#so it makes the way that his life is treated like some cosmic joke a bit harder to swallow

[realian]

I recall your post on some cartoons just being meanspirited for the heck of it. Well I don't want to be controversial but IZ sometimes veered into that, namely in how Dib was treated even when he was trying to save the world. I especially hated some of the comics like the Gargantis Array, it really felt like Dib was flanderized into a character the writers love torturing and bullying.

why is this ask worded like a gotcha?

[tonycries]

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 2] - G.S.

Synopsis. Just two weeks ago you could barely stand him - so, really, why is your heart beating so loud? Surely, it’s just the way he’s got you pushed against the wall, face stuffed in your cunt - right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight angst + comfort, vibrators, banter about physics, cunnilingus, Yaga is tired, oral sex (male + female), college! AU, both reader and Satoru do some growing up, overstimulation, super sappy actually, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.

Word count. 10.5k

A/N. Passed out five times, here’s Part 2 (joke). PART 1 HERE. Art by @_3aem on X.

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers, if you will. 

Which is probably why, for someone who didn’t know the definition of shutting the fuck up, he sure was intent on staying quiet about whatever this was.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks, 5 days and 17 hours since you and Satoru had entered this weird limbo, and there still wasn’t a peep out of the man about what the two of you are to each other.

Friends? Acquaintances? A booty call that he happens to argue way too much with? You’d smack that pretty nose of his if that was the case - as soon as you admittedly stopped being a pussy yourself…

But, semantics.

And right now, his fingers intertwined with yours as he practically drags you through the aquarium ticket counter - you couldn’t help but wonder - was this a date?

Not exactly lovers, but definitely more than friends, a tense understanding crackling in the air between you two. Something prickly and jittery that pooled in your stomach and made your head spin. 

And as someone used to having the answers to everything, it bothered you that you didn’t have the one to this. 

You haven’t been to an aquarium since you were a kid - quickly having outgrown it at the ripe age of seven. So, really, it made sense that the 6’3 manchild beside you insisted it was the perfect spot to celebrate finishing your assignment.

“That damn quantum entanglement hell.” you’d called it - and ranted about all the way inside - more so to fill the charged silence than anything. His fingers still tight around yours despite the dissipating crowd, burning into your skin.

“You know for someone who loves the elegance of science, you’re an extra hardass about quantum entanglement.” he titters in-between worried mutters of “doesn’t that old lady look like the mafia queenpin from the café.” as you two try to navigate your way through the aquarium.

You desperately cling onto his remark - a sense of normalcy you could finally breathe in.

“Well, Satoru, for someone who treats life like an improv show, you sure have a knack for avoiding scientific precision,” you retort, some strange part of you delighting in the way his fingers tighten around yours. 

“Precision is for pussies.” he chuckles, bringing up a hand to your face, fingers wiggling in a ludicrous attempt at hypnotic suggestion. “Besides, sweetheart, life is a cosmic joke, and quantum mechanics is the punchline.”

“As expected from a Pilot-Wave theorist, that just sounds like an excuse to be lazy. ‘Oh, let’s embrace uncertainty and blame it on quantum mechanics!’”

“It’s also the punchline.”

“At least my punchlines make sense.”

He lets out an exaggerated whine, “And here I thought we were bonding over shared disdain for the hard-headed laws of physics.”

“Shared disdain? I actually respect the laws of physics. They’re the backbone of our universe.”

“Maybe.” he responds, voice a bit uncharacteristically somber. “But, quantum mechanics, uncertainty, whatever. In the end it doesn’t matter the universe, aren’t we all just wandering through a sea of unpredictability? It’s exciting.” he weaves through the crowd with you, gaze flickering between you and the vibrant schools of fish.

And maybe you’re an overthinker - you’ve always been told you were - but it felt like his words carried a heavy tone that went beyond your stupid little debate about quantum entanglement. This was not about physics.

“That excitement often leads to chaos, no matter the universe.”

“Embrace the chaos in every universe then. It keeps things interesting.”

“You’re incorrigible.” you scoff, meeting his intense gaze head-on, skin flaring at the sheer intensity of it. “I bet in every universe you’re an unchangeable hell-raiser.”

“Maybe.” He leans in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, gaze now locked on you, his lips dangerously ghosting your ear. “Or maybe I’m just more of a hands-on learner?”

It might never have been about physics.

It’s innocent fun, right? Two classmates celebrating the end of an assignment? Innocent, innocent fu-

“Y’know with the way you’re so dripping wet f’me, I’m starting to think our lil’ arguments are just foreplay, prez.”

Sleek plastic cold against your back, Satoru’s mouth hot on yours - hungry and insistent. Lips tangy with the taste of minty toothpaste and the thrill of the forbidden as he cages you against that heady bathroom stall.

“You’re the one that riles me up. Got a degradation kink, Satoru?” you shoot back between gasps as his greedy hands map every curve and dip of your body. Groping. Kneading. Such a fucking tease.

“Mhm~ Love when you talk dirty to me, sweetheart.” he hums into the heated skin of your neck. White-hot tingles of electricity running along your body. “Though, I really prefer when that smart mouth is choking around my cock instead.”

“I’m gonna hah- drown you in the fucking clownfish tank.”

“Kinky, but that’s not that’s not the magic word, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth - in both pleasure and irritation, but most importantly the need for more more more. He always did drive you insane. Words choked, “P-please.”

A sharp moan rips from your throat as long fingers graze your swollen folds through your soaked panties. Teasing the dainty hem. Pulling it down. Delving in. Curving deftly upwards, easily pressing into that one spot inside. Over and over. In and out in and out in and-

“Teasing hah- teasing bastard.” you hiss, even as your traitorous hips buck into his touch.

Satoru chuckles darkly, breath warm against your ear, sending shivers running down your spine. “Your teasing bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears, mind caught on the “your”, drowning out the distant hum and bustle of the aquarium outside. 

And before you can open your mouth - maybe to say something so utterly stupid - he falls to his knees. Pretty lips ghosting your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A stark contrast with the cool air of the bathroom stall. 

Mindlessly, your legs press together, a bead of slick trailing enticingly down them - aching for an ounce of friction. Down, down, down-

And Satoru notices - of course he notices - because his tongue darts out urgently, tracing the seam of your swollen folds. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, pooling your juices on his tongue before letting them flow down his throat - groaning as if it was his favorite taste. 

Shit, you really were his favorite taste. 

Nose-deep in your cunt and on his knees in that cramped aquarium bathroom, all he can do is lap up your juices. Cock aching, tasting you, breathing you in like a man dying of thirst. 

Pulling down his trousers just enough for his throbbing erection to spring free. Leaking tip smearing against his toned abdomen, trailing down the prominent vein in the middle. A large hand firmly gripping the base, pressing his heavy balls so obscenely on your calf, pulling in sinful little tugs to you.

Blood rushes straight to the throbbing erection in his hands at the way your breath hitches, pretty little mewls of his name leaving those kiss-bitten lips. Such a shame he had to muffle them, two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. 

Ah, he didn’t get to see those manta rays yet, but it’s alright - right now, hips bucking helplessly into him, your hands knotted in his hair - you’re his favorite view anyway. His pretty girl.

“Hngh- Jus’ like that, Satoru.” you moan.

He groans into your dripping pussy, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity shooting through your veins, making you clench further around the tongue pushing its way into your heated hole. Cunt aching for release, and his leaking cock not far behind as he fucks his fist urgently. Grinding into you like a fucking dog in heat.

“Please.” 

Granting your unspoken request, he moves purposefully. Nose catching on your clit, rubbing it over and over as he alternates between gentle sucks and rapid thrusts of his tongue dipping into your entrance. Satoru’s unspoken pace sends you spiraling into insanity - and the edge. 

Almost there.

You lock eyes with him, seeing just as much need for you reflected back in his own eyes. Flitting between his hungry gaze and the thumb teasing his flushed slit. Jerky, desperate strokes of his hand along his veined length - up, up, up - just the way you do it.

Time seems to stand still as with one two three thrusts you shatter all over his tongue. Choked-up cries of his name bouncing off the walls of the empty bathroom as you chase peak after peak on his pretty face.

Your vision blurs at the edges, blood roaring in your ears. Torn between wanting to scream in pleasure and not wanting to be arrested for public indecency. Breathless whispers of pleasure slurring together as your mind clouds with only Satoru Satoru Satoru-

As the haze clears slightly, you realize you’re cradling his head, stroking his silky locks soothingly. Pulling away - embarrassed more at this than what just transpired - you let Satoru rise to his feet, towering over you. 

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

Still delirious from your orgasm, you mindlessly drop to your knees before him. Wordlessly, he guides himself into your mouth, precum salty on your tongue and cock glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

His hips begin to thrust, matching the pace from before as he fucks your hot mouth. You relax your jaw, letting him take control as he plunges deeper and deeper. Fighting the urge to gag as he hits the back of your throat. Saliva drips down your chin so lewdly, smearing on his cock,

Satoru’s breathing grows heavier and heavier as your nose hits the tufts of hair on his pelvis, already wet with precum and spit. Grip searing on your scalp, you look up to meet his gaze - eyes half-lidded and tears clinging to your lashes.

Maybe it was the carnal look in your eyes, or the way your glossy lips stretch so prettily around him - because with a guttural groan, Satoru spills his load down your throat. Grasp steady on your hair, making you sputter and drink every drop as his cock twitches on your tongue. Cum dribbling down the corner of your lips, the tap! tap! tap! of it ringing in your ears.

As his high passes, you feel as if you’re in a daze as Satoru helps you up. Voice shot and throat burning as he cleans the both of you up. 

Gentle hands on your cheek, a thumb caressing your lips. Your face burning at the way he looks at you. Why does he look at you like that.

A soft smile plays on his lips - kiss-bitten and prettily glossed with your juices. Wordlessly, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, sending a sudden tug at your heartstrings.

“I bet in every universe we sneak around and choose the worst lil’ hideouts.”

Yeah. Yeah, maybe you did.

And you don’t know why it hurt. 

It’s almost like you’re on autopilot as you quickly smooth down your clothes and follow Satoru outside, back into the bustling aquarium as inconspicuously as possible. 

As you walk side by side, you can’t help but feel the previous euphoria inside you coiling into something more. Something uncomfortable.

Passing by a group of kids excitedly pointing at a giant tank of tropical fish, you feel a wistful ache as you’re reminded of simpler times. Back when you didn’t analyze everything interaction. Maybe back when things were better.

Pulling back, “Satoru…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“About what happened…about us-” you sputter out, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “I don’t want-”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, y’know.” 

Your head snaps up. Unspoken words lingering in the air - is it me or you that doesn’t want to talk about it.

Your eyes catch on the shine of his hair in the cool light. The subtle flex of muscles beneath his shirt as he leads the way through the mesmerizing corridors of the aquarium, the soft glow of the tanks casting an ethereal light on his silhouette. 

His hand warm in yours, and that little dimple at the corner of his grin as he turns to you. Devastating.

It was like something snapped. And it hits you with a pang. All glory and beautiful.

He wasn’t yours.

And he probably might never be.

Somehow that terrified you. 

Because in the end, weren’t you just playing along in his elaborate cosmic joke? Just part of his unknown?

But why did that hurt so much?

“Gojo, I’m going home.”

Fear.

---

There have only been three times in his life that Gojo Satoru has truly felt fear. The first, of course, was right after kissing your pretty lips in that dingy closet - if there was ever a true “ah, if I live I’m making this my legacy” moment then that was it. 

The second was when he accidentally walked in on Yaga practicing his interpretative dance routine in the faculty lounge. The man had some moves - but it was something that Satoru saw nightmares about for days.

And the third time? Well, that’s the ongoing saga of trying to decipher you and why the hell you were sitting in another row during Advanced Quantum Physics, so gorgeous and unbothered ignoring him.

No texts, no calls, no snarky debates on anything since the aquarium a few days ago.  

Almost as if he was back to square one - worse even.

So yes, Gojo Satoru is scared. In fact, some might even say he’s utterly terrified. 

But even more than that, he’s so so stupid.

Because for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to mess up that fragile little connection that you two had formed. 

Maybe you just liked seafood too much to visit the aquarium? That couldn’t be it…

Did you find out he accidentally knocked over that stack of books in the library and blamed it on you? No, he’s heard you blame worse things on him to his face. 

Have you finally gotten sick of him?

…

Nahhh.

He steals a glance in your direction. Eyes mapping your ramrod posture, the way you’re hanging off of Yaga’s every word, and that slight frown marring your features. Ah, you looked so beautiful there even when you looked like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

It’s as if you’ve erected an invisible fortress around yourself, and he’s outside looking in. Desperately calling for you.

Satoru sighs inwardly, realizing he’s going to have to pull out the big guns. With the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he clears his throat, shifting his chair a little too loudly to yours in the row in front of him. 

Paying no mind to the irritated glance that Yaga (and you) shoot at him, he whispers loud enough that it probably carries to the entire classroom. “So, prez~ Did I accidentally stumble into an alternate universe where you still hate me or have you just been avoiding me like I’m a contagious disease.”

You flinch - probably both at the audacity and at him addressing you. Eyes still firmly trained on the now-disgruntled Yaga, you reply curtly, “This is not an alternate universe, Gojo. And I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy ignoring me? Space might’ve worked for Neil Armstrong but it won’t work for me, sweetheart. Just tell me what I did so I can get on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”

Your brows furrow, eyes rereading the same sentence on your textbook over and over. “Just focus on these causal dynamical triangulations, Gojo.”

“Oh yeah, I had one of those once.”

“Satoru. I swear to-”

A sharp call of your name - followed by his. Professor Yaga’s irritation, now palpable, hangs in the air like a storm. “If you two can't maintain some decorum, I suggest you continue your discussion outside.”

Satoru grins unabashedly, batting his long lashes, “Why, Yaga, I thought you enjoyed our discussions.”

“Out, both of you.”

Each word clipped and shattering your dreams of becoming Professor Yaga’s protégé into tinier and tinier pieces. 

“You heard the man, prez. Let’s take this show on the road.” 

Hastily, you gather your belongings, shooting an apologetic glance at Professor Yaga, who gives you a sympathetic look in response. As the door slams behind you, noise ringing in your ears, you stand frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief. 

Satoru, however, seems unfazed. “Well, that was an unbridled success.”

Irritation spikes as you hiss out, “What?”

“I mean, you called me Satoru for the first time in days so I consider that an unbridled success.”

A strange stab at your heart, and maybe for the first time since working together on that quantum entanglement assignment, Satoru’s joke doesn’t land. 

Your eyes narrow at him, “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I needed Professor Yaga’s guidance - how else am I going to get a research position with him?”

“It wasn’t a joke.” 

Following your weighty silence, Satoru lets out a heavy sigh. The expression on his face looked more serious than you’d ever seen it as his eyes search yours. “Look, prez, I didn’t mean to mess things up for you - though Yaga basically worships the ground you walk on so-” 

At your raised eyebrow he gets back on track, “Anyway, something’s wrong and I just wanted to understand what’s going on between us.”

A humorless laugh leaves your lips, “Now you want to talk about us?”

You clench your fists, frustration and confusion boiling over within you. You know you’re part of this too. You know you’re not blameless in this tangled mess. And right now, the sheer warmth of his gaze made a strange little part of you consider just giving in and running to his arms. Fuck what he wants of you. Fuck all the uncertainty. 

And that’s exactly what scared you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts within your mind. “I don’t even know what ‘us’ is, Gojo. And I don’t think you do either.”

Your voice is surprisingly steady - as are your feet as they carry you away from Satoru. You’d caught one, final glance at the slump of his shoulders, and the silent plea in his eyes. 

Purposeful steps sound in your ears as you walk to God-knows-where. Yet, they still stutter - as does your heart - as Satoru’s voice rings in the hallway behind you, “Take all the time you need, prez. I’ll win you back with my world-renowned Gojo charm again~”

Light words following a heavy admission, his humor attempting to bandage over the cracks of what you two had not too long ago. The echo of his words accompany you down the corridor, and despite yourself, you find your lips tugging into the slightest beginnings of a smile. The slightest.

It’s okay. This is okay. Things can go back to whatever they were now - normal, steady.

“World-renowned Gojo charm.” you repeat under your breath, ready to find a quiet corner of campus where you can throw yourself into causal dynamical triangulations. 

Gaze unwavering, Satoru stands still, searching for any signs of you looking back. Turn around. Turn around turn around turn-

“Mr. Gojo, are you going to find the building exit with the same enthusiasm you exhibit when spouting lines from your imaginary romance novel?”

“Ah. Yaga, I was just- wait imaginary? I can assure you that my charm is as real as quantum mechanics - just ask your star student! Although these days even quantum mechanics might have trouble explaining why she’s-”

“Mr. Gojo.”

“Understood. On my way.” A comical salute, “May your lectures be as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks~”

“Good. And please, spare us all from any more ‘unbridled success’ in the future.”

