#those were halcyon days

[leiascully]

You know what, I am unbothered by disputes in TXF fandom because I have been here since almost time immemorial, longer than a goodly number of you have been alive, and I will be here at the end of time when the universe cools, listening to “Walking After You” as everything goes stiff and cold.  I have forgotten more thoughts about Mulder and Scully and the rest of the crew than most people have even had, and I have written and written and written until these blorbos are engraved in my bones.  Look for me in the deep places; find me at the wellspring writing with water on slates.  Listen for me on the wind, whispering “fuuuuuuuck chris carterrrrrrrrr.”

[lightyaoigami]

what if everyone at my new job is mean. what then.

[redlinereblogs]

i am so stupidly upset about this😔😔😔

[modulottie]

thinking about how effective utena is at quietly removing the comfort and familiarity from the first arc during the second

stuff progresses at such a pace you don't even really NOTICE anthy getting less screen time because there's just so much going on

in universe anthy is around less because she's impersonating mamiya, but it has the dual effect that when the third arc rolls around and the show starts drawing attention to the growing rift between utena and anthy, it REALLY sets in how long ago those halcyon days from the first arc were

when was the last time utena and anthy had a cozy, domestic scene together in their big empty dorm? when was the last time they were hanging out and studying with miki?

it's amazingly effective at laying the groundwork for the viewer to have a sense of nostalgia during the third arc and also for the problems between utena and anthy to feel earned by the show when they start coming up. it rocks.

[talkfastwalkfaster]

Halcyon ~ Art Donaldson

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A/N: this was so fun to write, and I hope you guys like it as much as I did while writing it.

WC: 2,632

Warnings: religious subtext/descriptions (becomes more prominent/apparent as you read), smut, MDNI, fem!reader, older!art, porn w/ some plot, excess amount of making out, fluff

✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°࿐✧˖*°

Art couldn’t think of a better place to be than where he was right now. Nothing mattered at the moment — not his upcoming match, all those sponsorship deals he has to do, or even Tashi’s grueling training. No, all that mattered was you.

He had you cradled against his chest, and a feeling of contentment washed over him as you absentmindedly watched television. He smiled against your hair and intertwined your fingers, his thumb gently stroking against your knuckles as you played with his digits. He could feel the steady beat of your heart against him, the soothing rhythm allowing all his troubles of the day to wash away. 

“Feeling better?” He whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head in the process. You mumbled a response and he let out a soft chuckle and drew you in impossibly closer. 

He would stay like this forever if he could, you were all that he needed, all that he wanted.

Art moved his head down and pressed his lips in a light trail along your jaw before gradually moving to your lips. It’s a tender kiss — encapsulating the tranquility of the night. His lips lingered on yours, savoring the warmth and softness of your mouth before pulling away and returning to kiss your jaw. 

 You sighed his name, the sound almost unintelligible, making him smile against your skin. His lips brushed along your jaw and down your neck. He felt your heartbeat pick up slightly, a small shiver running through your body.

“Shh, I know, baby. Let me take care of you.” He whispered, his breath warm against your skin, the words a testament to his devoted faith in you. He continued planting tender kisses along your neck, each gentler than the last — as though he was trying to imprint the feeling of your skin against him in his mind.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your head lulled back onto his shoulder, it tilting in the process to give him more access. Art moved one of his hands up your side, his finger gently tracing along your collarbone before moving towards the nape of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful, I love you.” He breathed out, the words spoken like a reverent prayer before he tilted your head back and captured your lips in a slow, gentle kiss. It was filled with love and adoration, a confession of his devotion and unwavering commitment to you.

You immediately responded to the kiss, unable to stop the small smile that formed on your lips. He felt your smile and it sent a rush of warmth through his entire body, his face mirroring yours. He deepened the kiss, his tongue gently sought entrance to your mouth. Your lips moved together in a slow, languid rhythm, as though you had an abundance of time to explore each other. 

You moaned quietly in the kiss, before pulling away, your need for air overcoming your need to kiss him. “Please…”

Art’s grip on you tightened, his heart rate picking up as he looked at you — a small string of saliva connected your puffy lips.  He looked at you with a mixture of adoration and lust in his eyes. “Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you need.” His thumb traced the outline of your swollen, glistening lips, his tone filled with longing and need. 

“You.”

Art’s breath hitched as you spoke and he brought a hand up to cradle your face. “You have me, my love.” He murmured, guiding you back to his lips. He kissed you with a growing hunger; his tongue explored your mouth as his hands roamed your body, tracing along your curves and committing them to his memory. As you kissed, he gently maneuvered so you were lying underneath him. 

He broke the kiss and began pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, stopping at your collarbone to gently nip at it. Art continued his assault on your neck as you withered and moaned below him, leaving a trail of kisses and light bruises along your skin. His hands moved under your shirt, gingerly squeezing and pinching your breasts as he kissed your exposed skin — worshiping you with every touch of his mouth and hands. 

You wrapped your hand around the back of his head and pulled him back up, capturing his lips against yours. Art returned the kiss, his passion and desire growing with each moment. He moved a hand to tangle in your hair, the other gripping your hip as he continued to kiss you deeply, his body practically lying on yours.

You broke the kiss, breathing in short, jagged pants. “Art, please… I need you to fuck me.”

His eyes darkened with want. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” His hand unraveled from your hair and moved down to trace along the edge of your shirt, his fingers lightly tugged at the hem. “Do you want this off?” 

At your nod, he doesn’t hesitate to gently pull your sleep shirt over your head off your body. His eyes raked over your bare torso and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip as his gaze lingered on your breasts. He quickly leaned down and captured one of your nipples in his mouth, licking and sucking on it as he used his other hand to pinch and roll the other with his fingers before switching his ministrations, making sure each received the same treatment. You moaned loudly and arched your back, pressing your breast deeper into his mouth before reaching down and tugging on his shirt. 

Art lifted his head and removed his mouth from your breast with a pop before pulling his shirt off in a swift motion. He tossed it aside and immediately resumed kissing you, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head while his bare chest pressed against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He shivered at the contact, a low groan escaping his throat as he broke the kiss. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your neck as he nipped along your neck, focusing on your pulse point. His hands moved down your sides and dipped under the waistband of your sleep shorts, his fingers gently toying with your cloth-covered cunt.  

You gasped and tilted your head back onto the pillows, a surge of arousal flowing through you. Your sounds spurred him on, his mouth trailing down the front of your throat before moving around your chest as his fingers continued to tease your core. His fingers moved to the edge of your shorts, and he gently tugged on them.

“Can these come off, sweetheart?” He whispered against your clavicle, wanting nothing more than to worship you.

You nodded fervently, wishing for nothing more than to feel him inside of you. “Please.”

He lifted his head and pressed a delicate kiss to your mouth before moving down and pulling your shorts off, quickly discarding his along in the process. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of your naked body beneath him before intertwining your hands and bringing them up to kiss each of your knuckles.

He lowered his body, his mouth hovering over yours. “You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmured against your lips as his tongue darted out to taste the skin next to your mouth.

“Yeah?”

“You’re the air in my lungs, the beat in my heart. I’m addicted to you. I would spend the rest of my life entangled with you if I could.” He leaned down and captured your lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss, pouring his soul into it. To him, you were a divine being, an entity sent from the heavens with the sole purpose of being worshiped and pampered by him. As the kiss continued, he used his body to position your legs wider, allowing him to settle between them.

Your heart fluttered at his declaration and you couldn’t help but tangle your fingers into his hair, drawing him as close as physically possible before tugging on his short, blond locks. 

Art groaned lowly as you tugged on his hair, the action sending a shockwave of pleasure through his body down to his painfully hard erection. He whispered your name like a prayer, his voice filled with reverence and adoration — at this moment he was merely a devoted man at the feet of his goddess, willing to do anything and everything to please her, to prove his worth to her. His hips rocked instinctively against your core, the motion drawing loud moans from both of you.

He broke the kiss to whisper against your mouth, his voice breathless and shaky. “How do you want me, baby?”

Your chest heaved as you attempted to process his words — your head was already fuzzy and you’d barely started. “In me, please, Art.”

He groaned at your request, his heart racing with desire. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Art reached down to position his cock at your entrance, his other hand grasping at your hip for support. He pumped himself a couple of times before gently pushing into you until he was completely seated inside of you. A strained, broken moan escaped his throat as he stayed buried at the hilt so you could get used to the sensation.

He felt like he was in heaven, every nerve in him was ignited while he was worshiping at the altar that was your body. He could feel his restraint slipping away, each touch and kiss exchanged was like a player, each moan and whimper a sacred utterance. 

You moaned as you adjusted to his size, your nails desperately gripping his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your weeping cunt wrapped around him. He slowly pulled himself out to his tip before pushing back in one long, languid stroke. 

Art’s head fell to your shoulder as your nails dug into his skin, the pain quickly morphing into pleasure — a shiver wracked through his body, his hips stuttering, and a groan muffled by your clavicle. Each thrust, each connection of their bodies was like a prayer, the rhythm of your love making a sacred dance. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear — a whispered mantra of your name and soft praises on repeat. He had never felt more alive than when he was with you — you were his salvation, each union becoming an act of divine grace in his eyes. 

He lifted his head slightly to look at you, your eyes hazy with pleasure while his filled with a sense of deep, unwavering devotion. “Sweetheart… I won’t… mmph- last long… you feel… so good-” He managed to get out, his mind beginning to blank as your cunt’s walls clenched around him; his hips instinctively rolling with each pulse. You were the only thing his mind could focus on, you consumed his thoughts, your body his church, his sanctuary, in which he is lucky enough to worship you at the altar of your pleasure and love. 

You whimpered his name, your face contorting with pleasure as his cock hit all the right places inside of you. “Me… Me either…”

Art’s grip on your hips tightened at your words, his breath coming out in short pants and groans as his thrusts became more frantic. It was overwhelming — the way you clung onto him, how your bodies molded to perfectly fit the other, how your moans echoed in the hotel room — yet it was just what he needed. 

“Play with your clit for me, my love. I want to see you pleasure yourself.” He whispered, one of his hands moving from your hip to slide your hair out of your face as he gazed down at you. 

You whimpered at his words and moved one of your hands down to your cunt, your pointer finger slowly tracing circles on your throbbing clit. He watched you with hooded eyes, unable to take his eyes off of you as he continued to thrust languidly into you. 

You quickly fell apart, brokenly moaning as your back arched into his chest, crying out his name as you cummed — your body trembling from the force of your climax. Your orgasm triggered his, his hips snapping into you rapidly before stuttering, the overwhelming feeling pushing him over the edge. He buried his face into your neck, his body shuddering against you as he let out a broken mantra of your name while waves of pleasure crashed over him.

As Art came down from his climax, he removed his head from your neck and pressed gentle kisses over your face, his hands grasping at your waist to keep himself grounded as his chest rapidly rose and fell with every breath. You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, your bodies slick with sweat and your combined fluids. After a moment, your mind finally cleared up and your eyes opened. You were greeted with Art’s face hovering over yours, and you couldn’t stop the lazy, blissful smile that stretched over your face. 

He leaned down and pressed a light, gentle kiss on your lips before slowly pulling out of you and settling on his side next to you — feeling a wave of contentment washing over him. He brought a hand up to your face, brushing a few stray sweat-damped strands of hair away from your face while his other hand curls at your waist. “You alright, sweetheart?”

You curled into him resting your head on his chest “Mhm.”

Art smiled at your actions and shifted to pull you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he savored the feeling of you against him. He pressed a kiss to your temple and inhaled — breathing in the soothing scent of your skin as you lay together. 

He cradled you against him, occasionally pressing gentle kisses to your head as he rubbed soothing circles on your back as you languidly traced patterns on his bicep, mirroring his movements. His expression was tender and loving as he held you, cherishing the feeling of you in his arms. 

You craned your head up and gently kissed his jaw before settling back into his embrace. “I love you.”

Art hummed at the feeling of your lips on his jaw, his heart somersaulting your soft confession. He tilted his head down toward you and captured your lips in a tender kiss. “I love you too, sweetheart.” He whispered against your mouth, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. As he gazed down at you, he knew undoubtedly that you were an angel sent from above, his soul’s other half, the reason he kept going. 

As you finally settled, you nuzzled your head into his chest and stifled a yawn — not wanting the moment to end yet feeling the exhaustion creeping up on you. 

Art chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest at your actions, his heart filling with affection. He pressed a kiss to your temple and shifted so that the top half of your body was lying on top of his. He pulled you impossibly closer, wrapping his arms around your torso. 

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. Get some rest.” He murmured, his voice low and soothing. His fingers began to gently play with strands of your hair, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion began to set in.

Art felt you relax against him, your breathing slowly evened out into a rhythmic pattern that signaled you were asleep. The sound of your peaceful breathing and the feeling of your heartbeat against him lulled him out of consciousness, his body finally relaxing as he fell asleep with you cradled in his arms. 

[toji-bunny-girl]

Always wondered what happens after a darling successfully escapes their yandere. Will they meet a new person and fall in love? Will they continue living in the aftermath of being kidnapped and traumatised? If so, how would they navigate their life with their disturbing past?

And what happens if the yandere managed to catch their darling back for the second time?

It’s been more than 2 years since you escaped from Bakugou, and you’re living a fresh life away from him. You don’t report him to the authorities because you know the corrupted system would wound you up back under his chain. So, you’d rather keep your mouth shut and move to some obscure countryside far, far away from him and the city.

There, you found a halcyon lifestyle and an honest man who cherished you more than anything. You had gotten engaged with him within a year of seeing each other and you thought life was finally falling into place. Until it didn’t.

