#middle of crisis fashion show

[lyth4]

Just a thought about blackwater arc, could HC’s choice to dress black be a way to tip off XL about what’s going on? Two gods dressed in white, two calamities dressed in black?

[iiannabxth]

class of 09 girls + their aesthetics bc i’m tired of people not getting them.

(minor tw for sh & ed):

jecka: she’s literally a preppy, trendy 2000s teen. she wears lacoste/abercrombie polo shirts, hollister skinny jeans, american eagle, bebe jackets, and juicy couture. a lot of her clothes come from her mom’s job, as apparently her mom gets them for free.

she is a “pharma-princess” and openly idolizes paris hilton. she smokes cigarettes and casually abuses painkillers. she may be a little trashy, but she dresses like any other fashionable girl from that era.

nicole: for starters, shes lower middle class. her mom buys the cheapest internet and cable packages, as well as having nicole on the assisted lunch plan. with that being said, she’s not buying a ton of miss me jeans, bb belts, or affliction shirts. shes a hot topic/spencers fiend bc she can steal it. her outfits are usually a hoodie, tank top, or t-shirt with ripped skinny jeans- which is to say they aren’t very complicated. i think people get confused and try and dress her in the modern “y2k” fashion, but it doesn’t really work for her.

shes severely depressed and winning the idagf war, which is shown in her makeup and nails. i think her makeup routine is very messy and smudged, but thats lowkey the look.

emily: shes rich, but she doesn’t care or acknowledge it. she can buy whatever she wants, but chooses to go for the grungey/emo look. even though she’s the most “scene” character, she still follows a few trends- ex: the lifeguard hoodie. her hair is definitely damaged by the box bleach she uses and the excessive use of her straightener. i also think she 100% has raccoon eyes (in the avril lavigne-way.)

she parties with her sketchy boyfriends, day drinks, and does almost any drug she can get her hands on. she’s suicidal and highkey crazy, which results in her tattoos and scars. (the excessive SH-culture is completely on brand for the 2000s.)

ari: borderline manic pixie dream girl going through a sexuality crisis. she’s almost emo, but not quite. she wears winged eyeliner and red lipgloss. her wardrobe consists of mostly graphic tee shirts and skinny + bootcut jeans. she dyes her hair because “no one understands her,” but she still has a decent relationship with her parents.

she used to be a girl scout, so she definitely cuts her own hair and thinks it’s rebellious. i think her favorite shoe would be black high top converse.

kelly: is the definition of a trendy, trashy, 2000s girl. kelly is also rich (as stated by jecka.) she’s popular with the boys because she’s pretty, has big boobs, and dtf. she wears a lot of hollister, wet seal, juicy couture, and victoria secret. i think she would wear a full face of makeup to school. her hair is dyed blonde but she keeps the roots grown out just a little.

megan: 2000s THEATRE KID!! she’s ARTSY, not EMO. she’s apparently pretty, but not pretty enough to be constantly hit on. she wears a lot of media/pop culture clothing and jeans. (if she were in the 2010s, she would wear those hot topic disney dresses.) her hair color is her natural hair color and her nail polish is always chipped.

jecka & hunter say she’s a christian girlie, so most of her outfits are more modest and toned down compared to some of the other girls. she probably wears minimal makeup unless she’s doing a show.

karen: she’s dorky and nerdy to the extreme. she looks very mousy and homely. she likes twilight and harry potter + she works at a library (and is strict about the rules.) karen likes and is good at school. she probably only wears mascara and medicated chapstick + her glasses. she has a messy bob that she never styles.

she’s also insecure about her body, as jecka and nicole make her relapse on her ED, so she wears baggier clothing than any of the other characters.

i think she would wear sketchers and jeggings.

anywho, i like this game and im also super into the genuine 2000s fashion, so a part of me dies whenever i see someone say “nicole listens to ayesha erotica!!” or “jecka wears affliction and bb belts!” girl bffr.

[ang3ltine]

𝐖𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 '𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬'?- College au

⤿ 𝖿𝗍 𝖬𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 student 𝖲𝖾 𝗆𝗂 𝗑 𝖥𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇 student 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: this is just a small headcanon that shows how it would be like to have a roommate like Se mi.

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: mentions of alcohol, drunk Se mi, smoking, suggestive themes, abusive relationship and violence (not too extreme).

𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: Don't worry this mostly contains fluff!! Also I hope you enjoy!

𖦹 It was the start of a new year in College and you had decided to swap roommates with another girl. The reason was that your old roommate was a pain in the ass and you'd had enough.

𖦹 By the time you had entered your new dorm room, another girl was unpacking her stuff. She was tall, had short dark hair and piercings on her nose and bottom lip. Honestly you had mixed feelings, she was super hot but also kind of intimidating?

𖦹 Nonetheless, despite you two being polar opposites of eachother. You both got along pretty well. Your roommate was a music major named Se mi, her aesthetic was more simple and darker than yours. Whereas you liked your pinks and whites and was a Fashion Major.

𖦹 You thought that Se mi would be the type to keep to herself and not talk much with you, but you were dead wrong. She's super kind and caring but was also a big tease.

𖦹 Furniture shopping!! You guys would go to the mall to buy cute furniture for your dorm room. Se mi picked out cute matching cups with Cherries for you guys to share ♡

𖦹 Se mi legit lives in your bed at this point. She loves how your mattress was much more plush and comfortable than hers. You'd always have to kick her out if you find her sneaking under your covers at night.

"Se mi? What the hell are you doing??" You hissed through your teeth as Se mi slips under your covers.

"What..? Oh don't mind me, just go back to sleep and pretend you never saw me," she'd state casually while snuggling further into the blanket. This had been going on since maybe the 3rd week of the 1st semester?

Groaning in annoyance while you face palmed, you had to calm your heartbeat down. At some point you had begun to grow a small crush on her but blamed it on your lack of success in your love life.

𖦹 Speaking of your love life. It was a legit mess. Every boy you had been with had either cheated on you or was just a fling. The most recent 'boyfriend' you had was super manipulative and controlling. Feeling like you didn't really have a choice , you stuck with him. Because he gave you what you thought was love.

𖦹 Se mi hates this man with her guts and believes you deserve better. Literally has an existential crisis because she doesn't know whether the feelings she has for you is platonic or much more.

𖦹 Finally she had enough when she heard you crying by your bedside, keening down and clutching your stomach. He had punched you, hard. Without a second thought, she stormed her way through the boy's dormitory and confronted the guy. Leaving him with a broken nose and a clear message.

"Don't mess with my girl."

𖦹 Se mi likes when you style her clothes or pick out outfits for her. Also she absolutely loves it when you actually make clothes for her! Literally adores every accessory or shirt/sweater you design for her.

𖦹 She's a smoker and gets drunk from time to time. This was so she could cope with her own problems, until you coerced her to drink less and smoke outside. As her birthday gift, you got her the vivienne westwood heart shaped lighter that had been on her wishlist. You may or may not have taken a look at it while she wasn't looking. She so wanted to marry you on the spot when you handed it to her.

"Please marry me!!" She'd scream, literally almost waking up the girls next door.

"Geez! Ok, fine! I'll marry you, just be quiet!" You whisper shouted as she hands you a makeshift ring that she totally didn't make right infront of you.

𖦹 Don't worry, she gets you a real one with a golden band and a pink gem in the middle. Which you love and Cherish ofcourse! You two would definitely have matching promise rings, with hers being a silver band and a black gem.

𖦹 Both of you collect figurines so you two definitely go to popmart together! She likes Hirono and Kubo whereas you liked Skullpanda and Molly figurines. You'd decorate your room with showcases and get matching labubu's together!! So cute

𖦹 Would drop you off at your class before going to hers cause both the music department and fashion/design department are close by.

𖦹 Gives you privacy whenever you need it and isn't the type of person to eavesdrop in a conversation that you're having with a friend. Unless you personally come to her for advice.

𖦹 When you two started dating, she was the one to ask you to be her girlfriend. She knew you had feelings for her too but you didn't know how to tell her. Which she completely understands, this was something new to you. She took her time with you and eventually you got more comfortable in the relationship.

𖦹 Ideal dating spots would be around or near campus, unfortunately. This is due to your busy schedules and you both take your majors seriously. If you guys are on break, she definitely take you outside the city to the beach. If you didn't want to travel far, she'd take you to cute cafés and arcades to have fun and chill at the same time.

𖦹 Very much into PDA! Holds your hand/waist when your walking to class or talking a walk around campus. Would teasingly whisper obscene things into your ear just to get a reaction out of you. Often resulting in you both making out in the girls washroom or a janitors closet.

{Nsfw}

𖦹 Oh Lord you're in for a long ride. Yall share the same washroom so expect shower sex from time to time. You'd have to shove her out the bathroom because she wouldn't leave, when you just wanted a peaceful shower.

𖦹 Is surprisngly super sweet and soft during intimacy. A soft dom most of the time but can be a switch too. However, if she's feeling frustrated then expect her to be a little rough. But she'd give you the best aftercare, making sure to rub your sides and stomach. Would give you painkillers and a warm bubbly bath. If you wanted, she would join you. If not then she'd wait until you've finished first.

𖦹 you guys share a bed at this point, so now you both have a small double bed with a super plush mattress and insanely fluffy pillows and massive duvet. Will never keep her hands to herself so expect lazy morning sex or insane makeout sessions.

"Why're you so embarrassed? I've literally seen you naked so there's no need to be shy~" she'd say teasingly while cuddling with you in bed.

"God you're insufferable..!"

Safe to say you two didn't make it to your first class.

[justnatoka]

Crisis

Sinclair brothers x GN! Reader (Bo centric)

A/n: This is by no means an original idea, it has been done many times before, but I eat this shit up every time.

Word count: 2.8k

Warning: canon-typical violence, attempted sexual assault, Bo actually has feelings, reader has a panic attack

Summary: When a group of strangers unexpectedly show up in Ambrose in the middle of the night, it suddenly becomes your turn to fight for your lives – and each other.

Part 1/2

Next part

When you awoke, the first thing you registered was the darkness. Blinking slowly a few times, eyelids heavy from sleep, you took in the quiet living room around you. Shrouded in shadows, the only sound being the occasional soft creaks of the old house settling. It was still the middle of the night, probably many hours remaining until dawn. You sat up groggily, the motion causing a dull ache to spread in your neck. A groan left your lips, and you brought up a hand to try and massage the sore muscle as best as you could. You gave up quickly, making a mental note to ask Vinny for some help with it in the morning. You dragged your legs from the blanket with a tired huff, the wood floor pleasantly cool under you bare feet. It took your foggy brain a few moments to remember why exactly you thought it was a good idea to fall asleep on the couch.

Your argument with Bo started to come back to you in hazy pictures. He was already grumpy when he left for the auto shop this morning, and it seemed his mood only soured as the day progressed. When he arrived back in the evening he was in a particularly foul temper. It didn’t take long for him to start snapping at you and Vincent over every little thing. You talked back, some words were exchanged, and in typical Bo fashion he said some things in the heat of the moment that he otherwise wouldn’t have. That’s how you ended up on the couch, feeling too angry to go and sleep next to him.

It was a reoccurring routine: Bo taking his anger out on everyone around him, you getting frustrated with him in return and punishing him by sleeping in a separate room. Most of the time you found comfort in Vincent’s bed, and on rare occasions, when you were especially upset, you even trekked out to Lester’s little cabin in the woods to spend the night. Bo always found you the next morning, apologizing for being an ass.

Lester couldn’t believe his eyes when he first witnessed it. It was the morning after your first late night visit to his cabin. A knock came from the door, and there stood Bo, head hanging in shame, ears red from embarrassment as he said sorry. He didn’t let his big brother live it down for days, not until Bo threatened him with a whooping.

He had a hard time with it, admitting that he was wrong and saying sorry, just being emotionally vulnerable in general. It was something he had to learn, and you were extremely proud of him for reaching this point. It didn’t mean that you wouldn’t get upset with him when he did the same shit again.

You felt like a headache was coming on as you remembered the argument. You desperately needed a glass of cold water. Dragging your body from the couch, you slowly shuffled towards the kitchen, faintly wondering in the back of your mind about what might have woken you up at such an hour.

You were halfway there when you heard it. A buzzing sound broke the silence of the dark house. It was jarring, the noise cutting through the peaceful stillness, causing your heartrate to skip a beat. Looking back towards the living room, you noticed your phone on the coffee table, vibrating with an incoming call. No one knew that number, no one but the Sinclair brothers that is.

As your sluggish brain was trying to make sense of why one of them would call you in the middle of the night – especially since two of them were sleeping upstairs –, another sound came to your attention. Voices, multiple, just outside the front door.

“I’m telling you, this place is a fucking ghost town.”

“No way, you saw the look on that dude’s face. He clearly didn’t want us sniffing around. Bet he’s found some hidden treasure buried around here, and wants to keep it all to himself.”

“He should buy some soap from the money while he’s at it. Guy smelled like a wet possum.”

A round of crude laughter followed, your stomach churning at the sound. You were wide awake now, your brain working a mile a minute. They were talking about Lester, right? Is he okay? Did they do something to him? Why are they here? What do they want? The gravity of the situation started to sink in heavily. There was a group of unexpected visitors in Ambrose, in the middle of the night, with who knows what intentions. You barely had time to accept the reality when the handle started turning, and then the door was already open.

Five men stood in the doorway, illuminated from behind only by the moonlight as the lights were switched off all around town. You stared at them with wide eyes, body frozen in place, halfway to the kitchen, right in front of them. You could barely make out any feature on them, but as they shifted slightly, more of the pale natural light from outside streaming in, they had a pretty good view of you. They certainly saw enough, if the change in the air around them was anything to go by. You felt rather then saw their eyes raking down your body, suddenly feeling utterly exposed in your underwear and Vincent’s baggy T-shirt.

