeping up your legs.

After a while your fingers touch the rough bark of a nearby tree to get a sense of direction, and you start walking, because there isn't anything else to do.

There's the bridge, you think. If you just get to the bridge, the rest will be simple.

You're walking there, or that's what you think when a small ball of light appears right before your nose.

Fireflies don't glow blue. It doesn't falter, doesn't flicker, coming up closer then farther like a pendulum. There's something uncanny and fragile about it. For a second you forget everything and stand mesmerized, until it starts moving.

Through the trees, past the branches, onwards.

It's more instinctual than anything ─ you don't want to be left here alone again, so you follow. Light is good, darkness isn't. The ground becomes more uneven as you go, the grass changes to moss, but you can barely register anything at this point apart from that lonely glow. It halts at times as if making sure you're keeping up.

Is that a clearing ahead? Your eyes hurt from trying to focus.

The blue dot continues to float, never speeding up, never falling behind.

Then it disappears.

No. Not disappears ─ settles on the tip of a pale finger.

There's your tomato patch, your plants, the empty box that you forgot to take back to the condo.

But it's impossible.

Your garden should be not very far from the border, yet it feels like you've walked through half of the grove by now.

Why is he here?

"It took you a while," he says, the stranger from the bridge whose eyes made you pause before you caught yourself. "I was waiting, my dear."

Maybe you shouldn't ask. Maybe the wisest thing would be to turn around and run. You step back and trip on a root which somehow snuck between the moss. He catches your hand before you fall and doesn't let go. Instead his thumb caresses your skin in leisurely strokes.

There's a faint scent of lilies coming from him, and something else. Something heavy, equally sweet that lingers on the edge of cloying and enticing.

Smells aren't supposed to be so strong in dreams.

"I need to go."

"Where?"

This simple question asked in an equally plain tone makes you falter. What does he mean 'where'?

"Home," you say softly and try to free your hand again without success. The man leans in close enough that you can see his face, illuminated by that blue light.

"And where is home?"

"I-" you swallow. "I have to go."

He releases you with surprising ease; you don't waste any time rushing towards the path. The long walk has exhausted you, and the lack of light makes it difficult to tell which turns to take. You stumble multiple times. The hem of your nightdress catches a few twigs. You sprint past the trees, past the low bushes along the familiar trail, and it's there, suddenly in front of you: the wooden bridge.

Out of breath, you grab the railing. And then open your eyes on the same side where you started.

How?

Again and again, you dash across it, yet every time there's a single step left to cross over the stream, the view shifts. Your feet land at the beginning of the bridge. On the ninth time when it's impossible to run any longer, you press your forehead to the railing. Every breath feels short and raspy.

"That's enough, dear."

"What is this?" You grip the planks with trembling hands. "I don't understand. Why can't I-"

A coat falls over your shoulders; you clutch at it mindlessly, because it's warm and you're shaking all over.

"You thanked me. Claimed my land, charmingly audacious of you. Such care and love, right under my nose."

There's no malice in his voice. Gently, finger by finger, he uncurls the tight grip of your hand. The stone is there, cerulean blue like summer sky condensed into a tiny orb.

"Took my gift and kept it close to your heart."

It takes some effort but eventually you manage to speak. "I didn't," you whisper urgently, despite the shiny proof in your palm. "I didn't know! Take it back."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"I didn't know!"

He lifts you in his arms when your knees give out and you sink to the ground, still gripping that damned stone. His coat carries the same distinct scent of lilies and heavy sweetness. The sceneries you dreamed of when younger pop in your head, like old postcards covered with dust, of mystical beings hidden from human eye, fantastical places no one has seen, grand adventures where heroes defy impossible odds and come out victorious.

Those were tales for the brave and imaginative. You're neither.

"It doesn't matter. The land claims you," he says. "And so do I."

[koolades-world]

alright, cute idea three out of four! i'm on a roll right now :) after writing it, i'm less sure of how much of fluff this is. i had intended to make it much cuter lol. maybe this is more hurt/comfort? i was listening to the mizu5 song for my proseka followers so things took a bit of a turn there. this is short, but several of the lines go hard imo

after all that writing the word tradgety (tragety? trajety?) and i still can't spell it right...

the greatest human tragedy

If you'd asked Satan what the greatest human tragedy was before the exchange program, he would've confidently answered the burning of the Library of Alexandria.

The amount of lost literature made his heart ache. Every time he was reminded, he couldn't help but wish he'd gone more when it was still standing. He was lucky enough to own some copies of the books that were lost, but he was only allowed to have so many.

His opinion began to sway when you entered his life.

He began to grow unsure of himself and the solidity of his answer. The blinding light that you were seeped through the cracks in the walls he’d built up around himself. You were quite literally nothing less than a saint to him. You treated him kindly, and helped him work on himself, asking for nothing in return. He was lost in the ocean that was you.

After getting to know you, his answer changed. If you asked him now what the greatest human tragedy was, he'd immediately answer you. Not because you exist. On the contrary, you're the greatest thing to happen to the three realms. No, he'd say this because your life span is a blip in time compared to his. The day he loses you will be the day the Devildom freezes over.

God must've made you mortal to taunt him.

Human life was fragile, and he was aware of this. But once he'd gotten to know you, it fully clicked at just how little it would take to bring you down. The first you got sick while in the Devildom was a whirlwind of a day for everyone but you. Fate was playing a cruel joke on him, stringing him along like a marionette and dragging him towards the inevitable.

He was drawn towards you like a moth to the flame. He wasn't sure what he'd do just yet, but as of right now, he planned to savor your time together. He wasn't sure if he was in a tragedy or comedy, but he wasn't sure which to hope for either. He hated the amount of uncertiantly this issue was acompanied by

Being born had been a curse for not only his brothers, but for himself. However, he was grateful for you. He wasn't sure how he'd cross the bridge of mortality with you, but he'd pour all of his candle wax into yours if he had to.

Anything for the greatest human tragedy he called his lover.

[iridescents-homemadebiblequotes]

YOU GUYS ARE ADDING WATER TO YOUR PANCAKES????????

Anyway this is my recipe ive refined over the course of my life (ive never once measured anything so this is all one big estimation and definitely the wrong but heck)

tis makes like 5-6 pancakes

- 1 egg

- 1/3 cup milk probably maybe more

- 2 tsp vanilla

-2 Tbsp maple syrup (VERY CRUCIAL) tiss what makes them bangers. maybe add more i just pore it in till im satisfied. honestly makes the batter change colour a bit.

-1 Tbsp sugar (maybe a little bit less the syrup is the main sweetener honestly)

- 1/2 Tbsp baking powder

- 1 tsp cinnamon

- pinch of nutmeg

-2/3 cup self raising flour probably (i honestly just add flour till its the right viscousness) *

---

mix in this order: wet ingredients, sugar, flour, lil powders.

cook with a generous amount of butter (no oil cause ive heard some people make pancakes with oil ew)

-----

* Like it should be thick but still run off the spoon. And honestly it doesn't matter too much, if it's thicker you get thicker pancakes, and if it's runnier you get thinner pancakes. Worse case add more flour or milk after you've started cooking (dont you dare ruin my recipe with water) (unless your lactose intolerant)

[rini-rushed]

less doesn’t always mean lukewarm.

