#probably was lost in the middle of all those news

[bookwyrminspiration]

if i may ask, who the fuck is fitz vacker?

This is a delightful ask to receive as someone known for being vocally unwell about and obsessed with Fitz

For those new/following for other things, a fair chunk of my blog is dedicated to the Keeper of the Lost Cities series by Shannon Messenger, a middle grade sparkly elf dystopia series that crawled into my head when I was 12 and still holds me hostage. I've literally been called a walking kotlc encyclopedia on multiple occasions

One of the main characters is Fitzroy Avery Vacker (official art linked), a teenage telepath from the secret elven world's most prominent (but not royal, that's not a thing) family. He's known for having teal eyes and the MCs undying ardor, which she conceals not at all.

He's the golden boy--top of his class, incredibly rare ability (the telepathy), charming, handsome, prestigious family, the works. But! He's also been sent on illegal missions to the human world by his father since childhood, looking for the MC.

Throughout the series he's drawn further into rebellion, following the MC as she uncovers the dirt under the shine of their "utopia." But even amongst friends, that Wonderboy status continues, creating this tension between the prestige he's been showered and burdened with his whole life and its slow unraveling. What worth does being golden have if the whole system's rigged? But how can he let go of all he's ever been?

And how the hell do you process that? He's got an incredibly strong sense of justice, values trust above all else--and his world and the people close to him are breaking it. How can he do anything but lash out, desperate to recenter himself?

To the point the Golden Boy, who bakes for his friends and has a sparkly red stuffed dragon he can't sleep without, nearly kills his traitorous brother with a knife to the throat. To the point when his traitorous brother is trapped behind glass, suffocating liquid pouring in from Fitz's frantic smashing at the control panel, Fitz deliberately steps away. Because he knows one of the buttons probably opens a drain, and he's choosing to let him die by his doing. Even though it wasn't on purpose. even though elves cannot abide violence, and risk shattering their sanity even witnessing it

GOD I love him. he's everything everyone else wants to be, he's deeply jealous and constantly fighting it, he's sweet and thoughtful, he's full of a rage so profound he can't think straight, he's putting his life on the line to better the world, he can't quite let go of what he thought it was, he's everything 2 me.

[pepperpixel]

which fandom do you think you were most involved in

Hmmmmm, this is a tough question!!! But also, an interesting one lol. I’d say, in terms of actually creating and uploading art it’d be either Undertale or SCP! Most likely it’s SCP but I remember being RLLY into Undertale back when it first came out and drawing a bunch of stuff for it

But, in terms of the fandom I was MOST personally involved and invested and ride or die on for the longest amount of my life, regardless of amount of fanart I’ve drawn (cuz robots r hard to draw…) it would without question be transformers lol, I’ve been obsessed with that shit since like 5th grade… I used to read thru tfwiki pages just for fun as a child and to see the funny captions on photos or the interesting trivia. I had one of crashboombangers old brainstorm voice clips as my alarm clock back then and it was DEVASTATINGLY LOUD, I shared my room w someone else back then and had that as my alarm and little me, had no sense of common decency towards someone else’s sleep cuz that shit was like a bomb went off at 5:30. It was terribly loud ghgh-

I was, And still am kinda obsessed with sharing and showing transformers to ppl cuz I think it’s rlly good!!! (Generally I show Tfp to ppl first cuz it’s a very cool well made entertaining show that I feel is a good entry point. But like. I enjoy a lot of the different versions, and showing them to ppl!) And I want more ppl! To care about and be obsessed w these hot sexy awesome giant robots!!! They’ve literally informed so much of my interests ghgh- and actually, I went back and checked my deviantart. And I don’t have a lot of my old transformers art on this blog. Cuz I had an old one I accidentally deleted before this one. But I’ve actually drawn MORE transformers art than I have scp art… apparently. I mean they might be evened out considering I haven’t rlly made many transformers videos like I have for scp. But still! Yeah.. transformers was and still is my favorite shit ever. I don’t draw a lot of stuff for it but it is always in my heart.

[deadtower]

i do have to say in this shitshow of a world currently that i've started wearing my magen david out again recently and i've gotten a ton of compliments on it which is... really nice. like it's so sad that the bar is basically underground re: being nice to jews but

[zephyrchama]

If MC was on a sports team in the human world, how frequently do you think the demon brothers would go to see their games? It probably couldn't be too often, so they'd have to make the most of each visit (unless they just... decide to stay in the human world for the duration of the season to cheer you on).

Lucifer usually stands behind the chain link fence with his arms crossed. He doesn't say much or move much, but there's a visible shift in his demeanor when your team is winning vs when you're losing. When the going is really tough, he puts a hand on the fence and grips so tightly that the metal gives way, caving in to his fist. The referees try to stay far away from him. Lucifer gives off angry parent vibes and the referee wants to avoid a confrontation with him. On the other hand, when your team is so far ahead that victory is practically assured, he stands with his legs apart and his chest puffed out, smirking and enjoying the moment.

Mammon will start bets. He doesn't care if it's against the rules as long as he keeps it on the down-low. He doesn't bet on which team will win though - he nearly destroyed all the humans who wanted to bet against your team when he tried that. He'll bet against other spectators on smaller things like whether or not somebody will slip, if two people will bump into each other, or if the hot dogs for sale are better than the popcorn.

Leviathan really doesn't have a clue what's going on. He's lost, but he's trying. Hunched over in his seat on the bleachers, he waves his glow sticks and hand fans, shouts your name when you make a move, and cheers for you louder than anybody. He's first in line for any merchandise your team sells and has your team number embroidered on the fabric tied around his head. He's just there to watch you.

Satan has to be seated in the middle of a row, in the center of his brothers, for the safety of all humans present. He's usually pretty chill when you're winning. He may need to be physically restrained if you accidentally get hurt by another player. You had to ask him very nicely to stop cursing members of the opposing team just because they were trying to beat your team. If his negative emotions start flaring up, Satan takes a walk. He will somehow manage to strike up a conversation with one local business owner or another and score your team a new sponsor.

Asmodeus is always decked out from head to toe in specially coordinated outfits, usually using one of your old jerseys. He is frequently mistaken for an official cheerleader. Due to this, he loves to sneak into team photos. He doesn't really care much about the game, he couldn't care less who's winning or losing, but he loves seeing you try your hardest. He especially enjoys the visage of you sweating and out of breath, and is the first to offer up a cold drink when the game is over.

Beelzebub is the most invested in the game. He gets pretty passionate about it and will give you pointers about your strengths and weaknesses. He helps you stretch in preparation, pack your gear, and lingers the longest before you shoo them all away and head into the locker room to get ready. He's surprisingly loud when you score. Outside of game day, he is happy to spend time with you practicing. Teach him all about human world sports, maybe he can rope his brothers into playing.

Belphegor doesn't like to sit in the stands without a back portion to lean against. He'd rather sit on the ground than on those, or just lay down and watch if there's space. He has a foam finger. When it's not being used as a cushion, he waves it around and comes up with chants for your team. After the game, during the celebratory dinner they hold whether you win or not, he'll tell you and his brothers about some of the more insulting chants he came up with for the opposing team.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

This idea sort of burst out of me like Alien so it's unedited. There will probably be more.

In short, Cas picks up on the fact that Danny is pregnant at a Wayne Gala and have the right idea but the wrong context.

Masterpost

------

Danny was barely holding it together and really he had been for a long time. It had sort of been fun and games at first when he became a hero. Sure his accident had hurt like hell but he'd sort of repressed that and for real? Lunch Lady? Box Ghost? Even Skulker was sort of a joke and he hasn't actually felt threatened. Sneaking around behind his parents backs and sneaking out with his friends had been fun. It had all felt like a game at first, and then somewhere in there things had gotten very real.

He'd known he couldn't count on his family to protect him but they couldn't even see Vlad was a threat. And he felt like he had lost the last of his innocence when he saw the clone Vlad had made of him melt. He hasn't been in time, he had panicked and he had only managed to save a couple by taking them into his own body to shield their still forming cores. Ellie and... should Danny name the other one or would he name himself when he was ready?

He kept touching his stomach over where he could feel the little balls of his mirror children hovering just below his own core. He was so tired all the time as they relied on his energy, he was eating more then ever and he knew his family was worried. He didn't think he could hide this and he couldn't predict when they would emerge. What if they did in front of his parents? They definitely wouldn't react well. And Vlad kept trying to use this against Danny. Promising to look after him and the babies if he was really insisting on carrying them, as if Danny could rip those tiny 'lives' out of himself now.

And no matter how many times he tried to tell his parents that Vlad was bad news, that he creeped Danny out and made him feel unsafe they wouldn't listen! Dad didn't even hear him and mom made sympathetic noises and then told him to bear with it for Jack's sake because he didn't have many friends.

So of course when Vlad had asked if 'Daniel' could accompany him to a gala in Gotham his father had agreed! Even his mother had agreed when Vlad promised it would be educational and safe! And here Danny was, hanging on by a fucking thread in a suit that felt uncomfortably tight around his middle, having just escaped being paraded around as Vlad heir like a particularly expensive watch. He was behind the snack table having piled a plate as high as he could and scarfing it down before Vlad could find him again and scold him for being rude. He hadn't noticed yet that a family of dark haired socialites kept giving him worried looks. A young woman with dark eyes signing frantically to a man with blue eyes and a dimpled frown.