---

The following week turned into a delicate dance, a waltz of cautious side steps and tense half-glances - all of which were met by that fond gaze that made your heart clutch so involuntarily. Like a silent drama where neither of you knew the next line.

The sprawling campus now seemed so tiny, a tension connecting the two of you like an invisible thread. From Professor Yaga’s class - now so dull without that usual bickering - all the way down to that café just off-campus where the stuffy air hums with old banter and unspoken words.

Yet, the routine remained unchanged, you still found yourself visiting there time and time again - by that little booth in the corner, right next to the window. Just without your familiar companion.

You never realized how quiet the café could get without someone talking your ear off about everything from the Pilot-Wave theory to why the little girl at the grocery store who mistook him for a Kakashi cosplayer is definitely conspiring against him. 

It’s thrown you off - and you’re sick of thinking of that stupid smirk when you’re trying to meticulously sort through the overflow of student archives.

Ugh, you’ve been losing sleep over these for days. Feeling hot under your temples, you try to push away the pressure behind your eyes - If you don’t get this categorized before the next meeti-

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Speak of the devil.

Startled, you look up from your sea of paperwork. 

Ah, there he was. All nonchalance and grace, eyes twinkling with mischief and an easy grin curling his lips. And for a moment - a brief, fleeting moment - you’re filled with a familiar warmth, tension from the past few days melting into nothingness.

“Oh, just some archives.” you blink, with a measured calmness.

“Absolutely fascinating.” Satoru chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you with the casual elegance of someone who’s completely unaware of the mess he left in his wake. “What’s next, a riveting analysis on the historical significance of paperclips?”

Ignoring his banter, you focus diligently on the task at hand - Gakuganji would have your head. “If only. Now what do you want, Satoru? I’m busy.”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Busy with what? Cataloging the thrilling history of staplers and notepads?”

You shoot him a pointed look, “The secret lives of archives can be more scandalous than you think, Gojo.” 

“Just how do you contain your excitement, prez?”

“I don’t.” you drone out. Shuffling your papers, gathering them with a deliberate focus. “Now, if you’re done with your stand-up routine, I actually have work to do.”

Satoru straightens up, the playfulness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. “Wait wait, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

You let out a sigh - there it is. And maybe you were being petty. Maybe you were slightly scared. “Oh, now, we do? How convenient.”

“Can’t we just go back to the way things were? I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He runs a hand through his silky locks, a gesture that usually accompanies his frustration. 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Weird? Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now. You just never bothered to notice until it got inconvenient for you..” You stand up, your archives now neatly organized. “I have to finish seven files of these now, excuse me.”

A subtle ache takes residence in your bones as you walk away, his gaze hot on your back. The barista, a friendly soul who had witnessed countless interactions between you and Gojo, offered you a sympathetic smile as you made your way out.

The café's atmosphere, once cozy with laughter, now suffocatingly laced with unease. That invisible thread connecting you both feels strained. Hanging by the thinnest of threads - on the verge of snapping. 

And, yet, through it all one thought rings clear. 

You missed him.

Satoru didn’t know what hurt more - the way you called him “Gojo” or the way he didn’t even get a giggle out of his paperclip joke.

“Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now.”

Yeah, definitely the way you called him “Gojo”.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the cloud of doom himself. I can barely enjoy my Earl Grey. What’s eating at you, young man?” 

Satoru’s head snaps up at the curious croak, tone a mix of concern and amusement. His eyes meet sharp, perceptive ones that seem to cut through his sulky haze. Oh, it’s the mafia queenpin.

At his wordless staring she plows on, taking a seat opposite him, “Oh c’mon, boy. Don’t think I haven’t seen you lurking and moping about. You’ve got as much subtlety as my late husband - and he once tried to hide a mistress by having her disguise as a potted plant.”

A half-hearted grin makes its way onto his face, “No potted plants here, just the usual existential crisis. You know how it is.”

The old lady snorted, unimpressed. “Please, spare me the theatrics. I’ve seen drama queens with more subtlety. Now spill.”

Satoru hesitated, wincing at the stare that seemed to cut right into his soul. It reminded him of a little someone. 

Finally, he sighs relentingly, “It's complicated. Things with someone... changed. I miss the way it used to be, you know?”

A sharp cackle, echoing in the empty space around them. “Ah, love troubles. You youngsters make it sound so dramatic. Look, boy, if you want something, go and get it.”

He huffs in defeat, now way more into impromptu love counseling than he initially thought he’d be. “I tried but-”

But the old lady cuts him off, sharp and incisive, “Trying isn’t the same as doing, kid. And let me tell you, I’ve seen enough guys like you wasting time pondering instead of acting.” 

It seems this mafia queenpin brought out all the childish, petty sides of him. Because Satoru whines in a way that he definitely wouldn’t if you hadn’t been avoiding him and if you hadn’t called him “Gojo” and-

“But she hates me, and she’s sick of me.” A rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Maybe things were better the way they were.”

“Life’s too short for that crap. And trust me, that girl does not hate you, you’re just scaring her off. I would have smacked you after that first dumb comment about paperclips.” The old lady snorts, dismissing his complaint. “Uptight academics, always scared of their own feelings. Afraid that if they acknowledge them, the world might end.” 

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected insight. “Scaring her off? I'm just being myself.”

She leans in, sharp eyes drilling into him - picking him apart. “Being yourself doesn't mean avoiding the real conversations. You’ve got feelings, boy. Instead of playing the joker, try being sincere for once. Maybe you’ll be surprised.” 

Taking a patient sip of her tea, “Now, go and fix whatever mess you made. Or better yet, just grab the girl and give her a damn good kiss. Works wonders.”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected advice. The old lady cackles again, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Now, scram, and let an old lady enjoy her coffee in peace.” 

He nods, more to himself than her, feeling a strange mix of determination and embarrassment at being given advice by the same lady he had a silent bet with you about being an underground overlord.

Immediately standing up, he salutes her goodbye before rushing out - only to stop abruptly halfway out the door. Turning and speedwalking back to the table, with a mix of curiosity and urgency. 

“Hey, granny, I have a question.”

“Anything as long as it isn’t my age, boy.”

“Would you happen to have any mafia connections by chance?.”

Ah, you think you’re dying. 

Or maybe that’s just what the towering stack of papers on your cluttered desk want you to think…

It mocks you. A painful reminder of the mundane world you were now in. That invisible thread connecting you to that little booth in the corner of the café now feels like a noose tightening around your neck. 

What’s done is done. And right now you have bigger fish to fry - fish shaped annoyingly like the unresolved chaos of these archives.

You rub your eyes, room swaying slightly as you squint at the tiny print, letters melting into one another and conspiring against you. Rereading the same sentence over and over, sweat beading on your forehead.

God, was the heater on too high?

The documents on the desk seem to dance, a mocking waltz that laughs in the face of your feeble attempts to restore order. Chaos. 

Stop it.  

An incessant pounding on your temples, blood roaring in your ears. 

You reach for a pen, your fingers fumbling as it slips through your grasp. Falling onto the floor with a clatter that reverberates in your throbbing head. Chaos. 

The room is stifling, walls closing in on you. Breaths hot and labored. Temples drumming louder. And louder.  Urgent and insistent. Chaos.

“Open up! It’s Satoru!”

Satoru.

Body acting before your brain, you stagger out of your seat, the world spinning dangerously as you clutch onto the desk for support.

Satoru?

Your unsteady feet carry you towards the door - almost subconsciously. You wince at the stab of pain in your temples as it throbs in time with the urgent knocking.

Hands unsteady on the doorknob, vision bleary, yet you’d recognize that shock of cloudy hair anywhere. His words hit you before the realization that Satoru was here, and why was he here looking so adorably disheveled like he’d run here and what was he rambling about now-

“I'm so so sorry. I messed up, I should’ve noticed. I know I’ve been avoiding the real conversation and I didn’t realize how much-”

His voice, tinged with a vulnerability you’re not used to hearing, is abruptly cut off as Satoru looks up from where he was fumbling with his fingers in nervousness - wide blue eyes taking in your glassy eyes and clammy skin. In your hazy vision you make out the deep concern creeping its way onto those pretty features.

“Sweetheart?”

A sudden wave of dizziness hits you. The room tilts, and for a brief, disorienting moment, you feel like you’re floating in space. Ah, didn’t know you could breathe in space. Wonder if you’ll win a Nobel for this discovery?

A sharp call of your name cuts through the haze, the last thing you register before the world folds around you like a delicate paper. Fading to black., and perhaps the warm arms around you are the only thing grounding you right now. The chaotic waltz has won.

Now, the great Gojo Satoru usually calls his mother for only one of two reasons - 1. His beloved ramen shop is closed, or worse - out of his favorite special spicy sauce, and 2. A dire and life-threatening emergency.

“Mama! I’ve got an emergency and no it’s not the ramen this time.”

His mother’s voice crackles through the phone, a mix of concern and amusement. “Satoru, are you sure it’s that dire? I’m at a work meeting, y’know”

Dramatically, “Of course, mama. Someone I care about is sick. Yes, I have a heart under this fabulous exterior. A real one.”

A brief pause, “Oh my lil’ Toru~ You mean you finally confessed to that student prez you’ve been swooning over for months? The one with ‘a brilliant mind like a quantum computer’ and ‘eyes like-’”

Squirming in embarrassment, “Well- not exactly, but-”

“Spill.”

“I need the recipe to our secret family chicken soup, like, urgently. It’s a life-or-death situation.”

His mother’s laughter echoes through the phone. “Life-or-death, huh? Alright, my little drama king, I’ll send it right away. But you owe me a detailed account of what's happening.”

“Deal!”

With a click, the call ends, and Satoru is left in your hallway, holding you in his arms, desperately awaiting the secret weapon - his mother’s legendary chicken soup.

In the meantime, he shifts you in his arms, steady hands carefully lifting you off the ground, cradling you to his chest. 

Face burning at the practiced way his feet carry him to your room. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Don’t make me regret not calling an ambulance. Should I call an ambulance? No, chicken soup first, then maybe an ambulance. Ugh, I should've paid more attention in first aid.”

Slow, deliberate steps through the corridor. Heart dropping as his eyes catch on the mountains of scattered papers and files. Next time he passes by Gakuganji’s office he’s gonna swap the keys on that fossil’s keyboard. 

The soft click of the door closing seems too loud in the quiet room as he lays you gently on the bed. Heart clenching at the way you bury yourself mindlessly into the covers, pretty eyes still screwed shut, he mutters to himself “What am I going to do with you?”

His gaze drifts to the scattered papers on the floor, starting to gather them, creating a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Satoru glances at you, noticing the creased lines on your forehead even in your unconscious state. A pang of guilt hits him.

“Avoiding the real conversation, huh?” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He risks a glance at your sleeping figure again, “I’m sorry, my sweetheart.”

Finishing his impromptu cleanup - and after taking maybe one picture of you all snuggled up - he gets up determinedly to make the legendary chicken soup. “I’ll make it right, prez. First, chicken soup. Then, we'll have that real conversation, no matter how scary it gets.”

You wake up to the cacophony of pots and pans, and a voice…cursing bad cooking for being genetic? The aromatic smell of chicken soup hits you - as does the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

Joints aching, you try to sit up, the room still spinning - but ever-so-slightly less than before. Recollections from earlier slowly come to you, you don’t even have to look at the figure now standing at the doorway to know who it is.

“Whoa, there, sweetheart. Lay back.”

Your weakened smile is met with a worried frown. Satoru’s gentle tone, masking his franticness, rings in your ears like a song you loved but haven’t heard in a long time. He rushes to guide you gently back onto the bed, a thumb wiping away the sweat trickling down your temple. “Soup’s on the stove. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Is that okay?”

Before you can protest - as if you had the strength to - Satoru scampers off to your bathroom. You lay there in the deafening silence as he does. You had an image to uphold, archives to categorize, and a Satoru to distance yourself from. 

But right now, your eyes meeting his like constellations aligning in the night sky as he returns with a small basin filled with warm water, a soft cloth draped over his shoulder, you think that you wouldn’t mind falling apart for him. 

Sitting down beside you, his gaze never leaving your face, “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” A tenderness in his voice matching the warmth of the damp washcloth gently dabbing your forehead.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut. You want to shy away from the fondness in those blue depths as they never leave yours. You want to block out the hushed whispers of reassurance as his fingers trail lightly across your skin, uncomfortably hot. You want to cry. 

And you don’t realize you are until Satoru’s hand stiffens, eyes widening with emotions you can’t name. 

Oh. 

Satoru has seen you strong, capable, and fiercely independent. He’s seen you turn his elaborate equation into a doodle of a ramen bowl with the caption, “Even my ramen has more substance than this theory, Satoru.”

But Satoru has never seen you like this. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon. It’s okay, prez. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Satoru whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder might shatter the fragile reality you both find yourselves in.

His words hanging in the air, and the sincerity in his eyes coax you to unravel the knot of emotions you’ve been suppressing ever since you were pushed into that damn closet with him.

“Satoru.” And it spills out. “I’m scared. And I missed you. And I’m scared that I missed you - scared of what that could mean, and scared of where this might lead. Because I missed you and you’re here.”

His brows furrow in concern, but he remains silent, urging you to continue.

“I've built walls, convinced myself that I can’t afford to be vulnerable out of fear of the unpredictable. Yet, here we are. I can’t escape it, and it terrifies me.” you confess, eyes flickering away from the intensity of his gaze as if avoiding the reality of your words.

Satoru inches his hand closer to cradle yours. “You don’t have to be scared, prez, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice a steady anchor, “Though, I was scared too. Scared that if I confronted these feelings, you’d run away. So, I waited, telling myself that I was giving you time, but honestly it was just a shitty excuse.”

His thumb caresses the back of your hand, a gentle rhythm matching the beating of your heart. “Because for all I spout about chaos and uncertainty, facing these feelings head-on is scarier than any angry Yaga.”

A fresh wave of tears - both at his admission and at that familiar attempt to lighten the humor. “You’re an idiot you know.” you sputter.

“I know.”

“And your theories on life and the universe are stupid.”

“Absolutely.”

“And your overpriced glasses make you look like the fourth blind rat from Shrek.”

“Now that’s too far, he’s a mouse, sweetheart.”

A watery chuckle as his fingers interlace with yours. Satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours - no care in the world for how contagious you might be. Because fuck if the sickness might not be then these feelings sure were.

“You scared me, y’know.” he confesses.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken care of my-”

“Not that.” Satoru’s unspoken words echo in the small, charged space between you two.

Your heart clenches, understanding. “For that, I am sorry, too.”

Disappointment spikes your heart as he withdraws slightly, hand feeling cold at the sudden absence. But before you can question the impending doom at his mischievous glint, Satoru produces a pen from your top drawer. 

“What are you up to now, Satoru?” you drone, raising a brow at his antics.

“Just a little insurance policy.” he smirks at your confused hum, taking your left hand back in his. Pen poised over your ring finger, ink cold on your skin.

“Insurance policy against what?”

“A promise.”

A delicate infinity sign, it draws your gaze and locks it there. You almost miss the flush creeping up on Satoru’s ears, “Just a symbol, y’know- We can get an actual ring if you want, my mother is actually best friend’s with-”

The sight of him makes something bloom in your chest. It hurt. Not because of fear, but because you felt so full. 

Cutting off his rambles with your lips on his. Steady, and electric, molding together as if they were meant to fit perfectly. A lingering promise. 

When you finally pull away, he huffs out an euphoric laugh. “I was gonna say you look like you wanted to kiss me so bad, but you already did.”

Rolling your eyes, “Think if I tell you something now you can write it off as me being sick and delirious?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Satoru, I love you.”

And that’s all Satoru ever wanted to hear.

“And I love you, in every universe.”

---

The sleep that follows Satoru’s “world famous Gojo family chicken soup” - and that heavy conversation - is the best you’ve had in days. You dream of manta rays in tuxedos, the guests of honor at yours and Satoru’s Nobel prize ceremony.

And, 12 full hours later and finally clear-headed, you find yourself groggily standing in the middle of your room. Blinking in disbelief at the perfectly categorized files of archives, and the sparkling organization of your once-scattered space - Satoru, peacefully snoring at your desk, pen still tightly gripped in his hand.

He…finished all of it?

Your heart clenches, warmth flowering all over your body. 

As you approach, Satoru stirs, those familiar blue eyes slowly opening to meet yours. A dazed smile stretches across his face as he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“Got a bit carried away. Guess you really are rubbing off on me, prez.” he chuckles, his voice still laced with sleep. 

“Good then, soon your brain won’t be a black hole of theoretical abstractions.”

Eyes sparkling, he throws his head back to laugh, carefree. “There’s my girl. Feeling better now, hm?”

Your face burns at his words, and his proximity as he stands from his chair to tower over you. Heat radiating off his skin. “Yeah, all thanks to your mother’s recipe.”

