#the next thing to remind himself hes alive

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Summer Serendipity

Summary: It was the summer break between the races, and Oscar suddenly came across a travel magazine about a quiet town in Northern Ireland on the work desk of someone who had left it open when he was visiting McLaren’s HQ in Woking. Next thing, he was on his way to Belfast, with nothing much on his mind, no worries about the championship standings, the braking mode, the corners or chicanes,... Nothing, just him and his summer getaway in Belfast.

Meanwhile, Edith Ezra, a devoted single mother working at a quaint cafe in Belfast, cherishes her two children, Ivy and Eddie, above all else. Having faced the heartbreak of their father's abandonment, Edith has built a life centred around providing for her family and creating a sense of stability for her children.

When Oscar's path crosses with Edith's in Belfast, their worlds collide in unexpected ways. As Oscar finds himself drawn to the warmth and genuine kindness of Edith and her children, he begins to see a different side of life beyond the fast-paced world of racing.

Author's note: here it is!!! The very first chapter in my first Oscar's fic. Hope you guys will like it, and please send me any message whether you like it or not, and if you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know too! Happy reading.

Oscar couldn’t handle the pressure any more. His stress levels were at their peak, and if he made it to the end of the season without telling Zak, Andrea or Mark what he thought of everything inside his mind, it would be a miracle. 

He felt like his life was spinning out of control, and he just didn’t know which way to turn. What was next for Oscar Jack Piastri? He couldn’t even tell or have any clue. He was number two on the championship standings, but what’s next for him? To always be second best to Lando, never number one? He felt like no one could even understand him these days, not even himself. His confidence was knocked. His motivation seemed to be at an all-time low. Despite that, he still did well every weekend. But was it the car or his talent?

So here he was. The Belgian Grand Prix had been yet another victory for the team with a double podiums for McLaren, first place for Lando and third place for him. As the national anthem played, Oscar’s eyes drifted to Lando. His teammate, his friend, his rival. Lando had it all: the charm, the confidence, the adoration of the fans. He was the golden boy of McLaren, and Oscar? He was the talented number two driver, the understudy, the one destined to be "almost." Second in the championship standings, second in the eyes of the team, second in the hearts of the fans. No matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how flawlessly he executed his laps, it was never enough. He was never enough.

Later that evening, the McLaren motorhome was alive with celebration. The team’s double podium was a reason to rejoice, and the energy was infectious. Mechanics clinked glasses, engineers laughed over inside jokes, and Zak Brown, the team principal, made a toast that brought cheers and applause from all corners of the room. But Oscar wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. He nursed a glass of sparkling champagne, avoiding eye contact with his teammates as he lingered on the fringes of the crowd. Every laugh, every pat on the back felt like a reminder of the expectations he carried on his shoulders.

“Oscar, mate, cheer up!” Lando’s voice cut through the noise as he approached, a mischievous grin on his face. “Third place is still a win in my book.”

Oscar forced a smile. “Yeah, sure. Just tired, that’s all.”

But Lando wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been ‘just tired’ for weeks now. What’s going on?”

Oscar hesitated, the words forming in his throat but refusing to come out. How could he explain the storm raging inside him? The self-doubt, the pressure, the feeling of being trapped in a world that demanded perfection at every turn? Instead, he shrugged, muttering something about needing sleep before slipping away from the party. To be honest, Oscar was glad for the summer break. Four weeks of not having to see anyone. Four weeks to get himself together. He’d originally been supposed to be flying home the day after the race, but Zak decided that they should visit McLaren’s HQ in Woking to celebrate with everyone there. While he appreciated the camaraderie and support of his team, the idea of facing his colleagues and superiors in his current state of mind filled him with anxiety. 

As Oscar sat on the plane, his thoughts swirling with doubts and uncertainties, he couldn't help but wonder about the path ahead. Would he always be destined to play second fiddle to Lando, forever chasing the elusive dream of becoming number one? Or was there a deeper truth to be uncovered about his own capabilities and potential? As the plane touched down in England, Oscar braced himself for the upcoming visit to McLaren's HQ. Everyone here in the factory was nothing but nice towards them. It was like a homecoming for the heroes, because McLaren hadn’t been first in both the WCC and WDC in like forever. So he and Lando gave a speech to send out their gratitude to the employees. They even got the chance to go and visit each department in the factory. It was during a tour of the engineering department that Oscar’s eyes landed on a travel magazine sitting on someone’s desk. The cover featured a breathtaking photograph of a quiet coastal town in Northern Ireland, its rugged cliffs and emerald-green fields bathed in golden sunlight. The headline read: “Escape to Tranquillity: Discover the Hidden Gems of Northern Ireland.” For a moment, the noise around him faded, replaced by the gentle pull of the image. He imagined himself standing on those cliffs, the wind in his hair, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders. The thought was intoxicating, a glimmer of hope in the midst of his turmoil. He didn’t know why, but something about that town called to him, promising a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years.

And so, as the next morning came, the boarding call went out for his flight. This was it. Oscar Jack Piastri was about to disappear. To Belfast off he went. 

The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Edith’s small but cozy kitchen, casting dappled light across the table where a half-empty mug of tea sat cooling. Edith Ezra leaned against the counter, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and let out a long breath. The house was finally quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp of birds outside. Ivy and Eddie had been picked up by her neighbour, Mrs. Doyle, who had kindly offered to take the twins to the park for an hour. Edith didn’t take moments like this for granted; five minutes of peace were rare in her world, and she cherished every one of them.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where sunlight poured in, illuminating the worn wooden floor beneath her feet. It was another beautiful day, the kind that made the world seem a little brighter, a little softer. Belfast was unpredictable when it came to weather, but days like today were perfect, not too warm, just enough sun to coax people out of their homes and into her café. Business had been steady lately, which was a blessing. The café wasn’t much, just a small shop tucked into a quiet corner of the city, but it was hers. After years of working two jobs, saving every spare penny, and scraping together the courage to take the leap, Edith had finally made her dream a reality. She glanced at the clock on the wall. One hour until opening. Angie, her part-time employee, would be arriving soon to help set up. Angie was a godsend, not just for her hard work but for her kindness. She always seemed to know when Edith needed an extra hand or a listening ear. And sometimes, on particularly chaotic days, she even helped keep an eye on the twins.

The kids, Ivy and Eddie, were Edith’s four, nearly five-year-old twins. They looked nothing like her. They were blonde, and she was red. They were an exact copy of their father in almost every way, well, except for their eyes, as they were blue, like Edith’s.  Everytime Edith looked at them, she was reminded by the twins’ father, or as she always call him the A-class asshole. Because he had decided that his time was too precious to spend being a daddy at such a young age, and had run away after hearing that Edith was pregnant. At first, she had been devastated. Dropping out of university, moving back in with her parents, and learning how to be a mother to not one but two babies had been overwhelming. But the moment she heard their tiny heartbeats on the ultrasound, something shifted in her. She had found a strength she never knew she had, and by the time Ivy and Eddie were born, she was determined to give them the best life she could. It hadn’t been easy. There were sleepless nights, endless shifts at thankless jobs, and moments when she wasn’t sure how she would make ends meet. But there were also moments of pure joy; first steps, first words, laughter that filled the house and made everything worthwhile. Slowly but surely, with the help of her parents and a few close friends, Edith had built a life for herself and her children.

Still, there were days when the past weighed heavily on her. Days when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and barely recognised the woman staring back. Her once-confident smile had faded, replaced by a look of quiet determination. She had put her dreams, her ambitions, even her sense of self on hold to be the mother her children needed. And while she didn’t regret a single moment of it, there were times when she wondered if she would ever feel like herself again.

Dating wasn’t something she even considered anymore. It wasn’t just that she didn’t have the time, though that was certainly part of it; it was that she didn’t see the point. Her ex had shattered her confidence, leaving her with lingering doubts about her worth. And besides, she had Ivy and Eddie. They were all she needed.

The sound of the front door opening pulled her from her thoughts. Angie stepped inside, a bright smile on her face and flowers in her hand. 

“Morning, Edith,” she said cheerfully. “I stopped by the flower shop on my way here. Thought we could use these for the display case.”

Edith smiled, grateful as always for Angie’s thoughtfulness. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I’ll take a vase to go with them.”

As the two women set to work preparing the café for the day, Edith felt a sense of calm settle over her. The familiar routine of brewing coffee, arranging pastries, and wiping down tables was comforting, grounding. Here, in this small space she had created, she felt in control.

But even as she busied herself with the tasks at hand, a nagging thought lingered in the back of her mind. Was this it? Was this all her life would ever be? She loved her children, loved her café, but a tiny part of her longed for something more. 