It was the man who slid up carefully next to Danny trying not to startle since he seemed to have genuine food aggression.

"Yeesh kid you seem like you're starving! All those fancy Hors d'oeuvres are fun but not very cooling and I feel like I'd be a poor host if I didn't offer you something more filling! If you'll come me to the kitchen I'm sure our family butler would be happy to whip something up for you?" The man said with an inviting some that did nothing to sooth the way Danny's hackles raised instinctively.

He was about to say no on reflex when he spotted Vlad heading towards them with an expression like a thunder cloud. Danny's back went ridged and the other man followed his gaze with a frown. "You know what ya that sounds great let's go now!" Danny said dropping his half full plate on a nearby tray and dragged the stranger away with him as Vlad shouted after him.

"Daniel come back this instant! Unhand mister Wayne! Daniel this is unacceptable!"

'Mr. Wayne' took over leading them and spirited Danny through a back door as a bubbly blonde intercepted Vlad and a small woman slid in behind them like a shadow.

"So, Danial I assume?" The man asked, amusement crinkling around his eyes as Danny grimaced.

"Mr. Wayne I assume?" Danny returned, unaware of the way one arm was protectively wrapped around his stomach, but the girl noticed. It was Dicks turn to grimace.

"Okay ya, I go by Dick. What about you?"

"Danny," he said not reacting to the name, he'd heard far stranger. "And what about you?" He asked Cas, startling Dick a little because she was doing her 'shadow thing' and not many people would have noticed her.

"That's Cas, she has a hard time talking sometimes," Dick explained as Cas materialized and gave Danny a reassuring smile and wave.

The teen harrumphed but he did follow them down to the kitchen where Alfred was drinking a cup of tea, staying well clear of the foolishness upstairs. "Ah, hello young masters," Alfred he said, glancing between the three with a raised brow. Though the two who knew him could see the way his expression softened when Danny shrunk in on himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey Alfred do we have any leftovers from dinner or something filling we can whip up fast? Danny here is too hungry for just the fancy font for upstairs." Dick asked cheerfully.

Alfred raised his eyebrows again and looked at Cas who was standing behind Danny. Glancing at Danny to make sure he wasn't looking she grimaced then touched her stomach and mimed holding an infant.

Alfred's expression turned stormy for just a moment then smoothed. "Of course we do, Why don't you make our guest comfortable and I'll see what I can do. Do you have any allergies young man?" Alfred asked and Danny shook his head mutely.

"You're the best Alfie!" Dick said, hovering a hand over Danny's shoulder rather then actually touching him as he leas him towards the comfortable breakfast nook.

The boy seemed tight lipped and gaunt, his eyes flicking around them as if he expected a threat to pop up at any time. Dick slipped into the booth across from him. Trying to think of the best way to ask this kid how... why, and who hurt him.

Cas has stayed in the kitchen, but not for long. She came to them with a tray of mugs moments later and slipped into the booth next to Danny. Gently she took his hands and pressed the warm mug unto them. He blinked and focused of it, as if on autopilot he lifted it to his lips, Cas keeping a hand on his elbow to steady him as he drank.

The warm comforting drink, and hand on his arm, presence by his side as Cas slid imperceptibly closet and closer till she was pressed against Danny's shoulder, felt like they were taking him apart from the inside. Thawing out the cold numbness he shielded himself behind. Half way through his tea he glanced up, at the worried blue eyes so like Jazz, so worried and warm.

He put down the mug suddenly as a sob shook his body. Cas wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, cooing comforting wordless little sounds as she let him bury his face into her chest and just sob heaving, exhausting outbursts of repressed emotion.

"Are the babies okay?" She asked and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. She clicked her tongue and rocked him gently. "Okay, okay, not in trouble," she promised.

"They- I don't know, they were so weak, I’m trying, but I don't know if I can keep them alive." Danny sobbed lifting his hands to cover his face.

"The stress can't be helping," Dick pointed out, climbing across the table like it was nothing to sit next to them and rub Danny's back. Danny gave a little hiccupping hysterical laugh. "Do you have support, or like, do you know your options?" He asked awkwardly.

"I'm not getting rid of my babies! I don't care if the man who made them is an obsessive creep who drugged me! I love them they're MINE!" The feral protectiveness seemed to startle Dick even as Cas continued to make soothing sounds.

"Your choice, only yours," she promised. "Have help?"

Danny sniffled and shook his head. "Safe?" Another shake of the head.

"The man who... did this?" Dick asked as delicately as he could. Another hysterical laugh.

"I've tried! I've tried to tell my parents he's a creep, he's dangerous but they don't listen! My dad thinks he hung the fucking stars, mom says he's harmless. They don't believe me! I-I can't tell them about the babies. They'd make me get rid of them or worse! I can't." Danny sobbed and Cas soothed.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to." She promised. "You stay with us, you and babies safe, never have to see him again."

"Ya right. Wait, your serious? What" Danny asked, pulling back and looking at her with wide bloodshot eyes.

"She's very serious young master," Alfred said as he approached making Danny jump. there was a hard set to the old man's jaw and steal in his eyes that left no room for questions as he set a plate of eggs, sausage, and fruit in front of Danny. "Master Bruce has a foster license and is a mandatory reporter. I'm sure once he hears even a fraction of this he will insist you stay. I will prepare a room for you. Am I to assume the man who's shouting demanding your return upstairs is the source of this distress?"

Danny swallowed and nodded, Alfred nodded back and paused to rest a gloved hand gently on Danny's hair before walking away briskly.

"Eat," Cas said, nudging him gently to let go of her. "As much as you want. Still hungry? We raid Tim's secret cereal stash."

"Gasp! You know where it is? You've been holding out on me?!" Dick demanded with exaggerated betrayal and as the two started to banter Danny ate. He was glad of the distraction, of not having the attention on him as he devoured the healthy, and nutritious meal the butler had made for him. It had been a while since he'd had a good home cooked meal, it made his core feel warm and he could feel the two little echoes as his hummed.

The babies were happy too, he didn't believe these people could keep him safe from Vlad really, but this was nice. Maybe he would let them try, get a few more good meals, a respite, and maybe... maybe his parents would finally notice that something was wrong and actually stand up for him?

That was probably wishful thinking but he could hope right? there was no harm in that.

Part 2

[pearl-tarotist]

₊˚ପ⊹ Chose a pile: PACs that I never ended ༻¨*:·.

In this Pick A Pile, I bring different piles of various tarot readings that I never ended/ write more than one pile each.

It's random piles that focus on various areas, none of them are +18. I hope all of you enjoy it!

Not all those who wander are lost.

PILE 1: What will your future spouse find beautiful about you?

They like how intensely you are you. They are at aw that no matter how many styles and physical changes you go trough, there’s something unchangeable.

They ardently enjoy the look on your eyes, they think that they are always recognisable. Firmly, on the quote “the eyes are the window of the soul”.

They do also enjoy the touch of your hands, they like how soft they feel and how they can engulf your hands with theis. They like how, sometimes naughtily , you trace their skin with the tip of your fingers.

There’s also a freckle, for some, close to the eye or upper lip, that they enjoy kissing.

With the moon card, they enjoy the part of you no one can see, yes, emotionally and physically-wise. Emphasis on the chest zone. Your future spouse is always eager to see you naked. They deeply enjoy seeing you in the “purest” way, naked, with no make-up, no clothes nor masks that can hide who you are.

They are fond of your curves, the softness and the reaction of your skin, they could enjoy hugging you so hard that they leave some redness on you. You are just too cute not to annoy a little bit.

They also see behaviours on you that they find beautiful. You are strong and mature. They will feel safe around you. They could see you and think you are the perfect person to build a family with.

“There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person being themselves. Imagine going through your day being unapologetically you.” (Steve Maraboli)

(4oP - The Chariot - The Moon - 10oP - King of Shells - Queen of Gems)

PILE 2: Your life as a fairytale

i.-Your “new” self: skills, magic.

  In a fairy-tale you would wake up in the middle of the night to be the underdog.

You would live in a big city, surrounded by commerce and loud noises, probably, a coastal city. Technology has no place in this city and you constantly hear stories of dangerous sea pirates and magicians. You like to watch through your window how people make business and speak to each other… to understand the real self of all of them… to not suffer the fate of being betrayed. Your skin holds a golden tone due to the sunlight and your cheeks are always sun-kissed. You dress with flowy clothes and leather boots.

You walk through people as a ghost, comfortable on seeing and on not being seen and when you found yourself involved in any drama you unroll the drama enough to end in the position that you want.

              In dangerous situations you would be forced to use your cleverness and intelligence to survive the obstacles of your adventure.  You would have to decide what you want and which option to choose even when both options are dangerous and unfavourable. There wouldn’t be time to smell the salty air of the shores nor to pay attention to the sand between your toes. Self-reflections and risking decisions are your thing. “For the skin of your teeth” would define your path and personality.

Surviving, barely, everything.

