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seumyo · 2 months ago

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a softie for sentimentality, bakugou katsuki.

Bakugou wears a bracelet. You’ve known about it for as long as you could remember, but only decided to acknowledge it now that you’re in your third year at UA, two weeks before graduation.

It wasn’t flashy or adorned with any kind of logo—just a simple, sturdy piece of metal with a stainless clasp that he seemed to wear all the time. You tilted your head as you studied it.

“You’ve had that bracelet for as long as I can remember,” you said, sitting down on his study chair. It’s a privilege to even set foot inside of his room without immediately being told (yelled) off, really.

Bakugou looked up from his book and glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

“Is there, like, a story behind it?”

“No story,” he said with a shrug, but you weren’t entirely convinced.

“Really? That’s so bland. I thought there’d be like a gut-wrenching or life-changing story for it.”

He sat up from his bed with a huff, his eyes narrowing at you. “It’s just somethin’ I wear. What’s it to you?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on your lips. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Keep your secrets.”

“Fuck off, dipshit.”

“Again with that! Why can’t you be nicer now that we’re graduating?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

But the conversation stuck to you.

It’s the day of graduation when you presented him with a small, handmade box. It was simple, made of sturdy cardboard decorated with his signature colors and an orange ribbon to match. Bakugou rose a brow.

“What’s this for?” He asks, holding it up like the box might explode at any given moment, though there was no bite to it.

“A box.”

“No shit,” he scoffs, “what’s in it?”

“Open it to find out!” You egged him on.

Bakugou sighs, opening the box with a focused pout. He went quiet when he saw what was inside.

“Ta-da! A bracelet,” you said, smiling. “For you. Thought you could use something new to switch things up.”

He held the stringed bracelet in his hand, looking at the material as if it would erupt in flames if he glared hard enough. It was a stark contrast to his metal one—brightly colored warm complementary beads with little charms that somehow still managed to feel like him. There was a red charm shaped like an explosion, a black bead with a skull design, and a small silver charm with an engraved kanji for “strength.”

“I’m not wearing this,” he said flatly.

It’s like your cartoonish heart balloon had suddenly been popped with a prickly needle.

“What? Why not? It’s cool!” you argued. “I even made it myself to really match you!”

“It’s not my style.”

“Sure it is. Look, it’s got black, silver, and even a little red—it screams Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I didn’t get you anythin’ as a parting gift,” he tells you.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine,” you replied, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just thought this’ll go with your metal bracelet.”

He nodded, though there was a somewhat frustrated pout on his expression, muttering something under his breath a soft “thanks,” and placed the gift back in the box, never actually letting you see him wearing it during that moment.

Years later, during a photoshoot for the yearly hero gala, Bakugou stood in front of the camera in his full Dynamight suit. The photographer adjusted the lights, snapping rapid shots as Bakugou struck his signature confident poses.

“Hold still,” the stylist said, adjusting his gauntlet slightly. Her eyes flicked to his wrist, and she paused. “Oh, that’s cute. Is that handmade?”

Bakugou blinked, following her gaze. Wrapped around his wrist, right next to his ever-present metal bracelet, was the colorful string bracelet you had made him all those years ago.

He stiffened slightly, but instead of taking it off, he shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”

The stylist smiled warmly. “It’s a nice touch. Makes you seem... approachable. And quite frankly, it matches your suit.”

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

When the photos surfaced online, fans quickly noticed the bracelet. Social media practically exploded that day.

Is Dynamight wearing a friendship bracelet??

A HANDMADE BRACELET ON DYNAMIGHT??

Guys, he’s worn this thing for YEARS. Check the old pictures! 🙂‍↔️

You, of course, caught wind of the news—because honestly, who wouldn’t when it took all social media platforms by storm? You saw the posts one evening while scrolling through your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the photos. It was unmistakable—the bracelet you had made all those years ago.

Long after your UA days were behind you and your lives had taken you and Bakugou down different paths, the all-too-familiar bracelet made you smile sadly—more nostalgic happiness than actual sadness, really.

You stared at the screen, sighing quietly. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken, to the unspoken decision that had pulled you in different directions. You never thought something as small as a bracelet would still mean anything to him.

You didn’t even think you’d live to see the day he wears it, much less keep it after the years.

But there it was, bright and unapologetic on his wrist, a subtle reminder of a bond that hadn’t completely faded with time.

Somewhere across the city, Bakugou stood on a rooftop, the evening wind tugging at his hero uniform. He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the frayed edges of the string. He smirked to himself, a quiet acknowledgment of the past and the person who’d given it to him.

“Guess you were right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It does scream Bakugou Katsuki.”

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lanabuckybarnes · 10 months ago

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Might have re-watched Captain America: Winter Soldier again 🫣....and it's just something about the way he says "You're my misson." All I know is this gives off HUGE smutty vibes. I love your written so I just knew I had to ask you!

Ohh nonnie the way he growls it as well (panties soaked)

18+ MINORS DNI, DUB/NON CON THEMES AHEAD

His metal hand pressed against your throat, you should’ve passed out ages ago but he wasn’t squeezing enough to hurt. He was keeping you in place.

You don’t know how you ended up on Hydra’s watchlist. You were a regular person, a security expert who woke up at 6am every morning, showered and got ready for the long hours at the office.

Your boss had some new clientele. They were in the market for top-notch security and they’d chosen the company you worked for, and your boss had chosen you to be part of the team. You learned quickly that they were a very secretive group, you only ever met the messengers and even then they blanked every other word you spoke besides a polite hello.

It was one boring day, completely uneventful, the usual in your office. You were working on the can’t security side of the project when your screen went black, then a logo appeared—an octopus? Weird.

“Hey Jim come look at this” you notified your cubicle neighbour who peaked over the barrier. Just as he did mountains of files filtered onto your screen, many of them in Russian it looked like but one thing was for certain. You definitely shouldn’t have seen it.

That night after packing up and heading downstairs you noticed Jim still at the revolving doors.

“Hey, you alright?” You asked, he looked pale, if you were in an old house you were sure you would’ve mistook him for a ghost.

“T-the—“ he cleared his throat before his brown eyes bore into yours. They looked dead, it shook you to your core. “The logo, on your computer…I searched it up and…”

Your jaw dropped to the floor when you digested the content on his phone. Hydra. Your new clients were Hydra and you’d accidentally seen all their files.

—

You jumped from your dreamless sleep at the sound of your landline. Checking your clock lets you know it was well past midnight, who on earth would be calling at this time?

“H-hello?” You rasped, eyes shutting by the second.

The frantic voice spoke your name. It was Jim and by his tone, he was panicking.

“Jim? Jim, are you alright?” You pressed, holding the phone closer to your ear.

“T-they’re here, listen to me whatever you do, do not open your door. Find a weapon and hide…oh god…Do not op—“ BANG!!

You let out a shriek at the sound, Jim’s side turning eerily quiet. Then your door knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Your door was gone before it could be knocked for a third time. Kicked so hard it hit the opposite wall, you screamed, dropping the phone from your ear and falling to the ground like you were made of jelly.

Tears flowed freely down your face as the huge body stalked forth, his arm glistening under the dim light you kept on at all times. A mask sat upon his face obscuring his emotions from you but you were certain he was enjoying the torture he was putting you through.

His heavy boots stopped just in front of your knees, his metal hand grasped at your throat squeezing until your vision spotted, until you garbled pleas up at him. Only then did he pull you up, your toes pointing to reach the floor, you were trying desperately to relieve some of the pressure around your throat.

You should’ve died a long time ago, his brain screamed at him to fulfil his mission, put a bullet in your skull and be done. But the more he looked at you the more he wanted.

The spaghetti straps of your nightgown had slipped down off your shoulders, catching in the crooks of your elbows but not before giving him a delicious tease of your bust.

He wanted more.

He raised his flesh hand, hooking a long thick index finger into the material before ripping it from your body in one fell swoop. You yelled and struggled against his grasp but a harsh squeeze of your trachea had any fight dying quickly.

He let his knuckles trace the swell of your tits, pinching a nipple in between his fingers, smirking darkly under the mask as you squirmed.

You look cute all scared of him; wide-eyed and chest heaving, your tummy sucking in to get away from his hand as it trailed down to your cotton panties.

A dark chuckle escaped him as he felt along your gusset.

“You’re wet”

You shook your head, eyes darting anywhere but him, your thighs squeezing his hand and keeping it pressed firmly against your mound.

He ripped the panties from your body as well, running two fingers through your folds and bringing them up to your face. Absolutely soaked.

“Wet” he spoke matter-of-factly before pushing his hand back down there; fingers plucking your hard little clit effortlessly until you were crying out.

“W-why are you doing this” you moaned, head hitting off the wall with a bang as you sucked in air greedily.

“You’re my mission” he growled back, fingers stretching you out until your brain turned to mush.

He coaxed four orgasms out of you that night. His mask, thrown to the floor so he could kiss you sloppily before leaving.

He returned night after night, Hydra sending him to complete his task but he’d do the same again, play with you, eat you out until you were a writhing mess—all dumb and thinking of nothing but him.

You were his mission. For days, months, years. You were his.

—

I pulled this outta my ass but I hope it was up to your standard nonnie 🤭🤭

Also thank you so much, it’s nice to know some people enjoy reading the poo I write.

Likes, Reblogs and Asks are always appreciated ❤️❤️

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shellxrls · 1 year ago

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to me jj feels like that bsf that acts like he’s more yk? he’s super touchy feely, and it’s insanely casual too. to the point where you don’t question it. but he does that thing where he steps behind you and air humps you, and that’s when you have to consider if he’s just a pervert, or into you.

… or the secret third thing (both)

the way this prompt made me nut wtf .

─── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ───

no but he’s so fucking raunchy ab this shit it’s obscene, sneaking up behind you when you’re digging through a drawer at the chateau searching for some miscellaneous item.

the rest of pogues silently observe as jj puts a finger over his own mouth and signals for them to be quiet, traipsing up until he was right behind you and placing his hands to hover over your ass, bent frame causing your backside to stick up in the air.

still completely soundless, he begins to feign humping the air surrounding your back, thrusting his hips as his expressions contort into pictures of pornographic perversity, eyebrows drawn tight and eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

john b eventually walks in to break it up, deciding it to be less than tasteful to let jj continue massacring the picture of innocence you seemed to be (despite the fact that were supposedly unaware of his depraved air-humping performance).

“alright jj c’mon, leave her alone man,” john b gestures at jj disapprovingly.

jj backs off as you lift your head, letting out a cluelessly pitched, “huh?” into the air as you notice jj standing right behind you, invading every sort of personal boundary.

jj shrugs at john b, stepping away from you in defeat, but not before leaning down so he was breathing onto your face, murmuring “don’t pretend you weren’t watching me through the glass cupcake,” before gesturing nonchantly towards the patio door opposite to where you were both standing.

he backs off further and smirks watching you go flush in embarrassment, calling out a teasing “just saying,” and running backwards to join the rest of the pogues outside.

─── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ───

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 19 days ago

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Some sort of hive mind thing

Written for the Kissing Booth bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Body Swap

Rated: T

Words: 975

Tags: POV Dustin Henderson; Body swap; Secret relationship; Coming out; Implied sexual content (very brief, very vague); Crack and humor

“Okay, the others are on their way.”

Dustin puts the walkie back on his bedside table. The alarm clock tells him it's a little after four in the morning. When he tries to tug on his hat to ground himself, he realizes he isn't wearing one because he's still in his pajamas. Biting back a yawn, he snatches his Thinking Cap from its hook on the wall and puts it on. He feels like he's going to need it.

“While we wait, walk me through this again,” he says, turning back to the two miserable figures sitting side by side on his bed. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” says Eddie.

Dustin blinks. He can practically feel his brain whirring in his skull as it recalibrates. Sweet mother of all that's logical, this must be the fourth-most bizarre thing that ever happened to him.

“Oh, wait,” says Steve. “If you say Steve shouldn’t I answer? Wouldn't want half the town to find out about this. I've barely even shaken the satanist allegations. Better not add body snatching to the list.”

“The fuck?” Eddie hisses. “First you steal my body and now you're taking my name, too?”

Steve grins, wide and toothy, fluttering his lashes exaggeratedly. “Let's table the discussion about who's taking whose name for later, big boy. We've more important stuff to figure out right now.”

Okay, make that the third-most bizarre thing.

“You both went to bed as usual,” Dustin says over the ensuing string of bickering, wondering not for the first time who's babysitting who here. “Then, a few hours later, you woke up to discover that you're stuck in each other's bodies.”

Eddie-who-looks-like-Steve snorts a laugh and Steve-who-looks-like-Eddie elbows him.