☆ sae x reader ^^ (gender not mentioned)

★ fluff or smth, no bllk au

☆ reader is described to have a lot of distraction problems, quick thoughts and random prompts stacked in their head, idk how to explain it i just had this feeling today so i wrote this with emotions tethered to it

notes: based off an experience i had today, except i was spiraling alone + the ending derailed and became SHIT tbh😕

tapping your pen against the pages of your barely touched notebook, you blink as your mind wandered to random places.

what time is it? did you ever submit that report? what does TGIF mean? is modern art actually ugly? did you ever clean out your locker? does it actually make sense to have the metric system? is moving to north pole for the penguins THAT bad of a life plan?

your train of thought was on a roll to say the least, stopping at short term stations, new random and shortsighted ideas and "plans" for side quests pinging in your head.

the notion was quick and swift in your head, twitching your facial muscles ever so slightly as you hopped on one cloud to the next. it was all quite minimally amusing to you, but it certainly wasn't for your study partner.

"stop that."

click!

"stop what?"

you straightened your posture, stopping your pen fidgeting, rolling your eyes to the face in front of you.

"making dumb faces, you haven't even written anything down." sae sighs slightly, you keenly notice the little wrinkle that imprinted itself onto his brow.

then your attention pays itself to the words he just said, you look down at your paper and sure enough, the only markings on your page were little dots that were the outcome of your no-thought-shuffle of your fingers.

you couldn't help but frown a bit, pursing your lips in slight disappointment at the lack of writing done.

at your silence, you could just feel the damn sigh that was stolen from sae's figure, that only dampened your mood a bit, tilting your head lower.

you repositioned the pen in your hand, now in the position of writing, your eyes dragged themself against the table, clawing and resisting as your vision was overwhelmed with words and symbols.

the textbook's big paragraphs made you think and process, like a loading screen over your head, engulfing yourself in mumbo-jumbo, losing yourself in the walls of text.

maybe after rereading the same sentence for the nth time and writing down a singular “the” you already feel drained.

noticing your overwhelmingly heightened distress, sae calmly closes his book and shuts off his laptop silently.

you see his neutral look on his face as he’s gathering his things, you can feel your stomach drop, was he already that annoyed?

you bit the inside of your cheek.

you couldn’t blame him.

so you keep your head and your field of view low as the events played out before you. they come and go, your study partners, your peers.

you gripped your pen a tiny bit harder at the thoughts, now bubbling up from the dark crevices of your heart. doubt and shame inking your insides as it immobilizes your lungs, you could feel your heart-

“what are you doing? come on”

? you look up at him.

“come on stupid, we’re going on a break, we can’t get shit done if you’re like this.”

his words are blunt, but they don’t hurt you, they’re just pointing out the obvious.

he’s being stupid about being nice.

but you don’t hesitate to pack your things too, although you feel his eyes on you as you do so, you don’t feel the weight of pressure.

the weight of needing to check yourself, how you’re perceived, how you’re supposed to be acting. he’s just, observing you.

and so you pack up and follow him out, he takes you to an area that’s slightly more populated, no longer in the library, you’re in the courtyard. he gets you a snack from the vending machine, and opens a bag as you open your mouth.

letting the long stream of thoughts out, sae answer minimally, it was all you really needed, some simple answers for some simple questions.

“what time is it?”

“1:45pm.”

“did I ever submit that report? ”

“you can check now.”

“what does TGIF mean? ”

“thank god it’s friday”

“is modern art actually ugly? ”

“up to you, artists won’t care”

“did I ever clean out my locker? ”

“we don’t use them anymore.”

“does it actually make sense to have the metric system? ”

“americans are stupid.”

“is moving to north pole for the penguins THAT bad of a life plan?”

”yes.”

neither of you really kept track of time, not that either of you bothered to. sae only looked at you with that blank face of his, and your mouth kept moving.

sae knew that this was taking more time than if he had just stayed at the library with you.

but he knew better.

he knew that bitching to you to fix your attitude can’t help with the situation, so why worsen it.

he rather see you being comfortable and “wasting time” rather than being shackled to a task when you’re obviously not mentally into it.

long story short: if it means you’ll be less lukewarm, he’ll take it.

★ 終わり☆

holy shit why was that ending so bad 😢

tags: @tofumiarchives @rinitoshiplzdateme @fishii28

@shrii-kk

@reapkusho @ac3ss @tired-xyra-urstruly

renaissance is such a pretty word btw

[noira-l]

𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: Satoru faces the terrifying possibility of losing you because of someone else’s reckless mistake, but he manages to save you, bringing you back from the edge. Every touch, every word is filled with tenderness, his relief palpable as he steadies you, feeds you, and ensures you feel his warmth beside you.

warnings: near death experience from reader, description of wounds and limbs, blood, first aid (more or less adequate), "hospital" experience, Satoru is a menace (in general and to someone), hurt/comfort (a lot), a lot of caring from Satoru, full blown princess treatment for reader, pet names (princess), he is still teasing but worried.

author's note: This chapter is a little longer than I expected, but I hope you will still enjoy it c:

You lay sprawled on the floor.

Your breaths coming in ragged gasps, the taste of blood sharp and metallic on your tongue.

The ground beneath you felt warm.

You couldn't move your arm, you totally lost contact with the torn tissue. Your non-dominant hand tried to plug the hole that had formed at your abdomen.

Blood pooled around you, thick and dark, clinging to your skin and clothes, spreading beneath your body like ink on paper. Coldness began to creep in, sinking through your muscles, and with it, an unbearable heaviness.

Everything hurt you, it hurt so much.

You were so tired, sleep clawing at the edges of your mind, whispering promises of release.

You knew you didn't have much time.

You glanced out of the corner of your eye one last time, far away, to the exit of the domain that you made so that everyone could escape. Not everyone made it, you didn't have enough strength to hold the way of escape. People screamed and fled deeper into the dark, chased by the curse - leaving you alone.

With a quivering hand slick with blood, you managed to grab your phone, its surface smudged and smeared from your grip. Your thumb trembled as you unlocked the screen, the faint glow casting pale light onto your weary face.

You dialled the first number from your recent calls.

It's worth a try, maybe this domain is still weak enough that the phone signal will manage to get through.

Even the phone seemed heavy to you. You could feel yourself slowly choking as blood rushed to your throat from internal bleeding.

The call connected, and his voice filled your ear, casual, warm, blissfully unaware.

"Hey~ Relax, I know what you're calling for. I can cook that ramen. Got the recipe right here. I've got it all under control!" in the background, you could hear the shuffle of kitchen utensils, the clinking of pots and pans. There was comfort in that sound, familiar, so ordinary.

"Sato…ru.." you rasped, your voice barely more than a breath, your mouth filling with blood as you struggled to speak.

The noise on his end stilled in an instant. Silence fell, tense and sharp.