She shook her head, brushing the thought away. There was no time for daydreams. The café was opening soon, and customers would be arriving shortly.

Meanwhile, across the Irish Sea, Oscar Piastri sat on a plane bound for Belfast, his mind racing with doubts and questions about the path he had chosen.

Instagram Post: @/Edithlovesedit

Liked by @/Angiethebougie, @/Luckyluke and 88 people.

@/Edithlovesedit: Hi! It's Edith's account here, and Edith loves to edit everything 🤗

view all comments

@/Angiethebougie: girl, come back here we have a coffee shop to open

-> @/Edithlovesedit: aye aye, captain! brb just gotta go and kiss my babies first.

@/Luckyluke: Oh to have the red hair like yours 😭

-> @/Edithlovesedit: yours is prettier than mine 🫶🏻

-> @/Luckyluke: Shut up im running to ur place for that croissant now, better save me one

-> @/Edithlovesedit: tick tick tick the clock is clocking Luke 🤭

Oscar tugged the brim of his cap lower over his eyes as he stepped off the plane and into the crisp, late-morning air of Belfast. He traveled light, just a backpack slung over one shoulder and a small suitcase in tow. No entourage. No cameras. No team members trailing behind him. For once, he was just another traveler, one more face in the blur of arrivals. And that, strangely, felt like a relief.

Outside the airport, the rhythm of the city was slower, quieter. The cobblestone streets weren’t made for wheeled suitcases, and his bumped along awkwardly as he walked, the small wheels catching in every uneven gap. He paused for a moment, scanning the narrow street ahead of him.

It was nothing like the world he had just left behind. There were no roaring engines, no flashing media lights, no towering hospitality suites or sponsor banners. Just brick buildings with ivy-covered walls, flower pots swaying from lampposts, and the distant sound of laughter spilling from a nearby pub. For a brief second, Oscar wondered if this whole trip had been a mistake. The silence felt almost too loud. But then he reminded himself why he was here: to escape, to breathe, and maybe, finally, to figure out who he was beyond the track.

He hadn’t come with much of a plan, just a quiet rental flat above a local bookshop, a small space near the city centre with no luxury, no distractions, and a view of a street lined with cafés and flower stalls. It was, in every sense, the opposite of his usual world.

His first morning in Belfast was slow and meandering. He woke late, then wandered aimlessly through cobbled alleys, past colourful shopfronts and street musicians playing soft melodies on corners. He hadn’t spoken to anyone, and for now, he liked it that way. With his cap pulled low and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, he moved unnoticed, unbothered. For once, he wasn’t Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver. He was just…Oscar.

Then, as he turned a quiet corner, it caught his eye, a small café tucked between two taller buildings. The sign above the door read The Bean & Blossom, painted in elegant cursive with a steaming cup of coffee beside it. It stood out, but not in a flashy way. It was the kind of place that felt like a secret you were lucky to find. Oscar’s stomach gave a quiet protest, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since leaving Woking. He stepped toward the door, hesitating only a second before pulling it open and letting the warmth of The Bean & Blossom pull him in.

The café had an old brick exterior softened by vines climbing up the walls and copper light fixtures that would glow warmly after sunset. The bell over the door chimed a little too enthusiastically every time someone walked in or out, but no one seemed to mind, it was part of the charm.

Inside, the space was cozy and calm. The walls were painted a soft sage green, decorated with mismatched picture frames, some holding vintage travel posters, others filled with candid snapshots of regulars and community events. A bookshelf near the counter offered well-loved novels for customers to borrow or trade, and tiny succulents in colorful pots lined the windowsills.

The place had a subtle vintage feel, like it had existed forever without trying too hard. The wooden floorboards creaked gently underfoot. No two chairs matched, yet the mismatched furniture somehow blended together into something warm and lived-in. In the corner sat a reading nook with two velvet armchairs and a small round table, always topped with a jar of homemade cookies and the latest issues of local magazines.

The aroma inside was enough to make Oscar pause, a comforting mix of fresh espresso, warm bread, and something sweet, like vanilla or cinnamon. Behind the counter, a chalkboard menu displayed the day’s specials, each one accompanied by tiny doodles: stars, mugs, little smiley faces. The display case was a wonder of its own: rows of pastries lined neatly, each one practically glowing under the soft lights. Scones, tarts, and thick slices of lemon drizzle cake sat beside the famous cinnamon swirls, which, as a note scrawled in chalk said, were "always the first to go (sorry not sorry!)".

Oscar stepped further inside, letting the door swing closed behind him with a soft jingle. For a brief moment, he just stood there, taking it all in: the hum of conversation, the soft hiss of the coffee machine, the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. It felt like stepping into someone else’s life, the kind where things moved slower and mornings could stretch on forever without urgency.

The café wasn’t crowded, just a few people scattered around. A man in a fisherman’s sweater sat by the window with a newspaper folded in half, a mother with a toddler tried to coax bites of muffin between animated chatter, and a girl in a beret sketched something in a notebook near the back. No one looked up. No one noticed him.

Oscar exhaled quietly and approached the counter.

Behind it stood a woman, mid-twenties, maybe younger, with a messy bun perched high on her head and flour dusted lightly across the sleeve of her cardigan. She was scribbling something onto the chalkboard, pausing every few seconds to add a doodle beside one of the specials. Her face was half-hidden behind a curtain of red curls, but her focus was laser-sharp, tongue caught slightly between her teeth in concentration.

Oscar cleared his throat gently. “Hey.”

The woman turned, blinking in surprise before offering a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Morning! Sorry, I was in the zone.” She tossed the chalk aside and wiped her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”

He scanned the chalkboard for a second, then gave a small shrug. “Honestly? I have no idea. Something good. Something that might make up for a seven a.m. flight and a very questionable airport sandwich.”

She grinned, already reaching for a mug. “Rough morning, huh? You’ve come to the right place. I prescribe coffee and sugar. Trust me, I’m basically a professional.”

Oscar let out a soft laugh. “I’ll take whatever your prescription is.”

She moved with ease behind the counter, every step familiar, like a quiet rhythm she knew by heart. As she worked, she spoke over her shoulder, “I’m Edith, by the way. And you?”

There was a moment’s pause before Oscar answered. “Oscar.”

No surname. No recognition flickered across her face, and he didn’t offer more. Just Oscar.

“Well, Oscar,” she said, setting a latte down in front of him with a swirl of foam shaped into something that looked vaguely like a tulip. “Welcome to The Bean & Blossom. Your cinnamon swirl is warming up now, I figured you’d want the full first-time experience.”

Oscar looked down at the drink, then back at Edith, that same small smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was the first time in days he’d felt like someone was speaking to him, not at him.

He nodded, quiet but grateful. “Thanks. This place... It’s nice.”

Edith leaned slightly on the counter, brushing flour off her fingertips. “It’s a bit of a mess sometimes, but yeah. I like to think it’s got a good heart.”

Oscar took a sip of his drink. The coffee was smooth, rich, a little sweet, exactly what he hadn’t known he needed.

He glanced around again, already sensing that he might be back here tomorrow. Maybe the day after that, too.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, he didn’t feel like he was running from something.He felt like he was running toward something.

Taglist: @teamnovalak

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eleven

The beeping is driving him kind of crazy. It’s familiarity an uncomfortable reminder. He’s tried pulling the sticky thing off but that just made a bunch of people come running, and then he got a professional explanation as to why he’s a moron, and not to touch the equipment.

That just leaves him here, languishing. His head is pounding, his mouth feels like some rough assed creature rolled around in there and then took a dump on the way out. He keeps running his tongue along the back of his teeth, they’re furry, and there’s a new little chip off one of the bottom ones. Eddie investigated it with his fingers, so he knows it’s tiny. Feels massive when he finds it with his tongue though, physically unable to make himself leave it alone.

He doesn’t remember doing it. Might have happened when he was drunk.

Might have happened in the bathroom, when he was done shoving stuff up his nose, he's pretty sure he fell over.

Might have happened when they had to shove the tube in.

He doesn’t know, but it’s no ones fault but his own.

Chrissy comes in carrying a coffee. One coffee. Nothing for Eddie. She sits and sips at it, not saying a word.

Her eyes are still red rimmed, bags under them from being up all night.

Truly, Eddie is the greatest waste of space on the planet. Someone should just ditch him off a cliff and have done with it.

Chrissy sighs, giving up on whatever she was doing on her phone, she holds it between laced fingers instead, clasped hands dangling between her knees. She stares off into space.