“Quit it! Be serious about this!”

“I’m trying to, but he said stuck in-”

“Did anything happen last night?” Dustin asks.

They both flinch. Eddie attempts to pull a lock of hair in front of his face but grasps at thin air.

“Did anything- … I have no idea what you- … Nothing happened! Nothing at all!”

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him. Eddie starts chewing on Steve’s knuckles.

“Really? You sure? Nothing strange or out of the ordinary? I need you to think real hard about this, it could be important.”

Steve shrugs, raking a hand through Eddie’s hair and frowning when his fingers get stuck in the frizzy mess. “Dunno, man. Our life's pretty much an endless string of freak incidents, so it's kind of hard to say what qualifies as- Gross, dude, stop chewing on my nails.”

“It helps with my anxiety, and you have mine,” Eddie grumbles, but he still stops chewing.

“Which is why it's crucial,” Dustin shoulders on, “to look for patterns. There must've been something that caused this, and there must be a reason why it happened to the two of you. Oh, you think it has to do with the bats? You're the only ones who got bitten, so maybe that's the connection. Maybe it's some sort of hive mind thing.”

He has started pacing up and down in front of the bed, but at the corner of his vision, he can see how Steve squints Eddie’s dark brown eyes at him.

“But that was months ago,” he says. He’s still wearing Eddie’s rings, Dustin notices. Eddie has pulled their hands into his lap and started fiddling with them, muttering something about how they won't fit Steve’s stupid, giant saucer hands. “Why would it happen now?”

Dustin snaps his fingers. “Something must've triggered it. There must've been some kind of dormant connection the entire time, and one or both of you must've done something to activate it.”

He stops pacing and turns to them, only to find they’re not looking at him anymore. Instead, they’ve ducked their heads together and started muttering among themselves in hushed voices. Dustin catches the words oughta tell him, and wrinkles his brow.

“Tell me what?”

“Okay!” Steve screws Eddie’s eyes shut and pinches Eddie’s nose. “You know how you asked me to drive you to the arcade last night?”

“And you told me no because you had this big, important date?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “Sure. What about it?”

“And how you called me after?” Eddie says. He has started pulling on the ends of Steve’s hair now, and it seems to be getting frizzier by the second. It looks a bit like regular Steve put his fingers in a socket. “And I said I’d love to chauffeur you, but I couldn’t because I had already made plans?”

“Yes,” Dustin deadpans. “You were both completely and utterly unhelpful and I had to cycle all the way there in the dark and the wind, thank you for reminding me. Now what does this have to do with any-”

“Dustin,” says Steve. He looks at Eddie, then down at their entwined hands. Pointedly. Dustin feels his jaw drop.

“Oh,” he says. “You mean you were- … You both couldn’t make it because you were each other’s- … Oh! Oh my God, please don’t tell me- … Were you two making out?”

Silence drops. Somewhere outside, bicycle tires crunch on gravel, heralding the arrival of the Party.

“Sure,” says Eddie. “Let’s call it making out.”

Dustin groans, turning to open his window.

“Let’s try to keep this between the three of us,” he hisses. “The others don’t need to know this.”

“What?” Steve grumbles. He’s always blushed easily, but now, with his newly acquired pale complexion, he looks like an Eddie-shaped lava lamp. “These kids have dealt with interdimensional monsters and telepathic wizards, you’d think they’d be able to stomach two guys kissing.”

“That’s not it,” Dustin says, and now it’s his turn to break into a smug grin. “But Max bet me twenty bucks you wouldn’t last until Christmas, and I'm broke, so I'd appreciate it if she wouldn't find out just yet.”

More Steddie bingo

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's steddie bingo #steddiebingo #steddiebingokiss

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diejager · 1 year ago

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@warenai gave me the juiciest idea.

Draw Cw: smut, porn, prostitution, P in V, creampie, jealousy, handjob, mating press, voyeurism, tell me if I missed any.

part 2

There was a silent understanding between the three of them after that whole fiasco, Ghost and Soap demanding answers from their captain on their own time. Ghost confronted Price in his office that night, body still hot and bothered from your live but wracked with cold sweat from finding out that Price was your third, highest donator. Price hadn’t expected him, neither did Price expect him to find out about his little secret, the thing he spent his money on, but when Soap stopped him outside of the base, he wasn’t surprised then. Ghost had told him about everything, how both he and Soap were members of your OnlyFans, devoted and loyal, only using the site to watch you.

Whether it bothered Gaz that they kept having silent conversations through side glances and open staring, he hadn’t voiced his confusion or curiosity, he stayed outside of this struggle to catch your attention. For all they knew, only the three of them knew you and enjoyed the content, spending their nights jerking off at your sweet voice and beautiful body dressed in all kinds of things. Gaz seemed none the wiser, acting as he usually did, smiling gently, taking care of his strict skin routine, trimming his moustache and caring for his favourite cap.

Yet, he seemed so energetic today, exhuming happiness and giddiness while the others looked dejected, shoulders slumped lower and sighing disappointedly. It was suspicious, for Gaz to act out of character, especially after your announcement of an anonymous winner of your draw, choosing at random one of your patrons to host a live with, letting them fuck you as they dreamed to. Unfortunately, you hadn’t told the public to protect the winner’s identity until the live, you would contact them directly for a day and time.

They seethed in silence, a storm of jealousy stewing in their guts while Gaz smiled and laughed to his phone, eyes glued to his screen and fingers tipping away as if he was in a rush to answer the person he was messaging. It went on like this for a while, a week before Gaz asked for a few days of leave, packing his rucksack with clothes and toiletries with the prettiest and newest clothes he had. Soap had teased him about leaving and dressing pretty for a date, that he’d been texting the girl who caught his heart for a wile now.

They forgot about Gaz after he left, happy for him and curious but not involving themselves into his business, until they got opened up your live after they got the notification about it starting in a few minutes. The watched you smile, wave at the camera, manicured nails gleaming under the soft, yellow light of a hotel room. You changed the location of stage, a comfortable looking hotel room with a queen bed and silken sheets. The highlight of this live - like every other - was you, dressed in a pretty, satin shirt fitting your dark navy teddy, the same shade under warm lights.

You sat on the bed, legs open and flashing the dark patch of your underwear, darkened with slick from earlier foreplay with your guest —the lucky bastard. You made the same introduction, a smile and wave, followed by welcoming them with your stage name, but this time, you reached out for someone off screen, fingers locking with a caramel one, thick fingers with calloused pads, the person who won the draw was lean but still muscular, his arms and thighs curved and abdomen hard. He wore a familiar mask —a skull painted balaclava.

“This is GazCan,” you pulled the man down to him hands and knees, pressing kisses against his gleaming chest, lips wandering up his throat and he’s masked cheek, “He won this year’s draw.”

They knew the balaclava, how could they not when they wore it before as a team, one singular squad fighting towards one goal — it was the Ghost team mask. This was no coincidence, it all fit in with their situation: Gaz had been overly enthusiastic and happy for a week, his sudden ask for days-worth leave and all the neatly folded clothes and skin care.

This winner was Gaz. They were watching Gaz finger you, pumping two of his fingers into your slick cunt, drooling over his palm for everyone to see and hear, the lewd and wet sound of his hand. They watched Gaz fuck you raw, folding you in half, knees to your ears and feet dangling over his shoulders as he snapped his hips, pounding you into the hotel bed and whispering filthy things into your ear. Your swollen folds puffing around his cock, hair trimmed and clean, veins bulging out as he drove in, were in full view of the camera, letting them watch how well Gaz was breeding you.

They boiled with jealousy, being forced to watch one of them feel you, taste you, fuck you. Gaz made you sign for them, mewls and keens rising high from how well he pleasured you, the pointed tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix and veins rubbing against your g-spot. He was a mix of gentle sex and domination, keeping his hands on you and bending you to his liking, manhandling you to fit his wild fantasies and you liked it.

Despite seeing someone they knew fuck you, that didn’t stop them from coming, spreading their cum over their cock and jerking out the rest of it against their bed and desk. It drove them wild thinking that they could’ve been the one filling you up with their load rather than Gaz, his white jizz bubbling out of your twitching cunny and rolling down your perky rim.

“GazCan, is it, sergeant?” Price cock his brow, lip pursed and arms crossed, he looked so stern as he stared Gaz down.

“Captain,” Gaz smiled back, shamelessly comfortable with his date being shared in the briefing room, then he turned to Ghost, “Ghostie,” and to Soap, “SexiSoap, not exactly subtle.”

Part 4

Tag list: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan

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thatneoncrisis · 3 months ago

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could you explain your reasoning for butch harrow? im asking this in a way a student asks a master

ok so. up top: do i think harrow is butch in canon? no. god no. absolutely not. secret third category of person. not butch or femme shes just like A Guy who really fucking likes black

however i do think that between those two ends of a nebulous spectrum, being butch would be way more comfortable for her than femme, if we think of it in the most traditional sense for both sides. there are literally exceptions to every rule femmes can have short hair and wear pants, butches can have long hair and wear makeup yadda yadda. but the way she interacts with certain elements of her presentation in canon just felt to ME, PERSONALLY, that being traditionally feminine would freak her the fuck out

ive seen people compare her compulsion to wear the skull paint to a need to wear makeup and i. very much disagree. id see it more as like, an overtly religious thing, like a nuns habit or a hijab, its modesty and how she shows respect for her god, also routine, its as natural as putting on pants for her. and also frankly if it was an analog for traditional makeup that would be uuuuh awful. like I genuinely feel terrible for women who cannot even leave the house without foundation or contouring or whatever i dont know shit about makeup but holy fuck. if shes femme in that analog id be shaking her by the shoulders GIRL. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE A NAKED ANIMAL

another thing is her hair. so many people read her having short hair and immediately went to a bob or a pixie cut. and between tamsyns inconsistent description of the length of her hair in book one (saying its stuck to her face with sweat despite them being there for like, a month) and the htn cover being The best image we have of her, i understand that conclusion. but in the beginning of gtn its said its close cropped, tamsyn said on her blog post describing all the characters its "cut short (as benefits someone in a monestary)" which is a very interesting choice of words tbh. like im sute she didnt mean harrow is completely bald in the middle with a ring of hair but that Is the monk haircut. and then finally harrow says to gideon outright "i wont cut you bald-even though your hair is ridiculous- because I know you wont shave it every day" which i always took to mean being shaved down to the scalp is just how the ninth is traditionally. in harrow the ninth its said "occasionally ticklish rasps at your ears or forehead would frighten you numb before you realized ut was your own hair" indicating that she is not used to that length at all. also theres the fact that ianthe made her hair grow faster particularly to fuck with her. in short harrows haircut is shitty and utilitarian and any fussing with it has only been described in relation to her direct discomfort

finally theres that goddamn dress scene. why did ianthe put her in that stupid fucking thing. humilation tactic (im exaggerating but it basically was explicitly and exclusively for ianthes own amusement). shes such a simple girl, she just wanted something that could cover her up. its not impossible to have a longsleeved formless dress, but beyond my own opinion that i think harrow would have been uncomfortable in anything, i think the fact this like, explicit symbol of femininity is used to further degrade her in some sense in a room full of people who font reapect her feels like. intentional on the authors end. it quite literally just isnt her, its not even a true black its like a deep midnight blue. you get the pretty woman makeover scene but harrow comes out of it more miserable and resigned than ever. augustines approval means nothing. she looks in the mirror and sees her mother, a woman she appears to not have a single fond memory about. its all very sad

tldr when i talk about butch harrow its less about her "being butch" and more about how unfemme i think she is. also i want more butch4butch dykes i think gideon and camilla should teach her how to tie a tie.

#asks #Anonymous #is this anything. at all #but for aerious i need more tiny little freaks to be butch #i know you people love your muscle mommys but i need something else. or ill die

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ataraxiaspainting · 5 months ago

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Morningstar's Road.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan.

Synopsis: Your routine is average, to say the least. But due to Chrollo’s orders, Feitan cannot snatch you up yet – so he simply mirrors your behaviors instead for self-satisfaction. His boss does so too.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, a few suggestive actions, manipulation, some descriptions anxiety/depression for the reader, animal death, and violence/some gore.

Word Count: 4.4k.

*~*~*~*

Feitan is so close to you that he can just about hear your beating heart. He could only see the back of your head, hair loose and surely will be knotted by the morning sun, but he can smell you whenever he is this close.

You always smell so nice, but for some reason, you smell even better – of that floral-scented oil you put on your neck and wrists before you go to bed. Maybe you added extra because it is the weekend.