A low whistle broke your shocked stupor, and a chill ran down your spine.

“Talk about hidden treasure. If I had such a pretty little thing, I would want to keep them all to myself too. It would be a shame if someone broke them, ain’t it, boys?”

The implication sent terror through your body, breathes coming out in shallow gasps.

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart, we won’t hurt you. Much.”

The moment the first one of them stepped inside the door, your body suddenly unlocked from the frozen shock you were stuck in, and you bolted towards the kitchen. You heard their thudding footsteps behind you, your fingers almost reaching the handle of the knife drawer when you felt arms wrapping around your waist, hoisting you in the air. You kicked and clawed as they dragged you back into the living room, roughly dropping you onto the couch. You felt hands on you, all over you, grabbing your arms and legs, tugging at your clothes and your hair, and all the while that crude laughter echoed in your brain. Somewhere during the struggle to keep them away from you, you found your voice and let out a scream. It was a sound you’ve heard before, the scream of someone fighting for their life, but you never thought you were capable of making it. It was jarring to hear it ripple from your own throat.

A second later doors were ripped open above you, and heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. You barely caught a glimpse of Bo, baseball bat in hand before he was on them, swinging at the head of the guy nearest him. It made impact with a sickening crack, and his body crumpled to the floor. Now the other four had their full attention on him. Angered by the attack on their friend, they descended upon Bo, and even though he put up a good fight, a particularly hard punch to the jaw sent him to the floor. They started kicking him, shouting obscenities at him.

It all happened so fast, you barely had time to register what you were doing before you were running towards them with a vase in hand. You picked it up without even thinking, and threw it at the head of a guy who just got hold of the baseball bat Bo had dropped and was getting ready to swing it down on him. He stumbled, but remained standing, small rivulets of blood now running down his face as he turned around and locked eyes with you. A cold dread settled in your stomach as he took a step towards you, bat still in hand, cussing up a storm about backward living freaks. He raised the bat high, his eyes full of murderous rage, and you thought this is it, he was going to bash your head in.

Just before he was about to swing down on you his body went rigid, eyes rolling back as he slumped to the floor, one of Vincent’s knives sticking out of the back of his head. You had no idea when he arrived, but he was already heading towards the guys still on Bo, knife in hand. The fight was already tilting in your favor, but then an ear-splitting shot rang out, and one of the remaining three dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his chest. You spun your head around, seeing Lester in the front door that was left gaping open, looking disheveled and out of breath, as if he was running, shotgun in hand. Stunned by the sound of the gun going off in such a closed space, the other two intruders stood no chance, Bo and Vincent regaining their composure first and quickly ending them.

In the next few seconds, the only sound in the big silent house was heavy breathing, all of you in a daze from what just transpired. That was the moment your legs finally gave out and you sank to the floor. Your ears were ringing, and you quickly realized that the strange noise you were hearing was your own quick, shallow breathing. Adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, panic gripping your lungs, making it hard to suck oxygen into your body. You had no idea when the trembling started, fingers digging into your sides as you wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking violently. You let out a little shriek when you felt hands on you, fear still clouding your brain, screaming at you to get away from them. They quickly flinched away, and there was a slight commotion before someone spoke up.

“Ssh, sweet pea, you’re alrigh’. ‘S just me, it‘s Lester,” a gentle voice said right next to you. “You’re gonna be alrigh’, just breathe with me,” he persisted, and you heard as he took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, repeating the motion again and again. Following his instructions, you felt your breathing come back to a normal rhythm bit by bit, your head becoming clearer.

When you could finally get enough air into your lungs, you took in your surroundings. Lester was sitting next to you on the floor, his mouth quirking into a small smile as he saw you coming down from your panic. Vincent was kneeling on your other side, hands outreached toward you, his fingers twitching anxiously, wanting to comfort you but also not wanting to send you into another episode. When you gathered enough strength, you sneaked one of your hands towards him, and as he wrapped his fingers around it, enveloping it in his much bigger hand, he let out a deep sigh.

Your adrenaline slowly started to die down, and with it the reality of the situation and what else could have happened finally sat in. Your eyes were quickly filling with tears, and as the first sob broke up from your throat, you were enveloped by warmth. This time you didn’t flinch away as Vincent pulled you into his chest, shielding you from the grizzly sight of the bodies littered around the living room, and you cried into his chest, your sobs rattling your shaken form. You looked so small and broken in that moment, it gripped their hearts in a vice that they couldn’t shake.

Through the haze of your tears you faintly registered angry footsteps as Bo grabbed the guy with Vincent’s knife still sticking out of his head and started dragging his body out the door. A single shot rang out, startling you, but the two younger Sinclair brothers were quick to reassure you. Then Bo stomped back in, dropping Lester’s shotgun beside him on the floor.

“I-I tried to call yall, tried to warn ya,” Lester started shakily. “Buncha assholes got lost on the back roads. When I tried to turn them around they called me names and slashed my tires. Didn’t want them to catch ya by surprise, but I couldn’t stop ‘em.” His voice wavered as he turned back to you. “’M so sorry, sweet pea. ’M sorry I couldn’t reach ya sooner.”

When your cries quietened down to sniffles, you forced your throat to speak.

“It’s not your fault, Lester, you did everything you could,” you reassured him as best as you could, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple in appreciation, his hand rubbing soothing circles against the back of your head.

A scoff made you all turn your heads to Bo. He was standing over the remaining bodies, staring them down, his body wrung tight with tension, his fists shaking by his side. He was looking at them with such hatred that you’ve never seen on him before. If you were honest, he frightened you a bit.

“Bo?” you called hesitantly.

He whipped his head around, and you flinched at the intensity of his stare. Noticing your reaction, the muscles in his jaw tightened, but his gaze softened a tad bit. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite place, and it took you a few moments to realize what it was. Guilt.

Reading the room, Lester motioned with his head to Vincent. They grabbed the remaining bodies and dragged them out of the house. After they came back for a second round, they closed the front door behind them, setting to work disposing of them. It left you with just Bo, who refused to look at you now, the silence between you deafening and charged.

You stood on shaky legs and shuffled over to him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. He almost wrenched it from your grasp before he caught himself. With a heavy sigh he deflated in front of your eyes, all tension leaving his body. All that remained was the slight trembling of his hands. You sneaked your hand in his, folding your fingers together, and this finally made him look at you.

He looked so utterly broken, you almost broke down crying. You were sure of it now, the guilt written on his face clear as day. Yes, he has apologized to you before after arguments, and he was sincere, but you’ve never seen him like this.

You swallowed thickly before you said aloud the first and only thing that was on your mind.

“Bo, this is not your fault.”

His face twisted a bit, a sign that he was fighting with his emotions in his head.

“Look at you,” his voice strained as his eyes ran over the exposed skin of your body, red bruises and scratches marring your skin from your struggle earlier. “God, sweetheart, look at you,” he sighed, and his pain was palpable as he continued. “You should have been by my side. You should have been sleeping next to me.” He almost spit out his next words. “But because I was so fucking stupid and angry before, you were all alone down here. If you were next to me this wouldn’t have happened.”

His admission stunned you. Taking his face into your hands, you gently ran your fingers over his own bruises, the one along his jaw already showing signs of swelling. His eyes fluttered closed, and even though he was upset, he still leaned into your touch. He looked so much worse than you probably did, taking the brunt of the beating. He got these bruises while defending you, and he still kicked himself for not doing more.

You made him look into your eyes, and even though your voice was soft, the slight tremble in it made it obvious how emotional you were.

“You don’t know that,” you stated. “Even if I was with you, they still would have showed up, and we still would have had to deal with them. I could have gotten hurt either way. So there’s no point in blaming yourself. What’s done is done. So let’s focus on what to do next.”

You could tell he was still not convinced, but he decided not to argue with you. So you did the first thing that came to your mind: you opened your arms, inviting him into a hug. If it was any other time, he would have rolled his eyes, calling you needy, before accepting your affection. Now he just pulled you in, his arms around you rigid at first, but quickly melting into your embrace. You clung to him, just like he clung to you, both of you seeking stability and comfort in the other.

Outside the living room window Lester and Vincent shared a silent look before they finally got to work. They knew Bo would be back to his old self eventually, but maybe, just maybe, this was the push he needed to really let you in. As they were busy dealing with the consequences of the night’s events, all three brothers made a promise to themselves. A promise that something like tonight would never happen again.

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[rottiens]

⊹ ˚. how to be human (again), ft. gojō satoru

tags. secret relationship au (the beginning), strangers to friends to lovers, gojo is a bad cook (he's trying), cw blood, inspired by the canon universe, references to geto, the system and the higher ups suck, the reader is (was) a gojo fan, slightly angsty (the reader loses a friend on a mission and has a crisis) to comfort, female terms used for the reader. | wc. 6.3K

notes. this was quite a journey and I'm not sure if anyone will read this but if you do and enjoy it thanks for reading, hugs and kisses <3

It's not like you've thought about it before, it's definitely not like you've stopped to think about it for more than five minutes a day or like this has been a conversation you've had more than once with some of your friends, however none of the theories you may have discussed in secret could compare in how it felt to have the great Gojo Satoru in front of you.

You take a quick glance off your lap to check on him and verify that he's certainly still focused on his phone —even if he's still wearing the blindfold, it's not like that's going to stop him from answering his messages, right?— and upon verifying that he is indeed not paying attention to you, you go back to feigning interest in the magazine you are holding in one hand: in the colorful pages showing the latest fashion trends and in the 3D red-haired girl who is almost coming out of the magazine while making the peace sign with two fingers, even though she doesn't manage to stop your thoughts from orbiting around Satoru again. 

You think it's strange again... you feel him, you know he's there but at the same time it's like he's not there. Sometimes you have to look up to verify that he is really still there and that it is not a trick your senses are playing on you. Being in front of Satoru feels like when the back of your neck bristles and your heart shoots up at an accelerated rate for no apparent reason, like feeling like you're being watched by something even though you know it's the middle of the night and you're really home alone. 

You could feel his cursed energy vibrating, coming in intense waves from his direction, dulling your own and in turn making you feel like a little bug. His energy wasn't rough or violent, you couldn't describe it that way no matter how intense it was, it was more like being under the sun as its rays burned your skin. You couldn't say there were any bad intentions in this one either but what you were sure of was that he was alert, as if he was always waiting for an attack, like when your feet are on the edge of a tall building and vertigo bites your spine and the soles of your feet. 

In front of you, a few inches from your crossed legs sits a small wooden table; on it are cluttered magazines and two cups of tea that were served for you at least an hour ago. You've barely taken a drink from your cup, too nervous to make an unplanned move, after all with your luck you'd most likely end up tripping over the cup and spilling everything in front of one of the people you admire the most.

There wasn't a sorcerer who didn't know Satoru and all that he was capable of, so knowing that if all goes well you will be allowed to teach at the same institution as him puts some extra weight and responsibility on your shoulders. That you will likely have the opportunity to work with him or share missions together makes your guts tangle with each other. Although you couldn't understand why the director had taken so long to arrive, you had been flipping through the same magazine for the last few inexhaustible minutes, trying to distract your eyes, controlling your impulses not to look at him again....

However, you can't help yourself and end up looking him up and down at least a tenth time. He really is tall, much taller than you remember and taller than you can tell from the pictures. Besides the fact that, sitting with one of his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa and his legs spread apart, his knees far apart from each other, make his body look bigger, this one manages to occupy almost the entire space of the sofa. His thighs spill out into the uniform making the baggy pants look full. 

Your head falls slightly to one side and you wonder what he is seeing behind that blindfold, how much he is able to see, could he really see you or were you just acting like a fool looking at him out of the corner of your eye whenever you could, could you really keep looking at him without being afraid that he is going to say something about it?

Satoru stirs, his legs close to imitate yours. You run away unnoticed to turn your eyes back to the magazine, to the model who has been the only witness to your nerves on edge for the last hour. With your heart pounding in your throat, you turn the page only to find two actors kissing passionately on the front page with the headline that their love has crossed over from the big screen to real life. 

Flustered and not sure if you're feeling guilty about nothing, you glance back at Satoru and the lopsided smile he greets you with makes you jump a little in your seat. Pools of sweat gather on the back of your neck and trickle down the small of his back. 

Did he...?

You lean over the table to grab the cup and hydrate your throat, however, your body turns to stone. 

"Did you know it's rude to stare?" He speaks after so long of silence and your grip on the porcelain trembles. "I don't think we've met before, have we?"

You improve your position against the backrest and try to regain your composure by sipping some of the cold brew before speaking. "I don't think so, no." You hate tea. 

Satoru clicks his tongue and pushes his body forward to get a better look at you as your eyes struggle to stay somewhere fixed on his body other than his lips or thighs. "I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere." 

You're so embarrassed at what you're going to say next that you think you're going to faint.

"I had asked you for a picture before." And your voice cuts off at the end, unsure about the recent confession.

If you get to work together there could be no lies between you so you decide to be honest from now on, no secrets. Then everything also served as an excuse for the way he caught you looking at him. Yes, you did meet him once in person but you were so nervous that you barely remember the details of your encounter. 

Satoru rubs his jaw with his fingers, then the smile widens pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"Hm. At that convention a few years ago maybe?" In a stupor where you can only move your eyelids and head, you nod in his direction. "The cutie with the colored hair..." He really did have a very good memory, you think and memories of that day begin to overwhelm your head in the form of embarrassing polaroids. "You're such a fan! You were so excited," Satoru adds, laughing, as if everything he mentioned before wasn't embarrassing enough.

"I wasn't officially a sorceress yet back then..." 

"Oh." He wasn't laughing, but he had a grimace that threatened to do so at any moment. "You're justifying yourself? You're not a fan anymore then?" He almost sounded disappointed and at this point it was impossible for you to keep looking at him, so arranging your posture on the couch you adopt another position where it allows you to maintain your dignity somehow. 