"Where are you?" his voice was hard, worried, so different from the playful tone he’d used just seconds before.

You tried to answer, but your throat was full, each breath a struggle against the liquid heat rising up, drowning your words.

You managed to roll onto your side. You hissed as you shifted, pressing weight onto your injured arm. Blood escaped from your throat, allowing you to speak a little.

“Civilians... inside the domain..." you whispered, voice thin and fragile, every syllable a labor of will "Two curses.... the other still... lives..." you could hear a sharp clatter from his end, something falling, maybe a knife or a spoon, maybe something heavier, but it was all blending into the haze.

"Where are you, answer me (Y/N)!"

But you didn't listen, trying to gave him important information before your gone.

"Hit the mirror..." you coughed ".. when your done, it's outside."

"Damn it! Answer me!"

"I'm.. not gonna make it.." you paused, feeling your consciousness slipping away "I’m so sorry, ‘toru…" you whispered, dropping your phone on the floor.

Darkness closed in, thick and final, but just before it claimed you, you thought you heard him calling your name, his voice taut and desperate, reaching through the static

★ --

"Shoko! Get over here, now!"

The hospital doors flew open as he appeared, and he didn’t bother to hold back his voice, shouting Shoko’s name with a force that echoed down the sterile hallways

The intensity was enough to scatter anyone who dared cross his path, medical staff and sorcerers alike stepping back, wide-eyed and fearful as Satoru strode forward, not slowing, his face an icy mask of resolve.

"Get out of my way!" he snapped at anyone lingering in the halls, his voice sharp and carrying a barely controlled fury.

Despite his quite controlled exterior, his mind was racing, worry clawing at him like he’d never known. His thoughts clung to the what-ifs, the questions he never let himself think but now couldn’t ignore.

Had he made it in time?

He looked at you.

You looked like a small, battered doll. Your eyes almost lifeless, your expression petrified. The cursed energy in your body barely glimmered. He hugged you tighter to himself, pulling your limbs tighter to hold you even tighter.

"Hold on, please - we're almost there." he murmured, more to himself than to you

Please, please, please stay with me.

He turned to the left corridor.

He found her, and relief mingled with his urgency. Shoko took one look at you in his arms, the blood trailing from your side, the limp, lifeless way your arm hung by a thread, and her face paled, a steely focus settling into her gaze.

"Put her down here." Shoko ordered, snapping out of her shock.

She had no time for questions, no time for explanations. She turned to her assistants, barking orders with a precision born of experience "Prep the room. I’ll need blood transfusions - check her chart, sutures, cursed energy patches - everything we have."

Satoru laid you down on the nearest examination bed, his movements almost mechanical, though the tremor in his hands betrayed the turmoil within him. He stepped back only enough to allow Shoko space to work, his jaw clenched as he watched her assess your injuries.

The assistant returned with everything Shoko had ordered.

"Do you know how much blood she's lost?" she asked hurriedly, putting on gloves and a face mask.

"A lot" was all he could say.

She began with your shoulder, examining the nearly severed arm hanging grotesquely by a strip of muscle and skin. Blood soaked through her gloves as she lifted the limb carefully, eyes dark with concentration.

“Her arm is barely attached,” she muttered under her breath, reaching for a clamp to stem the blood flow “The wound is extensive, torn straight through muscle and tendons.”

Shoko’s assistant hovered nearby, their faces set in grim concentration as they handed her the tools she needed.

"Stop the bleeding in the lower abdomen." ordering one of the astists, she turned to the other "And you start the transfusions."

Satoru stayed silent, his gaze fixed on you, his body taut as he watched her work.

Shoko’s hands moved deftly, sealing off the worst of the blood loss with a cursed energy barrier, pressing her hands to the wound as she worked to restore circulation to your arm. Her reverse cursed technique glowed faintly, a steady stream of healing energy pulsing through your battered shoulder as she mended the torn tendons, weaving muscle fibers back together with meticulous care. The procedure was painstaking, every inch of the damage requiring careful attention, but Shoko’s focus was unshakable.

She had to stabilise you - that was the priority.

Then her hands took care of your stomach.

It took maybe 5-7 minutes, however, for Satoru everything lasted like hours. He had to stand and watch as a group of people covered the view of you.

"How bad is it?" his voice broke through the silence, rough and strained. He wanted any information. Any confirmation that he had made it in time.

Shoko glanced up, her expression guarded. “She’s lost a lot of blood. The damage is severe." she was specific and gave facts. As usual. There was no point in lying to him.

“This..." she traced the torn flesh of your shoulder carefully "It’s so close to major arteries. We’re lucky she made it this far."

Satoru’s fists clenched, his gaze dark as he watched her press a gauze pad to your side, the blood staining it immediately.

"I got here as fast as I could." he murmured, barely more than a whisper, his voice laced with an emotion he seldom showed.

He drifted away in thought for a moment.

Slipping into his mind.

The room seemed too bright and the blood everywhere too dark. The noise of the medical machines was disturbed by the sound of his pounding heart.

His gaze lingered on the trail of blood just below his feet, leading directly to your bed. He watched the small spots on the floor, and observe as they getting bigger, literally growing before his eyes, consuming his shoes.

The sight of your body in a pool of blood flashed through his mind.

Over, and over, and over.

And over again.

Shoko's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

To her, Satoru simply stood with his head bowed down, stone-faced.

"Gojo. Her condition is stable. Please wait outside, I will take care of everything now."

Satoru noded, his shoulders slumping.

He moved closer to the bed, he put his hand on your palm, squeezing it lightly, before turning to Shoko.

"Thank you, Shoko." he murmured, his voice barely audible.

He glanced at you again before leaving the room, watching you disappear again behind a curtain of people who were trying to keep you alive.

He knew what he had to do now.

★ --

Satoru appeared after a while in the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor as he walked.

An energy pulsed off him in waves.

The air around him felt charged, almost volatile, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by something colder, something that made those nearby shrink back. His gaze was concealed behind the bandages, his expression was unreadable, a stone mask that gave nothing away.

From her spot by the wall, Shoko watched him with a wary gaze, a cigarette still held between her fingers as she blew out a last puff of smoke.

Her hard work has paid off - she has stabilised you.

She took in the scene as he approached - the smears of blood staining his jacket, the dark flecks of cursed energy lingering in the air around him, and the deep, cold set of his jaw. She could only imagine the wreckage he’d left behind, the remnants of whatever curse had dared to harm you.

As he neared her, he drew a white handkerchief from his pocket, unfolding it with calm precision. Shoko’s eyes followed the movement, noting the slight tremor in his fingers as he began methodically wiping away the purple blood splattered across his hands.

He moved slowly, almost obsessively, wiping each knuckle, each crease, as if trying to erase every trace of what he’d done.

"Did it suffer?" she asked.

Satoru finished wiping his hands, folding the bloodstained cloth neatly before pocketing it. He didn’t answer immediately.

"More than enough." he replied after a while, his voice like steel.

The famous Gojo Satoru getting his hands dirty.