You are on your right side – the fetal position was always your favorite – and hugging a plush that resembles your childhood cat. This was typical behavior for you; you had cried for days when your older sister called to say he had passed from old age. You weren’t weeping anymore, but you were when you saw the stuffed animal near the window of that dollar store you pass by daily on your way to work. You named it Silky, the same as the real thing, and tuck it in whenever you are in and out of bed. Feitan somewhat wished he could get the same treatment, to be in your arms as you sleep and to feel just a hint of your comforting warmth.

Feitan brought his own blanket.

It isn’t pastel pink like your sheets or your pillowcases or your pajamas and it has holes from moths and years of being stretched as he grew and his fights came to have higher and higher stakes.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time he was stabbed were just under the giant white skull pattern, although since most of the blanket is black it wouldn’t show even in the brightest of lights.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time it was stolen are still there too; on the bottom right corner.

“This type of nen won’t last forever, Fei.”

Feitan turns his neck, his bandana doing little to hide the slight scowl on his face. “I know.”

“Now, now… I never said you did not.” Chrollo responds while giving a small smile, still having the Bandit’s Secret in his right hand while your diary is held in his left. He turns to the next page while Feitan goes back to snuggling up beside you.

If Chrollo had a third arm, he could have the rest of your coffee you didn’t finish and left in your fridge. There is a lipstick stain, the color of that tint you often sport when in your office space. A light taffy color, he muses.

Very fitting.

“I simply wanted you not to fall asleep too slow or too deep, we do have to leave by dawn after all.”

Feitan said no answer. Chrollo is used to that – a little too used to it, maybe, but Feitan has always stood out from fellow people from Meteor City even by the Phantom Troupe’s standards.

“Same oil?” He asks, and on cue, Feitan gives a loud sniffing sound.

“Yes.”

“Cute.”

Around your waist Feitan’s left arm lays, and his right hand holds the blanket tighter than a noose.

If Chrollo were to guess, if Feitan had a third arm he would put two of its fingers on your lips to feel how soft they were. Chrollo had done so before, but his friend hadn’t. He almost chuckles at the irony. The member of the Troupe the most intimate when it comes to matters of anatomy and torture felt that his fingertips having pink on them was a line he could not cross. It’s almost funny in a way. It’s adorable.

“Boss.”

“Hm?”

“For just a while,” Feitan starts. His tone is shy, like a little boy about to ask his classmate crush for their hand in marriage. “Can you read it to me?”

“‘It’?” Chrollo teases slightly, yet he knows what Feitan is talking about.

“The thing in your hand.”

“‘Thing’?”

Feitan huffs a bit and follows it up with a sigh.

“The… diary. Please.”

*~*~*~*

I think I’m getting worse and wondering if I have ever been happy with myself.

There is this girl that sits at the desk across from mine, Lyra is her name, and I don’t hate her by any means.

I just wish I was her, you know? She gets along with everyone in our office, Her hair is always nice. She has only been here since February and has already been promoted to the status it took me three years to get.

Don’t get me wrong, she is incredibly nice and I always have a few laughs with her from time to time. Maybe it’s just my insecurities getting to me.

I wonder if sometimes she has similar thoughts when with other people, or even me if that were possible. I know she has a habit of procrastination and has a record of not handing in her work until a few days or weeks later – those are qualities I don’t have, but maybe she doesn’t feel anything negative about herself.

I’m known as the quiet and sweet girl at my job.

I’ve always had a bone to pick with the title, in a way. All my life that is what I was labeled as. People come to me for advice, and it does make me feel good, but I wish I could be a jokester like Lyra too.

That’s all I have… at least for now, I guess. I’m going to drink tea with honey and go to bed.

May 8th

*~*~*~*

The duo entered through the front door this time. You were gone tonight, as evidenced by the messy pile of umbrellas and house shoes that flooded the entrance, so they could break in without much sneaking around. They know where you headed to – and for now, Chrollo orders Feitan not to slit the man’s throat and gouge out his eyes. Your boyfriend, the only one of your past romantic interests not yet dead. Francis.

He’s quite the simple fellow as Chrollo had noted. Feitan was only focusing on where his organs started and ended when they both saw you with him near midnight months before.

“Not yet.”

Chrollo turns his head and looks down at Feitan as they walk down the hall.

“I know you’re still thinking about it, but your actions may cause our plan to fail.”

No verbal response, though Chrollo notices how Feitan’s steps get slightly louder.

“Fine.”

“Are you saying you’re fine? Or are you still agreeing to not go haywire on the man yet?”

“New one.”

“Hm?”

“New word.” Feitan’s nails retract slightly from your walls as he rolls his eyes. “Hay… wire.”

His hand stops at a photo of your dead cat framed on the wall – he’s a kitten in this one, with his first collar and teenager you hugging him – but your face is cropped out.

He moves the hand away from it for just a few steps. Chrollo finds it polite of him – as polite as Feitan can be with others, anyway.

At the same time, they consider bringing the photos you took off your walls and onto whatever penthouse walls Chrollo has rented out for the next few months or so. It would be cute seeing smiling pictures of you all over, especially since you’ll be switching locations soon enough, and in turn, that expression will soon enough become rare.

But when Chrollo thinks about the idea further, a problem arises. Your photos aren’t focused on you. They’re focused on your friends and family. You are always in the corner or hidden behind someone else. It’s of your own volition. Chrollo is sure of it. Perhaps he can get Shalnark to work his magic on them and ignore the teasing. Feitan would do nothing more than threaten to bash in his teeth, as with friends he is nothing more than a ‘grumpy wet cat’ – those are Shalnark and Uvogin’s own words. Not Chrollo’s.

“No.”

“Hm?”

“I’ll cut ‘em,” Feitan suggests while putting his sharp nails on your bedroom’s door frame.

“How do you intend to do so when there’s near nothing to cut out?” Chrollo asks. Feitan goes silent until he sits on your bed.

It’s still unmade. You must have ignored that chore list of yours again and opted to work extra hours instead.

Chrollo sits down at the small part of your room that is clean; your desk. It’s mainly used for just reading and video games, hence why the only two things not neatly in piles are a book and your computer. Shalnark told them both the password, but neither of them had decided to tread into that territory for multiple reasons. Firstly, neither of them knows a single thing about the internet and simulations. Secondly, Shalnark can just get whatever information they need without them looking inside it themselves anyway. Thirdly, they already know you enjoy wholesome things on there – the opposite of what you’re reading, if the books on your unfinished read pile mean anything to Chrollo – so there is no point in venturing for unneeded facts about you.

You’ll surely tell them yourself one day.

Eventually. In maybe weeks. Months. Years.

Eventually.

It’ll feel like forever and a day if you decide not to talk to either of them. Chrollo and Feitan have agreed without any argument that if you want something, you will ask them. Nicely, of course.

Broken fingers aren’t necessarily something people flaunt.

You wouldn’t brag about being forced onto a lap for hours out on a balcony either.

You’ll eventually tell them. You have to. For your sake.

Eventually. Nothing lasts forever, after all.

“Fei. I promise you that this will be worth the wait.”

Feitan shakes his head, scoffing. “Will it? It would have been easier to just grab her and run.”

“I know,” Chrollo leans in a little, putting his elbows on his thighs. “I know. But you’ll lament it. I would have too if I had agreed with you to go down that route.”

A stare is the response.

It isn’t anger, Chrollo knows that much.

No.

In all the years Chrollo has known Feitan, Feitan has never gone back on his loyalty to him and the Troupe.

But. But.

Chrollo hasn’t ever seen him have such a concurrence when there is still such division in his eyes.

“Are you sad?” He asks.

“No,” Feitan replies, looking at your cat plush instead of his leader of the full moon outside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

*~*~*~*

Francis lives outside the city in a farmhouse. It’s up a tall hill with no pathway aside from little rectangular stones here and there – and if you ignore the animals and their housing, people would think that the place is deserted.

Feitan and Chrollo make their way to the white picket fence surrounding the chicken coop. They continue to bite down into the soil for worms or leftover grain. All female. Only three were brown; the others were smaller in frame and white.

“I’ve heard his eggs go for high prices in markets,” Chrollo grins a little. “Maybe I’ll raise some chickens of my own in my later years.”

Feitan raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was joking, Fei.” He clarifies.

“Ah.”

Feitan continues to walk with his hands still stuffed into his coat pockets.

Chrollo looks at the farmhouse up at the top of the hillside. The lights are still on, meaning you were most likely still up and about in there.

The rooster resting on top of the mailbox makes eye contact with him for a few moments.

“Don’t scream,” Chrollo murmurs, his words sweet as sugar.

“What?” Feitan asks, not even bothering to turn around.

“I’m talking to the rooster.”

“[First]’s rubbing off on you too much.” His friend rolls his eyes and makes sure not to step on a twig.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how these animals look at us.”

“They’re animals now. What came before… that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Maybe to you – but I find it intriguing.”

“Talk later,” Putting his hand on the fence gate that leads to Francis’ garden, Feitan turns his head for just a moment. “Near. Quiet. Look.”

For once, Chrollo is the one that does the nodding.

The gate gives off a little squeak as it is opened. It reminds them of Francis’ prized pet pig Annie – though she is only allowed to be inside.

There are all sorts of vegetables and some fruits back here. Cucumbers, chili peppers, watermelons, corn, tomatoes, peaches, pears. They’re all in pristine condition, and so are the flowers growing in pots near the far-off window sills.

Feitan considers giving you the daisies.

Chrollo considers giving you the marigolds.

They both look at the pig’s head hastily buried under the soil, her ears still popping out and facing the moon. Despite the interment being new, perhaps even being dug today, flies have already spread to the top part of the head and ears. They’re happy you didn’t see her because that would be quite an awful gift from your boyfriend.

Francis is probably happy too, not that they care.

From what Shalnark was able to gather from someone who barely has any social life, Francis moved here from another country about four years ago. He acquired this farm and its land almost immediately afterward.

From a lottery, Shalnark had explained to them. Or an inheritance. Either way, man’s life is going pretty dang good. Too good, actually, because my senses are tingling too much.

Shalnark was right in that regard. Francis may adopt animals from time to time from farmers’ markets, but a majority of them suddenly appear a few days or weeks apart. There were three white chickens he had purchased. Then after a month or so, there were twelve. The three brown ones came all at once one day.

“Where’s Annie?” They hear you ask as you open one of the windows to get some fresh air. “She usually runs to the door to see me…”

Using hatsu to conceal their presence, the pair aren’t detected among the plants.

“She ran away.”

Feitan almost snickers at your boyfriend’s answer, looking down at the flies and corpse rotting beneath his feet. He didn’t mind the smell of rotting flesh – he has almost always enjoyed it since he was in his teenage years.

Chrollo’s feet don’t dig into the soil – he has opted to instead stand on the few pieces of stone that are by the cucumber plants. He makes a note to go to the laundromat after this; even though it has already been the third time in a row this week alone.

If he can convince Feitan, they’ll steal some things from your place to wash up too – Francis has always been touchy, after all.

“That’s weird,” You say worriedly, not looking into the garden anymore but instead inside; to Annie’s little bed huddled next to the window. “Did you leave the gate open?”

“Yes, I’m still rather upset about it but I’m sure she’ll be found soon.”

Soon. Chrollo grins a bit as he closes his eyes, imagining the moment he’ll save you from this man. Soon isn’t enough. No. This…

This is the moment.

This is the day.

This is the time.

“Feitan.”

“Hm?”

Francis will die today. Or tomorrow maybe, Chrollo isn’t completely sure.

“Don’t make it too bloody,” He instructs, getting off the stones and onto the dirty tiles of the garden’s path to the back door. “I’ll focus on her. We’ll leave the others alone.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Feitan looks confused for a moment. If Chrollo were someone who hadn’t grown up beside him, he wouldn’t have noticed the small millisecond of his friend showing emotion. ‘For what?’ He wants to ask.

Chrollo knows it. He knows it so he answers the silent question. “For being more vulnerable with her and I. [First] seems to have rubbed off on you too much too, huh?”

“I don’t like your jokes,” Feitan replies as he stuffs his pockets even more – perhaps to hide his balled-up fists. Whether they were made from the hatred of Francis or the annoyance of everything else is up to interpretation. No one will be getting an answer anyway, even Feitan himself. “You’re very happy lately.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Chrollo’s grin widens just a smidge more. “We’re about to rescue a princess.”

From that look, he knows Feitan agrees with his reasoning and is happy as well.

*~*~*~*

“You’re beautiful, darling.”