"I wouldn't say I was a fan..." You try to explain but Satoru interrupts you.  

"You definitely looked like a fan to me." He was laughing now. 

"What I mean is that I've matured now." You speak quickly as if trying to make a point. "I'm not a fan, just an admirer." You clarify, trying to get him to see that between those two words there is some difference that you are seeing clearly.

"Does that mean you don't want a picture again?" 

That photo you still keep in your nightstand drawer, well hidden under books, your phone charger and one or two other bracelets you wore as a teenager haunts you even in your dreams. You had forgotten about it. 

"No..." You force yourself to answer by shaking your head. "I don't think it's necessary now that we're going to be working together." 

Which fills you with pride, by the way. You were personally recommended by the principal of your old school, being transferred as soon as you graduated to Tokyo High to work under their jurisdiction alongside the strongest, someone you've looked up to since you started attending sorcery school is something that fills your chest so much that you could barely breathe normally.

You always wanted to have the opportunity to defend the weakest, that's why even though your clan was strong and you possess a cursed strong technique, you worked and trained every day earning the recognition of special grade sorcerers, among them your former director. Being in the capital and being able to protect more people, all this shoulder to shoulder with a man you admire was like a dream come true, one that slowly turned into a nightmare. 

Over the years you realized how corrupted the system was, the bad decisions made by the council and the higher ups, making sorcerers die every day without anyone stopping to mourn or miss them because all they were good for were as tools.... 

... You don't know why suddenly the first time you interacted with Satoru comes to your memory now, the only two things in common between the two events is that you couldn't breathe and perhaps that you were both sitting next to each other in an enclosed space that seemed to close in on you. At the time you were proud of what you were doing, sure of your every decision since protecting the weakest was something you had lived for—  though now, you weren't so sure of that anymore. 

"Hey." You feel him touch you, but not really. His cursed technique gets in the way once again, as always, protecting himself from you and the outside. The metallic smell of blood is permeating you, your hands and your uniform to a point where it's unbearable and overwhelming, your gut twists and your mouth fills with saliva threatening to make you vomit at any moment. Your eyes on the verge of popping out of their sockets carefully fixate on the calluses on your hands and the crimson liquid that stains them and gets trapped under your fingernails along with a bit of dirt. "Are you okay?" Satoru asks and that's the problem, you weren't. None of this was okay.

"Ijichi, stop the car," you say still admiring your hands, perplexed.  

"Ijichi, don't stop the car." Satoru retorts. 

"Ijichi..." Your call sounds like a warning and the man pulls over to the side of the road immediately, you hear him apologize right away along with the thousand and one reproaches that follow behind it from Satoru. 

The blood is left plastered on the door as you leave, it is left on your face as you push some of your hair away from your face. 

The desert heat manifests itself in small droplets on your forehead, limiting your vision and in an unquenchable thirst that scrapes your throat.

"I'm going to quit..." you whisper to yourself but the wind carries your words to your companion who was hurrying to your side battling with the sand in his shoes. 

"You're not going to do it." 

"You can't tell me what to do." 

Your heavy footsteps were soon leading you away from him as a stabbing pain bit into your muscles and your feet complain of the pain your shoes have been giving them all day. 

"It's just a mission gone wrong!" 

You stop suddenly and turn your body to face him. You're planted in front of him shaking with anger not just because the higher ups were going to reproach you and probably stop giving you special rank missions for months, maybe years—

"It wasn't just a mission gone wrong, someone is dead, Satoru!" a scream rips your throat as you shout the sorcerer's name, the feeling burning in your chest is not just that of a mission gone wrong, it's the death and blood of your friend on your hands.

Those spikes must have gone through that civilian, not your friend, that person who was with you since you started working for Tokyo, that person who supported and encouraged you when things weren't going so well. Just twenty hours ago you were having coffee with him in the coffee shop below your apartment and now you talk about him in the past tense. As life faded from those beautiful eyes, full of kindness, always ready to tell you that you were going to be okay they were gone.

"You need to calm your emotions or you're going to curse him." Was that really all he could say to you while you were getting wrecked in front of him? Your hands that tried so hard to stop the bleeding in your partner become fists. "This is not what he would have wanted, [Name]."

You snort, then start pacing in circles, searching for the right words other than fuck you. Suddenly you stop to face him and find yourself with that usual annoying blindfold that separates him from everyone else, that never lets you see what he was thinking, and you point an accusing finger at him.

"What do you know what he would have wanted, Satoru? You didn't know him." And you know you shouldn't keep talking, you're biting your tongue because you know you don't have to say it but if you don't that vein in your temples is going to explode. "You don't know anyone because you don't let anyone in, not even me who is supposed to be your friend." The word friend comes loaded with imaginary quotation marks and with the weight of all the years and missions you've shared together.

He says your name a second time, now sounding weak. 

"You are so busy, on your unreachable throne as the strongest that you would never think of the idea of being vulnerable and watching those you love die because you love no one." His jaw muscles are tense, showing you that you may have struck a chord. 

"That's not true. I'm trying to make this a better place, I want the sorcerers who are growing up to be better, stronger, who don't need someone like me and I understand you—" 

"You have to recognize the privilege you have, Gojo." He hated that you called him by his last name because it puts distance between you and makes you those strangers again in that meeting room while you waited for Yaga, but you have a point you wanted him to understand. "Please don't pretend you understand me, because you don't."

Tired of the conversation that seemed to be going nowhere you turn around, there is sand inside your white socks and uniform pants, with a heavy heart and head thumping you set out to get as far away from him as you can. Somewhere far away from those six eyes that always see everything and his cursed energy that seem to drown the whole desert beneath his aura. 

Satoru stops you by pulling your arm towards him, his fingers are an invisible force holding your wrist prisoner and you have no strength left to fight, the adrenaline from the fight that ended badly starts to evaporate along with the sweat on your forehead and you let him stop you, your anger replaced with a deep sadness. 

"I can't," you mutter closing your eyes, giving in to the flame of the sun toasting the top of your head. "Let me go." 

"I won't." He couldn't do it because he already saw what happened to a friend the last time he did it. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, even if he had to fight yourself in the process. 

"I'm not going back to Jujutsu High," you say and your voice sounds steadier, swallowing the lump that ties your throat.

"I won't make you do it," Satoru snorts through his nose. "But at least come with me." 

You don't have the courage to turn and face him so you just nod, giving him permission to do as he pleases. Everything happens so fast you don't have time to process it, his big arms wrap around you in an invisible embrace, his cursed energy is vibrating all over the place and you don't stop him or try to complain the moment his arms squeeze you tightly and it only takes a couple of seconds for you to open your eyes and the hellish heat of the desert is replaced by a safe roof and four walls surrounding you. 

The thermal sensation of the air conditioning makes you shiver from the sudden change in temperature, making your skin bristle. You take a breath of air and step back finally breaking the safe space Satoru created for you and he doesn't stop you when you take space between the two of you or when your curious eyes examine the place, though the answer was obvious— an unstoppable "Where are we?" slips out of you, needing to hear a verbal confirmation that he too saw the same thing you did and that this was not an illusion. 

"My place," Satoru says so simply, hitting the bull's-eye on the idea created in your head. There are questions about teleportation you'd like to ask him but for the moment you keep quiet, admiring your friend's comfortable apartment as if it were a museum. 

You were in the middle of the kitchen and your body felt tingly and somewhat weak from the teleportation, your feet not quite sure that the ground they were walking on was real. You were surrounded by white colors and a few shades of brown coming from the countertop. You never imagined how Satoru would live, in fact he was so god-like that sometimes you forgot that he also ate and slept like you, yet for the money he must have had in his bank account the place seemed very... simple.

"Why do you have less stuff than me in my apartment?" The question comes in a joking tone wanting to break the ice even though you were still annoyed. "I thought you were rich," you add. 

Satoru emits a laugh that sounds more like a snort. "What makes you think I'm not," he declares arrogantly. You write him off as a smug fool, though you try hard not to roll your eyes at his attitude. "I don't need to buy so much stuff because I'm always traveling. I just come here to sleep."

Satoru motions inviting you to move around his apartment with him. You decide to follow him, walking down a short hallway just behind him. You watch as his fingers curl around the door handle at the end of the hallway, opening it for you and revealing the bathroom. You feel your eyes fill with a mixture of fear and insecurity, similar to the eyes of a wary deer as you enter the room. With a slight creak, Satoru closes the door behind you, leaving you disconsolate and alone along with your tangled thoughts.

The walls are lined with pristine white tiles, with a sheen that reflects the light like mirrors. You approach the sink and notice the golden faucets emerging from the white porcelain with elegance. As you face the wall-mounted mirror, your own reflection seems to show confusion and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty.

Your hair is a mess, the strands had escaped from the tight bun you usually wear when going on a mission, the scrunchie about to fall out. There is a small scar on your cheek that runs horizontally across it and barely noticeable stains from your own blood-covered fingers that got there when you try to pull your hair away from your face. 

You look down and guilt hits your bile, the innocent color of the sink had been replaced by your bloodied hands which clutched at it tightly. 

Through a glass window, a ray of light filters in, bathing the room with a faint luminosity. The sun's rays draw mysterious patterns on the tiled floor. Shadows dance in the corners, and in the midst of this overwhelming sensory experience, your mind is flooded with gloomy thoughts and unanswered questions. 

At that instant, the sound of tapping against the door startles you, bringing you back to the reality of the bathroom. 

"I'll leave some clothes outside," says Satoru, who doesn't wait for an answer before leaving and giving your thoughts space again.

You turn back to the reflection in the mirror and again to your hands, give way to the water trapped in the faucet and scrub your hands with the liquid soap resting on the ceramic, helping yourself with it to clean up the mess you had made. 

Then, you get rid of your uniform and with your foot drag it to a corner to get into the shower, from there you step under the stream of water in an almost automatic way. You barely react to the coldness of the water but after a moment you get used to it, let it run over you and clean with the help of the soap the mud stains and something else that crawl into the drain. 

You squeeze until your skin hurts, until the water carries no more dirt in the drain and you scrub until you have no more tears to drop, it is only at that moment that you turn the shower and force yourself to leave the comfort you had found in that cold wall to get out of the cubicle and dry your body with a towel you found neatly folded hanging above the toilet. 

As you open the door you find on the floor articles of clothing that you pick up and close the door again to examine. The first was a white T-shirt, large enough to reach your thighs, this was accompanied by blue shorts into which you slip, forgetting that you needed underwear. 

If it were up to you, you would stay all your life in that bathroom that smelled of coconut and oatmeal but you had to pretend to be brave. You take one last look at the image in the mirror, ignoring the fact that you still need to fix your hair and that there are dark circles under your red eyes you decide to finally leave, being seduced by a sweet smell and sounds of dishes clattering against each other you are guided to the kitchen. 

"What are you doing?" you ask confused, in front of you was a Satoru whisking something with a fork inside a bowl in an exaggerated manner, being extremely extra and loud.

"Pancakes." You stand silently admiring the technique, feeling like laughing because it looks ridiculous but not giving him the pleasure of listening to you. Satoru had changed out of his uniform into casual clothes —baggy jeans in a worn blue and a strapless T-shirt—and had ditched the blindfold, gifting you for the first time what his naked eyes looked like.  "I'm trying to cook. I usually eat canned stuff and I've been wanting to learn how to cook, at least basic stuff." Satoru commented something like that before, that he would forget to eat or buy meals on his travels that he would then bring home and forget to consume, you didn't expect him to be serious back then. Imagining him cooking was very out of character for you. 

You approach the countertop in disbelief, stepping through the door frame and then climb a stool to admire him up close. With the help of your hands you hold your jaw and soon your whole head is filled with Satoru stirring the batter, inevitably silencing your thoughts and lulling you into a sort of trance. 

Satoru stops his task to set the batter aside and focus on you, it was even worse without the blindfold, you didn't know where to hide to escape him. His blue eyes were on yours, then briefly went to your lips. 

"You said earlier that I wouldn't let you in, I want to." 

"You don't have to." You reply curtly, keeping up the mask that you don't mind losing his friendship, clinging to your anger. 

"I want to try." 

You're silent for a moment. "I'm not going back to Jujutsu High." Then you warn him. 

Satoru breaks the dueling stares to grab the bowl with white batter again which was starting to take on a fat texture, you wrinkle your nose at the strange consistency and at the tiny bubbles in it and the thought of criticizing his style of making pancakes lingers on the tip of your tongue. 

"I'm not going to force you to stay." Satoru takes a ladle and dips it into the batter, pouring a first misshapen pancake into a previously buttered pan. "But Maki is going to miss you." You roll your eyes. 

"You're not going to blackmail me."

"I'm not!" he laughingly defends himself, with a spatula poking the pancake around the edges to check if it was already browned —spoiler, it wasn't—. "But she really will." You think he's not really talking about Maki, though. 

Satoru flips the pancake which wasn't burnt or browned, it hadn't even been cooked and the spatula along with the pan are sticky from the batter. Exasperated, you get up from the stool to head over to him. 

"Come here." You don't wait for him to answer you to pull the spatula from his hands and try to save the pancake which screams in the pool of boiling butter.

"Oh, you're going to show me how it's done?" he asks half indignantly, half laughing. 

"Uh-huh." You reply, turning down the stove flame. "I'm not a teacher anyway, I don't have anyone under my care. And if I'd had a chance before I've blown it now." You return to the subject, ignoring the stove as you pay more attention to the coat of paint on the wall.  

"You were good today." Satoru says softly, it's so comforting the way he addresses you that you feel like crying but you mask it with a brief pout. 

"It's not enough to just do well. I lost more than the respect of the higher-ups today." You distract yourself by flipping the pancake over, the top showing you a burnt golden color, much more decent than what Satoru was doing.  

"Nobody's perfect, [Name]."

"You are." You reply too quickly as you victoriously scoop out the first pancake and throw another bit of batter into the pan, more butter. 

