#this au is damaging the little brain i have

[lila-went-missing]

Best Friends older sister Sevika headcanons

I've been obsessed with this idea for a second now. No one asked for this but I'm writing it anyway. This may have more than one part, we'll see. This is also, once again, not proofread.

Enjoy my lovelies! X

Notes: Modern AU, reader is a senior in high school and is 18, Sevika is a freshman at the nearest university and lives at home

Bsf's Sister!Sevika Who is honestly terrifying.

Her real arm is the size of your head and her metal one is a whole different story.

She's 6'1 and towers over almost everyone.

There's an energy about her- something in the way she carries herself and the look on her face- that has everyone cowering when she walks by.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika Who never once scared you.

It confused everyone around you two, especially her.

She was used to the effect that she had on everyone, liked it even. But you never saw her like that.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who lost her arm when she was twelve in the same car accident that killed her mom.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika whose dad was an engineer that originally worked on engines for machines but after his daughter was hurt started working on prosthetics.

He spent months building her first arm. He spent even longer than that working with scientists to build one that would respond to brain waves.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who gave up on finding someone to love her the moment she lost her arm. Kids are mean and most of them had never seen someone missing an arm before.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who started building muscle to look scary.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who figured that if she looked scary enough then people wouldn't make fun of her any more.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who met Silco and Vander one day in the gym and clicked with them.

They didn't care that she was missing an arm, they actually thought it was really badass.

For the first time in a while she had friends who actually cared and they became like her brothers.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who started smoking weed to help the pain from nerve damage.

She started selling it her junior year of high school and quickly began supplying most of the teenagers in town.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who tasted your baked goods for the first time and had what was either the best or worst idea of her life.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who split profit with you if you made your brownies, cookies, and cinnamon rolls a little special.

You said yes of course because she always sat with you in the kitchen and you liked spending time with her.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who always invites you to the parties she goes to but keeps her eye on you the whole time.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who has the biggest soft spot for you but won't admit it.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who catches herself falling for you and immediately starts beating herself up.

How could someone so sweet and angelic like you ever fall for her?

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who get's really quiet like she used to, trying to force herself to stop loving you.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who is walking past her sisters room one night when you're staying over.

Against her better judgement, she stands there at the door listening.

"I'm just saying, Sev gave up on finding someone a long time ago. Everyone is scared of her, that's the way she likes it. But you're not. I saw you two in the kitchen last week, before that party. I haven't seen her look genuinely happy in a long time. But you bring that part of her back."

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who is on the other side of the hall and in her room with the door slammed shut in five seconds flat.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who realizes she is helplessly in love with you.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who can't sleep that night so she goes down into the kitchen to get some water just to find you doing homework at the island.

Bsf's Sister!Sevika who watches from the doorway for a second before making herself known.

The second you see her she's met with the sweetest voice she's ever had the pleasure of hearing.

"Hi, Vika. What are you doing up?"

"I uh- couldn't sleep. Is that biology work?"

You nod with a small smile, pushing the textbook away. "I have a test Monday, wanted to get some last minute studying in."

She hums, nodding. "You'll do great, you always do."

Your smile widens and she thinks she has a heart attack. "Thanks Sev." Oh now she is definitely having a heart attack now.

Her body moves on its own, drawn to you like a magnet. She's walking towards you before she can stop herself. The logical part of her is screaming at her to stop- to turn around and go back up to her room and pretend this conversation never happened. But the emotional part of her, the part she hasn't let herself feel in so long, is far too addicting to shut out. She has you caged against the counter in seconds, not really sure of what she's doing.

She thinks she should stop but you're looking at her, wide-eyed, with the most loving expression she thinks she's ever seen and she just can't. Her real hand is cradling your jaw while her metal one braces against the counter. You look at her for a second longer before your voice comes out in an angelic whisper.

"It's okay."

And suddenly her lips are on yours. You don't waste a second kissing her back. Your own hands pull her in, one on her cheek and the other on the metal of her shoulder. She thinks she could sob at the way you hold her so gently. The way you don't care what she looks like, or the way she portrays herself. You see it, and you love all of it.

Books and movies always talk about kissing someone and sparks flying. They say that it's this big thing that's electric and fueled by passion. They're all wrong. Kissing Sevika feels like coming home. It's warm, and sweet, and so unbelievably loving that it suffocates you in the best way.

When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours, eyes still closed. She's afraid that if she opens them then she'll be back in her room and none of this will have happened. Your voice is what snaps her out of it.

"Sev-"

And then she's apologizing more than she has in her life.

"Fuck, I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry-" Your lips cut her off. Any other time she'd be pissed, but she can't be. Not with you. Not when you're kissing her like she's the only person you've ever loved.

"Don't you dare apologize."

Her hands are on your waist, your hips, your thighs, anywhere she can reach. She can't keep them off of you. But yours wrap around her neck with just as much fervor, pulling her flush against you with more passion than you've ever had for someone.

===

Sooo needless to say a pt.2 is most likely coming. And it will most likely be very smutty because why not.

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU Part 2

If it had been anyone but Cass to suggest it, Bruce is certain that both Damian and Tim would have responded with an immediate and vehement, Are you insane?!

But it is Cass. It's Cass, so Damian makes a choked sound and bites out, “Help. The Pit Demon?”

Similarly, Tim chokes out, “I don't know about that one, Black Bat. I mean- it's- it looks-”

“Judging books?” Cass asks through comms, a gentle disapproval in her tone that rivals Alfred’s in effectiveness. Bruce himself feels a little cowed by it.

Diplomacy had not, after all, been on his mind before his daughter spoke up.

He should know better than to make assumptions, especially if she's right and the creature isn't as hostile as it seems.

That's still a very big if.

“Commissioner,” Bruce says lowly, turning his head. Gordon is lingering near the roof access stairway, having come up to brief them but seeming reluctant to even look down on the creature in the alley. “Have there been any casualties? Injuries?”

Jim falters, uncharacteristically rattled. Bruce can't blame him - there's a low level dread and an unsettling feeling just being in the same vicinity as the creature, and that's as a seasoned vigilante. Someone who faces death down regularly.

“Uh. No. No, it uh- it took some swipes at people who got too close, but it didn't connect. We backed off pretty fast and called you as soon as possible.”

Bruce blinks. “Not even any blood drawn?”

Gordon shakes his head. “Damn miracle. The thing is fast and those claws are vicious.”

He hears Cass hum into the comms, and he understands exactly why.

The thing in the alley is built to do damage. He has his doubts it was any kind of miracle that made it ‘miss’ any of the swipes it took.

Trying to scare them off indeed.

“Black Bat. What exactly are you reading off the creature?”

“Looking for exits. Desperate. Overwhelmed.”

Bruce hums. “Being cornered and desperate will make anyone or anything dangerous. We need to proceed carefully here. Even if it doesn't want to hurt anyone, that doesn't mean it won't if it thinks it has no other-”

The shadow that is Cass shifts in his periphery, and he looks up to the opposite roof just in time to bark, “Do not-!” as Cass steps off the roof and flips down into the alley.

Why are his kids so determined to give him a stroke?

Dick vaults up over the edge of the roof to join he and Tim, saying, “I'm here, what's-”

He cuts off and claps his hands over his ears with everyone else when the creature shrieks at Black Bat's unexpected arrival.

“Black Bat,” Bruce grits out, heart in his throat as he peers over the edge with ringing ears. “Retreat back to the rooftops now.”

One tap to the comm. No.

Bruce grits his teeth, fighting not to show his anxiety. It's not like Cass to refuse orders. Hell, he can't remember her ever disobeying an order in the field so blatantly.