“And my charm, of course.”

“Oh, yes, the begging on your knees.”

“Hey it worked, didn’t it? Don’t insult the world-renowned Gojo charm that way~!”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smirk. “Yes, yes of course. That world-renowned ‘Gojo charm’ strikes again. Is that why Yaga sent me a gift basket apologizing on your behalf?”

“Listen, sometimes collateral apologies are inevitable. And I learned the hard way that wishing Yaga’s lectures are as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks does not go well.”

A startled laugh escapes your lips, sound bouncing off the once-heavy walls, and you almost miss the captivated expression on Satoru’s face. A tender smile spreads across his lips.

Laughter bating, you throw your hands around his waist in one, fluid motion, relishing at his flustered expression. “We should go to the aquarium again sometime.”

“Mhm~”

A beat of silence. One. Two. 

“Satoru?”

He leans in, minty breath fanning your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you.”

Body moving almost subconsciously, your lips crush against his. Hungry and yearning. Kissing each other with a desperation that eclipses the need for air. He didn’t mind dying if it meant suffocating by your lips anyway - both of them. 

You let out a muffled moan as he pulls on your lips, hands snaking down to grip your ass, squeezing possessively. His tongue was sloppy, intertwining with yours with matching urgency. Trapping yours between his ruby lips, sucking so lewdly. 

Large fingers bruising on your waist, pulling you flush against his body till you could feel the incessant banging of his heart against his ribcage - or maybe that was yours. 

His shirt is all but ripped off of him - as is yours, and if you were in a clearer state of mind you’d feel sad at the tattered state of your favorite Steins;Gate t-shirt. But all that flies out of your mind at the creamy skin of Satoru’s chiseled chest. 

You raise your hips to meet the throbbing erection now straining against his pants, fabric stretched and precum forming a pool right at the tip of his leaking head. A low groan is stifled into your mouth, almost as if it hurt to be apart. 

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, moving you to grind against his achingly hard length at a maddeningly sensual pace. Up and down, up and down, up and-

A white-hot jolt of electricity runs down to your cunt each time the prominent vein down his side catches on your covered clit, thin panties now soaked with your slick and his precum.

You almost don’t recognize the disappointed whine that leaves your lips as he pulls away, delicate strings of spit snapping.

“You drive me insane, sweetheart.” he murmurs, breathless with lust. 

“The feeling’s mutual, Satoru.”

And it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, probably you by the end of this.

Because with a low, carnal growl, Satoru picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Seating you roughly onto your nearby desk and pinning you down. Papers scattering everywhere in the heat of the moment, rendering his earlier hard work useless. 

Satoru crowds your space, ravaging your mouth, grinding against your heated core till the only thing you can see is him, the only thing you can feel is him, the only thing you can think of-

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction is maddening, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yet, Satoru, as always, disrupts your plans. Breaking the heated kiss, he trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You cry out - both in pain and pleasure - as he continues his assault, digging your nails into his sculpted back.

“I won’t be the first one to cum.” he mutters into the crook of your neck as a hand roams up your thigh, deftly pulling off your shorts. You writhe beneath him as lithe fingers tease the hem of your dripping panties, relishing in the choked gasp that leaves Satoru’s mouth as your swollen lips catch on his tip.

“Oh yeah? Damn well won’t be me either.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before he tears off your panties, pocketing this pair as well for a lonely night - though, with the way your cunt quivers at his touch, he doubts it’ll be any time soon. “Wanna bet, prez~?”

He plunges his fingers inside you with a savageness that steals your breath away. Easily finding that magical spot, thrusting inside to hit it with scary accuracy over and over. Your plush walls convulse around him, crying out his name. Ah, he missed this. 

But you weren’t gonna sit there and be one-upped. A trembling hand moves down to urgently tug down his tight boxers. Rock-hard cock springing out, glistening with precum, your favorite shade of pretty pink. It made your mouth water. 

Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your tight grip on his length, thumb swirling deftly under the sensitive slit. Spreading his precum along his flushed head. Torturing him. Warmth pooling at your core at the way he fucks your fist in mindless, shallow thrusts.

“Fuck. You really do drive me insane.” he groans, voice strained with desire as he keeps up the punishing pace of his fingers in your dripping cunt. Both of you unrelenting. Both of you in a fight for the other’s release.

It’s a close tie.

“Oh- oh, sweetheart I’m-” 

And Satoru spills into your hand in thick, hot spurts and pornographic moans. Your fist still pumps up and down his twitching length, milking him for all he’s worth as you tip over the edge as well, walls fluttering around his merciless fingers.

“I win.” you challenge, eyes half-lidded as you still reel from the intensity of your orgasm. Satoru’s fingers quiver inside you as he pulls out with a hiss. Pupils blown-out, the look in his eyes feral.

A slow grin spreading across his lips, words breathless and tinged with a bit of insanity that made your pussy clench, “Best out of three?”

“Always knew you were a sore loser.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“You’re on.”

Before you know it, you’re being thrown onto the bed, bouncing at the sheer force of the throw - cut short as Satoru looms over you, pinning you down onto the mattress.

His lips graze yours with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as they grind on yours. You moan as his still-painfully hard erection throbs against your wall, head falling back in surrender as your swollen folds envelope him in his favorite heaven. Sensitive - so sensitive. 

Hands moving to your breasts, cupping them, teasing. Rolling your nipples between his deft fingers as your hips buck wildly into his. Precum and slick smearing obscenely. Faster. More desperate. Absolutely filthy. Racing towards the end.

And your voice cuts through the heady air, “W-wait, Satoru, wait. As the winner last time…” Words trailing off enticingly, a hand reaching hastily underneath your pillow. 

Oh, just when Satoru didn’t think you could surprise him any more. 

A jolt goes through his body at the thick, pink vibrator that emerges from beneath the pillow. Sleek metal catching the light, his eyes trailing up, up, up, intimidatingly large in your hands.

Eyes widening, Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you handle it with practiced ease. Flip, switch - bzzzzz-

It rings in his ears and resonates through the room. A surprised smile stretched across his lips, despite himself. “Oh, who knew the esteemed student prez was such a little minx. Shit, sweetheart, gonna give me a heart attack.”

“You’re not the only one with lonely nights.” You nod pointedly at his pants - strewn across your bedroom floor and panties stuffed safely in his pocket. 

You bite your lower lip in a way that has probably all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his pulsing cock. Aching for something. Aching for you. 

Sensually, you press the buzzing toy against your clit, hips bucking at the immediate and intense stimulation. A jolt of pleasure making you gasp.

Satoru watches, spellbound, as you writhe beneath him - eyes locked so dangerously with his. He can see the slick beading at your folds, pooling onto your bed sheets. 

Impulsively, he reaches out, wrapping a large hand around yours, guiding it to your dripping hole. “Now…” your eyes light up in excitement at his predatory tone. “That’s just playing dirty, prez. I might just cream myself.”

Agonizingly slow, Satoru eases the vibrator inside you, walls clamping down so deliciously. A clever hand draws tight, little circles on your throbbing clit. 

You arch off the bed at the sensation and the stretch - full. So full. Full and so in heaven.

A fresh wave of slick coating the already-glistening metal, Satoru begins to fuck the toy into you, matching the rhythm of the vibrations. Relentless, he was absolutely relentless. Base meeting your swollen lips, tip kissing your cervix. 

It drives you insane. He drives you insane. 

“Fu-fuck Satoru-” Breathing ragged, tears pricking your eyes at the sensitivity, it only takes one two three more thrusts of the vibrator stuffing your cunt before you’re cumming with a loud cry of Satoru’s name, till you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Ah, I’m so glad we made it to the bed this time.” 

“Idiot.”

“Love you too~” Satoru continues to fuck into you mercilessly with it over and over, drawing out your high until you’re left limp and boneless beneath him. The only thing you can do being to take it.

As the shocks of electricity in your body fade, Satoru carefully removes the vibrator. You whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Round 2 goes to me.” smugness evident in his words, slightly muffled by your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me. It’s the tie-breaker.”

His lips capture yours in a deep kiss. You can taste the salt of your sweat on his lips, and the desperation of the moment. It’s intoxicating. More addictive than any drug in the world. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him against your body - sticky with sweat and cum - till you can feel his rock-hard cock once more. Eager and aching for you. Teasing your folds with his leaking tip, readily spreading for him.

Finally, after what feels like hours - maybe even weeks - of buildup, he sheaths himself in your snug cunt the way you’d been dying for these lonely nights with just your vibrator. And with the way Satoru lets out a low, desperate moan - head thrown back - you think he might share the sentiment.

“God. Hah- Ah you look so beautiful under me, sweetheart. Hngh- wouldn’t get used to this in my lifetime.”

“Then hngh- find me in the n-next.”

He presses in slowly, languidly - a sensuality that envelopes you and makes you keen at the stretch. Finally bottoming out, he savors the heavenly feeling of being completely inside you. You really were heaven on Earth. 

Pulling back, prominent veins grazing that spot just right, he rams back into you with purpose. Savoring you. Torturing you. “Satoru oh- f-fuck me like you hah- mean it goddamit.”

But it’s not long before the great Gojo Satoru loses his handle on himself. Maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes. Maybe it was the way your legs wrap so tightly around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. Or maybe it was the fucked-out whines of his name spilling from your mouth.

Because he’s fucking into you desperately. Feral, deliberate strokes that make you ass sting at the smack of his heavy balls. The harsh slapping of skin on skin echoing in your heady bedroom at his unforgiving cadence.

The air charged so tensely that you could barely breath - or maybe that was the way Satoru’s furious tip kissing your cervix over and over knocked the air out of your lungs. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight with white-hot pleasure, electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head - filled only with Satoru Satoru Satoru-

Vision blurry, head dazed so lustfully, you barely notice the way Satoru reaches down between you, his fingers familiarly finding your clit to rub harsh circles on it in time with his thrusts. It’s too much. Ah, you were going to pass out.

Instead, you cum - all over his twitching cock. The sensation almost too much as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Especially when your walls clamp down, milking his cock so sinfully as Satoru spills into your snug cunt.

Balls tightening as he thrusts thick ropes of seed into your dripping pussy, your juices mixing with his as he thrusts animalistically into you, fucking it deeper and deeper. Decorating your plush walls white, cum spilling out of your sloppy hole as it overflows. 

Flashes of light behind his eyes at the sensitivity - pain, pleasure, yearning all melting into one, gooey mess that mirrored his heart right now. Desperate calls of your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Because maybe you were his salvation.

With a moan of pure ecstasy at the feeling of being so full you think you’d explode, you pull Satoru to you, nails dragging down his shoulder and every part of you wrapped around him so impossibly tight. As if you never wanted to let go - and you didn’t.

You don’t, even as you both gasp for air - and sanity. Even as he collapses his sweaty body onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight. And you especially don’t let go as those dazed eyes bore into yours, a tender moment in the weighty silence. 

Because right now, no words were needed.

“I love you.”

“And, I love you. In every universe.”

Except maybe those. 

It’s only once reality is setting in, exhausted and intertwined so tenderly in his arms, that a sense of familiarity permeates the heavy air. 

“I win.”

An agitating, grating voice that you loved so much.

You let out a dragged out groan, rolling your eyes. “That’s only because I went easy on you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d love to prove you wrong, sweetheart, but I think my dick is out of commission for the next week at least.”

A sharp bark of laughter startles its way out of your lips as he bounces you two on the mattress, laying on his stomach and swinging his feet as if he was at some slumber party.

“Soooo~ Now that we’re finally dating, I can finally stop holding back on the quantum entanglement puns, I’ve got a list on my Notes app that-”

“I’m gonna entangle your face with my fist.”

“Jokes on you I’m into that.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

---

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers. 

So, of course, he had to barge into the hell that was his new 8am class with style. Bursting in through the swinging doors, imaginary cape flowing in the wind. Sue him, so what if he’s an attention-whore?! 

His bright gaze sweeps over all the students barely keeping their eyes open, before finally landing on you - on the edge of your seat, brows furrowed so adorably and eagerly drinking in every word Yaga droned on about. Who the hell found advanced quantum physics that riveting?

Intrigue piquing as he makes a beeline to you, Satoru’s heart lurches at that weird little part of him that wishes your attentive gaze was on him instead. Strange. 

Sliding into the empty seat beside you, of course he immediately turns on his world-renowned Gojo charm. You’ll be putty in his hands in no time~!

“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.” 

“...”

Okay, maybe that didn’t come out as suave as he expected, but damn, not even a giggle?

You couldn’t blame the guy for getting nervous in front of a pretty girl! Nor could you really blame him for plowing on despite that - not after the jolt of electricity that ran through his body the second your irritated eyes met his. 

Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul pierced and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Satoru thought his knees were weak at just a glare from you - well, he was not ready for the way you snapped at him and told him to shut the fuck up. Ah, truly a woman of his dreams. 

Not even half an hour into the lecture and if you asked Satoru to recall a word spoken by Yaga then he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The words went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the next - too focused on getting your attention on him at least once more. 

He just wished you’d look at him - let him see all the shades of your eyes, and the exact degree at which your lip curls in annoyance. What would that smart mouth say to him next? 

“Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

Which is why he positively jumped at the chance to show off his academic prowess to you. Only to find…you teetering on the edge of your seat as well? 

Your voice is even, a fiery glint in your eyes. He’s entranced. 

“The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”

Oh. This was going to be interesting.

Heart banging against his ribcage, voice slightly shaky, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”

Thus, Gojo Satoru, in his failed attempts to flirt, starts a rivalry with you that shakes the entire physics department - and his heart. 

He was sure if he told Shoko and Suguru the real reason why he was suddenly spending hours poring over his physics textbooks then they’d definitely laugh their asses off - after giving him a good smack for being so ridiculous. 

It’s not that he didn’t like being on the receiving ends of your snarky remarks and death stares - but it’s just that he also wishes you’d kiss him silly while you do it. God, for someone voted campus hottie three times in a row, why was it so hard to just ask you out?

Which is why, seeing you being dragged into their little circle at that off-brand frat party, he thinks - ah, this might just be fate. 

Silently thanking Shoko for her accidental wingmanning, Satoru watches in amusement as you reluctantly scribble your name on that crumpled piece of paper. And if he slipped in a couple extra with his name on it, well, he was only glad you were too busy cursing his entire bloodline out to catch him.

The smell of cheap beer filling his senses, strobe lights matching the banging of his heart against his chest. Even if he did cheat at the game a little, Satoru didn’t think he’d end the night with your soaked panties burning a hole in his pocket - and the whisper of your lips on his searing even more. He was dazed. 

Was that…a dream? 

It must be, right? There’s no way the gorgeous student prez who hates his guts would suddenly be in the same proximity as him - let alone let him tonguefuck you into insanity. 

You tasted so sweet.

Yeah, must’ve been some hallucination. 

Months later, your soft grumbles in his ear, and your hand warm in his, swinging playfully between you two in the buzzing aquarium - a part of Satoru still thinks he’s hallucinating.

“Slow down, Satoru! The fish aren’t going anywhere.” you huff as he flits excitedly from tank to tank, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store. Yet, you couldn't help the beginnings of a smile curling at the corners of your lips at his childlike excitement.

“Can’t! I couldn’t show you this last time, even a hardass like you’d love it.” 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by the breathtaking sight before you.

A grandiose tank - a kaleidoscope of an underwater world that stretched beyond your field of vision. Hues of blues and greens glimmering before you. Marine life you wouldn’t be able to name - no matter how many hours of watching NatGeo - in an ethereal dance across the water.

“Last time we were here we talked about multiverses. I know now, I hope that in every universe, we’ll be here together. Standing side by side, watching the deep blue and arguing about physics.”

Eyes widening at the beauty - and his words - you turn to Satoru, only to see his piercing gaze already on you. Satisfied grin bathed in a soft blue light from the tank, his twinkling eyes reflecting you and the lights and you. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“See? Didn’t I tell you you’d love it? I’m always so great at these thi-”

You shut up that big mouth - with your lips on his. 

Tender and weighty - as if you two had all the time in the world. And, your hands electric under Satoru’s touch, cold metal of the infinity sign searing into your ring finger - you think you probably do. Because Satoru’s tastes like candied apples and everything you could ever want. A promise.

“T-told you I was irresistible.” 

Confident words, muffled by your lips. You pull away with a disbelieving huff of laughter, and you’re glad you did - because you catch a glimpse of the nervous twinkle in his eyes and the flushed cheeks betraying him.

“You wish.” you chuckle, brushing your fingers over his cloudy white locks. That familiar, easy grin tugs on the corners of your heart, and for a moment - just this moment - it feels like just the two of you in this bustling aquarium. In this uncertain world.

“Sure do.” he whispers, as if a secret - meant for just the two of you. 

“Now, my prez, wanna go to our little booth at the café and debate the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

A/N. Can you tell the title was inspired by Go For It, Nakamura?