For longer than you would have liked to admit, all you hear is the bubbling of butter toasting the batter. 

"That's what you think of me?" Satoru breaks the silence and you notice out of the corner of your eye that he's folding his arms. 

"What does it matter what I think?" 

"It matters to me," he admits, looking at you for the first time. "You are my friend after all. You don't care what I think of you?" 

"Not really." You lie, taking the opportunity to flip the pancake. Even though Satoru probably knows you're doing it, his eyes widen slightly, looking you up and down. 

"I thought you were my fan." He puts a hand to his chest for added drama, gasping for air at the same time.

"Please forget that!" 

"You were eating me with your eyes thinking I didn't see you. That's workplace harassment, I could report you, you know?" 

"Shut up!" you threaten him with the spatula smeared with the mixture and a couple of drops fall to the floor. 

Little by little the plate was filling up with the pancakes that to your surprise didn't taste so bad, you shared one with Satoru before finishing cooking them and you even flattered him —they're okay, they were literally your words, it was the only praise you could give to his first attempt—, you knew he was going to get better.

From the shelf Satoru takes out two porcelain plates and places them side by side and brings them towards you, you are sitting on one of the stools. 

"Thank you."

"Are you going to stay over or do you want me to take you home?" Satoru asks before sitting down, poking at one of the fluffy pancakes. 

You take your time before answering, honey drizzling over the mountain of pancakes and making a puddle on your plate. The question bounces around in your head, reliving memories of the recent failed mission. 

"I think I want to be alone." You answer finally, focused on pinching a pancake with a fork. 

Satoru says nothing more, his gaze not falling back on you while you, on the other hand, check him with the side of your eye every five seconds. You force yourself to fill your mouth not to talk anymore because you had nothing more to say and whatever comes out of your mouth now could be dangerous. 

So you swallow and chew the words you never said, mixing them with the sweetness of honey and the burnt part of pancakes. Even though the silence is uncomfortable, there is a certain tranquility to it. 

After eating you help him wash the dishes and Satoru offers to drive you home. It was on the tip of your tongue to refuse but you were sure that it would be faster and the sooner you arrived the sooner you could throw yourself on the bed and get warm under your sheets next to your cat, so without time to lose you picked up your uniform from the bathroom and sent him your address through the gps which made you realize that you didn't live so far away. 

On the way you didn't talk much, just chattered about the irony of the weather and the heavy drops splashing against the window. You asked how his students were and he asked how your cat was, and before you could realize it Satoru was parking his car in front of the entrance. 

You accept his invitation to accompany you to the door, trotting in front of the coffee shop that had already closed, inhaling the smell of freshly brewed coffee that lingered in the air. He steps forward when you invite him into the warmth of your home. The light from the bulb chases away the shadows and draws your gray cat towards the entrance to greet you between meows, his soft fur brushes against your legs and then as if he has known him all his life he rubs against Satoru's legs and Satoru can't help but be seduced by the little animal and squats down to pet him while you smile at the scene. 

Satoru stretches out his knees again, lifting his size above you. 

"You're safe and sound," he says." You don't have to-"

Your bottom lip is quivering and you blame the raindrops you caught on your mini marathon from the car to your door, Satoru frowns and takes a step in front of you. You see his hands shaking but he forces them to keep still on either side of his legs, you can't see his eyes because they are hidden under the sunglasses but the concern on his face is more than evident. 

"Can I hug you?" Satoru doesn't say anything and just pounces on you, as if he's been waiting for you to give him permission. It's like always, you can't feel him but you're thankful he's here. "I was so scared there," you confess, forcing yourself not to cry and he realizes the fragile state you're in. "I don't want to see another friend die." Your arms tighten around his waist, lending weight to your sentence. 

"It's okay," he points out, stroking your back as if it were your cat. "I'm the strongest after all, you don't have to worry about me." 

You snort, sinking your face lightly into his unreachable chest and give him a light smack from behind that he never feels. 

Suddenly, as if something is pushing you, you fall on top of him, your face sinking into his chest and you quickly raise your head to look at him. He was smiling, a grimace that reassures you and pushes the heavy tears you had been holding out of your eyes. You hide your face in his torso again and it's so warm, you can't help but inhale as he pats your head, through it all you realize that unlike you, he's not wet. 

"It's going to be okay." 

"Satoru..." You look up at him again.

"That day, the day we met for the first time your cursed energy was all over the place... it was soft and warm and I wanted to tease you for that, I waited impatiently for you to come near me." Your heart pounding, it squeezes your chest and you think he might have noticed. "But I couldn't say anything, I'm never at a loss for words but being next to you... I could feel your purity and your good intentions, the desire inside you to help others. So I lowered my defenses and let you touch me because I wanted some of the sweet sweet smell of your energy to permeate me, I know you don't remember it because of the euphoria of your fanaticism." He lets out a chuckle. "I haven't let anyone touch me in years and you're the only one to do it again after that day."

Incredulous and short of words you stare at him, stare at him and stare at him again, blinking as if you have all the time in the world to admire him, the sound of the rain pattering against the window competing with the drum that is your heart. Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times before you realize you don't know what to say. Satoru's cheeks are painted red and you've never stopped to feel the effect being near him has on you. 

You push your body close, intoxicated from the moment until your mouth finds his. Warm air seeps out of his mouth in the form of a gasp and reaches your tongue, you have to part your mouth further to let it in and swallow his gasps. 

Tentatively you deposit a kiss on his lips and he growls, you feel his fingers squeeze the fabric of your shirt and grip your skin. Unable to hold you another second not knowing how it would feel to kiss him you join in a slow kiss, you are surprised by the way he uses his tongue to lick your upper lip and touch the tip of yours only to pull back and place a hand behind the back of your neck allowing him to taste you better. 

Your journey with Satoru had been strange. You were his admirer —c'mon, you never stopped being one— then his co-worker and finally his friend. At some point you buried your feelings because you were too busy working on getting better and stronger to earn the place to stand and fight by his side, to earn the respect of the elders, you were sure nothing was going to happen between the two of you. You convinced yourself that you were happy with his friendship and the support that being close to him gave you, it was safe and it felt real... just like this moment. 

Satoru's hands were on your back, then under your shirt directly touching your skin. His fingertips were ice cubes that bristled your flesh, traveling in a sort of massage in all directions as you continued a slow dance, drowning out your mewls with rain and each other's lips. 

When Satoru finally breaks away your lips were slightly swollen, red, the same color as his. There was a dreamy look on your face that you hid by closing your eyelids and biting your lower lip, when you opened them you found that he was still there, hiding behind those sunglasses not really knowing what he was thinking but it was real, he really was here. At least you were sure that had really happened. 

"This thing that just happened," you say, trying to catch your breath. "It won't change my mind about quitting, I hope you know that." 

Satoru snorts a chuckle. 

"We can try a second time." You allow him to move closer to you again, his head cocked to the side taking hold of your lips, sinking his teeth into these. "Or a third." He gives them a little lick. "Or all night, I'm very persistent." 

You join in a shy giggle you both share. Satoru fixes his back and withdraws his hands out of your shirt and you almost miss them immediately, these are now on your face, cradling your cheeks and carving away the tears that managed to spill. 

"I care about you." 

"I know." You sob, your cheeks burning. 

"And I'll be there tomorrow for you and to face any punishment with you," he speaks sweetly, pausing briefly. "You know they don't have to mess with me, though. I'd destroy them in a second for you." Ah, there was the Satoru you knew. 

He leans in once more to kiss you and you think you could get used to this. 

"Should I leave?" he murmurs against your lips. 

"Stay," you say, your knees trembling from the closeness. "I too... I like you too." 

"Oh, I never said I liked you." Satoru smiles mischievously. You shoot him a dagger-filled glare along with a frown that gradually relaxes. 

"Thank you for being here," you sigh. 

"Thanks for letting me do it."

I still can't believe I wrote so much for something that isn't smut, sobs. But I've realized how much fun it is to write different genres and I can't stop. I was going to say something else but totally forgot lolol maybe I'll edit this later.

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT // C.S [05]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: none. slightly flirty Chris.

wc: 3109

Chapter 5: The Penthouse

It was the end of the month when the movers showed up at the penthouse, carrying the carefully labeled boxes that held the pieces of my old life. 

Clothes. Some books. Trinkets from my childhood I hadn’t been able to leave behind, and all my school stuff. Not much. It never felt like it would be enough to fill a place like this.

Chris wasn’t here. Of course, he wasn’t.

I hadn’t seen him since the engagement party, not really. There were a few short, stiff text messages, details about the move. Nothing personal.

The maid — an older woman with kind eyes — met me in the lobby and ushered me upstairs, guiding me through the sleek, cold hallways like I might get lost otherwise. She didn’t say much, just pointed down a hall and smiled.

"Your room, Miss," she said quietly.

There was a sticky note slapped onto the door, my name written in careful, neat handwriting. Aurora.

The absurdity of it made my throat ache a little.

I peeled the note off and pushed open the door. The room was... beautiful. Huge king-sized bed with dark gray linens. A massive window overlooking the glittering city skyline.

The movers came and went, leaving behind a mess of cardboard boxes and pieces of my life scattered across the polished floors. I stood frozen in the middle of it all, arms crossed tightly over my chest, trying to will myself to do something. To unpack. To settle in. But I couldn’t.

The massive closet stood empty and waiting. The huge king-sized bed was made, untouched. The floor-to-ceiling window looked out over the glittering skyline, cold and impersonal.

And my things — all my sewing supplies, my sketches, my mannequin, my fabric — were sprawled everywhere, looking heartbreakingly out of place against the sleek, expensive furniture.

Where was I supposed to put all of it? There was no sunny studio corner here like back home. Just a room that was too big, too clean, too foreign.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos around me. The sewing desk I loved was shoved awkwardly against the far wall, looking pitifully small compared to everything else.

My throat tightened painfully.

This wasn’t home. This wasn’t mine. I was just squatting in someone else’s life.

I dropped my head into my hands, letting the minutes pass, unmoving.

Outside the glass, the city buzzed — alive and pulsing — while I sat there, frozen.

Half an hour later, I heard the soft click of the front door opening. Footsteps on hardwood. Slow, steady.

I didn’t look up.

There was a pause in the hallway. Then more footsteps, growing closer.

Chris appeared in the doorway, tall and sharp against the sleek lines of the house. He wore a black dress shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and no tie. His hair was slightly messy, fluffy like he’d run his hand through it, and somehow that only made him look even more frustratingly handsome.

He stood there for a second, surveying the room.

His eyes moved over the unopened boxes, the mannequin half-draped in pinned fabric, the sewing machine teetering on the edge of the desk.

And then he pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, his presence immediately filling the space.

"You’re not unpacking," he said, voice low and even, but not exactly warm.

I shrugged, not looking at him. "I’ll do it later."

Chris didn’t leave. Instead, he slowly wandered through the room, his movements casual but sharp-eyed. He brushed his fingers lightly across a fabric roll, nudged one of the boxes with the tip of his shoe.

"You brought all this?" he asked, sounding more curious than judgmental.

I finally glanced up, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks.

“It’s for school,” I said, forcing the words out. “My final portfolio’s coming up. I need it to work.”

Chris gave a small nod.

“That’s fine,” he said simply. “Just keep everything in here".

I swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of his presence even though he wasn’t looking directly at me. The room suddenly felt smaller with him in it. Warmer.

He paused by the window for a second, glancing at the city lights outside. Then, almost like he remembered something, he turned back to me.

"There are a few things you should know," he said, walking slowly back toward where I sat. "House rules."

I nodded stiffly.

He stopped a few feet away, hands sliding into the pockets of his dress pants.

"The kitchen’s stocked. If you want something specific, tell Ana or one of the kitchen staff. They’re usually here in the mornings and afternoons," he said. "You don’t have to cook unless you want to."

I nodded again, gripping the edge of the bed to keep from fidgeting.

"And laundry — if you leave it in the baskets, it’ll get taken care of," he continued. "You can do it yourself, but you don’t have to."

His eyes flickered around the room again, taking in the chaos, but there was no judgment on his face. Just that calm, unreadable coolness.

"There’s a cleaner who comes every other day," he added. "If you need something moved or organized, ask Ana. Or tell me."

He said it casually, almost like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t used to explaining his life to someone else.

"I work late a lot," he said. "Sometimes weekends too. So if I’m not around, it’s not... personal."

Something in his tone softened then, just barely.

"And if you need anything," he finished, his voice dropping slightly, "don't wait around. Just ask."

The silence stretched tight between us.

He was trying. In his own cold, careful way, he was trying to make this easier.

I shifted a little on the bed, feeling small under the weight of his gaze. He was close now — not towering exactly, but big enough that I felt it. And unfairly good-looking. The way the low light caught the angles of his face, the sharpness of his jaw — it made my heart kick up nervously in my chest.

Chris studied me for a second longer, then — unexpectedly — he tilted his head, a slow, almost lazy gesture.

And then he asked, voice low and a little rough, "Are you scared of living with me?"

The question hit harder than it should have. Not teasing. Not playful. Just straight-up blunt, like he actually wanted to know.

My breath caught slightly. I hadn’t realized he was standing so close — only a few inches away now, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the faint clean scent of his cologne.

I looked up, wide-eyed, caught between the sudden proximity and the unexpected rawness of his question.

My mouth went dry. I managed to croak out, "What?"

It came out smaller, shakier than I meant it to. His mouth curved into the faintest smirk, not cruel — just a little cocky, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

He stepped even closer. I shifted back instinctively, but the edge of the bed was already pressed against the backs of my knees. Nowhere to go.

Chris tilted his head again, studying me like I was something interesting, something he couldn’t quite figure out. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and tilted my chin up with two fingers — light but firm, keeping me from looking away.

"You don’t have to be scared," he said, voice low and steady, almost coaxing. "You’re safe here."