He glanced back toward your room, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. The fury that had burned in him faded, replaced by the exhaustion.

"Can I… see her?" his voice was low, uncharacteristically tentative.

Shoko nodded "Yes, the worst is over, she’s sleeping now."

"Thank you - again." he gave her a nod.

Without thinking, he approached the door and pulled gently on the handle, entering the room quietly.

Shoko saw that for a moment, he was the man who'd rushed to your side, not the sorcerer who’d torn through curses with cold precision.

★ --

The soft hum of teleportation barely registered as Satoru reappeared in his own home, the familiar surroundings both grounding and jarring. The scent of something burnt hit his nose first, and then he noticed the plume of smoke curling up from the kitchen. His stomach sank. He’d left the ramen on the stove, the pot now emitting a dark, acrid smell.

"Do you have any idea what you almost did!?" Megumi yelled, his tone sharp "You left the ramen on the stove - almost burned down the kitchen!"

Satoru opened his mouth to respond, maybe to offer a laugh or a joke, but the words died as Megumi's gaze softened, his expression changing as he took in Satoru’s face. The stone face, the faint streaks of blood on his collar, the tension that lingered despite his attempts to relax. Megumi’s scolding faded, and worry took its place. Tsumiki who appeared next to him had the same look on her young face.

"I’m sorry about the ramen, kiddo. I was… distracted. Something happened." Satoru’s tone shifted, calm and steady, though a note of heaviness remained "There was an accident. Your mom... she got hurt pretty badly, but she’s in good hands now. She’s being taken care of."

Both kids froze, their faces mirroring an all-too-familiar look of fear. Tsumiki’s hands flew to her mouth, and Megumi’s normally composed demeanor broke, his eyes wide "Is she going to be okay?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Can we see her?" Tsumiki asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes." Satoru assured them, placing a gentle hand on each of their shoulders "She’s stable now. She’s safe." he paused, his voice softening as he added "You’ll be able to see her soon. I’ll take you both to visit her in a day or two, once she’s rested a bit. Or maybe she'll even be home by then."

The kids nodded, though their expressions were still clouded with worry. He offered them a head pat and reassuring smile, one that felt fragile even as he gave it, before excusing himself to gather a few things for you.

Satoru went to your shared room, pulling together a bag of things you’d want with you. He packed the essentials - clean clothes, hygiene products, a book you hadn’t finished yet with the worn bookmark you always used. His hand lingered over his softest pair of socks, slipping them into the bag because he knew how cold you got in clinic rooms. He added a few of your favorite snacks, the ones you always reached for on the top shelf, and finally, a small cushion from the couch that still held a trace of your favorite scent. He knew these were just small things, but they felt like tiny comforts he could offer to make you feel a little less alone when you wake up.

After he’d packed everything, Satoru paused in the quiet of the apartment. The kids had gone to bed, their lingering glances filled with worry and questions they hadn’t voiced.

He took a deep breath, trying to quiet the aftershocks of fear and anger that had burned through him. His fingers curled around the strap of the bag, as though anchoring himself in the thought of seeing you again, of bringing these small tokens of home to you.

He tried everything to prevent his mind from racing again.

With one last glance at the quiet apartment, he teleported back to your hospital room.

★ --

Light, more brightness.

More noise.

And more pain.

Your eyes flutter open, everything slowly coming into focus. A heaviness settles over your body, a dull ache throbbing in every limb. As you shift slightly, you catch sight of the IV needle taped to your hand, a soft bandage wrapped around the other, the skin numb, likely due to the strong meds they’d pumped into your system.

You exhale, bracing yourself as you slowly rise into a semi-sitting position, feeling the stiffness in your muscles protesting with every movement.

You made it through.

You're alive.

He saved you.

You knew it, you didn't see or feel him coming for you, yet only he would be able to get to you so quickly. No one else would have been able to help you.

Gratitude wells up inside you, mingled with the lingering haze of exhaustion. You don't know how to thank him. You would like to repay him in every bit of your existance.

You feel like you could lie there for hours, let the heaviness of sleep pull you back under. But, despite it all, you can’t ignore the small flicker of relief that you’re still here.

You survived today to die tomorrow.

It’s been an hour or maybe two when you tried to be awake - time’s hard to gauge in this half-dazed state.

The thought crosses your mind - just how long did you sleep?

You squint at the dim light seeping into the room, but there’s no sense of time here.

You start to egzaminate yourself.

Your dominant hand feels strange, disconnected - it’s there, resting on the blanket, but no matter how much you try, you can barely move it. The faintest twitches respond to your will, but there’s almost no control, like it’s not quite part of you. It’s unsettling, a reminder that your body has been through more than it can comfortably handle.

You pull the duvet, taking in the scattering of bruises and scratches that color your legs, each one a map of the recent battle. Carefully, you place your other hand on your hip, fingers brushing over a new scar, raised and raw, but without the sharpness of stitches. You can touch it, sure, and yet your senses are muted, dulled under the weight of painkillers coursing through your system. There’s a heaviness in your head too, a sluggishness, that made you almost sloppy.

It's not so bad - you need to thank Shoko. You could feel that she's not finished yet, she probably didn't have the strength anymore, so she made what she could.

At least you had an arm, right?

A glance around the room brings your eyes to the chair beside the small cupboard. On it sits a familiar black bag, half-zipped, with the fabric bulging slightly from the careful packing. Resting on the cupboard is your book, its cover worn, your favorite bookmark peeking out from between the pages. A small smile tugs at your lips despite the discomfort.

You reach toward the bag, tugging it closer, the weight of it almost too much as your fingers dig into the straps. With effort, you haul it onto the bed, wincing as the motion tugs at sore muscles. Slowly, carefully, you unzip it, peeling back the top to reveal neatly folded fabrics inside. Clean clothes, hygiene products, snacks, a big sweater that’s unmistakably Satoru’s, and a pair of warm socks - those oversized ones you’d always borrowed.

You smile, the simple sight of them lifting your spirits just a little. Satoru’s little touches are everywhere in this moment; he’d thought of every detail. With a bit of effort, you tug on the socks, feeling their warmth, thanking him for thinking of your poor, cold limbs.

You looked at the sweater.

Your gaze shifts to the doorway, lingering a moment to ensure no one is around. The hall outside is empty, and the door to your room is slightly ajar, but not a soul is passing by. Satisfied, you turn back to Satoru’s sweater, drawing it closer, letting your fingers sink into the soft fabric, drowning in the scent of his cologne mixing with something unmistakably him - a warm, comforting aroma that always brings you a sense of calm.

It’s not your fault he smells so perfect; you’d picked out that cologne yourself, after all, and it suits him like nothing else.

You allow yourself a quiet smile, eyes still closed, feeling both comforted and amused at how easily his scent seems to chase away the chill of the room.

Gritting your teeth, you try to sit up, sliding your legs slowly toward the edge of the bed. A hiss escapes your lips as the pain bites sharply, sending a wave of discomfort through your side. You pause, steadying yourself, breathing through the sensation. You see that he brought you disposable flip-flops, that were lying next to this side of the bed.