Also so sorry for posting only sporadically this week, for some reason my posts refuse to show up under any tags and as a creator that’s really discouraging. But here’s to next week being better hopefully!

Plagiarism not authorized. 

Taglist:

@bbyxxm @maskedpacific @mrs--imperfect @dunixxd @scarammouch

[doctorho]

viktor doesn't... pay that much attention to appearances, his or anyone else's. not when it doesn't matter. sure, there's the 'wearing what they see as respectable clothes so they take you seriously' and the 'not going to the dinner table covered in oil stains', but beyond that? he doesn't really care, to be honest.

yes, he's aware that some people put a lot more thought into the way they look, and into what other people think about the way they look. he knows that's a thing. it just happens to be a thing he chooses not to personally get invonved in.

well, it had been.

he honestly hadn't even thought about it much, before. it had just been one of those things that other people did, one of those things he had never really understood. you know, one of those things that made him feel like maybe the rest of the world had had some secret meeting without him where they decided that yes, these are the rules, and no, we won't explain them, you just have to know.

one of those things.

and he had been fine not thinking about it! truly, he had been blissfully unaware of what the current beauty standards were and which traits were seen as good or bad on which year -

and then he'd met you, by some miracle. you know, viktor doesn't meet that many new people, these days, so it does genuinely feel like a miracle when you just... stumble into his life one day. and without even thinking about it, automatically, viktor's brain files you away as beautiful, and he treats that as a passing fact, the same way he treats the color of your eyes. it's just a categorizing trait; this person just is beautiful.

and then, later, when he learns that apparently not everyone thinks that, his brain disagrees, severly. like - are they blind? is this a joke? it's a bad joke, if so, and then he's mad for you.

because he remembers that, ah, right. some people are weird about appearances. they have their menial rules about it that change by the decade.

he's still mad for you, but mentally he's ended that argument with well they're all idiots. because clearly you are an awesome, incredible, beautiful human being and this shouldn't be an argument in the first place.

he tells you this, and then his heart breaks a little when you seem so used to hearing the opposite. when you seem to have accepted what those idiots were saying because you'd just...heard it so often.

when you seem to not-quite-believe that he could really see you as beautiful. that he could really, actually want you. like that.

and it's - it drives him up the wall that this is even a thing. that the negative things you've heard outweigh the positive ones, and apparently by a landslide. that he can't make you see yourself the way he sees you.

because, truly, he thinks you're so beautiful. like, are you kidding? viktor's been skin and bone his whole life, and you're so...soft. he knows it way before he ever touches you; he can see it, and he has a well enough functioning imagination. and he's been thinking about it a lot, lately. what you'd feel like under his fingers. against his body. he has theories about this.

he can tell you're soft, and warm, and sometimes when the sunlight hits you he genuinely thinks you look like you could be straight out of one of those expensive oil paintings people paid a lot of money to see just a glimpse of.

and - yes, okay, maybe some of this was just his hormones talking, but come on. he couldn't not want to touch you. that was just one of those facts of life - the sun rose every morning, and whenever viktor saw you, he had the urge to touch you. to be close to you. to prove to you how much he adored you.

and then when you let him? that - that felt like a miracle. truly and honestly. because - viktor had never considered himself to be especially lucky, just, like, in life in general, but this?

he had to have won some sort of cosmic lottery. to first be lucky enough to meet you and then to be able to do this. to get so close. to touch you like this, to see you like this. it is nothing short of a privilege and he takes it, happily and greedily. and he makes it his personal mission to let you know exactly what he thought about you, and exactly how little you should care about anyone else's opinion. except your own, of course, but only on those days your mind was being kind to you.

so he makes sure you know that he absolutely worships you. okay? you are his personal deity, and he is devoted. he lets you know, any way he knows how, and any opportunity he gets. given half a chance, he will be praising you, telling how gorgeous you are and how lucky he is to have you. telling you how good you look, how good you feel, how good you make him feel. he isn't shy - he tells you, in enough detail to make your cheeks heat up.

and when you're alone, and you have all the time in the world? he shows you, and he doesn't hold back. and then he reminds you, again and again and again.

and you know viktor isn't a liar. he doesn't care about things like this enough to lie about them. so when he tells you that he loves the way you look, the way you feel, the way you are, you believe him.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Magic Man

Summary: Elvis breaks in a virgin. Word count: ~2,200 words of pure, unadulterated smut inspired by this post. This is purely a work of fiction, and from what I have read of how Elvis actually treated his lovers in real life, is probably a lot less tender and loving than the actual Elvis would have been. But it's make believe and fun, so enjoy it! Warnings: 20 year age gap, dubious consent at some points, full intercourse, course language. Somewhat callous treatment of Elvis' taste for younger women.

His bedroom is a gilded cage, dripping with excess and the stench of hedonism. Elvis's entourage has left them alone, finally, after weeks of teasing glances and knowing winks. Tonight, it’s just him and his prey—sweet little Molly van Patton. All night, she’s tried to resist, but his primal aura is too strong to deny. He’s charming. Dangerous. A seasoned, world-famous rock star. And she's just a 19-year-old innocent, trembling on the edge of womanhood. Just like he likes ‘em.

Their meeting felt like some sort of strange, cosmic joke. She wasn’t a fan, hadn’t even intended to go see his show. But her best friend convinced her, one thing led to another, and now here she is, somehow lying in his colossal bed like a tiny helpless creature, her presence filling him with a burning desire to crush and destroy.

Now, he traces his lips down her neck, pausing to nuzzle at the hollow of her collarbone. Sweetly at first, then more insistently as she drags long, jagged breaths. Molly can’t help but gasp under the full weight of him, her body opening up in ways she’s never experienced before. It’s heady and intoxicating and dangerous and delicious and—

Oh. Oh. 

Each touch sets off an electric current, making her arch closer. She runs her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, feeling the cool metal of his gold lion's head medallion pressed against her own breasts. But as he reaches for her waistband, she hesitates.

“Stop,” Molly trembles. Heat flushes her cheeks. "I’m not… I don’t…"

Elvis nuzzles her neck. His hand is dangerously close to unzipping her skirt. He’s in a taking mood tonight.

“Please,” she pleads. “Won’t they know what we’re doing in here?”

Elvis chuckles, a low, deep rumbling sound that vibrates through her very bones. “Baby, they don’t care. They’re probably already placing bets on how long you’ll last.”

Molly's heart plummets into her stomach. Of course they knew. All those knowing glances and hushed whispers, they’d known all along. Her face flushes and it's all she can do to grab her things and run.

But Elvis doesn't give her time to process this newfound knowledge. His insistent lips find her earlobe, nibbling it lightly as he whispers lewd suggestions she can't comprehend but her body understands. Against her better judgment, heat pools between her legs, and she bites back a moan of desire. 

"Just one more," Elvis purrs, his voice thick with want, sending shivers down Molly's spine. "One more’n I'll stop.”

But one more turns into two, and then three, and before she knows it, she’s powerless under him. She feebly attempts to push him away, but his strong arms grasp her tighter. His grip is firm but not quite enough to leave bruises. Not yet at least. But she knows it’s coming. Braces for it. His lips find her neck again.

The heat between her thighs grows unbearable, and she clenches them together, as if that could stop the freight train that is Elvis Presley. As if it could cool the fire raging through her veins. She’s never felt so alive, so free, so needed and… so scared, as she does tonight in his arms. But as he inches lower, kiss by agonizing kiss awakening something primal inside her, Molly panics.

This is really happening.

She’s about to give herself to a man she barely knows, a man nearly twenty years her senior. One who could crush her like a fly if he wanted to. Her heart kicks into overdrive, adrenaline coursing as she manages to shove him off. 

“No!” she cries out, the word catching in her throat. Molly’s outburst gives Elvis pause. Hurt and confusion flash across his face as he pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“What is it?” his voice is gruff but not unkind.

Molly turns her face away, cheeks flaming. How can she tell him? That despite her adventurous friend and all the talk, she's never actually… that he would be her first. 

Elvis regards her steadily. Impossibly long black lashes curtain the genuine concern in his eyes. Molly's pulse throbs in her ears. 

"Please don't make me say it," she whispers finally. Molly squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. But a single drop escapes, trailing down her cheek. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've never…"

Understanding dawns on Elvis' face. He brushes the tear from her face with surprising tenderness. 

"Never been with a man before?" he asks gently. 

Molly shakes her head, a furious blush creeping up her neck. She expects anger, derision, rejection. For him to throw her out and call for the next girl. 

But instead, Elvis tips her chin up to look at him. "Oh honey," he murmurs. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Molly's breath catches in her throat as Elvis regards her with unexpected tenderness. His hands, which moments before seemed so insistent, now caress her face and arms with featherlight touches. 

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elvis shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Oh darlin', that don't matter one bit to me. I want you, Molly girl. I want to make you feel real good." 

He drags his thumb over her bottom lip and Molly shivers. She knows she should leave, should find Doreen and book it out of there before she does something reckless. But the way Elvis is looking at her, like she's the only woman in the world… it makes her feel powerful. Desired. Dangerous.

She... likes it?

"Just relax and lemme take care of you," Elvis murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. With that, the last of her resolve melts. 

His hands, knowing and sure, explore her curves, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moans, melting into him, her body betraying her. She's scared, yes, but she's also aching for more. He senses her hesitation, easing her back even further, parting her thighs with a tenderness belied by the impressive size of his hands. His eyes are hungry, admiring the perfect, trembling creature before him. 

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, running a calloused finger along her jawline. His words were like sweet poison, both thrilling and terrifying. "Shh, baby," he coos, "I gotcha."

He kisses her, his lips firm yet gentle, as if he can taste her innocence. Her first kiss, her first everything, all with him. She was born for him.

*

His lips trail down her breasts, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Molly arches into the sensation, the soft scratch of his stubble against her skin. His hand slides down to her stomach, fingertips tracing the sensitive flesh just below her belly button. 

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks hoarsely. She shakes her head, unable to form words. "Say it, Molly girl." He presses a kiss to her hip bone, nipping lightly at it. 

"No," she gasps. "Don't stop."

He smiles against her skin. "Good girl," he purrs before lowering his mouth to where she's aching for him most.

His tongue flicks forward, teasing her entrance and Molly cries out, her fingers curling into the silk sheets. She looks down at him—somewhere down there—through one open eye.

"Is that what... are you supposed to be—"

Before she can finish her sentence, his hands grip her thighs. Fear and desire battle within her, but desire wins out as curious pecks and licks turn into long, languid strokes. Bracing himself, Elvis feasts on her, like she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. She finally opens her eyes and there he is in all his glory: lapping at her, coaxing the desire out of her body and onto his waiting tongue. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through her. "Oh God," she whuffs out, her head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice wonders what everyone else must be thinking. But then Elvis's tongue buries itself deep within again, soft and wet, and all thoughts vanish into thin air. His hands grip the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her closer to him as he laps at her vulnerable center. She's never felt anything like this before, the pleasure so unbearable it hurts. 

"That's it, baby," he growls into her glistening pussy, "ride it out."

And she does. His tongue flicks and swirls, plunging inside her, mimicking what she imagines is his impressive length. 

By now, the whole house must hear her moans, but she doesn’t care. She’s coming undone whether she wants to or not, and she’s never felt more alive.

“Oh, Elvis,” she moans, her voice high and desperate, “Oh, I—”

Molly van Patton shudders and bucks against him, her first ever orgasm coursing through her body like wildfire. He doesn't stop though, not until she's sobbing and spent, her juices coating his face. He looks up at her through hooded lids, a satisfied smirk on his full lips.

“I ain’t done with you yet.”

*

He moves up her body, his manhood hard and throbbing against her thigh. Her entrance flutters in anticipation, and Elvis smiles at the sight. He positions himself there, large and intimidating. 

“Relax, li’l girl,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll be real gentle.” Molly looks up at him, eyes wide, pleading. 

“You sure you want this?”

She nods dutifully.

“Say it f’me, now.” 

“I want you inside me.”

That’s all he needs. Before she can take it back, he slides in an inch, and then another. He’s so big, stretching her so wide she’s certain she’ll split in half. Certain he'll pierce her and she'll never be the same again. Tears leak from her eyes, mixing with the mascara from earlier.

“Shh,” he soothes, “I got you.” His accent is thicker than usual, sweet like molasses. Slowly, bit by excruciating bit, Elvis works himself inside her tight heat. Molly bites her lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway.

At that, Elvis groans, and then he’s entering her more and more until he bottoms out. He's still for a moment, ensuring she can truly take in all of his length. “Tell me how it feels,” he grunts, as he slowly picks up speed.

“It hurts,” she pants out. But it’s a delectable sort of hurt. He’s filling her up in ways she never thought possible. Each thrust has her teeth bitting his shoulder tighter.

“I know, baby,” he coos into her ear, “but it gets better, I promise.”

And somehow, it does. The pain eases and is replaced with a delicious ache that has her hips rocking towards his.. Heat pools in her belly as he claims her with every thrust, like she was made for him and only him.

“You’re so tight,” he moans. “Made for me.”

It’s a mantra, a vow, as a he pistons in and out, breaking her in with every stroke. Her climax from before was nothing compared to this. She’s soon whimpering, clawing at his back, an evil sob stuck in her throat. 

"That's it, baby," he pants, "give it all to me."

Elvis pulls out swiftly, leaving Molly empty and aching. In one smooth motion, he flips her over onto her stomach. 

"On your knees," he commands.

Molly whimpers but obeys, presenting herself to him on all fours. Elvis groans at the sight, gripping her hips tightly. 

He enters her from behind in one powerful thrust. Molly cries out, the new angle allowing him to penetrate her even deeper. Elvis sets a ruthless pace, pounding into her relentlessly.

The sound of slapping flesh fills the air as he claims her, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He hits a spot deep inside that has Molly seeing stars. She pushes her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough.

"That's right, take it," Elvis growls. His breathing is labored in her ear, hot and ragged. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto her shoulder blades, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re taking me so good. You love it, don’t you?”

She does. Oh, God, does she ever. Fuck it. If this was wrong, she didn’t want to be right. 

He keeps pounding into her, and it's dizzying and intoxicating all at once. The room spins as she clings to the headboard for dear life, his name a curse on her lips, a talisman against the building pleasure-pain coiling in her core. His pace quickens, hot breath on her neck, and his thick chest hair tickling her back.

“El… vis…” she mewls. “Right there!”

He obliges, his expert hands massaging her swollen clit as he pounds into her from behind. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he rasps as Molly bucks against him, working the length of his cock with her slick and pushing her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough. It shocks him how quickly she took to his cock. Elvis’ fingers dig almost painfully into her hips, urging her on. “That’s right, take what you need.” 

"Elvis, I..."

The pressure builds, coiling in her belly like a spring. “That’s my girl, let it go,” he growls in her ear, and that’s all it takes.

Her body explodes into a million stars, tightening around him as she screams her release. Just like that, it hits her all at once—from heaven and hell itself, crashing over her like a tidal wave and even more powerful than the first. Colors dance behind her eyelids. 

Elvis’ nails dig into her back, and she can feel the delicious sting as they break the skin. “Unnngh,” he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ close.” The filthy words spur her on, and she clenches around him, the fluttering of her walls easing up, and suddenly she’s slowly floating back to earth and back to life and back to his gigantic bed in his gigantic mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.

He growls and buries himself even deeper, his thrusts erratic and desperate now. Harder and harder until he, too, splinters apart, shattering inside her like stained glass. He grunts, his release warm and sticky deep inside her.

Later, Elvis cocoons Molly in his strong arms and starts to rock her gently. As she drifts off to sleep, she knows there's no going back.

She's his now, body and soul. That’s the price she paid for giving in to her darkest desire.

[linonyang]

BF!SKZ WHEN YOU ARE IN STUDY MODE [maknae line]

read hyung line version here

pairings: maknae line x gender-neutral!reader (written separately per member)

genre: fluff, college au

warning: none

word count: 1.6k words (390-400 words per member)

tag list: @awooghan​​ @hwangsify​​ @xiaoderrrr​ @cosmic-railwayxo​​​ (join the tag list here! :D)

�� linonyang - all rights reserved. please do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours.