You had no one to blame, really. It was as if God was playing an abhorrent joke on you. Who knew pro hero Dynamite would be going undercover in the diminutive town of Motosu for an on-the-run supervillain?

Who knew he would be staying at the exact inn you’re working at? 

Bakugou had always known that you were out there somewhere, he could feel his cells insisting you were missing and alive—hiding in the tenebrous cracks of the world. And one day, he would find you and drag you out of whatever crap you’re hiding in.

Lucky him, he had caught a familiar figure trodding around the inn he was staying at over a runaway case. He couldn’t have gotten it wrong, right? The way those hips sway as she walks, how her neck is structured from behind, and her smell. So sweet, as ambrosial as some forbidden fruit.

And when she turned around a corner, he saw your exact features—that very face etched like a tattoo in the walls of his mind. He could never get that profile wrong; he could never get you wrong.

Bakugou doesn’t just sweep you off from this shitty town though. He waited and watched. Noted the usual route you take to go back home, ‘home’ where you would call it, with some bumpkin who managed to put a worthless ring on your finger.

Dynamite could've given you everything and anything. He could’ve given you the world—a million-dollar ring, a mansion, and his whole heart and soul just for you. And you settled for that?

It boils his blood in crimson ire—why couldn’t you just be good and love him? Just why? Why can’t you accept your fate with him, forever as your one? Why? Why? Why?

He’ll get you to answer him soon enough once he got everything prepared—paying for the local police and magistrate’s silence; no one would know and care about your disappearance then.

And he waits until you’re off your shift and traipses back home with your sore back and hips, you wouldn’t be worrying about them when he gets you back to your real home.

“How long has it been?” your pace slowed, ears twitching. “2 years? Or more?”

No.

No. 

No. This can’t be. 

Bakugou. 

Your thought doesn’t finish forming before you’re bolting away as hard as you can, it doesn’t matter if your legs are getting weaker and the world is on vertigo—you’ll die if you’re caught. You know this voice and it haunts you in every nightmare you have, and for once, you prayed and prayed and begged for this to be a dream.

Don’t take my life away again. 

At last, you knew you could never outrun him. But the adrenaline surging through your veins made you believe you could; only a little while until you’re home and you’ll get Takashi to call the cops. And you finally understood chemicals were mere illusions when your body is thrown forward, landing on the ground before Bakugou pins you down.

It’s been two years. And he’s bigger. Stronger. Your stomach drops into the endless abyss when your eyes catch his burning red, sweat and tears automatically roll down your face and your voice fails to crack out of your dry throat. The world feels like it’s ending and you’re finding death in front of you, again. 

“Please, please, don’t! Please, leave me alone! I’m sorry, please—” you saw his face; a serpent with a satisfied hiss, tail locking its prey immobile, and you understood there was no way you could ever gain back your freedom. “Please, god! Please, don’t do this to me!”

“Oi,” so chilly, as if the alphabet of his word were stabbing your eardrums. “I’ll kill him if you don’t be good.”

This time with a life’s threat, you knew you’d forever be in hell—dead or alive.

୨ yandere series ୧

yandere!katsuki﹛ⅰ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅱ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅲ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅳ﹜ yandere!katsuki﹛ⅴ﹜

© toji-bunny-girl ― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[witchofthesouls]

In the soul mate au between Miko and Tarn, the incoming Cybertronians would think that Jack Darby is the biggest ho to ever ho.

Ratchet is dying because Jack's mannerisms and ways of affection do remind the medic of the halcyon days with Orion Pax, pre-Megatronus. (Mind you, Ratchet has rose-tinted glasses about those days and feels really nostalgic over Orion's quirks. Even if he had to bail the mech from jail several times and stop him from eating tampered fuel substances.) And he just wants his other colleagues and fellow Autobots to know the real Jack.

Unfortunately, Jack has a tendency to meet all the newcomers in various states of undress, aka without his armor, which is a very shameless state.

Ratchet first walked into a freshly cyberformed!Jack, coming out of the shower with only a towel around his waist because of the nasty amount of sludge in every inch of his frame. Even his armor needed a deep scrubbing. In parts.

Soundwave remet the guy in his swim trunks because he came from relaxing in a geyser.

The first time he met the Justice Division, he was stripped down to sweatpants while Miko was categorizing his opened chassis, including his spark chamber. Miko was practicing the new educational module from Soundwave and Ratchet, and Jack was the willing dummy since they were trying to nail down the differences between baseline Cybertronians and their hybrid status. So not just shameless, but in a highly provocative position as well. Miko and Jack were treated to the sight of stumped D.J.D. members with slaw jaws and choking noises.

So now, mecha are thinking that Jack and Miko have an "understanding." And Tarn's jealous over it.

______

Jack breathed as evenly as possible. Body still as Miko carefully traced his new organs, muttering Neocybex under her breath on what each part was called, both in Pit Kaonite and Iaconi medical. Her fingers were blunted, not her usual talons, as she skimmed the connections, musculature, protoform, and circuitry. Jack closed his optics, sinking into a light mediation, and only shivered as those fingers brushed over his new heart.

"How does this feel," Miko questioned as she coaxed the chamber to open. And he allowed it. All three of them had been together for lifetimes, and very little boundaries existed between them at this point.

"Weird," Jack replied as his spark quivered, white light blinding, shadows playing across Miko's curious face and the walls.

"Good weird? Bad weird? Spiritual possession weird? You have to give me something more descriptive." She said with exasperation, teeth glinting in the byplay between light and shadow.

"Dangerous weird." His words hitched, body twitching, vision clouding at the edges, and he forced down the sudden instinct to flee-FLEE into dark corners, to sink into the safety of the furniture shade.

Due to the uplinks between them, Miko immediately applied the medical overrides, and the painted diagnostic sigils flared to life across his limbs, and Jack went limp, tension cut from his body.

Miko frowned. The geared rings in her amber optics turned as she ran calculations, and whatever she was about to say was cut as the closet door opened.

Jack couldn't see them as he was sitting on the couch with his back towards them, but he picked up quite a crowd. All of the individuals choking on air. Wings twitching from the unknown signatures suddenly appearing in his space, and Miko lined her own over his, exuding calm-still-potential allies.

She huffed, amusement and annoyance warred in her field as she quickly pulled off the sigils with a fanciful twirl of her fingers, and they worked together to disconnect their systems from each other. Jack shut closed his chassis, and his innards dispersed once more, spark chamber hiding wherever it was. It was honestly far more difficult for him to drag that specific organ to the open air than his first attempts to blend his new metal frame into living trees. "This isn't what it looks like, old man."

Jack pulled over his shirt to cover his protoform, and turned around, dark and pink wings avoiding each other in familiarity, to see Ratchet running a servo down his face and an assortment of bewildered strangers staring at them through the portal. Even if the Decepticon badges weren't gleaming on a chassis, the tank with the mask shaped as the very Decepticon logo was a dead given away of their allegiance.

:: Soundwave does it better. He got the extra creep factor without the eye holes. :: Miko snorted through the private channel, crossing her arms as she leaned on the back of the couch, deceptively loose and uncaring.

:: Hey, don't knock down a perfectly good presentation. Eyes are windows to the soul, and eyes make others feel at ease. Soundwave gives no fucks about normalcy or social manners. ::

:: Soundwave does what better? :: Raf commented. :: And hard agree on that assessment. ::

:: We'll fill you in later. :: Jack replied as Miko simultaneously responded. :: We got fresh meat. ::

"So," Jack drawled, propping an elbow on the sofa back, supporting his head on that hand. "What brings this lot to our corner of the universe?"

[lillyponders]

Chiaroscuro

Christina and Mary were once as close as sisters can be. Now, a year after Mary left for college, Christina paints a portrait of the two of them, ruminating over their happy childhood and the fallout that came as those halcyon days came to an end.

Originally published by Mystic Owl Magazine in Issue 3, May 2024

Read full story

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 5: I've Never Been a Bad Influence a Day in My Life

You and Joel get closer as you put together your lists. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 4, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Masturbation, fantasy about P in V sex. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 5K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

October, 2022

“Why can’t I add to your list?” You pouted a little, can of hard seltzer in your hand as your float drifted to the middle of Joel’s pool. 

“Because you’re gonna just use that power for evil, not good,” Joel replied. 

“Would not!” You shoved off the side of the pool with your foot, floating back toward the middle of the water. 

“Am I allowed to put shit on your list?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water and a beer in his hand. 

You scoffed. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Well, there you go,” he shrugged. “Goes both ways.” 

“You’d be a dick about it!” You kicked the water in his direction but the spray of it fell short and you watched him try to not laugh. “You’d put things on there like ‘buy Joel beer for the rest of his life’ or ‘speak in a bad British accent for a week…’”

“Can you do a good British accent?” He asked, brows raised. 

“That is beside the point.” 

“What are you gonna add to my list, hm?” There was a teasing edge in his voice as he took a sip of beer. “Get a new wardrobe? Get Sarah a dog?” 

“OK, both of those are good additions,” you said, defensive. “But no, not what I was thinking.” 

“Then what, Goldie?” 

“Put in a hot tub,” you said, chin raised. 

He barked a laugh. 

“A hot tub?” 

“A hot tub,” you nodded. “How can I come over to your house and float in the water if it’s too cold to go in the pool? Which it will be in like… a few weeks. You need a hot tub.” 

“It’s already too cold,” he said. “That water’s below 70 degrees, couldn’t pay me to get in there now. Lucky I’m in this far as it is.” 

“See?” You said. “Hot tub.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he shook his head. 

“If your list is shitty can I add to it?” 

“If you actually think my list is shitty we can discuss it,” he said. Your float drifted close to him and you were afraid, for a moment, that he was going to splash you. Instead, he just pushed the edge of it with his foot, sending you drifting back toward the middle of the water. “Still down to compare tomorrow night?” 

“Think so,” you said, taking a sip of your seltzer. “As long as you don’t mock me relentlessly for it.” 

“When do I not mock you relentlessly?” 

“Excellent point,” you said. “I should get better friends.” 

“Probably so.” 

“At least now you come with Sarah,” you sighed dramatically. “So I guess I’ll keep bugging you…” 

“God, you two are gonna kill me,” he said, trying to look serious but a hint of a smile on his lips. “Worst idea I ever had, lettin’ you two get to know each other…” 

You giggled a little at that. You and Sarah had become thick as thieves since you and Joel had reconnected now two weeks ago.

It was hard to believe that he’d only been back in your life less than a month. But then, it was hard to believe he’d ever been out of your life at all. You’d only gone a few days without seeing him since that night at the bar and, on those days, the two of you were almost constantly texting. It was the most natural thing in the world, having your life fall into step alongside Joel’s. It reminded you so much of high school even though you were in your 30s now, your lives moving in parallel until they collided at the end of the day and you came over for dinner or went and cheered on Sarah at her soccer game or Joel showed up at your door with beer. Even after all this time, he just knew you and you just knew him. You could read his posture as easily as a book, instantly knowing the kind of day he had by the way he opened the door or flopped on your couch. He seemed to be able to peer inside your mind on command, just a raised eyebrow or a sigh telling him everything he needed to know about how you were feeling and how to make it better. 

There was one day where you hadn’t intended to see him at all but it’d turned shitty and he just somehow picked up on it from the tone of your texts. New paperwork had come over from Gale’s attorney and you resigned yourself to spending the evening picking over the bones of your marriage with a bottle of wine and a wilted salad - because you definitely didn’t have the emotional energy to go by the grocery store - when Joel texted. It was a meme that you responded to with just an lol before going back to the paperwork. He FaceTimed just 30 seconds later and you frowned, answering it. 

“Hi?” You said brows raised. 

He nodded sagely. 

“What I thought,” he said. “You look like shit.” 

“Gee thanks.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“For you you look like shit. What’s wrong.” 

You narrowed your eyes and he laughed. 

“What?” He asked

“How can you just tell?” You replied. “It’s weird.” 

“Come over,” he said instead of answering. He flipped his camera around and Sarah made a face, sticking her tongue out, her hair in two springy buns on the top of her head. 

You frowned. 

“Where are you?”

He turned the camera back around.

“Picking up pizza,” he said. “I’ll grab an extra cheese bread, come over.” 

“I’ve been drinking…” 

“We’ll pick you up,” he said. “Come over.” 

“Please?” Sarah jumped to try to get in the frame and Joel laughed, tilting the camera so she was visible. “It’ll be fun! OH! Spend the night! Come sleep over again, please?” 

Joel tilted the camera so he was back in the frame. 

“You really wanna disappoint my kid?” He asked. “C’mon.” 

“Yeah!” Sarah said, bouncing just out of frame again, just a bit of her bun appearing in the bottom corner as she jumped. “Don’t let down the kid, that’s just shitty.” 

“Hey,” Joel said but you could tell he was trying not to smile. She stopped bouncing. “Language.” 

“Sorry.” 

He turned his attention back to you. 

“Be there in 10,” he said. “Can’t let you just sit and wallow. Need pizza for that.” 

He and Sarah picked you up and Sarah insisted on cranking Taylor Swift in the car, signing Look What You Made Me Do into her water bottle in the back seat while you balanced warm pizza boxes on your lap, trying not to laugh when you and Joel exchanged glances at red lights. 

At dinner, you pulled a pepperoni off your slice of pizza and stuck it on the end of your nose and held very serious eye contact with Joel and Sarah as they spoke, nodding along carefully so as to not disturb the topping dangling from your face. Sarah tried very hard not to laugh and did a pretty good job of it until you made a face at her from across the table when Joel’s back was turned and she cackled, laughing so hard she almost knocked over her soda can.