Your skills would involve: wittiness, the observation of details no one else sees, always being two steps in front of everyone and in general: finding the answers no one could have found. When someone asks for the answer to the riddle, you will be the only one answering.

“ What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?”

When everything’s lost, you save them.

ii.-Your group of friends:

You have lost friends along the way in this fairy-tale. Some adventures ended and you had to return to your normal life and your daily projects. You do not keep contact with them on the regular, but sometimes at night you stay under the moon’s gaze and think of them. To the ones you can see and the one you are not able to reach.

At least two of them are fine and you can see them from time to time. Once you saw him in the market corner, convincing someone to make an unfavourable business, you smiled and thought about how they have not changed.

Then, you saw her, dancing heavily and breathless in the bar with a little child, hair messy and a smile that reached her eyes. Her skirt flowed graciously at the sound of the music and the cracks of the fire. She saw you looking and asked you to dance with her but you were tired, so you just sat down in a chair drinking a soft drink.

To the ones you have lost, you think about them at night, thinking about if you could have saved them if you had done things differently. You know you need to stop this self-pitying, but you are not ready yet to let them go.

iii.-Your lover/companion of life:

Your lover was a breath of fresh air, he was the beginning that you needed to leave all the pain and sadness behind. He is happiness and a reason to drink… to cheer for the Gods that have put both of you together and have made your cups full of love.

He is a warrior, always ready to defend you and to take care of you. Reckless and unafraid, your lover stole your heart without doubts. In the same way he charges for battle, he charged for you… You love the warmness of waking up in his arms and the coldness that leave your body when he hugs you at night. He cleans your cheeks with affections when you get dirty and is not afraid to argue with you if it is for your well-being.

You have found stability and the person you do not need to convince to stay, he has chosen you.

 2 of swords //The moon + 5 of Cups// Ace of cups + knight of wands.

PILE 3: Shufflemancy:romantic messages 

۵♡۵ Let’s forget about the problems, worries and economical issues. I just want to party and enjoy this beautiful night with you. Let’s forget about anything else that’s just not us. (Time of our lives- Pitbull).

۵♡۵ I want to have a date with you at the beach, next to the water, let’s have the perfect summer date. (Water-Brad Paisley)

۵♡۵ I just want you to be mine, but I know we are not together. That’s why I hate when you keep secrets from me. I worry about every guy you set your eyes on. (Secrets-The weekend).

۵♡۵ I am going to try my best to earn your trust as it seems that you have trust issues, but I cannot do it if you give up and start going after every guy you want because you get bored of the routine. I am also getting tired. (Emergency -Paramore).

۵♡۵ If maybe…I stoped chasing you, would you come to me? Would you lay next to me? Just like butterflies… (Chasing cars - Snow Patrol).

۵♡۵ I don’t want to be friends, I want the all or nothing. I don’t know how to make it more obvious to you, please understand. ۵♡۵ I wonder why you let me get to close to you if you were just going to push me back. I do wonder too if all your words and what you said was a lie. (Fingers crossed - Lauren Spencer Smith).

In general there is someone kind of disappointed about the fact that you decided to break up with them or just stop talking to them; this person is definitly still into you but it’s unable to handle all of your trust issues. This person still thinks about you daily.

[paperbackribs]

update: 🐺werewolf Steve, 🦇bat Eddie completed on Ao3 here

How to survive a werewolf attack, Eddie mentally repeats to himself in a determinedly bright manner, channelling every nature documentary he’s ignored. His resolve does little to quiet the jolt of fear that had run through him as it turned into— that.

“How to survive a werewolf attack,” Eddie mutters to himself as it pads one giant paw towards him in the middle of Steve’s living room, hoping that speaking aloud will clear the bees buzzing in his brain, focusing all his thoughts in one direction: he should run.

“How the fuck do I survive a werewolf attack?” Eddie frantically yells at Dustin standing by the couch, grinning a gummy smile back at him with his hands casually thrown in his pockets.

The wolf growls lightly at his tone and Eddie’s head snaps back, alarmed that he’d allowed himself to look away from those intent yellow eyes for even a moment. But as scary as the predatory look is, the size of its head is just as terrifying. As large as Eddie’s torso with a wide, fanged mouth to match. Faintly, Eddie mentally compares one long tooth to the length of his hand.

This is how he dies Eddie realises with a thumping heart.

Not the bats.

Not Vecna.

No, a giant, golden mahogany werewolf nearly as tall as his fully grown adult body is going to open that massive mouth and swallow him down whole.

The beast stops, gaze narrowing to the pulse pounding in Eddie’s neck and he quickly slaps a hand over it, trying to limit the temptation of the tasty blood slash fresh meat vibe he must be giving off. It sits back on its heels; a movement Eddie feels shudder through the carpet at his feet and turns its head to Robin with a slight whine.

She scowls at Eddie, stepping forward to bury her hand comfortingly into the plush at its furry neck. “Don’t listen to him, Steve. He’s just being a big baby.” Shifting her fingers to scratch under its ears, the werewolf—Steve, Eddie hastily corrects himself as Robin continues to glare at him—half-closes its eyes in bliss. Though, he notes that it—he—still keeps his gaze steadily trained on Eddie.

Swallowing, Eddie tries to remember what they had just been talking about, but it’s lost in the chaotic whirlwind of his thoughts and the adrenalin urging his heels back. All of it consumed by the conviction that Eddie is prey in front of predator and about to be fed to what used to be Steve Harrington.

“Oh my god,” he moans, hands coming up to pull his hair down to hide behind, “Am I a sacrifice?”

Lucas sighs in exasperation, “I told you we should’ve showed him photos or something first.” Max makes a derisive sound and sits cross-legged next to Steve’s wide chest; he gently leans against her with a small thump of his tail. “He was always going to freak out, may as well get it over with.”

Eddie would really like to get the small child away from the massive beast right now; despite the fact that Max is a sophomore and would likely rip him a new one at even the suggestion. But it does help, seeing her casually play with the fur under her hand, and the bees die down a little, just enough to remember why they had called him here.

“You wanted to show me this—” Max squints at him and Eddie changes tack “—show me Steve turning into a wolf because you’re concerned about me.” The ridiculousness of it strikes through him, bubbling over into half-hysterical laughter. “Shouldn’t you be worried about the massive fucking fangs near Max’s head right now.”

The wolf lets out a gusty sound that Eddie can only imagine is a sigh and thumps onto his belly, stretching his head out to rest on crossed-over paws as big as dinner plates. The position should look less threatening, but all Eddie can see is how the jaw of the creature has been thrown into sharp relief, emphasising how far it could probably unhinge if given an incentive. He slaps his hand back over his pulsing neck again.

El appears by his side and he nearly jumps a foot, not having noticed her approach while focusing so fiercely on the wolf. She takes his hand, gently saying, “It is okay, Eddie. He’s only Steve and he would never hurt you.”

He keeps a hold of her hand. The Steve he’s come to know since Spring Break has seemed like a pretty good dude, sure; but, the one thing he does know, is that the guy would take a bullet for every kid in this room.

It's not cowardice to hide behind a kid, he reassures himself. Not when the kid isn’t in any danger. Max shoots him a dark look again and he suspects that she’s seen through his intentions. He clears his throat, focussing on El’s kind and reassuring squeeze of his hand, “Right. Why is Steve a werewolf?”

“Good question,” the bill of Dustin’s hat bobs in his approval, “Back in ’84 we were in these tunnels, you see and —”

“Short version, Dustin,” Robin interrupts, which is frankly ironic of her Eddie thinks, knowing she falls into extended explanations herself.

Dustin screws up his face, but condenses the story, “We were attacked by dog versions of the demogorgons and since then Steve has gone all furry whenever he wants.” He waves a hand at the prostrate wolf who continues to placidly watch their conversation, “I see where you went with werewolf but technically, he’s not forced to turn at a full moon.”

Will exchanges a look with Mike as they lean against the opposite wall, “Not technically, no. But he does get weird around it.” El tugs him to sit down with her and Max, but Eddie lets go of her hand, unwilling to let cede the high ground when it’s the only thing keeping his feet ready to run if Steve decides to demonstrate how weird he can get.

“Shouldn’t he have…” Eddie waves a hand over his face with a splaying motion of his fingers. He hasn’t seen a demogorgon yet, but the kids had described them to him, and the demo-bats apparently had the same set-up of gaping maws exploding like a fanged cross over their face.

“Another great question, Eddie,” Max rolls her eyes, “Let me just consult my instruction manual on the Upside Down and get back to you.”

“It’s a fair question, Max,” Lucas says softly and she relents, “Yeah, but he looks like he’s about to throw up and Steve would hate the mess.” The wolf snorts and nudges her with his muzzle; she lightly strokes the top of his nose with a responding smile.

“Our best guess is that the demo-dogs and demo-bats are a weird mix of actual animal and Upside Down creepiness,” Robin says, letting go of Steve to sit on the couch behind him, “And Steve got infected with the actual animal part but the woo-woo creepiness is what helps him turn into the wolf.”