She still hasn’t looked at him.

Eddie guesses he deserves that.

There’s nothing he can ever say to make this any better.

Eddie’s being discharged in the next hour or so. He’s pretty sure he’s done. His career was hanging by a thread; the label won’t tolerate such a massive screw up. Eddie doesn’t really care about that stuff; he cares about the guys. He cares he might not get to write for the band any more.

He finds himself suddenly desperate to write again. He figures he must suddenly have something to say. He was angry with himself, in the face of Chrissy’s tears, but anger is a hot emotion, it burns bright and takes a lot of energy to maintain.

Self loathing, apparently, is low maintenance and Eddie feels like he could keep that up indefinitely.

His throat hurts, and all Chrissy has allowed him is ice chips to suck on.

He doesn’t expect Steve to turn up. Doesn’t know what to do when, at the sound of a knock on the open door, he looks up and finds Steve standing there.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but Steve comes in anyway. Sits himself in the seat next to Eddie’s bed. It feels like a small, dumb thing to worry about, but Eddie has never liked rocking the hospital gown of shame; he likes it even less right now.

“Why did you do it?”

Eddie shrugs. Looks at his own hands. He had a couple of rings on, before. They’re gone now. Eddie’s been too frightened of what Chris will say if he asks for them back. He picks at his thumbnail instead.

“Because I said no to coffee?”

Eddie does his best to make a dismissive noise, but his voice is croaky and fucked from the tube. It hurts to swallow, and Eddie feels like he has to force it.

“Don’t lie,” Steve says quietly, “this is exactly why I said no. Because of this.”

Eddie makes another ‘pffft’ noise, or at least, tries too. “Because I’m an unstable drug addicted alcoholic-”

“No. Because you’re not ready. Eddie, I said no to coffee, and you’re in the hospital, what if we got together, and then broke up. How well do you think that would go, exactly?”

Eddie curls his hands up, staring at them, shamefaced. It feels like he’s being eaten alive by it, feels like he’s dirty and used up inside and the darkness of guilt and shame and worthlessness is going to crawl out of him and eat him whole. Steve's words gnaw at him, painful. They could have had something, and now Eddie's fucked it up before it started.

“How did you know?” Eddie looks up, everything a little misty. He seems to cry at fucking everything. Wet and pathetic and not like he used to be. He never used to be like this, before. He can’t remember ever feeling like this in his life. “How do you always know?”

Steve and his magic mind powers.

Steve sits back in the chair. Rubs at his face for a second. Watches the silent TV.

“I had rich parents,” Steve starts, speaking quietly. He pauses, then continues, but it’s halting. It’s the first time Eddie’s thought Steve sounded uncertain about anything, “big empty house. They were away all the time, especially once I was kind of old enough to be left. My place was where the party was at. I was drinking every Saturday by the time I was seventeen. Then every Friday and Saturday. Then Sunday afternoons. Then Thursday too. It was every day before I realized, and I graduated by the skin of my teeth. It got worse at college. The partying. Started to realize if I was going to keep up I needed something to pick me up a little, get me going in the morning so I could make it to class. Pills first, when I was partying, then other stuff. I flunked out pretty fast. Parents put me through rehab once, but the second I was back at college I relapsed. Couldn’t seem to help myself. The second time they put me through, they disowned me right after, and that was the end of college too. It was...bleak. For a while. But that's how I always know; I know how you think, because I used to be the same.”

That hangs. It hangs for a long time, like Steve’s memories are lingering in the room with them. Eddie feels like he should apologize, but he doesn’t know how.

He’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth anything, anyway.

He desperately wants to write; feels even more that if he doesn’t get this bubbling overwhlem of emotions out of himself somehow he’s going to end up plastering the walls when he finally explodes.

Steve stands, finally, and Eddie’s eyes are automatically drawn up to him. Steve leans forward, his hand in Eddie’s nasty hair. His big hand gripping and cradling Eddie’s entire head. Steve leans down, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. It’s warm, soft, and Eddie’s eyes slide closed and his hands lie limp and useless on the hospital blanket covering his lap.

“Remember, it’s what you do now that matters,” Steve whispers into Eddie’s hair.

He doesn’t expect the tug, but he’s limp and washed out feeling, knowing now the weight of everything Steve went though. Everything unsaid. Absent parents and missing out on whatever it was he wanted to pursue at college. Bleak, Steve had said. The word carries a lot of weight, coming from Steve. Eddie has no doubt he’s severely understating.

Eddie’s head moves with Steve’s hand, his eyes are still closed when Steve’s lips move to Eddie’s mouth.

It’s not like anything he imagined. It’s devastating. Steve kisses like he’s pouring his everything into Eddie.

Like he’s angry.

Like he’s frustrated that Eddie fucked this up for both of them.

Steve’s kisses are bitey and it won’t be until later that Eddie will finally have the wherewithal to be surprised that nurses didn’t come running considering how fast the monitor is beeping.

Steve doesn’t ask permission, he sucks on Eddie’s lip so hard it hurts, and when Eddie’s mouth opens on a pained gasp, Steve’s tongue invades with no hesitation. His hand is tight in Eddie’s hair; Eddie can’t move an inch as Steve holds him where he wants him, Eddie’s scalp stinging.

Steve’s kisses are an argument that Steve’s already won.

By the time Eddie manages to blink his eyes open, Steve’s already gone.

The guys all have some sort of cocktail, Eddie doesn’t say anything. It means Eddie’s drink looks exactly the same, which doesn’t bother Eddie, hasn't for a long time, but if it makes everyone else feel better, then he’ll go along with it.

They’re all celebrating; drinks in the back of a limo on the way to the airport feels a little gauche celebrity to Eddie, but the guys are giddy with the excitement of success and it feels just a little contagious, even to Eddie, who always sidelines himself from that kind of celebrating. Feels like he's kind of allergic to it all now, knows instinctively that it might poison him again.

Chrissy squeezes his hand on the seat, hidden from where the guys can see, but he knows what it means. Well done. I’m proud of you. I’m unbelievably fucking relieved you’ve held your shit together for a whole tour.

That kind of thing.

Eddie kind of likes flying. Well, he doesn’t like the idea of flying commercial. Eddie likes the comfort of the private jet, of course he does. No, the reason Eddie kind of likes flying is because he can’t really do anything for the next seven hours.

He has a book with him. He has his note books. He has a pen.

The low rumble of the jet is his companion, and all he can see is bright white clouds beneath them so there’s nothing to distract him there. Eddie writes.

He scribbles things out. He changes the order. He...nudges things along until the tune presents itself. And it does. It almost always does.

He hands one off; it’s not complete, but it’s complete enough that the guys should look. He listens with his eyes closed as the music is hummed, Gareth pacing up and down the wide isle.

Eddie half sings the words under his breath to match.

It sounds pretty good. A little janky maybe, but still. A solid start.

“Nearly got enough for another album,” Jeff tells him.

Eddie blinks his eyes open again, “yeah? That one okay?”

They say no just as often as they say yes now. Eddie doesn’t mind. He understands why half his stuff ends up back in the notebook. He agrees with their judgement. Some of what he writes now is different than it used to be, before everything.

“Yeah man,” Gareth tells him, “it’s great.”

Gareth and Jeff share a look, sliding into the seats opposite Eddie’s table. Eddie shuffles his things, moving some of his scrappy paperwork out of their way. Something is coming, Eddie can read them.

They’re definitely about to say something.

“You know those tunes you’ve written,” Gareth nods at Eddie’s notebook.

“The rejects,” Eddie confirms lightly.

Jeff rolls his eyes, “you know it’s not because they’re bad.”

Eddie knows. Eddie privately thinks some of it is the best stuff he’s ever written. But the guys almost immediately picked the first one out as ‘not their kind of thing,’ and since then Eddie’s had a pretty much fifty fifty pass fail rate with his songs. “I know...they just don’t sound like Corroded Coffin.”

“No...they don’t. But we’ve been talking,” a little curl of apprehension forms, because those words never seem to precede anything good, “and we thought you might have enough of that stuff for a double album by now.” He probably does. He nods, not sure where this is going.

Chrissy had suggested to him, once, that he make the tunes available to other artists. Ones whose style is better suited to the music. At least get it out there, and then just get the royalties, like a proper, grown up song writer. The thought of it had been physically uncomfortable to Eddie. These are his tunes, his music, and they...mean something to him that they never ever could to anyone else. The thought of letting someone else perform them feels gross.

“Anyway, if you want, we thought we’d do something with them.”

“Do what with them?” Eddie frowns, not understanding.

