#to have finished a chunk of the processing papers

[andromedasummer]

first day of work complete!!!!

[alexiroflife]

‘don’t ignore me’

“Across the Earth” Part 1: satoru gojo x reader

part 2 | part 3

Synopsis: you travel to NYC for spring break completely oblivious of satoru’s plan to follow you there

to sum it up: satoru does not take being avoided by you very well

WC: 12,731

The late afternoon glow of the setting sun milks the empty classroom through the row of glass windows touching the floor up to the ceiling. Most classes for the day have ended, and students scatter about the campus in search of food, study spaces, and each other’s company. It is no later than five pm, two days out from the university's suspension for spring break. 

The chaotic atmosphere of the large campus is finally subsiding after a month’s long hectic craze of last minute assessments and projects as people prepare for their much needed vacation from strenuous academics.  

Satoru Gojo and his best friends lounge peacefully inside their empty philosophy classroom, soaking in the rich rays of orange sun. A comfortable silence has settled over the group as Suguru works to finish an essay and Shoko toys with her lighter, flicking it open and closed repeatedly as she watches the small flame ignite and dwindle in her palm. 

Satoru, oddly quiet, has been tapping away at his phone, hunched over the back of a chair so that he is facing his friends who sit properly before him at desks. The three pay each other no mind, wrapped into their own dazes, when Satoru breaks the stillness and thrusts his phone into their faces.

The two stop, snapping up from their trances instantly, the glow of Satoru’s phone screen disrupting their concentration. Satoru says nothing, waving his phone back and forth tauntingly in order to keep their, what he assumes will be, short-lived attention.

They lean forward to examine what the device has to display and scrunch their noses as their eyes dart over words and pictures that stand out to them in clarification of what Satoru has done. 

Email confirmation. Seven day stay. Hamptons, New York, USA. 

Suguru looks up first, confusion and distrust swimming in his hazel eyes. Shoko puts her lighter down and takes Satoru’s phone from his hand gently next to peer down at the images of the extravagant, luxurious villa plastered all over Satoru’s phone with her own eyes. 

Satoru taps the back of his chair eagerly, eyes swapping between the brunette and the ravenette with an enthusiastic smile. “So? What do you think? You guys excited or what?”

Suguru crosses his arms atop his desk, leaning forward with eyes slim with suspicion as he tries to process what he has just seen. He places his pencil down next to his unfinished paper with the understanding that inquiring about whatever his best friend is planning will take a good chunk of time out of his work hour.

 “Satoru…” he begins tiredly, searching the snowy haired man’s jubilant expression for whatever true intentions lay beneath it, for there was always a reason why Satoru did the things he did. This applied especially to when his scheming led to greater absurdity, his actions as loud and ridiculous as the reasons he executed them. “Why did you rent out a villa in the Hamptons?”

Satoru shrugs. “The real question here, Suguru, is why not?” 

Shoko swipes her finger over the plethora of pictures Satoru’s email confirmation has to offer, brows jumping with subtle interest with each snapshot. “You want to go… to America?” she poses softly in a mumble, eyes glued to the phone.

“Ah, no. Correction: we are going to America! As a group!” Satoru exclaimed, leaning back with outstretched arms. “For spring break! Aren’t you guys excited?” 

Shoko finally looks up again, meeting Satoru’s eyes blankly, while Suguru rubs his forehead in exasperation. “And why would we be doing that?” 

“Well, because the first class round trip tickets are booked, and so is our stay, which you’re looking at right now,” the blue eyed man explains as though telling his friends two days before break that he paid for their expenses to travel across the world is completely justified and, far worse, normal. He leans over to point at the dates listed below the email confirmation on his phone, guiding his friends’ eyes to his finger. “See? Our stay starts Saturday, so we have to leave tomorrow.”

Suguru’s lips part in shock, eyes widening. “Wh- tomorrow?”

“It’s a twelve hour flight and we’ll be jet-lagged. Gotta plan ahead.”

The black haired man thinks he can just about wring out Satoru’s neck when that sentence falls from his mouth, for everything he is suddenly presenting is hardly something that has been planned ahead. 