You’re laid out on Francis’ bed. It’s rather large for a room this size, but it is comfortable to undress on. You picked a periwinkle blue dress today with buttons on only its top front side. Francis wanted to help but you declined. You don’t decline a lot of things, especially when it comes to him. Francis is annoyed by that but he tries not to let it show. He hides a lot of things from you.

“Thank you.” You sheepishly smile, a light flush on your cheeks as you start to undo your buttons.

“Of course,” You’re his favorite by far. You aren’t stuck up or are with him just for his money. You’re so nice to him. You’re so sweet to him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, honey.”

You aren’t like those whores, those sluts, those fucking cheap little bitches.

“I’ll take it slow since it’s your first time and all.” He promises.

You look up at him.

Your frown is just barely noticeable – but noticeable enough for him to see.

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks.

“Lyra’s still missing… I’m worried.”

“Why?” Francis asks, getting more annoyed the more time you spend covered up. “Why are you so worried about her right now? It’s not the time for that.”

“I don’t know,” You look at the open window, cool air still blowing in along with the slight scent of flowers. “I really don’t, I just… have suddenly gotten a little sad just now.”

You’re shivering a little.

“Ah, you must be cold.” He deflects. Having only his shirt on now, he walks up to the windowsill and looks at the vegetable patch. With both hands, he pulls the window closed. “Better?”

You must not have heard him, because you keep playing with your buttons instead of being fully undressed already.

“Could you…”

Ah. You did hear him, but you seem concerned for something else. That’s fine, as long as you aren’t playing with him and will soon attempt to run away.

“Close the curtain? Please? I’d really… appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Francis replies, his smile returning to his face. “Anything for you. Just get comfortable, pumpkin.”

The wicked thing came all at once before either of you could blink. Shards of glass flew into Francis and into the bedroom walls. Francis screams as his bleeding hands are quick to go to his eyes, his fingers attempting to get the glass shards out of them before his vision is gone for good. In front of you was a stranger in a suit – he pushed you out of the way in a fraction of a second and onto the floor. The bed had shielded you and him.

“Are you alright?”

You’re too shocked for words, peeking from behind the bed to where Francis is still screaming.

In front of him was a man in all black stepping on the back of his head with one of his feet. The soles of his boots seemed lodged into Francis’ scalp, and it takes you a moment to realize why. There were spikes on them; not that you could see them much because of how hidden they seemed to be right now. They’re silver judging by the color of their slight sparkle, but the rusted kind. No. Maybe that’s just the bloodstains.

The feeling in your chest is so horrible like you’re very sick. There’s pressure on your heart. It’s strangling you, despite the taller stranger’s grasp on your shoulders being so pleasant. So tender.

“What are you doing?” You screech. The sound doesn’t make either of the intruders flinch. Francis does instead. “Let go of him!”

The shorter man doesn’t look at you, opting to wedge the spikes of his shoes further into Francis’ brain. You try to get up but the man in the suit pulls you back down, shushing you as you protest and cry. “Don’t… it’ll be over soon. I told him to be gentle, you see.”

“Gentle?” You repeat.

“Yes, my dear.” One of his hands rises from your shoulders to where your eyes are. You struggle some more and the stranger whispers something in your ear. “Behave – I can always tell Feitan to torture him the amount he deserves if I wanted to. I know he wants to.”

You deflate and your eyes are forced shut by his palm. “Please stop… I don’t know what we did, just please-”

“You didn’t do anything,” The other man – Feitan if the taller man had named him right and he wasn’t just some assassin he hired; he said his name so tenderly too like he is an old friend – interrupts you. “He did.”

You feel like you’re about to throw up all the wonderful food you just ate. Chicken pot pie, beef tenderloin, roasted pork belly – it all feels like it is about to release from your throat and onto the wooden planked floor below.

“Oh dear,” Another hand covers your nose and mouth. Instead of blood you now smell cologne – sandalwood and amber. “Can you please hurry up, Fei? She looks like she’s about to collapse.”

*~*~*~*

“It’s a wonderful time to be alive,” Chrollo says as he puts the key into his car’s lock. It’s embedded with little multicolored jewels – he had commissioned some artist to customize it for him a week or so ago while Feitan went into your home on his own. “Or at least a wonderful night. Wouldn’t you say so?”

You’re in the passenger seat. You fell unconscious after Francis’ barely alive body got its fingers broken one by one. Some of his blood got on your skirt, but Chrollo is sure that the laundromat will fix that just like the workers will fix his clothes. As long as he pays them enough or threatens them enough. The latter would be more fun for Feitan but the former would let him be seen as a kind patron. Whichever way the coin flips.

He doesn’t blame you for fainting. If he hadn’t been born in Meteor City and hadn’t been raised in a constant state of fear and a constant battle for power over others, he would most likely do the same.

Feitan is in the back, silent. His hands now have gloves on them and are now brushing through your hair.

“Should we make the pit stop or go straight?” After the second question, the car’s lights turn on.

“Bed.”

The car starts moving into the barren street.

“Alright,” Chrollo chuckles a little at the insistence in Feitan’s tone. “We can get some of [First]’s clothes tomorrow then. She’ll probably sleep throughout the day.”

He doesn’t explain why because they both already know the reason. There is a short chain attached to the main bed. Depending on your behavior early on, it will either lengthen or become briefer.

There are also some syringes in the mirror vanity that Feitan asked him over and over to keep in case of an emergency. He doubts there will be any real threat where they would have to use them.

Feitan doesn’t. Feitan doesn’t doubt many things.

“Blankets too.”

Feitan doesn’t ask for many things either, much less demand them.

“Ah,” Chrollo makes the left turn as his fingers tap on the steering wheel. It’s a song you enjoy listening to on your avenue home. He knows you aren’t listening to it but that doesn’t matter right now. He’ll continue to do so until your mind associates the tune with small controlled adventures to and fro and not you having a life of your own. “All of them?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You don’t say that word very often,” He teases, looking at the flat glass mirror overhead.

“Hmph.”

Putting his hand on your thigh, Chrollo continues to drive while still glancing upward now and then.

*~*~*~*

Your heartbeat has calmed down. Feitan is now able to look at your face as you sleep.

You look at peace now. When he had placed you on the bed, your eyebrows furrowed for a moment – perhaps your subconscious being afraid – or disgusted – by him.

The flowery scent of your perfume vanished long ago and has been replaced by a stinging one. Feitan doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

Unlike the bodies of those who have died by his hands, Feitan places the white blanket on top of you gently like you would shatter if he was just a tad bit rougher.

Well… Body bags don’t really count as blankets, do they? They are meant to be ripped open and stuffed full of parts no wandering soul hopes to find.

Chrollo decides to break the silence. “After she adjusts a little, we’ll leave. Or you can stay if you want. I can carry her things on my own.”

Feitan turns to look at him.

“Pictures.”

Chrollo sighs. “Alright. But we’ll get Shal to edit them. No cutting.”

“...Tch. Fine. Silky too.” A thumb is pressed against your lips. After it is lifted, there is a light pink that covers its print.

“It’s a pretty color, isn’t it?” Chrollo muses, hanging his suit jacket on the edge of his sofa as he holds his book. “I’ll try to get the same shade for her when she runs out of it. Though I suspect it will be a while before then, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Feitan states, rubbing his thumb against your lips more. “She will always be pretty to me.”

“Never took you for the romantic type, Fei.”

“Hmph.”

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Text

Miguel’s Reaction to You Taking Him to Watch The Barbie Movie

Warnings: Mainly Just Miguel Being Defensive, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miguel Secretly Being a Barbie Girl, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel loves you. So, so much. And he would move Heaven and Earth to ensure even an ounce of your happiness.

However, he is 100% convinced that this excursion, this ‘girls’ day out’, will be anything more than a mind-numbing jaunt to the cinema.

At first.

He can’t deny that his heart sank and all enthusiasm he held for your date drained from his body the second you said the words ‘Barbie’ and ‘Movie’ in the same sentence.

But alas, he swallowed his dismay and took you out, plastering on a thin smile while he thought of a million and one things you could both be doing besides watching this masterclass in colour theory.

Sat beside you, packed in on either side by yourself and the many other attendees, waiting for the film to begin, Miguel can feel his patience trying to escape, trying to convince him to run, to get out while you still can!

Because of his heightened senses, he can hear every single word passing between the crowd. And with every mention of “Pink”, “Ryan Gosling,” and “Margot Robbie!” he can feel his mind numb.

The film starts. And for you, sending a watery smile your way, while your eyes sparkle with nostalgic wonder, he endures.

Five minutes in, Miguel is assaulted by pink. The very essence of the colour and all its vibrancy sends hot pink pain through his skull, his senses raw.

Quietly, he slips his sunglasses on.

This is going to be a long movie.

And, for the first quarter of the film, Miguel held that notion. Near and dear as if it were the antidote to the current situation.

Then, halfway in, the story started to intrigue him.

The colour scheme is…tolerable now. Even pleasing to the eye in some scenes.

And, dare he say, Miguel found the music to be catchy.

Two thirds in and he’s sat forward in his seat, hands clasped and his lips resting atop them. Not that you can see, but his eyes are blown wide, his mind arace with possible outcomes.

By the end of the film, Miguel’s holding your hand, forehead pressed to your shoulder, a single, silent tear illustrating his cheek.

“Miggy?” you say, leaning over to try and see his face. You recognised the singular jutting of his shoulders immediately. And, with a smile teetering on the edges of your lips, you try to console him.

“Mig–”

“S’nothing. M’fine,” His cut-off is blunt and non-negotiable. You drop the subject and escort him from the screening by his arm, the music bright as the credits roll. The dimness of the room gives way to light, gradually, slowly. The streak of Miguel’s tear glistens.

Miguel’s visceral reaction to Barbie’s movie doesn’t stop when you get home, by the way.

It actually gets worse.

If you’re lucky, you can catch Miguel reading articles on his phone, an unmistakably pink banner and the title of ‘Top 10 Things You Missed in The Barbie Movie!’ leaving little to the imagination.

Confronting him about it will lead you nowhere. Miguel will sooner shove his phone up his ass and pretend it never existed than admit that he is indeed curious as to what happened to that one background character who fell off a cliff in that one scene. Is she okay? Does anybody know where she is? Does her family know?

The fact that you find his curiosity (empathy) endearing, ‘Aww’ing at him and pinching his cheeks, makes him ever the more secretive.

Just about secretive enough to keep his volume to a minimum when he’s singing; tunes which you know are from the soundtrack.

“I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world~”

“Babe, what was th–”

“Nothing.” He’s blunt, but there is haste to his tone. Shame, even.

Occasionally, you’ll see him eyeing up Barbie-themed merch when you’re out shopping. But he never makes a move to purchase any. Not for himself, anyway.

He’ll buy you said merch – anything that catches your eye, your fancy. Even if it is a shirt ten sizes too big.

“Babe,” you say, pinching the shirt up at your shoulders, the fabric in enough excess to cause the neck to expose most of your chest. “I may be wrong here, but I’m fairly certain only you would be able to fit in this shirt.”

“Oh, well, guess I’ll just have to take it off your hands, then,” he says, his elation barely concealed behind his faux-disappointment. As if him doing so is a chore – that he’s doing you the favour by taking the garment whose shoulders could only fit his insane proportions.

Please just buy him the merch. Any shame he may feel upon initially receiving it will fade when he realises – when you reinforce – how his liking of Barbie is “Adorable, yes. But uplifting; it’s so relieving to see that you’ve found something you actually like that isn’t to do with the Spiderverse!”

“It’s actually called the–”

“Yeah, I don’t care, Babe.”

His favourite present you ever got him was a brightly-coloured exercise suit Barbie and Ken wore in the movie. He had to turn away, the fabric neon in his periphery, tears filling his eyes and balling in his throat when he saw that you’d bought a matching one.

“So we can fight crime in style!”

Miguel’s watery smile twitched, faltered. His Brow furrowed.

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” he said. “You don’t think my suit’s fashionable?”

The way your face drained was enough to spark laughter in Miguel’s chest. His only line of defence against the tears that pricked his throat, played him like an instrument, with you as the orchestra’s master.

While he can’t wear the suit out on superhero duty, he does keep the headband on beneath the suit.

A reminder of you when he’s throwing himself at every threat, every monster, every evil, the band a halo hugged to his skin; a slim substitute for your warm touch, your scent, but a reminder all the same.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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starberry-cupcake · 12 days ago

Text

I'm back!! and I have a bunch of chapters this time, so let's see how I do with this one.