“Well...kind of like a Corroded Coffin unplugged, kind of thing. Or maybe like...just under your name, and we could still play for the recording, kind of thing. Just release the record as is. Or you know, get some other people in on it, there’s plenty out there who have wanted to collaborate. You know some of them would fall over themselves for a chance at guest performance.”

Eddie shuffles his papers, appreciates what the guys are saying, “can I think about it a minute?”

“Sure,” Gareth smiles big, “you know Chris will support you.”

And considering everything they’ve been through, Eddie knows without a doubt that she will.

Eddie shuffles though the rejects. It’s an affectionate name that he mostly never says aloud. He checks them over, makes sure they’re complete. Thinks about if he’d really like to hear them being performed.

He must do, really, since he’s confidently handed every one of them to the guys at some point to see if they liked them or not. If they'd pass muster, then the next thing along would have been to try performing them. That’s the workshop stage. The part where the guys wade in on the final polish. The listen back.

These never made it, so other than tinkling out on his acoustic, Eddie’s never heard any of them for real.

He could. He could now.

Eddie’s no stranger to bearing his soul in the form of his music.

Without really thinking about it, Eddie realizes he’s organized them into the order he’d like to see them on the back of an album cover.

He wonders what Steve would think of this album, if he ever heard it.

“Okay, yeah, I’m in. For the,” Eddie gestures at his scrappy notes, “you know.”

“Eddie, that’s amazing!” Chrissy gushes a little, and suddenly Eddie realizes that, actually this idea might not have, entirely, come from the guys.

“I have a condition, kind of.”

“Okay?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Steve’s words echoing, what would Dolly do? “I don’t want to make any money from this. I want to donate. All the profits. My part of the profits. I don’t know where to, but, yeah...somewhere that helps people who are,” Eddie shrugs, “you know. Struggling? With...stuff?”

Chrissy covers her mouth with her hand for a second, her eyes already looking suspiciously wet. She’s hugging him, hard and tight, sniffling, “of course we can do that,” right in Eddie’s ear.

“Me too,” Jeff says, “so, two thirds profit.”

“Obviously I’m in, all profits get donated.”

Eddie watches them over Chrissy’s shoulder, “you guys don’t have to.”

Jeff shrugs, “the fuck else we going to do with it? You seen the houses we already live in, right? Gareth’s got six cars.”

Eddie snorts a laugh.

[dark-night-hero]

Genshin Characters and their "Multo" aka Ghost.

Zhongli/Morax

Humingang malalim, pumikit na muna At baka sakaling namamalikmata lang

Zhongli, Morax's ghost is that fact that he would outlive you over and over again. He would live for a whole lifetime just to see you die before him. Forever haunted by the different yet the same version of his beloved. Haunted by the fact that he would try to find you in everyone thus realising the fact that he could no longer love anyone else. But you.

Morax who finds you in everyone, reminds you of everything. It was like everything was about you. And how funny it was, you were anywhere but next to him. It feel like the more he tries to forget about you- despite the thousands of years, memories that were long forgotten. Despite the fact that he could barely remember your face, your voice. You still haunts him. Everything reminds him of you no matter how much he trues to deny it. He could never get used to it.

Kamisato Ayato

Ba't nababahala? 'Di ba't ako'y mag-isa? Kala ko'y payapa, boses mo'y tumatawag pa

Ayato's ghost would be the fact that he almost had you. The fact that the two of you happened; a short serenity. A short bliss of happiness he would never forget that would forever haunt him as he choose his duties before himself.

People would see him as the Head of the Kamisato Clan, the one who manage to rebuild his clan at the edge of ruins. The one who was said to be cunning yet kind. A manipulator and a strategist. The one who was contented with his life, and yet the moment he heard your familiar calling, he would look back. Only to realise he was alone, you aren't here anymore. That this is what he had given up willingly all those years ago. His happiness.

Al Haitham

Binaon naman na ang lahat Tinakpan naman na 'king sugat

Al Haitham's ghost is the fact that he never confess. It was never about the circumstances, you were always by his side. It was never about miscommunication, you talked, you always does. It was never about trust, he had known you all his life, the trust that you two had was everything. It was about time. It was about damn time. He though you had more time, if only he had known.

So as he stood in front of your grave, a flower in hand. He just stares. Would things be different he confessed? If he asked you to stay? Stay with him? If he did not try to play it safe, would you still be here with him? If he did not try to suppress these feelings, would you still be here right beside him? He would never know and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Neuvillette

Ngunit ba't ba andito pa rin? Hirap na 'kong intindihin

Neuvillette's ghost is the fact that he could never love you again, not after the hundred years of guilt. While it was the verdict and countless accusations, evidence that eventually took you away from him. He was the same being that pass on that verdict to you. While he had forgiven the national from that they did. He himself could not forgive the fact that he did that to you.

He knew you deserve better, now that you are back. He knew that you deserve better, and he knew he was not. So he let you go, for the second time in his lifeline, he let you go. But it was okay, at least this time you are alive, you are safe, even if it wasn't by his side. He knew he could not love you again, the guilt was eating him alive and yet the pain of seeing you with someone else was a different kind of pain, one that would haunt him forever, for the rest of his life.

Diluc Ragnvindr

Tanging panalangin, lubayan na sana Dahil sa bawat tingin, mukha mo'y nakikita

Diluc's ghost is the dreams and broken promises that he had left behind upon becoming the rouge, on his venture for vengeance. He left without saying goodbye, not even a letter explaining why. Not even a letter to his own fiancé he had left alone in the altar.

The same fiancé that came into mind when he find himself knocking on deaths door, keeping him alive. Only to find out the reason why he manage to kept himself alive the reason why he came back was no longer around. You died, alone in an alley at day the two of you were supposed to get married. Clutching the rings the two of you were supposed to exchange that very same day. Now kept in his chest, attached on the necklace underneath his clothes. Hoping it was you talking through the tavern door, greeting him with your smile. That was a dream he would forever wish upon.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: I've been lss Multo for a few days now anddd wellll, i miss genshin :") ALSO ANG BANAS GRABE LORD

Bonus:

You

Kahit sa'n man mapunta ay anino mo'y kumakapit sa 'king kamay Ako ay dahan-dahang nililibing nang buhay pa

Your ghost is Capitano who you spend most of your life with. He who cannot rest in peace finally find himself at peace. And there is nothing you can do about it but to accept the fact that he had left you behind. That he had finally find his peace, something you had always been dreaming of when it comes to him. Because admit it, it may not seemed that way but he had always been suffering, carrying onnthe weight of the nation that had long been gone.

As much as you want to hate him for leaving you alone. You cannot, not when he had finally find his peace. Not when he could finally rest. But then again, if there is nothing that would haunt you forever is by how peaceful he looked when he left. Like he had no regrets, like he had done enough. In which in fact he did. He left in peace, which left you in pieces. Never to love again.

[isetfiretomyself]

Short Yandere Male Vampire X G/N Reader

This is more of a short Imagination then head cannons! Just an idea I wanted to put out into the internet while I figured out what I want to do for this blog! I hope you enjoy - Jay!

Now in Yandere Kings fic I said he's the most feared man "In all this side of the mountains" but what about the other side?

🩸Yandere Vampire was ruthless. His feeding was the most important thing for him. Feeding off a Duke leading him to take the wealth and land was his biggest achievement.

🩸Yandere Vampire ruthlessly killed any hunter who dared try to even enter his land. He'd rummage through their inventory to see what new weapons are being used against vampires.

🩸That's when Yandere Vampire met you. A vampire hunters little sidekick. He watched from afar you shaking like a leaf at the tiniest noise. He's never had such a scared little thing try and help form his demise.

"What ever are you doing here? Trying to play the hero?" He steps behind you. He was met with a piercing scream, usually that'd make him laugh.

🩸Yandere Vampire couldn't help but feel a little bad. You remind him of himself when he was a human.

"Ow- That's the most a hunters managed to hurt me." Yandere Chuckled a bit at the irony. You on the other hand doesn't find this funny in the slightest. The most dangerous man alive...well undead? Whatever he is, he's scary and right next to you!

🩸After calming down a bit Yandere Vampire found out you weren't educated properly and none else in the village would hire you. You were just trying to get coins.

🩸Yandere Vampire knew it was stupid but let you in his home. He knows you're not hurting him because you're scared but maybe, just maybe you'll give him a chance to prove he's not a full monster. (He is but you don't need to know that)

🩸Yandere Vampire kept you around for a bit. It was cute, you got a whole mansion to yourself in the day, talk with him for a few hours before he lets you sleep peacefully and alone.(apart from when he watches sometimes....he watches a lot actually)

🩸Yandere Vampire got bored of this. He wanted more. He noticed you tidied around the mansion the best you could. Started moving furniture to block the sunlight even if it meant you didn't get to bathe in it. You're a strange little one, seemly loyal to whoever shows you kindness.