The low warning noise the creature is making now is almost as bad as the shriek. Something about it sets off every alarm bell in his brain, like it was never meant to be heard by human ears. Almost a growl, almost a moan, something celestial and unfathomable.

Cass doesn't back up or get any closer. She raises a hand slowly in a little wave and says, “Hello.”

If it were possible to startle a fax machine, it would probably sound like the creature does as it jerks and snaps its mouth shut in surprise, lamplight eyes going huge and round.

Masterpost

[loveyhoneydovey]

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon riley

notes & warnings: the used pictures are only for aesthetic purposes, reader is not physically described in this. AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI this is an 18+ only blog. a significant age gap between simon & reader is implied but the actual number is never mentioned. if i missed anything please lmk:)

this is a completely unedited little something i wrote at 4am

reader who never fell out of love mechanic ex-boyfriend simon

you still recommend your ex-boyfriend’s garage to your friends (especially any vulnerable women) because despite your failed relationship, you’ve never met someone as trustworthy and reliable as simon 

you and mechanic simon who met when you’d found a used car you wanted to purchase and wanted to have it independently inspected 

reader who found this older, ruggedly handsome, stoic and yet professional mechanic who seemed to know his shit. despite the terrifying skull design resting next to his shop’s name, you trusted him immediately

not only did he inspect the car for you, but he also helped bring down its price and performed any necessary repairs at a huge discount (he never told you about this, you eventually figured it out on your own)

despite the obvious crush, he was very reluctant to pursue anything with you. not only were you his client and trusted him not to make things weird, but you were also so much younger and he felt like an old dog who was beyond learning any new tricks

you should’ve taken his warning from the beginning as he had predicted the downfall of your relationship before it’d even began

reader whose car has been acting weird for the past couple of months so you begrudgingly take it to simon’s shop

you’d actually tried taking it to some new garage in town, but had a feeling you were being lied to and overcharged when the sleazy mechanic barely spent an hour on it and said it was back like new

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who doesn’t even need 5 minutes to tell you it’s on its last leg. despite his stoic demeanor, he’s actually concerned by how you’ve been driving such a vehicle in such an unsafe state

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who starts asking till he finds a car within your budget. one he inspects himself to make sure his baby not anymore doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere because of faulty brakes

the fucker was ready to buy it himself, but knew you’d never accept his money (especially not after the harsh parting words you’d left each other with during your last fight)

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who’ll never love anyone more than you, but still isn’t willing to repair the broken bond between you two

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who still uses o’keeffe’s working hands cream every day cause you used to always rub it on his hands, swearing his calloused skin would soon feel like a baby’s butt (and of course you were right). he tries to mimic the way you’d gently work it into his damaged skin as the only thing he had left from you now were memories

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who never really tries to move on from you despite his apprentice’s attempts to set him up with multiple people (what’s the point of you for something he’s already found) 

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who went through the army and came out even more damaged after a stint in prison. he believes nothing good will come out of such a sweet thing so full of life being chained to a grumpy old man like him

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who despite thinking all of that can’t accept the thought of you being with someone other than him

WHEW the is the first time i've written in YEARS (and i probably won't write anything for another good 5 years fjkdsw). hope you enjoyed this as much as i did!! this au idea has been rotting my brain for the past few days and i just had to let it out. feel free to dm me, leave a comment or send an ask about this au. dividers made by @anitalenia ✨

[amberluvsbugs]

Recovery

I've been having a lot of brain rot over @xitsensunmoon vampire AU. One mainly of how Moon would be if Y/n came home one day very weak from the blood they had to give? Knowing that he does not show his tender feelings behind his teasing gestures.

Short Drabble on this idea is down below.

Moon has always been a bit of a teasing, cocky, gremlin most of the time, always pushing you and just being the chaotic character that he is. Despite him being such a tease, he does care about you. Especially when it comes to your health. Knowing that you push yourself so far for giving blood to those in need, including the two vampires that now reside with you in secrecy, it does worry them at times with how tired you are when you finally return home from work.

One particular day, however, you push yourself a little too far. Giving more blood than you should have. But despite your health, you knew it would save so many people in the long run. “I’m home.” You state out begrudgingly before turning and weakly closing the door behind you. Your arms feel like lead and are a struggle to lift. 

Moon made his way over to you, his eyes boring into you as he grinned his sharp fanged teeth at you before stopping short. His features quickly changing into something a bit more of an underlying sense of concern as he studied you with his bright red eyes, brows slightly furrowed. “What? Is there something wrong?” You raised a brow. “You look terrible.” Moon spoke out.

“Well yeah, I just got back from the doctors, you know how the deal is.” You shrug out. “You look worse than the other days.” Moon gives deeply. You let out an annoyed sigh. “Moon I don't have time for your snarky remarks right now. I have shit to do and I don't need-” As you started to make your way around Moon, your balance started to drift and suddenly felt a sudden weakness in your legs. Dark spots started covering your sight as things started to drift lower, and lower and lower. Where you getting shorter than Moon? Your mind fuzzy and not catching up with what was exactly happening. Something moved on the edge of your vision, you saw a flash of blue and your body jerked slightly. You felt something from under your arms. When the dark spots in your sight started to disappear, you could finally see what happened in your daze. Moon’s slender hands were under you before you could fully hit the ground and risk any more damage. His expression was now one of wide-eyed worry as he looked over you. His eyes flit from your face to your chest, then back. His smile was no longer present as it was now in a concerned frown while his stature easily loomed over you in his squatted position. Moon had rushed over to catch you.

You shifted a bit by a means to sit up, looking anywhere but Moon’s face as he still carefully held you. “Sorry, ‘m fine. It’s just a sleep spell that caught me off guard is all.” You mumbled out. There was a beat of stillness before Moon moved one of his hands to drift down your arm. You tensed as he gently pressed your wrist. He was being mindful of his claws as he pressed his thumb to the pulse point on your wrist to feel the thump of your now weak life force. “You pushed yourself too far. You are weak.” Moon softly scolds you. You let out a huff at this, weakly tugging your hand away from his grasp. He was right but this was normal for you. You just went only a touch overboard it’s nothing serious. Moon sighed and moved to bring his hands back under you to pick you off the ground. Your side pressing to Moon as one hand wrapped under your back and the other under your legs, holding you in a signature bridal style as his long cape dragged with him in his movements. “Wh- what are you doing..?” You tensed at the close contact as he moved to walk over to the living room. “Carrying you.” “You know I can walk Moon-” “Do you want to have another sleep spell and fall again?” He looked at you with a sharp expression in his red eyes. “….No.” You grumbled out and begrudgingly looked away. You hated how he had a good point. “But I need to clean n’ finish up some things.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp but his arms easily held you firm. Your whole body was just so difficult to move. “Later.” Moon flatly stated before moving over to the couch and carefully lowering you down on it. “You need to recover and rest.” You grumbled and your body simply melted to the couch. You were still trying to move to get up but even your body just wasn't listening while you laid down. “You're so stubborn.” Moon chuckled slightly in a tease. He boops you with a clawed finger on your nose as he bends over you with his face cocked to the side. Softly amused by your antics while he sharply grins at you. “And you're a prick.” You deadpan. He smiles cheekily at you before looking over and walking out of your sight. His footsteps and the bells he adorns fading out as he goes to get something. Your eyes already threatening to close in waves of tiredness. God, you had stuff to do, why was your body like this?