Eddie’s guts turn to liquid, and he hovers suddenly uncertain hands over his body; right beside the areas still scarred from his own demo-bat bites. “Wait a second,” he rasps, “Steve got bit by the dog version and he turns into this. So if I got bit by the bat versions…”

“That’s why we’re telling you,” Lucas explains frankly, “It didn’t happen straight away with Steve so we thought that you should have a heads up at the very least.” Dustin gestures down Eddie’s body with a demanding hand, “And you can tell us if you notice any weird changes.”

“What?” Eddie asks a little wildly, “Like if my voice drops and I get hair in new and wonderful places?” Robin and Dustin exchange worried glances and the latter falls back on a soothing tone that he hasn’t managed since cornering Eddie in the boathouse while he was on the run, “There’s no guarantee that you were infected…” Robin winces at the word choice as Eddie’s eyes widen. “…but you should tell us if you notice anything different, just in case.”

Eddie wants to collapse onto the floor. Just crouch there with his hands pressed comfortingly against his eyes to shut out the insanity this afternoon has turned into. But eyeing how close Steve with his monster fangs is, Eddie refuses to get any closer. He may as well lay on his back and strip for good measure. That way Steve won’t get any denim stuck in his teeth; he thinks the last thought with a small hiccup.

The massive head raises and turns to look over its—his—shoulder with a questioning whine. Robin’s faces hardens slightly, and her arms come up to cross over her chest. “You go for a run or something, I’ve got this.”

Eddie watches those tree trunks for legs rise and feels something quake inside, doing nothing for his pounding pulse that had only just started to subside. Steve looks back at him one more time before licking Dustin’s hand and butting his head against Robin’s knee to trot through the living room towards the backyard.

Chapter 1

[firehose118]

easy come, easy go

Buck and Tommy are well on their way to christening Buck's new couch. He'd bought the longest, deepest couch his loft could accommodate in the hopes of doing exactly this; laying on his back under the weight of Tommy's body, one leg hooked around Tommy's hip to keep him grinding in close.

Buck gets Tommy's shirt up and off of him. He wants to feel those powerful muscles under his hands, wants to stroke and squeeze and memorize every inch of Tommy's back.

Tommy cradles his face with one hand and kisses him like there's nothing else in the world he would rather be doing. It's heated, passionate, but there's no urgency. They have matching 72s off for the first time in months. They don't have any plans for the next three days beyond the languid enjoyment of each other.

That was, perhaps, their mistake. The first responder gods see quiet as a challenge, after all.

Buck doesn't hear the first knock. It lands against his door at the same moment Tommy sucks on his tongue and he moans loudly enough to drown it out.

The second knock he hears, barely, but he doesn't really register what it means. He's lost in the hot pleasure of Tommy Tommy Tommy all around him, taking over every one of his senses. It's not until Tommy pulls away from his mouth that he gets any of his bearings back.

"Are you expecting anyone else, sweetheart?" Tommy asks, gently teasing. He leans back down for a lingering, open-mouthed kiss.

Buck shakes his head when they part again. "Just you."

Tommy smiles and raises his eyebrows as the third knock sounds. "Are you gonna answer it?"

"Oh." Kiss-drunk and stupid, that honestly hadn't occurred to Buck. "Y-yeah, I probably should. I'll be quick! Don't go anywhere."

Tommy sits up and lets Buck get off the couch. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says.

He leans back on the couch, his muscles shifting under his skin as he settles on his side; a god in repose. Buck wants to say fuck it and dive back into Tommy's body, let whoever is at the door just go away, but he's already standing up so he should at least try to be normal about this.

It's probably a neighbor or a delivery driver with the wrong apartment number. Buck will set them straight and get back to Tommy, thirty seconds max.

The last person he expects to see on the other side of the door is Eddie. Not because it's rare for him to show up out of the blue, but because he usually just lets himself in after the first knock.

And god, Buck keeps forgetting about the mustache.

"Sorry, I don't have my key," Eddie says as he walks right in. 

"Uh, hey- hey Eddie." Buck exchanges a quick look with Tommy, who stands up from the couch like he's fleeing the scene of a crime. He looks just as confused as Buck is.

There's no hiding what they were doing. Tommy's hair is a mess, he's still shirtless, and Buck is pretty sure there's a visible hickey forming on his own neck. Eddie doesn't take any of this as a sign that he's interrupting. If he has any awareness of the fact that his friends were in the middle of something, he doesn't show it. He heads straight for Buck's fridge to get a beer.

“Wow,” Tommy says, stepping closer and taking in the mustache. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. That’s a new look.”

“I’m trying something out,” Eddie says, frustrated by the bottle cap. Wordlessly, he hands the bottle to Buck who twists the cap off without issue and hands it back.

“It looks good,” Tommy says. “Classic.”

“No, no, don’t encourage him,” Buck pleads. “We’ve been trying to get him to shave it for days.”

First, Eddie had grown a beard. It was a classic depression beard, but it looked good. Eddie always looked good with a bit of stubble, and the full beard really worked on him. Then Gerrard had informed him with an infuriating smirk that it was against regulation. Eddie had looked to Buck in panic, knowing Buck still had the regulations memorized from his fire marshal days. Buck had to nod reluctantly.

"Mustaches are okay but beards interfere with the seal on the respiratory equipment," Buck had recited. He'd regretted it the moment those words left his mouth as he saw the idea spark in Eddie's eyes.

So instead of shaving his face clean, Eddie left the mustache. Hen said it was the equivalent of getting bangs after a breakup, but Buck didn't know what that meant.

It's been a group bullying effort ever since, with everyone at the 118 pulling their weight. Every day, a new nickname. Every day, more and more insinuations that Eddie was doing porn in his free time. Eddie had stopped responding to it at all. He was holding onto this mustache like a lifeline.

"What?" Tommy scoffs, sounding genuinely confused. "Why would you want him to shave it? He's pulling it off."

"Thank you," Eddie says, gesturing at Tommy. "Finally someone gets it."

Buck looks at Tommy in horror. The same tongue that spoke those words had been in his mouth mere minutes ago. "Traitor."

Tommy just shrugs and goes looking for his shirt. He seems to have accepted that Eddie won't be getting the hint.

"I'm having a crisis, guys," Eddie groans. He's leaning his knuckles against Buck's island counter.

"That much is obvious, Eddie Mercury," Tommy deadpans as he finally finds his shirt under the stairs.

Oh fuck, how had they missed that one? Even Chim hadn't found his way to that nickname. Buck goes to send that to the 118 group chat but realizes his phone is across the room. He'd taken it out of his pocket when Tommy had pushed him flat onto the couch and covered Buck's body with his own.

"I'm gonna choose to take that as a compliment," Eddie says. "But I'm serious. I- I got a call today from Christopher's school. They want to know if he's coming back next year."

"What'd you tell them?" Buck asks.

"I told them I don't know, because I don't. They said if I don't get back to them within the next week they can't hold his spot. And I get that, it's a specialized school with a long waiting list and if Chris isn't there to take advantage of that someone else should get to, but you know how hard I worked to get him in. I- I don't want to risk him losing his spot just because he's mad at me."

This can't be my fault too, Buck hears.

"You should call him," Tommy says. "Let him know what's going on."

Eddie rubs a hand over his face. "I don't want to pressure him, though," he says. "I don't want him to come back before he's ready because he feels like he has to and have him resent me for it."

"I think he'll be happier if he gets to make the decision," Buck says.

"You can tell him you'll respect his choice no matter what, take the pressure off that way," Tommy agrees. "Tell him that you won't be mad if he lets this opportunity go, but let him be in charge of his future. Show him you trust him with something like this."

"Don't FaceTime him, though," Buck jokes. "He'll see that mustache and stay in Texas where he's safe far, far away from it."

Eddie smiles softly at that. It's the first positive response he's had to the teasing about his mustache.

"You're right. Thank you, guys. That's exactly what I'm gonna do," Eddie says. He drains his beer and starts walking to the door.

"Uh, hold up," Buck says. Eddie has only had one beer but he seems a little out of it, a little unstable. "You sure you're good to drive?"

"I didn't drive here," Eddie says simply, waving away Buck's worry. "You two guys have a good night."

And with no further explanation, Eddie is out the door; leaving as quickly and bafflingly as he arrived.

Tommy looks at Buck with his mouth slightly open, processing.

"Should we be worried about him?" Buck asks. He crosses the kitchen to press himself against Tommy's side.

"Oh, absolutely," Tommy says. "That mustache is a cry for help if I've ever seen one."

Buck's mouth falls open. "You said it looks good!"

"It does. I wasn't lying when I said he was pulling it off. That doesn't mean it's a sign of mental stability."

Buck hums in agreement. "We'll do lunch with him tomorrow. Check in." He leans into Tommy, desire buzzing under his skin where their bodies touch. "What if I grew a mustache? Do you think I could pull it off?"

Tommy looks over his face, considering. "I don't think it would go with your new fuckboy haircut." He runs a hand through Buck's hair, smoothing his thumb over one of Buck's missing sideburns.

"You like my new fuckboy haircut," Buck flirts, melting into Tommy's touch.

"Mmm, I love it," Tommy confirms. He pinches Buck's cheek affectionately and places his other hand on Buck's hip.

Buck meets Tommy halfway when he leans in for a kiss and decides he can worry about his friend in the morning. He has a new couch to break in. 