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag

CHAPTER 13 (third house skull for coronabeer)

the sticky notes with little giraffes my sister had gifted me to read nona ran out so I had to get a couple packets of colorful stickies to continue

I bought two packs of 200 each and was like 'this for sure is gonna be more than enough'

I'm not sure of that now, after first use

I think nona might appreciate the colors (and the previous giraffes)

even if they're not tlt aesthetic

ANYWAY, we're leaving the meting with BOE in the not-so-secret-very-obvious-actually meeting place

nona apparently all along knew that el machetes was actually la machetes and her name is our lady of the passion aka pash

coronabeer asks her how she knows that and nona says it's the way she moves her bones

camilla asks coronabeer to let her see "her"

and insists, saying she can help "her"

by this point I'm, of course, thinking about judith

turns out, it is judith

camilla asks if judith is part of the negotiation, to which coronabeer responds that she is not, she's "their ticket out of there"

judith is in an awful state, btw

she's doing really badly, hooked to stuff, fed through tubes, looking like hell

nona feels bad for her

I feel really bad for her

what are you doing to that wet mouse

with no necromancers around, she's the only one who can help herself, and she can't always do it

let's remember coronabeer was a fake necromancer

and, apparently, varun is hurting her

nona states again that she doesn't like the sunglasses and, since camolive are busy, I'm gonna take note of that myself

camolive (which I had stated before that I thought was actually palmolive right now, but here it's still undetermined) asks for some space to work and help judith in this rudimentary medical setting they have her in

coronabeer is being very tsundere about it all

she's acting like she's not worried about the love of her life

but nona is like "I see you"

coronabeer clocks palmolive being himself and not camilla

(I CALLED IT)

palmolive says he hopes she didn't mess up judith on purpose to get him to show himself

you weren't subtle, my man

wearing sunglasses inside like bono

coronabeer says she won't tell anyone about palmolive and camilla sharing the body apartment

she tells palmolive about how camilla, judith and her bonded in summer camp detention with BOE

and how she was grieving for him but, after meeting harrow, she was fine, so she assumed camilla had always been right about the bones thing

the gall of thinking camilla can be wrong

judith can do half of the job of healing herself and needs palmolive to help her with the rest, while she comes in and out of making sense

nona reminds palmolive about the timer

coronabeer reminds judith where she is, but she sometimes gets fuzzy with it

judith tells them that if they say they have been coerced, she'll tell everyone that they didn't meant it

I think we're past that point, but hope is the last thing to lose, judith

coronabeer holds her hand while judith talks about how they're using her to go against her house and when coronabeer says she isn't making sense, she responds that coronabeer hasn't made sense in months

judith says her hands are too filthy to save camilla

nona thinks it's funny to think of someone having to save camilla

same, tbh

and then, she talks to nona

"Ninth, where is the mercy of the Tomb? Where is your sword in the coffin? Who are your masters now, and who do you master? Where is my cavalier, Reverend Daughter? Where is yours? Because I saw her in the waves —she was there in the gray water— I saw them all—they hurt me—where is my hunger? I eat and eat and eat without surcease, my green thing, my green-and-breathing thing..."

I think my tally of this being harrow's body might be correct

not so sure about gideon's soul now, though, if judith is out there seeing her?

in the river? maybe?

she says "in the gray water" so maybe it is the river

maybe she can access the river in her almost-dead state?

or perhaps the one she saw was martita and not gideon?

maybe she could see all of the ghosties, because she said "I saw them all"

how does she know about gideon's sword in the coffin, though?

AGAIN, PLEASE DON'T ANSWER ANY OF MY QUESTIONS

LET ME FAIL

after that, she screams, palmolive puts her to sleep and then he switches with camilla

he puts her/his hand on her shoulder, which is cute

coronabeer then understands that camolive switch places and doesn't like it much

she swears by yandere twin that she won't tell about this and reminds camilla that she has kept her secrets before

wonder what yandere twin is doing rn

swimming in the river maybe idk

kissing dr john's ass and all that

or maybe not, if dr reverend emperor john is out there taking his monologue show on the road with alleged harrow-not-harrow

camilla offers coronabeer an out from BOE but coronabeer is too deep into judith to leave her

she frames it in a tsundere way, like "if something happens to judith, how am I getting out of here?"

I see you coronabeer, you're doomed

you love that wet mouse

coronabeer tells camilla "you and I don't own our own souls"

to which camilla replies "My soul's mine. You give yourself away to anyone who doesn't want you."

coronabeer says she always had a soft spot for palmolive

to which camilla says "you were part of the lie"

I think this has to do with the sixth house situation

nona, trying to make things less tense, makes things even more tense, as a treat

she asks about the water and the green thing that judith mentioned

both camilla and coronabeer look at her as if she was a ghost

coronabeer says "The Captain didn't say anything when you came into the room. She only screamed."

??????????????????????????????????

I had to go back, because judith responded to things palmolive and coronabeer said

after nona touches palmolive's arm and reminds him of the timer, judith asks where she is and coronabeer answers

they have a back and forth there

coronabeer even says she must have some eight in her blood because of the melodrama

she talks about the green thing and the water right after her and coronabeer where having a back and forth on whether they had or hadn't lived

and after she talks to nona/harrow, is when palmolive makes her sleep

so, at which point was this?????

if this is some sixth sense situation, coronabeer and palmolive shouldn't have been able to answer things judith said

and coronabeer very much did

I'm gonna trust they're not gaslighting nona and that something went on here

maybe they meant the screaming was only in the part where judith talks to nona specifically

we'll see

DON'T TELL ME

CHAPTER 14 (we've got the tomb back!)

coronabeer offers to drop nona at school and nona is so excited about it that she doesn't even consider the dangers of jumping out of the van and leaving camilla and pyrrha there

she thinks it's a selfish thing that won't have dangerous consequences because they have a code for when dangerous consequences are imminent

still, gotta put a child barrier on this one

they get spare masks and coronabeer offers nona her hood

coronabeer says that she has as much right to nona as camilla does and that nona isn't that much younger than camilla is, anyway

when nona says that she loves camilla, coronabeer asks if she loves her romantically

not in those adult words I just used, mind you, she says "Do you love love Camilla? In-love-with Camilla?"

use your grown up words, coronabeer

nona, on the other hand, feels out of her depth when spoken to like an adult

so she changes subject, telling coronabeer that camilla isn't coronabeer's type

coronabeer wants to talk about herself, which is a subject she's very passionate about

but it backfires like crazy when nona calls her out on acting flirty without meaning towards we suffer, wanting camilla to hug her but not in a sexy way and being in love with "th—"

this is judith, we're talking about judith

coronabeer is upset at being dissected emotionally and nona says "You shouldn't ask me things if you don't want me to tell you the truth about them"

girllllllllllllllllllllllll

I want this as a welcome mat in my house

coronabeer getting owned like chad over here

third house annihilation, one by one

coronabeer thinks she should ask nona about whether she's pretty and ask yandere twin about emotional things, because that way she'd hear what she wants

this girl would have been a menace with social media

anyway, coronabeer and nona get to school and angel teacher is just coming in

angel teacher is looking worse every time the camera comes back to her

angel teacher is taken aback by coronabeer but doesn't let her meet nona's gang because she's carrying a gun

nona is very disappointed at this turn of events

coronabeer says she's camilla's partner and angel teacher is again surprised at this

nona thinks coronabeer is nearly pretty enough for camilla

nobody is perfect enough for camilla, though

also, over my dead body, coronabeer

go chase your wet mouse, thank you very much

could I beat her in a fight? no, but could make a very compelling power point presentation? absolutely

boobs, hair and a sword vs boobs, hair and a solid dissertation

nona thinks coronabeer should have said nona was dating her instead, because camilla doesn't need the street cred as much as she does

coronabeer says she knows what nona is, even if they refuse to see it, and that she envies nona more than anyone in the universe

I mean, yeah, childish wonder and relentless will to believe in the best of people sounds great right about now

nona is steven universe

CHAPTER 15 (seventh house skull again!!!!! very sus!!!!)

everyone's kind of fighting about having seen coronabeer and sriracha girlie was worried for nona's safety

nona asks her not to be sad if something happens to her

sriracha girle also has the angel teacher update, says she was dropped off by a car this time

sriracha girlie considers this an additional protection towards her, to which nona asks why is angel teacher so special

great question, imo

apparently, everyone but nona, sriracha girlie and kevin are leaving for lunch

main teacher is very confused about this until sriracha girlie informs her that there's gonna be a broadcast

main teacher asks angel teacher about it

(angel teacher's name is apparently aim)

(as in aim for the door if they come for you, angel teacher)

main teacher asks if they're gonna start arrests and they decide to move the conversation to another location, away from the kids

sriracha girlie knows more than they do, though, but ok

we need to protect kevin from this

we love kevin

nona is weird with food again, this time eats only ice cubes and a pencil

at this point, I'm realizing it isn't just me thinking she's particular with food, she indeed is particular with food and also very weird about it

she behaves exactly like our puppy who eats what she shouldn't and we have to be looking at her with 26 eyes because she hunts for snails and pieces of wood

nona asks sriracha girlie what the broadcast is about

as you might have guessed, it's about necromancers

nona tells sriracha girlie that she knows she's been at the park at night and sriracha girlie tells her not to go there, ever

she confirms that the "you-know-what" were killed

says that someone high up took them before they burned, with a shot to the head

sriracha girlie says she goes with two others, nona guesses it's honesty and born in the morning

nona says "Born in the Morning" and sriracha girlie corrects her and says "You mean Born in the Morning"

I don't see how that's different? neither does nona?

???????????

hope this is just a nona pronunciation thing I can't get in written form and not yet another ortus vs gideon thing, I can't take another one of those

it's written exactly the same, once without and once with emphasis

nona asks sriracha girlie if she's with BOE but sriracha girlie also hates them

she calls them traitors but also says they sell them guns

which...idk what to think of that

I mean, I understand the traitors bit, since they're currently in dialogue with necromancers

but selling guns to civilians is definitely A Move from BOE

sriracha girlie talks about how her family was killed and how she trains with a sword because she doesn't want to be caught off guard ever again like her brother was

while also saying that she wishes nona was her sister

god, this is gonna end terribly

sriracha girlie, I don't know about your future

this looks bad

so, nona tells sriracha girlie "her Secret"

????????????????????

sriracha girlie recommends her a clinic where angel teacher works

nona asks her not to tell anyone about it because she's the only one who knows

I assume this Secret isn't that she's potentially one of two people connected with the Ninth because sriracha girlie hasn't stabbed her yet

right in front of kevin's salad

we love kevin

I also don't think it's about her having memory loss, because pyrrha, camilla and the entire BOE know that, and nona says sriracha girlie is the only one who knows

unless she meant only one except for her people

but it wouldn't make sense for her to just say "Secret" and not elaborate, if that was the case??? in her recount of events????

also, why does she need a clinic for it????

nona can heal herself, she can't have a Secret related to anything physically damaging that she'd need a clinic for

the only thing she's got going on is memory loss and being potentially one of two people

neither of which are things nobody else knows about but sriracha girlie and nona

she's not having a baby or having a surprise degenerative disease

am I making too much of a mess out of something obvious?

DON'T TELL ME

I feel like this book is a lot more difficult to grasp than the other two, tbh, when it should be the opposite, because now I know things

it's the first time in which I know supposedly more than the protagonist, but it's the hardest one

it feels so much more complicated to me and makes me feel so stupid so often

in any case, nona falls asleep

none of this sounds like it's gonna be a great time for either of these two

and I don't think trusting someone who has a vendetta against your people is a good idea, nona

if push comes to shove, you're gonna go against each other, and what are we gonna do then???

JOHN 8:1

"but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives."

this is the part in which jesus does the famous "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her"

alleged harrow says her body is a mystery to her and that she'd collapse and fall asleep where she fell and wake wherever dr reverend emperor john put her

alleged!harrow which could be ice cube barbie, for all I know

WAIT

should I put ice cube barbie as another potential occupant of harrow's body as nona?

was there a third option nobody thought of because nobody knew about ice cube barbie but harrow and gideon?

could nona be ice cube barbie without memory?

could they have switched when book 2 ended inside harrow in the vacant tomb?

dr reverend emperor john god-forbid is, like I said, taking his monologue on the road

last time we met up with the monologue, lyctor team had decided to stream the necromancy stuff to put it out in the open

like anyone who has ever depended on social media to do a job knows, when you're trying to make something take off, it doesn't happen

it doesn't matter how good the content is, the algorithm is awful everywhere

so they got like 5 viewers

until one of the people the invited live turned out to be a flat earther and THEN it picked up

after that, people came in for him to heal them and he says he enjoyed playing jesus

he said the government said "this is a cult"

WHICH, YOU KNOW

SOUNDS VERY CORRECT

he says M brought in a nun, gonna assume M is mercygirl and the nun might be anastasia?? anastasia sounds like she was a nun, I mean, look at the ninth

"You've got two scientists and an engineer and a nun and a lawyer and a banker and a cop and an artist. That's not a defence force, that's a cop and six different kinds of nerd."

new meme format just dropped

sorry but I need to try it out

(should I post that separately, I wonder)

it really is a great meme format, dr john, I'll give you that

thank you for your minuscule service

"A and M were making black jokes about taking volunteers from the crowd for the skeleton army. One day we ran out of time before those jokes could become suggestions."

not to bring in star trek again but

so, dr reverend emperor john kills every animal in a big ass radius to build a bone wall around them

he, of course, has a lot of excuses for it, as he usually does

I have another data meme for that, but I'll save it for another time

"They treated us like we'd done some kind of huge crime."