The jingle of bells prompts Moon returning back to where you were. He lays a hand on your shoulder to get your attention, being mindful of his claws as he quietly sits in front of your weak form on the side of the couch. Your eyes opened slightly at the contact and seeing him. His head on level with your own in this position while his fluffy cape draped over the back of him. “Here…Drink.” He urges as brings a glass of water over to you. His other hand helps guide you to sit up. You gingerly take the glass and sip the water down while Moon continues to stare at you with his sharp red eyes. Flitting from your face to your chest, and then back again. Concern laced in his features. Once satisfied and swallowing the last of your water, you handed the now empty glass back to him. “Thank you.” You quietly give. He hums in acknowledgment as he sets the glass on the ground beside the couch before you laid back down. Shifting one of the pillows that was on the couch to be under your head. Moon's head now resting on the couch on level and particularly close with your own face, watching you with an unreadable furrowed expression. His clawed hands rested under his faceplate as if pouting or being hesitant over something. It was starting to worry you now. “What's up wit’ you, I don't think I’ve ever seen you like this before.” You questioned sluggishly. Moon looked away slightly as his brows furrowed more, grumbling a bit as his fingers tensed a bit in the cushion. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

He releases a huff in slight embarrassment. “I’m worried…about you.” Concern filling his answer. “You’re… worried about me?” Your sleepy brain was trying to process his answer. He nods once.

“Why? Imma be fine.” You state as if it was nothing but a simple thing. Moon eyes looks back at you for a few beats before moving slightly closer to you. Sliding one of his slender hands to be under the pillow you lay on for more support and brought his other free hand to grasp one of your own that was lying on the couch between you and Moon. His slow and careful grasp engulfing it entirely as he looks back at you once more. One of his fingers pressing to your pulse point once more.

“You need to take better care of yourself….You push yourself too hard.”

You sigh sleepily. “I know Moonie… But every time I do this, I help so many others. You both included. Don’ want you guys to starve.” You mumble as you blink heavily.

“You are just as important, Starlight.” Moon whispers as his concerned eyes flit around your face once more. He gently released his hand that held your own and brought a careful index claw up to tuck a strand of hair away from your face. “Please promise me you won’t push yourself like this again.” He softly asks you.

“Mmmmnnnn..” You mumble out, your brain starting to quickly go into sleep mode.

Moon’s bell on his hat rings softly when he leans his face closer to you, the fluff of his hat brushing up on you with how close he is. “Please.”

“Mmmm okay, okay…” You managed to get out sluggishly.

Moon lets out a huff in relief before looking over and reaching for a blanket that was folded on the other side of the couch. Draping it over your small form before looking over you again.

Letting out another soft sigh he leaned in and nuzzled his faceplate onto your forehead. His arm wrapped around your torso.

“Don’t do it again or you will regret it.” He scolds lightly.

“I woonnnttt.” You drawl out. Defeated in the exhaustion and Moon’s hold on you.

Moon's presence holds you softly and securely as sleep washes over you in seconds. You had seriously pushed yourself too far today as your pulse was just barely thumping under Moon’s touch. He does not have a desire to lose you. You mean too much to both him and Sun.

Moon’s form stays by your side as you sleep deeply, his eyes closed as his faceplate nuzzles you. Whether it be in content or by means of comfort, he lets out quiet deep purrs to try and aid in your recovery. Still paying close attention to your pulse as he rests with you on the couch as if it could stop at any moment.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time. 

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.  

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.  

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago. 

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile. 

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

But why was he remembering all of that now? 

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision. 

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines. 

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door. 

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles. 

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once. 

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on. 

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings. 

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you. 

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter. 

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time. 

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him. 

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either. 

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid. 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.” 

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside. 

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass. 

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away. 

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment. 

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high. 

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him. 

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime. 

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game. 

3-2. UTokyo’s win. 

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink. 

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again. 

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

[the-sheep]

Is Starscream now a part of the Malto Family? If so how did the rest of the family react? I think Hashtag is happy and will probably call Starscream "Uncle Star" or something

oh gosh i was joking when i mentioned being an ask blog. my curse continues, so i must answer

Pretty much all i draw/write of ES starscream is part of my "fast track to redemption" au! (title not final) Most easily seen in the fics I've written.

Rather than ignore season 2 entirely, I like the fandom notion that the quintessons perhaps attempted to get Starscream to do their dirty work by taking control of the titan AND killing all the other bots. Since. Well Starscream really needed a Starscream to tell him his plan was absolute dogshit. His plan benefits the Quintessons more than it does the Decepticons.

And i personally believe that ES Starscream would never kill a child, let alone two.

Starting with just a little bit of influence to kickstart things, to more and more interference with all of his systems in order to get him to do what is required, only for him to fail and be made useless to the quints. He snaps out of a haze where he's barely in control of his own body and can barely even comprehend what's happening, dropped back into consciousness hard enough to shatter his spinal strut.

Anyway I made it so that gave him brain damage.

Once everything is over and they do a quick little scan of his body for damage or weapons, discoveries are made.

To extra super fast track my favorite setting of "everyone is kinda friends and casually near each other", i needed to essentially declaw Starscream. Without the mind control he's still an asshole who will try and destroy everyone's trust in him as often as possible, which without external assurance that he's genuinely not a threat, would make all the adults keep him in jail for years.

AND i think he wouldn't even stay at the autobot base if he didnt have to rely on them.

Yeah thats about the minimum i think it would take for starscream to mayyyybe admit weakness. The quintessons gave him a tummyache :(

Thus, we got ourselves a seeker wandering the base within months.

and then we have someone much more willing to confront the sadder feelings Hashtag has about so many things. And relates on the mind control front, since she isn't very close with Grimlock.

They connected, if only for a moment. by primus they'll connect again. he's adopting her if its the last thing he'll do.

and then hes made fun of for adopting 7-9 teens because hes being a stereotypical nesting seeker.

this gives me the setting to do what i wish.

[grudgecollector]

Little Lamb

Pairing: Poly TLB / Fem!Reader Request: Ok i finally came up with a request for you that as been on my mind for a hot minute. So i was thinking a poly lost boys (or just dwayne or paul if you don't wanna write for poly i don't mind which one) with a fem s/o who just loves doing their hair and styling their outfits, maybe putting makeup on them? Vampires cant see themselves in the mirror so they gotta make sure they look dope somehow! Why not help each other out! Maybe if she's a vampire to they like to return the favor. I have no clue why this just seems like an adorable thing to do. Story Summary: A peaceful night at the Emerson household has you reminiscing about the past Words: 2k Tags/Warnings: The boys live!AU, slight canon plot changes, slight angst, reader having a toxic home life, some fluff A/N: So this may or may not have a part 2, this plot kind of sprang itself on me out of nowhere to be honest. Also sorry that it kind of jumps around a bunch, hopefully it makes sense. It's been a while since I've written for the boys so my brain was going crazy.

@aviradasa

The Emerson household was alight with life, laughter bouncing off the expansive walls and high sitting ceiling. There was a warm glow from the fireplace, the chill of what could classify as a rainy winter day in Santa Carla quickly snuffed out. The sound of crackling wood blended with the music that played throughout the living room, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Suzie Q washing over you in a beautiful symphony. 

Warmth from the fire crawled up your back as you stood behind Paul, who had perched himself happily on a chair brought in from the dining table. 

“Can you stay still?” Your hands settling on Paul’s shoulders, a small smile finding its way to your lips. 

His foot bounced harshly against the coral colored carpet on the living room floor, making it harder for you to work on his hair like he had requested. And you didn’t want to risk accidentally burning the back of his neck with your hair straightener, even if it wouldn’t actually do much damage to his cold skin. 