My heart slammed against my ribs. Who's going to tell him the thing I’m scared of is him? I was sure he could feel how hard I was trembling under his touch.

Chris let out a low chuckle, quiet but undeniably amused.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, almost to himself.

I hated how warm his hand was. How gentle. How my body betrayed me by leaning the slightest bit toward him. His thumb brushed lightly along the line of my jaw, and I swore my brain just... short-circuited.

"You’re not a guest, sweetheart," he said, his voice softer now, something almost reassuring threading through it. "You live here now. This is your home."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying desperately to get a hold of myself.

Chris's hand lingered for another breath, one, two — before he slowly dropped it, letting the moment unravel naturally.

For a second, he just stood there, still way too close, still watching me with those sharp, unreadable eyes, like he was waiting for me to believe him.

Then, finally, he took a step back, giving me space again.

The air between us stayed thick, buzzing with something electric and unspoken.

"If you need anything," he said again, his voice gentler now, almost like a promise, "ask staff."

Why did I think he was going to say Ask me, of course he’d want me to ask the staff. 

He held my gaze for one more second — a second too long — before he turned and walked out, his footsteps retreating down the hall.

The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving me standing there, breathless, heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted out.

I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks, feeling the heat of my embarrassment spread. I hated how easily he’d thrown me off balance, how his presence reduced me to a flustered mess.

Christopher Sturniolo was insufferable — cold, arrogant, and distant. Yet, somehow, he’d made me nervous, without even realizing it.

I hated how effortlessly he could do that, how much control he had over my emotions, even when he probably didn’t care. His fingers on my chin, his voice low and steady — it all lingered, making everything feel more intense than it should have. I tried to shake it off, but the feeling stuck with me. 

I hated how much it bothered me.

CHRISTOPHER

I stayed locked in my office for hours after that interaction, pretending to be busy.

Emails, contracts, reports — all of it blurred together until the lines on the screen didn’t even look like words anymore. No matter how much I tried to bury myself in work, my mind kept circling back to her.

Sitting stiffly on that giant bed earlier, clutching herself like she didn’t know if she was allowed to be here.

Like she thought she didn’t belong.

I don't know why I even touched her or even got that close, but I couldn't fight away the though of loving how she looked under my gaze.

By the time the clock crept past 4 PM, I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the hardwood. Ugh. Screw it. I needed to check on her.

The house was silent as I made my way down the hall, the kind of heavy silence that pressed against your ribs.

When I reached her room, I found the door open, lights off, and no sign of her. I frowned, tension snapping down my spine.

 Where the hell was she?

Then, the sound of quiet footsteps from farther down the hall. Toward the west wing, toward my side of the house.

My jaw tightened as I followed the sound, rounding the corner. And there she was.

Standing near my bedroom door, leaning in like she was trying to peek inside.

I stopped cold.

"What the hell are you doing?" My voice came out low, harsh, sharper than I meant it.

She jolted violently, whipping around to face me, her eyes wide and panicked. "I—I wasn’t—" she stammered, taking a quick step back from the door.

I crossed the distance between us in two strides, towering over her. "Why are you looking into my room?"

She looked down, flustered, her hands knotting in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. "I didn’t know it was yours," she said quickly. "I was just... looking around. I got a little lost. I didn’t mean anything by it."

For a second, I just stood there, staring at her. The way her voice trembled a little, the way she shrank under my gaze.

The guilt flared up instantly. But pride — that old, stubborn part of me — kept me silent. Kept me from saying the apology sitting bitter on my tongue.

Instead, I shifted my weight and let my voice drop lower, harder.

"Stay out of this side of the house," I said. "You have everything you need on your end. Don’t come wandering over here again."

Her face fell slightly, but she nodded, looking small and embarrassed. 

She didn’t know it, but I had made sure her room was far from mine on purpose. Deliberate. Safer that way — for both of us.

She mumbled a small, "Okay," and turned, walking quickly back down the hall without looking at me again.

I stayed where I was, watching her retreat. A tight, sour feeling twisted low in my chest. I told myself it was better this way.

The distance. The boundaries.

It had to be.

—

The hours dragged again after she wandered off. 

I shut myself in my office again, pretending to be busy—emails, contracts, budgets—but none of it stuck. The words blurred together on the screen, meaningless.

The house felt too damn quiet.

I checked the time—nearly seven. Right on cue, my phone buzzed across the desk. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Grinding my teeth, I answered, keeping my voice even. “Yeah?”

“Chris,” Aurora’s father’s voice came through, too bright, too forced. “Just checking in. Everything alright over there?”

I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. “She’s here. Settling in.” The words came out clipped. Harsher than I meant.

There was a pause. “You sure?” he asked, his voice dropping, threaded with a rare kind of concern. “She’s... she’s a sensitive kid. This is a big change for her.”

Something inside me snapped.

"If you were that worried, maybe you shouldn’t have handed her off like a business transaction," I said, voice low and sharp.

Silence crackled across the line. 

"Chris," he said finally, firmer now, "calm down. It’s not like that."

I bit back everything else I wanted to say. None of it would change anything. "Fine," I muttered. "She's fine."

Before he could get sentimental, I shifted the conversation back to business—the Sturniolo x Devereaux deal, projected numbers, timelines. Numbers I didn’t give a damn about right now.

When the call finally ended, I tossed my phone onto the desk harder than necessary. I sat there for a minute, stewing.

She's a sensitive kid. Big change. The words echoed in my skull, irritating the hell out of me.

I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping back. If he cared so much, he should’ve been the one checking if she’d eaten. If she was scared. If she was even unpacking.

The house stayed too damn quiet. I made my way down the hall to her room, hesitating for a second before knocking. Two sharp knocks.

Soft footsteps padded toward the door.

It cracked open, and there she was.

She looked... different.

Her damp red hair curled slightly at the ends, a little messy, a little soft. She wore a simple nightdress—loose, thin, falling just above her knees. 

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Her skin glowed from the shower, fresh and warm, and the neckline of the dress dipped just enough to make my jaw clench. I forced my eyes back to her face, clearing my throat roughly.

"You eat yet?" I asked, the words coming out gruffer than intended.

She blinked up at me, startled. Then slowly shook her head, tugging the door closer like she could hide behind it.

Something twisted in my chest, but I shoved it down. She hesitated, then slipped on her fluffy slippers, padding softly behind me down the hall.

She wasn’t comfortable. I could feel it in every step she took, and hell, I wasn’t exactly making it easy on her.

The dining room looked like a damn showroom—gleaming table, fresh food spread out perfectly by the staff. But everything felt... off. Wrong.

“Take a seat,” I said, pulling out a chair without thinking. She hesitated, then sat, folding her hands in her lap like she didn’t know where to put them.

The food was laid out—roasted vegetables, warm bread, a thick, rich stew that smelled like something good, but she just stared at it.

I sat across from her, watching her pick up the fork like it weighed too much.

"You haven’t eaten today, have you?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She didn’t meet my eyes. "I don’t know... I guess I lost track of time," she said softly.

Liar, but I let it slide.

"You should eat something," I said, quieter this time. "There’s no reason to skip meals."

She gave a small nod and took a careful bite.

The silence between us stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable—for me, anyway. It was her silence that gnawed at me.

I picked up my wine glass, letting the cool rim rest against my mouth before saying, "So," I said casually, "did you find a spot for all your sewing and design stuff?"

She paused mid-bite, surprised. She hadn’t expected me to remember that about her.

"Um... not really," she said after a moment. "I haven’t unpacked much."

I just nodded.

We ate in silence after that, or pretended to.

I caught myself glancing at her—how she kept fidgeting with the hem of her nightdress, how she barely touched the food even when she forced herself to chew. It twisted something sharp inside me.

Finally, she set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I should probably get some sleep," she said, almost like she was reminding herself aloud. "It’s been a long day."

I nodded, pushing back my chair, too. We both stood at the same time, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

"Thanks... for the food," she said, her voice soft, shy.

I shook my head. 

"No need to thank me, ma," I said, letting my mouth twitch in a smirk. "I wouldn’t let my fiancée starve."

Her cheeks colored slightly, and she ducked her head, hurrying out of the room with her slippers making soft sounds down the hall.

I watched her go, something uneasy still coiling low in my gut.

When I first agreed to all this, I figured I’d end up shackled to some spoiled rich girl, someone who’d spend her days whining and shopping. Someone is easy to ignore.

But Aurora was... the opposite. Quiet. Careful. Like she was trying not to take up any space at all.

It unsettled me. It intrigued me.

Almost.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

[a/n: ahh ok first 5 chapters done. if you read this please reblog and like!! i want this to reach people since in new] — lots of love ceyana

[blackbat05]

Unexpected Refuge

Detective! Joaquin x Bookstore Owner! Reader

Plot: Your book store is a place of refuge for those seeking knowledge, and shelter?

Genre: PG-13

A/N: K-drama giving me ideas once again. Also SDCC 2024 announcements?!!! Just blew my mind🤯 Excuse me for the poor execution, really wrote this on a whim. Also realized that Joaquin was a character I wrote before I went into a mental health crisis😂 How time flies~ (Tag update because I am a nuisance: @tom-whore-dleston)

The man pants heavily as he darts into the nearest alley. Shouts of anger and thinly veiled threats were getting closer. He’s proud of his stamina but he can’t keep running away from them. He needs to recover his energy.

But where?

A light shines up ahead and without a second thought, the man races towards what could be his potential temporary safehouse.

Bang!

There were no customers inside. Just plenty of books, and a wide-eyed woman blinking at the hurricane of a man that just stormed her store.

He hurriedly digs into the inside of his coat, showing his credentials.

“I’m so sorry, my name is Joaquin Torres. I’m a Detective and it may sound crazy to you but I’m being chased by a group of Gangsters and I could really use some shelter.” His plea comes out in rapid fire.

The poor woman takes a quick look at his badge and for a brief moment, Joaquin believed that she was going to toss him to the dogs.

“This way.” She leads him further into the store and opens a latch on the floor that leads to storage. “In here!” She commands with urgency.

As soon as Joaquin is safely tucked away, she locks the latch and places stacks of books on top of it. The door flies open and the same Gangsters rowdily burst into the store. Joaquin feels a tinge of guilt. He can’t imagine how her store must be tossed upside down thanks to him.

What he didn’t expect was the woman holding her ground and demanding the Gangsters to leave as they apparently ruined one of her newest books that was just bought in.

“And stay out!” She screeches before flipping the sign to inform customers that they were closed for the day.

“Um…” The woman reverts back into her bashful form that Joaquin was amazed at her acting skills. “They’re gone. You can come out now.” The door opens and she helps Joaquin out.

“Thank you.” Joaquin doesn’t know what else to add. His shoes are suddenly very interesting.

“I thought you were lying about being a cop.” Her voice is soft and gentle, causing the insides of his stomach to do a couple of flips. “I guess not. Those guys were scary.” The tension breaks and Joaquin grins at her becoming flustered at the attention he was giving her.

“You can stay here for a while more. To make sure.” She offers.

Joaquin really wanted to. But if he didn’t get back to the precinct. Sam will have his ass.

“I would love to but my partner’s waiting for me. I should probably go.”

She nods in understanding, “Of course. Be careful.” The two walk to the door and she pops her head out to make sure that the coast was clear. She smelled like berries and vanilla.

“Coast clear, officer.”

He liked the way it sounded on her lips. He didn’t want it to be the last time.

“Um… would you like to have dinner sometime?”

She raises her eyebrows in question and Joaquin hurriedly explains, “It’s not what you think! I just wanted to thank you for today. Really. You saved my life. Not many people do that. I usually do most of the saving- I guess I should shut up now.” He observed her amused expression as he continued to ramble.

“Sure. I know a great steak place.”

***

“Hey Barnes! Torres here has a date! Any tips?” Captain Sam Wilson, loud as ever whenever he felt like heckling his best friends follows Joaquin around like a wart on his foot.

“Leave the man alone, Sam.” James Barnes gives him the middle finger. Cool blues turning to Joaquin, “Just be yourself. Everything will be fine.”

Yeah, not exactly reassuring either.

The old fashioned way it is.

Joaquin finds himself standing in front of your bookstore with a bouquet of roses in his hand. He catches your eye and you give him a sign to give you a couple more minutes as you cleaned and locked up the place for the night.

“Thanks for waiting!” You rushed out in sunflower colored dress, looking radiant. He swears his heart thumped loudly against his chest. “I was surprised to get your call.”

“Well, I made a promise.” Joaquin leads the way to the Steak Restaurant where you had the absolute time of your life chatting with the boyish detective in front of you.

“Oh my god! That really happened?” You laughed, tears forming in your eyes. “It seems to be like a recurring thing going on in your team.”

The two of you headed down the street after that sumptuous meal. Your hair is tousled all over the place and you feel like you’ve just ate a whole cow, but Joaquin doesn’t take his attention of you for a second.

As he recounts another mishap during a undercover mission with Sam, a wolf whistle rings through the air and a figure, no- three of them appear from the dark alley, each looking more menacing then the other.

Joaquin’s mind kicks into overdrive instantly and feels you tense up against beside him. He instinctively moves forward to shield you from them. But they’re not blind.

“Look who we found… Detective Joaquin Torres and oh! I see you got company.” The middle one leers at you and Joaquin has the urge to punch it off his face. You give his hand a squeeze, as if to reassure him to do whatever he needs to do to get these suckers.

As quickly and quietly as possible, you take out your pepper spray and ball your fist to conceal it from them.

“How is it that you three assholes show up at the most inconvenient timing?” Joaquin distracts them.

They smirk at each other and Joaquin lunges forward to take the middle and left man onto the ground, leaving the last as easy prey for you to pepper spray him to your heart’s content.

What you didn’t expect was the man to wildly brandish a pocket knife, nicking you in the process as he swings it around.

“Ah!” You hissed loudly, clutching your left hand. Joaquin immediately turns his attention to you and swiftly takes the third man down with ease.