🩸Yandere Vampire would steal from farms before planting crops in his own land for you. Truth be told he wants you to be like him. Feast on the scum of this world and live in luxury forever with him. But...he remembers how he screamed and cried from help with being drained by a vampire. It's pure luck he survived, punching the vampire in the mouth, Hard. During the fight he assumed some of the vampires blood got in his mouth enough to turn him.

🩸Yandere Vampire was scared as a human... just like you are now. As much as he cares about you he'll use that fear to lure you right into his arms.

You hear rats scatter around you when you walked too far away from the mansion. You scream a little, stumbling back before rushing back to your new safe home. At night you'd ask for Yandere Vampire to stay with him.

"Max...Can you stay with me till I fall asleep?" You ask when he was about to leave your room to let you rest. "Hmm? I suppose I can." (Acting like he ain't gonna watch you anyway.) You fall asleep under his gaze completely unaware that the same worries that we're being eased was the same ones he caused.

[doctorforks]

Mori was never afraid of Dazai

This could be one of the biggest misconceptions about mori and his relationship with dazai, and it's pretty skillfully masked as it adds much more nuance to mori while revealing his actual fears, and that makes me excited.

Hi, if you don't know this is a rewrite of a huge post that tumblr swallowed whole, but it's too good of a topic to drop so I'm bringing it back.

Defining Mori Ougai

...would take forever. For one he deliberately hides his true intentions and identity, and the author helps conceal most of his past because it's hilarious but emphasises an necessary aspect: you cannot understand a person at a single glance/taking their words at face value, and that Mori feels just as misunderstood as dazai. More on that later.

Mori is a character that, as far as we know, started out as a military doctor, then as an underground surgeon and eventually the port mafia boss. This hefty experience landed us with a man who cares about two things: the protection of the city and the nation, the protection of his status as the pm boss, because without his grip on the throne the first cause will fall apart.

But what is mori without this duty? We could speculate, but beast reveals the answer for us anyway: he is someone who lives to love and care for others like any doctor would. It's why he became the new orphanage director, and caretaker or even father for atsushi.

We see glimpses of this during 15, mori mentions how he had to practically chase dazai around to keep him from dying and give him his health shots. And no it wasn't to keep him alive for potential use, up until then mori simply picked dazai after his attempt because he reminded him of himself, and because

in a way, saving dazai could also save himself, but saving himself is allowing the burden of vulnerable love to surface, and that threatens the necessary pragmatic hold on the port mafia that he has created.

Mori loves dazai, akin to how a parent loves a child. Yes manipulation and grooming was involved, that side belonging to the mori that needed dazai as a tool but the mori that loved him as a son raised him, took care of his health, gave him an education and even a friend and a purpose to literally go outside (also a lesson on maneuvering and managing pm missions but alas, dazai was anything but an ordinary child).

Mori anticipating his death from Dazai

Everyone remembers Dazai's confrontation with mori after many years, and the infamous line of him revealing that he knew mori pushed oda to his death; and that it was a ploy to get rid of the person who is capable of taking his head.

Interestingly, in Dazai and the Dark Era we come across Mori predicting such an outcome

It's admittedly vague, but Mori seemed more thrilled of the idea than anything else. It makes sense, dazai is the most suitable to be the next port mafia heir, the organization mori put his all into changing for the better. It's also interesting to note that he believes that only in death will dazai be able to take on the role of the boss, or that he insists that dazai will be his cause of death; it seemed so perfect and fitting.

So why would mori have a sudden change of heart and get scared of dying at dazai's hands when he was thrilled at the possibility? Why kick out such a crucial asset to the pm? There could be many answers really, but it won't explain his mourning once dazai officialy left the pm

his described "boredom" and the empty spot reserved for dazai in the organization that is mori's heart and soul. This emptiness and "boredom" is a worse fate than death, because the visible lack of dazai, a person he loved, is too jarring and apparent. In the stageplay especially, mori is on the brink of tears when dazai finally leaves

Dazai understands

These two pages are what first prompted this ramble, because after all this ploy to avoid vulnerability for maximum efficiency in leading such a dangerous organization, kicking out the one efficient member of the pm who happens to bring out his humanity in an inhumane way, hirotsu insists that dazai understands mori's "will" regardless. This will being his decision to forfeit love, and the vulnerability of emotion for his cause, and it was met with understanding from dazai. Not necessarily forgiveness, but simple understanding for what he did and why.

Tl;dr: Mori was never afraid of Dazai taking his head, but rather of what he could and already made him feel and face vulnerability he cannot allow himself to have for the sake of the Port Mafia and Yokohama as a whole.

[lookingfts]

Friday Fic Rec 4/18

Thanks as always for your submissions! Titles are links to each fic.

Now I Want by ramarro

“As ramarro says in the tags, it's a toxic relationship, but it's fun to write (and read!). The two stories share Kate's and then Anthony's POV of their on and off again relationship, told non-linearly from when they meet to when they finally accept that they are it for each other, for better or worse. It's sexy as hell, a bit angsty, and has its own kind of HEA. It's also so beautifully written.”

Description: If they were a normal couple, they’d talk about the pain they inflicted on each other today. They might have a productive conversation how their emotional needs weren’t being met and how they could change that. Instead, they just sit in the cab in silence, Anthony’s hand possessively on her thigh. Kate knows he must have spent that hour where she didn’t answer fuming, but she’s not going to apologise. He takes a deep breath. ‘I missed you.’ Something in her relaxes. She covers the hand on her thigh with her own.

Complete - E - 14k words

an unthinkable fate by andromedas_perseus, antematter, caciopepebowl, rosesatdawn

“It’s just an absolute masterpiece and I cannot wait for what is next.”

Description: From forbidden lovers in Ancient Egypt to playing detective in the 1950s; risking it all in the Regency, Shakespearean sword fights, and starting an 80s sex cult - they find each other in every lifetime. As it turns out, there is no corner of the earth far away enough to keep them from falling in love.

WIP (6/7) - E - 71k words

geomancy by buries

“First time reading this author and I think their writing is amazing. This work in particular but make sure you check their other works as well!!”

Description: In preparation for their wedding, a nervous Anthony asks Kate to show him how the Haldi ceremony is performed so he can practice. Naturally, things escalate.

Complete - E - 10k words

At Ease by PenguinofProse

“This one is fantastic.”

Description: In which Anthony is very uncomfortable around the lady his mother has tried to set him up with - until he isn't.

Complete - T - 14k words

What We Didn’t Do by GrostoliSugary

“This one is HOT! like WTF level HOT!”

Description: Kate Sharma would never, ever, under any circumstances, lust after her sister’s fiancé. Except… she did. A lot. In anatomical detail.

Complete - E - 8k words

je suis malade by antematter

Description: Three years ago, Kate Sharma had nearly been world number one, future Olympic champion, girl most likely. But three years ago, her father had still been alive. Three years ago, she hadn’t broken her leg just before the biggest competition of her life. Three years ago, she hadn’t met Anthony Bridgerton yet.

Complete - E - 32k words

Leaving on a Jet Plane by WaterlilyRose

Description: Kate and Anthony both have individual fights with their families. And drunkenly make a decision. If their families think they can do so much better than them - have a go!

Complete - E - 56k words

My Lord, My Love by caciopepebowl

Description: Kate and Anthony are caught in the midst of a damning embrace. Faced with the consequences of their own reckless actions, they are forced to confront both their feelings for one another and their own insecurities.

WIP (5/?) - E - 36k words

Not right now and not like this by SkippingStone

Description: After the birth of their daughter, Charlotte, Kate and Anthony actually deal pretty well. Unable to admit to the feelings they have for each other, their strictly platonic relationship begins to crumble. All three suffer under the consequences. Anthony begins to understand in the aftermath of a dramatic fallout between the two, that it is his responsibility to learn to be a good dad.

Complete - M - 74k words

Indelible Sins by Mx Kate B

Description: Anthony Bridgerton is a playboy. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Then one day he meets Kate who constantly challenges him, reminding him how sweet life can be. However, the sins of Anthony’s past are not so easily forgotten.

Complete - E - 27k words

Thanks to those who submitted! You can find previous weeks under the "lfts fic recs" tag.