“You bein’ a bad influence on my kid?” He asked when he handed you the paper towel you’d requested.

“Joel,” you said, deathly serious, pepperoni slice still on the tip of your nose. “I’ve never been a bad influence a day in my life.” 

 After dinner, as Joel did the dishes, you sat on the couch with Sarah and listened as she told you about one of her friends at school who hadn’t been as kind lately. You nodded along until Sarah seemed to run out of steam, slumping down against the cushion with a slightly tired look on her face. 

“Well,” you said. “Have you told her that you’ve been feeling hurt by how she’s been treating you lately?” 

She scrunched her face a little. 

“No,” she said. “But I thought that’d be pretty obvious…” 

You shrugged. 

“Sometimes it’s not. She may not even know she’s doing it. If I were you, I’d tell her that you’ve been feeling hurt and ask if she’s doing OK because it sounds like this is a change for her. If she’s hurting you that might be because her feelings are getting hurt somewhere else.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she nodded a little. “That’s a good idea.”

“I do have those occasionally,” you said and she smiled a little at you. 

The three of you watched part of a movie before Sarah went to get ready for bed and you eavesdropped from the living room as Joel read to her in her room, the door opened just enough to hear when his voice changed with the characters. 

“Peeta sighs,” Joel said like Joel before his voice shifted to something that sounded more boyish but still strong and deep, almost what you remembered from when you first met him. You smiled. “'Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping…’”

Joel flopped next to you on the couch when he was done and you held out your glass of wine. He took it, taking a big sip before handing it back. 

“You look tired,” you said, holding the glass. 

He shrugged. 

“No days off from this whole dad thing. Don’t really want a day off but still… get tired after a bit.” He looked over at you and smiled a little. “Thanks for talking with her. Think she needs someone like you around.” 

“Oh, someone who managed to tank her relationship and got stuck starting over in her 30s?” You asked. “That kind of someone?” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“A woman…” 

“Oh, is that all?”

He glared at you. 

“A woman,” he said again. “But one who’s lived some life, knows how to navigate the hard shit. One who’s willing to listen to her problems. She’s got me and Tommy for that but can’t help but feel like I’ve let her down by not giving her some kind of… I don’t fuckin’ know, feminine influence.” 

“Ahh yes, the mysterious feminine,” you nodded sagely. Joel picked up a pillow and smacked you in the stomach with it, making you laugh as you caught it and held it to yourself. “Joel, you’re doing great with her.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, serious now. 

“Yeah,” you said, serious, too. “You really are. She’s so lucky to have you, Joel. You have no idea.” 

“I’m lucky to have her,” he said, looking toward Sarah’s room for a moment before turning back to you. “So, you have the kind of bad day that you want to talk about it or the kind of bad day that you want to get fucked up about it?” 

“The latter.” 

“Then chug that wine,” he said, shoving himself off the couch. “And maybe change into your pajamas, I’m getting the tequila.” 

You swapped numbers with Sarah at breakfast the next day. You and Joel were both hung over and trying to pretend like you hadn’t been up until 2:30 on a work night getting hammered until you passed out in a heap on his couch only to be roused by a groggy Sarah at 7 in the morning. 

She’d taken to texting you then, sometimes just silly selfies, sometimes memes you didn’t really get, sometimes with questions about friends at school. You were pretty sure your heart melted the first time she called you Aunt Goldie, a sense of belonging wrapping around you that you’d never really known before. 

“We still on for tomorrow?” Joel asked, eyes following the slow, lazy path your float was making across his pool. “Make a night out of this whole project, kick things off right.” 

“Hell yeah,” you said, drifting back to Joel. He didn’t shove you back out to the water this time. “Did I tell you I’m seeing Anna for lunch? I cannot just go into that blind, I’ll need an out…” 

“She’s doin’ that well, huh?” Joel asked. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “She’s supposedly sticking with her program but… I feel like I should be a better sister and try to check in more but then it just feels like babysitting and that doesn’t seem right, either.” 

“At a certain point, she’s gotta do it on her own,” Joel said. “You’re her sister, not her mom.” 

“I know,” you nodded. “But I feel like I should have checked in on her more after our mom died. She was a teenager and I just left her alone…” 

“You were 20 years old,” Joel said gently. “Not like you were equipped for that shit.” 

You shrugged and took another drink. 

“Hey,” he said, nudging your float gently, just enough to make you look up at him. “Don’t be hard on yourself for that. You were handed a shit situation and you did what you could with it. Trust me, I know.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Ended up in a similar boat with Tommy. Spent years - literal years - bailing his ass out of jail and begging him to get his shit together. Eventually he did a stint in the army and got it figured out. At least a bit. She’ll get there. But it’s not your job to get her there.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’re probably right.” 

“Who, me?” He asked, mocking. “Right? Never thought I’d see the day…” 

“Shove it,” you splashed at him, the water dripping down his face and soaking his t-shirt. You snorted as you watched him fight the urge to laugh. 

“Gonna pay for that,” he said, setting his beer down on the side of the pool and grabbing your float as you tried to paddle away. 

“No!” You shrieked and laughed, shoving your seltzer into the cupholder as more of you ended up in the cold pool water than you really wanted in your rush to escape. 

“You started it!” Joel was leaning precariously over the water now, trying to splash you again while keeping you from retreating. “Shoulda just kept those little hands to yourself…” 

“They’re not little!” 

He yanked your float back toward the side of the pool and nodded down at one of your hands.

“Freakishly small…” 

“Yours are just freakishly big you mutant!” You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and watched as he realized a second too late what was about to happen. 

“Oh shit,” his eyes went wide and you laughed in victory before you pulled him all the way into the pool, jeans and all. He brought you down as he went, the float capsizing and sending you and your mostly empty drink can into the cold water with a sharp yelp. 

You went under, the chlorine stinging your eyes as you twisted and tried to right yourself below the water. You and Joel surfaced at the same time, not even a foot apart and gasping for breath, laughing as you tried to brush your soaked hair back from your face. 

“It’s so cold!” You shivered and splashed at him before crossing your arms tightly over yourself. 

“Why are you complainin’ to me?” He shivered back. “You’re the one who wanted to be in the damn pool…” 

“In the floatie!” You said. “I was mostly dry until you got involved!” 

“Got justice you mean,” he said, reaching for your can and pulling it out of the water, dumping it out before setting it on the side of the pool. “You’re the one who put us in here…” 

“You’re the one who was being mean,” you said, reaching out for him and pressing your cold fingers to his chest, the heat of him still apparent even in the water. You sighed contentedly. “That’s better…” 

“Jesus, what are you, ice?” He griped, tugging you against him with a little yelp. “Gonna fuckin’ freeze to death if you’re not careful… ridiculous…” 

You giggled once but pressed yourself closer to him, soaking up his heat and pressing your cold fingers to his exposed skin. 

“OK, you could be less mean about it,” he said, pulling back from you just enough to scowl down at you. “Frozen fuckin’ hands…” 

You laughed and realized, very suddenly, how close you were to him. You weren’t sure the last time you’d been quite this close to him, the last time you could feel every line of him through his clothes, the last time his mouth had been that close to your own. Your heart sped up. His eyes searched yours and you could feel his breath on your skin and suddenly, you weren’t close enough to him. Not close enough at all. 

“Dad?” Sarah’s groggy voice called from the sliding glass door, making you jump, both of your heads turning toward her. Her face was scrunched and a curl had broken free of its braid, sticking straight out from the side of her head. “Is everything OK?” 

“Course it is, baby girl,” Joel frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be? What are you doin’ out of bed?”  

“You’re being loud,” she groaned. “You’re never loud.”  

“M’sorry kiddo,” Joel said, separating from you and working his way to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out of the water and dripping on the stone edge. “Gimme just a second to get Goldie out of the water before she freezes to death and dry her off, I’ll come tuck you in again in just a minute…” 

“Can I get another chapter?” She said it fast, the words all strung together, her eyes big. “Please? They just got into the arena and…” 

“We’ll see,” he said. “But only because it’s Friday and you’re sleeping over at Emma’s tomorrow so you won’t get one then. Inside, go on.” 

He watched her go and then went to the lounge chair at the side of the pool, getting the only towel he’d brought outside and holding it away from his body, spread open wide. 

“Hurry up, before I change my mind,” he said. 

“Such a gentleman,” you said, trying not to let your teeth chatter and trying to shove the ache that was still growing all hollow and wanting inside you down deep. You got out of the water and he wrapped you tightly in the towel, his arms going tightly around you. 

“Not really,” he said, pulling you back against his broad chest and squeezing you so the water from him soaked into the towel before he shook his shaggy curls over you so drops of water got all over your face as you laughed. “There, cured you of THAT notion…” 

“Thanks so much,” you said wryly as he released you. You turned to face him as he ran his fingers through his soaked hair and his shirt pulled up just enough that you caught a glimpse of the smooth flesh around his hips and you found yourself drifting closer to him again before you stopped yourself. Joel put his arms down and seemed to notice exactly where you were, just looking at you for a moment before he cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I should go tuck Sarah back in,” he said. “Get into something dry so I don’t get her all soaked…” 

“Right,” you said, stepping back from him. “Sorry we woke your kid up because you just couldn’t leave well enough alone…” 

“I will throw your ass back in that pool,” he said, going to open the door for you. “Don’t try me.” 

“Oh don’t worry Miller,” you teased. “I know just what you’re capable of.” 

He started toward the stairs, a little trail of water in his wake as he went, and you watched the pull of the wet fabric of his shirt over his shoulders. You swallowed, hard.

“I’m just going to head out,” you said and he stopped, turning to frown at you. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Really should go wash this chlorine out of my hair. But see you tomorrow?” 

“With the list?” Joel asked. 

“With the list,” you answered. 

“Lookin’ forward to it,” he said, turning to go up the stairs again before looking back over his shoulder. “Drive safe, Goldie.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, just heading for his room. 

Your heart was still racing. 

You left the towel draped over the banister and just pulled on the oversized t-shirt you’d put in your bag before going to your car. 

You tried not to think about Joel as you drove home. 

It didn’t do you any good to think about him that way. It was Joel. He didn’t see you that way, drifting in that direction was what had ruined things so many years before. You’d just gotten him back, things were so good again, you felt like you belonged again, you couldn’t fuck that up, not because you’d never been able to move past a school girl crush. 

But you wanted to kiss him. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him. 

You tried not to think about kissing him. You tried not to think about what happened after the last time you’d kissed him. How quickly everything had dissolved, how you’d gone from picturing a future with Joel - a different one than you’d held in your mind outside of fantasy before - to running as far and as fast as you could in a matter of hours. 

It’s Goldie, he’d said then. It’s the worst thing that could happen, I wish it was anybody else…

You flinched at the memory, shoving it away. No, you didn’t think about that, not when you could help it. Just like you didn’t think about the way Joel’s lips felt against your skin, how his fingers - warm and think - had traced over you, how he made you feel so clearly seen and adored in a way that no one else had before, in a way your husband had never really seemed to. How he still made you feel that way. 

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself as you parked, dropping your head to your steering wheel with a groan before you went in your house, closing your car door with a little too much force. 

You showered and forced yourself to keep your hands away from your aching slit. You were not going to fuck yourself in your bathroom to the idea of sleeping with your best friend. You weren’t. You weren’t a teenager anymore and you weren’t going to act like one. You were better than this.

Your hair was still damp when you gave up on getting any writing or grading done and went to bed, an almost frustrating, throbbing ache between your thighs. You stared at the ceiling in the dark for a while before you all but threw the covers off and rifled through your nightstand for the discreet little pink vibrator you’d bought years ago when you’d first figured out that, while your husband had many talents, making you come wasn’t one of them. 

You went to your usual fallback for porn but didn’t find anything that was really working for you, the ache of longing just getting worse as you gently toyed with your clit under the covers in the dark. Your cunt was slick, your wetness seeping down to your nightie and coating your fingers. It felt like forever that you’d been touching yourself and getting nowhere when the batteries on your vibrator died and you whimpered, kicking your legs down into your mattress in frustration. 

“Goddammit,” you moaned into your pillow, tossing your phone and vibrator aside, the ache in you worse than you’d ever really remembered it being before. There was no way you were going to be able to sleep like this, your whole body drawn tight and needy. You fumbled in your drawer for the charging cable and plugged the vibrator in before sighing and staring up at the ceiling again. 

Your thoughts drifted to Joel again. You couldn’t help it, he’d felt so good against you in the pool. He knew you so well, even after all this time. He kept your favorite snacks at his house and draped a blanket over you when you started getting cold when watching a movie. He was so funny and so handsome it hurt to look at him and he’d felt so fucking good.

Your fingers slipped between your legs again without really thinking about it, brushing against your swollen, sensitive clit. You resisted it for a moment, the idea of falling into the fantasy of you with Joel, but the need drawing everything inside you all tight and molten won. 

It swallowed you quickly once you gave in. 

The memory of him was there at the fore so fast, the way his lips had felt on you so many years ago. How you thought they’d feel against you now. His hands ranged over you, around your waist, down to your hips, his fingers twisting and knotting in the fabric there as he bunched it up to hold you firmer, reach you better. You moaned and rocked into your hand, sliding lower, your palm pressed against your sensitive nub as you slipped a finger inside yourself with a moan. You worked yourself open slowly, your slick making easy work of it, as you imagined it was his hand between your legs, his fingers sinking into you. How he’d take your swimsuit off and line his cock up with your entrance and push inside of you as he moaned your name. How his fingers would grip your flesh, prying at you as though he was trying to take you apart to keep pieces of you for himself. How he’d work himself so deep into you that you were certain no one else had ever come quite so close to climbing into another person’s skin before.  