☆ JISUNG

he's very clingy, and he misses you very much despite being a busy student like you…

what will he do?

bring you to a 24/7 cafe and stay there overnight :>

so he can have you and coffee—two of his essentials to stay up the whole night

he gets to spend some time with the love of his life and consume the black liquid that will always make his eyes open for several hours

he'd say it's the best combination ngl :ppp 

when you have to memorize something, you can read the same line on your laptop repeatedly while leaning on jisung's chest

you get less tension in your body because your senses are overwhelmed with jisung's arms around your torso, his scent, the smile on his face, and his voice whenever he has to read his own paper or help you remember some terms

jisung will find ways to make you remember and understand concepts, such as making acronyms, melodies, or anything that can help you get them into your mind in an instant <33

if he could pull a joke with the term you’re trying to remember, he’d do it!!! he’ll definitely use some of his remaining brain cells to give your mind some room for more concepts to familiarize yourself!

his support and presence comfort you so much that you forget the pressure that has been building up inside you for the past week

he will be wonderfully sustaining this energy until you finish all of your deadlines and exams in the next few days

you guys will continuously do the same routine: meet up after class, head straight to the cafe, study together, and go back home

it may sound simple, but the specifics within all of those have been the best and the most effective for your peace of mind

and it’s all because jisung’s with you all the way <3

he may hop into your apartment and eat some dinner with you if you’re feeling lazy to go to the cafe

and look after you once in a while if you need any help, just like what you two do whenever you’re in the cafe <33

he’d stay over with you when it’s very late and plan out your meals for the next day so you’ll have a big boost!!! so you can be productive!!!

inarguably the best bf to be with imo :D

☆ FELIX

felix can’t keep thinking of anything else if he wants to be with you when you study

you’re his only focus!!!

and he’ll never stop until you successfully finish all of your tasks

(hence why sometimes felix tells you he kinda messed up some recitations in his classes :’< tell him to prioritize his studies too please)

right after his own class, he’ll rush to wherever you are and treat you like royalty as usual!

the only difference here is that he’s physically ready always when you need some company

whenever he has nothing to do, he really finds you and stays by your side until he has to leave once again for a group meeting or attend another class

he thinks there should be someone accompanying you so you wouldn’t trap yourself in any negative thoughts

that’s why he’s also your cheerleader

he has been very optimistic even if you’re on the verge of breaking down

and honestly, it helps you face all of your fears in academics

if you feel you’re gonna miss a task, you always try to remember felix’s words on how much work you did for your assignments and you can pass whatever you did

because, at the end of the day, you did what you can do!!! and that’s what matters!!!

if you got to catch up, good for you!! a cheerful felix is still by your side and applauding your effort!!!

(and he’ll definitely do the same if you passed your work unfinished :D don’t worry, he’s still very proud of you!!)

whenever he’s with you, you convince him to do his own work

but he’s very stubborn </3

as i mentioned earlier, he can’t think of anything else if you’re intensely studying for your exams!

consider him as your coach of some sort… he’ll always be there so you can be comfortably consistent at your own pace :>

maybe when he gets a lot of things on his plate, he’d still accompany you because “i always have the time to do my work :p” (a.k.a. pulling an all-nighter in his apartment)

you’ll look after him next when you’re done with your tasks.

he also needs some of your coaching </3

but that will end up felix getting distracted though because you are with him when he has to study. 

good luck :’D he probably wasn’t kidding when he said you’re his focus

☆ SEUNGMIN

seungmin will move in the background when he realizes that you have a lot on your plate

he works in the morning so he doesn’t do too much of studying under the moonlight

but you do the opposite

what seungmin will do is organize some things around you

he wouldn’t mind sorting out some things you weren’t able to clean up on the other side of the table

especially that stack of papers you’ve been reading for the last two weeks

your whiteboard, filled with your list of deadlines, will also be updated by seungmin!

“are you done with that one quiz last week?” “yep, i’m done” and there goes seungmin erasing that one written on the whiteboard

this is one random thought, but seungmin will definitely sort out some food in your fridge while you’re busy on your desk

you let him munch on whatever he’ll find in your fridge

he’ll throw out food that has been stocked in there for a long time

if he finds something for you to eat, he would bring it to you and will push it near you on your desk if you decline his love for you (a.k.a. silently giving food haha)

“c’mon, go eat!!! :<” “let me finish this bit?” *seungmin pushes the orange juice and already-heated chicken pie near you* “no, take a sip and a bite first!!!”

and he’d finish his adventure in your fridge once you take that sip and bite lmao

he’ll come back with his stomach full, with more food for you to eat

there is a high chance that he’ll scold you if he comes back after an hour and you haven’t finished that small portion of food he gave you :<

watch out for a very caring seungmin

he will not hesitate to feed you while you’re reviewing your books!

once your stomach’s full because of the food seungmin fed you and your mind’s overwhelmed because of information overload, seungmin will accompany you through your routine until you go to bed

he’s sooo willing to prepare your pajamas while you’re in the shower

he will also volunteer to do your skin routine if you do that

you wouldn’t be surprised when you’ll finally lie down in bed and you’re immediately wrapped with your blanket (that’s all seungmin’s doing :p)

you’ll have a refreshing morning with seungmin wrapped around you too :’>

☆ JEONGIN

if you’re in his room at the dorms (so he can look after you occasionally haha), he wouldn’t mind giving you the privacy and peace you need so you can focus on studying

because he can’t trust you being alone in your room :< you might get distracted if you’re alone in your dorm!

unless you ask him to stay with you :D 

he’s just one call away! he’ll be with the boys, playing mario kart with felix for a few hours

he will also scold the boys if any of them have the audacity to make noise

“keep quiet changbin!!!!” because the man shouted when he lost against chan in tekken 7 :((( 

he’s just… he wants some bit of silence in the dorm since the walls are quite thin and you can hear almost any sound outside of his room lol

then you’ll hear the boys squeal and tease him at how sweet he has been to you 

rip jeongin’s ears

since he’s outside of his room, you wouldn’t notice whether or not he went out of the dorm

don’t be surprised if he leaves you some coffee or muffins after buying his americano outside with the boys

he drops it off very quick! you weren’t even able to say thank you to him :<<

but you did find a cute note attached to the food he gave to you :DD 

“i love u :* such a hardworking baby :< always know that you did your best to prepare for your exams, whether the results are good or bad! mwah <3”

you value that so much :((( 

he leaves you motivating notes a lot until the point you have kept a box full of them from jeongin!

he’s so strict about your studying, so he really doesn’t get in his room unless you say so

but of course, you know this is not your home so you still let him in any time, especially at night 

you can trust him to not distract you

you still go to bed together :p he can’t survive without you in his arms

unfortunately, he’s so stubborn about this fact^ sigh

that’s why when the exams week is over, he greets you with a tight hug and tons of kisses

such a clingy baby after a week of barely any physical affection for you

“can we have a date now?”

“right away?”

“heh… yes?”

[robertdowneyjjr]

so none of this is what any of you asked for, but part 3 of the stonyclunks soulmates au @stark-and-shield @polizwrites @soliloquent-stark

(parts one and two)

tony spends his flight home from london agonizing over what he should do next.

on the one hand, his feelings about captain america haven’t changed. if anything, he’s now even more adamant that he wants nothing to do with him, because not only does tony now have proof that cap is a total dick, he also now feels like all that childhood trauma?? was the result of a lie. now he knows that he grew up being compared to someone who isn’t even really as great as his dad made him seem. so maybe now he has some validation (and vindication) that howard was wrong. but still, he could have just done without the years of feeling like he wasn’t good enough.

on the other hand, he’s a hopeless romantic at heart and he’s always dreamed of meeting and growing old with his soulmate. he grew up surrounded by them — his parents are soulmates. ana and edwin jarvis are soulmates. aunt peggy and uncle daniel are soulmates. that nature-defying love has always been the shining example of what real happiness is to him and he’s been desperate for it since he was 25, the average age when people meet their soulmates. the fact that he lived until he was 38 and still never met his soulmate had hurt him everyday. and sure, he’s happy in other ways. he’s content with how his life has turned out. he has amazing friends. he has a family that supports him. but god, he wants to share it with someone who he knows is fated to be his.

now, he’s kind of annoyed that he and his dad have another thing in common, what with howard not meeting maria until he was in his 40’s. and at this point he’s starting to think that being soulmates with captain america is some sort of sick cosmic joke that the universe is playing on him.

also he’s really, really pissed that the words that are permanently marked on his skin are so ugly.

at dinner before their night at the opera, tony tells maria, “mama, i met my soulmate.”

“oh that’s wonderful, antonio! tell me all about them!”

maria can hardly contain her excitement, and tony feels awful that the news he’s about to share isn’t worth her feeling this happy about.

“it was two weeks ago, a total accident. he was really mean,” he explains softly. if they weren’t in public right now he might even have just shown her the words on his thigh, but he knows her protective instincts would rear their head immediately and she’d skip the opera just to get started on hunting down the man who spit such vitriol at her son.

“oh. well, has he apologized for it?” maria asks. “i hope he has some basic manners, at least. i won’t allow someone who treats my son such poorly into the family, whether you’re soulmates or not.”

“he… has. quite dramatically,” tony says, thinking about the instagram post that had been causing a media frenzy for a week now.

“well, good. he should know you’re to be treasured,” maria sniffs. “when will i get to meet him?”

“i haven’t seen him again since. i don’t know if i really want to.”

“why not, bambino? you’ve always wanted to meet your soulmate.”

“mama… it’s captain america.”

maria looks around the restaurant. “where? i thought howard was with him tonight. crazy old man, still thinks he’s in his prime and trying to keep up with people half his age.”

“no, mama. my soulmate. he’s captain america.”

“oh. oh dear.”

“yeah.” tony picks up his fork and starts eating again. “i think i might just be better off dying alone.”

maria doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. suddenly all the excessive whining from steve that howard has been telling her about makes a lot more sense. she knows that steve is a good man. maybe not perfect like howard always made him out to be. but kind, nonetheless. he would be good to tony, good for him, she’s sure. tony just needs to give him a chance.

but also, like she said, tony should be treasured. if steve wants to make up for how they started off, he needs to pull out all the stops. tony deserves nothing less than the best, after all. and to be honest, maria thinks she might enjoy watching steve grovel a bit. she’s also looking forward to making fun of howard for having such an idiot as a best friend and future son-in-law.

so she starts planning.

“tonio, darling, why don’t you stay over at the mansion tonight? ana was just saying we haven’t had brunch with you in ages.”

“sure, mama.”

under the table, she texts howard.

M: is steve still pouting about his life?

H: unfortunately. i’m just glad beer does nothing for him. i can’t imagine how much worse this all could be if he were drunk.

M: poor boy. maybe he’s also feeling a bit lonely. there are plenty of rooms in the mansion if he doesn’t want to go home to an empty apartment tonight.

H: he might like that. i’ll let him know.

[isagrimorie]

trick or treat! Happy Halloween!

for the writing ask game

Belated Happy Halloween!

For this I'm going with a new fic idea.

It's a Big Damn Epic idea I do not have the spoons to do but, maybe someday.

My idea is inspired by something I read from the Marvel Comics wiki about Lady Death and the Death of Death arc or something similar where Death is in danger.

I don't know how to go about it but the encompassing idea is that someone, or an intergalactic group/cult wants to end Death ala the group from 12 Monkeys. The Monkeys wants to end time so no one will die.

It's the same idea, they think the source of all their grief is Death, and learn the Concept of Death is a literal walking and talking entity. They are a group that's existed for centuries across the stars.

Leaping off from Gorr's god-killing spree, the group gods can die, they go for the Gods of Death. They have killed some Death Gods but death and dying still exist.

Until they hit on the existence of the Cosmic Beings and the second oldest entity in the universe: Lady Death.

Somehow word gets around that the Lady Death loved a Human, and the intergalactic cult descended on Earth searching for the Human Death Loved.

A Diviniation Witch gets hold of this news, it is not a future but a near future warning, passed from one seer to another, a resistance against the Life Cult--and this reaches Ghost Agatha.

Agatha hears the news and just cackles. "What're they going to do, I'm dead. Also, please, nothing will kill Rio, she's Death."

Agatha is acting blasé about this and Billy is puzzled why she's being cavalier. She gets roped in to help save Death.

"I'm telling you guys, she doesn't need help!"

Billy refuses to hear this and tries to find a way to 'save Death'.

Agatha: "That's not even a cool band name!"

Agatha gets emotionally invested in the middle of it, and she can't really let Billy die. Because if Billy's spirit jumps bodies again, Rio will really appear and find a way to kill a ghost.

So, even though she thinks it's still a bad idea to get involve, Agatha helps.

"Also the group is also looking for me! They want me for LEV-ER-AGE!"

Billy: "What can they do to you? You're a ghost!"

TLDR, Agatha is right. They trap Agatha in a device that can entrap souls. Agatha is terrified for herself because the Cult leader claims that the device can destroy souls.

The group urges Agatha to call out to Death (they have an infinity stone ready to entrap Death). Agatha refuses. She's terrified and wise, and telling all kinds of jokes.

Billy and Kamala try to reach Agatha (yes, Billy recruited the Young Avengers for this. Kate: "I'm in my twenties! I'm not a teenager! Why am I a part of this group??").

When things are looking hopeless, suddenly a figure in black appears with a skull face and dark hair.

The device explodes, and Agatha is freed.

"Is that Death?" Kamala asked, awed.

Kate still has her arrow nocked. "Hey, I thought you said, Death was a lady?"

Billy: "She is."

Kate gestured towards the figure standing over Agatha. "Are you sure? 'Cause Death looks more like a dude."

"What?" Billy turns his head. Agatha was looking up at the figure before her, looking stunned.

"Hi," the boy, who looked almost like Kate's age said. It's not that his face was a skull, there was still some flesh but it looked like his skull was superimposed over his face. "Mama."

"Nicky?!"

There's a moment of shock and a huge wave of emotion hits Agatha and she lunges forward. There was so much emotion in Agatha that she looked like she gained physical form.

"I missed you."

"Thank you for making an appearance, Death's Child."

And then, it's apparently all an elaborate trap for Nicky, to get to Lady Death.

Rio would do almost anything for Agatha, but Lady Death would break worlds for her son.

And before her eyes, Nicky is siphoned into a reforged infinity stone.

Agatha is fury but as a ghost, there is not a lot she can do. Rio finally appears, fury incarnate and demands they free Nicky but the group vanishes.

Leaving behind a voice message.

"We will make demands now, Lady Death. If you want to keep your son safe."

It turns out that in the act of trying to save Death, they triggered the very thing that could be Death's downfall.

(And many more things happen, that will end up with Rio and Agatha teaming up).

TBC!

[unicyclehippo]

prompt: patience

‘ashton! good morning!’ laudna trilled, fluttering a wave his way. they grunted. nodded her over.

she settled beside them, skirt of her new dress wafting out over his knee, the layers soft against their skin. it burned. soft things did, which was some cosmic fucking joke probably. it made him entirely too fucking aware of the itch under his skin, the one that felt like his body was trying to turn itself inside out. laudna apologised, which he ignored. she didn’t have to apologise for shit. ever.

‘so?’

‘so what.’

‘how’s it going? your meditation?’

a frown crunched between their brows.

‘honestly?’

‘of course!’ she said, loud and bright and cheery. he’d fucking die for her.

‘seems like a lot of being patient,’ he said. laudna nodded, smiling. ‘no. i’m no fucking good at patience. it’s a fucking scam. people are always harping on about it but it’s always for their own fucking benefit. be patient so we can treat you like shit for longer. be content with fucking scraps, the hunger is good for you, makes you determined. be patient and you’ll learn something. life’s a fucking prison and patience is your time fucking served and you better be on your best behaviour or else. it’s bullshit! meditation is bullshit. it’s all…’ ashton grabbed the nearest rock, one they’d been focusing on for this meditative shit, and chucked it. hard. it sailed a considerable distance before impacting a tree, which shattered.

‘holy shit.’

‘fuck. that’s not. one of their important trees, is it?’

‘i don’t know,’ she said, and climbed swiftly to her feet. ‘but just in case, we should not be here.’ she held a hand down to him, like she could actually lift him. ashton took it, softly.

there had been a time when he’d done stupid shit, got into scrapes, and had no one to run away with. it had taken fucking years before he salvaged FCG, then the rest piled in by accident. had it been patience that got him to all of them? or something else?

when they stopped running, laudna didn’t need to catch her breath because she didn’t ever really do that. ‘are you going to try again? the meditation.’

ashton groaned and dropped to the ground, sprawling beneath the sprawling branches of some nice old tree. the stretching shadows mimicked his outstretched limbs. did that mean something? laudna nudged them.

‘yeah. fuck me,’ he muttered. ‘yeah, i am.’

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part vi

There wasn’t any particular moment in which Basil finally realized that the curse wasn’t real.

There was no sudden clarity, no revelation, nothing he could pinpoint as before and after. It was just the slow, gradual dawning of something that, if he thought about it, had always been obvious to him, deep down.

When he’d first heard those tall tales, so many years ago, maybe there was already a part of him that doubted their validity. How could it be that he, who was only ever a child trying to live a quiet life and make friends, could be cursed? How could he be destined to bring evil upon the world, when it was other children who had beaten and berated him? What divine irony was that, that he should be considered the monstrous one, while others—with their supposed pure and unyielding love—could attempt to maim or even kill him with impunity?

The thing was, believing it had been easy. It was not hard to convince himself that surely, monster or not, evil or not, he had been cursed with some affliction. The truth was far harder to stomach—that anyone who believed they had the right to hurt him had been deluding themselves. Basil had never truly believed that there was something inhuman about him; but when that was how other people treated you anyway, what use was the truth?