You’re just getting used to the discomfort when Shoko enters the room, her expression composed, professional, her posture radiating a calm authority. There’s a brief flicker of warmth in her eyes as she sees you awake, but it’s quickly replaced by her focused, clinical gaze. For a moment, you’re not her friend lying here in a hospital bed but her patient.

She steps closer, her eyes sweeping over you with that practiced precision, assessing every visible sign of injury.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice soft yet purposeful, each word measured, carrying an undercurrent of genuine concern.

"I’m… here." you manage, letting out a weak chuckle "Can barely feel my hand, though. Just feels… dull. Heavy, I guess. Thank you for saving me."

She nods, her brow furrowing as she shifts to examine your hand. Her touch is careful, her fingertips pressing lightly along your arm, tracing the lines where numbness blurs into sensation.

"No problem. You’re feeling dullness in the hand?" she repeats, more to herself than to you, her mind clearly already analyzing what’s needed.

"Yeah, like I know it’s there, but it’s not exactly responding the way it should" you explain, trying to move your fingers slightly but finding only minimal response.

Shoko mutters something under her breath, her gaze fixed on the IV as she reaches to adjust it.

"Alright, I’m putting this drip on hold for now." she announces, her tone shifting briefly into one of practiced command. She carefully unfastens the line, leaving the cannula still in place "I don’t want to remove this completely yet. I’ll need it again tomorrow. For now, though, I want things to stabilize a bit on their own."

You watch her work, noticing the subtle exhaustion in her movements "So… you’ll take care of it tomorrow?" you ask, curiosity slipping into your voice.

Like, you want to have an a functioning arm - if it's avaiable?

She nods, her gaze softening for a moment as she steps back, folding her arms and glancing at the IV "Yes. Your arm should start feeling more normal by then, but I need to let things knit together a little first. And, honestly…" she pauses, rubbing her eyes briefly "I don’t have the strength right now. I’ll be more useful tomorrow, after I get some rest. I'm sorry."

You thank her and study her, seeing the weight of her own exhaustion etched faintly in the way she holds herself, the way she sometimes blinks a little longer than usual. Her commitment to her work is unmistakable, but you catch the signs that even she is running low.

"How long did I sleep, anyway?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Almost two days." she replies, her voice calm, matter-of-fact. Her gaze shifts back to you, assessing your response as though you might suddenly react to the news.

Your brows rise "Two days? That’s… a long time."

Shoko shakes her head slightly.

"Not really. Honestly, after the state you were in, I thought you might be out for a week." she crosses her arms, her gaze steady "You lost a lot of blood, and you nearly lost a limb. Two days is impressive recovery for you."

You nod slowly, absorbing her words, realizing how close you must have come to something worse. The weight of it settles on you, a quiet reminder of just how lucky you are to still be here.

"So… Satoru’s out on a mission?" you ask, hoping to change the subject, if only to lighten the mood a bit.

Shoko reaches up, twirling a strand of her hair thoughtfully "He left a few hours ago. But he should be back later. He sat by your side the whole time." her gaze flickers to the door, as if expecting him to walk in at any moment.

You nod, a small, relieved sigh escaping you "Understand."

You wonder what the kids must feel. They probably know about your condition.

Shoko settles into a chair beside your bed, glancing down at her notes, then back up at you. There’s a hint of something in her gaze - frustration mixed with lingering concern. She takes a breath, her voice soft but firm.

"It's a miracle, really. You almost didn't make it." she says, her tone steady, but her eyes hold a fierceness that surprises you "All because someone couldn't do thier job correctly."

Your brows furrow as you try to recall the details of the mission, piecing together what you remember. Everything comes back in flashes.

Endo Kyō, the assistant who was assigned to you and participated in that mission with you.

By your arrival, his job was to secure the area and assess the threat. According to his analysis, there was a grade one curse in the domain.

In fact, there were two curses in the domain. However, you had no idea about this.

One was trapped in the domain of the other - the one that attacked you first inside, wasn't responsible for the domain. You knew something was wrong when, after killing this one, the domain didn't start to disintegrate. You thought it was a matter of place or vail that the assistant should apply. Through the effect of the domain, you were unable to effectively sense the presence of the other one on time.

You were outclassed.

The second curse emerged just as you were making a hole in the shell so that civilians could safely leave the area.

You got hit, unable to dodge the attack.

"He seemed fine as a person, maybe a little weird. He's new, mistakes happen. Like... I remember my beginnings. He'll learn." you sigh resignedly.

Shoko’s expression sharpens, a seriousness in her eyes that makes you pause "He’s not new." she says flatly.

"Huh?"

"He originally worked in Kyoto. He was transferred here after a similar incident, a really similar case." you listened in disbelief, looking at Shoko with wide eyes.

"And..." she continued "Because he has connections with higher-ups, it was decided to transfer him disciplinary to our grounds, rather than dismiss him for his apparent negligence." her words sink in like a stone, leaving you in stunned silence.

You stare at her, the shock sinking in like ice. Your fists clench at your sides, the dull ache in your hand momentarily forgotten as your fingers press into your palm. You are livid.

What a fucking asshole.

Shoko watches you, her own expression dark.

"Well... Gojo had an even worse reaction." she says quietly, glancing down as if recalling the scene.

"What do you mean?"

"Gojo found out what Endo did not long after you were brought in." she begins.

Oh no.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that. He marched right up to Endo and tore into him. It was… intense." she stated "He didn’t even gave him a chance to speak before he cornered him, demanding to know if he had any sense of care at all. Told him that as a assisnant, he should take his comrades’ lives as seriously as he takes his own and that his failure is just as spectacularly dumb as he is."

She goes on, eyes narrowing "He pointed out every mistake and every omission to him as if he had no filter. I guess he controled himself a little at least, because he looked like he was fighting not to snap. The guy nearly passed out there."

You couldn't believe what you were just hearing.

"In the end he said something along the lines that if he saw him near his wife again - he won't hold back and won't care if someone is watching, he'll just kill him on the spot."

★ --

After some time a pang of hunger twists in your stomach, and the uncomfortable reminder that you’ll need the bathroom soon follows.

You try to get up again, struggling with the same discomfort as before.

"Oh no~ The sleeping beauty is already up and I missed the wake-up kiss." you heard his voice behind you. You chuckled weakly. He goes around your bed.

Despite his lighthearted words, you can sense the undercurrent of concern beneath them. You can see it more when he comes closer a heaviness, a weight that’s hard to miss.

"You really shouldn’t be getting up, princess." he murmurs, his fingers gentle and lingering as they steady your shaking body "Wouldn't want you losing a glass slipper on the way to the bathroom, would we?"

You roll your eyes, managing a faint laugh "Wrong princess, you dork. You don't have to help me, I'll manage somehow, you did enough for me." you try to be polite, but a hiss escape your lips, when you stand for a first time.

"Consider it royal decree: this dork is helping you, no arguments." he replies, slipping his arm more firmly around you despite your protest, his playful tone does little to mask the concern in his eyes as he holds you steady.