@rosesatdawn24 @youarejeff @waterlilyrose @mxkateb

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

I'm gonna say somethin n yall have to promise not to kill me. ok. so. I think most of the fandom largely agrees that ponys interpretation of Darry was WAY off. blinded by greif n remorse n years n responsibility. pony who thought Darry hated him. who couldn't see how scared Darry was. how much he truly loved him. now. if we can agree that pony misinterpreted Darry. can we not believe the same for soda? pony who would forgive soda anythin. would forget when sodas' sudden anger was aimed at him. would forgive when Soda became impulsive to the point of harmin. soda. his golden. perfect brother. n of course he would. cause when you're convinced one brother hates you would you not be desperate to glorify the other?

[fisheito]

Imagine you have to set up yakumo's enclosure for the next couple months. How do you set it up and what do you put in there?

oh NO.! THE PROPPHECY HAS BEenm FUFILLED

i am standing in my room, leggies rooted to the floor. i am in shock .frozen and i have no idea how to proceed. there is a perpetual pathetically sobbing serpent under my blankie.

[kisakunt]

nerdjo! who whines while he’s tutoring you. it’s been thirty five minutes and you’ve gotten through two problems, he reminds you. but you won’t stop changing the topic, or poking at his arm, or brushing his hair from off his glasses.

nerdjo! who begs you to stay up til midnight when you have a nine am lecture the next day so you can watch a new episode of his favorite, albeit lame, show with him because he wants to share it with you.

nerdjo! who, instead of bars, takes you to museums. he doesn’t act priss— he still laughs loudly at your jokes, he still slings an arm around your shoulder and tugs you along like you’re alone— but he does go into extensive detail when he sees an artifact he’s studied before or an art piece he looked up because it reminded him of you.

nerdjo! who calms you down when you have a big assignment coming up and insists on helping you with it (free of charge). he buys any supplies you may need, listens to you explain what you want to do with it, and compiles a step by step plan for how to achieve your goal as soon as possible.

nerdjo! who builds you lego flowers. call him lame, call him a child, but they’re forever! he says. he puts all but one together by himself and saves the very last one for you to do together, so the memory will last too.

nerdjo! who begs you to come with him to his optometrist appointment so he can make sure you still think he’s cute with his new frames. he wants to branch out, explore, switch it up— but he’s deathly afraid you’ll find him any less than handsome. he loves to impress you.

nerdjo! who knows you’re attracted to him. he knows he’s attractive as is, he’s not insecure about his looks. he’s an observant man, he knows what he does that makes you squeamish and he profits on it.

nerdjo! who pushes his glasses up while looking at you with two fingers. who tugs on ties he wears to interviews with one hand while he presses the other to your hip. who yanks his fingers through his hair and holds it in the air for just a second too long so you can see the way his eyes shine.

nerdjo! who, while he may be a nerd, radiates a confidence to him. that confidence shines through in moments like this, with his hands pushing your hips down as you desperately try to raise them.

nerdjo! who knows what he’s doing. his tongue is as precise as he is in between your thighs, lapping up at the sheer slick that covers you. he’s good at facts and memorization, so he’s memorized exactly when to flatten his tongue nice and slow and when to point it all fast like.

nerdjo! who moans when you do, rolling his hips into the bed as he continues dutifully. he’s obsessed. you’re everything, you’re the ground he walks on, you’re the hottest thing alive.

nerdjo! who has done this so many times it’s like religion to him. who is so used to your taste and your smell and the way you feel and it never gets old. and— no matter how many times he has been here, no matter how long he can last, no matter how little he’s being touched…

nerdjo! who cums in his pants more than half the time when he goes down on you. his whines vibrate against your clit, muffled by you dripping cunt.

nerdjo! who blushes a pink red, buries his face into your thigh, raises the pitch in his voice as he goes “couldn’t help it, baby, you’re so pretty… can i still fuck you?”

[navydoves]

Cyborg!Caleb and his strange affectionate habits

you love your part-robot boyfriend, but he’s a little strange!

✎ᝰ a/n: he was supposed to be a puppy for this series… but then this happened, so now he’s a cyborg. i think you all will like this one. enjoy!

cat zayne bunny xavier mermaid rafayel dragon sylus

ִ ࣪𖤐

❥ he's always scanning you. day or night, awake or asleep, caleb will take it upon himself to check your vitals and health on a normal basis. just a quick little holo-scan from his eye is all he needs. and from the amount of time he already spends staring at you, this is a pretty easy feat.

he knows things about you that you haven’t even figured out yet. you’re gonna catch a cold soon, but he already knows from your white blood cell count. you might not know your period is coming soon but caleb has always got your back and tells you when you’re ovulating or preparing for a period. of course, you ask him not to do it all the time. and of course, caleb is insane, so he doesn’t listen all the time. it’s very intimate to him to know the inner workings of your body.

❥ he can’t sleep next to you (and he tries to fix it). caleb does not sleep in a normal human bed. instead, he sleeps in a tube where his charging port is and asks (begs) you to sleep with him there. and while you do indulge him, it’s very uncomfortable for your human body. even after he tried to enlarge the tube by rebuilding, it’s still not ideal.

he’s so upset that he can’t sleep with you in your bed that he’ll charge himself during the day just so he can be next to you at night. except, he can’t sleep without his port, so he just stays awake next to you, exhausting his energy by admiring you. he talks to himself and you during this time and if you ever stir awake from his murmurs, he’ll apologize and lull you back to bed.

❥ he makes modifications for you. caleb doesn’t wish to be any less than perfect for you, so he’s constantly making tweaks and refinements to his system and body to better adapt to you. like the time he installed a heating system inside of him because you always flinched at how cold he was. or maybe the time he installed more sensors in his wires just so he could better feel your touch.

and while to an extent it is sad, caleb will find a way to make it more fun. he’ll adjust the size and feel to his appendage for your pleasure and he’ll also install vibrations to his fingers if you really ask. or maybe he’ll do something silly like add confetti to his hands so that he can pop them out at celebratory moments.

❥ he forces himself to eat for you. caleb doesn’t really need to eat to keep alive. in fact, he prefers not to because sometimes it’ll make his metal tummy feel weird. he’ll never tell you that, though. he loves you too much to let you know that all the meals you prepare for the two of you are actually making him a little sick.

but he’s gotten better at keeping them down. he modifies his stomach to hold food better and slowly he’s working up toward more intolerable foods—such as spices. one day he hopes to be able to stomach everything you make, but until then, he’ll lie day and night to keep you happy and to bond with you.

❥ he’s very picky at his face. the face is the only thing caleb has that’s human-like. because of this, he’s constantly picking at it; snipping at his hair, shaving, cleaning the skin there, everything he can do salvage what he can of his human form. he also prefers it when you touch his face rather than any other part of him, simply because that’s where he can feel skin to skin contact.

he’ll constantly ask you if he looks handsome as a joke, but it comes from a deeper insecurity within him. he wants to ensure you still enjoy him even as he is, and once he gets your reassurance, he’ll start to remind himself every day that he doesn’t need to worry as much about his looks. because you love him anyway.

❥ he takes secret recordings and photos of you. there are two sides of this, the sweet side and the suggestive side. he loves recording your laughs and photographing your smiles with his system so he can rewatch them when the two of you apart. especially if he’s on a mission and away from you for an extended period of time, he’ll make to stock up on your beauty before he goes.

the suggestive side is more like… a few cheeky pictures of you dressed down or right after sex. maybe even a video of your butt while you’re walking away from him. he’ll never want to take videos or pictures of you during intimacy without your consent, but these small provocative pictures of you are more than enough to satisfy him. if you ever do give him consent to make what is essentially robo-homemade-porn, he’ll play it holographically and watch with you after the fact.

❥ he flies you everywhere! come with caleb on a joyride in his arms. he’ll fly you across town or just around the neighborhood! not that he can’t drive you, he just thinks this way is more fun and special because you’re clinging to him the whole way through. no need to be scared of heights because he’s got you tight in his grip and has 8 backup protocols in case he malfunctions mid-air.

you found it a little embarrassing at first, being a spectacle in the air for everyone else, but now it’s fun! you’ve grown so accustomed to being in the air because of him. and since you have such a fun time, anytime you’re down in the dumps or need fresh air, caleb is always there to take you on a little ride to cheer you up.

❥ he has you engraved. it was part of his hardware modifications, but he once asked you to write your name on a piece of paper, and a week later, he has that same writing etched onto his nape. you couldn’t believe it at first, but it was an exact copy of your handwriting now just seared into him.

he tells you it’s so that he can feel more comfortable in his “skin”. knowing that you’re a part of his new robotic body makes him much more accepting and happier of it. he doesn’t hate it as much, not when you’re always in the back of his mind. ִ ࣪𖤐 hey gals: @chersyluvs , @otomegamesforlife

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

general masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[hellsquills]

Do you think Ford knew how old he was when he came back? Because I don't think so.