He dials in a number and police cars arrive in no time to take the men away. Joaquin jogs over to you while a uniformed policewoman helps to bandage your hand.

“Let me.” He smiles and thanks his colleague for the efforts and works on finishing the job in silence. You can’t read minds, but you could guess.

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” You reassure him.

Joaquin doesn’t say anything. He lets out a small exhale. So you try again.

“In fact, I feel pretty badass. Don’t you think?” You gently pry your hand away and show him your now bandaged hand proudly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Torres!”

The Captain jogs over, giving a pat on his back. “Came as quickly as I could. Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks Sam.” Joaquin reassures. Sam nods, his gaze falling onto you.

“This is the girl you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Ok, Sam. Stop.” Joaquin pleads, trying to push him as far away from you without much success.

“He was asking me how to impress you! Hey? I didn’t get your name though!” Sam yells over his shoulder, making you laugh at their antics.

“Y/N! I’ll see you around Sam!”

“Oooh I like her already, don’t fuck up Torres.”

“Leave!” Joaquin has to push Sam into the car and makes his way back to you, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, about that. Sam can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.”

A pocket of silence fills the air and you have to know.

“You were trying to impress me?”

Joaquin blinks. He momentarily opens his mouth and comically looks like a fish out of water. “Did it work?”

“Well…” You pretend to tap your chin carefully and Joaquin squirms in his shoes a little. “You impressed me the moment you came bursting into my store seeking for shelter.”

You laugh at Joaquin’s groan. “Not the answer that I was expecting.”

You give him a peck on the cheek and Joaquin momentarily freezes. “Is that a better answer?”

He holds his hand to the cheek that you just left a kiss on. For a moment, you’re scared that you’ve fried Joaquin’s internal circuits to respond coherently. But he breaks into a foolishly but adorably big smile.

Joaquin holds you by the waist and brings you closer to him and gives you a kiss of his own that leaves you spinning senseless.

“One hundred percent.”

[thepromptfoundry]

Calling all history nerds, period piece connoisseurs, and fans of time-travel plots! Decades December is coming up here at The Prompt Foundry!

This list is being posted a little earlier than usual because historical work can take some time. The list has some reference points for you to jump off from. Show off your special interest in a particular era or event, or start a wiki walk from the the Wikipedia page for each decade to learn something new!

Have fun exploring resources like @thetimelinesofslang, the Fashion History Timelines from NYSU's Fashion Institute of Technology, or the fashion plates and historical photos from blogs like @omgthatdress or @historical-fashion-polls!

If you use this list, please tag me here @thepromptfoundry, I’d love to see your writing and art!

Feel free to combine different days' prompts with each other, or combine them with other events! Use your OCs, your favorite characters from media, your own experiences, whatever tickles your fancy.

Respond to as many prompts as you want or as interest you, don’t worry about missing or skipping any. Remember, this is supposed to be fun!

If you have any questions or musings, check our FAQ, and if you don't find your answer, shoot me an ask.

Plain text list below the cut:

1) 0010s Xin dynasty in China, Caesar Augustus in Rome

2) 1900s Edwardian era, Russo-Japanese War, release of the first feature film The Great Train Robbery

3) 300s Teotihuacan flourishing in present-day Mexico, writing of the Kama Sutra

4) 1910s World War 1, the Russian Revolution

5) 1440s Late Middle Ages/Early Renaissance in Europe, the hangul writing system is introduced in Korea

6) 1920s Prohibition in the US, rise of fascism in Europe, earliest sync-sound movies

7) 0070s Roman Epire, destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, eruption of Mt. Vesuvius and destruction of Pompeii

8) 1930s The Great Depression, the Declaration of the Independence of India, art deco, color film

9) 1090s The First Crusade, the Liao, Xia, and Song dynasties in various parts of China

10) 1810s The Napoleonic Wars, the Regency era in England

11) 1940s World War 2, post-war rebuilding

12) 1000s BC The Iron Age, King David of the Israelites, development of the Phoenician alphabet

13) 1950s Baby Boom, Red Scare, the Korean War, rock'n'roll, zippers and television both become commonplace

14) 1340s The Black Death in Europe, decline of the Mongol Empire

15) 1590s Late Elizabethan Era in Europe, William Shakespeare, Imjin War between Japan and Korea

16) 1960s Moon landing, hippies, mod fashion, Chinese Cultural Revolution, Stonewall, Star Trek, the Civil Rights movement

17) 1770s The American Revolution, founding of the real Illuminati

18) 1860s American Civil War era, late Edo period in Japan

19) 1970s The Sexual Revolution, disco, the first video games, end of the Vietnam War

20) 2200s Whatever the future holds!

21) 1980s End of the Cold War and fall of the Berlin Wall, beginnings of the World Wide Web, the First Intifada in Gaza

22) 1660s Part of the Golden Age of Piracy, the English Restoration

23) 1990s Internet access becomes widespread, grunge, the Gulf War, the Troubles in Ireland, height of the AIDS crisis, Princess Dianna, first Pokemon games

24) 1230s University of Cambridge founded in England, beginnings of the Mali Empire in Africa, rein of Emperor Shijo in Japan

25) 2000s The “War On Terror”, rise of Big Tech, Y2K fashion, emo culture, cell phones become commonplace

26) 1880s Gilded Age, the first skyscrapers, electrification of cities, first household electrical appliances like fans and irons

27) 1640s Qing dynasty begins in China, the First English Civil War

28) 2010s Hipster culture, height of video streaming, YA lit boom

29) 500s Liang and Northern Wei dynasties in China, Heptarchy period in England, height of prosperity of the Mayan Empire

30) 2020s Present day!

31) 3130s Whatever the future holds!

[idiotcurls]

IMAGINE THIS! Eddie is a musician, Steve is studying to become a teacher. Right before Steve's exams, he goes to a cafe to study. The Band arrives to play a gig and Eddie knocks over a glass of water with his guitar case.

Eddie has a up and coming band, they are playing small gigs all around the country. Even though they gathered up quite a following, they still haven't signed to any major label yet. Because they are not posers or whatever. The fans love Corroded Coffin, for the hard sounds with the clever thoughtful lyrics and also due to the fact that Eddie is a very charismatic frontman, who has the allure of an old timey rock star. Steve is sitting in the café, studying for his exams, writing frantically on his laptop, his glasses on the tip of his nose. Since he had a hard time in high school, he still thinks he is less than in the intellectual departmen, which is of course not true. And he has an amazing hand with the kids he is currently teaching, as student teacher. When Eddie and his band arrive at the venue, loud, all dressed in black leather, some instruments carried on their backs, he doesn't even look up. Steve was used to bands playing in the back of the venue. The café and bar area was only separated by a small glass door, so he was usually gone by the time, they got on the stage. But today the weather wasn't exactly on his side, he wasn't going to walk home in the pouring rain, risking a cold. It was too close to exam season. Eddie's hair was dripping wet, some of the droplets are running into his eyes. While Gareth is asking for someone to show them where to set up their stuff, Eddie ventures into the café area, to steal some napkins off a table. When he turns around to leave again, tapping over his eyes, the swing of his guitarcase knocks over a glass of water on a table behind him. Whos table you ask? Why, of course Steve Harrington's. What a terrible coincidence. Steve jumps up, shouting "FUCK" as he gathers up napkins trying to dry up the spilled water on his keypad. Startled by the cussing behind him, Eddie turns around and immediately recognises the damage he had caused. "Oh my god, I'm so fucking sorry, here, I'll get you more napkins, or a towel. Gareth!! Ask the waiter if he has a towel?!" Gareth looks up from his conversation with one of the staff member and just shakes his head in an annoyed fashion. Like Munson was up to some bullshit again and he wasn't going to be part of it.

Eddie is frantically bringing more napkins to the table, furthering Steve's annoyance at him. "Please.. just fucking stop, man." He is wiping his wet hands on his blue jeans looking at the laptop mournfully. "It's already fucking ruined. Shit." Steve sighs and walks around the table, a hand over his mouth, looking at the crime scene, wondering how he could afford another laptop that fast. But that long haired idiot, who knocked over his glass kept on babbling, ignoring the fact that Steve was in the middle of a crisis. "Listen, oh my god, I'm so sorry man. I read, that you shouldn't turn in on for bit after, uh, a spillage. Maybe it will dry? Or maybe we should put some rice on it? Maybe they have rice in the kitchen. Gareth?- My friend Nancy says that is bullshit, but-" "STOP! Please just go away." Steve sounded desprate. Eddie raised his hands in defeat, still holding some Napkins. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm with the band, who plays tonight. You can message us for a refund, or repair.", he says more calmly and walks away. Steve watches the young man walk back to his band members, he assumed, at least. They all wearing the same sort of clothes. "What are you doing with all those Napkins?", Jeff asks bemused. "Just shut up, man." Steve is close to tears. All of his notes and work he already did ahead of time were on the laptop. He did not safe them anywhere else. He grabs his coat and cigarette and leaves the café to have a smoke. If anyone wants to take any of his other stuff, they were free to do so, everything was ruined anyway. He watches the band carry all their amps and instruments in, from a little distance. There was a quick glance exchanged between him and that long haired idiot. He looks like a beaten puppy with those big sad eyes. Shit, now Steve felt like an asshole. Back inside, Steve waited for a while, to turn on his laptop, like the idiot had said. Meanwhile he was texting his best friend Robin the details of the worst evening in his life. She is sympathetic and hopeful, that the gods were in favour of his laptop. And while she didn't think Steve was the villain of the play, he might have been a bit harsh. They guy with the curls didn't do it on purpose, to ruin his life. After a while Steve breaths in deeply and exhales. He presses the on button. The laptops starts. He types in his password. Loading. All of his open tabs and word documents appear. The laptop was alive. He tries to write some words and all the keys work. A sigh of relieve. The gods had mercy on his computer in the end. After thanking the universe, Steve's eyes wander to the other side of the café. Behind the glass door, the band is setting up and starting to do some sound checking with the technician.

The idiot is holding his guitar, strumming a few chords and signing the thumbs up to the tech girl, who nods, looking bored. Now he is singing along to his chords, his eyes closed, like he is feeling the music or something. Steve finds, the idiot has a very beautiful voice. And a handsome face. He sighs. With that new information the apology is going to become even harder. When the band is done soundchecking and Eddie climbs off the stage, bickering and laughing with his band mates, Steve decides to go for it. "You can do this, dingus." pops up on his phone, before he puts it back into his pocket.

When Steve walks up to Eddie, the others are still rumaging around. Before Steve can open his mouth to say a single word, Eddie raises his hand. "Let me stop you there. I talked to the guys. We have a door-deal with the venue. Depending on how much money we make, you can have some of the money to pay for the repair." Eddie chuckles. "Now we just have to pray some people show up." Steve raises his left eyebrow, listening to him. "It's not like theres no people coming to our gigs, it's just that it's raining, and it's a weekday, people are at work..." Eddie is rambling again.

"Hey, can I say something too?" Steve chimes in, stern but not unkind. "Uh, sure." Eddie answers. "My laptop is fine. Everything works. I wanted to apologize for being a dick." Steve takes down his glasses and puts them on the top of his head. "I was just very stressed. You didn't do it on purpose." Eddie looks down and smiles. He seems shy.

"I'm a bit clumsy.... yeah." Steve finds it almost funny, that a guy like him, who just confidently sang on a stage, becomes shy like that. "Well, don't worry about it. I just thought... It's fine." Eddie looks up at him. "Why dont you stay for the set? Be our guest?" Steve does not answer. "I'll put you on my bar-tab. Stay and listen. Here- have a tape." Steve looks at the tape he got handed. "I don't have anything to play this on..." "Don't worry. I'll make it worth your while. Get a drink. We start in 20 minutes." Everything in Steve says, it's better to go home. Sleep and study. But he does stay for the set, to see the charaismatic idiot in action.

and then they fall in love or something.

[tessarionbestgirl]

What do you think about Corlys being a pedophile? He had relation with Mouse when she was 14 or 15 and he was in 50s. I see everyone dunks on Dameon but Corlys was a bigger PDFile.

Daemon, Aegon and Corlys at some point in hotd are described to having sex with with minors. Are those all true?

I don't know. But the aristocracy to be sexually depraved is not something new, not even in Asoiaf.

In history, the monarchy was so depraved that it generated a crisis of sexual diseases. Do you ever wonder why there was there such a dramatic change in fashion at a certain point in the Middle Ages where women stopped wearing their hair loose and the wig became so relevant? This was all to hide syphilis and lice. The most vagrant clothes were also all to hide that. You may also see golden noses in certain paintings. Because they were prosthetics because the nose of those who have syphilis falls off.

Why Martin decided to show that and don't think is pure realism value. George explores how power reveals the worse in people and sex is something, sometimes more related to power than anything else. That is why he put rape and pedophilia in his books. I believe it. Because taking someone consent is taking someone freedom of choice, in a psychological religions level for a person you can see that as, if murder is taking life a God present to humanity, rape is taking away the freedom of choice that God gave to someone. So this is the ultimate exercise of power, because it acts upon something only God should exercise power. And to a twisted mind that is what they become.

[loremaster]

CHAPTER 0: Stampede on the Amaterasu Express

(fitting that this should be posted on Zilch's birthday! EDIT: it was not in fact fitting because it was not in fact Zilch's birthday. whoever started posting Zilch stuff got me good T_T EDIT AGAIN: It WAS Zilch's birthday - the real one! I was right all along!)

Everything starts out pretty much the same.

A teeny little guy wakes up in a room full of umbrellas and is delighted to learn that his name is Yuma Kokohead. He catches his train at the last minute, but turns out there's an impostor in the room. Uh oh! Who could it be?

Aphex and Pucci use their Quirks Fortes to find out if there's anyone else aboard, and there isn't... but then Pucci hears something. Footsteps. Lots of footsteps, actually. Gaining speed on the Amaterasu Express. Yuma tries to look out a window, but there are none.* Tensions rise.