Paul’s hair was tangled and ratty, stiff from overuse of a product that you were sure was probably long expired. It took thirty minutes of brushing, and gentle tugging, before you could finally run your fingers freely through the thick golden locks. 

“Sorry, sweetcheeks.” He chuckled softly, tilting his head back with a soft smile. 

The rest of the boys were scattered about the downstairs of the house. 

Dwayne was sitting on the couch, long legs stretched across the cushions of the couch, ankles crossed as he listened to Sam gush about a new comic he had recently bought. Occasionally, the teenager would flip through the colorful pages, showing Dwayne the fight scenes he thought were particularly cool. 

David was standing next to Michael, staring down at his Grandfather’s old taxidermy work. They laughed quietly amongst themselves as Michael pointed at the dust covered fox's beady eyes, clearly not made as carefully as his more recent works. 

“This thing is fuckin’ freaky, man.” You could hear Michael say as he picked up a beaver with similar beady eyes. David laughed as he poked the glassy faux eyes with his fingers. 

Marko was in the kitchen with Star and Laddie, finding the table a perfect place to sit themselves as Marko taught her how to properly sew patches onto her jacket. 

You ruffled Paul’s hair, finally done styling the top to be big and wild like he usually had it. What would have been a choppy fringe was curled back, small tufts of hair curling back, making his hair look like a golden ocean of subtle waviness. 

“Alright hair’s done.” You say finally, setting down the half empty can of hairspray on the coffee table. 

“Sweet! Dwayne, how do I look, man?” Paul leans forward a little, hands tapping against his knees excitedly. 

Sam looks over at the blonde, lips quirked up in a smirk “Like an idiot.” The teenager replies, laughing as the vampire shoots him a glare. 

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion, squirt. So butt out.” 

Their tones were light and joking, no real malice behind their jabs. 

It was nice to see that things could smooth over as well as they did after everything that happened two years ago between the Emersons, Max, and the boys. A chaotic fight that ended with Max being torn apart by the six vampires. 

The decades of built up anger of his four “sons” reared its wicked head in those final moments. His own creations turned him into nothing, their loyalty had been worn thin long ago. Pieces of torn flesh and scattered limbs was all that remained of his once looming body. 

After Max’s death there was no change within the group, the icy grip of immortality still holding tight. A false hope instilled by the Frog brothers, thinking that if the head vampire was killed, it would end everything.

To Michael and Star it was a saddening defeat, disappointment clouding their brains for months on end as they were both forced to come to terms with their new life. 

“Max was turned by an old vampire long before I was even a concept to the world. The true “Head Vampire” as you like to call it. It would be almost impossible to find him now.” David had told them a few nights after, growing tired of Michaels complaining. 

“The elders hide in the shadows, they aren’t fond of taking risks. The way they live… It’s honestly pathetic.” He chuckled, inhaling what remained of his cigarette before crushing it under his boot.

“So you just expect us to live like this? Like fucking monsters?” Michael glared at him, fists clenching at his sides in irritation.

“Lighten up Emerson, it ain’t all that bad. You’ll see that.” David winked at his unwilling companion, whirling himself around to bark orders at the other vampires.

Their adjustment was chaotic, Star and Michael were on a warpath that needed to be snuffed out quickly before more eyes shifted in their direction.

While humans would never suspect something as impossible as vampires, murderers were never a far away concept. 

“You look good Paul.” Dwayne mused, flipping through the comic Sam handed him. 

“Awesome.” He smiles, standing quickly and turning to kiss you on the cheek, “You’re the best, sweetheart.” 

Marko steps into the living room with a jingle to his step, shaking his jacket a little as he holds it up for you to look at. The new patch he had sewn on was a beautiful piece of art he had cut out from a cloth canvas, a dark castle with subtle moon light casting over the tower peaks. 

The jacket was a little newer and darker in contrast to the much more colorful one he usually wore. Most of the things sewn on or hanging from it were things gifted to him by you, Star, and the other boys. He had been working on it for a good month or two now. 

“What’cha think?” He asked, “I might end up covering most of it up with more patches. It feels too empty.” He mused, running his index finger over the empty black spaces that stretched past the castle itself. “Paul found some old bottle caps in the cave a few weeks ago, was thinking about using those. Maybe cut up some old shirts, not sure.” 

Your eyes drift over towards your duffle bag, having been spending the last night or two sleeping on the couch in the Emerson household. 

Your parents were fighting again, and you couldn’t stand being stuck in such a volatile home. 

Typically you would find yourself sleeping in the overly decorated corner you had taken up in the cave, but the winding roads were slick from the recent rain storms, a rare but welcome shower to quench the thirst of overly dry foliage. 

So you found yourself rubbing your teary eyes on the doorstep, Lucy’s small hands ushering you inside with a kind smile. She didn’t think to pry too much, knowing the environment you grew up in after the many simple talks the two of you have had. 

She was more of a mother to you than your own, understanding, comforting, always welcoming you with open arms. 

Your fingers tugged on the zipper quickly, digging through your clothes until you fished out an old shirt. 

A woman’s painted eyes stared back at you, her fingers twisting oddly above a dark blue crystal ball, dark burgundy scarf covering most of her wild hair, heavy makeup darkening her bright green eyes, the background of the picture was filled with twisting dark purple and pink curtains. The picture adopted quite a similar darkness that adorned Marko’s new project. 

“You could use this too, I don’t wear it much anymore.” 

He grabbed it from your hand, examining it before smiling. “Hell yeah. Thanks babe.” He made his way back over to the kitchen.

Truthfully you just grabbed whatever your hands touched before stuffing it into your duffle bag, trying to get out of that house as quickly as you possibly could. Most of the shirts you had grabbed in your rush didn’t fit anymore, that being one of them. 

There was a slight pang deep in your chest, guilt clawing at your throat. 

What else were you meant to do? You wasted away most of your life acting as a shield for your mother, taking the brunt of your step dad’s abuse in order to keep her safe. The truth was that you were simply tired now, no longer sporting the clouded mind of a confused teenager, hell bent on bringing her broken family back together. 

A sigh falls from your lips sadly. Your ears perk up slightly as you hear the all too familiar ring of spurs on David’s boots. The black steel toes came into your line of sight as you closed the duffle bag again. 

You look up at him with a small forced smile, taking his extended hand. His gloved fingers came up to your cheek, the leathery thumb stroking across your skin as he asked-

“What’s on your mind, doll?” A voice ushered you from your deep thoughts, your fingernails stilling against the dry blood on your knuckles. Your eyes stayed glued to the railing of the boardwalk, unable to look up and allow him- whoever he was- to see the pathetic sadness in your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” The reply was cold, uninterested in having a conversation with overly curious strangers. 

“Well… I don’t think it’s me that’s in need of helping.” There was a light chuckle that came from his lips, “You just looked lonely is all.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, pushing yourself away from the railing. You internally prepare yourself to scold the stranger for bothering you. 

Your glare softened though once you looked at him. His piercing eyes swirled with amusement. He was a lot more attractive than you previously assumed he would be, falsely believing that he would be some worn down drunkard looking to score a night alone with a lady. 

No, he was beautiful, piercing blue eyes boring straight into your soul, as if he was trying to read your mind. 

There was the scruffy start of a beard on his face, an almost flirtatious smirk playing at his dusty pink lips, his blonde hair was styled to stand on the top of his head before sweeping down into a mullet. He wore dark clothes, a layering of a leather jacket, trench coat, and a simple black shirt beneath it all. 

He was unlike anyone you had seen walking along the boardwalk. It was almost hypnotizing, drawing you in without your knowledge. He was like a venus flytrap, dangerous yet alluring. 