You rocked your hips against your hand to the thought of him, not sure where memory ended and fantasy began, the fingers not plunging needily into your hole finding their way to your breast, grasping at the soft swell there, your own hand so unsatisfyingly small compared to his. You remembered the way his voice trembled as he breathed your name - his mouth against the tender skin at the base of your ear - as his cock filled you, the whole of him buried inside like he belonged there as he came. 

“Joel!” You gasped as your own orgasm hit, tight channel throbbing around the three fingers you’d managed to fit inside yourself, slick pooling in your palm and your tit filling your other hand. 

You came harder than you had in years, let alone from only using your hand and not your toy. It took you a few minutes to come down from the high of it, indulging in the fantasy of him in a way you hadn’t done since your freshman year of college. He last time you gave into it was back when you’d first started dating Gale but you’d felt so desperately alone, like no one had ever bothered to learn you at all. So you’d let yourself pretend that your best friend was still your best friend, that he loved you the way you loved him and that fucking you hadn’t been some mistake he’d made on prom night. It had seemed the most supreme extravagance, pretending that Joel would have wanted you to come like that with him. It still did. 

You put a stop to all that when Gale proposed, solidifying your relationship in an entirely new way. You tucked the memory of Joel and his body on and within yours away then. You’d never intended to think about him that way again. But then, you’d never intended to get divorced, either. 

“Fuck,” you sighed, shoving yourself out of bed to pee and clean up the mess you’d made of yourself. Before you lay back down, you opened the golden notebook on your bedside table and found the page with the list. You went to the bottom and tried to add another line but the pen in the elastic loop wouldn’t write. You groaned before fishing out the red pen you’d left in your nightstand from a night you were editing in bed from the top drawer. You added two words to the bottom of your list - trying to ignore the way the diamond of your engagement ring caught the light from your lamp, casting little rainbows on the paper - and circled them, pressing the pen into the paper harder than you really needed to. 

“There,” you said, capping the pen and dropping it on the notebook you hadn’t bothered to close. The pen rolled until it came to a stop, the red cap almost pointing to the newly added words as though they needed any more attention. 

That, you thought, was the solution. If you could just figure out how to accomplish that, you could put Joel back in that little box and keep this stupid crush from blowing up your whole life a second time, as long as you weren’t an idiot about it. 

You switched off the lamp and pulled your blankets tightly around yourself, trying to ignore the feeling that the words were glaring at you from their perch on your night stand. They blinked at you like neon behind your eyelids and you tried not to see them in the same way you tried not to think about Joel’s body on yours in the pool as you drifted off to sleep.

Get laid.

Next Chapter

A/N: I just adore these two. Honestly, they keep getting away from me, their conversations are so fun to write and explore that I get lost in what I'm trying to accomplish with a chapter. But that's OK! The ride is the point of this whole fic thing, right?

Thank you for being patient with this chapter! I got a bit sidetracked with another project but I think I'm in a good place to get back to my once a week updates here for a while. I hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait!

Thank you for being here! Love you!!

[shortpplfedup]

We Are Episodes 13-16: The gentlest of landings

As if I didn't love this show enough already, it gives me a 'Love Score' joke right at the end to seal the deal. I hope GMMTV directors continue to insert that song into every possible series until the end of time.

As the saying goes: the real We Are was the friends we (and they!) made along the way. Watching this gaggle of silly boys grow into a bigger gaggle of silly boys over the past 16 weeks was surprisingly satisfying and entirely enjoyable. The final four eps are really just a fluff victory lap, but it feels so sweet.

The pillars of the show for me right to the end were the platonic bonds within and amongst the friend group: Q and Peem's friendship, the core 5, Phum and Fang's brotherly relationship, the slow enmeshing of the disparate groups into a mammoth whole, and the way everybody silently agreed that Toey was theirs and spoiled him to death. Without the platonic love surrounding the romances, this show is cute enough but simply doesn't hold up.

Speaking of the romances, the only thing left to 'resolve' in these last eps, insofar as it required resolution, was the Chain/Pun romantic arc. This thing between them has been bubbling along in the background for the entire show, as Chain slowly got bolder and bolder about expressing his feelings, and Pun seemed more and more determined to never express his. Mans literally went 'I do not see it.' When Chain's frustrations finally boiled over and he just came out with it, Pun at least didn't let the shock hold him back. Nor the hooting, hollering onlookers🤣. And yunno what, I totally agree. These two waited long enough.

I was discussing with @ginnymoonbeam the real-time nostalgia feeling of this show, and this final block of eps really put an exclamation point on that with a lot of little vignettes and montages of the couples cementing their relationships emotionally and physically, and the whole gang just having a fucking blast travelling and hanging out together. It never really matters to them what they're doing, it could be absolutely nothing, as long as they're doing it together. You can see this footage playing on a mental loop for these boys ten, twenty, fifty years from now as they reminisce about these halcyon university days having a great time with their friends and their lovers.

To wrap up, I went on and on about enjoying how this show tackled courtship, so I wanted to categorise our couples on that along with my final couple scores!

Q and Toey (interrupted courtship): 3/4 hearts

Ah the second chance romance, truly an all-time classic trope. The key to this trope is always unpacking the feels about what happened before, what's happened since, and what's happening now, and I think the show made a decent fist of covering all three of those. Also, I gotta praise Satang here. Of all the actors, he was asked to play furthest away from himself, and he really finely balanced the Toey character I thought. This character is basically twelve types of aegyo in a sack and he made it cute rather than annoying, to the point where I totally understood why the rest of these boys were ready to do anything to see him happy.

Phum and Peem (long courtship: 3.5/4 hearts

Enemies to lovers, my old friend. The only couple without a history, who really had to get to know each other, and the continued contact their servant 'deal' drove gave them the opportunity to do just that. These two probably had the most satisfying traditional romance arc of the four couples, and I think Pond and Phuwin and the chemistry they've built worked great for these characters.

Tan and Fang (delayed courtship): 4/4 hearts

Phum and Peem might have been the most traditionally narratively satisfying, but Tan and Fang gave me the most emotional satisfaction of all the couples. They were the romantic heart of this show for me, and Tan especially held the centre, as the person who put his entire focus on loving out loud, giving his friends an example to look to. I've said it before but Tan telling his friends his and Fang's story is really the fulcrum this show rests on. Aou is the MVP of this show to me, for bringing this character to vivid, lovable life.

Pun and Chain (what is a 'courtship?'): 3/4 hearts

Absolutely totally unhinged. They'll probably get married the day after Chain's confession. It's the way everybody knew it but them. True idiot4idiot representation.

Farewell my good boys! I hope we get a reunion special!

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

i cherish you, halcyon days (gojou satoru x reader)

“you’re gonna die, kid. in the worst way possible. but because i like you so much, i’ll let you ask three questions about it.” you’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. you’re 17 when you realize who your killer will be. and you’re a day away from turning 19 when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

tags: gn!reader, annoyance to friends to lovers, you and gojou share a birthday month and you're not amused, it's canon that jujutsu school curriculum last 4 years so don't say nothin' when i mention 4th year students, now a multi-chaptered fic read here

[2005. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 1st year]

Do you like Gojou Satoru?

If someone were to ask you that, you would have to answer ‘no’. You’d answer ‘no’ even if no one asked. Gojou Satoru is impossible for you to like from his stupid sunglasses to his shit-eating grins. Even worse is his arrogance. It’s only an additional sprinkle of salt in the wound when you found out later in the year that he was rich, part of some big name clan in the world of jujutsu you yourself were only scouted into.

I don’t like him at all.

You’re the odd man out in your class, though. Despite your less than stellar review of the boy, your classmates, Suguru and Shoko, got along just fine with him.

To spite you even further, it seemed the universe enjoyed pinning the two of you together as well.

It wasn’t enough for the universe to have you both in the same school, year and class. No, you even shared a birthday month.

Gojou’s December 7th to your December 9th.

The week of your shared births, Gojou was especially intolerable. “You’re the baby of the class,” he’d taunt gleefully like he wasn’t only two days older than you. 

To cut on time and effort, your teacher and classmates decided that from 1st year on, December 8th would be the day both of your birthdays were celebrated. And thus, December 8th was 'Satoru and [First] Day'. Your cake was his cake and present unwrapping was a joint activity.

By the gods, I wanna punch him so much.

At the very least, you can rest easy in knowing the fact that the feelings of dislike are mutual.

Gojou Satoru is strong, it’s an irrefutable fact no matter how much you’d like to deny it. He’s strong and in turn, the strong are the only ones Gojou respects. You apparently don’t make the cut.

And that’s fine. Strength came in all sorts of ways. You disliked Gojou Satoru but you could live with the fact that, at the very least, you were going to be stuck together for four years. Because even if he was strong, life sometimes paid you back with small moments of grace where someone put the golden boy of the Gojou Clan in his place.

You thought it was one of those days when you met Takamatsu Akira. It was a week before your birthday when he told you were going to die.

You raise an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, “who?” It’s lunch at Jujutsu Tech and you’re eating with your classmates when Shoko name dropped a person you never heard of. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“He’s a sorcerer that can see glimpses of a person’s future when he looks at them,” Suguru answers in her stead over a sip of his oi ocha. “He’s apparently at the school today for some sort of meeting.

"Hands off the goods," your eyes widen in amazement as you quickly smack away Gojou’s hand from your lunch. “Really? And it’s all accurate too?”

“He’s a major asshole, though,” the white-haired boy hisses with a pout. You roll your eyes. I’m not sure how reliable your words are if you of all people are calling someone an asshole. Your incredulousness must show on your face because Gojou’s next words are, “seriously! He only tells people he thinks have interesting futures anything about it.”

“And?”

“Satoru’s just mad because apparently his future isn’t interesting,” Suguru smirks, smugly welcoming his best friend’s unamused side eye. “He told me about mine though.”

You bite back a snort when your curiosity to know Suguru's fortune wins. “What did he say about it?”

Suguru touched his chin thoughtfully, recalling back the day he met the seer. “He said that one day I’ll be stuck at a crossroads between two paths and make a life changing decision,” he pauses dramatically and you lean forward in anticipation. “That’s all he told me though.”

Damn it.

The brown-eyed boy chuckles but he shoots you a look of amused sympathy, “he never really tells you too much about it apparently. I was disappointed too.”

“Did he ever tell you anything about your future, Shoko?” You ask your class’ resident slacker.

Shoko shook her head, bob gently moving with her. “I’m one of the boring ones too,” she says with a lazy wave of her hand. “Like Gojou.”

“Don’t worry, my friends,” Suguru places a hand over his chest and bows with far too much grace and humility. “I alone will shoulder the burden of having an interesting future. Unlike Satoru.”

You choke, unable to stop yourself from chortling this time. Whatever Gojou sputters in his self-defense, you don’t hear it over the sound of your own laughter. “Maybe he’ll tell me about my future too,” you sigh when your giggles subside. You sincerely doubt it, but it’s fun to think about the possibilities. I want an interesting life plot twist, like the reveal I’m actually a long-lost member of some royal family he just won’t tell me which one.

“He’ll probably stop by because you’re here,” Shoko rests her chin on her palm. You were the newest in your class, starting a month later than the rest. “He likes seeing if new students will have interesting futures ahead of them.”

“Don’t get too excited, [First],” Gojou quickly rains on your parade with a lot of arrogance for someone whose future is apparently so boring a seer won’t even talk to him about it. “I’m the most interesting person in this place and he won’t even talk to me. So who knows what sort of reaction you’ll get.”

“Oh quit being bitter that your future is gonna be boring, asshole,” before any other quips and gripes can be exchanged, the class door slides open abruptly. You look over with a start, wondering if it’s your teacher when you see it isn’t. The man is a bit younger than Yaga but his hair is already graying and his eyes are a deep green reminiscent of pine trees. You have a feeling you already know who it is and grin. “You wouldn’t happen to be Takamatsu Akira, would you? Gojou here was telling me about his boring future soー” you stop yourself with a shudder when you blinked and realized that man was in front of your face and much too close for comfort.

“Now that is something,” the man blinks owlishly, eyes almost glowing in his amazement.

Your discomfort flies away faster than a seagull with someone else’s lunch, “really?”

The man leans back with a grin and a snap of his fingers, “really, really.”

With that you look at Gojou and stick out your tongue and he sticks his tongue in return. 

[First] 1, Gojou 0. 

Suguru chuckles and Shoko grins and all the while, Gojou Satoru flicks your forehead too quickly for you to react. “Look, hater, it isn’t my fault that your future’s boring, quit trying to rain on my parade,” you snicker, batting your eyelashes. “Mr. Takamatsu, I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me about my future if you don’t mind. Before the naysayers get more butthurt than they already are.”

“You’re gonna die, kid.” 

With four words, your blood freezes and you find yourself blinking once, twice slowly. It’s the matching looks of shock and surprise on your classmates' faces that tells you you heard Takamatsu correctly. Stiffly, you look back at the seer hoping for that revelation to be nothing but a joke, but instead you find yourself looking at a maniacal grin. That grin feels more like a knife in your gut. “In the worst way possible.”

The knife sinks deeper into your flesh, twisting.

“Hey,” out of the four of you, Gojou is the one who finds his voice first.

Takamatsu ignores the boy with snow white hair as if he’s nothing but a minor breeze, “But,” he beams like he’s only told you that he found a discount at the convenience store. “Because I like you so much, I’ll let you ask three questions about it.”