Aphex wants to head to the control room and stop the train. "So what if we don't know who's out there? I can take 'em!" Zilch disagrees. "You idiot! That's exactly what they want us to think. We're far safer in here. Do you want us to reach our destination alive or not?" Melami sides with Aphex. "This is too suspicious to ignore. I think we should see what the matter is. What if there's someone out there who needs our help? What if... it's a real fashion disaster?" Pucci agrees with Zilch. "If we keep the train running forward, we can wait to confront whatever's out there until the local law enforcement can help us... It's too loud to be any regular person..." Zange remains staunchly neutral. "We wouldn't even be having this discussion if this train had any windows! Damn Amaterasu, trying to show off this pointless automated technology... I bet this whole thing is a trap anyway!"

Meanwhile, Yuma is having an invisible crisis.

And then, from Yuma's perspective:

MYSTERY LABYRINTH TIME!!!!! Yuma explores the train cars with the detectives' belongings here in the ML instead of IRL. After gathering evidence, he is able to deduce that the many footsteps approaching the train are actually not humans, but a stampede of animals, presumably controlled by the real Zilch Alexander. He unmasks the hitman within the Labyrinth and they have a pose-off.

And the true culprit's soul is reaped in dazzling fashion!

But from the other detectives' perspectives...

Zilch literally just drops dead in the middle of an argument.

Melami: "Gasp! Aphex, you killed him!" Aphex: "What the--! I did not!! He fell forward!" Pucci: "...there's no heartbeat... He's... actually dead..." Zange: "That didn't look like heart failure to me." (sending the video footage to his phone)

Now with Aphex's rival out of the way, he, Melami, and Yuma can stop the train and finally see what awaits them outside!

Ohhh yeahhh, that's right. The hitman stole all of Zilch's clothes.

After Zilch strips a corpse and gets his clothes back, they are met at the station by Swank and the Peacekeepers, who are pissed that their boy is dead and also naked. Yakou intervenes as usual, and the whole crew goes to get boba!!!! Yayyyy!!!

*This post was written before I checked a screenshot of the game and realized the dining car DID have windows. Oops. So, either this AU there's no windows, or this is how it goes down instead:

I think even Shinigami could solve this one.

NEXT: PROLOGUE

[raplinesmoon]

Just Jin (KSJ x F!Reader)

pairing: Barbie!reader x Ken!Seokjin genres/au/rating: angst (with a happy ending!), fluff, Barbie au, break-up au, PG-13 summary: After a trip to the real world, you and Jin both come to a realization that will change your lives forever.

warnings: break-ups, sadness, existential crisis, mentions of doctor's appointments

word count: 1.5k

a/n: I'm still working on mafia!Hoseok but listen my brain has been wired since I came out of the Barbie movie earlier today. It legitimately changed me as a person, and I felt inspired to create this bc I think Jin gives off such Ken energy. This is based on but also slightly altered from the Barbie movie, and as such, it will contain massive spoilers for the movie, so read at your own risk (go see the movie tho)! Anyways this was just a fun, goofy indulgent drabble that made my heart warm, and I hope you enjoy!

Tip-toeing through the dream house, you try to ignore the sensation of your feet cramping. After learning the wonders of being flat-footed, standing on your heels was no joke. No wonder women in the real world complained about wearing stilettos all the time. But right now wasn’t about the pain women felt to conform to societal expectations of beauty. There were centuries to go before those outdated notions of what it meant to be a successful woman were squashed. Right now, there was something more pressing you had to deal with.

Things had changed since you left. The dream house seemed more like a nightmare, its pristine pink walls besmirched with posters of sports icons and various forms of taxidermy. You frown to yourself. This wasn’t the house you’d known. The life you’d lived before with Jin seemed nothing more than a distant memory, both of you tainted by your experiences in the real world.

Jin. Speaking of him, you knew you had to find him. When you’d learned from the others that he’d gone off the rails, worry clouded your mind. Not just for him, but for all the others – Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook too. They were all so impressionable, more fragile than they let on. It scared you to think of the state you might find him in right now. And that’s when you hear it.

The sound is muffled, but you can barely make it out against the quiet that nightfall brings. It’s a choked sob, guttural and raw in its devastation. And it’s coming from your bedroom. Ignoring the newfound feeling of your heart clutching in your chest, you square up your shoulders, ready to face what lay ahead. And then you head upstairs.

The door creaks as it opens, and you flinch, hoping the sound won’t give away your entry into the room. But there’s no response. Feeling braver, you push it wider and gasp at the state of everything. For all the horses and saloon decorations Jin had implemented downstairs, the upstairs of your dream house is pristine. Exactly untouched the same way you’d left it. The pearls on your lampstand glisten in the moonlight, the walls are free of garish posters, and the same plush pink and purple sheets adorn your bed. And in the middle of it, Jin lies facedown, unmoving.

Freezing, you take him in, noticing how small he looks right now, curled up into himself. Jin had always been larger than life – his windshield wiper laugh echoing down the entire beach, his dad jokes catching the admiration of everyone around him, a smile plastered onto his stupidly handsome face with those perfectly pouty lips. He’s wearing the same sleeveless denim outfit you’re always used to seeing him in, unlike the other boys, who’d bought into new and more trendy fashions. 

If he feels the bed dip when you sit next to him, he doesn’t show it. You finally reach for him, pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“Jin?” you whisper softly. “It’s me.”

He doesn’t move. Your heart sinks, knowing how difficult this was for both of you. But you needed to do this.

“Can we please talk?

That’s what gets him to rise, silky black hair disheveled and eyes rimmed with the red of his tears.

“What could you possibly want to talk about?” he croaks out, sniffling into his sleeve. “Everything is ruined.”

The same guilty feeling bubbles up in your chest, knowing part of him is right. Everything had been ruined. But not in the way you’d expected. When you and Seokjin had entered the real world, you’d been unprepared to have your lives change forever. No matter how much you tried to pretend that things could just go back to the same way they’d been before, they couldn’t. And both of you knew it.

“I’m sorry Jin,” you let out a sob of your own. “I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

Jin hardens at your sobs, straightening up, the sadness on his face morphing into a mask of fury.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?!” he bellows. “Sorry doesn’t cut it! This was supposed to be our dream house, ___! That's why I went through all the stupid decorations and the revamp! You think I like saloons? No! But this was supposed to be our dream! Us, together! It’s always been ___ and Jin. I don’t know how to be anything without you! I don’t want anything to change. I love you!”

You embrace his trembling body, pulling it in close to yours.

“I love you too Jin. I always have, and I always will. But I’m not sure that love is enough anymore.”

Jin pulls away from you, and you watch his eyes widen in surprise, giving you the strength to go on.

“When we were out there, something changed. I realized that while what we had was perfect, it’s okay to not be perfect all the time. Not everything is a dream come true. Sometimes things don’t turn out the way you want them to, and that’s life. A-and I want to experience life Jin. I’m sick of just smiling all the time. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to laugh. And I want that for you too.”

“All I’ve ever wanted was you,” Jin breathes out softly. “It feels like I failed you.”

“Hey,” you reach out to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You didn’t fail me, or anyone else, okay? You’re enough. Maybe it’s time for us to stop being ___ and Jin. And to be just ___. And just Jin.”

He looks up at you, stars in his eyes, and you can see the sadness intertwined with hopefulness. “You really think we can find something better out there? Something that makes leaving this all behind worth it?”

You take his hand in yours.

“I know we can. And we will. But we can’t do it together. At least not right now.”

A tiny smile breaks out onto his face. “But maybe someday?”

You hesitate, not wanting to believe in false hope only to turn out devastated in the end. But Jin needed something to believe in. And so did you.

“Maybe someday, when we both have found out what makes us happy, what our reason is to live, we’ll find love again. We both deserve it.”

And Jin crumples for a second time in your arms that night, only this time it’s not from devastation. It’s the kindness in your voice that has him desperately believing that you could be right. That maybe someday both of you would figure out what these strange and complex emotions were - joy, happiness, fun. And real love. True love. They were, after all, what being a human was all about.

You thank the taxi driver, hopping out of the vehicle. Flexing your feet, you remark at how comfortable the new pink slides feel on them, your heels no longer arched and uncomfortably cramping. The sales associate had called them Birkenstocks, and you make a mental note to go back and buy a few other colors. 

The building is tall, sleek and modern not unlike the scary headquarters of some rich corporation that seeks to swindle the money of innocent consumers. But today, you’re not scared to go inside this building. You’re excited.

The excitement follows you up the elevator, a smile on your face. Hearing the ding! for your floor, you make your way out, when you’re stopped by the old woman next to you.

“You have a beautiful smile, dear.”

That only makes it grow wider.

“Thank you, you look beautiful too.”

You don’t know why, but the serene and dazed look on her face stays with you as you enter the glass doors to the office.

Making your way to the front desk, you practice the carefully rehearsed lines in your head. When you reach it, the receptionist is tapping away at the keyboard. 

“Hi!” You say brightly. “My name is ___ ____. I’m here for my gynecologist appointment!”

The receptionist finally peers out from behind the screen and you suck in a breath. Something about him seems so familiar. Broad shoulders, pouty lips, dark hair. But in your entire human life, you never recalled seeing him before. The weird sense of deja vu continues when he opens his mouth to speak.

“Nice to meet you, ___, and welcome to Bangtan Center for Women’s Health. My name is Ken Seokjin and I’ll be happy to help you get checked in today!”

You don’t know why you flush at his words, but you fidget with your fingers behind your back, hoping he can’t see you.

“Great Mr. Ken! It’s my first time here, so I’m kind of nervous.”

“Just call me Jin,” he smiles. “I’m happy to help out.”

He pauses for a moment, ears turning red, before continuing on:

“Say, you look really familiar. Have we met somewhere before?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” you grin, before faltering. “But I don’t think so.”

“Well in that case, it’s nice to meet you again.” He reaches out over the counter, offering his hand, and you don't hesitate before enveloping it in yours, shivering at its warmth.

“Nice to meet you as well, just Jin.”

a/n pt. 2:  I realize this kind of deviated from the movie and some of its themes, but I had to make it work with their relationship hehe. As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi &lt;3

[film-in-my-soul]

Quanker Anustickle Iggywumpus III | 650 | reallyneedsalife / @reallyneedsalife

Summary: James suspects that Q is his soulmate. All he needs is Q's name. He goes about it, however, in a rather roundabout fashion.

Everything, Everything | 724 | SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan

Summary: As occasionally happens, considering how little is known about Q's people, he and Bond have a minor culture clash; they work it out quickly enough

Semantics | 807 | SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan

Summary: "Enough. No more math." "No more drinks." Bond corrected. "No more drinks." Q parroted.

An Undeniable Truth | 815 | Catchclaw

Summary: James Bond comes back from the dead on a Thursday, and in retrospect, Q should have seen it coming.

(see more recommendations below!)

Breathe my air and I'll be fine | 847 | linndechir / @linndechir

Summary: “The view is spectacular,” Q comments as he joins Bond on the roof. “It is,” Bond agrees, but he's not looking out over the city. Q's lips are a startling red in his pale face, they always look like someone just kissed him breathless.

Something To Live For | 946 | vials

Summary: Q always got the impression that James wasn't a conventional man. Therefore, it seems totally logical that James would wait until the middle of a crisis to bring up something like feelings, and of course he's injured, too.

My Little WHAT? | 999 | Kryptaria / @kryptaria

Summary: Sometimes, missions end with Bond knee-deep in bodies and blood. Other times, it's something entirely different.

Venture Out | 1,018 | SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan

Summary: Q doesn't actually live at the office, but Bond hadn't realized how few places he can actually go

Our Little Talks | 1,025 | misura / @measuredmisura

Summary: "Perhaps, if you want people to show good manners, you shouldn't break into their homes."

Advances | 1,036 | Tokyo_the_Glaive / @tokyotheglaive

Summary: Of the many, many questions Q had never expected to ask anyone, the one that had just passed his lips was perhaps amongst the most unexpected of them all. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Inconvenience | 1,048 | soufflegirl91 / @soufflegirl91

Summary: It had become a routine, of sorts. If it was a run of the mill, low risk mission, Q would make some sort of joke about breaking equipment. For the more serious missions, it was always the same thing: "Please don't die, 007. It would be very inconvenient."

Get Your Honey’s Worth | 1,072 | Celyan

Summary: Upon stepping into his office, Q finds a jar of honey.

Not Your Usual | 1,132 | aglassfullofhappiness (mehm)

Summary: Q keeps typing, even as blood seeps into his cardigan and his fingers shake against the keys.

Relentless | 1,139 | wednesday

Summary: Sometimes the most annoying people are attractive to James. Despite their personality, or maybe because of it, if he’s feeling particularly masochistic.

The importance of stealth and biscuits | 1,163 | hummingbeeoOo / @hummingbee-o0o

Summary: He locates Q almost immediately and assumes his swankiest gait as he strolls over to where he’s busy with the skeleton of a brand new motorcycle he’s working on. He’s also deliciously focused, slightly ruffled, and sporting a grease stain on his cheek. Bond wants to ruffle him even more. Q purses his lips when he sees him. “I thought I’d got rid of you,” he says in lieu of a loving greeting. Bond produces his most charming smile. “I come bearing gifts,” he offers the tea.

From Below | 1,187 | SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan

Summary: More nights than not, Bond finds Q standing out on the balcony, staring at the sky he can no longer reach

Eyes Down | 1,196 | aebleskiver

Summary: Four times the Double-O section infiltrates Q-Branch, and the one time Q’s alright with it.

pretend | 1,212 | onthecontrary

Summary: “I almost bloody shot you,” Q says, huffing. “Yes, nice to see you too, Q,” Bond returns, as though he hadn’t just disappeared mid-mission, uncontactable for the whole of one week.