"I wanted to talk about you"

again here with the "you" which clearly cannot be harrow

at least not how we know her

alleged!harrow not!harrow says "I still love you" and he says "that's a good one" and cries

I don't feel bad about him crying one little bit

AND THAT'S ALL!!! sorry that this one is so long, I wanted to make up for lost time T_T

#luly reacts to tlt #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #long post #gif cw

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spiritedstars · 5 days ago

Text

Spirit Meets the Bones XL [40]

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: physical abuse/triggering language. Author’s Note: Only the epilogue remains. Thank you for reading :)

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my cheerleader <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @gwynberdara / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch / @moonfawnx / @temperedink / @batboyslutt / @rcarbo1 /

Find it all here.

The High Lord choked and sputtered, trying and failing to spit out the liquid. But with Eris’s blade still buried in him, and Eris’s fist digging into his skull, the High Lord was held in place and the room seemed to hold its breath as his father’s fire weakened and then disappeared entirely.

A breath and then another as they watched the High Lord cough up blood, steam the only evidence that fire had run through his veins.

And it was now, that Eris could see the flicker of uncertainty in his father’s gaze. The very slight panic.

“Look at you now, High Lord,” Eris spat. “On the same power scale as a lowly human.”

The taunt made Beron’s eyes flash and he staggered back, trying to throw Eris off, swinging blindly but, nothing would get through to Eris now.

His entire body was vibrating and he felt a crazed smirk on his face. Even with his blade in his father’s back, the High Lord was swinging and Eris was eager to meet him hit for hit.

“Your crown is falling, father.” Eris breathed and slammed his fist of fire into the High Lord’s face. “It’s about time I caught it.”

No one stopped him. No one interfered as Eris battered every inch of his father with his magic and fists. Swing after swing. Hit after hit.

This was personal.

This was retribution and revenge. This was a score that had long needed to be settled and Eris was a volcano that erupted. Every terrible memory he had of his father – of his family being chipped away and pulled apart replayed in his mind.

He swung for the little boy he had once been. The little boy who had wished for a day when his father’s hand had been soft. Who had craved a world where his mother didn’t die a thousand deaths a day. Where the sounds of a whip didn’t haunt him. Where he didn’t have to hear his baby brothers suffer for breathing the wrong way.

He swung for the life he had lost, for the time that had passed, that had left him with a broken back, carrying this mountain of a weight.

Eris’s grin was maniacal as the sound of bone crunching became a symphony to his ears, the feeling of his father’s blood coating his knuckles a soothing balm, his father sinking to his knees, weak, as broken as he had made Eris feel, his fist collided again and again and again. Nothing would stop him. He would let his magic consume him as long as it meant he could end his father here. As long as he could make this fucker feel a drop of what he had made them feel. Eris would burn himself to a crisp to end this. He wouldn’t stop until —

“Eris.”

That voice.

The only voice that could say his name like that. That could pull him out of anything.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he knew it could only be the one person who would break through his flames, his flames that would burn anyone but her.

And the scene felt familiar as he paused, a hand gripping his father’s collar, his other fist posed to slam into the bastard’s face again. But he paused, breathing hard, and glanced over his shoulder to find his Iris standing by him.

Without using words, her expression said all that he needed to know, Don’t lose yourself now. This is not how it’ll end.

His gaze returned to his father’s face, bloodied, barely recognizable. He wanted to do more. He wanted to unleash his rage and pain more – return it to the bastard tenfolds. This was nothing.

But Eris also knew this vengeance wasn’t his alone. With his expression full of disgust, Eris spat at his father’s feet then released his his body, leaning to yank his sword out, relishing in the wet sound of the blade leaving the High Lord’s body and the grunt of pain.

Eris’s gaze landed on his mother. “Put him in his favorite place.”

Lady Enya had been waiting. The magic she had been taught to fear, the same magic he had smothered out of her, was now vibrating through her skin. Like a beam of light, her fire wrapped itself around the High Lord and slammed his body into the throne he had stepped on his family to keep.

Finn didn’t wait for a signal – twin daggers in hand, he leaped onto the dias and slammed a blade in each of his father’s arms, locking him in the throne. “This – this is for all the nightmares, you motherfucker.”

Emil’s bow and arrow seemed to appear out of thin air as he docked an arrow, then another firing both in succession, in each of his father’s legs. “May your pain follow you into the pits of the hell you’ll rot in.”

Izak’s steps thundered as he swung and then rushed forward to bury his sword in his father’s stomach. “I look forward to pissing on your corpse, you piece of shit.”

And Lucien – Eris watched as Lucien walked up to the High Lord’s bleeding body and with an expression of no remorse – buried his blade right into his father’s heart. “This is for Jesminda. I never forgave and I never forgot.”

Eris’s body shook as he watched his father’s whole being tremble, the attacks catching up all at once as the High Lord shook pitifully. He glanced at Iris once and she lifted her chin, a nod of encouragement that made Eris reach for the Made dagger on his side.

He’d been holding on to the blade, saving it for just this moment.

He spat blood as he made his way to the dias, his brothers stepping back as he reached it. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Eris had been on his knees here, locked in by his father’s magic.

Eris stood before Beron, bringing the Made dagger to his throat and the High Lord let out a ragged breath.

“Know that you did this to yourself and males like you will always be your own downfall,” Eris said, his voice like venom. “Rot in hell, father.”

Eris buried the blade in the High Lord’s throat and Beron could do nothing but choke – on his blood, his unspoken words, his rage. Eris stepped back, the garbling of his father’s life leaving his body like a melody to his ears.

He refused to look away from the High Lord’s struggling body as he allowed his mother to step around him, slowly climbing the dias until she stood in all her fiery glory in front of the male she hated most.

“You will die as you lived,” she began, and though her voice was quiet, it carried across the hall, which still held its breath. “A foolish male with misplaced arrogance, suffering the wrath of your cruelty. You will be missed by no one.”

“E-Enya –” Beron gasped and Eris’s fists clenched but his mother didn’t shift.

“You no longer have the privilege of saying my name.” she continued. “May pain follow you in every lifetime, you bastard.”

And the Lady of Autumn brought her hands together, eyes locked on Beron, and unleashed a burst of her flames straight into her husband, setting fire to the throne and the male locked in it.

With no magic to protect him, the High Lord’s body burned, his screams echoing in the halls he had haunted for as long as they could all remember. The fire that he had always used as a weapon, that had scorched everything for him, was now the very thing eating away at him.

The brothers stood and watched, bleeding and beaten, and yet could no one move away from this scene. Lady Enya took one step back and when the High Lord’s screams finally died down, she released her magic.

Eris swallowed hard at the sight of what was left of his father. Most of his body was gone and the bastard still wheezed. His body remained pinned by his son's weapons, half of Beron's face ravaged by the fire, yet his one brown eye fixated on Eris.

Eris’s expression was set, his footsteps firm as he moved to the dias. He would not be swayed by the sight and forced himself to feel nothing for his father. Not even an ounce of pity as he stood before the ruined throne, the crown meant to be his gleaming, unscathed upon what remained of his father’s head.

He didn’t let the sight of the decaying body deter him. The end was coming closer with every wheezed breath of the dying High Lord.

Eris only took another step closer, and with his fist aflame, he gripped the crown off his father’s head, careful not to touch the High Lord himself whose breaths had started to come in quicker, as though he was fighting against the final moments of his miserable life.

But Eris paid him no mind and turned back to face the room.

The fighting had ceased, and all who remained stood facing him, watching as the current High Lord took his final breaths, the ending of the blood duel clear. He saw that his sentries had flooded the room, holding down the traitors. His hounds were scattered among the bodies, teeth bared as they waited for his command. He saw his remaining General, Serphan, alongside Henry Adler and the rest of his rebels.

Forcing himself to take another breath, his eyes found his family, scanning his brothers and mother and finally, his gaze landed on the most important person in the room.

His wife.

His Iris.

Standing there, looking as exhausted as he felt, battered and smeared with blood as he knew he was but she had been there. Through this whole ordeal, she had been here. And they had both made it.

The thought slammed into him so suddenly and Eris sucked in a breath.

They had made it.

And it was like Iris could see the thought on his face because her lip trembled and she gave him that same encouraging nod that had spurred him through this fight.

They had made it and the Autumn Court would be given the chance to bloom in different hands.

And it was like the magic of the court heard his thoughts. He felt the ground beneath him thump.

Glancing one final time at the nightmare of a father that had plagued his life, he didn’t break his gaze as the High Lord took a final breath and Eris fought the feeling of pity. For the male who had lost it all and would die hated. Who would be mourned by no one.

He didn’t want to allow the feeling and yet, his father was the one who didn’t acknowledge emotions – who beat them out of his sons. And Eris was not his father.

So he allowed the pity he felt to be fleeting. Only for a moment, as a reminder of what would become of those who succumbed to the dark.

Eris waited, as they all did, as time stood still. No one dared to move.

One final breath and then – he felt it. A slight shift in the very air that surrounded them.

His father…was finally dead.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court was gone.

Eris’s grip tightened on his father’s crown as he turned to face the room once more, a deafening silence surrounding them. He looked to his family – to his wife.

He glanced at the people of his court now watching him with bated breath and his gaze dropped to the gleaming gold in his hand before holding it up, his fist still aflame.

Eris swallowed, his mouth bone dry as he spoke, calmly, in a quiet tone that vibrated throughout the room, “I take this crown by blood and only by blood will I abandon it.”

A breath – a heartbeat and Eris who was as ready as he’d ever been for the title he had coveted, felt the ground beneath his feet thump again. He felt it in his head. In his heart. He felt his entire body begin to beat in time with a magic they couldn’t see – a sacred power he could sense flooding the earth beneath him, traveling at the speed of light and —

A shuddered breath slipped from the Crown Prince’s lips as the ancient magic of the Autumn Court line slammed into him.

He gasped as the glorious magic of his court rushed through him and Eris felt his body become weightless. He was everything and nothing all at once as the magic filled his veins, his very blood singing at the sensation of power rushing through him.

He was the Autumn Court – the High Lord who would bring a new dawn. He would change it for the better. He would be good and just and someone who cared. He would be the High Lord his people needed.

The High Lord his family had needed. A leader he had needed.

And the magic seemed to hear his thoughts as fire burst out of him, engulfing him and Eris felt himself leave the ground, his body floating as flames licked every inch of him and buzzed beneath his skin.

The Autumn Court would be reborn and like a phoenix that rose from the ashes, so would this court and it would be his hand that led the way.

Wings of flame burst out of his back and a small sound of surprise slipped from Eris’s lips as the crown in his head burned hot. He released it and before his eyes, the crown shifted then changed shape – no longer resembling the crown his father had worn.

No, this royal adornment was his, made for him and he would carry the weight of this court in his crown.

Slowly, the magic that had lifted him released him to the ground and he stood aflame, the entire court watching as the ancient magic settled the newly formed crown on his head.

Eris no longer had power. He was power.

Power that would serve. Power that would protect. Power that would lead.

And power that would give them all a fighting chance against anything that was to come.

All the exhaustion he had felt, his well of power that had been depleted – all of it was gone. Replaced with the magic that he had been born for. He felt renewed. Reborn. As the thought crossed his mind, his eyes found his light that had helped guide him to the end of the road.

Iris stood next to his mother, her expression filled with awe and Eris wanted nothing more than to run to her. He wanted her in his arms where he could breathe her in and kiss her senseless but the ancient magic hadn’t fully released him yet and as Eris took him in the room around him, he knew his next step.

He straightened and addressed the room. “Our court’s magic has chosen me as your new High Lord and by this magic that I have been blessed with, I vow myself to this land and its people. I ask you all to follow as I lead.”

Without a second of hesitation, his brothers sank to their knees one by one, each thumping a fist against their chests. He watched as his sentries and the rebels who believed his vow for change followed, pledging themselves to their new High Lord.