He's been all around the multiverse, in places that definitely didn't follow the laws of physics of his home dimension. Time works differently depending on the place he lands on, and he never gets used to any of them because he knows he'll have to leave sooner or later.

So time passes. He can feel himself age, of course, but he doesn't know how long it's been since he fell through the portal. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he can see wrinkles paired with new scars, and his hair is getting grayer, but that could simply be a sign of stress. And sure, his body hurts when he wakes up, but he's constantly on the move and sleeping anywhere he can, obviously he's not going to be in the best shape! All things considered, he's a pretty fit man for any age, and whatever years he's been alive for is not his priority right now.

When he comes back home, after his first encounter with Stan, he finally gets a moment to think about his new and old family. His brother looks older, obviously, and certainly different from what he imagined (not that he thought about him often, of course not). His hair is whiter than his own, and he has even more wrinkles than him! Just how badly was he taking care of himself in the... how many years... wait, did he say 30?!

I don't think Ford was necessarily thinking of a higher or lower number. I don't think he expected anything more or less: the way he sees it, it could've been anywhere from 10 to 1000 years. Time was meaningless between dimensions. I think that the sole reminder that time still passed was what got to him.

That shock came full force after Weirdmageddon, when he realized that Stan was his same age, despite the differences in their physiques. It was the fact that they were both around 60 years old, and they had been apart for 40 years. Two whole thirds of their lives. They were supposed to grow old together, maybe not in the same house (or boat), but close to each other. That, paired with how old and worn down Stan looks, Ford can't help but feel like he's now years younger than him, and he hates thinking about it because with the way Stan had been living for the last 40 years, just how much longer- no, stop, don't think about it.

Ford's paranoia turns into hypochondria, but towards his brother. This translates as Ford desperately trying to cut Stan's bad habits (such as alcohol and smoking), making sure he eats well (Ford can't cook for shit) and semi-forcing him to do some exercise. Stan is not on board with these measures, and he lets his brother know just that because he's being bossy and annoying and he would like to enjoy his amnesia in peace please. Ford is as stubborn as a mule, but eventually he gives up and just begs Stan to please consider some of his suggestions because he wants him to be better. Stan still refuses, but every once in a while Ford catches him doing some exercise by himself or ordering a non alcoholic drink, and it makes him happy.

When they return to Gravity Falls, the twins look the most identical they've looked since they were like 10: Stan's eyes have a shine that Soos had never seen before, and his new and improved posture makes him look taller, like the weight of the world had been lifted off of him. Ford, on the other hand, has a fuller face and body, his expression is now softer and somewhat kinder, and he walks much more carelessly, like he's strolling instead of marching.

Ford doesn't care how old he is anymore, because now he's growing old next to his brother.

[oceantornadoo]

home invasion

neighbor!simon, gender-neutral reader, fluff, implied violence

--

there was someone in your room.

you had fallen asleep on your living room couch, soothed by the sounds of trashy reality tv show. however, some creeping sensation overcame you, cold hands tickling your spine, waking you up with a bucket of ice water. you lay absolutely still as you heard sounds of someone rummaging through your things. thankfully your apartment walls were thin, so you heard them closing drawers loudly, as if they didn't think you were home. you started running situations through your head, ones where you called the police and they came too late, your trespasser having heard the phone call. there was only one decision to make.

silently, like you were five again and playing hide and seek, you moved towards your door. thankfully your door didn't squeak as blood rushing was the only sound running through your head. you left the door slightly ajar as you sprinted down the hall to his door.

"simon!" you whisper yelled, knocking furiously but trying not to alert the intruder at the same time. tears were gathering in your eyes, ones of frustration of having your safe space broken into. finally, after what felt like an hour, the lock clicked and he opened the door.

simon was grumpy. he had just started to fall asleep, that elusive feeling he was always chasing these days, never quite catching it. he was about to tell you such until he saw your eyes glistening, hands gripping your blanket fiercely. "theresanintruderinmyroomhesinmy" you sputtered, absolutely distraught.

"slow down, lovie. wha' happened?" fuck, he wasn't supposed to call you that. he was supposed to keep his distance and not be one of those creeps you complained about. and now he had fucked it up and- "there's someone in my apartment. in my bedroom. going through my things. i knew the cops wouldn't come fast enough so i just thought-" he interrupted you, opening his door just wide enough to shove you through it. fast as a whip, he turned around, kissing your forehead through his mask and murmuring "lock it behind me." then he was gone, your vengeful grim reaper stalking down the hall to his next victim.

ten minutes later, the clock in the kitchen ticking slower than humanly possible, you spotted him closing the door of your apartment, shoulders bunched around his ears. you were pressed against the peephole and opened the door for him as he neared. "simon? what happened?" his eyes were black pits in his head, pupils blown wide by some intangible force. bloodlust. he reached behind you, triple checking the lock, before turning on the light. you gasped.

his knuckles were bloody, gray shirt disheveled, like someone tried to claw it. his mask was askew, shoved up as if someone tried to pull it off but was stopped before they got the chance. he pulled your forehead to his, souls touching in some intimate embrace. this was your neighbor, the one who always held the door for you and accepted your extra baked goods with quiet disagreement. the one who covered sharp edges of corners before you bumped into them, watched your door to make sure you got in okay after late nights out with friends. he breathed in your scent quietly, telling himself this was not a mission, this was you. he ran his thumbs under your jawline and down your neck, feeling your pulse to remind him you were alive. you, this bundle of life he came back to, week after week, deployment after deployment, the one reason he stayed in this shitty building when he could easily afford something better. "yer stayin' with me tonight." you nodded easily, soft as butter in his arms.

you blinked and you were in his bed, strong arms wrapped around you. he gripped you hard, like he thought the intruder might try to steal you straight out of his arms. in the darkness of his room, you slipped off his mask, laying it on his bed table. you kissed his forehead, a mirror of the one he gave you earlier, and snuggled into the crook of his neck. "thank you." you whispered into the silence of the night. you felt him nod against you, arms constricting tighter, legs tangled in the safety of his bed.

simon didn't sleep much. too many memories, sounds of gunfire and the glint of the meat hook ever present. he was required to see a shrink on base, but even that didn't help. turns out this whole time, all he needed was you.

--

[retroaria]

⊹₊⋆.˚ Confessions ⋆.˚₊ ⊹

summary: the bllk boys and their romantic confessions, some are love, some are not! all of them are pretty cute though, not gonna lie…

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | requests are open! | enjoy 💋

⊹₊⟡⋆ Isagi Yoichi ‹𝟹

isagi makes it a point to confess to you in person. he spends a few days thinking (and overthinking) exactly what words to use. he wants to make sure he can confess his true feelings and also let you know how lucky he would feel if you accepted him.

once he’s ready he’d send you a text or call you, asking you to meet him somewhere quiet, maybe just his house or yours. the two of you meet up and he’s immediately flushed. he’s nervous and excited all at the same time. he’s the kind of guy that would want to have built a strong friendship and bond before confronting his feelings for you, so he’s confident that you guys will be ok no matter what happens.

he’d take your hands in his and look you in the eyes while he confesses. his gaze would be warm and sweet, he’s just glad he could even get the opportunity to express himself to you.

“I’ve really love having you with me. You make me feel better, even when I thought I was fine before, being with you just feels better. The closer we’ve gotten, and the more I’ve seen of you and your world, the more I realize how badly I want to be a part of it.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Bachira Meguru ‹𝟹

as soon as bachira realizes he has feelings for you, he feels immediately ready to tell you. he’ll let the feeling settle for a little and try to tell you in an indirect manner. he’ll swoop in with a surprise kiss on your cheek, giggling as he watches your flustered expression. or maybe he’ll leave little notes around for you, in your bag, in your car, in your pockets, in your books, etc. they’d say silly little things about how adorable you were that day or he’ll briefly write about something that reminded him of you, maybe some mediocre poetry he thought up in his love sick state. you’d catch on pretty easily that it was bachira, and he never intended to keep that a secret.

then after a few days of messing with you, he decided he’d tell you the next time he saw you. when the two of you met up he immediately sucked you into a bone crushing hug, like he was holding on for dear life. he’d pull away, “hey cutie~ guess what…” he’d coo at you.