Shoko looks over to Suguru to see what he is thinking and finds the agitation mixed with sheer awe at Satoru’s audacity will likely lead into yet another argument between the two that she is forced to witness from nearby. 

“Satoru, please tell me you’re joking,” Suguru scoffs. “We can’t just up and hop on a plane to America tomorrow- we have class, and none of us are packed for a week’s trip in a completely different country,” he reasons. “And America? Why the hell would you want to go there of all places?”

“Yeah, why not the beach?” Shoko chimes in monotonously, handing over Satoru’s phone to its owner. “There’s so many other options outside of the country. Like Bali, Greece, the Bahamas-”

“Or staying home and not springing a full trip out of nowhere onto your friends a day in advance?” Suguru interjects.

Satoru takes his phone back and pouts. “The Hamptons is on a beach, you guys. Didn’t you see the pictures? Our villa is like two seconds from the water,” he says. “Besides, who’s never wanted to go to the U.S.? Don’t you think it’ll be fun?”

“No, I don’t,” Suguru deadpans. “The Hamptons is in New York, Satoru. Don’t you know what New York is like? It’s disgusting.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever been,” Satoru pokes out his tongue. “And what you’re thinking of is New York City. Where we’re staying is two hours away,” Satoru corrects. “It’s perfect. We can spend most of our time lounging in our big house and on the beach, and whenever we feel like it, we can drive down to the city to explore! It’ll be good to get a change of pace for us to embrace tourism.”

“I’m not going into that city,” Suguru frowns, and Satoru sighs loudly.

“Don’t be so reclusive, Suguru. You may like it.”

“I won’t.”

“Have a little faith!” Satoru groans, eyes peering dramatically over the frames of his round glasses. “We’re juniors. We shouldn’t just sit around at home all break doing nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Satoru.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t like America,” Satoru waves his hand. “But you’ll get over it once you actually get there.”

“Do you think they’ll be friendly?” Shoko asks, lifting her chin in thought. It’s clear that she is already mentally preparing to indulge Satoru by going on this trip, for she had nothing better to do than to spend it away with her friends. After all, there are worse fates than shacking up in an outrageously expensive villa in the states. 

“Who, Americans or New Yorkers?” Satoru questions. “Either way, no, not at all,” he concludes, answering his own question. “But it’ll still be fun!”

Shoko shrugs, leaning back into her chair and propping her feet atop her desk. “As long as there’s water and food, I’m set.”

Satoru grins. “See? Look at that, Suguru, Shoko’s on board. So stop complaining and just go with the flow.”

Suguru clenches his jaw, astonished by the things he is hearing. He does not understand it. Not one bit. Satoru, though constantly flaunting his privilege to travel around, has never expressed direct interest in going to America. While he has toyed with the idea playfully in the past, Suguru had never taken his comments seriously because, to be perfectly frank, who would?

He knows something was up by the glint in Satoru’s eyes alone. Suguru knows his best friend very well, like the back of his hand, and knows entirely too well when there is an alternate angle to his seemingly random madness. After all, Suguru always found himself directly in the center of his spontaneous proposals. 

Therefore, when Suguru’s glare on Satoru hardens as if he is trying to physically see past his thick skull and into his mind’s contents, and Satoru stares back with a frozen smile, he knows that his gut instinct is correct. “What are you up to?” the hazel eyed man asks, furrowing his brows. 

Satoru’s smile stretches but does not quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking,” he replies coolly. “I simply want to treat my friends to a nice vacation. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes, it is.”

The albino slumps, rolling his chin over the rim of his seat grumpily. “You think so little of me, Suguru.”

“If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t if I didn’t know you so well.”

Satoru’s bottom lip juts out and brows angle as he ponders the comment. “I’m not sure I know how to respond to that one.”

“Just cut the bullshit, okay?” Geto shifts in his seat, raising a brow at his sulking buffoon of a friend. “You’ve always got a reason for doing something, and this is no exception. So spill.”