“O-okay,” you stammer almost instinctively. Like a zombie, you find yourself stumbling onto your feet and Takamatsu nods at the door. These answers will be for you and you alone. You aren’t sure what expression you wear on your face as you exit, nor the expressions of your peers. You can't bring yourself to look at them as you follow the future-seeing sorcerer into the halls of your school.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die.

In the worst way possible.

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that the seer halts his walking in the middle of the hall to look at you. “Feel free to ask your questions,” he tells you. “Your classmates shouldn’t be able to hear, even if they keep looking out the door. So ask away,” he reassures you, waving his hand nonchalantly.

You glance to your left and sure enough there are three heads leaning out of the door, staring straight at you both. You can’t bring yourself to smile reassuringly before you return your gaze to the sorcerer in front of you.

Three questions.

Your first question can only be so obvious. “Howー how do I die?”

Takamatsu’s amusement is sapped from his face at that question. “Really?” He yawns with a shake of his head. “That’s what you’re going to ask? That’s quite boring.”

Boring? Boring?! It’s my life! “Yeah but-”

“You know what, fine,” Takamatsu sighs, crossing his arms. He recalls his vision in his mind for a moment before he opens his lips. “You’re going to be killed by someone precious to you. Ask me something more… riveting this time.”

You blink slowly.

You’re going to be killed by someone you care about.

When do I die?

Was it an accident?

On purpose?

Why would they want to kill me?

You don’t think those are questions Takamatsu will find intriguing in the slightest. In a panic, you ask the most original question that enters your brain. “Do I die… angry at them?” No. Fucking. Shit, me. “Wait, that was dumb don’t answer th-”

“Nope, it counts,” Takamatsu clicks his tongue. Maybe it’s payback for your first question being so predictable and unoriginal. “And my answer for that is no. Your heart will surprisingly bear no anger towards the person who kills you.” A revelation that shakes you to the core. “Well, one question left to go, kid. No more mess ups, I’ll take it even if it’s something as a dumb as a repeat question.”

“Okay, okay,” you exhale nervously, biting your lip. I need to think.

You know yourself.

You’re selfish at times, who isn’t? If it really came down to it though, you know you’d always put someone else’s life over your own. You can talk big, you can snort when you watch a movie and say ‘yeah sorry, they’d be stuck on their own. I’m not dying in a situation like that, I’d wanna go home’. But you know yourself enough to know that despite thinking it, your feet would inevitably turn towards the other person. Maybe you’d die in the end but you know you’d try your damnedest to get them out.

Why else would you put yourself on the line fighting curses?

But I’d like to think that in a life or death fight where it’s me or them, I’d choose me. You shake your head pushing the thought to the side. You almost forgot the most important detail. Your killer will be someone who matters to you. But I won’t be mad about it. If it was life or death, I’d choose me. I know that. Stranger on the street or a lifelong sworn enemy. And I know if I was killed by someone, I’d definitely be bitter about it. I’m not that forgiving.

Future you isn’t in agreement. Your eyes turn to the ground.

Is it a life or death fight situation or an accident? You open your mouth briefly before closing it again.

They’re precious to me.

They’re someone I care about.

But I won’t be angry.

I mustn’t have been trying that hard then, you wet your lips as a light bulb flickers deeply in the recesses of your mind. You couldn’t have been. How else could your future self’s lack of anger be justified? One day, there will be someone you care for so greatly that even in a life or death battle, you’d still choose them.

You raise your head to look into dark green eyes dancing with amusement, a grin accompanying them. The grin morphs from clear to distorted at the welling of tears in your eyes. I wasn’t trying. “I must really love this person, don’t I?”

Takamatsu's grin grows even wider, eyes flashing in pleasant surprise. “Yeah,” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “It seems like you do.”

Tears roll down your cheeks like streams into a river yet your arms hang loosely at your side. “That’s three questions then,” you murmur, throat constricting. You inhale slowly, hold your breath and release before wiping your eyes. “Thank you for answering my questions, Mr. Takamatsu. Lunch is gonna be over soon, so I’m gonna go finish eating now.”

You bow before turning on your heel back to your class, your classmates are still there. You don’t really care to receive their pity or empathy.

“I’m gonna die, it’s gonna suck and that’s all he really told me,” you say before anyone can ask. You bite into your egg harshly.

.

It’s hours after classes have ended for the day and you’re cooking in the communal kitchen when you see Gojou again. 

“Hey,” Gojou says and his tone is so serious it startles you. You set your knife down on the cutting board before looking at him. His face doesn’t seem right to you and it dawns on you a second later it’s because he’s frowning and it’s not the usual childish frown you’re used to seeing. “Don’t take what that guy said seriously. Like I said, he’s an asshole. He was probably saying all of that to freak you out.” There’s a pause and Gojou scratches the back of his head, looking uncomfortable in his skin. “So don’t, like, cry about it. Takamatsu’s a prick.”

“Are you,” you squint, looking Gojou over suspiciously. “Trying to make me feel better or something in your own weird Gojou way?”

“Someone has to make sure the class baby isn’t drowning in their sorrows,” Gojou returns to his usual brand of cocky, with a grin. His sunglasses slide down, revealing playful eyes.

“I don’t want the comfort then,” you roll your eyes and return to chopping your vegetables. “Besides, I don’t need it anyways, I’m strong”

“Eeeeh.”

Asshole.

“There’s different kinds of strong, you jackass,” you argue for argument’s sake. You vaguely notice that in spite of your annoyance, your shoulders aren’t stiff and your jaw is loose. Apparently Gojou is good for something, after all. “Strong looks different for different people. A kid is strong when they act tough after tripping. A grown man crying and being open with his emotions is strong,” you recount some of the ways you’ve seen people be strong in your life. You’ve witnessed strength in various ways in your 15 years of living. “... Even just living despite how hard it can be is strong.”

Save for the sound of you cutting green celery and the light simmer of the pan, silence falls over the two of you.

“What did you guys talk about when he said you could ask him questions?”

“... nothing important.”

[2006. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 2nd year]

You’re 16 and you’re still alive and kicking.

You’re an upperclassman now, not that it means anything when there are still two whole grades of jujutsu schooling ahead of you. Still, you welcome the newfound responsibilities and admiration you receive in going up a level. At least, one of your underclassmen seems to admire you. Haibara Yuu does, though you’re pretty sure he adores Suguru even more. Nanami Kento is nice though, albeit a bit reserved.

The three of them are like you, individuals scouted into the world of curses and sorcerers rather than born into it. It’s nice to know you’re not alone in that sense.

Even if they weren’t, however, you’re sure that Gojou’s presence would find a way to override any sort of 'being alone'. You can’t be alone when he’s around even if you want to.

Gojou is just as annoying as he was when you were first years, but he’s surprisingly more tolerable.

He still bothers you whenever he has the chance and he still refers to you as the ‘class baby’. You’d also be lying to yourself if you said his hubris has gone down since you first met. He’s just as smug as he’s always been but it’s a bit easier seeing the charm in it in your second year compared to your first.

So maybe ー in the absolute loosest sense of the word ー the two of you have become friends. Something like it at least.

This is why you don’t mind it when the boy plops his ass on your desk when you’re trying to read the recent volume of Fruits Basket to tell you about his newest feats he accomplished on his most recent mission. Nor do you mind it much when he follows you to the dorms to continue telling you what feels like an exaggerated tale, but you know Gojou’s abilities enough to know that 99% percent of it is true.

“So yeah,” he finishes with an air of satisfaction, nose pointing towards the sky with pride. “You could say that Suguru really didn’t even need to come, I pretty much crushed it by myself.”

You’re pretty sure if Suguru was here, Gojou would be in a headlock. “Better not let your bestie catch you saying that,” you warn playfully.

“Come on, [First],” Gojou beams broadly with no care in the world. “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to praise me?”

You shake your head in bemusement, smiling lightly. “I can admit it, I’m impressed,” your words are genuine. With all the blessings he has in the world, being strong is the standard for your classmate. He’s a natural talent to boot. Yet for all his nonchalance, you can give credit where credit is due. The guy works hard to perfect his techniques and he’s a perpetual motion machine when it comes to improvement. “Good job, Gojou, you’ve worked really hard. I’m happy you’re seeing the payoff.”

It takes you a second to realize that you’re walking by yourself and you turn around, eyebrow quirked. “What’s up?” Gojou doesn’t respond immediately and you have no idea what his eyes look like beneath the sunglasses. “Hey are you alright?”

The boy comes to at your prodding, sauntering after you lazily, “nothing, nothing,” Gojou replies smoothly with a grin. “I am pretty great, huh?”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Gojou,” you give him a light shove that barely moves him an inch. Geez he’s a giant, you won’t be surprised if in the future he’s taller than even Yaga.

“Since I’m working so hard, do you think you could make me a congratulatory lunch tomorrow?” You’re pretty sure he isn’t serious. Or at the very least you’re sure Gojou expects your answer to be negative. You never cook for him, the closest he ever gets is pilfering samples of it before you chase him out of the kitchen. “Just ki-”

“Sure, what do you want?”

With near comedic timing, Gojou’s shades slide down the bridge of his nose and his eyes are wide in astonishment. “Seriously?”

Your grin widens, “I can change my mind if you-”

“No, no, no! No take backs allowed, [First]!” Gojou covers your mouth with a large palm. “I’m putting in my special requests!”

You move his hand from your mouth with a sage nod, “then please make your requests, young pupil, I’ll prepare you a feast of feasts!” Gojou opens his mouth promptly, giddy. “Within reason.”

You snicker when he whines about the unfairness of your new stipulations.

It takes a week before lunch becomes dinner too.

Gojou’s nice sometimes, you can admit.

And maybe you can also admit that you are ー in more than the loosest sense of the word ー actually friends. A friend whose status as a special grade sorcerer is something  you can be proud of rather than annoyed by. He’s reckless and sometimes that recklessness gets him in trouble, but still you enjoy his company when you have it. Even if sometimes he gets you in trouble because of his shenanigans. Or even when he is annoying Utahime whom he is presently taunting in favor of saying her partner for this mission is stronger than she is.

“Mei Mei,” you wave your fingers daintily at the strong partner in question. “Finally gonna let me take you out some time?” You’re mostly joking. 5% at least. Beautiful as she is, Mei Mei isn’t really your type.

The blue-haired sorcerer laughs lightly, crossing her arms, “I’ll have to warn you that my dinners aren’t cheap.”

“Worry not, I’m an amazing cook,” you’re barely able to wink in the money-loving sorcerer’s direction when Gojou’s lanky arm is thrown over your shoulder and he saunters over to a distressed Utahime. “What the heck!”

“Check out how the path Utahime walked on is falling apart,” Gojou snickers.

“Oh shut up,” Suguru looks far too pleased to actually mean his words though.

For Utahime’s sake, you fight back the urge to giggle at their tomfoolery. You like Utahime, you bonded in your first year over finding Gojou Satoru’s presence an annoyance. You’ve sadly, however, become a bit of a traitor to your Hating Gojou Alliance, much to her dismay when you confessed months prior that you and Gojou had become chill.

“By the way,” Mei Mei brings the conversation back to a reasonable plane. “Where’s the veil?”

Gojou’s nice sometimes, you can admit. And maybe you can also admit that you are ー in more than the loosest sense of the word ー actually friends. A friend you can be proud of. A friend whose company you enjoy even if sometimes he gets you in trouble because of his shenanigans.

Like the fact you somehow forgot to put up the veil?! How the hell do you forget to put up the veil?! Nevermind the fact you technically forgot too, Gojou was the one who said he’d put it up. That’s why you have no problem pointing in his direction when Yaga sternly asks who was the Forget Futaba in your band.

“Is a veil that necessary in the first place,” Gojou whines in the gym later in the afternoon. “It’s not like it matters if normies see or not, right? They can’t see cursed spirits or cursed techniques anyway.”

“Pretty sure it’s for the best that normal people don’t start seeing spontaneously exploding buildings on the regular, Gojou,” you watch with an impressed whistle at how your classmate tosses a basketball effortlessly to a hoop. You’re sure if Suguru hadn’t stopped it, the ball would have been a perfect three pointer.

“Of course it’s not good for them to see,” Suguru affirms your words resolutely. “The strongest deterrent against the outbreak of cursed spirits is the mental calm of the populace.” It becomes a battle of the philosophies when Gojou steals the ball back with finesse.

“Looking out for the weak is so exhausting, honestly,” Gojou sighs and Suguru shoots back with narrowed eyes 'Survival of the Weakest'. “Assigning reasons and responsibility to strength is what those who are weak do.”

Should we…? You glance at Shoko.

Yeah, we probably should. The brunette glances back.

“Time to dip,” Shoko sprints out of the gymnasium faster than you’ve ever seen her.

“I’ve got a pretty wild date with Battle Royale right now,” you skip after her in a hurry right as Suguru summons one of his cursed spirits like it's a pokemon.

The next time you see Gojou, he knocks and enters your room when you go ‘huh?’ “Yo, I’ve got a mission.”

“Already?” You raise an eyebrow. “We just got back from the Mei Mei and Utahime thing.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “ Teach says we have to protect the star plasma vessel.”

“That information got leaked?”

“Wait, you know what the star plasma vessel is?”

“Tengen stuff is, like, the bare minimum of stuff we should have learned about in first year, Gojou.”

“... anyways, Suguru and I are heading out early tomorrow,” he says, like what you told him moments prior wasn’t anything important.

You smile with pride, “well, that’s a pretty big mission for a couple of students to have,” it really is, honestly. If anything, that’s something you think the adults should have. It’s pretty cool that two of your classmates were chosen for it. “That’s cool. You should be really proud of yourself, Gojou.”