There was no divine destiny, no cosmic reason, good or evil, that he should be born the way he was. It was simply the way of things, like nature. The sun rose every morning. Basil did not have a heart.

This new understanding should have brought him solace. It should have been vindicating, to know that his belief in his own humanity hadn’t been misplaced. It brought him no such peace. But it didn’t make him angry, either. Instead, Basil only felt a quiet sense of resignation. After all, what difference did it make? 

Before they knew what he was, the children of Swallow’s Point had treated Basil just like they would any other. He was strange, perhaps—he didn’t always relate to or understand the things they would joke about, like their crushes or their lofty dreams of being wed to someone wealthy from the capital—but they did not shun him. The way they turned on him so rapidly made it obvious that it didn’t matter who he was, only what he was. Once they decided there was something wrong with him, it didn’t matter who he’d proven himself to be. It wouldn’t have even mattered if he could prove the curse wasn’t real.

Deep down, Basil knew the truth: they would have considered him to be a freak either way.

When he tried to broach the subject with Jim, he’d only received a strange look in response. The others had reacted much the same, if a bit more graciously (save for Dusty, who’d jokingly agreed and then made him repeat it next to the new garden beds to “at least put that horseshit to good use”). Ann had attempted a clumsy diatribe about why he shouldn’t speak of himself that way before quickly giving up in embarrassment. When he’d mentioned it to Frida, it had been during a crying spell immediately following a nightmare, and she’d only tried to console him. Only Hank had given him somewhat of a straight answer, saying, “You know better than that by now” with a knowing expression before lapsing into silence on the trail.

And so, that had been that.

Today, Basil sat on Frida’s porch, toes in the grass, weaving. The motion soothed him, and reminded him fondly of warm days in Swallow’s Point, making daisy chains and flower crowns in the meadow. Now, however, he was working on a much more ambitious project.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

Basil looked up from his work. Ann crested the hill to the house, pack over her shoulder. As usual, she carried her bow on her back and a knife on her belt. It was rare to see her without them, even though the village was relatively safe and Hank always went about town unarmed.

“A sunhat. I want to finish it by summer,” Basil said. His attempts in years previous had not gone as planned; his best hat had only held up for a few weeks before falling apart. He hoped his new strategy would be more successful. “What’s in there?”

“Hides,” Ann said, hefting the bag. “Frida asked for them. Can’t imagine what she needs them for.”

Basil’s face lit up. “For blankets!” he explained. “Warmer ones, for when folks are sick.”

Ann’s lip twitched in a smile. “Well, look at you. Someone’s become the perfect apprentice.”

“Helping people,” Basil said, bashful. “It just feels right. Everyone took care of me when I was younger, so I ought to do the same. We have to look after one another. No one else will.”

An odd look passed across Ann’s face, and she took a knee in front of Basil with a sigh. Damn, he thought. Not this again.

“Kid, we’re not gonna be able to protect you forever.”

“I know.”

“You’re absolutely positive you don’t want me to teach you how to shoot? You have the steady hands for it.”

Basil’s stomach lurched. He’d accompanied Ann and Hank on a hunt exactly once, and he’d thrown up in the bushes and had to go home. That had been the end of that.

“I’m sure,” he said, voice strangled, idly fiddling with the loose strands of soft green grass poking out of his unfinished hat.

“Basil. I know you don’t want to hear it, but if you’re going to walk around in the woods by yourself like you have been, you ought to be able to defend yourself. This is me trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not doing it.” Basil crossed his arms over his chest, indignant. “I promise to be careful, but I’m not shooting that thing.”

Ann sighed and rubbed at her temple. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Most people in town had never held a weapon in their life. Plenty of the villagers went wandering about, yet only Basil was subject to Ann’s incessant prodding about learning self defense. It was unfair to be treated this way—in a short time, Basil went from feared and derided to lauded as something uniquely precious. He was either a scourge on the world or the paragon of hope and virtue; there was no winning either way.

“I don’t know what it is you all see in me,” Basil said. “I’m not some kind of hero.”

“It ain’t about you being a hero. It’s just that, well…” Ann grimaced, looking rather sheepish. “You’re young, and you only narrowly survived your way here. It gives the rest of us something to live for, knowing you’ll be alright.”

Basil suppressed a smirk. It was a peculiar sentiment, given that he in his young life had experienced far more direct violence than most of the other townspeople. Ann didn’t seem to notice the irony. Instead, she looked at him wistfully before shaking herself out of it and pushing past him into the house, ruffling his hair as she passed.

Once she was gone, Basil plucked another blade of long grass from his basket and returned to his weaving. He worked steadily for a while, worming his toes in the cool dirt. After some time, he grew curious and scooted up closer to the kitchen window to eavesdrop..

“...he’s so stubborn about it, Frida! Can’t he see how important this is?”

Startled, Basil leaned closer to hear, hands stilling.

“Ann, please don’t push the boy. If it’s upsetting to him, we ought to not force him to do it.”

“Someone’s going to come for him some day. You know where he’s from. If he wanders off too far—”

“Hush now. It’s safe here. No one is going to come.”

Ann took a ragged breath. “Hank was right from the start. We should have done something about this.”

“Absolutely not. We do not need to risk further traumatizing the poor boy.”

“Frida, do you know the way he talks? Things about being cursed, about—”

“Yes, yes, he’s said the same to me too. It’s a common myth, Ann. He’s growing up, trying to understand what he is.”

“He worries me. I told myself in the beginning not to get attached, because—”

“He’ll be alright, dear. He’s a teenager now, and a smart one at that. You should see the way he is around the house; so bright and kind. Thank you for looking out for him.”

Basil set his project aside, hands trembling. Anger washed over him, though at what, he didn’t know. Anger at the people who had lied to him for so long, perhaps. Anger at those who had hurt him and ruined his life. Anger at himself, even, for still being frightened after all this time, for being too weak to protect himself, for proving Ann right with his own fragility.

Not wanting the others to know he’d been eavesdropping, Basil grabbed his cane and scurried further from the house, adrenaline pushing him a good deal across the hillside before he dropped back into the grass, legs quaking. He stayed there for a long while, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to breathe slowly through the anger and panic.

The sun was setting by the time Frida came to fetch him, settling beside him in the grass, not minding the way it stained her skirts.

“Basil, dear? Are you okay?” she asked, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. It was his quilt, the same old one she’d given him the day he’d arrived in Verdigris, those years ago.

Basil shrugged.

“Is it alright if I touch you?”

Basil nodded, and Frida draped an arm around him and tugged him close, brushing his shoulder gently with her thumb in a soothing motion. He was nearly taller than her now, though that wasn’t saying much. Both of them were still short. For a moment, they sat quietly in the rustling grass, watching the sun go down over Verdigris. Eventually, Frida spoke again.

“You know you aren’t cursed, don’t you, Basil? There is nothing evil or wrong about how you were born.”

“I know,” Basil said softly. He nestled closer to her side. “A part of me always knew. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. But I thought you deserved to hear someone say it to you anyway.”

Briefly, Basil felt a twinge of regret, thinking of those left behind. Ace, if he was truly still out there, and any others like him would have to go on believing in a lie that had only been crafted to hurt them. But that pain was quickly superseded by the feeling of the huge weight he’d been carrying for years being lifted from his shoulders. Two years before everything had gone wrong, Basil had been warned of his own existence like it were a ghost story, and he and Ace had both carried that burden like a seed deep within their chests from that day on. The moment had brought them together, but it also represented a threat to whatever little peace they’d had.

Now, however futile or fleeting the feeling was, Basil buried his face in Frida’s shoulder and wept, relieved.

[nautilusopus]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @subdee, may as well since it's been a while

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

40

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

590,973

3. What fandoms do you write for?

FFVII mostly, but none of that spinoff bullshit. I have some stuff for XV in the works despite hating XV and the characters having zero fucking personality because this is just my grieving process I guess??? They're basically all crossovers with VII except one though so ¯_(ツ)_/¯

I've also got a couple things for Spy X Family I'm excited for but unfortunately am a bit hamstrung due to certain reveals and lack of reveals so it's on pause.

(Also Ever Crisis and Remake back to back have sucked all the fucking joy out of me in one fell swoop so I'm trying to remember why I even fucking like doing this when FFVII has effectively been erased.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1)The Number I.

Go read it. I worked hard on it and it's very dense and heavily character-driven and a genfic focused on plot, and, most importantly, is complete. I'm going to shill this one directly I ain't give a damn:

Predominately involves Cloud, now four years out from Meteorfall, struggling to adjust to civilian life given he's still gene-spliced with an Old God, who begins losing control of his body to a heretofore seemingly unknown entity with inscrutable goals. As it gradually becomes clear that the events of the previous four years aren't as they seem in more ways than one, things start to go off the rails completely as Cloud winds up enmeshed in conflict between multiple parties: an international initiative studying cosmology and the two doctors leading it; the WRO, who has considered him a Jenova-based liability from day one; interpersonal friction with his newfound family stemming from the residual baggage of everything he went through; and reality itself beginning to deteriorate.

It's slice of life, it's cosmic horror, it's a character study, it's about grown men crying and legacies and grief and trauma and intimacy and autonomy and gender as a microcosm for broader truths about the nature of the self, it's got angry tearful fistfights, bottoms that haven't figured out you can take it in turn to service top, Cloud telling everyone his strong and correct opinions about magic and materia and bikes, found family shenanigans, and me talking about garlic for way way way too long. Something for everyone!

I wasn't kidding about any of that by the way, heed the warnings at the top of the chapters because I do NOT pull punches and we get into some heavy shit. Go hard or go home.

Originally it was a 500 word pee joke I was gonna show to two people in response to a terrible LTD argument I saw someone make and was sure I'd "wrap it up quickly". Oops.

2) An Idiot's Guide to Holding Hands. I wrote this in response to, I'm not kidding, the worst most hateful fanfiction I have ever fucking seen in my life. As big of a beef as I have with the Crisis Core fuckers treating the women like shit and being pretty hateful towards them as a whole, they're still at least clearly writing because they genuinely love Crisis Core and the characters in it for reasons that are presently unknown to me. This thing on the other hand was oozing contempt for the cast of VII and Evangelion and the women in particular and I genuinely don't know why someone would put that much fucking effort into making something like this and felt a sudden need to rebut everything it stood for. It's not super great as a fic tbh but y'all seem to like it so at least something came of it.

3) Don't Ask How The Job Interview Went. Harry Potter/VII crossover I shat out in like 6 hours on a whim because a Halloween prompt one year was "witches and wizards" and I hated all the existing crossovers (ugh again with the crisis core). Honestly had an entire multichapter fic as a sequel lined up that I was pretty excited for but as things went on I felt grosser and grosser about even making it. Maybe I'll do something with the outline one day, it was basically finished. Still kills me that this thing is so fucking popular but there you go.

4) What's Dead and Buried. This is literally just Chapter 18 of The Number I (which you should go read!). I wrote it, realised it worked great as a standalone fic and gateway drug, and published it as its own thing. If you're on the fence about TNI, maybe check out this oneshot. Features shitty gremlin child Cloud interacting with Vincent and a lot of grim implications about both their lives that Cloud is too young to really get. Very very black comedy.

5) Adjacent. I don't like this one sorry. It was a commission and while I like the individual headcanons of freaky shit Cloud is inclined to do and was chomping at the bit to use them somewhere I don't like how they wound up getting utilised. Feels like generic fandom fluff to me. I'd delete it but people seem to enjoy it and I don't want to take that from them.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always and as soon as I possibly can! I'm immensely flattered people actually take the time to comment on stuff and I enjoy getting to talk about the stuff I wrote in a bit more depth.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's Full of Stars easily. Fucked that dude up beyond repair. Also was considering a sequel for this one too so I could explore some of the stuff fueling what the fuck is going on here, though that might obviously ruin the ambiguity of said ending and what exactly was done to him.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm a big baby I actually almost always try for happy endings, or at least bittersweet. Probably Tidewaters, nobody even gets pulped in that one.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Basically no. I've gotten five negative comments in all the years I've been doing this:

Two were people whinging about how I made Aeris Jewish in a fic and how that was reverse racist against Christians (die mad about it lol).

Two were someone that wanted an in-depth essay over my right to use a slur within the context of a character talking about people calling him that slur in a character arc partially about feeling alienated from gender and basically demanded I out myself to "prove" I could use it while missing literally everything about why that word would be used to where they felt the need to send that shit to begin with (gee thanks did you do it did you make the queers feel comfortable). Reading comprehension is so so important you are all going to kill me.

The last one was a long six paragraph rant completely unrelated to the fic in any way because I joked in the author's notes about not liking a video game that they liked(????), followed by an even longer ten paragraph rant about how actually the unrelated game was "95% perfect" (lmaoooo) and how "5% of it being bad isn't a good reason to hate it". The first half of it's on there, I deleted the second comment because my fanfiction comments are not the fucking gamefaqs forums dude. (Also die mad about it lol.) That remains to this day the only comment I've ever deleted from any of my fics and that includes the one that literally just said "penis" and nothing else.

9. Do you write smut?

If you squint lol. TNI has a couple sex scenes in it. They're uh

they're in it.

Boy are they in it.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Hell yeah I do. Also I'm a purist about this term A CROSSOVER IS WHEN YOU CROSS THE TWO THINGS OVER BUT THEY ARE STILL THEIR OWN DISPARATE THINGS. A FUSION IS WHEN THE TWO SETTINGS ARE FUSED. WORDS MEAN THINGS. ALSO A DRABBLE IS 100 WORDS EXACTLY NO MORE NO LESS. I'LL KEEP SITTING ON THIS PORCH SHAKING MY FIST AT THESE CHILDREN UNTIL THEY FUCKING LEARN.

Anyway I'll dump FFVII on everything and nobody can stop me. FFXV. Mass Effect. Spy X Family. Aliens. Ellen Ripley can, should, must, and will fight Jenova with a power loader.   

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nah I talk a big game but I ignore the Comp too hard to break into the mainstream. I'm small potatoes.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah and no surprises why. Shit's too wordy.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind of? Fuck I gotta finish that thing.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

meh. Does Loid/Yor even count? Everyone keeps writing it wrong and we still haven't seen the penny drop but it's sweet in its extremely fucking dysfunctional way (which is the best way GO READ TNI COUGH COUGH).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Frame-Perfect. Should not have started writing before finishing the damn outline, don't know how to resolve this thing without it being a massive downer any way you slice it. This is why you should never pants VARETH.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue babyyyyyyy. I literally won an award for it once lol. Probably also psychological horror. Those two things combined means there's a lot of stream of consciousness shit in nearly everything I do, and if that's not your jam you probably won't like it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

It is so, so hard to get a character from a location to another location. It shouldn't be hard. Why is it hard??? I should be allowed to just go And then he went, in exactly that cadence every time and everyone should just deal with it UGH 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Extremely hit or miss and you can almost always tell if the person in question doesn't speak it. Use sparingly because you are playing with fire.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

FFVII. The Number I is technically my first fanfiction ever, actually!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Either TNI obviously, but also as a whole either Replacements or Tidewaters. Replacements I whipped up on the spot day-of in a few hours on a whim and it basically turned out perfect???? I've never been able to replicate that before or since. Tidewaters is Cloud Yuffie Nanaki shenanigans which I love, and I was shocked and horrified to learn I'm basically the entire tag of that as far as that's concerned (I'm working on rectifying that I promise shhhh).

Everyone I know that writes was already tagged basically uhhhhhhh

@varethinsilico, @denebolaleo-ffwriter, @spectroscopes, @terror-billie, @jenovacomplete, anyone else who wants to take a crack at this pretend I tagged you.

[curioussubjects]

Ok so I have some spnwin-spn connection spec I wanna share with y'all from back when @alwaysanoriginal were spiraling over some interview about The Winchesters (as we do). The second to last question is about John's journal being created, which of course made me think of plot hole vampmimes. Of course.

Or maybe not so plothole-y?

That was mostly a joke, though I did hope tonight was going to maybe for the lolz address that. Well, little did I know because that old convo continued with this:

DOES THIS REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING YOU WATCHED TONIGHT

DOES IT

Char, then, decided to come for me in the night and point out that the Running on Empty montage in 19 has some pretty choice scenes featuring Changing Channels, Wayward Sisters and the AU rift, Dean time traveling, and The Heroes' Journey (which I always argued was essentially the intended finale metaphorically).

Side note: sorry to expose y'all to my private ravings lol

A lot of this actually comes back to a point Billie made in s15 about Chuck building reality with himself at the center to keep it ticking. So how can you possibly beat him? By letting him think he won. I can't help but remember that delightful line from Dean in s12: "‘Cause we’re not trapped out here with you. You’re trapped out here with us." You know, that one time Dean and Sam pulled a death gambit to escape a black ops site.