Together, you make your way out into the corridor, Satoru guiding you carefully, matching his steps to your slower pace. His hand never leaves you, and he keeps glancing over, checking on you, asking if you’re alright, if anything’s hurting more than it should. You answer quietly, pointing out the sharper aches and the duller bruises. The warmth of his arm around you, his attention, feels steadying, grounding you in a way that’s as comforting as it is unusual.

But of course he had to tease you a little bit.

"You know, for a princess, you’re not exactly gliding gracefully down the hall. Need me to summon some royal attendants to carry you on a velvet throne?"

You scoff, wincing slightly as another sharp ache flares up "No throne required. I’ll walk, thank you very much."

He chuckles, adjusting his hold on you "Brave as ever. But if you start fading from exhaustion, I’m totally picking you up. Wouldn’t want you fainting and having to explain to the entire staff how their little Sleeping Beauty managed to end up on the floor."

You roll your eyes, his teasing both comforting and mildly embarrassing "They’d have to call you Prince Charming in that case, huh?"

Satoru grins, dramatically flicking an imaginary cape over his shoulder "I knew you saw it in me. But don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine with just ‘Your Highness’ for now. ‘Prince Charming’ can wait for special occasions."

The faint murmur of clinic activity surrounds you, and as the two of you walk through the corridor, you catch a few people glancing your way, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and surprise. Satoru doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care. He’s focused on you, steadying you with each step, his hand firm yet gentle on your side.

His words are teasing, playfull as ever. But his touch is delicate, caring - and it's making your heart flutter.

When no one’s around, you feel his fingers subtly adjusting the back of your hospital gown, and though he doesn’t mention it, you know it’s his quiet way of looking out for you.

When you finally reach the bathroom, he stops just outside, his arm slipping away but his gaze fixed on you with an almost exaggerated seriousness "Now, don’t go pulling a Cinderella and sneaking away, alright? I’ll be here if you need me to hold your royal gown or anything. Very dignified service - I’m quite experienced."

You chuckle despite yourself, finding his lighthearted support surprisingly pleasant "Yeah, sure, I’ll call my ‘knight in shining armor’ if I need any bathroom assistance."

He smirks, leaning casually against the wall "Good. Because a princess should never have to face a hallway alone."

You linger in the bathroom a moment, catching your reflection in the small, unflattering mirror. Your face stares back, hollowed with exhaustion, skin pale and dull under the fluorescent light. Your hair clings in greasy strands, reminding you just how long you’ve been out. It's strange seeing yourself this way - vulnerable, worn down, every bruise and shadow a testament to the last ordeal. Your outfit must be pretty ridiculous too with his oversize sweater, hospital gown, oversized socks and slippers.

Your look is not very princess-like.

You wonder if you should talk to him about what happends now.

However, you conclude that it is better to wait until you return from your meal so that you can talk to him in peace, unless he is called away on a mission.

When you step out, Satoru’s waiting right there, his hand reaching out to take yours. The familiar warmth of his touch steadies you, grounding you once more.

"What else does my princess need?" he teases softly, his tone light yet gentle "A breakfast feast? A little pampering session?" you pass him a tired smile, there’s still a glint of mischief in his tone "How about I whisk you off to your favorite ramen place? I could get us there in two seconds flat."

"As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think I could handle being teleported just yet. And I don't like it that much." you laugh, shaking your head. You wouldn't go anywhere in this outfit anyway.

"Right." he nods, pretending to think it over "Hmm. Guess the royal express is on hold today. "he says with a mock sigh of disappointment "Alright, we’ll go with the classic approach - school cafeteria it is. Nothing but the finest cuisine for you."

It's been a long time since you ate food from the school canteen. You wonder if it's as dull and bland, as it was back in your school days.

With a reassuring squeeze, he guides you down the corridor, his arm firmly around you as you both navigate to the a small room. A tiny, cramped and bright room, with a few tables, coffe maschine and a microwave, where the medical assistants usually take their meals. The antiseptic smell is a sharp contrast to the warmth of his arm and his steady presence beside you, as though he’s somehow blocking out the cold, sterile atmosphere.

When you reach the cafeteria, he gently seats you on one free table. He gently steers you into a seat, his hands lingering for a moment as if making sure you’re settled.

"Now, stay put." he commands lightly"Can’t have the princess fainting. I’ll be back in a flash."

You take a moment, resting your head back against the seat, allowing the gentle hum of the cafeteria to settle around you. It’s oddly peaceful here, the faint murmur of voices blending with the rhythmic clatter of dishes.

It’s only a few moments before he’s back, a tray laden with food and drinks balanced effortlessly in his hands. He grins, setting it down with a flourish "Behold, a feast fit for a princess." he declares, gesturing grandly to a couple of steaming bowls of soup, a small pile of rice, orange chcicken and some kind of dessert.

You raise an eyebrow, but you smile a little anyway "I think you might be confusing 'princess' with 'army,' but thank you."

"Look, every princess deserves options. You don’t know what royal cravings might strike once you start eating." he starts to lay everything out on a small table.

You laugh, the sound softer than usual but genuine "Well, I appreciate the royal treatment."

His gaze softens, the usual teasing glint tempered by something warmer "You deserve it." he says, his voice barely above a murmur.

You're looking at him, your eyes a little wide, you're holding on a little blush.

You give Satoru a grateful smile as he hands you the cutlery, and you gave each other quick "Itadakimasu" before digging in. Satoru starts eating right away, taking his first bite with his usual relaxed ease, but as you reach for your chopsticks with your non-dominant hand, reality sinks in quickly.

After a few frustrating tries, you reach for the spoon, hoping it’ll be easier, only to watch a scoop of soup drip right back into the bowl.

Well.. this is embarresing.

Satoru’s gaze flicks to you, catching the small, defeated sigh you let out as you set the spoon down. Quietly, he puts his chopsticks aside and shifts his chair closer, his expression warm and amused as he leans in without a word.

You glance at him, brow raised in surprise "What are you doing?"

"What’s it look like?" he murmurs, reaching for the spoon and swirling it through the soup with exaggerated elegance "Need a hand, princess?"

You raise a brow, a mix of embarrassment and exasperation flooding through you "Satoru, you don’t have to - "

"Oh, but I’m honored to assist." he interrupts, holding the spoon up with a little flourish "A princess deserves only the finest dining experience, after all." his grin is maddeningly playful as he offers the spoon to you "Now, I believe it’s customary for royalty to accept help gracefully."

Heat rises to your cheeks, but your stomach growls in agreement, much to his amusement. He raises an eyebrow, clearly delighting in your hesitation "See? Your stomach’s on board. Now, let’s get you to eat."

Reluctantly, you lean forward, taking the spoonful he offers, trying to ignore how closely he’s watching you. You know it, even if you don't see his eyes, you could feel them on you. The warmth of the soup is comforting, but his actions - soft yet mischievous - truly catches you off guard. He scoops up another spoonful, waiting patiently. You feel the gaze of everyone in the room on you. Satoru seems to ignore it.