“You look like you need a distraction.”

And a distraction it was. You spent the whole night walking along the boardwalk talking with David, his faithful companions not far behind. You know now that you would have suffered the same fate as Michael and Star if you had taken up his offer for a ride. 

But even with your caution, you would continue to seek out David’s presence on the nights you walked beneath the neon glow. Your eyes would wander the throngs of tourists scattered along the boardwalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious blonde. 

“I’m just worried about my mom.” You finally replied, unable to hide the truth from him. 

“I already told you we could deal with that step dad of yours.” David replied softly, he was always so tender with you. 

You couldn’t help but smile a little before rolling your eyes, already having this conversation more times than you could count on both hands “David…” Your tone was light. 

“I’m just sayin’.” He smirked, holding one hand up in surrender, “I hate seeing you down.” 

You felt another pair of arms slide around your waist from behind, Paul’s gaze meeting David’s with a teasing glint. 

“Such a big softie, isn’t he?” The blonde chuckled, brushing his nose against the back of your ear lightly before bringing his forehead to your shoulder, “I’m so fucking bored. Can we please go do something.” 

You couldn't stop the light laugh that came from you, an all too familiar sentence leaving your mouth.

"What do you have in mind?"

You could practically hear the echo of David's reply ring through your ears, that night flashing through your mind briefly.

“Oh, I’m sure we can find something to entertain ourselves tonight. Isn’t that right boys?”

[risuola]

▶ BOYFRIENDS — two is better than one.

contents: college+roommates!au, alcohol consumption, college party kind of situation, groping mentioned — wc. 845

a/n: you were voting in the poll and picked the stsg protecting the reader from the drunk so there we go! our boys making sure we're safe!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“C’mon cutie, it’s jus’ a dance.”

You’re far from being a mind reader. Sometimes you struggle with getting the point of something someone is telling you straight on, but this time you were sure it wasn’t a dance the man wanted from you.

A thick stench of alcohol saturated the air whenever he was leaning towards you, rendering the oxygen useless because you’d rather suffocate than introduce that toxic waste into your lungs. You were trapped, between the counter in a small, dorm kitchen and a guy you recognized from a sport’s team popular in your college. He’s not the top dog, average at most, but famous nonetheless and apparently such condition turned his ears deaf to any sort of refusal. The small of your back burned in the place where he glued his hand and it wasn’t a pleasant type of burn.

“I’m not gonna dance with you, get away, creep,” you scoffed, frowning upon the stubborn behavior and pressing the open palm of your hand against his chest, trying to put your strength against his own. No luck there, he didn’t budge the slightest.

“Hard to get, huh? I like that,” he grinned and next thing you noticed was a hand on your butt, squeezing the flesh like an orange. You flinched at the feeling, digging your nails into his forearm, doing about as much damage as a little kitten. That’s why you didn’t like college parties. “You sure are a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“Get. Off.” A groan left your throat and your fist clenched to your side. A knee itched to meet his crotch, a drink in your hand begged to be spilled over his stupid face and wash off his stupid smile, maybe even refresh his stinky breath a little.

You thought about violence, your body tensed and muscles contracted, getting ready for a strike, but then, you heard a hum. Soft, melodic, like a cotton and silk, soothing your nerves and making you relax. The sound made you stop; it made the drunk stop as well and your position shifted.

“Does my beautiful mochi have a problem here?”

You could physically feel how Satoru removed the unwanted hand from your rear and the wince on the boy’s face in front of you told you his grip was much heavier than the tone of his voice suggested. Then, your friend wrapped his arms around your waist, effectively pulling you out of the toxic orbit; your back met his wide chest and his chin dropped to rest on your shoulder. His bright blue eyes sized the guy in front of you from above the dark shades he wore that night and you noticed him smiling. It was confident, it was judging and so very challenging. You could tell he wished to get down and dirty with the drunk.

“And you are—?”

“Her boyfriend. Back off.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Bullshit,” the boy scoffed, clearly unable to comprehend the danger he put himself in. He hiccupped drunkenly and then found Suguru in the crowd, pointing at him. “That bitch told my friend her boyfriend is that guy.”

Satoru hummed again, amused, and then chuckled vividly. You felt his embrace tightening protectively around you and his fluffy hair tickling the side of your face. As if summoned, Geto made his way towards you and soon he joined your other side.

“Suguru, this guy over there called our girlfriend a bitch and dared to lay a hand over her ass,” Gojo painted the picture with a sweetly threatening tone and even pouted a little for the added effect.

“Oh yeah?” Brunette mused, raising an eyebrow and you heard a soft crack of his bones when he tilted his head to one side and then the other, stretching his neck. Oh, how menacing. “It can’t be.”

You watched as confusion washed over the features in front of you. The guy was drunk, but it seemed as if the dots were finally connecting in his brain, as if the message was reaching and realization was sinking in — very likely the sound of Suguru’s cracking knuckles made the process much more quick and efficient.

And he crumbled.

The boy shrunk under the set of gazes and tensed atmosphere. Mumbling something incoherent, he backed off, grabbing a can of beer on his way as if pretending to not be bothered when very visibly he was.

You sighed.

An exhale of relief made you wilt a little inside the protective embrace of Satoru’s arms. You felt your body relaxing.

“Thank you. He was damn persistent,” you addressed your friends, smoothing over the hands snaked around your waist and looking up at Suguru.

“Always,” brunette smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, while Satoru nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. Then he bit you, of course he did, but this time you let it slip.

“I’d be persistent too if I saw those tits unattended,” the snow-white mumbled, and Geto immediately nagged him, causing the dramatic roll of blue eyes.

You, on the other hand, laughed.

Those idiots.

taglist: @kibananya @r0ckst4rjk @rixo-19 @soraya-daydreams@hyun0200 @ilykii @roscpctals99 @mushkasstuff @siimp4youu @juicedcherry @themoreeviltwin @stevenknightmarc @ms5m1th @local-mr-frog @minimorale @lansy-4 @dancer545

[cupcakeslushie]

Happy holidays!

It’s hard to say how Donnie would react in every circumstance, especially an AU, which ya know, is where I kinda live lol. But even with my EW Donnie growing up with different experiences, there are moments where i actively want him to be different, but moments i have to sit and think about how he’s still the same lovable purple guy.

Canon Donnie is such a people pleaser. Donnie’s love language is clearly acts of service/gift giving, creating inventions to make the family’s lives easier…and when they don’t, Donnie tends to either go into a denial mode, refusing any criticism, or fix it mode.

He can’t handle the idea of just dropping a project—not until he has no other choice. When Shelldon literally destroyed the lair and nearly killed them all, Donnie insisted he could improve him. When he saw the billboard for Purple Game 2, he was still 100% invested in getting that game, despite knowing full well how much damage his obsession caused, and that it was a ploy created by the Purple Dragons. When April went to Witch Town, instead of him, he took that as the highest insult to his talents. If Donnie’s got a worm in his brain for something, he’s not going to let anything stop him—sometimes even, to the detriment of his family’s health.

He loves them, obviously, but he can still be very self involved, and it often blinds him to how he’s hurting them. I personally think this comes from having Raph and Leo always there to be his safety net/older siblings. If something goes awry, they’ll take care of it, Donnie is the results guy, not the plan guy. I see a lot of fanon Donnie taking on everything— taking charge in a emergency—and I’m not ragging, I even enjoy seeing that trope of Donnie working himself to death, doing it all, when it’s written very well—but in canon, Donnie relies a lot on Raph and Leo as team leaders for support and guidance. I think if something were to happen to both of them, he’d need some time to panic and pull himself together. He trusts their judgment (only ever pushing back with a few follow up questions) and backs them up. They come up with the plan, and he figures out how to implement it, or just follows along until his intelligence (or sarcasm) is needed. The times we do see Donnie take charge, he has zero patience for it lol (see Mind Meld). He will stand back, if he doesn’t have much to do and snark about what’s going wrong.