{give me kudos!}

[heavenbarnes]

completely self indulgent thoughts about older!bf simon inspired by today's events at work. I work in tech/sales and a lot of my days are spent setting up new phones for people who are 35+, that for the life of them, can't figure out technology. just thinking about older!bf simon needing to get a new phone and asks reader for her thoughts, but when reader starts talking about storage size or sim cards he gets confused and just tells her "pick whatever love, I trust your judgement" not just because he does in fact, trust her judgement, but also because he can't he bothered trying to learn and understand.

have many thoughts about this.

friend, 90% of what i write is entirely self indulgent- we’ve got to do it 🫶🏼

it’s a miracle you convinced older bf!simon to finally get rid of that god forsaken flip phone and start working with an actual smartphone.

granted, it was like pulling teeth (yes the prospect of receiving nudes whilst he was deployed helped) but what mattered was he’d finally entered the 21st century.

and then he drops his cellphone on the drive and manages to boot it into the side of the neighbour’s garage. the thing was absolutely munted by the time it’d come off the end of simon’s steel cap.

which is why you’re standing in the middle of the electronics store looking at endless tables of cellphones and simon looks like he’s there at gunpoint.

“i ‘ave been held at gunpoint, was better than this”

so you lead him to the smartphones that are smart but not too smart, the ones that look hard to break or get wrong. they also look older than half the people working in the store, but that’s besides the point.

“can i help you both with anything?”

right on cue, a young but cheery guy appears across the table with a lanyard that tells you his name is hunter and he’s ready to help!

“no”

your elbow fits nicely under simon’s ribcage as you gear up to play hunter’s defence lawyer for however long this interaction is going to take.

“hi hunter, this one is looking for a new smartphone- what do you recommend?”

and while hunter does a standup job at explaining the benefits of a handful of phones he probably hasn’t sold to anyone under 75, simon is suddenly well engaged.

“and we’ve got a selection of cases, just regular ones or tough ones”

“need t’be tough, don’t want the fucker breakin’ when i’ve got someone in a headlock”

hunter pales and you veeeery slowly turn to simon with a look on your face that begs to know what the actual fuck is wrong with him.

“oh simon, you comic trailblazer- you know what, you’ve been so helpful hunter, thank you!”

you cut the kid loose as he tries to leave the table without taking his eyes off simon, who coincidentally is doing the exact same thing to him.

“would it kill you to let him help us?!”

“just about, didn’t like the way he looked at ‘ya”

the kid didn’t look a day out of school and naturally your better half has to pick a fight with any guy that so much as exists within your atmosphere.

he’s lucky he’s so handsome.

“ugh, which one do you prefer? 32GB? 64?”

“whaddyou’ reckon?”

and you’re about to let out the longest sigh known to man when you catch the look on his face.

that same look he gives you when he’s dressed up for dinner or just come back from a haircut, the look he gives you that tells you he’s looking for your opinion.

approval

“32 would do you, i don’t think you need that much space”

he grunts before he pulls you into his side, taking you both to the counter so he can get you to say all that again to your helpful attendee.

“oi, hunter”

poor guy nearly jumps out of his skin but manages to settle when he realises he’s about to close the sale, even manages to upsell that tough case.

simon settles once he’s back in the car with you, eyes scanning the box his phone comes in and grumbling something under his breath.

when you ask him to speak up you immediately wish you hadn’t.

“lost all those videos ‘f yours, better be enough space f’the new ones”

[luveline]

i can’t stop thinking about dating aaron hotchner and making a comment about how he’s beekeeping age and he’s like ??? i’m sorry what??

fem!reader

"Have I been in the news recently?" 

You squeeze Aaron's hand in yours and take a luxurious sip of your fancy drink. If there's one thing about Aaron, he's always buying you something nice to drink on days like today. "No?" you say after swallowing. "Don't think so." 

Aaron looks over your head. He's paranoid, with reason to be, but as far as either of you know he hasn't been in the press lately. 

"What are you looking at?" you ask. 

"They won't look when you're looking. Is there something wrong with my hair?" 

"Who's looking at you?" you ask, coming to a stop in the middle of the long walkway. You put your bag down on a low bench and twist to follow his gaze until you catch the wandering eye of a woman your age. She looks away when you spot her, a tell-tale hunch to her shoulders. "Ah." 

"Ah?" he asks. 

Aaron is tall, dark, and handsome. He doesn't seem to know this. He's nearly always frowning as he is now, but the formidable, intimidating aspect of him is somewhat softened when he's out in civilian clothing, a Starbucks drink in his free hand, and your hand treasured in the other. 

"You're, like…" You shrug at him. "You're beekeeping age." 

"I'm what?" 

"You know. You look like someone, a man, who spends his free time keeping bees. You look like you have a good job, and you're handsome." You offer him a sip of your fruity drink. He takes a sip, all the while looking lost. "I don't know how to explain it but I know it's what they're thinking." 

"So this is one of those jokes I'm too old to understand." 

"Not too old. Old enough to keep bees, evidently." 

"I really don't get it." 

"You're hot, Hotchner. Grow up." He laughs and takes another sip of your drink uninvited. You attempt to take it from him and he follows the straw. "Stop! I need this to last at least until we've finished window shopping." 

"You know I'll just buy you another one." He takes your bag and hooks it over his arm, pulling you in the direction of the next store. "After Barnes and Nobles. I could keep bees, couldn't I?" 

"No, because what all these women don't know is that you aren't home the majority of the month. You keeping bees will turn into me keeping bees, and I, regrettably, am not beekeeping age." 

"See, you made out that it was about the hobby itself," Aaron says, giving you a fond look, "but what I'm hearing now is that it's more to do with my age." 

"It's to do with wanting to sleep with you. Your age is a contributing factor to how attractive you are." 

"Nice save," he murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze. 

It's not a save at all. He really is more attractive for how old he is, but he's free to think you're lying. It's probably best if he doesn't understand the full extent of his charm —you spend the rest of the day fending off brave women with an icy glare. 

[fruityumbrella]

one piece is set in a nautical world with presumably nautical idioms and exclamations to match, right, like swearing by the sea rather than on a god etc. to wit, there's five seas (the four blues + the grand line) so we can assume when you're feeling particularly dramatic, you might refer to all those vast oceans to get your hyperbolic point across.

keeping that in mind, lets live in a stupidly romantic corny ass world for a moment ok? take my hand.

"I swear on all six seas, if you don't shut the fuck up right now—"

"What?" Sanji looks at him like he's stupid. Nothing new, really.

"Ha, even you're going deaf having to listen to your own annoying ass whining all the time, Cook. I was—"

"No, you—"

"Don't interrupt me! Oi!" he yelps as a wooden spoon bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. He's not impressed that Sanji manages to catch it before it hits the counter.

"You said six seas," Sanji states.

Zoro stares back in lieu of an answer.

"Huh, maybe this has something to do with why you're always lost. There's only five seas, dummy."

And ah, now he gets what the idiot cook is on about. He's surprised and a little disappointed, honestly. You'd think the guy would be a little more aware about his own fucking dream, but whatever. He's got that annoying smile, smug and cocky like he's oh so much better than Zoro.

"Would you like me to count them out for you? I know it's a big number, it's probably confusing for a simple creature like you."

Zoro crosses his arms in clear warning, something the cook, as always, blatantly ignores. He's leaning on the counter that's between them now, eyes sparkling with glee. Idiot. Zoro's thoughts do not have a fond tone to them. Thoughts don't have tones at all, thank you very much.

Sanji lifts a hand and proceeds to count off on his fingers with the precision of a drill sergeant.

"I'm sure you at least know our ocean, the East Blue. There's also the West Blue, North Blue, South Blue, and of course the Grand Line," he wiggles all his fingers as he puts his thumb up for the last one like he's emulating fireworks.

Zoro snorts indelicately. "And?"

Sanji frowns with a tilt of his head.

"And?"

Zoro holds up his index finger.

"And," he says, stifling his amusement as Sanji goes cross eyed trying to follow said finger as it arcs towards him, "your All Blue. Dummy."

He punctuates the last word by poking Sanji in the forehead, snickering when he sputters and swats the digit away in a huff. Then Zoro's words finally sink in, and he straightens up almost too fast. It's not endearing at all.

"Wait," he says quietly, "you count it?"

Zoro doesn't like how Sanji's looking at him with an open expression he's not usually allowed. He looks earnest and sincere. Zoro feels suddenly out of his depth.

"Don't you?" he deflects uncomfortably.

"Well yeah, but that's different. You're—" he shrugs half heartedly and looks away. Zoro can't tell if the end of that sentence was going to disparage him or the cook. Odds are likely split down the middle. Sanji keeps looking at him, and he feels pinned. The bright look is gone, replaced by something more reserved but perhaps...searching? Considering, at the least. It's making him increasingly self conscious. He needs to get out of here.

"Okay. I'm gonna steal some alcohol now," he says shortly, striding to the cabinet and swiping a bottle before Sanji blinks out of his stupor.