"This is ridiculous." you mumble, cheeks flushed.

"Oh, hush. Have some table manners, will you?" he teases, holding the next spoonful right in front of your mouth "It’s rude to speak with your mouth full, you know. Now, aaa~"

★ --

Shoko steps into the room, clipboard in hand and a focused look on her face. She pauses mid-step, though, taking in the sight before her.

There you are, on the bed, head resting peacefully on Satoru’s shoulder, breaths slow and steady in sleep. Your healthy arm is entwined with his, fingers curled against his sleeve as if holding onto him even in your dreams. A soft, well-worn book rests in his lap, open to a half-read page, hinting that you two had been reading together until sleep claimed you.

Satoru glances up as Shoko enters, catching her eye and lifting a finger to his lips in a silent request to keep quiet. There’s a surprising gentleness in his expression, something soft and protective that Shoko rarely sees, especially in him. He gives her a slight smile, nodding subtly toward you as if to say - Let them rest a little longer.

Shoko raises an eyebrow but doesn’t make a sound. She’d always known Satoru had a soft spot for you, but seeing it here, so unguarded, speaks volumes. She makes a note on her clipboard, then gives a little nod and steps back, closing the door softly behind her.

Satoru watches her go, his hand shifting slightly to adjust the blanket over you and brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He glances down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he returns his attention to the book, careful not to disturb you, content to sit in this rare moment of peace.

He is so glad that you are here, with him.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

tl: @kalopsia-flaneur, @dainslumi, @syneyam, @idiotgojo, @itachiiwrites

[jokeroutsubs]

'Ako Toga Više Neće Biti' lyrics ❤️‍🩹

Translated by @moonlvster, IG marija_rocen and IG irenalemajic. Proofread by Anastasia and IG Gboleyn123

Openstage Pre-listen | Lyrics Translate | Instagram post

Text format below the cut

Ako Toga Više Neće Biti (SRP)

Prošlo je već devet dana, još se nisi vratila.

Ja ću da sačekam još malo,

možda mesec, možda dva,

pa da otvoriš vrata ko da ništa nije bilo.

I da te klasično pitam kakav ti je bio dan, da se smejemo svim malim pričama.

Šta ćemo za ručak, imamo li neki plan, da l' se izlazi večeras il' se sudimo na stan?

Da se grlimo i ljubimo i grlimo i ljubimo, da si šapćemo,

da se volimo, i da se sprdamo i smejemo dok si noge grejemo.

Ako toga više neće biti, ljubav je najobičnija laž.

Ako toga više neće biti, ako me stvarno ostavljaš,

bez da me jednom pogledaš i da mi jedan razlog daš.

Prošlo je već mesec dana i još te nema tu.

Više-manje slabo spavam, da ne zakasnim u snu kako otvaraš vrata, ko da ništa nije bilo.

I da te klasično pitam kakav ti je bio dan i da se smejemo svim malim pričama.

Šta ćemo za ručak, imamo li neki plan, da l' se izlazi večeras il' se sudimo na stan?

Da se grlimo i ljubimo i grlimo i ljubimo, da si kažemo da se volimo i da se sprdamo i smejemo dok si noge grejemo.

Ako toga više neće biti, ljubav je najobičnija laž.

Ako toga više neće biti, ako me stvarno ostavljaš,

bez da me jednom pogledaš i da mi jedan razlog daš.

Mene nema, znam da znaš.

Prošla je godina dana.

Ako toga više neće biti, ljubav je najobičnija laž.

Ako toga više neće biti, ako me stvarno ostavljaš,

bez da me jednom pogledaš i da mi jedan razlog daš.

Mene nema, znam da znaš.

If That Won't Exist Anymore (ENG)

Nine days have already passed, you still haven't come back

I'll wait a bit longer

Maybe a month, maybe two

For you to open the door like nothing happened

And like always, I'll ask you how your day was, so we can laugh at all of the little stories

What will we have for lunch, do we have a plan, will we go out or decide to stay at the apartment?

So we can hug and kiss and hug and kiss, whisper to each other

That we love each other, and joke around and laugh while we warm our legs

If that won't exist anymore, love is nothing but a lie

If that won't exist anymore, if you're really leaving me

Without looking at me even once or giving me a single reason

A month has already passed and you're still not here

I sleep more or less poorly, so that in my dreams I won't be late when you open the door like nothing happened

And I'll ask you like always, how was your day, so we can laugh at all of the little stories

What will we have for lunch, do we have a plan, will we go out or decide to stay at the apartment?

So we can hug and kiss and hug and kiss, say that we love each other and joke around and laugh while we warm our legs

If that won't exist anymore, love is nothing but a lie

If that won't exist anymore, if you're really leaving me

Without looking at me even once or giving me a single reason

I'm gone, I know you know

A year has passed

If that won't exist anymore, love is nothing but a lie

If that won't exist anymore, if you're really leaving me

Without looking at me even once or giving me a single reason

I'm gone, I know you know

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet thanked Theo for patching up her arm. It hurt a little bit less now that it was wrapped in the torn-up blanket. She wanted to help him with his shoulder and bandage it up for him, too. But he had positioned himself in front of her, to protect her from the orderly, and she didn't even have the energy to stand up. While she didn't think the orderly was going to attack them, she was touched by his protectiveness.

The orderly was perhaps not dangerous, but he sure was unpleasant. And rude. Her frown deepened. "Maybe if you had talked to us, you could have realized we weren't lying, sir." And besides, she didn't buy it. If he worked for Delta Green, then surely he knew Theo was being framed! He was in on this.

"You could have helped us with the monster, too," she pointed out, too exhausted to hide her irritation. In her mind, he was an agent, and as such, shouldn't he fight monsters?

She seemed to soften a little bit when he praised them for killing the monster. "Thank you," she replied, sounding a little more like a tired kid than an angry one. She still couldn't really stand up, but she managed to move away from the dead monster to sit against the bed. "Won't Cecil come in here eventually?" If a little note had angered her so much, he was really going to be upset about the state of his room. Or the fact that Violet and Theo were sitting there, in a puddle of blood.

"Yeah, we sure showed it," he agreed as he glanced over at the horrible figure in the corner of the room, confused as to how it got there in first place but at least it had been taken care of. He bound Mauve's arm as best he could, he did not have first aid experience or training yet, it was not the best but for a first try it wasn't bad either.

The voice at the doorway and the figure now blocking it was the latest concern and Theo was sure to keep his eyes on the orderly in case he went for his baton or had a syringe or something at the ready.

"I can see it was attacking people," the man countered as he looked to the heap of monster in the corner and all the blood all over the floor and over the two patients. How he was going to explain this if anyone came in he'd never know, but at least the threat was dealt with. Violet was scolding him and it was his turn to roll his eyes, "Look, girly, there's a lot of crazy on this ward how am I to know who's for real and who's coocoo for coco puffs?" He countered and then picked up what was left of Violet's blanket from the floor, gathering it together with the intention of putting it awkwardly over the monster carcass.