If it’s a fight situation, Donnie’s usually not the one to charge in headfirst. In both Shredder fights (and a few others), he allows the others to go in swinging before he takes a go, and then right off the bat, he pulls out some pretty big final moves (whether they worked as final moves, well 😬) so I think Donnie tends to leave the super physical stuff to the other three, unless it’s a one vs one, or if he can see they need help. He IS a great fighter, that’s for damn sure, but I think if he can go last, and make it into a big show, he has more fun with it.

There is the attention seeking, seeing as he’s a middle child. This is where I get into heavy head canon territory…

We can maybe, safely assume from canon, that Splinter gives Donnie the least amount of attention. I do think the Splinter attention goes-> Mikey, Leo (tho most of that attention is negative from being reprimanded lol), Raph, then Donnie. And while Leo tells himself the negative attention he gets from being a little shit is the same as any attention, I think Donnie desperately needs positive attention, and someone to validate all his creations.

I hope any of that made sense. I’m not the best at writing down my thoughts on a character’s motivations and personality lol. I’m mostly going off vibes when I write.

[itsa-me-lily]

I am still tired, but brain is less mush after some lunch. (Can you guess what I had)

Here is other Simon & Thimble playlist

Here is more Military Program Spouse AU

It helps to assume here that unless stated otherwise Simon is wearing a medical mask around reader. She’s just like whatever floats your boat my dude

Content warning;

Mention of food, medical devices, scars, cellulite

“Simon whatever your middle name is Riley you better not be looking at my legs.”

Maybe his mum had a point, that women developed eyes in the back of their head. He wasn’t deliberately looking at your legs, but he wasn’t not not looking either. For some reason unbeknownst to him, you had decided that you had to make the biggest batch of soup known to man. Sure the seasons were changing, summer slowly letting go for fall, but it wasn’t as if a chilly wind was rattling at the windows threatening to steal whatever heat existed. It was still relatively balmy, warm enough to have the windows open and enjoy the breeze. Warm enough that having the stove going made the kitchen borderline stuffy, encouraging you to cook in just a loose tank top and shorts that hit mid thigh.

Simon wasn’t a prude, he wasn’t scandalized at seeing the curve of your thighs, or grossed out by the cellulite. Everyone had fucking skin and however you wanted to dress in the comfort of your home you were welcomed to it. But he had eyes and well he was curious. His own body was covered in scars and tattoos that told a myriad of stories. So he looked to see what yours had to say.

Picking at the chicken you had left on the counter he counted the spots that your insulin pods left behind like stars, noticed how you missed a small strip of hair when you were shaving, even the mole that you had on the back of one ankle; they all came together to make up parts of a story about his wife that he was just starting to get.

He was so lost in thought, mechanically putting piece after piece of poached bird into his mouth, barely paying attention to anything besides the action of seeming busy, that he didn’t notice when you turned around, the exasperation in your voice finally catching his attention.

“Seriously? What did I just say?”

Simon wasn’t someone who startled, didn’t jump or hunch his shoulders to his ears. He had spent far to much time sharpening himself as to cut anyone who tried to catch him unaware. He just wasn’t prepared for you to admonish him like that, hands on your hips and looking for him to answer your question.

“What? You said not to look at your legs…I wasn’t lookin’ at them”

Not a lie, but not quite the truth.

“Yeah instead you’re eating your way through them!”

He blinked at you slowly once and then twice, following your gaze down to the plate of chicken leg quarters he was indeed making his way through. At least one looked like it had been pounced on by scavengers.

“You said no lookin’, nothing about no tasting.”

That was most certainly a twitch to your eye. That probably should have been concerning, but honestly Simon was secure enough in his height and size that if you tried to suffocate him he could throw you off. He was a good head taller than you, honestly how much damage could you do? When you pointed your wooden spoon threateningly at his chest it didn’t do much besides remind him of a little old grandma who would wield the same utensil as a weapon.

“You sir, are an asshole. Now go run to a shop and get me one of the pre cooked chickens.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve eaten half my damn chicken and like hell is my sancocho going to suffer for it.”

“Your what now?”

Yes Simon Riley knew he was being as ass. Yes he also thought that there was a realm of possibility that your upset face and clear murderous intentions were slightly endearing. But only slightly.

“My god damn soup. I swear to god if you fuck this up for me I will find a way to make you suffer the consequences.”

“Alright alright, no need to have a bird over some-heh, bird.”

He didn’t stay to see the double middle fingers you aimed for his back, he didn’t need to. He was pretty sure you were also cursing his name and maker. It wasn’t until the front door shut behind him that your colorful vocabulary was loudly shared with the world. It made him chuckle as he picked up his pace.

Heaven help anyone who got between a woman and her soup.

Edit

I am very passionate about my soup

[reginadeltrash]

Since I've had some free time I would like to present you a new little AU that I affectionately call 'Percy Jackson!Athena is Epic!Athena with brain damage'.

The idea is simple, Zeus' real reason to strike down Athena, during god games was that he's scared, let's remember that there's a prophecy about the child of him and Metis dethroning him, and he always assumed it was gonna be a son, because obviously, it was his father who dethroned his grandfather, and it was him who dethroned his father.

But now he's starting to realise that the prophecy never said 'son', it said 'child', and Athena just demonstrated that she's successfully able to get people on her side, both people that generally like her like Hephaestus, but more dangerous, people that usually don't like her like Aphrodite and Hera.

This is dangerous, so for the first time Athena isn't his favourite little girl, she's a threat to his throne and so he strikes her down to reprogram her; this all started because she met that mortal, she was so perfect and emotionless before, so he's gonna make sure that she never really remembers Odysseus.

But doing it immediately is dangerous, the guy is still alive, he may upset the scheme, so he waits and when both Odysseus and his son die he starts subtly gaslighting Athena, also in this version Zeus is the one who wrote the Odyssey to make Odysseus look a lot worse, and also to make himself look better (he never make the Ody decide between him and the crew and he immediately says yes to his baby girl when she asks him to free him, also he omits the argument in My Goodbye, he just makes it seem like Ody and Athena were never that close to begin with)

He also gets Hera on the plan, he tricks her saying that they have to tarnish Odysseus' memory or else the poor little owlet is gonna be devastated and so non-useful, remember how useless she was after Pallas, glancing at the void for hours.

So, yeah, Hera is the reason Odysseus so blatantly cheats in this universe's version of the Odyssey, because that's the worst thing someone can do in her eyes.

So with the constant gaslighting and the lightnings that are still buzzing inside of her, no matter how much Apollo tries to help, Athena quickly becomes a shell of herself, she reverts to being very lonely, harsh and all together like we meet her in the Percy Jackson's series.

Zeus even agrees to cleanse her scars, just because she was such a good little girl and Athena doesn't even know anymore why she had those scars in the first place.

She tries to fill this void that she has, but doesn't know what it is (a friend, the answer is a friend) but misinterpreting that she believes that it's a romantic connection cause it's basically what everyone around her is doing, thus her mind's babies.

And then, suddenly, after the trial of Apollo, the god of the sun insists that everyone else spends at least a little time with their children, Athena makes sure to do everything in private, she can tolerate a child at a time, nothing more.