[itertarot]

Reading on your wedding day

Pick an image:

You, dear pile number 1, will be totally anxious, you will be so nervous that you will feel like running away haha, I see you being so worried asking your mother or bridesmaids if everything is okay, if your outfit is good enough, if your makeup is ideal, if the decoration is right and even if the day you chose is right. You will be trying to see your loved one from afar because you want the security that he brings you, but of course, you will not talk to him before the ceremony, but you will try to look at him among the crowd because that alone is enough to calm you down. Be careful, pile number 1, so much nervousness can give you a stomach ache, you may even question if this is really what you want, totally afraid of the new, afraid of what married life will be like, afraid of everything.

Your fiancé will be very happy and radiant, he is completely sure that this is the right choice for his life, I see him very excited to see you as a bride. It will certainly be the happiest day of his life, which marks the end of his single life and the beginning of your story together.

You have put a lot of effort and money into this wedding, everything will go very well, you will look beautiful. It will be a very romantic wedding, the decoration will be beautiful, you will have a traditional wedding with many blessings. Your family will celebrate and be very happy, it will be a wonderful day. Most of you will have an outdoor wedding. Some in a field with lots of foliage, others in a field that looks like a wheat field. The minority will get married in a castle or a very old church. The party seems to start at dusk and go on until late night, it is possible that it will rain in the middle of the wedding.

Pile 2:

You, number 2, unlike number 1, are calm. You will be trying your best to look amazing on your special day. You are very calm and will calm your partner who, unlike you, will be very nervous. You will be happy and anxious for this new chapter in your story and at the same time you will be remembering everything you have experienced up until the wedding, remembering as if you were saying goodbye to those memories. You won't know much about what to expect from the future, but you will be positive that whatever comes will be just as well.

Your fiancé, on the other hand, will be very nervous. He may be an introvert who doesn't like to be the center of attention. He will feel like a lost puppy. He really wanted this day. He wants it to be perfect. You changed his life for the better. He feels grateful for having you in his life. But like the bride in pile number 1, your fiancé will be so scared that he will want to run away.

There is not much to say about your wedding. It will be quick. I don't see you having an expensive and luxurious wedding. It will be more intimate. Your marriage will be blessed and spiritual. You have become one and the heavens have recognized you as a couple. What I see is that this wedding is very similar to an elopement wedding. You will get married in a church or at a registry office. I don't see many decorations. It will be a quiet and intimate wedding, with a lot of meaning. It will be beautiful because of the meaning, not because of the big decorations and party rooms. It will be a sunny day, with the wedding lasting from early to late afternoon.

And:

Pile 3:

This pile is very specific and somewhat complicated. Many of you who chose this pile will not have a marriage that you chose. You will feel that your fiancé will provide you with an excellent financial life, he has a lot of money and can provide you with a luxurious life, but you will be afraid and disturbed because you do not have romantic feelings for him, after all, you did not choose him and you probably do not even know who he is. You will feel that he set everything up for you to get married and you will hope and pray to the heavens that he gives up and leaves.

Things aren't good for him either, he doesn't even know you and he's going to question himself a lot about who you are, he's going to be very shaken by this marriage, it wasn't his choice either, he's going to want to give up and leave, but I see that he'll try to stay calm and be positive that you can have a good relationship, because that's what his family wants.

The marriage will be good, you will feel a great attraction for each other as soon as you meet, you will be interested and fall in love with each other, it will be like planting a seed in your hearts that will eventually become love. It will seem like you don't know each other and will only get to know each other on your wedding day, you will have a feeling of "who are you?" But I don't see that the bad feeling will last that long. The marriage can be a financial agreement not between you, but between your families. The wedding will take place outdoors, yet you still feel trapped. It will be outdoors and near some beautiful buildings, I will try to find images that describe what I see here. The wedding will last the whole day, without rain, not too hot during the day, but cold at night and warm clothes will be necessary.

[m30wk1ttycat]

Sleepyhead

Contains: cuss words, cuddling (*omg*) Pairing: Newt x Reader Summary: You can't fall asleep, so he tries to help you, somehow.

Even after all those years, stuck in the Glade, trying to find a way out - you finally did it. But you weren't happy. How could you? Everything was going wrong in so many ways possible. Your family, friends from school - all gone. The Flare was spreading. Alby was gone, Chuck was too. There was no way anyone could be happy.

Thankfully, you still had that one boy you could trust with your entire life. The one and only, Newt.

That same boy who dragged your ass out of the Maze so many times, you'd be counting for days. The same boy who always made sure you were safe and sound after your morning runs with Minho and the other Runners. That same boy who tended to you after you were the one challenging to fight Gally during one of the bonfires.

Good old times.

Nothing's changed. Or, well, at least he hasn't changed. Not one bit. He's still the Newt who's always nice to everyone, but isn't afraid to be a bit more aggressive when he needed to prove a point.

Now that you think about it, Thomas and Minho haven't changed much either.

Thomas? The boy is still curious, too much for his own good. You weren't sure if he was either smart, or dumb as fuck. But he made a good friend regardless.

Minho was just as sarcastic, if not more than before.

Now you were stuck in some facility, "a haven protecting them from the Cranks" in Janson's words.

"This place has actual beds?" Newt grinned, making that signature face of his. "Y/N, we're so gonna share a bunk bed."

At this point, it didn't even sound like a request. More like a.. command, maybe? No, you were just overthinking this.

"This is Heaven," Minho joked, plopping down onto one of the beds.

This was far from Heaven. But it was still better than the Glade, probably.

Right in the middle of your thoughts, you were interrupted by Thomas. "Huh, new clothes."

"What, never seen 'em or something?" You say, walking into the room with a furrowed brow. This was suspicious. Janson was acting a bit too sweet.. There was no way this was going to end well. Just no.

"Y/N, chill out," Frypan says.

You weren't even doing anything wrong, why was Frypan suddenly telling you to chill out?

After everyone took a shower and all, you were supposed to go to sleep, but you just couldn't. You were tired - obviously. But you couldn't sleep. You were tired, but not tired enough to actually go to sleep.

Shifting under the blankets, Newt seemed to have picked up on the movement in the bottom bunk. He let out a small chuckle, that only made you realize he wasn't sleeping. Damn it.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered, leaning down from the top bunk. Even in the darkness, you could still make out his features. His messy, sandy blonde hair, his chocolate brown eyes, his smooth jaw, and of course, those barely visible eyebags.

"No."

He wasn't sure whether he should, or shouldn't frown. You were tired, he knew that. He realized, when you almost fell asleep on his shoulder when you were eating in the dining hall. Those weird looks from the guys would probably forever haunt his mind.

With a slight huff, he whispered a quiet "come here, then". You were confused for a moment, but you did as he said, climbing up the ladder. He laughed softly, trying to muffle out his laughs and giggles by covering his mouth with his hand. Unsuccessfully at that.

With a swift movement, he manages to pull you into a cuddle. You'd beat the life out of him, if only you weren't too tired to do so. He played with your hair, whispering some random stuff into your ear, but you could barely focus on anything else other than your hair getting twirled by his fingers. Those whispers mainly consisted of quiet comments, like "you're so adorable when you look like a lost pup" "you're so huggable" "try to get some rest, huh, love?" "cutie"

"Y/N," he whispered, "you still awake?" To which you didn't reply. He figured you were asleep, so he let out a sigh, kissing the top of your head, still fiddling with your hair.

i'm so sorry its so short, i jus have a ton of school workkk

[accala]

I love how simplistic the clothing is in Advent Children compared to those in Rebirth. I know it's not what they intended (Rebirth is a fairly new game and AC Movie was back in the 2000's). But I like to think that characters had to improvise with their clothes because Shinra, who was the major supplier for everything, was gone after Meteorfall. Plus with Midgar down and in the middle of a wasteland, they had to scramble for resources, so any fabric had to be salvaged.

Here's some side-to-side references of Remake/Rebirth (RR) Clothing vs. Advent Children (AC) Clothing:

[Rufus Shinra]

The buttons. The details. The extra fabric. The belts. And then look how more simple AC is. Sure he has a coat on top of three shirts, but his RR suit looks so extra and customized to fit him whilst his AC suit looks like something he scrounged up in his remaining closet. He lost all of his extra belts. His undershirts look like they’re made out of cheap cotton too. His coat in particular looks short on the sleeves and too loose on his form.

[Turks: Rude, Reno, Tseng, & Elena]

(Top right photo from Advent Children)

Classic expensive suits for RR. Simple suits for AC. Look at those clean looks and small suit details for RR (ex. Rude has a patterned tie and Elena’s collar has a small button/pin on her collar). The difference is apparent with Reno, who has a fancy undershirt in Remake vs his simple cotton undershirt in AC. And if you zoom in on the AC photo, the coats have zippers!!! The AC coats also look loose compared to their form fitting coats in RR.

[Cloud Strife]

AC!Cloud has more fabric than in RR. But AC lacks the details that RR has. For example, RR has leather gloves with metal encased on the wrist and fingers. His shoulder pad looks forged with giant metal screws as well. But AC mostly has leather and little to no metal except for its strap buckles and wolf insignia (And it's likely that Cloud made those wolf symbols himself). Although, he does have major upgrades (read: his sword and motorcycle; both things he probably made himself/with help from scrap materials).