“i like you! Like, I really like you. Maybe I even love you. actually, yeah, love sounds better. I love you! I wanna take you on a date and kiss your stupid face. I know you feel the same, I wish you could see how red you are right now.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Nagi Seishiro ‹𝟹

Nagi realized he loved you when he began to notice how sad he would get when you leave. being sad is a serious pain for him. he doesn’t like the way it makes his brain and body feel all fried and stressed, he hates not wanting to do anything even more than he already does, yet simultaneously willing to do anything to get you back in his apartment. Nagi would beg you to sleepover every time you hung out at his place, he’d sometimes try to wrestle you into the bed. you were just so kind and warm and calming to him. he felt graced by you and your presence.

his confession would come out of him like a nice long sign of relief. he’s been having this strange internal battle between his love for you and his love for laziness. it’s a hassle to have to confess and then put in the effort to build up a romantic relationship, but in the end he decides it’s even more of a hassle to not tell you how he feels. plus, you’re so worth it.

“It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not with me. It’s like I don’t really know what to do with myself. You make me feel alive. That sounds cringe. I love you, is what im trying to say. I hope that makes sense.”

disclaimer: do not date a guy like nagi in real life you cannot gentle parent this man child lol

⊹₊⟡⋆ Reo Mikage ‹𝟹

Reo’s confession was a long time in the making. he clung to his feelings for as long as he could until it really felt like he was gonna explode if he didn’t tell you. he did that because he wanted to wait for the timing to be perfect. he wanted to find the perfect spot to do it, the perfect words to say, all at the perfect time in both of your lives. but of course, things rarely work out that way.

what actually happened is he blurted it out in the middle of you talking one day. you were telling him about something you were working on, something you loved and were really proud of. he was listening so intently, or at least trying to. his thoughts kept stringing him in a different direction and before he knew it, he dropped the L word on you like a nuclear bomb.

“I-uhh…Ok listen, I’m sorry I promise I was listening to you it’s just…you look so beautiful right now and you sound so cute and excited. It got me all frantic, I didn’t mean to drop that on you so out of nowhere…it’s true though, I do love you. I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Michael Kaiser ‹𝟹

(unless you speak german) kaiser has already confessed to you a million times. “ich liebe dich~” he’d say to you upon every parting, telling you it was simply a term of endearment. if you did happen to know what that meant already, or if you took the time to search it up, he’d be like “yeah, I said that, so what?” this man would propose to you in the middle of times square in broad daylight he’s so confident but that’s a different hc for another time lmaoo.

his confession is charming and flattering. he truly worships the ground you walk on while also believing that he’s the only one who could appreciate you as you deserve. his hands cup your face and his eyes fall warmly on yours. his voice is direct and steady. not a twinge of nervousness can be seen, just pure love and admiration. he speaks to you with a calm and lulling voice, a tenderness he only lets linger when he’s with you.

“Liebe, don’t you see how soft you make me? I’d hate for you to not realize how I feel for you. I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me, that is.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Rin Itoshi ‹𝟹 (i wrote so much for rin wtf)

Rin has walls that he has spent a lot of time and effort building up over the years. they’re forged to keep out anything and everything that may be a distraction from his goals, but if this is the guy you’re going for, i’m sure you’re a persistent little pest. you’d sneak your way into his life, just by being there, texting him, talking about him. soon enough you’d infested his mind as well, suddenly he’d find himself thinking of you when he least expects it.

one day he was on the pitch, just a practice game, but you were in the stands watching him. throughout your friendship you’ve done this quite a few times, so he has no reason to pay much mind to your presence in the middle of the match. today was different though, you were up close, eyes beaming at him in the center field, hands at the side of your head clutched together in a little cheer. he hadn’t done anything yet, the match just started, what were you even cheering for? it was cute, he decided. that’s why it broke his focus long enough for the other team to score. actually, it was adorable. so adorable it tugged the corners of his lips upward slightly, which he quickly moved to cover with his hand. he just threw a match and he was smiling? what were you doing to him?

after some time of thinking you might be employing psychological warfare against him, Rin decided it was time to really sit down and confront his feelings. he’d go a few days, maybe even a week or more without speaking to you. don’t worry, he was thinking about hardly anything but you the entire time.

“Sorry for ghosting you, I just needed to think about some things. It made me a little sad to be away from you too. I hate you a lot less than I hate everyone else, you know? Don’t get cocky about that. Also, don’t leave me ok? I’ll be nicer, yeah sure. Maybe I can walk you home…or something. Here, let’s hold hands.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Sae Itoshi ‹𝟹

he’s way more flustered about it than you might think. he’s not embarrassed or nervous necessarily, he just hasn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. similar to kaiser, sae thinks he’s the only person who could truly love and appreciate you as much as you deserve. this typically stoic and selfish man finds himself smiling in your presence and wanting to give you everything you want and more.

your relationship until this point has been uhh… “transactional” we’ll say. the two of you liked going out and hanging out together, but no feelings attached. a few kisses were shared here and there, he’d take you back to his apartment to cuddle sometimes, but wouldn’t ever let you sleepover. eventually things started to get a little more *intense*. you did start staying over, a lot. so much so that you had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink and clothes in his closet. the first time he ever had the thought of being in love with you was when he realized his sheets always smelled like you now, and he wanted it to stay that way.

the fact that you were enough to turn his head, take over his thoughts, and make him fall in love with you feels like proof beyond the reasonable doubt that you are perfect.

“You can move in, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. We’re basically already dating, so I don’t see the point in denying it anymore. Yeah, I didn’t think it would go this far either. I like knowing you’re here at my place, with me and not with anyone else.”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

⊹₊⟡⋆ Oliver aiku ‹𝟹

“You know I love you, let’s stop pretending. Seriously, you could keep me on a tight leash if you really want. Promise, I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

⊹₊⟡⋆ Kunigami Rensuke ‹𝟹

“I love you, I want you to know that. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I want to care for you and keep you safe, you mean so much to me, you don’t even know.”

i love this post so much, the nagi disclaimer i had to put, the strange onion analogy for rin, the flustered reo moment. also just isagi being here, the man that you are, Isagi Yoichi. i had so much fun making this - aria

divider - @enchanthings

[pennzance]

Havelock Vetinari is literature's most dangerous tyrant.

Astute, learned, and wickedly clever, there are no ends the man will not go to in achieving his goals. There is no one he will not manipulate, no one too important to remove by a variety of means, and no one so powerful as to threaten his position.

And this applies, most importantly of all, to himself. Who watches the Watch, after all?

But Vetinari is literature's most dangerous tyrant because he is at once, yes, a tyrant, but ALSO literature's most dedicated civil servant.

He cares for the city. And ONLY for the city. It is from this position of being the man who truly only cares for Ahnk Morpork that he derives his authority. After all, who cares as much as he does?

Vimes? Perhaps, but he's a married man and a father with private concerns that should take his attention as well (even if Vetinari has to constantly remind him of that fact). He has other things to worry about, but good job that man for sticking to his lane: a sledgehammer sized scalpel for repelling threats and keeping the peace.

Carrot? Certainly, but Carrot cares more for the PEOPLE than the CITY. His mind is on the present, keeping the ones who are alive upright and breathing and getting justice for those tragically cut short. He is not concerned with the welfare of the CITY, as such. Not with the future the next generation shall inherit.

The guilds? Self-interested fools who were happy to take what Havelock gave them: stability and a piece of the pie no sane person would eat. They are content to squabble over portions of nebulous power, and all of them recognize that if Vetinari were gone... well, it doesn't much bear thinking about, really.

The nobles? Self-interested fools who are UNhappy with what Vetinari has given them: a slow walk to total obscurity and an eternal life in the back catalogues of Twerp's Peerage. Besides, they tend to only be effective when they can convince others to foolishly do their bidding, and the market for such men has seen a suspicious dearth in supply as late.

The wizards? Certainly not. Tried that before, thank you, and everyone seems much happier when gravity remains consistent and no one randomly becomes newts. Let them remain in their university, fat, happy, and most definitely NOT doing any bloody magic.

Lipwig? Maybe. In time. If he is convinced that it is in his own self-interest and things remain... interesting. But he also has Spike and the Bank and the Post Office, and a man can only juggle so much before suddenly there's a chainsaw in the front row and an awful lot of screaming. Best to keep him in practice of course, but... no. Not yet.

Vetinari uses all of them. They are tools in his box as he tunes and fixes and cares for the Disc's greatest city. The Turtle moves, but so does the Patrician, and it is a close contest on who shifts greater mountains. It is easy to imagine more than a few of the gods on Cori Celeste are keeping an eye on him and wondering what he's up to.

Except for the smart ones. They are doubtlessly taking notes.