And so the moment to go to Annabeth arrives and honestly Athena was sure the Poseidon boy was gonna be there too, they're a bit guarded at first, but she promises she comes in peace, she talks with Annabeth, normal deadbeat mother and daughter stuff (How is school? And your boyfriend? Still like sculpture, sorry it was architecture?)

And then Percy just casually arrives with his baby sister Estelle and he's like 'Annabeth can you hold her for a sec? I need to call my mom for something very important and I don't want her near when a monster inevitably attacks!'

And her daughter laughs, shaking her head 'C'mon, Seaweed brain, I'm sure that the important thing is literally just you wanting waffles'

And Percy laughs like a dork and hands her the baby.

And for a moment Athena is sure that she saw this scene somehow and for a single moment she's in Ancient Greece again, seeing Penelope and Odysseus joke with each other with baby Telemachus being passed around, and for only a little moment she wonders how she knows so much about it, she was merely an acquaintance to the Ithaca royal family, wasn't she?

So yeah, this is the idea, if you have questions I beg you let me know, it would make me the happiest girl, because I have too many ideas!

[coolbeesbro]

I finally got around to drawing my design for follower Kallamar in my AU The God Of Five Crowns.

Being the ex-god of pestilence, he's one of the head doctors for the cult. He frequently sends the Lamb back to Anchordeep to retrieve medical textbooks and notes he'd compiled over the many years of godhood. Having invented processes of gender affirming care including HRT for Shamura, he also helps Lambert with HRT treatments. Outside of Shamura, Kallamar is the bishop who treats them with the most respect (in part because he's terrified of death, but also the fact that they treat him with respect in turn).

Kallamar: Why are you wearing my crown? Lambert" Where are the other lambs? Kallamar: Touche.

The black short sleeved sweater he wears was knit by Shamura, and being one of the only things he'd ever been gifted by them he wears it any chance he gets (even in hot weather).

Sad Headcanon:

He often feels very unappreciated by his siblings, and is more than a little resentful of Narinder. Not only because of all the physical damage he inflicted on them, but because Kallamar was the one who put them all back together and never received any form of appreciation for it. Despite his efforts, Narinder is still the golden child to Shamura and he's often just ignored or insulted by his family.

He's constantly trying to get Shamura's approval, but instead he usually receives comments on what he got wrong about something he did. Shamura themself does this subconsciously, and when they make comments it usually is constructive because that's just how their brain works.

He's a polyamorous pansexual icon, and as such is also subject to countless STD jokes from his siblings despite never contracting one. His self esteem is pretty low when around them, but in the med-bay or around other followers he's confident and even a bit charming.

[doveywovy]

modern au where izuna is in a tragic accident and it puts him in a coma and tobirama is like sweet, a way to practice friendship. because tobirama has absolutely zero friends except his brother, who's been pissed at him for over a year. so- he needs the practice.

so every day he goes in to visit and he changes out the flowers at izunas bedside and fixes the sheets and updates him in what's been happening while he's in the coma. with all the tact he has, which is very little.

tobirama: hello izuna. class went well today. you would've liked the chemistry lesson. your cousin hikaku broke down crying behind the school because he misses you. your other cousin obito called me a slur when he noticed i saw this and then he chased me down and shoved my head into a toilet. the cafeteria was serving cold rice again at lunch. this concludes my report. get well soon.

what tobirama is unaware of is that this is the kind of coma that izuna is actually largely aware of whats happening around him, he just can't respond or move in any way. so he knows about tobiramas daily visits and updates and weird attempts at friendship. (tobirama's consistant reports on class lessons actually means when he wakes up, he doesn't need to do too much to catch up on work.)

so when izuna finally wakes up, he decides to do his own crazy move- to lie that they've always been friends, actually. best friends. joined at the hip practically. tobirama assumes this is some kind of brain damage situation but gleefully takes the opportunity to have a friend. izuna uses the justification of them being lifelong friends to violate a number of boundaries and behave in completely inappropriate ways.

madara also assumes this is some kind of brain damage consequence and considers tobirama an evil blight on his brother's life that must be vanquished. he keeps desperately trying to prove that they didn't get along before izuna's coma, but izuna just keeps making up loopholes and excuses to disprove his evidence.

eventually izuna tearfully confesses that madara is right, there's no physical proof of their lifelong friendship....because he himself destroyed it all! he and tobirama were/are actually boyfriends, see, but he was so worried that his brother would be homophobic about it that he never kept proof of their relationship! his close call with death has made him realize the importance of treasuring the time he has with tobirama, even if.... (loud sob) even if madara is being even MORE homophobic about this than he had once feared.....(Sob)

madara: oh. uh. i. uh

hashirama: madara.....how could you.....

[estellan0vella]

Robbery Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU Pt2

You sit at the counter of the parlour, sketching random designs in your notebook while chatting with Gojo. Your best friend since high school, Gojo recently joined the shop as a piercer, and his cheerful banter has become a daily highlight.

"Hey, Y/N/N," Gojo says, leaning over to peek at your sketches. "That's some good stuff. Ever thought about doing the tattoos?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Nah, I'm happy just doodling. Leave the ink to the pros."

Gojo grins, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe I'll just have to convince you one day."

Across the room, Sukuna is working on a client's back piece, his concentration intense and unwavering. His presence is commanding, even when he's completely focused on his work. Toji and Geto are busy with their own clients, exchanging jokes and stories as they ink intricate designs.

The door chimes as someone walks in, and you glance up out of habit. A man stands in the doorway, looking out of place and nervous. Your eyes narrow slightly as you take in the sight of the gun he's trying to hide under his jacket.

"Uh, everybody freeze!" he shouts, pulling the gun out and waving it around.

A tense silence falls over the room, but only for a moment. Then, to the man's surprise, laughter erupts from all of you.

"Wow, seriously?" Gojo says, rolling his eyes. "Compensating much?"

Toji smirks, not even pausing in his work. "Yeah, buddy, did you lose a bet or something? That thing's tiny."

"Is that a lighter in your pocket or are you happy to see us?" Sukuna taunts.

The man blinks, clearly not expecting this reaction. His face flushes with embarrassment and frustration, his grip on the gun tightening nervously.

Sukuna leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "I gotta say, if you're here to rob us, you could at least bring something more threatening. That little pea-shooter won't get you far."

Toji chuckles, glancing over at Geto who nods in agreement. "Seriously, man. Did you think we wouldn't notice you sneaking in here with that?"

You, still seated at the counter, can't help but join in. "And here I thought I'd seen everything in this shop. Turns out, we're now a comedy club."

Gojo, with his usual irreverence, adds fuel to the fire. "I mean, look at you. You look like a marshmallow"

"What does that even mean?" You ask with a giggle and Gojo shrugs.

The man’s face contorts with a mix of anger and humiliation. "Shut up!" he yells, waving the gun again. "I'm serious! I'll shoot!"

Toji raises an eyebrow, his tone still teasing. "Oh, are we doing threats now? How about this: put that thing away before someone gets hurt. Namely, your ego."

The man looks flustered, his grip on the gun tightening as he points it at you. "Shut up! I'm serious! Give me all your money!"

You roll your eyes, unable to contain your sarcasm. "Sweetheart, I have epilepsy. My brain doesn't work right on the best of days. A gun doesn't scare me. Just don't mess with my face or my tits, alright? They're my best features."

Sukuna leans back, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Can confirm. I'm extremely fond of them"

Geto nods solemnly. "Seriously, those are top-tier assets. We should put them in a museum."

Gojo nods solemnly as you laugh. "We'd have to hold a memorial service for the girls. It'd be tragic."