"I've already called it in after Dan this morning," he explained, "I'm gonna guess they're gonna want to talk to you both." He looked them over, the blood how they were pale and protecting wounds. "It's good, what you've done." He tried in the way of support anyway. "Imma cover it now but you two best stay in here," they didn't look like they were going to be getting up anyway, looked like they had lost a lot of blood as it was.

[octuscle]

A Night at the Opera

Ernest and Jasper were both no friends of the big appearance. Their parents had taught them from an early age to always appear far less than they were. The two had come to the opera by subway. That Ernest's velvet loafers cost more than a month's salary of most people around them, probably no one suspected here. The red carpet was laid out for the premiere in front of the Royal Opera. As Ernst and Jasper approached, a rapidly fading flurry of flashbulbs began. The two looked like stars. Flawless. Beautiful. Cultivated. But no one had a clue who they were. So the photographers pounced on the C-list couple, who were getting out of a presumably leased Bentley right behind them. Ernest raised an eyebrow, barely noticeable. Jasper smiled knowingly. The two politely accepted the program and went to Jasper's family box. They had made a generous donation over 200 years ago that enabled the laying of the building's foundation stone. And together with Ernest's grandmother, Jasper's father now ruled over the opera's patrons' association. It was not a problem if they were not recognized here.

During the first intermission, the two quickly agreed that it would be a wasted evening if they were to watch the opera to the end. The singers were mediocre, and the production tried to paper over logical gaps with crude, obscene provocation. Yes, Siegfried was certainly no easy opera. But they actually loved Wagner. But they wouldn't survive another three hours like that. Ending the evening with a glass of wine in front of the fireplace seemed considerably more appealing. They exchanged a few pleasantries with acquaintances of their parents, who were also waiting at the coat rack, and walked through the dusk towards the subway. And they were happy with their decision.

The subway wasn't particularly crowded: Jasper had bought a copy of the Times from a newspaper seller. Even though the premiere was still going on, there was already a scathing review of it in the arts section. Of course the critic was unfair and biased. But his style was delicious. Ernest hummed a bit of the overture's melody when a young man, who was the complete opposite of the two, stumbled over Ernest's legs on his way out the door. The boy was muscular, tattooed, and dressed to show off as much of the muscles and tattoos as possible. Definitely not their class. He swore and showed Ernest the middle finger. Ernest just smiled superiorly. And got the slime from the yob directly in the face. “Do you think you're better than me? Maybe. But not for much longer.” The yob laughed and jumped through the already closing doors onto the platform. Ernest wiped the slime from his cheek. Not all of it… A little bit had run into his mouth.

They got off at the next stop. Ernest's stomach growled. He asked if they could quickly get something from the supermarket on the way home. Jasper said that the fridge at home was well stocked, but he was happy to do it for me. Cumberland Food & Wine was really on the way and he could possibly get a bottle of red wine. While Jasper was scouring the shelves without finding anything he liked, Ernest filled his shopping basket with protein bars, chicken breasts, rice and eggs. When the two met at the checkout, Jasper looked at his husband questioningly. “I just felt like it,” answered Ernest. “Honey, anything you want!” answered Jasper.

Once they arrived home, Ernest immediately disappeared into the kitchen of their impressive apartment on Bryanston Square. By then, he had already eaten three protein bars. Jasper rolled his eyes and retreated to the library. He took a small glass of port and continued reading about the history of the Persian language. At least this way he would be able to end the evening with a little wit. He lost track of time and only woke up when he heard noises coming from the living room. Ernest had taken off his jacket and shirt and was eating a mountain of chicken breasts with egg rice at the coffee table, still wearing his trousers and undershirt. The TV was on. “What are you watching?” Jasper asked. With his mouth full, Ernest replied that it was the new season of “Made in Chelsea”. “You know, the stuff with Reza in it.” Jasper didn't know Reza. ‘The Reza from the gym. Reza Amiri-Garroussi!’ Ernest wiped his hands on his undershirt, pulled out his cell phone, opened Instagram and showed Jasper pictures of a young man. Jasper didn't even know Ernest had an Instagram account. ”Hot guy, honey! Do you know each other?” “Best bros!” Ernest smiled. Tonight had obviously not had a good influence on him. Whatever. Jasper was tired. He kissed his husband on the forehead and wished him good night.

The night had been wild. Ernest had come to bed at some point and had rammed his boner into Jasper's ass without much warning. This wasn't loving sex, it was fucking without any foreplay. Hot, animalistic. Uncharacteristic. But damn, once Ernest had filled his ass until the cum was dripping out of it, Jasper didn't care about any of that. He had never been fucked like that before. No wonder the rest of the night was full of wild dreams. When he woke up, Ernest was no longer in bed. The satin sheets needed urgent washing, with dried cum stains everywhere. Jasper went to the kitchen. Ernest had obviously already had breakfast; the pan for the omelette was in the sink, along with the dishes from dinner, and on the work surface was a thin layer of protein powder dust. Jasper felt somehow strange in the apartment. Something was weird. Did they always have such a monstrously large TV? And was that their furniture? It all looked so much like something from a furniture store. And not like design classics and antiques… “Bros, that's it for this morning! Good pump! Have a sick day!” The sound of the dumbbells hitting the floor showed that Ernie had finished his morning pump. According to the floor plan, their home gym was actually a children's room. What the hell would they need that for? Now it was the place where Ernie shot the videos for his YouTube channel.

Jasper was standing in the doorway. Ernie turned off the cameras and lights. Sweat glistened on his naked torso. Jasper's cock went up. Ernie turned around, saw the semi-erect cock and just grinned, “You dirty piece of shit! You know damn well we're out of time. Auditions are in an hour. And you should shower.” “Look who's talking!” Jasper replied. Ernie smelled his armpit. “That's the way it is, it's my trademark!” He put on a basketball jersey lying on the floor, grabbed Jasper's cock in passing and gave his friend a fleeting French kiss. Jasper knew that Ernie had rights. They had to leave in 20 minutes at the latest. Just enough time to jump in the shower and do a few pull-ups to pump up his muscles. He looked at himself in the mirror. Yes, he looked awesome!

“Love Island” could be Jaz's big breakthrough. At the audition, he was simply eye-catching as the incarnate bad boy. His snotty way of speaking and his arrogant, misogynistic macho appearance had convinced the producers that he could make it big in the trash reality soap. Sure, it sucked that his best buddy Ernie hadn't been taken on either. But Ernie was just already too popular. His fitness channel had tens of thousands of followers. And his appearance in the next season of “I'm a celebrity, get me out of here” was a done deal. If things went well for Jaz, he would follow in Ernie's footsteps next year.

Many bores from the educated middle class would probably look down on Ernie and Jaz with disgust and contempt. But hey, the two of them made good money, went to all the hot parties, and last weekend Bentley had even provided them with a shiny gold car for an Insta-story. The car had been pure porn. Surely everyone who stared at them with open eyes thought they were pop stars or something. It was only a matter of time before they became famous. They were young, sexy and camera-hungry. The future was wide open for guys like them.