Birds of a Feather | 1,306 | EllaStorm / @ellastorm

Summary: Q never shows his wings in public. Bond has always been more than just a little straightforward about things.

Groceries and Other Conundrums | 1,362 | samanthahirr / @samanthahirr

Summary: While putting away the groceries, it belatedly dawns on Q that he's dating James Bond. Which doesn't make any goddamn sense.

A Thousand Words' Worth | 1,405 | blackidyll / @blackidyll

Summary: "I'll send you a postcard." "Please don't." Because Bond is infuriating, he sends them along anyway.

Queer, in the old sense of the word | 1,419 | Castillon02 / @castillon02

Summary: There’s always been something off about Q. Bond tries to figure him out.

On Flight | 1,442 | beaubete / @beaubete

Summary: The one where feathers appear out of nowhere.

a cigarette you thought was gonna be your last | 1,444 | calciseptine / @calciseptinefic

Summary: Living with Q is not as difficult as James initially thought it might be.

never seek to tell | 1,463 | thestalwartheart / @thestalwartheart

Summary: Kidnapped and in solitary confinement, Q has an unexpected visitor.

Emphatically Do Not Leave Me Breathless | 1,506 | SolarMorrigan / @solarmorrigan

Summary: Q is an irresponsible asthmatic and Bond is a reasonably intimidating good Samaritan

Very Serious | 1,521 | hyphyp

Summary: Q drags Bond out of an avalanche.

less of a stranger | 1,679 | blindbatalex / @blindbatalex

Summary: Q is washing the dishes when Bond slides into the kitchen. “Q,” he says, drawing the word out, “what are you doing?” Q rolls his eyes. The bastard can smell the answer for himself. His tone is what you would use with a cat you’ve caught tangled in the window blinds when Q is anything but. He is wearing that bloody silk night robe yet again. And yet-

Liabilities | 1,691 | mikkary

Summary: What, exactly, does Q do in his pajamas before his first cup of Earl Gray? Bond thinks about liabilities and the other l-word, though he won't admit it.

One of many | 1,694 | withered

Summary: Q thinks he can get Bond out of his system. He's wrong.

it gets the better of me | 1,725 | thestalwartheart / @thestalwartheart

Summary: Bond is familiar with the chemistry that constantly brings two people into the same orbit, and he feels it with Q. He and Bond both share a taste for the finer things, and they’ve recognised each other as a luxury worth having.

Having a Good Time, It Looks Like | 1,727 | Catchclaw

Summary: The first rule of a fake, albeit mission critical relationship, Q quickly learns, is that there are boundaries.

he will make you rue the day | 1,804 | macabre

Summary: Bond's clock runs out; fortunately, Q can orchestrate resurrection.

Holiday Parties | 1,933 | kototyph / @kototyph

Summary: Wherein Q misuses agency personnel and 007 comes bearing gifts.

gadget, trinket, doodad, device | 1,938 | scioscribe / @scioscribe

Summary: If Bond wants a shoehorn that can also pick locks, it's Q's job to give it to him. (Well, actually it's not, but for some reason he keeps getting talked into it anyway. Also, he's been making a genuinely excessive number of things that explode.)

Marry me | 1,964 | hummingbeeoOo / @hummingbee-o0o

Summary: “Marry me,” Bond murmurs the words quietly, under his breath. He freezes, midway through stirring the sauce with a wooden spoon, a pool of piercing adrenaline suddenly bursting in his chest before he remembers he’s luckily alone.

The Old God of MI6 | 1,966 | opalescentgold / @opalescentgold

Summary: When M gave Bond the option of becoming 007, she said bluntly, “The few Double-Ohs who reach the age of 45 are given to Q as an offering. Are you prepared for that?” “Q?” M gave him an impatient look. “The Old God of MI6. Its designation is Q.” It...had a designation? There were actual protocols for this entity? It was a god?

Five Times Bond Had A Secret Admirer...And One Time He Admired Back | 2,011 | Prismatic Bell (PrismaticBell)

Summary: Bond keeps getting love letters, of a kind.

Sugar | 2,029 | withered

Summary: Contrary to popular rumour, it doesn't start with the kitschey souvenirs snatched from various locales around the world. It starts because Q rolls his eyes, and drawls, "Am I to your satisfaction then, Mr Bond?" And that's it. That's how it starts.

Like real people do | 2,070 | withered

Summary: Q finds out they're married after Bond's been declared Killed in Action. For Bond's sake, he better be.

open line | 2,076 | Aniron84 / @aniron48

Summary: There was no conceivable excuse for it. Bond had prepared to sign off comms the way he always did— “I’ll see you in London, Q.” —and Q, only half paying attention, closing camera feeds, verifying flight paths, had responded—

Comfort | 2,130 | Castillon02 / @castillon02

Summary: Bond ferrets out one of Q’s secretly-favorite things.

honour amongst thieves | 5,511 | midrashic / @midrashic

Summary: The love story between the hacker and the hitman is well-known in the criminal underground. Some of it is even true.

Ordinary Numbers | 44,163 | BootsnBlossoms / @bootsnblossoms & Kryptaria / @kryptaria

Summary: More than anything, Mike Taylor wanted to be ordinary. Being a genius, he learned early in life, meant people expected too much. A career at the MI6 Help Desk seemed the perfect way to guarantee a lifetime of obscurity, until he got a very unusual tech support call.

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[x-digitaldollhouse-x]

For the Simply Lilac BC by @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants: Avery Nguyen!

Name: Avery Nguyen Age Group: Young Adult (25ish) Pronouns: They/He/She Orientation: Pan Hometown: Del Sol Valley Occupation: ??? Skills: None <3 Traits: Creative, Gloomy, Self-Absorbed Aspiration: Bestselling Author Life State: Human Likes: Writing, Fitness, the color black, Alternative Music Dislikes: Cooking Gifts: A book of poetry, a low-quality painting, some frog they found outside Misc.: One-star celebrity, but can easily fade into obscurity pre-show, if desired.

In Depth: A few months ago, this Del Sol rich kid was Simsta influencer royalty. Born into excessive wealth, Avery never lifted a finger a day in their life and found success as a fashionable and enviable social media star, not even bothering to seek nepotism employment at the family company.

That's a good thing, though, because said family company recently came under investigation for some real shady practices. Long story short, Avery's parents are in prison now. A pretty nice prison for rich people, but still, prison. And now Avery's funds are rapidly dwindling.

With this recent development, Avery entered an existential crisis: is their entire life superficial and meaningless? Are they totally incapable of creating something with value? Does the entire world think they're a spoiled, useless brat?

Currently: yes, yes, and yes. But now they're hard at work reinventing themself! Now they have a new haircut, and they wear all black, and they paint their own nails instead of getting weekly manicures, and they listen to alternative radio! They're literally sooooo cool and genuine and authentic and REAL guys seriously they SWEAR. And they don't care about money-- no, they care about ART. Avery wants to be a poet now, and they're ready to prove to the world that they're a creative genius with a romantic, awe-inspiring soul. They think that an artist like Lilac is their perfect match, and they can't wait to bond over how EQUALLY talented and amazing they both are. And they can TOTALLY survive by catching and foraging and cooking all their own food in the middle of nowhere, why do you even ask???

For The Watcher:

Flirting with other contestants ✔

WooHooing other contestants ✔

Flirting with/and or woohooing NPCs ✔

Flirting with the host ✔

Changes to traits via gameplay prompts ✔

Becoming an occult ✔

Download link available via DM :)

[romancomicsblog]

Stop Muting Superman

It has been a very good time to be a Superman fan.

Although many fans of Henry Cavill were disappointed with DC recasting and taking the studio in a new direction, the long awaited Snyder Cut did give us more of that version of the character. The CW's version of Big Blue Boy Scout has had a very solid run with Superman and Lois, giving my favorite live-action version of the character. And of course, My Adventures with Superman has been a giant success, getting an early Season 3 Renewal in the middle of its second season.

To top it all off, next year we will be getting a new version in live action, with James Gunn Directing/Writing the project. And while production has been kept under wraps heavily, through word of mouth, Gunn's track record, and fan hopefulness, many believed we'd be getting a much brighter, comic accurate cheerier version of the character. One that embodies truth, justice and a better tomorrow.

So many fans much like myself were disappointed when we got our first glimpse of Superman like this:

Now, before I get critical, I will say there are things I like about the suit. The S is fun, I like the boots, the neck is interesting, the hair fantastic and of course, he's got the speedo. Good on ya Gunn.

But this suit is so dark. It's very reminiscent of the Man of Steel look, almost too much. It doesn't give off hope. The image actually feels like Superman is annoyed he has to go to work at all. Personally, I think it's a bad first look image in general, even before I have my problems with the suit.

And all that I said about his character can still be true. This image doesn't necessarily tell the tone of the film or this version of Clark Kent. This may not even be his final suit, it may just be the suit we see him in in the beginning of the film.

But it definitely feels that ever since Superman Returns, the Superman suit particularly in live action has taken on this muted tone.

Now this in not an inditement of any version of the character. I like most versions, particularly Tyler Hoechlin and Brandon Routh. But often times their performances of hopefulness and kindness are working despite their suits, as opposed to the suit embodying that mentality.

In fact, both of them are lifted up incredibly when given the proper suits. Take Routh. He was given the opportunity to return to the role of Superman in Crisis on Infinite Earths, an Arrowverse crossover. In it he plays a much older Superman, with a suit based on Kingdom Come and it is INCREDIBLE:

While it contains dark elements like the black S, it's Blue and Red are vibrant elevating him not only among people, but among heroes. Simple tweaks with color make him much more believable as Superman, and way more fun to look at.

Next let's take Hoechlin, my favorite version of the character. While his charm and kindness plays through, most of the show he wears a very muted suit, to go along with the general aesthetic of the show.

While it's a great suit, the muted feel's more grey than blue, he seems more beaten down by time then he is.

Now take his original suit in the show, when he is first staring out.

While the S can use a little work, changing up the color makes him feel a little corny, simpler and like a comic character of old. Yes he feels old fashioned and safe, but that's how Superman is meant to feel. Comforting, fun, and hopeful.

These darker versions of the suit often make Superman out to be more of a threat, which is why there doesn't feel like a definitive version of the character. Yes it makes for good drama, but it misses the point of Superman. A point animation tends to understand:

At his core, Superman is good. He is a simple farm boy, trying to do good. He's not a cursed messiah, he's not a hero worn down by earth, he's not this incredible isolated outsider. He's human, he's loving, and he's careful. He is the embodiment of a better tomorrow. We need to start letting his look express that.

Yes he will look silly, yes he will look corny. But he will be Superman.

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider following, and check out my socials and other sites here! And let me know: What do you think of the new Superman suit?

[waltzing-rats]

MUSASHI HIGH SCHOOL HEADCANNONS

Tenga too!! Pretty Please

Wow okay! Thanks for the big ask anon!

(This is all my brain being silly mixed with my personal interpretation of the characters. If anything seems ooc i am sorry, and feel free to share your own headcannons on these two!)

High School Headcannons

Musashi ‼️

To me, he seems like the kind of person who gets along with literally everyone (especially the jocks) but has a hard time actually making close friends. I think he misses the BIC sometimes (and onigawara yoohoo)

Y’all know how in season 3 ep 1, he says he basically has no plan for high school and expects to help out at his family’s farm afterwards? Well, what if he runs into the same problem mob has in s3 and basically has an existential crisis. :)

Like. Maybe he can’t focus on academic stuff and he feels bad about it, so he pushes himself a lot in sports, to the point where people have to tell him like ‘dude you’re gonna break your bones’.

On a lighter note, i think it’d be cute if, during weekends, he and Tenga do study sessions so they can both stay afloat (and hang out more often)

Tenga helps him with essays and language subjects while Musashi helps Tenga with biology and geography :3

This is more of a self indulgent one, what if he joins the school hockey team huh. What then. C’maaahhh he’d look STELLAR in those uniforms

His guy classmates sometimes talk about the girls they’re talking to, or just general romance stuff, and he sits there like •_• i do not think this man’s love life improves

To add onto the hockey thing, I’m certain that the BIC takes him to dinner after games. It’s like a ritual

Goes for a run every day :3 he’s real stubborn about this.

This is the kinda guy who needs to be tied to his bed when he’s sick.

Oh but you know he listens in on gossip sessions. Nosy king

Tenga 🌀

He goes to that art high school but he’s still really timid about it. Like he basically only shows his art for class critique and to Musashi (:3)

I feel like he gets more and more punk in his fashion as he gets older. Spiked jackets, fingerless gloves, chunky tall boots, the whole package! I feel like, as he leaned away from the gang aesthetic, this was the next ‘rebellious’ dress style to try. (Don’t worry, the pomp stays)

He also can’t focus on academics, but it’s a bit different from Musashi. All in all, his grades are better than in middle school, but he still struggles with memorising and staying awake in class

I am a big advocate for neurodivergent Tenga, so I do think he gets overstimulated in class sometimes. Hides in the bathroom so he doesn’t snap at anyone though

Plays drums sometimes? Idk i can just see him making noise

Makes some friends, but has a hard time actually letting anyone in

Feeds the stray cats outside his block :) talks to them too (hes suuuper embarrassed about this)

He and Musashi text throughout the day :) once they both manage to emotionally open up, they just text randomly, whenever they want ( Tenga: MY SOCK GOT WET Musashi: My teacher yelled at me :/)

Y’all KNOW he doodles on the edges of his notebooks. Oh and i think he develops carpal tunnel at some point because of the constant writing and drawing, poor boy :(

He’s just a sleepy guy… he just wants to nap please let him nap on his desk don’t wake him up with your calculus just let the punk boy have his sleepy time (Anemia? Maybe he needs more sleep than other kids?)

Exercises whenever he can (sometimes he can’t bring himself to and he feels guilty about it)