But back to The Winchesters: last week we had Carlos refusing to play Loki's game (a god who can affect reality, or one's perception thereof) and winning. But to do so, he had to put his life on the line. He had to be willing to lose everything. By the way, I am once again feeling very emotional about Carlos saying he sacrificed everything for hunting, but he gained so much more because that's it! That's the thing! So yeah...cue Carlos singing Hard Times Come Again No More to his family.

This week John is the one with the seemingly inescapable fate of death (courtesy of vampires because of course), and while he doesn't tap out of the game, he realizes he knows nothing about the context of what he saw. He only got half the story, and the rest was up to him. It's appropriate, too, that this week we get another Supernatural classic with Mary reassuring John that they will find another way. And yeah, John does and wins.

And, I mean, if we're talking fate and god and gambles, why not remember a nifty piece of advice Sam and Dean received from Fortuna in The Gamblers: “Don’t play his game. Make him play yours.”

My point is if we look at 19 and 20 much like we would a vision from an amulet, none of the plot of Supernatural needs to change. It's fated. But as Millie says, and John says, and Dean say: fate is what you make it. And if The Winchesters is about how Sam and Dean became the Winchesters, then what else is this show but the context we've been missing all along.

(send this man to stan jail tbh)

[also what is more Winchester stupid than the cosmic consequences of saving your family...like...say...releasing the Darkness or...causing an Akrida infestation...though who knows that could've been on purpose for reasons. I'm putting nothing past spnwin.]

Don't ask me how Dean goes from pulling a death gambit to get into heaven to time travelling to tweak with his parents' past. We're through the looking glass here people and we'll simply have to wait and see -- but the puzzle is for sure getting less mysterious. Something free will, knowledge, family, and Growth, something. Therapy. You know, The Winchesters.

Or I'm totally off the mark and I'll have egg for face who's to say, but for now, as a treat, I'm feeling very

[moonbuglove]

Ten seconds

I felt like some BokuAtsu from Atsumu's p.o.v.

In-Yun

The concept of “In-Yun” speaks about fate and predestination. It says that the lives you lived previously, and how the minute connections we make throughout our time in this world, reverberate through the layers of life until they finally coalesce for people to find each other

I don’t believe in fate. “The universe” is not some omnipotent force moving us around like chess pieces, manipulating us or protecting us or colliding us. Work hard, good things happen. Or not.

It’s life.

A cosmic crapshoot in which odds don’t mean shit. I’m more fatalism, less fate. With that said, I do believe circumstances happen in a certain order at a certain time. And for a certain reason. Which does sound suspiciously like fate, but I dwell less on the why things happen and more on how I should respond when they do. I sense storms coming, things shifting in the air. That helps me plan. It’s helped me in every area of my life, especially volleyball. But nothing prepared me for this moment. And it is a game of truth and dare, that is my downfall.

A dare that should be so insignificant.

Kiss Bokkun.

But nothing is simple when it comes to him.

Golden eyes with flecks of amber and bourbon in them tracing my features as he placed his hand on the side of the barstool and turned me completely around to face him. Treating me to an up close view of that classic Bokuto Kōtarō beam that reminded me that I’ve never seen him take anything seriously. He’s always smiling, laughing and joking his way through life, completely oblivious to the reality the rest of the world just has to deal with, so it shouldn’t have surprised me he would approach a literal child’s game the same way. My knees brushed his hard thighs, and I felt every eye in the living room on us as he leaned in close, resting his palms on the edge of the island. His body stretched over mine, blocking out my view of our teammates behind me. Not that I cared that I couldn’t see them. I was too focused on the way his smile was fading, shifting into a complex mask devoid of humor. I’m shocked at how quickly he does it. Goes from being the happy-go-lucky guy I’ve known him to be to…this. “Make it good for him, Bo-san” Shōyō shouted, laughing loudly, obviously drunk and I half expected him to turn around and say something stupid and completely on brand for him, but his eyes stayed on me.

Soft.

Serious.

For once in his life.

"Nervous?” He asked, eyes on my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “Nope. Why would I be nervous?” His brows lifted, amusement slipping over whatever conflicted emotion was shining in his irises just moments ago. “Because you don’t really do this kind of thing Tsum-Tsum, you know you don't have to right?" “What kind of thing?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice wavered a little. “Play truth or dare?” “Get roped into kissing teammates, unless.” He gets a far off look in his eyes something on the tip of tongue but he leaves it unsaid. The truth of the matter was, the worst decisions I’ve made in my life have been sealed with a kiss. Get ready to add this one to the list. The snarky voice in my head quipped as Kōtarō waited for my response, completely unbothered by the restless crowd behind him begging for us to get on with it already. “Oh? You jealous I have never kissed ya Bokkun?” I arched a brow, sass coating each word. “Maybe, maybe not,” He chuckles a deep and dangerous chuckle that makes my hands feel clammy. “Then I guess we should kiss before Hinata shoves our heads together.” "Yeah, I guess we should.”  I watched his face move closer, and his breath skated across my skin as I fought the very real urge to let my eyes fall shut. My lungs burned, demanding air that was laced with his earthy scent and protesting when they were denied. I knew I needed to breathe. I didn’t want to run the risk of passing out and giving everyone here another reason to think I was weird. It was bad enough that I was known for the most casual of hook ups. Crumbling into a breathless heap the moment one of the most coveted pair of lips in the world of volleyball met mine would only make it worse. Kōtarō lifted one of his hands, bringing it up to my chin and cupping it between his index finger and thumb. With a barely discernible movement, he applied the lightest bit of pressure, forcing me to focus all of my attention on him. “Breathe for me Atsumu." He whispered, the quiet command pulling the trapped air from my lungs and giving me a glimpse of a side of him I’ve never seen before.

Dark.

Dangerous.

Lethal.

My eyes went wide, shock winding its way through my chest to mix with the mild panic being held in his gaze has sent through me. "Can I kiss you?" I nod not trusting myself to speak, but he shook his head. "I need words, to know if this is ok. I need to hear you say I can kiss you." All at once, I start to doubt the wisdom of going through with this dare, of breaking one of my personal rules to appease a room full of stupid drunk adults playing middle school games to distract us from adulting. "Yeah, you can kiss me." He smiles not the beam, no a small smile like it is a inside secret that we only know then Kōtarō’s lips are on mine. Taking me by a surprise that’s equal parts delight and terror as his tongue slids over my bottom lip asking for more. His arms snakes around my hips keeping me in place, which meant I couldn’t move if I wanted to, so I gave myself over to it. Over to him. It was supposed to be a simple kiss, but it’s not. Because Kōtarō pulls people in, but it takes a special type of person to keep his attention on them. And I was dragged into his orbit, albeit unwillingly at first drawn to his aura but now... now I don't think I want to lose his attention, random scooting closer to steal the others warmth, during late night bus rides after a match, accifental late night snack runs and stargazing in the roof of our dorms. Have all lead up to this moment. A grin curled against my mouth, prompting me to stop suppressing my own. "Yer a good kisser Bokkun." "Not so bad yourself Tsum." I snort pushing him back slightly, but his eyes stay on my lips. I open my mouth to retort trapped in our own little bubble. "Well damn get a room." Inunaki breaks our bubble we created then he is back to Bokkun laughing alomg with our teammates. I roll my eyes as I get up.

"I'm getting another drink." I say as I leave the room, I keep replaying those ten seconds in my head, of Kōtarō's lips against mine. I realized that this was an awakening. There weren’t any fireworks, it was more like being in a freefall, a rush that I could feel in my entire body while my heart raced a few feet ahead, like it was more susceptible to the gravitational pull. It's a million bolts of electricity reviving a stalled heart. It’s reckless, but beautiful.

Ten seconds is all it takes to make me realize it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and, though I have no way of knowing this for sure, it is also my biggest mistake.

[thestarlightforge]

“Is There A World”

3/15/24

******

My mood’s so fuckin erratic

Cause tell me why I’m ecstatic

Over one hearted text

From a pretty not-a-girl?

A joke I made look effortless

That took 3 hours to write—

Just like everything in my life:

Appearing mysteriously

Apparating as if magically

Never sharing the struggle

Like the wizard boy I always wanted to be—

Henry Rose Murphey.

Say his name, why don’t we?

I’m hungry for connection

But I hate my own voice

And I wish I knew how to make the choice

To treat those texts I send

The way I feel when I receive them:

Like little bursts of light sent along the weave.

I send them, and half the time, all that I perceive

Is “I’m a bother. A roach. A waste.”

That it’s what I get for taking up space.

I ask for conversation and feel needy

Even though logic says the feeling deceives me

Because if one them suggested

I’d trade a moment of savoring their voices,

That their little texts don’t have me rejoicing,

That they aren’t why I believe in magic to begin with,

I’d say, “that, there, is a myth

Deeper than Medusa.”

That despite my trauma,

Despite my fear of even looking their way,

I wish we could stay just like this, forever.

That sometimes, I wish they would cut off my head

Because at least then, if they go, they could take me instead

And my gaze, still, could guard them.

Speaking of the gays—

An unacceptable segue,

But the lesbian casting in Percy Jackson practically confirmed it—

I also hate how much of this

Is just outside hate turned inward,

Because children don’t start off this way.

Their hearts become corrupted because they learn to say

These cruel things to themselves and others.

And I wish it were, “If I had my druthers,

I’d go back and do it all again.”

Maybe then, I could pretend

My writer’s voice could fix it all,

That people there wouldn’t still install

These hateful thoughts inside my head,

And maybe, thereabouts, instead

I could find the right thing, at the right time, to say

To a younger me, or them—to make them stay.

Like one magic word was indeed too much,

And by editing a moment longer, such—

That I would never breathe this present day

Because my something else to say

Would’ve led to different Wonderlands—

I could have avoided this dread I know by heart.

Where, in the dead of night, I start

To chase self-hate down rabbit holes.

But Alice wouldn’t ever know

The feel of my loved ones’ shoulders

When we hug, when it’s quiet, because there’s nothing (and everything) left to discuss.

Love is a choice.

That’s a fact I don’t always like

Because it means, in fact, in spite

Of whatever you may feel,

In order for love to be real

It has to be given, and taken, and given back.

It means that love is an act.

Not of falsehood necessarily,

But one to be rehearsed, practiced carefully

Until you learn your lines, your relations, your space

And only then can you erase

That frailty in your spirit

From when you said “I love you,”

And then, they wouldn’t go near it.

But this need for recursion doesn’t always disturb me.

I admit, it took a lot of therapy

To believe this dark, ominous cloak

Wasn’t just some cosmic joke.

But after years of guided wandering,

I’ve found a glint of comfort, pondering

That rehearsal is my happy place.

It’s where I learned to gently trace

The outlines of a life in which

Someday, I could flip that switch

And understand that, when I talk,

My friends think, “I love you, too.”

A version where I start anew.

And maybe that can be true

With a little verse or a text.

Perhaps I won’t always panic,

Assessing what might happen next,

And learn to trust and love myself,

Recover a bit of mental health,

Because they are the stars

And my texts got a heart

And maybe, the warmth they give me, I give them, too—

And that’s a good enough start.

[maglors-anion-gap]

(@cosmic-walkers so sorry for the late reply - work was very busy this week. Posting our thread as a new post because I feel bad gumming yours up with a bunch of reblogs. RIP to everyone's dash tho, the ADHD is leaping out and this post will not be short.)

Note: the text in all the images has been copied into the image description function on desktop. let me know if for some reason it can't be accessed.

Anyway, cosmic-walkers and I had a really good exchange about maeglin and his treatment in text that got me thinking again about eol and the difficulties I've had engaging with his narrative even after coming around to a more nuanced.

I mentioned this in my tags and asked how folks go about repairing eol's narrative:

And I got a really thoughtful reply that, with permission, I'm sharing here so that more people can see it. Hopefully it is as interesting to you all as it was to me. (browse images right to left, top to bottom. comments organized in vertical order in each image).

Thank you @cosmic-walkers for taking the time to write that out for me. It absolutely makes sense, and I actually really love getting long messages because I feel like the length constraints of both tags and comments hinder free conversation.

Thank you @cosmic-walkers for taking the time to write that out for me. It absolutely makes sense, and I actually really love getting long messages because I feel like the length constraints of both tags and comments hinder free conversation.

I have a degree in public health, and my focus was interpersonal and family violence; I don't bring it up to toot my own horn, but rather to offer some context for readers here and to draw from as I analyze the patterns of behavior in the narrative.  For what its worth, I think that more nuanced readings of eol's character line up pretty well with frameworks for understanding unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, and family violence.

I think it makes people uncomfortable to engage with the idea that abusers are humans.  I don't mean that people ought to feel a preponderance of sympathy for them (at the expense of their victims), but rather that humans have human triggers, motivations, and psychologies.  Of course, we are talking about elves, but *vague hand waving.*  I joke that my degree was the most expensive, circuitous way to get therapy, but it really did help to engage with concepts like family systems theory to understand my own life and move forward in healing past "that sucked and my abuser is a monster .... who somehow manages to treat everyone else well... why me?"

Family systems theory posits that abuse can arise in certain dynamics and be conducted by people who, in other dynamics, would not act abusively.  It asks us to describe both the overarching family system as well as the subsystems that exist between different members.  Noise in one subsystem echoes to impact the rest of the system.  It emphasizes the impact of boundaries (divisions, openness or isolation, emotional closeness), roles (patterns of behavior, and who may be targeted/blamed/scapegoated), rules (spoken and unspoken standards, traditions, and guidelines), and hierarchy (power, who holds it, respect and lack thereof).  People chafe against the the last concept, feedback and circular causality, because when applied incorrectly it can sound like the victims are provoking their own abuse - this is not true, and it should not be applied like this.  It only means that a relationship yields certain behaviors depending on its climate, and that once a pattern of behavior is established it becomes harder to break. 

When analyzing family systems theory, many people choose to pair it with the family resilience model, which prioritizes repairing the broken aspects of (sub)system relationships, hilighing positive characteristics and using them as strengths to propel other behavior change, and promoting flexibility, openness, and equitability of social and economic resources to stabilize (sub)systems to begin the healing process.  Of course, not everyone wishes to remain in contact with their abuser.  Of my two abusers, one I have cut contact with and the other I now have a healthy relationship with.  But, utilizing models and evidence based practice like this is critical to actually understanding and then remediating abuse and its damage.   

Edit 1/1/23: I forgot to mention the impact of stress on abuse. Many abusers release their stress, confusion, and concerns in the form of abuse because they don’t have another way to process and positively direct those emotions. This can be caused by lack of emotional intelligence or ability to self regulate and soothe, lacking interpersonal communication skills, poor modeling from their own role models. I’ve written evidence-based program plans for mitigating teen dating violence, and to make an impact you have to far in advance of the common age of onset of dating violence. We should be teaching stress management tools, emotional regulation, communication skills, and bodily autonomy is late primary and early elementary school. But many people connect dating violence and sex in their minds and don’t want to talk about it with kids. In reality, a lot of abuse happens because of disregulation, not because of inappropriate desire. This is compounded in real life by theories of power and hierarchical respect - if people feel like someone is of higher value than them, they treat them respectfully, but if they feel like they are the person of higher value, they feel it is within their rights (and perhaps a just affirmation/ defense of system hierarchy) to treat them as they please.

I bring all this up because after reading your comments, I tried using it to analyze the system of Eol, Aredhel, and Maeglin, and the subsystems between them.  We agree that as a whole, their family system is tense, unequal, and prone to violence (not necessarily the physical kind). Edit 1/1/23: everyone in the family is experiencing stressors, including Eol himself. The way he responds to these stressors is not healthy and has an impact on the subsystems of their family.

The subsystem of Aredhel and Maeglin is the easiest to analyze in some ways, and there's a wealth of knowledge to pick over.  The two of them are emotionally close, open with each other, ally with each other (as in, we do not canonically see either of them display pecking order behavior in which one abuse victim then abuses someone less powerful in another subsystem), and seem to have similar power distance (aredhel is his mother, but she is not characterized as being domineering toward him, and has about as much systemic power as maeglin in comparison to eol, though eol treats maeglin worse initially, forming a subsystem I discuss next).  

Eol and Maeglin form a fractious subsystem.  It is characterized by high power distance, emotional isolation (see: not naming Maeglin until he was far along in childhood), and Eol regards him more as a possession than as someone worthy of his respect and basic dignity (see: the attempted murder).  Resources is a more uniquely human concept, but Eol is the lord of Nan Elmoth, he exerts some control over the forest, he maintains his own staff and people, and he has the ability to forbid (and enforce) certain behaviors.  Maeglin spends more time with his mother than father (out of the house too, if memory serves, though this may not be so odd for elves) and dreams of running away to Gondolin, and it seems to me that Aredhel's tales of Gondolin (ironically, a city-prison of another sort) are so sweet to him because of his current family situation.  