Your words get his lips to morph into a smile a bit more authentic and veritable than his usual smug grins and confident jeers. “I am pretty cool, huh?”

You roll your eyes in good fun before looking at your book again. Your favorite character's dead but you at least wanna see who gets off this shitty island. “Y’all not still fighting about earlier are you?”

“Nah, we’re over it,” Gojou sits at a chair by your bedside desk, swirling in it. “It’s whatever in the end. Suguru can believe whatever he wants.” A silence somewhere between comfortable but hesitant falls over you briefly before Gojou asks, “you believe that stuff he was saying too?”

“Dunno, you’re probably asking the wrong person,” you turn the page with a shrug. It’s been nearly a year since you met Takamatsu Akira. Nearly a year since you were told someone you loved would kill you in the worst way possible and yet you’d have no anger in your heart about it. The future is technically always changing. It’s never stagnant. If you wanted, you could take what the seer said to heart and run with your tail between your legs. Yet here you were, laid on your stomach reading Battle Royale in your room located in Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College instead of elsewhere; living in perpetual paranoia about any relationship you have. “The weak’s the majority, they need protection. It should be the duty of the strong to protect them. But… I can also get the exhaustion. If you’re the strongest, who’s gonna protect you then?”

You close your mouth and purse your lips thoughtfully and vaguely you find it a bit amazing that Gojou hasn’t made any sort of quip yet.

“But… I guess I probably align myself more with Suguru’s line of thinking,” you decide after a heartbeat. “I’m the one who’s gonna die in the most horrible way possible, remember? But here I am, still kickin’ it here with you guys. I should probably run while I have the chance, huh?”

“I already told you not to listen to that crap,” you look away from your book, surprised at the harshness in Gojou’s tone. Your eyes look into angry azure and you glance away just as quickly. “That guy’s a prick. There’s no point in listening to him. So quit worrying your pretty little head about that. You’re supposed to be strong, right?”

Your eyes skim over your book, not sure what else to settle your eyes on. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m pretty strong, I guess.”

That appears to be the right answer. “Exactly, so stop giving that stuff he said the time of day.”

You chuckle, “yeah you’re right, sorry,” ‘I’m always right’ Gojou says flippantly and you find your head shaking with a warmth settling in your chest. “Grab me a souvenir or two while you’re gone, Mr. Special Grade.”

“I’m not leaving Tokyo, you know,” Gojou tosses a crumpled piece of paper at your head. 

“So?” You toss the paper back, watching as it bounced off his infinity. Cheater. “Grab me something extra nice anyways! I deserve it as payback for cooking for you all the time, you eat like a horse.”

The mission goes horribly wrong.

Shoko tells you over a phone call that the mission went horribly wrong in all the worst ways. Suguru was injured. Gojou was dead.

Parts of campus look like it was hit by a tornado when you get there, out of breath, lungs screaming but you still push through it to get Suguru’s room banging on the door. “Su-”

“Satoru’s okay,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he opens the door and your knees almost buckle in your relief. “He’s alive. He was injured but he’s alive. He’s in his room, right now.”

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

Your breath is shaky as you let your friend’s words permeate through your entire being. “That,” you lick your lips, holding yourself. “That’s good.” It’s all you can say although it doesn’t encompass even a tenth of the emotion you feel. “I’m glad you’re both alright.” The quiet is almost deafening; what do you say to ease the hurt when the mission went wrong in every way it could have? “I’m gonna start cooking in an hour or two. I’ll bring you something to eat later, any requests?”

“It’s okay,” Suguru’s smile is small but polite. “I’m not that hungry. Maybe Satoru’ll eat something.” The door closes promptly before you can ask if your friend is sure he doesn’t want anything. I’ll check on you again later, I promise.

Your nerves are frazzled when your eyes sweep over to the door that leads to Gojou’s room, hardly able to make yourself move towards it.

“He was injured but he’s alive.”

How injured is injured?

Has he gone to see Shoko?

“Gojou?” Your knock is barely audible.

You knock once more with a soft confidence.

“Satoru?” Your voice falters, just above being a whisper. “Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t want to talk right now but I just want you to know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. If you wanna talk, I’m just down the hall, okay?” You pause, ears straining to hear anything on the other side of the door. You’re met with silence. “Get some rest. I’ll bring you dinner later, alright?”

With a sigh, you turn around to go to your room only for your heart to leap out of your chest when you realize someone is already in it. You jump, clutching your chest when you realize it’s Satoru, sitting on your bed with his back slumped against the wall.

He looks like hell and impossibly small wrapped in your blanket. Russet stains his white locks that are even messier than usual and his eyes have a chilling emptiness to them. He doesn’t meet your eyes, you aren’t sure if he has the will to. You don’t have the will to say anything despite the thoughts running through your head.

Wordlessly, Satoru raises the blanket in an invitation. Like he’s welcoming you through a barrier.

So wordlessly, you sit on your bed and nestle beside him. You don’t mind the scent of sweat, blood and dirt. Nor do you mind when the tall and lanky teen slumps against your side, resting his head atop yours. You simply find his hand and brush your fingers together, feeling the roughness of his callouses, before twining your fingers with his.

You clutch each other’s hands almost painfully.

[2007. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 3rd year]

It’s you, isn’t it?

You realize that one day Satoru is going to kill you on a rainy night in December in your room laying on your bed. The two of you had taken to sharing a space on nights you felt lonely since you were 16 and the star plasma vessel mission went wrong in every way possible. Last week, you both turned 18.

Another year has past and you're still alive and kicking.

You’re facing each other, your head resting on your hand with your elbow angled to keep your head up.

“You won’t leave too, right?” Satoru asks softly, fingers messing with a stray string on your shirt.

Suguru’s gone. So is Haibara.

Both are gone in different ways.

Death is what took Haibara, leaving Nanami Jujutsu Tech’s sole second year.

Suguru was swallowed in madness and disillusionment, defecting to accomplish a new goal of creating a world with only jujutsu sorcerers.

It stings, but you know Satoru is hurt the most.

“It’s unfortunate to tell you but you’re pretty much stuck with me, Satoru,” you give him a weak nudge with your free hand.

“Even though Takamatsu said you’re going to die?”

“We’re all gonna die someday,” you tell him easily. It’s you. You aren’t sure how you’re able to smile like you aren’t having the worst realization in the world but you smile. “Besides, you’re the one who said not to worry about that, right? Because I’m strong.”

“Yeah,” Satoru whispers. “You’re strong.”

“And you’re the strongest sorcerer in the world,” you remind him unnecessarily. It is an inherent fact of the world. Gojou Satoru, born only two days before you came into this world, shook the entire world when he was born.

“And because you’re the strongest, that’s why I have to stay with you,” you run your fingers through his hair gently. When is he going to do it? When is everything going to go wrong? You want to remember every feature he has before you one day have no choice but to leave them behind. “Who’s going to protect you otherwise?”

Satoru smiles for the first time that night, looking up at you almost dreamily from where he lays. “You’re gonna protect me?”

“Yeah,” you vow sincerely.

[2008. Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College ー 4th year]

“Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to us,” Satoru sings crudely while you roll your eyes. It’s technically neither of your birthdays. It’s the 8th, the one day mid-point between your birthdays. The Official ‘Satoru-[First]’ Birthday Bash Celebration. Contrast to your first year as a student at Jujutsu Tech, you find yourself in a more pleasant mood about it. “Happy birthday to the both of us, happy birthday to us!”

“Isn’t it a bit too early to sing,” you shake your head with a chuckle. 

“Early shmurly,” Satoru shrugs off your nonchalant concern like water off a duck’s back. You can’t bring yourself to scold him. “They throw us a surprise party every year. It’s not even a surprise if we know it’s coming. They always make us wait all day in class or tell us to leave campus though.”

“It’s part of the atmosphere, Satoru. Tradition!” You grin, giving his leg a light flick as he plops his ass right on top of your desk. “We gotta wait and act completely oblivious to everything until someone tells us to head to the dorms.”

It’s nice to see him smiling. It’s his second birthday without his best friend. A fact that will always resonate through your reality like ripples through the water.

“You’ll like my gift the best by the way,” you tell him with a self-assured confidence. 

“Funny, I was about to say that to you,” Satoru winks, leg swinging lazily. He’s not wearing his sunglasses for onceー they’re off to the side resting on the teacher’s podium. “Of course, my gifts are always the best.”

A comfortable silence fills the room and you close your eyes.

Tomorrow you turn 19 and you’re still alive and kicking.

Moments like this make it hard to believe that one day you won’t be. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you told Satoru the truth of everything Takamatsu told you that day. You consider telling him this very moment, eyes resting on his face. He's smiling gently to himself, thinking about something unknown to you.

He’s so beautiful it makes you want to cry.

“Hey,” you can barely hear yourself.

“Hmm?” Satoru looks at you, lips upturned in a mellow, peaceful expression.

“We should get married.”

One second passes,

two seconds.

“Yeah, we should,” Satoru nods, seemingly enchanted.

You blink dumbly, “what?”

“Let’s do it,” Satoru repeats himself purposefully. “Let’s get married.”

“... Satoru, I was 60% joking when I said that,” you don’t even know why that’s what came out of your mouth.

In spite of your attempt to brush him off, Satoru stands to his feet all the more determined. His large hands cup yours gently as he pulls you into standing with him. “And I’m being 100% serious,” he means it, you can see it in his eyes. They’re more clear than any lake you’ve seen. “Let’s get married. We can go after your birthday.”

“Satoru, we’re high schoolers,” you try reasoning.

“We’re old enough to get married in this country.”

Despite that fact, you shake your head again, “we’re not getting married in high school.”

“Then we can tie the knot after we graduate,” Satoru decides like that’s the only issue at present.

“Fresh out of high school?”

“Fresh out of high school,” he affirms. “We can have a big wedding just like in the movies. Whatever you want. We’ve already got the headstart on the kids with that Zenin kid and his sister.”

You find yourself laughing unexpectedly at the absurdity, at the certainty. “Satoru.”

“[First].”

“Your clan is not gonna be happy with you marrying some jujutsu nobody,” you tell him.

“Like I care what a bunch of old farts think.”

“I’m pretty sure your parents aren’t gonna like me.”

“I’ll love you enough to make up for it,” Satoru rests his forehead on yours. That motion alone damn near breaks your heart. “I wanna marry you, [First].”

“Yeah,” you sniff. This boy who is quickly becoming a man in front of your very eyes is beautiful enough to make you cry. “Let’s get married.”

For a smile so small, it beams like a thousand suns, “Right after we graduate?”

“Right after we graduate.”

“Even if you think my parents aren’t gonna like you?”

“Screw ‘em. I’ll love you more than enough to make up for it.”

One day Gojou Satoru is going to kill you.

You don’t know what will lead you down the path of finding yourself on the opposing side of the boy you’ve grown to love. You don’t know whether it will be a death that’s accidental or as intentional as Suguru’s defection from your organization.

So many unknowns, yet the fact remains the sameー one day you’re going to die and it’s going to be Satoru that sends you to the other side. You let him kiss you despite that fact.

It’s you.

You know it in your heart.

Because if someone were to ask you if Gojou Satoru was precious enough to you that you wouldn’t bear any anger towards him for killing you, you knew what your answer would be in a heartbeat.

Yes, you kiss him tenderly, holding his face in your hands while your heart cupped the precious memories you shared. Memories you would never allow yourself to forget. The halcyon days of past, present and future. He is.

[20xx. kuzuivencdcsusahduvtaydr ー ???? oayn]

It’s snowing in Tokyo, a lot of it.

That’s not common for the area of Japan you live in.

Maybe Tokyo will see one or two days of light snowfall, but it’s almost never enough to cloak the city like this. That’s why it’s a perfect day for a snowball fight and it is perfect, save for the fact that Satoru is definitely cheating.

His tosses may be light but the jerk still has on his infinity, your snow dissipating in powdery puffs whenever it hits the barrier keeping him perpetually safe.

You can’t stop yourself from giggling though, even as he pelts you with an unfair barrage of snow.

The laugh is barreling from your form even more when Satoru rushes you out of nowhere, the largest snowball you’ve ever seen in his hands laughing like he’s five. Your fall is softened by the snow underneath you, barely even much of a drop, and Satoru’s on top of you with his legs on either side of your torso.

He’s merciful enough not to slam dunk his snowball of fury into your face though.

“Okay, okay, you win!” You laugh good naturedly. “Please, Gojou Satoru, I yield!” Despite your words, your hand is working quickly on the side to form a snowball. He’s touching you, you can feel the warmth of his legs on either side of you. His infinity’s down then. You open your eyes mischievously, bracing yourself for a toss when you feel something warm fall onto your face.

One drop,

two drops.

Your breath falters.

“Why are you crying, Satoru?” 

It occurs to you then in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen Satoru cry. Yet there he is, right atop you, holding the world’s largest snowball in his trembling arms. All the while, tears are running down his face, flowing from those beautiful eyes of his. Those eyes filled with a greater sadness than you’ve ever seen as he looks at you.

The snowball you were clutching drops from your hand immediately in your concern, “hey what’s wrong?”

Satoru doesn’t answer you. Instead, the strongest sorcerer in the world drapes himself over you with body-wracking sobs. The snowball he was holding has disappeared to who knows where, his hands now clutching the front of your jacket tightly. Satoru’s only response is his body-wracking sobs, his knuckles painfully white. He sobs, sobs and sobs like you’ve never seen before.