Toji finally looks up, his expression one of mock seriousness. "The worst crime you'd commit today would be damaging that rack."

Gojo grins wider. "We'd put ourselves in the line of fire to protect those honkers."

Sukuna gestures lazily towards you. "Hey babe," he says with a grin, "don't worry, I'll protect those masterpieces," nodding towards your chest. "Can't have this guy ruining what I get to enjoy every day."

Gojo nods sagely. "He's right, those are national treasures."

Toji nods in agreement. "Yeah, I'd cry real tears if something happened to those."

The man's face turns bright red, his hand shaking as he tries to regain control of the situation. "Shut up! Just give me the money!"

"Is it an innie?" Toji asks, feigning genuine curiosity. "You know, your... equipment?"

The robber's frustration grows as the room continues to be filled with laughter and teasing. He finally lowers the gun, looking completely defeated. "You guys are crazy," he mutters before turning and bolting out the door.

As soon as he's gone, the room erupts into even louder laughter. Sukuna sets down his tattoo machine and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Glad our national treasures are safe," he murmurs, planting a kiss on your temple and you snort.

Gojo is still chuckling, shaking his head. "That was priceless. Best robbery attempt ever."

Geto nods in agreement. "Yeah, we really should thank the guy for the entertainment."

Toji stretches, leaning back in his chair. "Who knew our biggest concern today would be protecting Y/N's tits?"

You grin, feeling the warmth of Sukuna's embrace. "Well, they're glad to still be here."

"We're all glad they're still here," Sukuna says with a grin. 

The next day, you come into the parlour with a new sign you’ve created. It's bright and colourful, with bold letters that read, “No Guns Allowed. Seriously, We'll Laugh In Your Face.” Gojo takes a marker from you and neatly writes 'We will protect the honkers with our own bodies' making you laugh as you hand the sign to Sukuna who takes it from you, chuckling as he hangs it in the window for everyone to see.

Sukuna steps back to admire your work, a proud smile on his face. “Looks great, babe.”

Gojo, standing next to him, nods in approval. “Perfect. Now we just need someone dumb enough to test it.”

Toji and Geto walk in, glancing at the sign and chuckling. “I give it a week,” Toji says.

“Three days, tops,” Geto counters.

You all laugh, knowing that no matter what happens, you’ve got each other’s backs—and that’s more than enough to handle anything life throws at you.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch. As you sketch, chat with Gojo, and watch Sukuna work, you feel a deep sense of contentment. Life may be unpredictable, but with this group of misfits, it’s never boring.

The bell above the door jingles, signalling a new customer. You glance up. “Welcome to the madhouse,” you say with a grin. “How can we help you today?”

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Can I ask what the extent of Ford's injury is? As in, does it affect his memory and knowledge before the injury or just the way he speaks and understands things? Like, does he remember his name, and all his science studies? Does he have trouble retaining things after the injury as well?

Glad you asked! I had to scroll through a ridiculous amount of medical websites to research this properly, so thank you for giving me a reason to info dump!

----------

Disclaimer: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL!! AT ALL!!! THIS IS RESEARCH I DID FOR A GOSH DANG GRAVITY FALLS AU – PLEASE DON’T TAKE IT TOO SERIOUSLY AND ACCEPT MY WORDS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT!!!! DO YOUR OWN RESEARCH!

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Ford suffers multiple severe cases of Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBI), caused by several external factors, including, but not limited to: a botched cranial surgery, electrocution (from Project Mentem), and concussive head trauma from a car accident. Not fun!

Depending on the location and severity of a traumatic brain injury, the specific impacts the subsequent brain damage causes can vary. But, in general, TBIs can affect the way someone thinks, understands, moves, remembers, learns, communicates, and acts! Some of the symptoms can be:

https://msktc.org/tbi/factsheets/cognitive-problems-after-traumatic-brain-injury

The damage caused by Ford’s injury spans a little bit all over his brain, but touches most severely the areas of the brain responsible for language processing, such as Broca’s area or Wernicke's area. Hence, why his scar & bald patch is on that side of his head (the position of it is a little off but shhhh... it's nothing, ignore that-)

https://msktc.org/tbi/factsheets/cognitive-problems-after-traumatic-brain-injury

So, in the case of Ford's specific brand of TBI, I’m going to be focusing not only on how his cognitive skills and memory retention were affected by his injury, but also his struggle to articulate what he’s thinking.

In terms of memory and understanding, Ford didn’t just forget everything he’s known and learned prior to his injury! He’s still able to retain complex knowledge (such as facts or skills he’s gained from his previous studies), BUT he rather has more difficulty recalling or expressing this knowledge verbally. Cognitive skills and memory can sometimes be separate from language abilities. He doesn’t remember how or why he knows what he knows, he just does. He doesn’t necessarily understand all that he knows, but he still knows them.

These sort of symptoms that Ford displays are often seen in cases of expressive aphasia (aka. Broca’s aphasia), which is a type of aphasia (: difficulty understanding language) in which a person has lost the ability to produce language (spoken or written), but is still able to retain knowledge and general comprehension remains largely intact.

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/aphasia/symptoms-causes/syc-20369518

His cognitive functions like problem-solving, reasoning, and ability to understand ideas and concepts remain somewhat intact, although not great. But sometimes he struggles in following conversations, reading, and remembering new information like names. His short term memory tends to fail him often.

However, therapies like speech-language therapy exist to help improve! The extent of recovery depends on the severity and location of the injury, again, but it can be done.

[vvickydisc]

Please, I need fun facts about the Abandonware cast here. Like, how Jax's personality changed, Ragatha's, Gangle's, etc.

Gangle looks so fucking cool. Jester, too. Why did the others gain names but the Jester just stayed as "Jester"?

This is such good AU, we need more info about it.

let me try to break down your questions! How Jax's personality changed? I mentioned how the cast wasn't originally like this when they got stuck in the circus! Meaning Jax was pretty awful to everyone, I hate to tell and have no way to properly show it (Hopefully one day as a comic but for now heres a dumb doodle) but, Gangle (After receiving her mask) & Kinger had a idea to change Jax's behaviour! With lobotomy! The two really ganged up on him and just stirred his brain. Theres the question of how thats even possible if nothing in the digital world affects your mind. The short answer is in this AU the digital aspects do affect them. How Ragatha's personality changed? With Ragatha here is a little different, its hard to be positive after witnessing violent glitched out NPCs and abstraction in general. So you think a doctor would help you out how to regulate these feelings/cope better. Kinger had other plans! (I actually wanna tryyy to keep this lowkey but) Ragatha faced isolation and the whole situation just made her alot more desensitized and apathetic. Hows Gangle's personality changed? Well, one day Jax really broke her mask pretty badly, left her ribbons in tatters. Ragatha didn't seem to notice how much damage Jax did, weakly giving small encouragement to pick herself back up and walked passed her (I should note this is before Kinger 'helped' Ragatha) Zooble was in a bad state of mind, intentionally ignoring her. Kafumo was confined. (It'll be explained in the future) So Kinger was the only one to really help her. Giving her a stronger mask! The mask isn't like mind control or anything, I feel like Gangle got confident with it on and was already pushed to her limit of being the victim. Why did the others gain names but the Jester just stayed as "Jester"? That's easy! Caine was the one to give Pomni a name and since he wasn't there, Jester doesn't have a proper name. I'm assuming Ragatha, Zooble, Kinger and Jax are self given names since the "Name Machine" only has five letters on it. Gangle's name was of course given by Jax. I'll have to give some fun facts one day! Since this post is already kinda long, sorry for that!