Aredhel and Eol form the third and final subsystem.  I think it is important to note here that many, if not most, abusive relationships begin well.  At baseline, many abusers are adept at concealing red flag behaviors until they successfully lock down their victim.  But I am more interested in exploring the family systems model of abuse here (Eol is often analyzed using the characteristics of a serial abuser, and while some people fit that model, in combination with the terrible handling of race and culture in this arc, brute caricatures, and white damsels, I think it does more to reinforce an over-done reading that leans into rather than away from Tolkien's biases).  

As you so rightly mention, Aredhel and Eol begin their relationship with a certain degree of love.  We can see some differences in power, agency, and respect from the start - I am reminded of Eol enchanting the woods to draw Aredhel in.  However, this is a storytelling device common to fairy tales, even ones intended to be read romantically, and because I am a huge lover of the Ballad of Tam Lin I must be honest with myself and admit that this alone can be taken as a stylistic choice and not an indicator of purely evil intentions.  

The difference in power only grows as Eol forbids Aredhel to visit the lands of the Noldor; this puts her in a difficult bind, as she is also not welcome in the largest kingdom of the Sindar.  In general, controlling someone's movements indicates a paternalism and lack of respect that it's difficult to build a healthy relationship on.  Now, initially they do go about exploring together, and I think this is something that would have endeared Eol to Aredhel, something she would have enjoyed, something they could have found common ground in, and something that perhaps reminded her of old friends like Celegorm.  As their relationship degrades, we see mentions of that closeness, emotional openness, and equity of station disappear.  Now Eol goes about his business, Aredhel concerns herself with their son, and they wait until Eol is gone to flee.

On the topic of why people agree to the demands of abusive or otherwise toxic partners, when interviewed many people say that they would like to stay with their partner but that they just want the abuse/hurtful behavior to stop.  Now, it's not always possible to achieve that, but many people love their abusers. They make excuses to themselves, their families, and to the medical and legal system to protect them.  We cannot discount the impact fear, threats, isolation, and lack of resources have on this behavior, but it would be wrong to dismiss the emotional attachment many people feel.  I believe this is a valid reason why Aredhel would initially entertain Eol's demand that she not travel in noldor lands (additionally, she has only had experience with her brother at this point, and Turgon eventually relented and let her go, so perhaps she thinks she can eventually wear Eol down into relaxing his restrictions).  It would also explain why she pleads twice to save Eol's life. 

Now, I think their relationship, even before Maeglin was (lovingly) conceived, was poised to fall apart.�� Eol cannot get past his opinions of the noldor, and while those opinions are not incorrect and are, on their own, valid to hold, he marries a noldor woman and has a half-noldor child with her.  I think a certain lack of trust in Aredhel, and lack of respect for her cultural background, lays the foundation for his abuse of their son.  I read some excellent meta recently about the functional impact of the Quenya ban, and the writer posed that by banning Quenya, the language and culture was associated with kinslayers - thusly, anyone who wanted to participate in political life in Beleriand (which required peace and intergroup co-operation) would have to disavow not just the kinslayings (despite being overwhelmingly kinslayers themselves) but also there heritage.  I can see this kind of mentality come out strongly in Eol's treatment of Maeglin: he is concerned that Aredhel teaching Maeglin about her family is like a poison to him, that any faith he has in his wife's good nature or his own ability to parent effectively and teach Maeglin about his own culture is overwhelmed by the canker of noldorin culture.  

I think this further corroborates your claim that their relationship slowly degrades from good to bad, because I don't think Aredhel would have tolerated that initially, and if we follow LaCE I'm not sure conceiving Maeglin would be possible with the degree of animosity we see toward the end of their relationship.  But I might push a little on the idea that the relationship between Aredhel and Eol was healthy up until the birth of Maeglin.  I think the introduction of Maeglin to the family, the creation of two new subsystems, the shift and echo of power within the system, all combine to catalyze abuse.  But a loving relationship does not equal a healthy relationship, and loving and being loved by someone does not mean that you have a true, deep respect for each other.  It is fully possible to be in love with someone, care deeply about them - and be unable to relate meaningfully to them, or understand their fears or needs. This is how I perceive Aredhel and Eol's relationship almost up until the moment she flees from him.

Now I have some loose end thoughts.  Regarding the impact of Eol's parenting on Maeglin, there is some interesting research on chronic fear in children that I refer to now.  Chronic (prolonged, or recurring) fear in children causes a host of acute and chronic issues later, both physiological and psychological.  Blood sugar, stress hormone levels, sleep health, capacity for and strength of emotional attachment, attention span, short and long term memory, sociability and antisocial behaviors, and rage are all negatively impacted by experiencing chronic fear.  Fear is a word that has certain connotations in people's minds, but in this context it can mean anything from living in a war zone, to experiencing abuse, to being bullied or growing up being discriminated against for any reason, to being food or housing insecure, to being routinely disciplined in an illogical/punitive manner.  Not all sources of fear are imminent physical threats (there is a reason it is a separate and unique felony crime, for example, for a child to witness abuse taking place even if the child is technically safe).  

So we can look at all this and apply this to how we think Maeglin thinks, feels, and interacts with the world considering his poor relationship with his father, the disintegrating relationship between his father and mother, his introduction to gondolin (and losing both parents), and then the discrimination he faces within Gondolin.  He moves from one system of fear to another system of fear, and the irony is that his father couldn't stand him for his mother's heritage and the Gondolindhrim judge him for his father's.  I think in some ways, Nan Elmoth and Gondolin are reflections of each other, and what happens when xenophobia, isolationism, and fear come into play.

Something else that came to mind while writing was that different groups of Sindar view the Noldor differently. Doriath views them as a challenger to the rule of Beleriand, and this is evident in how Thingol speaks of his kingship and the laws he makes.  Some Sindar go with Turgon to Gondolin - though the ruling class, and the historians like Penlodh are all Noldor, so while Maeglin was not entirely alone in Gondolin, he still was not truly free, and the historical record after his death is most definitely biased.  the Sindar in the north see the Noldor as allies - though again, similarly to the Sindar that took Turgon as their Lord, or the Edain immediately swearing to elvish Lords, I see Tolkien's bias and racial hierarchy creeping in here to determine "logical" progressions of events.  I think all of this contributes to a very tense environment in Beleriand, between the noldor and the sindar, between different groups of sindar, etc etc, and different groups would likely have different fears/reactions to the Noldor.  I think Eol was poised, with his cultural trauma, for his marriage to fail.  And he is mentioned in connection to Thingol, not Círdan, so his cultural and political context comes into play here.  Additionally, we have no idea how old he is.  Thingol (and Círdan too iirc) is old enough to remember the Teleri that left for Valinor; this is speculation, but Eol could be as well, which would at least contextualize his intense reaction to the kinslayings as an even more personal grief. 

This was a very long free-form way of processing what I think about Eol, and I think I can safely say I find him more interesting as a character now.  I really wanted to like him! I tried so hard! I can find something to like about almost every character in the legendarium (even if it's just a "wow that is such an interesting/stimulating way to build characterization").  And I think I can do that with Eol now.  I think there's so much to explore re: Nan Elmoth, his skill as a smith, and his relationship with the dwarves.  

I actually think it was you that posted about Feanor and Eol being similar, and the thought crossed my mind again as I was writing this up, firstly because of their similar passions, but also because I think they respond to stress, fear, and grief in a similar way.  Neither of them handle it well, and they take it out on the people around them.  In fact, I think it's great to contrast these two.  On the one hand, we have Feanor, grieving his mother, his father, the last bit of stability in Valinor, and feeling like he doesn't belong in that society, that he's tainted, and that everyone secretly hates him (Morgoth's brain worms aren't helping).  On the other hand, we have Eol, who is grieving the murder of his kinsfolk, and who views the arrival of the noldor as the colonization and the potential obliteration of his people (a valid fear to have, and corroborated by those princes of the noldor who cross the sea not to fight Morgoth but to obtain kingdoms of their own).  And of course, the threat of imprisonment in Gondolin for life is the last straw, and very important in my mind when considering what Eol does next.  

It just came to mind, but you could perhaps draw a parallel between Eol trying to kill Maeglin as a perverse mercy killing to spare him the pain of being an outcast in Gondolin, and Denethor trying to burn himself and Faramir alive to prevent their remains from falling into the hands of the Enemy.  Eol has a certain love for his son, and unfortunately it's the killing kind.  

Again, I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me, and I'm in agreement with you!  It was really helpful to hear your thoughts.  In a way, it was kind of freeing to hear you say Eol was kind of crap?  The last conversation I had (years ago) with someone about Eol and transformative works, I got the distinct sense that they thought anything less than a fully exculpatory reading of Eol (and reworking the narrative to place the blame of Aredhel's death on "an accident" or "getting between Turgon's men and Eol") was not good enough to repair the narrative.  And don't get me wrong! I actually really enjoy AUs and canon divergence, and this arc is no exception!  

But sometimes I like to stick closer to canon, and pick apart the biases in the narrative and how they're impacting the characters, especially in an arc that is tied so closely to those characters.  I had a pretty firm grasp of the biases at play, but I didn't have as good a handle on the dynamic between Eol and Aredhel and that really tripped me up when I considered possible adaptations to their arc.

My final thought is that I hate having the only character of XYZ background be the villain.  I think the way I can potentially get around that is that because it's easier to repair Maeglin's narrative, it's easy for me to make Maeglin sympathetic.  As you said, Eol is sympathetic, and nuanced, but also kind of a shitty guy.  Whereas Maeglin is sympathetic, nuanced, does some things are are Not Well Adjusted, but also imminently likable once the narrative biases are stripped away.  Most of Maeglin's "Crimes" in the narrative are like "he was in love with his cousin, but he was respectful and didn't say anything about it, but she was a mindreader and found out anyway," and "wow he's so close to the king, that's suspicious (even though they're blood related and that's not a red flag at all)" and "he gave up the city ... to gain his cousin as a prize ... but he was tortured first,  so maybe it was the torture that really sealed the deal, not the cousin-loving?"  Sorry, abrupt departure from academic language into dark humor.  But yeah.  Fully fleshing out both of these characters - and maybe including some of the sindar of Gondolin and Nan Elmoth as OC's even? - is maybe the way to go.

[loominggaia]

Is the FGG religious?

I think they're all agnostic, with a small handful of exceptions. Those exceptions being...

Evan: Evan was once a practicing Lindist, only because he was raised in a Lindist household and he knew nothing different. As he grew older and exposed himself to more worldly ideas, he began to find cracks in his religion and eventually fell out of it. He now vaguely claims himself to be "spiritual", not a Lindist but still having faith in Gaia as an intelligent and loving maker. He continues to worship Her in his own way, not in the way Lindist doctrine demands. He also still observes the minor gods from Lindist scripture, which are all really just elements of Gaia by different names (water, fire, land, air, etc.)

Lukas: Lukas considers himself an atheist. However, in the context of Looming Gaia, the word "atheist" can encompass several very different belief systems. In Lukas' case, he doesn't believe that Gaia is a sentient being who does anything deliberately. Everything She creates is just a byproduct of Her survival, and She lacks the capacity to care for these creations or anything else living upon her. Lukas views Allkind as parasites living on Her back. He believes that his maker basically shat him out by accident and regards him like a dog regards a tapeworm.

Lukas looks down on anyone who believes otherwise, and he hates the concept of organized religion in general. He believes that religious doctrine, in all its forms, only does harm and makes the world a worse place for Allkind.

Glenvar: Glenvar is the most religious member of the crew, surprisingly enough. Though it seems he treats everything in life like a joke, his faith is the one thing he takes very seriously. He's a devout Sylvanist who compromises his faith for nothing. He'll skip work to goof off without a second thought , but he wouldn't dream of skipping a prayer ritual. It's too important to him. He communes with his gods daily and finds comfort in them.

This annoys his crewmen at times, because he makes them participate in these rituals whenever the opportunity arises. If it's prayer time (sunrise and sunset) and they happen to be standing near one of his shrines, they better get on their knees and join him. If they don't, he'll kick them in the shins to drop them, then trap them in a headlock and force them to pray with him, because he takes great offense when they "disrespect" his gods. If his crew is eating meat, they better throw a piece of it in the fire first or he'll grab it off their plate and do it for them. If they hunt an animal, he'll make them say a prayer and dress its corpse in flowers right after they kill it. And so on...

Most of his crewmen just go along with it, because it's way less trouble than fighting with him about it. Lukas, on the other hand...Lukas and Glenvar have had some earth-shattering fights over religion. They argue about it pretty much daily. These dumb arguments have become background noise to the rest of the crew, it's as natural as birdsong to them at this point.

Elska: Elska's tribe had its own set of beliefs about the world as well as their own unique creation theory. This religion is so small and obscure that it doesn't even have a name, but it's what Elska has always believed and continues to have faith in today.

In short, she believes that Gaia is a huge cosmic centaur who shaped Elska's tribe in Her image, forging them from stone and bone (This is why her tribe is called the People of Stone and Bone). When her people die, they join Her in the cosmos with all their ancestors, where they run free among the stars for all eternity.

Elska isn't pushy about her religion like Glenvar is. She mostly keeps her faith and rituals to herself. Leaving her mountain actually made her start questioning this faith and gave her a new perspective on it as a whole. She still believes in it, but she looks at it differently than she used to.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

[waitingforwinterwinds]

Hopping from foot to the other, he sang, "Fool's blood, king's blood, blood on the maiden's thigh, but chains for the guests and chains for the bridegroom, aye aye aye."

Hmmm, prophecy or nonsense? Clearly ("bridegroom") about a wedding, but which?

Sansa and Tyrion's? Fool's blood, king's blood could mean Tyrion, he is of Joffrey's blood, thus king's blood, but he's treated like he's not a true member of the bloodline by his father, like fool's gold...

blood on the maiden's thigh could mean Sansa's newly 'blossomed' status.

And it is an act made to chain the couple to Tywin and Cersei's will.

Or I might be reaching and it could be about one of the other fun (sarcasm) weddings lined up.

@dreamingdruka is making fun of me, that's so mean. How could you? ಥ_ಥ (I'm joking 🤭)

Urgh, no but seriously, sometimes I imagine y'all sitting there bursting with barely contained spoilers. There will come a day when I catch up, and look back and we can all go "damn you said some stupid stuff, Reader." because I have no doubt that I have.

But I could say more.

Cause here's the thing about prophecy nonsense: it has to apply widely but be specific at the same time. There's got to be this line between "at some point, some things will happen, and then things will be not the same as right not" levels of vague and "the seer is legally required to preface all prophecy with 'Spoiler Warning' before they begin" levels of specific.

...omg I would legit read a series where that was a thing.

👀 "And, Spoiler Warning, [future events that are way too specific to be randomly generated on the spot.]" 🌿 "What the hell, how could you know that?" 👀 "I read the script~" 🌿 "The, the what?" 💫 "Look, don't think about it too hard, just accept this is how the seer processes the infinite cosmic wisdom beyond all mortal ken swirling through their brain, and go with it." 👀 "Mhm, the director doesn't like when we lean on the fourth wall."

Anyway, the thing with Patchface's little song? It could apply to so much, like:

If we assume that "bridegroom" is literal, it could apply to any of the three/four weddings that matter in the series.

Red Wedding: Fool/King: could easily both be Robb, a king who behaved foolishly and opened the way for the betrayal and bloodshed Blood on the maiden's thigh: a little looser on this one, but Robbs wife could count, despite not being a virginal maiden, she's not yet a mother by birth, therefore could still be counted Bridegroom in chains: Edmure, he became a hostage directly after his marriage, very literally in chains Chains on the guests: though Robb's party didn't know it, they were already prisoners in the hall

Sansa/Tyrion: See yesterday's rambling thoughts above

Purple wedding: the Fool: Ser Dontos, both a literal court Fool, and killed on his way out with Sansa the King: Joffery, also the Bridegroom, who was killed with a substance called the strangler, so it's a little metaphorical, but I've done wibblier Blood on the maidens thigh: I'm coming back to Sansa again, because she was tangentially related to the murder, Chains on the guests: Sansa starts as a literal hostage, and Tyrion ends up in prison

Margaery/Tommen: ... actually this one went pretty well, love you kids but, 'twas not very memorable. Let's ignore it.

And these options are all assuming two things:

1: "Bridegroom" is literal, and not some metaphor for someone making vow or oath, promising their life to a cause or service in a way that can be considered akin to marriage.

2: The event was not chopped from the show like Patchface, singer of prophecy nonsense, and therefore beyond my realm of knowledge.

I honestly don't know which would be funnier, if I got it right at any of these points, if i got it right but for the wrong reasons, right reasoning wrong conclusion, or I somehow managed to miss absolutely every obvious clue and whizzed past at warp speed and am no longer in the same galaxy as the answer.

And then all y'all be sitting there, knowing, and letting me get there in my own time.

Thank you for that. And I am so sorry. 😅