A wave of mixed emotions unfurled in his chest as his mother gave him a warm smile and bowed her head to her son and finally, Iris stood alone, glancing at him with such pride that it made him want to vomit.

She moved closer to him and when she was a few feet away, Iris bowed with a hand to her chest.

And Eris couldn’t take another moment where he didn’t touch her. He closed the distance between them and gently lifted her chin, aware of all the eyes and ears around them.

“Never you,” he whispered and as Iris slowly stood, she gave him a dazzling smile that had his chest tightening. And what a pleasant surprise for him to find nothing but pure joy coursing through his veins as he looked at her. A feeling he wasn’t particularly familiar with and yet, expected nothing less every time he glanced at his mate.

They now had a lifetime to find more of it.

Taking his hand in hers, Iris shifted so she stood by his side as he faced the crowd. Eris gestured with his hand for his people to raise and as he moved, the flames from the ancient magic dimmed but did not extinguish as he addressed his court.

“Many changes will unfold in the days to come and there is much work to be done.” he began, his gaze sweeping the hall as he licked his lips. “I trust I can count on your cooperation and continue earning your loyalty.” He allowed the weight of his words to settle before his tone hardened, for everything spoken here would be echoed throughout the land. “And those who decide to foolishly cling to the old way will find out just how swiftly the Vanserra line will be thrilled to eradicate them.”

At the threat, the room stilled once again. Eris had fulfilled this vow many times as the Crown Prince. As High Lord, the consequences of this promise would be far greater.

It was Finn who spoke first. His second brother grinned, the fresh scar their father had given him adding to the menace in his expression as he thumped his fist to his chest again, and exclaimed loudly, “To the High Lord. May he live long and prosper with our court.”

The hall echoed the words and Eris was grateful for the flames hiding the shaking in his legs, bowing his head as graciously as he had been taught.

As he glanced around the room at the noise – the cheers, Eris took a shaky breath. This was it.

His father was dead. They were all, by some incredible miracle, alive. And quite suddenly, Eris was overwhelmed. As much as he had longed for this moment, he hadn’t allowed himself to believe in it. He hadn’t let himself get too hopeful. His eyes swept the room again and he was filled with a sense of relief so vast, it almost made him stumble.

There was much to be done. Find that troublesome daemati, free Mikel, clear out the traitors –

And though Eris hadn’t allowed himself to be too hopeful, he had not wanted to go into a new regime without a plan. He had his new processes ready to go – but gods he could barely believe it. Barely breathe as the magic of High Lord thumped through his veins. He soaked in his people before him, in the various states they were in. His people. His court.

He watched as Izak ran up to Lucien and crushed him in a hug that had Lucien clearly struggling for air, a surprised expression on his youngest brother’s face. He saw Emil and Finn exchange – of all things – a fist bump and then his eyes found his mother again, standing with silent tears streaming down her face, surveying the court she was no longer the lady of.

She met Eris’s gaze and smiled. “I am so very proud of you, my son.” she said softly. “I can’t wait to see what you do.”

A warmth that had nothing to do with his flames spread across his body, a small smile on his face. “And I look forward to showing you,” he said then nodded towards Lucien. “But I do believe there is someone very eager to see you and your escort is already here.”

His mother flushed lightly, a small smile blooming on her face. “So quick to ship me off.” she teased, wiping at her face. As though they weren’t all aware of how desperately she had wanted to leave this prison. Even if her jailer was no longer here to haunt her.

Eris couldn’t help his very tired chuckle. “I’d rather Day didn’t storm my court so soon after I took it.”

Lady Enya laughed softly, her eyes on Lucien as she said, “No, I’d rather we didn’t have that either.”

Eris could already hear Izak rapidly making plans to join Lucien and his mother to get to his wife but no sooner had he tried to tune into the conversation than he saw Emil run towards the hall entrance.

He had Cosette in his arms faster than Eris had blinked and his brother who never showed his hand was now cupping his lover’s face reverently, as tears streamed down her face.

Behind Cosette was Theo, his eyes scanning the room wildly, looking for Finn, who for once in his life, stood quietly, almost frozen to his spot. His brother had barely taken a step when Theo launched himself at Finn and it took his brother a few moments of shock before he finally wrapped his arms around the blacksmith and buried his face into his neck.

Eris felt himself about to collapse.

The vulnerability in the air seemed to stun everyone in the room, especially its new High Lord.

This was unprecedented. A territory no one in the Autumn Court had ever ventured into.

All these disgusting feelings surrounded them and Eris wondered what everyone in this fucked up court would do when they didn’t have to be as repressed as they had been.

But despite that, Eris knew what a lasting image this would leave. He knew this was what they had bled for. This was hard won and this joy was heavily made. He could lead them forward and show them how a blade could be of steel or silk and how both would help this court prosper.

He would make sure of it. And as he watched everyone around him forget about their new High Lord for a moment to rejoice in this new sense of freedom, he couldn’t stop himself from blinking rapidly, his throat suddenly tight –

“This is real, right?” he rasped to his other half, his mate, his love, and Iris squeezed his hand until he allowed himself to glance at her.

“It is real. He’s gone.” she reassured him and Eris allowed himself another breath.

“And everyone is –”

“Everyone is alive. We are alright.”

Eris shook his head almost helplessly as he soaked in the sight of her, as if seeing her for the first time. He had almost lost her. He could still see the blood and bruises that had adorned her body. His hands began to shake again. “But you –”

“I am here. I am alright. What you see is real.” Iris confirmed again, feeling her heart break at his expression, squeezing his hand once more.

“I’m –”

“The new High Lord.”

“Because –”

“Your father is dead. You all won the blood duel against him. You took the crown.” she calmly stated. “The Autumn court is yours.”

“The Autumn Court is mine.” he repeated faintly and Iris’s expression softened.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Wife.” he said and the word was so soft, so heartbreakingly tender that Iris felt herself the one about to crumble.

“Husband.” she whispered back and the bond between them sat there, bright, holding steady as they watched each other, the chaos around them going quiet.

“I’m going to throw up.” he whispered and Iris couldn’t help her teary-eyed laugh as she took his other hand and held both tightly in hers.

“No, you most certainly will not,” she warned. “You’ll have to wait until we’re alone to do that. For now…let yourself soak it in.”

“Soak it in?” he repeated, almost in a daze and Iris couldn’t help allowing her feelings to finally get the better of her as tears filled her eyes and began to fall.

“Eris.” she began in that tone that always made his wretch heart tremble. “I have never in my life been as terrified as I was watching you today. Nothing could have prepared me and if I spend the rest of my days never seeing you fight again, it’ll still be too soon.” she said and gave him that smile she only ever reserved for him, gently touching his face. “But you kept your promise. You were the one left standing and you were extraordinary.” Her lips trembled and Eris’s heart wanted to cave in on itself, especially when she added, “I am proud of you and proud to be next to you as you move forward.”

Eris’s hand brushed away her tears, the corner of his mouth lifting as every part of him deflated with ease at her presence, at her words. “I told you, nothing would hold my body from crawling back to you and I am grateful to have you with me.” he murmured, nuzzling into her hand, pressing a kiss into it. “My wife. My friend. My mate.”

Iris’s hand didn’t move from his cheek, the other resting on his chest as she finally, finally said the words she’d been holding onto for him. “Eris,” she began and when his expression shifted, Iris knew he was bracing himself for her next words. The ones he had wanted to come back to. “I love you. I love you and I am proud of you and honored to be here with you,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his. “You are my friend, my husband, and my home. With everything that I am and will ever be, I love you.”

He let the words wash over him and for the first time in a long time, Eris felt his lips tremble, his face heating, the words he had craved to hear from her echoing through his bones.

She loved him and gods, did he love her. Eris yearned for nothing more than to be standing here, with her hands touching him, her words warming him, and for the rest of the world to fade away.

He wanted to kiss her senselessly. Eris wanted nothing more than to sink into his wife and everything else be damned. He wanted to taste her and love her – to cherish her with everything he had. But not here. Not now.

When he kissed his wife, he needed them to be alone. Because the moment Eris’s lips touched hers, he would shirk all his duties and nothing would pull him away. It would be filthy, just the way he liked it.

As if she heard his thoughts, Iris’s face flushed beautifully. “Scoundrel.”

Chuckling, Eris allowed himself to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes to do as she suggested – soak it all in. “Careful wife, you sound like like you’re obsessed with me.”

Iris smiled, her hands clinging to the front of his tunic. “How embarrassing, I think you found me out.”

There was so much to be done. So many tasks to be handled. His mind was already creating list upon list of things to be managed. The next few weeks – months would be full of trials and for anyone else this might seem daunting but for Eris, it was all he ever wanted.

He had everything he had ever needed. He could handle anything that was to come.

They were all safe. They could have a moment of peace.

And with that thought, and after the many years of holding his breath, Eris met his mate’s smile and finally, released his first real sigh of relief.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris x oc #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar fanfiction #gfics #smtb chapters #I can't believe I finally posted this lol.#Technically the last chapter but the epilogue will be posted on friday and then...that will be it lol.#thank you all for reading.#Your comments/tags/reblogs make my day.#previously: lucienarcheron

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stsgooo · 1 year ago

Text

Love, Hate, Love.

✩࿐ summary: shoko reminisces.

warning(s): death, description of gore, angst, hurt no comfort, depression, bit of a character study(?), sad yuri. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): ieiri shoko/fem!gojo!reader.

a/n: this is kinda messy, but i love shoko and wanted to write something for her so :3 excuse anything that just

SHOKO STARED DOWN AT THE BODY OF ITADORI YUJI AND SHE FELT AN ARRAY OF EMOTIONS.

Disdain. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Exhaustion. Slight, slight sadness. Emptiness.

She didn’t know Itadori Yuji well. She had only met him for a few minutes when he was passed out and thrown onto one of the many medical bay beds by Gojo. Had patched up the rather small cuts and bruises, listened as the tall teacher described the King of Curses. Then sent him on his way.

Shoko hadn’t seen Itadori again until he was a corpse on her table.

It wasn’t that Shoko was sadden by this strange boy’s loss. Not entirely. She had no attachments or thoughts on the boy. Even when he had gotten everyone talking.

No, it was more about what Itadori Yuji represented in that moment.

Death was a common thing to happen within their world. Every day it was something new. Whether it be non-sorcerer, sorcerer, or a random animal, there was death to be following. Random at most, but there were few instances where it was intentional. Where the grapevine of gossip lead to something catastrophic. That it lead to the death of a young sorcerer with great potential.

Itadori hadn’t been the first to die. And he certainly wasn’t the last.

No. No, Shoko could recall her first vividly.

First, it had been Yomada Han in their first year. A third year that had been the last of his class. He’d run into a trouble, died messily. It’d been the first time she dissected a body. The first time she threw up over it too. It’d been the first time she had a cigarette too.

He’d been sent off to slaughter because of his hand in some clan mess. They thought it was justification enough for his murder death.

Dissecting and seeing death got a little easier from then. Shoko didn’t throw up anymore. She didn’t get angry or question why someone was on her slab. It was just what happened. She came to accept it.

The second had been… well, Gojo Y/N.

Shoko was still unclear on what exactly happened that day. She can just recall the dread and sickness that flushed over her when she saw her sprawled out on the cot. The way Gojo’s voice shook and pleaded with her— desperately trying to appease to Shoko’s good side as if she hadn’t wanted to save her. As if that’s the only thing Shoko wanted to do.

She’d seen a lot by then. Geto’s chest wide open, the insides of various students and curses, bloody limbs. But she had never seen something quite like that.

It was so surreal to have been speaking to someone a day before, smiling and laughing, sharing touches and secrets. Then have half of their brains scattered on your table the next.

Still and silent. The entire time she had been still and silent.

It was all so sickening.

Shoko hadn’t even been able to take a step towards her before she was throwing up the food she’d consumed in the last 24 hours. Tears flushing down her cheeks and bile rising in her throat. Brains trailed into the room and blood dripped from the end of the table onto the ground like a leaky faucet.

She was sick. She was sick. Shoko couldn’t stop being sick.

Then, she hadn’t been sure what to do as the white haired boy pleaded and cried. As his twin remained limp in his hold. Shoko had just watched with trembling lips, shaking hands pressed against her mouth.

She was dead before she was even found.

Shoko had concluded such during the autopsy. As she pushed tears away behind her protective goggles, cutting into her… her….(what? Her friend? Her friend.) As she cut into her friend’s bones and body. Gojo Y/N had been dead the moment the curse made contact and dealt the blow. The moment her skull cracked open and her brain turned to mush, she was gone.