Slowly, you bring your arms up to hug him and nuzzle the top of his hair that matches the snow around you. “It’s okay,” you whisper to the boy crying in your arms. You smile softly and you close your eyes once more. “It’s okay,” you tell him again. “I'll protect you.”

i was inspired by chainsaw man with the idea of a future devil sorcerer and a reader who shares the same fate as aki

*bonus note: also in japan, the legal age marrying age for women is 16 and men is 18, i heard from a prof they're working on changing that but at least during the setting the time of the fic that is still the same so hence why you'd both be of marrying age despite still being students

*final note: i am a huge final fantasy nerd and the final chapter is written in al bhed, a language from final fantasy x. feel free to use this translator

[galadriel1010]

Why most of what you've heard about NaNoWriMo is wrong and why that matters.

So, word on the streets is that the NaNoWriMo organisation have driven the challenge into the ground since they took it over, and are now promoting generative AI as an acceptable way to win the challenge. If your eyebrows aren't raising at even part of that, buckle up

Let's start with the easy one. Was NaNoWriMo better before the organisation took it over? No. That's not a matter of opinion, it's just a matter of chronology. The NaNoWriMo organisation was founded as the Office of Letters and Light in 2005, by the people who started the event in 1999. There was no NaNoWriMo before the organisation. Hell, the organisation pre-dates a lot of the people complaining that it was better before it took over.

So straight up, there's a fairly blatant piece of misinformation that's going round as fact.

Is NaNoWriMo promoting AI to win? Also no, but with more of a hand waggle. The organisation's stance is, as it has been since I started doing it (2004, by the way, so you could argue that I do remember the pre-org days), is "Sure you can but why would you?" Back then you had to write your own algorithm, and quite frankly it was easier to write the novel. But the prizes were better back then. Once upon a time you could get a free bound proof copy of your novel and stuff. Now you just get bragging rights and 50% off Scrivener. So you can, but why would you?

Is NaNoWriMo sponsored by generative AI? Eh, sort of. One of their big sponsors is ProWritingAid, a fiction editing tool like Word's spell checker but with more tools and gizmos. It is AI, much like any spell checker, and like most spell checkers it is more A than I. It has some very useful bits, and some frustrating bits. It will not, however, write your novel for you. You have to do that yourself, and then it will suggest ways to improve it. Sometimes they are useful, sometimes they are very much not.

Why does all of this matter? Two reasons.

1. This idea (reminder, factually incorrect idea) has spread like wildfire, and fanned the flames of vitriolic harassment of the organisation's staff. At best it's just been unpleasant, at worst ableist and racist. The attitude of "If they don't want to be harassed, they shouldn't do things we disapprove of" is a familiar one that is bad enough when it's based on facts. When it's based on misinformation that no one can be bothered to do a 30 second check on, it's even worse.

2. 30 seconds. That's all it would take to go and check the NaNoWriMo sponsors page and see that there is no generative AI there. Or to go and read the Wikipedia page and follow the ship of Theseus and see that NaNoWriMo is the organisation. It's so easy. And people can't be bothered. And this at a time when we know that misinformation is rife and dangerous. If this passed your sniff test, what else have you passed on without checking?

We all need to get better at this. It was easy for me because I was there.gif. I remember those halcyon days. If I didn't, would I have nodded along? I hope not, but hope isn't enough. We've got to check.

[lipstickghoulie]

Can’t take my eyes off of you

•Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. 4k+ works, explicit smut (praise kink, possessive and dirty talk, p in v sex)

Lucy has a tattoo and Cooper is taken aback (by how horny it makes him)

☢️Fic under the cut☢️

The night that the ghoul told Lucy his real name didn’t go as he expected at all.

It was a dry, dusty night at a makeshift camp they made together in silence, the ruins of some dilapidated and gutted old water tower casting cool shadows over them before the sun started to set. Lucy drove tent stakes into the ground and Cooper worked at making a small fire roar to life over splintery wooden planks scavenged from the forgotten structure. He wouldn’t normally chance a fire but they hadn’t seen any signs of life besides the two of them in days, not even a stray mongrel dog or mutated creature.

More than anything, Cooper was bored. He wasn’t a man that handled his boredom well, it made him itchy, impatient and prone to doing something impulsive. He needed something to shoot or inhale, as soon as fucking possible. He had enough whiskey they salvaged out of some long-dead prepper’s stash a week ago to get a buzz going as he sat back and stared at the fire licking at the air but hell, he needed something to entertain him.

Maybe that was why he humored the vaultie’s question this time instead of giving some sarcastic quip or grunting and ignoring her like he had been recently. Lucy never seemed put-out by not getting direct answers to her personal questions but she certainly seemed to like to keep asking them anyways in between her yammering about the vault she grew up in and novels she had read and anything else that crossed her mind. In truth, he rather liked listening to her yap away, even if he wasn’t directly engaging with the stream of babble. It was nearly comforting, like the low drone of a ceiling fan in the trailer he’d use in between takes during more complicated times, pre-bomb drop. Even now, she sat on the dirt about a foot away from him, prattling on as if they were old friends.

Either way, this time she turned to him, cheerfully asked him what his actual name was anyways and Cooper answered honestly. He knew there was a chance that Lucy may have seen his movies but he wasn’t expecting her to squeal and start rambling on about wow, she couldn’t believe that he was THE Cooper Howard. How she had seen every film he had ever starred in, how she was the biggest fan of his back in her vault, how she had irritated her family for a streak of months in her teens when she insisted on only watching his films-

He shouldn’t have been that surprised by this, Cooper mused with a long, resigned sigh as he watched Lucy talk animatedly. Barb was the closest thing he had to an agent back in the halcyon movie star days and he wouldn’t be shocked if she had made some sort of deal that included his whole damn filmography getting thrown into the vaults when he signed on to endorse Vault-Tec in the first place. Maybe most vault-rats were growing up as huge Cooper Howard fans, indoctrinated on his flicks as well as their idealistic ways of life and he had no idea until now.

Suddenly, he felt very grateful for his face looking so different these days so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting recognized and fawned over by any possible Vault-dweller turned surfacer in the future. It seemed like the sort of thing that would be more grating than helpful for survival out here in the wastes.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lucy suddenly pausing mid-sentence to scrabble at the zipper on her patched and battered vault suit, yanking it down even past the lines of her undershirt as she jumped up to stand. Cooper yelped before he could stop himself, eyes going wide at the unexpected move, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, woman?”

Lucy blinked those big old peepers at him as if he was the one acting crazy, continuing to shuck off her vault jumpsuit until it hung down around her hips. Slowly, she explained in a way that didn’t explain anything whatsoever, “I wanted to show you something that proved I was a big fan of your movies?”

Her petite fingers pulled up her grimy tank top and Cooper started sputtering in horror, sure that somehow she had arrived at the awful idea to flash him or get her tits out like some kind of crazed groupie. Yes, okay, she was a looker and who wouldn’t fuck their hand while thinking about her on long nights during their turn at watching out for errant deathclaws and other hazards? But he sure as shit didn’t want any moves made to be on account of his celebrity status from two hundred odd years ago.

However, his momentary panic was for nothing as her yanking up of the fabric ended at her ribs. Then, her pants were pulled slightly down and… what was that on her side?

“There!” Lucy crowed triumphantly, as if she was settling a one-sided argument that Cooper wasn’t even aware that they were having. “I told you that I loved your films!”

Almost against his better judgment, Cooper scooted closer to look at what she was showing him more clearly. Fuck, was that a tattoo?

Emblazoned against the creamy expanse of skin above her hip, there was the gun that his character wielded in “A Man and his Dog”. It was a pretty damn good likeness actually, impressive in the details right down to the tiny, nearly imperceptible star on the grip. Painstakingly careful detail poured into every line of ink. It stood out in what felt like dozens or more shades of grey and black. Unmistakably his revolver, right there, permanently affixed to her until the end of time.

“Fuckin’ A, where the hell did you even get something like this done? I’d think this would be frowned upon in your cult,” Cooper breathed out, not able to resist reaching out and skating his hands over the tattoo in a manner that some might call reverent. Lucy didn’t seem to mind, her face expression still victorious and her soft flesh unflinching under his own rough fingers.

It felt as smooth as the rest of her surprisingly but he didn’t know enough about tattoos to know if that was how it was normally. Back in the day, you’d only see fellas that had done serious time with tattoos. It was very uncommon to see them at all, even in the military. And nowadays? Most tattoos seemed to be shitty, half-infected stick and poke jobs and he didn’t let anyone get close enough to him to find out how they’d feel texturally under his touch.

At least she had impeccable taste even if she didn’t have a lick of sense in her head half of the time. “A Man and his Dog” had been one of the few flicks he did that he actually enjoyed, especially since the director had allowed him to use his own dog.

God, he missed Roosevelt. One hell of a fine dog. He had been way better trained than Dogmeat, who kept running off and worrying them sick (even if Cooper never voiced it aloud besides declaring he hoped the mongrel didn’t fall into a well somewhere). Even now, they only knew the dog was alright since he dashed on ahead of them since they kept seeing his paw prints alongside the path as they kept trekking to the New Vegas strip.

Lucy was proudly talking on and on while he reminisced, elaborating about her brother finding some old book about the Great Khans hidden amongst their mother’s old things and how there had been a section on their tattoo techniques and she had always been a dab hand at art anyways-

Two things occurred to Cooper very quickly.

One of those thoughts being that him and Lucy were both permanently marked by the other in ways that they couldn’t easily erase. She had jabbed this likeness of his gun into this vulnerable spot above her hip, giving him ownership over this patch of her like someone laying foundation at a freshly purchased homestead, and it was all before she even knew him. He was as much a part of her as her pretty finger was woven into him now. Something more intimate feeling than anything he had ever known. Any man that had ever bedded her had likely seen this gun inked into her and had no idea that they’d never penetrate her, her sweet mind, so deeply that Lucy would sit there for what was likely hours and work a sharp needle into herself all for some kind of homage. It had to have hurt badly and yet she persevered until her tribute to him was done and done well.

The second thing that he realized was that he was harder than he could remember being in years. Here, on his knees before her in the dirt while their fire dully crackled behind his back, Cooper’s erect cock was dripping pre-cum against the front of his pants. His fingers were doing more than just investigating the tattoo now, massaging tender circles down and at her hips themselves.

Lucy was still obliviously talking on about proper tattoo care and about why a “Man and her Dog” was her favorite movie so Cooper patiently waited until she took a breath to chime in, even if he had only been half-listening through the lurid fantasies flashing through his brain about shoving her into the dirt and railing her like there was no tomorrow.

He murmured lowly, “I’m mighty surprised that a goody-two shoes like yourself would even do something like this. Seems a bit naughty for you, sweetheart.”

If Lucy had been paying attention, she might have noticed the molasses-slow and sweet way that Cooper drawled out ‘sweetheart’ was decidedly different from the more condescending way he usually said it to her. Or that he had started to pull down where her jumpsuit was folded over at her waist himself, centimeter by centimeter, until the elastic of her plain cotton panties was visible.

“Everyone has their own form of rebellion that they do to act out when they’re younger,” Lucy replied sheepishly, cheeks reddening at the memory as if embarrassed. “Still, I made sure that my dad never found out or saw it since I was so afraid he would be disappointed in me.”

Oh ho, if that wasn’t a delicious morsel of information on top of an already spectacular heap of new information about his companion. Cooper couldn’t help the grin that crept across his chapped lips as he leaned forward slightly and dragged his tongue against the inked symbol of the man he used to be. Her skin tasted like salt but based on how she twitched, gasping… He would lap away every drop of sweat off of her body if it meant she would keep reacting like that.

“Cooper? What are you doing?” The vaultie asked carefully, her eyes wide and luminous even now. Even with her doe-like appearance, she didn’t seem ready to bolt though. There was a shaky need in the way that she held herself that matched the lust running through his system hotter than a hit of Jet.

And fuck, didn’t his name sound right rolling off of her tongue like that?

Cooper hummed as if considering his answer, undoing her clothing further so her silly uniform fell down past her knees. Deftly, he helped work off her boots and followed it up with letting the jumpsuit fall into the dirt. Lucy lifted her leg to help him each time he needed her to, showing her willingness with each step even as she waited for him to speak. Even standing there in just her tank top and simple underwear, she looked good enough to eat.

He rasped out, “Well, you see, sweetie… you tell a man that you have a whole fuckin’ tattoo for him and he might want to fuck you so full of him that you drip his cum for days afterwards. You got a problem with that?”

She didn’t react with shock or outrage the way that some people might assume sweet little bunnies like her might but Cooper knew her better than that. He knew there would be a flare of hot interest in her eyes before he even glanced up and met them. Lucy didn’t seem to shy away from sex or sexual topics and besides, hadn’t the two of them been dancing around each other for long enough?

Lucy shook her head emphatically, assuring him, “No, I don’t have a problem with it. I have been wanting to have sex with you for weeks! I only didn’t ask because you didn’t seem to show any interest!”

The ghoul could argue that he had shown plenty of interest, in his own way. He didn’t moon after her but he listened to her talk, he didn’t threaten her any more… hell, the fact that he had asked Lucy to come along with him on this journey to hunt down her father and get some answers together was sign enough that maybe he liked her more than merely platonically. He wouldn’t split hairs though and debate the issue now.

Instead, he impatiently pulled Lucy forward until her knees hit the ground with a puff of dust and an exclamation of surprise. Cooper rolled her underneath him and slammed his mouth against hers, all hungry ferocity and nipping teeth and his tongue seeking entrance against her lips. Lucy met his fervor in kind and then some, grinding herself against his thigh.

Cooper pulled back to regard her and catch his breath. With her laying back like this, her hair spread out behind her in dark waves, her lips pink and kiss-swollen, he wondered if he had ever seen anything as breathtakingly beautiful before. He hadn’t since the world went to hell, anyways.