(Extra note: This is a common theme on other characters where they replace their utility pockets and metal armor with leather/denim. It makes sense for their equipment to be replaced due to wear and tear. Lack of metal armor could be due to lack of weapon/armor production. Plus Leather pauldrons/gauntlets are faster to make.)

[Tifa Lockhart]

Her outfit in AC looks more casual than in RR (ex. She got rid of her compression armbands; She switched out her red combat boots for look-alike converse sneaker boots; and put her utility pockets in front of her skirt/shorts combo). Notice how she doesn’t have gloves nor Materia slots in the movie (Although it’s weird that she DOES have gloves in other games/promos).

[Barret Wallace]

In AC, he has a sleeveless puffer jacket and a fishnet shirt. He also lost his leather utility pockets (for ammo possibly) from RR. And it’s probably because he doesn’t need it, now that he has a new advanced weapon (it can transform from a metal arm into a high tech machine gun and vice versa). As an oil baron, he probably has more access to materials and utilities compared to other characters, that’s why Barret’s clothes don’t look so simple/improvised.

[Marlene Wallace]

Obviously Marlene would have a different look when she got older. But look at her cute frilly pink dress vs. her white sleeveless collared shirt and floral patterned skirt (notice how her outfit looks like a mix of Cloud and Aerith’s outfits). The stitching for her AC outfit is way more simple. Also I’d like to think Barret gave her that floral patterned fabric for her skirt since it would have been difficult to get ahold of.

[Yuffie Kisaragi]

Zippers galore. Her outfit is changed to black with a floral patterned shirt with a denim ensemble (I think her outfit is a little extra because she's a WRO member). Her shuriken’s the same but her metal and leather armor are gone and replaced with a wristband and a black cloth that covers her forearm. She still has her utility pockets though but it’s in denim (I wonder, did she break her old armor?).

(Edit: She also has these green converse knee high boots?? Again, as a WRO member, she probs got them outside of Midgar)

[Vincent Valentine]

Nothing changed that much. He kept his coat. His AC leather straps and gauntlet are less detailed than the Rebirth one. The metal buckles look different in shape too. I think he changed those in AC. Makes sense if there were wear and tear during the years (I wonder how he does his laundry though lmao).

[Cid Highwind]

Cid changed to a cotton blue shirt. He doesn’t have his pilot scarf anymore nor his flight jacket. Instead, he has a brown bomber jacket tied around his waist with a dog tag around his neck. As much as I think his clothes are due to scarce resources, I also don’t think he cares that much regarding fashion.

[Reeve Tuesti]

The shoulder pads. The silver and yellow accents. The foot length blue coat. It's a major improvement on Reeve's outfit compared to his old businessman suit. As the WRO leader, he gets access to making his outfit a little fancy (more chances to trade with other towns/cities outside of Midgar). Although I do think someone made that coat for him, and he wanted to reject it because he considered it too much. But accepted either way 'cause it would be a waste.

[helen-with-an-a]

The object that stood in the way of a World Cup

Hi. So this is going to be a 2 part (maybe 3 part) story that I've had floating in my head for a while now.

It's angsty - I do want it to end with a fluffy end, but it's getting a little too long to be 1 thing ahahaha. Anyways.

Ona Batlle x Reader

TW: Angst, no direct mention of bad mental health, but it's clear R ain't ok.

Word count: 3.3k

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Flashbacks are written in Italics; for anyone not aware of the British school system GCSEs you take at 16 (you have 3 or 4 choice subjects and 5 or 6 compulsory subjects) and A-levels you take at 18 (you choose 3 or 4 subjects)

Description: R sees Ona again for the first time since their breakup

This is what you had been waiting for. All summer. All year. Hell, probably all your life. The World Cup Final. And the thought absolutely terrified you.

Your first thought after the final whistle wasn’t one of joy or happiness. You weren’t elated like Lessi or Tooney who barrelled into you and squeezed you so tight it hurt. You weren’t jumping for joy like Gee, Kiera and Lucy who manhandled you into the middle of their huddle. You weren’t screaming so loud your voice went hoarse like Hempo and Es. You weren’t standing in disbelief like Mearps and Millie.

Your first thought was of your ex- girlfriend, friend-with-benefits, situationship, Ona. Your first thought was of Ona. Spain had won against Sweden yesterday. And now you had won against Australia. The last time you had seen her was not a fun experience for you. Screaming. Tears. Spiteful words she didn’t mean. But that was the last time you spoke to her. It had been a long 8 months without her.

You weren’t quite sure what you were to each other when you were both at United. You had met on her first day. You were meant to be her buddy. The management had asked around during pre-season if anyone spoke any Spanish. You had done it at A-level, so you stuck your hand up. Barcelona was The Dream for you, so you had tailored your studies at school as much as you could to help you achieve it – taking Spanish at GCSE and A-level and continuing to watch Spanish shows and reading books to help you maintain it. You weren’t fluent but you knew enough that it would help Ona feel more comfortable. And you clearly had.

After winning the first derby of the season, the team had gone for drinks. Alcohol flowed, inhibitions were lost, and boundaries were blurred as Ona ended up in your bed. You had thought it would be a one-time thing. A drunken mistake that wasn’t much of a mistake to you. And it was … until it wasn’t. The next time it happened was at your birthday. And then her birthday. And then the end of the season. And then alcohol wasn’t a factor in taking you both to bed. She was suddenly all around you. Her jumpers were in your wardrobe. Her football boots were by the door. Her stuff was in the shower. Her snacks were in the cupboard. You had never spoken about what you were, but you drove her to training, she cooked you her mother's dishes, you snuggled into her side when watch your show, she slept in your bed every night.

And then it all came crashing down.

November 2022

You knew you needed to tell her as soon as possible. You wanted to tell her the news that had you pouncing on her the moment she stepped through the door. You were happy and giddy and so, so excited. You hadn’t thought that she wouldn’t be all of those things for you. You had made no secret that Barcelona was your dream. Everyone know that if Barcelona came knocking you would be gone without a doubt in your mind. You had received a phone call from your manager that afternoon.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you free to talk? There’s an offer for you.” Paul said down the phone. He sounded composed but happy, it intrigued you.

“Yeh, I’m free. What’s the offer? It’s mid-season though and I’m out of contract in the summer, why are they wanting to talk now?” You were questioning but not closed off. You knew joining a team mid-season would be hard but not impossible.

“Well… it’s Barca. They’ve but in an offer for you.” You were in complete shock. Barca wanted you. You were going to play for Barcelona. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. You screamed. It was the only thing you could think of. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Paul laughed. He knew Barca was the dream. He’d already written up the acceptance email.

“Oh my god! Of course it’s a bloody yes. I’m gonna play for Barcelona” You shouted.

“They want you to sign on the first day of the January signing window. It’ll be announced just after El Clásico. Is that ok with you? It gives you a couple of months to get everything sorted. And since United haven’t played in the Champions League, you aren’t cup tied or anything.”

You were floating on a cloud of happiness when the door clicked open. Ona was back from having a ‘Spanish Day’ with all the Spaniards living in Manchester. She had barely made it into the living room when you jumped her. Lips trailing everywhere you could reach. She laughed that gorgeous sound as you shoved her gently to the bedroom, her coat slipping off as you went.

You lay with your head against the pillows, hair fanned out to the side. You were sweaty and out of breath in the best way. Ona collapsed down next to you, her arms quickly wrapping around your waist.

“I had a phone call today.” You said nonchalantly. “From Paul,” you added as you tucked the duvet around the both of you. “There’s been an offer for me in the January window”. She looked at you expectantly. “Oni, Voy a jugar para el Barcelona” you breathed out. She stiffened in your arms.

“Qué quieres decir, amor?” She choked out after a few moments of silence, sitting up and moving away from you. You knew she wanted to go back to Spain, go back to Barca … but this was not the reaction you were expecting.

“Paul phoned. They’ve put in an offer for me for the January window. I’m signing on the 1st with it being announced after El Clásico.” You stated the facts. The simple outline of the facts that made you feel so, so happy.

“Are we not going to talk about this? You can’t leave in the middle of the season. United need you. We need you…. I need you, amor” She started off loud, angry, and upset, but by the end of the sentence it was barely a whisper. You had never seen Ona so… you could describe the look on her face. The way her body seemed slumped over in sadness.

“Hey… hey. No, don’t think like that. I’m here until the break. We’ve got a month or so. Everything will be fine, Oni. You are well aware that Barcelona is only a few hours on a plane. Everything will be fine!” She seemed to accept your comforting words.

But everything wasn’t fine.

There was a shift in the relationship arrangement whatever this was. Fewer jumpers were in your wardrobe. When she ran out of body wash, she didn’t replace it with a new bottle. Less of her snacks were added to your weekly shopping list. You still drove her to training but her music no longer blasted out of the speakers. She still cooked for you but there were never leftovers for the next day. She still slept in your bed, but she held onto your arm rather than curling up on top of you.

And then it was the Christmas break. Your last day at United. You weren’t sad to be leaving the club. But you were sad to be leaving the people. Of course, you knew you would see some of them during the international windows and whenever you came home but it wasn’t the same. Once again, the alcohol in your system led you to be on top of Ona. The first time you had done anything since you told her about your move. Something felt different this time. She was leaving to go back to Spain the following morning and you wouldn’t see her again before you left.