At least, that’s what she reassured Gojo and Geto (and herself) with.

"They said it was a Grade Two," Gojo had said in a whisper, slumped in his seat, eyes uncharacteristically vacant as he stared at the ground. A hollowness that embraced them all was evident and clear. "They sent her with Nanami and Haibara because it was a Grade Two. So why are they both dead? Why is my sister dead? Why was it a fucking Local Deity? It was a Special Grade!"

Gojo had broken down then. A mess of rage full tears as he uttered on about how it was a mistake. One that costed his other half, since birth, to die. It was surreal to see the Strongest reduced to this. A bumbling mess. While he tried to piece together the puzzle of death. As he questioned the justification behind his sister’s death.

Shoko had wished she was afforded the same.

"Satoru," Geto had whispered, oddly blank and hollow himself. As he always had been back then. For a year he’d been a husk of who he once was. Body always tense, always frail and alert. Tired and withering. "You know how she is… was. She would’ve tried saving Haibara no matter the grade."

Haibara had been the third.

He held out longer than her. Given that she’d jumped in front of the curse to save him. Still, he’d been split in half. Nanami only retrieving his upper half with a pale face and hollow eyes. Still, he died.

What was the point of her dying if the one she saved died too?

Shoko wasn’t sure

And neither was Gojo.

"Yeah, and now there two dead sorcerers!" Gojo had shot from his chair. Fast enough that it bounced off the wall and made a horrible sound throughout the empty hallway. Shoko could recall the way she flinched back the moment she felt Gojo's technique fire up. A barrier between him and the people he cared about. An unrelenting and unchecked power that kept his rage contained. "W-Who even cares about Haibara—?"

"Satoru." Geto's tone had darkened considerably. His face shadowed under the flickering fluorescent lights. Any other time Shoko would've ran away. She would've made some comment about them being annoying trash, then stalk off with her in her shadow.

Not now. Not ever again.

Gojo's face crumbled, he grew desperate at Geto's call, "I... Why does it have to be her?" His eyes split to Shoko, narrowed and angry. "I thought you could do something."

Shoko, taken aback, had tensed. "Half of her brain—"

"You love her, right?" Gojo had continued, ruthlessly, "Right?"

A nod.

"Then you should've saved her!"

"Satoru!" Geto's hand wrapped around Gojo's arm, pulling him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm wrong?"

"Yes!"

"What the fuck do you know, Suguru?"

"What do I know? I know that you're..."

Their voices had faded away as Shoko stared endlessly at Gojo's previous spot. A well of tears collecting in her eyes as her hands buried deep within her pockets, clenched and shaking. Her technique was great, it was amazing. She'd done a lot even before she was 18.

So why couldn't she save her?

It stuck around with her for a long time. Well after Gojo had stomped off with tears flowing down his face. Well after Geto had conjured up the last bits of his fake kindness and apologized, tried to comfort Shoko. Well after she was alone in her dorm, holding onto the pieces of her that were suddenly all Shoko had left.

Death was sudden. It was the last curtain call. In their line of work, there was usually no time for goodbyes or last words. Much like this situation. It was inevitable and everyone would meet their making sooner or later— it was only a matter of when. It was better to accept you wouldn't get nice little bows in at the end of your life instead of constantly thinking about it.

Still, Shoko had wondered if there was a possibility she could've saved her. Wondered what she would've said in her last moments if she had the chance to say goodbye.

It was a bad downward spiral to commit herself to. Especially when she was alone in the dark, laying in her bed, staring endlessly at the ceiling above.

It was flat-out dangerous to wonder when she was wrist deep in her chest cavity.

Shoko was best for it. Allegedly. She was the best bet to tell them all exactly what happened to her technique and body as she died.

Originally, Shoko had been tempted to just write that Gojo Y/N lost her brain. What else was there to report? What else could her family possibly want to know?

But then bitter curiosity got the best of her. She needed to know everything. She didn't even care about what the Gojo's wanted to know. Shoko herself had to know if her soul— if the technique just... vanished.

She wasn't really sure what she expected when she stood over her in the morgue. How she would possibly cut her open and scoop out her organs as if she hadn't been speaking to her two days ago. Had been engaged in conversations. Blushing when their hands brushed against one another. As if she hadn't—

"Shoko, what do you want while we're gone?" She had stopped by before they were to be sent off, lightly sprinkled white H/C hair. Expression light, but serious, as it usually was. "Treats, shirt, another body for you to pick around in? Ew, by the way."

Usually, a girl wouldn't think anything of it. But Shoko, elbow deep within a curse, blushed like she was an elementary girl. "Sorry"

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smile small yet tender, "So? What does sweet, sweet Shoko-chan want as a souvenir?"

Shoko always had a hard time believing Y/N was a Gojo. Especially the same product line of Gojo Satoru, who was just... the opposite of her. This girl was intelligent and kind, beautiful and timid. Self-aware, selfless, and She wasn't anything like the boy she shared the womb with, or birthday, or name. A twin. Same blood, same name, everything them. But so distinctly different.

"I'm not really interested in anything." Shoko had replied with a tilt of her lips and a shrug of her shoulders, pulling away from the curse corpse to face her fully.

Y/N's eyebrows raised, "Really? You're not interested in a single thing?"

"Not really," She walked closer, "What did the others get?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not entirely sure—"

"Gojo-senpai!" Haibara had barreled around the corner, loud and grinning, his hair flopping as he bounced around. "Geto-senpai would like something sweet for himself and your brother!"

She had released a bitter sound, fond and amused, but bitter all the same, "Of course he'd be thinking about Satoru." She turned back to Shoko with a small tilt of her lips. "You sure you don't want anything, Shoko?"

Shoko wondered if things would be different if she said anything else than what she had. If she asked for some ridiculous sweet or a stupid shirt, would things have ended differently? If she kept her around for a little longer, would someone realize the misclassification of the curse? Could Shoko have done something?

Who knows. All she said was, "Just come back. That's enough for me."

Her face had scrunched up, a light laugh leaving her as she turned, waving a hand, "Just for you, Shoko! See you around."

It wasn't anything special. Her goodbye had been a teasing promise. A nonchalant wave. Nothing special. Another day. It wasn't anything special.

So why did it have to be the last?

The autopsy ended abruptly. As Shoko held onto a trash bin, sobbing and throwing up the little food she had in the past two days, Yaga put it in the hands of someone much older. Much more detatched.

Gojo Y/N had died almost instantly. Before she could even activate her technique.

That sparked up a chatter at her funeral.

If the affair wasn't sickening and horribly in the first place, the conversation that took place most certainly was.

The people that attended outside of Shoko and Geto where just some old clan members either from the "Big Three" or some lowly ones. They all kind of just loitered around as they ate food and conversated. Nothing exciting, nothing entirely too telling of their grief either.

She couldn't ever recall Gojo or Y/N talking much about the other clans. If only to drag them through the mud, express their great distaste, or general displeasure. Shoko just knew that an occasion like this, filled with old people and terribly traditional things, was something that the girl nor her brother wanted. She knew that they all like the Gojo's about as much as the Gojo's liked them. Which was not very much.

It was only as Shoko was using the bathroom that she overheard what they truly thought.

"I heard that she didn't even have the time to activate her technique before it killed her."

"It's not like her technique would've done much against a Special Grade anyway. The Six Eyes got all the potential. If anything, that boy that got killed alongside her had more skill."

"I thought she had some type of power?"

"That's just a lie the family put out to calm their egos. They gave birth to the Six Eyes while giving birth to a useless girl right after."

"Poor thing."

"I wouldn't worry. The girl was a bit airheaded, she probably didn't even know she was boring."

It took everything in Shoko not to snap. To not ruin their gossip with her petulant cries of anger. It was just wrong. What they thought of her. There's never been something so wrong.

Y/n was different and amazing, magnificent and interesting. She was strong in ways that Gojo wasn't. She could hold her own. She was intelligent on things outside of jujutsu just as much as she was in things regarding jujutsu. Shoko wasn't sure where they got their information but it was wrong. It'd always been wrong.

Seven days later, Geto killed an entire village.

Thought about her and Haibara the whole time. The mountain of bodies that came with being a sorcerer. Killed 112 people just because he was angry and sad. At least, that's what Geto had said to her.

Shoko wished she could've destroy a whole village in her grief.

Those are all the things Shoko thought as she slips on her gloves, glancing back at where Gojo and Ijichi were standing in the corner.

"Hey, you guys, I'm gonna get started," Shoko says flatly, with her usual detachment. It'd been years since she felt uncomfortable or disgusted with this job. Just a normal routine now. "You gonna just sit there and watch?"

She snaps her glove into place at the same time Ijichi's face visibly pales and his jaw drops, Gojo's own face screwing up into something akin to shock. She was about to ask what was wrong, but—

"Whoa! Full frontal!"

Shoko whirls around to look at Itadori Yuji who looks, shockingly, fine.

Well, Shoko's never had someone come back to life in her morgue before. (No matter how much she's begged.)

She tugs down her mask, staring at the boy with disappointment, "Well, this is too bad."

Itadori blinks, a faint blush on his cheeks, "Um... who are you?"

"Yuji!" Gojo stands, a beaming grin on his lips as he walks forward, hand extended. "Welcome back!"

The teen lets out a loud laugh, clapping his hand against his teacher's for a loud slap that almost makes Shoko wince.

"I'm back!" Itadori cheers, smiling back.

"You sure are!" Gojo then tucks his hands into his jacket, turning around to face Shoko and Ijichi. "Hey, can I speak to you outside for a minute? Ijichi, get Yuji something to change into."

"O-Of course, Gojo-san!"

Shoko doesn't even dignify Gojo a response, lazily making her way out of the room with bored eyes. There went an afternoon of digging through Sukuna's vessel's organs and finding out what made him so different from the others. What allowed him to inhabit the King of Curses while so many others had died trying. It would make for perfect research. Fun and interesting.

But the kid just had to wake up. From death.

(She tired to ignore how many times she'd imagined her waking up on her table too.)

"Ugh, now I have to go back and change the report." Shoko utters bitterly once the two adults are outside.

"No, leave it as is." Shoko snaps her eyes to Gojo, who keeps his carefree smile on his face. "Before he's targeted again, I'd like to at least give Yuji some basic training. Please leave him listed as deceased in the report."

Shoko frowns, tucking her hands into her pockets, "Then Yuji will have to go into hiding for good."

"Nah, I'll have him ready in time for the Goodwill Event."

The Goodwill Event. Now, that was something she wasn't entirely concerned with. Something she didn't think Gojo was either.

"Why?" Shoko utters.

"Easy. I refuse to keep that kid from losing the best years of his life. Not just him, but everyone."

The way he says it is tender and true. Said with his heart and his soul. Despite how childish Gojo has always been, he's been terribly aware of when kids should be kids. Something he'd been keenly aware of when he was a kid himself.

Gojo suddenly tilts his head, smile distant and incredibly sad, "Not to mention... he kind of reminds me of Y/N, y'know?"

Shoko's steps falter. They've never really engaged in a conversation about her before. Never really a chance or reason to. Shoko figured they always had their own thoughts and opinions about what happened. Their own grief pushed down to be ignored. Never addressed.

But he—

"Bit of an airhead, but he means well. Smart when it calls for it. Wants to do the right thing no matter if it's his life on the line." Gojo stops a few feet ahead of Shoko, back stiff and, unfortunately, unreadable to her. "I wonder what she'd think of all this."

Shoko draws in a breath, inching closer to lean on the railing overlooking the courtyard. "She'd be disgusted to learn you're a teacher."

"Disgusted?" Gojo repeats with a pout. Shoko just knows that his eyes are narrowed behind his blindfold. "And she wouldn't judge you for cheating your way through med school?"

"She would, but I wouldn't care." Shoko rolls her eyes.

Gojo presses his lips together, leaning on the railing next to her, "I don't think I would either... as long as she was here."

Shoko tenses and her eyes grow distant as she watches leaves twirl and fall in the distance. Her ears begin to ring and she thinks, for one single moment, that Gojo is right. If she just had her right next to her. Breathing, talking— living. Then Shoko might be one of the happiest people alive. She wouldn't care about any of this. She wouldn't worry about anyone leaving or dying. She would just—

What was the point of think about something not possible?

11 years. They needed to let go already.

"I'll make sure Itadori is, in all the official ways, dead." Shoko pushes away from the railing and begins to make her way back to her office (ignoring the soft snort Gojo gave). "Make sure he doesn't die again before you can train him."

"I'll do my absolute best."

11 years. What's a few more minutes with her memory.

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