“Does that spell out enough interest for you, Lucy MacLean?” He asked dryly, his fingers pausing her slow grind so he could pull off that flimsy cloth barrier between him and her waiting cunt. He didn’t miss the way that it seemed to cling to her core for a second before pulling free, strands of her clear arousal stretching between her flesh and panties for one shining moment before snapping.

Fuck, he needed to get a taste of that.

Lucy was responding in some fashion but Cooper was only half-listening again, shucking off his duster and haphazardly folding it into a squarish shape. He tucked the mass of leather underneath her shapely ass to angle her hips slightly upwards. It had been a long while since he had last eaten pussy, which was a crying shame since he did enjoy doing it back when he was a married man. Cooper remembered the mechanics of it though and besides, he really wanted to devour this cute vaultie cunt while he had the opportunity.

He dipped his head forward and his tongue made a wide sweep against her pussy lips, gathering up her arousal against his tongue. Lucy tasted better than he had imagined all of those times that he had jerked off thinking about her, spilling his seed onto the ground a few feet away from where she slept at night. Her tang coating his mouth and making a home there more sweetly than the aftertaste of a Nuka-cola cherry. Lucy was flailing a lot already so Cooper grabbed her thighs more firmly, holding them open so he could get his fill of her better.

Cooper worked his tongue into her sodden hole, increasing his ferocity when one of his hands slipped from her thigh and brushed near her hip. He was reminded of the tattoo. Her love letter to the man he was (but Cooper was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth these days and he’d still take it as a tribute to himself either way). The bony ridge by where his nose used to sit nudged against where her clit was hidden and that was enough for the poor girl to go over the edge, shrieking his name so loudly that he could hear it even over her soft thighs earmuffing his head. She must have been wound tighter than a stressed rubber band to cum so fast and so much, her release dripping down Cooper’s chin in a way that stoked his ego and made him want to make it happen again and again and again-

Lucy apparently had other ideas though because she clutched at his head hard enough to knock his hat clear off, pulling him up her body ferociously while her insistent fingers pulled at his belt, unbuckling it with a snap that nearly made him flinch.

“I want us to have sex right now,” She panted out, her eyes huge and pupils ready to swallow him up completely with how dilated they were. Lucy looked right at him, not turning away, truly seeing him under the startling headlights of her gaze. Cooper felt something pang in his chest and knew that he was truly and irrevocably fucked in how much of a hold this woman had on him already.

Still, he would have time for worrying about that later. Right now, he helped her in divesting him of his pants even as Cooper taunted her as if he wasn’t as desperate as she was in this moment, “Aw, sweet pea, someone’s impatient.”

“You love the sound of your own voice, don’t you, mister?” Lucy snarked back, making Cooper chuckle at the heat behind it. She fascinated him, there was no doubt about it. The way she could be the most naive and idealistic thing he had ever seen in his entire cursed existence one moment and removing someone’s head the next if it was necessary. Her spine was stronger than steel underneath all of that fluff and god alive, he loved to poke at it.

“I think you love the sound of my voice,” Cooper drawled as he pushed down his trousers, his cock bouncing free since he hadn’t worn underwear in some fifty-odd or more years. It was just as radiation roughened as the rest of him but still in perfect working condition, thank god. “You probably touched yourself every night back in your vault thinking about those dumbfuck movies I was in, if you liked them so damn much.”

Cooper didn’t give her time to respond before he was reaching out and rolling the frills of her clit underneath his fingertips, making her keen loudly and scrabble her nails at the dirt underneath her. She looked so fuckin’ good like this; cheeks pink and even pinker pussy flooding his hand. He should have had her like this weeks ago when they first started looking for that damn head.

He pushed up that undershirt of hers until it lay above her collarbones, admiring her soft and pert tits. Funny that he had balked away at the thought of her flashing him earlier. What an idiot that he had been, Cooper thought with amusement to himself as he ran his thumbs over her rosy nipples lightly. Lucy squirmed and gave him a warning look that seemed to demand that he get on with the main event so he relented with a chuckle, moving his hands away reluctantly.

He notched the thick tip of his cock head at her cunt, leisurely rubbing it between her cunt and watching his precum and her arousal mix together in a viscous combination that he wouldn’t mind licking off of her next time.

There had to be a next time, right? If not, Cooper would have to pull out all the stops to make sure there was. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that he’d get his fill of Lucy after only one time.

In any case, he started to push his cock into her, both of them groaning at how tight the fit was even as Cooper carefully took her inch by inch. Lucy’s hands moved to his shoulders instead of the ground as if trying to spur him on, clawing at him in a way that he could feel even through the layers of his coat and button-up shirt. When he finally sank into her down to the root, Lucy whined his name and it sent an electric thrill up his spine in a way that the ghoul hadn’t felt in years. It was the hottest noise he had ever heard and he would do whatever it took to have her make it over and over.

“Feel like you’re made for me,” Cooper murmured, eyes trained on how his dick slid into her, how the veins on his shaft came away shiny and dripping with every slip out of her. “But you’ve always been mine, ain’t that right? Running around your vault all those years and you had yourself marked as mine all that fuckin’ time.”

That line of thinking was still lodged deep in Cooper’s mind; even while she was fooling around with boys in that glorified underground bunker, she had been Cooper’s girl and just didn’t understand it yet. No one else had the same claim to her. She’d never fully be able to get rid of him or scrub him from her skin. Cooper was as much a part of Lucy as she was a part of him now, both figuratively and literally. The notion seemed to please him based on his cock being more erect and painfully hard than he had any right being.

“Cooper, please,” Lucy pleaded softly, making his eyes flick up to meet hers instead of continuing to watch his cock make her pussy flutter around him. There was something needy in her gaze and with the way her hot cunt kept clenching around his dick, Cooper realized with a jolt that she liked the possessive talk. That she was riding the same damn kink train that he was and that she wanted more. Maybe she liked the idea of belonging to anyone, not specifically him, but he was definitely going to take advantage of it either way.

Cooper started pistoning into her, his balls colliding with the cushion of her ass on every snap of his hips. Her inner walls pulled greedily at him like they didn’t want to let go and he found himself having to grit his teeth to make sure he didn’t cum too fast. Lucy’s gorgeous tits bounced on every plunge of his dick and he longed to capture one in his mouth to worry at her nipples until they were puffy and aching but he knew he’d orgasm the second he did so they’d have to remain neglected for now.

“You’re all mine, my girl, huh?” Cooper growled out, grabbing at her hips to yank her to meet him on every thrust. “Come on, sweetheart, show me how much you’ve wanted me. Be a good girl-“

Oh, that did it. Lucy’s pussy seized around his cock in a strangling vice grip as she whimpered, her release flooding over both of their thighs and his balls the next time that they swung close. Cooper knew he wasn’t far behind and while he badly wanted to cum inside of that pretty pussy so much that it would spill out of her, they only had a few pouches of Radaway with no idea when they’d find another trader that might have some on their person.

Besides, he had a better idea of where to cum right now.

A few more sloppy thrusts on his end to enjoy the lingering flutters of her cunt and then he pulled out, his hand closing around his soaked shaft with a tight fist. It was only a few jerky passes of his fingers before he was following her to orgasm, spurts of his translucent spend flowing out and landing exactly where he intended them to; painting the tattoo that Lucy had gotten in his honor all of those years before she had even met him. Cooper admired his handiwork for a long moment, at the effect of his cum dotting over the lines of ink, before he flopped down on the ground beside her and stared up at the night sky. His mind was blank with contentment for once.

You could see more stars nowadays than he could when he was younger.

Apparently Lucy wasn’t quite as quiet and relaxed as he was in this moment since her cheerful voice chirped up next to him, “So, you like the tattoo then?”

…At least he wasn’t bored any more and Cooper doubted that he would be for a long time after this.

[esperderek]

After my last post about the Screen Rant response to Jenny Nicholson's Galactic Starcruiser video, it was pointed out to me that Gizmodo's I09 division also put out an article defending Starcruiser. I'm not going to spend as long analyzing this one.

It's the usual you've already heard: people were confused that it wasn't just a hotel, how you had to put effort into it to get results back, that the staff and Imagineers worked real hard on it, there were people who liked it.

It's all the same defenses that clearly are hoping that you haven't watched the video, and probably they haven't either. Since, you know, the video basically dismantles all of those arguments one by one.

I will say it also attempts a slightly bafflingly progressive take on it, like saying stuff like:

"To many Star Wars fans who were able to check out Galactic Starcruiser during its short-lived existence, the attraction presented a chance to act on the frustration many share in their day to day lives of watching atrocities happen and feeling like there’s little we can do about them."

Which is pretty gross, right? Comparing 'going to a hotel on vacation' with 'fighting the good fight against the bad shit in the world'. I mean, especially when you consider one of the paths is joining with the fascists? Also it's owned by a billion-dollar corporation? Which even the article briefly points out...which is the point the article writer should of rethought their stance.

Now, more importantly, looking at the articles from Screen Rant and Gizmodo and I'm sure there's others, I'm sure people are wondering/thinking that Disney had a hand in this. And to be honest...

No, probably not. Well, not directly, at least.

Rather, these websites require access. Access to press releases, access to interviews, access to special events. So writing a puff piece defending Galactic Star Cruiser is a pretty safe bet to do, especially if you suspect that Disney is planning to still do something with the GSC. As has been pointed out, the building still remains intact, and a lot of the signage in the parks is still there. So if they reopen it as, say, a dining experience, then the website who wrote a puff piece defending the honor of the Halcyon is much more likely to be invited to opening night than Jenny Nicholson is.

Additionally, these days websites such as Screen Rant pay like crap, to the point where the only people willing to work on them are the true believers. It's like how game developers are some of the worst paid and most overworked dev teams, because the industry knows they can get true believers who want to Design Video Games in the doors.

So no, I doubt Disney is directly in anyone's ear about this. But rather, it's websites taking advantage of the situation to try and get into Daddy Disney's good graces. There are always useful idiots.

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite24 Entry #6: Halcyon

FFxivWrite 2024 Prompt #6: Halcyon It was a lazy summer day like any other in the Black Shroud, humid heat hanging heavy in the air outside the Covington manor, a marvel of tall, white marble and manicured gardens that stood in stark contrast to the wild woods surrounding it, either a bastion or a blight of mankind among the expanse of nature. Faye rested upon a bench outside her home, a half-emptied and forgotten cup of tea sat surely now cold beside her as she focused on her embroidery–or tried to, anyway. It was a quiet afternoon, only the birdsongs and the ambient buzzing of insects breaking the silence. That was, until Zularti had found a long, skinny stick and decided to pretend it was a spear. He paced around the garden, thrusting the stick this way and that, adding in sound effects and striking occasionally at a nearby tree, fighting off invisible foes. Faye did her best to tune him out, quite accustomed to his antics by now, and kept her focus on her needlework and the piece of fabric in her hands. Suddenly, however, her attention was stolen away as the boy suddenly exclaimed. “Guhhh! I’m so boooored!” He easily snapped the stick over his knee, tossing the two halves aside and wiping away the sweat that matted his dark auburn hair to his brow before he dramatically collapsed onto the grass. Faye heaved a sigh, giving up on her task and setting her embroidery hoop aside. “You could try doing something useful for once,” she offered helpfully. “You could try shutting up for once,” he muttered in a mockery of her own tone, squinting up at the sun bearing down on him from the cloudless sky. Perhaps she should have appreciated those days more, when life was simple and everything was peaceful, when all the horrors of the world were far away things that happened to other people and there was no cause for pain or want. But the truth was, she was bored, too.

[lilbittymonster]

Day 6: Halcyon

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It was approaching the fifth moon since Estinien had left. The original assignment was only supposed to last for three. Hardly any word from the contingent since they had passed the ruins of the Dusk Vigil had come into Ishgard, and Aymeric was beginning to worry. Even if it was not from Estinien himself, it was rare for this length of time to pass without hearing from one of the Temple Knights that accompanied him.

The box of letters sat before him on the floor. Closing his eyes, he reached into the jumbled pile of well worn envelopes and withdrew. The seal had long been broken, the edges worn soft with time. Delicately the letter within slid into his hand, and he unfolded it with care. The ink was only just starting to fade on the scrawling letters.

Aymeric,

I am beginning to think that the reported sightings of the Horde in the lowlands were fabricated. Nothing more dangerous than a hornbill has been encountered thus far. Most of our days have been spent idly milling about the woods. Someone had the bright idea to bring a deck of playing cards.

I’m sure the highlands are still frozen over, but winter is beginning to withdraw this far south, and spring has pushed her way from the soil. By the time this will reach you they may have faded some, but I would send you a small piece of joy to liven those dull stone walls of yours.

-E

Stains dotted the page from blossoms long since pressed between its folds. The flowers, of course, had dutifully been pressed in Estinien’s favourite book of poems, and preserved between two panes of glass and proudly displayed on a shelf. That is, until Aymeric had shoved the frame into a drawer in a fit of wine-fuelled bitter longing several years later.

Gone were the days when Estinien would spend his evenings resting his head in Aymeric’s lap upon returning to Ishgard. Gone were the days of waking up next to one another after another too-late night. The rare mornings when he was home and Estinien awake early enough to have breakfast together. The emptiness of the manor weighed on him more and more these days and Arienne could only do so much to ease that ache.

Aymeric closed his eyes once more, pressing the paper gently to his lips. In the privacy of his own bed chambers he would allow himself these small indulgences. And should the worst ever come to pass, as he feared in the back of his mind every time his friend left the Holy See, he would still always have these few cherished mementos.