You woke up with a slight headache, but that wasn’t what pulled you from your sleep. Catalan came drifting across the flat. Ona was awake, and by the temperature of the bed, she had been for a while.

“Hey. Qué ocurre? Qué pasó?” She was pacing the living room, muttering away to herself. “Oni? Hey, estás bien?” She wasn’t paying any attention to you. “Ona”. Your hands rested on her shoulders, halting her scattered movements.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. You jumped at the harshness in her tone.

“What’s wrong, Oni?” You asked again.

“I can’t do this.” She answered back. Her tone just as sharp. You knew what she was implying but you hoped you were wrong.

“This being…?” You trailed off.

“Us.” She stated simply. You waited a heartbeat, hoping she would realise you would do anything for her.

“It’s not like there was really an ‘us’ to begin with!” She spat at you. You felt your heart begin to splitter into a thousand pieces. Ona was looking for an argument. She was terrified you’d leave her behind at Manchester without a second look. Ona was hopelessly in love with you. She had been for some time. It wasn’t fast or scary. It was subtle and peaceful. One day she had woken up next to you and she knew it was you. It would always be you. But she didn’t know if she was yours. You were never a tactile person but with Ona, you always had some form of body contact. She thought it little of it. She was Spanish after all, touching your friends was fairly normal – she didn’t realise that you didn’t hug Lessi or Tooney unless they forced themselves at you. She didn’t consider how you were quick to shake off Mary or Maya’s arms. To you, and to everyone else but Ona, it was really obvious that she was yours and you were hers. You just hadn’t had the ‘what are we’ conversation yet. She was also jealous. Barca wanted you. Her home wanted you. Not her. Never mind that her agents had mentioned that Barca wanted her in the summer when she was out of contract. Barca offered money for you. Barca wanted you so badly that they offered a record-breaking fee in the middle of a season. She was scared, angry and jealous. How was she to know that you rarely argued back with someone? How was she to know that your easy-going nature was a result of growing up in a household where shouting was the norm? How was she to know that your mild-mannered temperament was due to your habit of placating your family to stop the noise? You had never told her that particular part of your childhood.

So, she hit you where she knew it would hurt the most, hoping to get a reaction out of you. “Eres sólo un polvo rápido. Fácil. Nada mas para mi. Something to pass the time. I don’t even know why Barca want you, honestly. No eres lo suficientemente buena.” She waited for a reply, but none came. She waited for you to lash out at her. Snap. Do something to make this … breakup? … easier. She wanted to be able to hate you in the same way she was trying to make you hate her. She did the second most painful thing she could think of. She spun on her heels and marched out the door.

You knew she was lying… you think. You hoped she was lying. You knew Ona could get mean when she was upset or scared. You had witnessed it after a particularly bad game – her harshness, her biting words. But she had said those words with such conviction, and you couldn’t think of a reason as to why she would be scared or upset. It had been a wonderful night. Laughter, soft touches exactly where you needed them, and love. You could feel the love between the two of you. Every lingering touch, every passionate kiss, ever whispered word. Everything was done with love, for the pure enjoyment of the other. Everything was perfect.

You're just a quick fuck. Easy. Nothing more to me. Was that all you were to her? Did the late nights mean nothing to her? Did the secrets you whispered into her hair mean anything? Were all the promises she made you lies? Was everything she ever said to you just so she could get her regular fix? Did she really think you weren’t good enough for Barcelona? She knew her opinion of you and your football meant a lot to you. Was every reassurance that you were good enough for the starting XI mean nothing? Was every calming word when you were waiting for Sarina’s call false? Did she genuinely think that you weren’t good enough?

You were in a daze all throughout Christmas. Seeing you family was fun, but you couldn’t shake the clouds in your mind. When you met with the some of the Lionesses in Manchester in between Christmas and New Year, everyone could tell something was wrong. You were normally on the quieter side, preferring to listen rather than speak. But you didn’t really do either. You were just there; not contributing to conversations or laughing along like you usually would. Something was wrong but no one knew what. And then you were on a plane, staring out the window as you watched Spain get closer and closer. You had never been to Spain outside of camps and tournaments. Ona had promised to take you there, to show you Barcelona, to show you her home. But you had to make it your home without her by your side.

And now you were about to play Ona in a World Cup Final.

Lucy knew something was eating at you in the days leading up to the final. She had phoned Leah to come to the hotel to cheer the whole team up and boost morale. It had worked for the other girls but not you. Kiera phoned Alexia as well. But the comforting words had washed straight over you. Everyone thought that it was because you were facing the Barca girls. No one in Barcelona knew of your history with Ona beyond that of teammates at United. If she was ever in town for a quick break, you always, miraculously, had other plans you couldn’t get out of. They didn’t know you lied and hid yourself away in your flat – moving your car a few streets along and leaving your phone off so the location couldn’t be tracked. You’d even gone so far as to phone up Hayley Raso in Madrid to ask if you could come visit her when you found out Ona would be at a team bonding event due to her free schedule coinciding with game-less weekend for Barca. Hayley was a little confused, but you were close enough friends from your time at Manchester that she didn’t question it.

Ona’s words had stayed with you. Every time you failed gave the ball away, passed a too-wide cross, or missed a shot on goal, her words echoed in your mind. You’re not good enough. The venom lacing her tone permeated your brain. You pushed yourself hard then ever before. You went for runs before training to improve your stamina, stayed late to practice free kicks and penalties. You lifted heavier weights and broke your old PBs in the gym. You were eating correctly and always seemed cheery enough, so no one really questioned it. Slowly the muscles started to grow. You were always on the stockier side, the muscles you had slowly built up helping you with your defence. But now you were really built. Your muscles were obvious, even under looser fitting clothes. Not that you really wore loose clothes anymore. At first, it was because everyone on the team, everyone in Barcelona, looked good. Their styles were just rubbing off on you, you had justified to yourself. But eventually, the tops became tighter and shorter. The trousers became low rise, and the hemlines became higher. The Barca Glow Up (and Lotte had coined it) was definitely real. You told yourself it was for you. The clothes you were wearing, the muscles you liked to show off, was because you were proud of them. Which you were. But you couldn’t lie to yourself for long. The Barca media frequently posted game day fits. You knew Ona followed Barca. You knew you would appear on her timeline. Yes, you were a little more tired than you used to be. But that was fine. You didn’t tell anyone the words that rattled around in your head when you were alone. You were fine. Everything was fine. You were playing the best football of your life at Barca. You were a key part of their defence, making your way into the Starting XI quickly and constantly proving your worth in every game.

You were fine. Ok, you hadn’t had sex, or even looked at another girl, since Ona arriving in Spain. Ok, you had to have some form of noise constantly in the background because every time there was silence your thoughts drifted back to Manchester. Ok, you couldn’t be around Ingrid and Mapi or anyone else in a relationship for too long otherwise you might start crying. Ok, you were still very much broken hearted. But you were fine. You weren’t necessarily good, but you were fine

The morning of the final, you were quiet. But everyone was, even Tooney. The buzz of anticipation. The air of expectation. Everyone was doing their own pre-match routine. You had followed yours to the letter. A gentle walk alone this morning followed by breakfast. A full bottle of water on the coach to the stadium. Pitch inspection with Less and Tooney. Warm up with Lucy and Millie. Hair slicked into a bun. A spray of perfume and into the tunnel to walk out.

She was standing just a head of you. Perfect. Breath-taking. Even with her game face on and her concentration as Irene spoke to her, you could see the usual kindness in her features. Those soft warm eyes that you had been lost in far too often. The freckles that littered her skin that you had traced and played dot-to-dot with as you laughed sleepless nights away. The braid that you used to tug on to get her attention before a match that always made her smile and break her focus. You knew you were still desperately in love with her. You shook your head. You couldn’t let her get to you. Not now. Your walls went back up as you pushed all thoughts from her mind. She wasn’t your Oni – even though you knew in your heart she would always be that to you –, she was the object that stood in your way of a World Cup. As Jess and Alex pulled your attention away from the Spanish players, you missed her looking at you.

She knew you had more muscle than before but seeing you in the flesh was something else. Your eyes that have the ability to truly look at a person, looked a little more tired than she was used to. The genuine smiled that was a defining feature for you was replaced with a hard line and a smirk every now and again. She thinks you have had a haircut since being in Barca – your bun wasn’t as big as it used to be in Manchester. She wanted nothing more than to trace her fingers gently over the new scar just above your eyebrow. She knew exactly how you got it. She watched every game of yours, live if she could – on repeat if she couldn’t. You had collided with a player during Chelsea Champions League match. She had been so terrified she almost picked up the phone to call you several times. She did play a little more brutally the next time she faced Chelsea. She had been carded after she left a particularly nasty tackle on the girl that had hurt you. She didn’t know that you also watched all of her games. She didn’t know that you also wanted to phone her after that match but was so scared of her rejection. But right now, you weren’t her Amor – even though you would always be that to her –, you were the object that stood in her way of a World Cup.

Part 2 will probably be out fairly quickly as a lot of it is already written but yeh

[nariism]

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones. 

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth. 

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly.  You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.