Gojo’s eyes wander beneath his dim lenses, bouncing over every object of the room as his playfulness diminishes with Suguru’s accusation. “God, when did you get that stick shoved up your ass?”

“Since I’m twenty-one with a future career to think about. And so are you,” Suguru bites. “Stop stalling. Out with it.”

Satoru exhales again, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you. I hate to disappoint, but I’m only doing this out of the kindness of my heart and my hunger for exploration. You should be ashamed, throwing around these accusations and insinuating that there’s something more I want other than to have a once in a lifetime experience with the people I hold dearest to my heart-”

“You think, maybe, this has something to do with (Y/n) mentioning that she was going to New York for spring break the other day?” Shoko jumps in, her words droning on as if she were bored and her attention now elsewhere on her own phone, but her presented notion striking realization and dismay in the boys beside her.

Suguru’s eye twitches as everything pieces together in his mind. It was you. How hadn’t he understood sooner?

Satoru had taken a particular interest in you ever since freshman year orientation. 

While he, Shoko, and Suguru entered university having known each other all throughout high school, you were the new addition into their lives that Satoru had been rather insistent upon acquiring. 

It started with the freshman presentation in the auditorium. You happened to sit next to Suguru at the end of the row while Satoru sat on his other side and Shoko on his. You caught the blue eyed man’s eye immediately without even having to speak. But when you did, it was not to him but to Geto, leaning over and asking quietly if he knew where one of the dorm rooms was located, for you had yet to adjust to the size of the campus.

Satoru watched intensely out of the corner of his eye as Geto explained to you that he lived in the same building and would gladly show you around after the presentation. You thanked him kindly, a sweet smile rising to your face to match the charm in your light tone. Satoru nudged his friend harshly in the side when you turned away, ignoring the glare he tossed into his direction and leaning to whisper that he thought you were hot. 

Geto was quick to shove him away and hiss a warning, for he didn’t want Satoru scaring you off just after he made your acquaintance. Nevertheless, Satoru was determined from then on to learn who you were. And learned, he had.

You were attending University to study art and history, your hometown about five hours away from the campus by car. You were an only child, but came from an incredibly academically pressured environment. You were an honors student, here on scholarship, and you were so very talented. Your parents had wanted you to pursue something more practical, something that would show for the hours of mathematics and science practices that had been forced onto you while you were in high school, but the strenuous impact of high expectations and terribly little breathing room had pushed you into a different direction. 

You adored learning. You had a skill for it. You liked understanding the lens through which history has been told, how artists have come to detail the past, how history takes a hand in not only your daily society but the way in which daily society remembers it through art. You wanted to travel, to create, to fill your head with knowledge of past and present worlds, and though you could have been anything, this school and this path was what you chose. 

Your parents, of course, had not approved, so you were forced to work for your position at the university because they refused to fund you financially. You applied to numerous scholarship applications until you were accepted by over three, wrote hundreds of drafted college essays that eventually crafted your best piece of writing yet, and worked two jobs during school and the summer whilst simultaneously maintaining straight As. You worked damn hard, and all of that work had led you to where you were today.

You had only mentioned about a quarter of that information to the friend group as they led you to the co-ed dorms that they coincidentally all resided in and asked you questions to get to know you, but Satoru had learned the rest over the months and years. 

Despite Suguru’s warning for Satoru to back off, he did just the opposite and crowded your space as the four of you walked to the dorms after orientation. He was chatty, buzzing with an aura of privilege that you just could not seem to acclimate yourself to, at least not at first. Even so, Satoru was quick to welcome you into the group, inviting you to lunches and over to his shared room with Suguru within the span of barely two days. You were overwhelmed, to say the least, but grateful to have made friends so quickly. 

Satoru found himself intruding into your life just as he did with anyone else. No matter where you went, he had always found a way to turn up unexpectedly. Sometimes, he was alone, and other times, he was with Suguru or Shoko or both. 

As time went by, Satoru knew that he had gotten on your nerves the more comfortable you became. Gojo had blinked, and you went from a timid, kind stranger to the loud, bubbly, brazen woman you are today, who told him to leave you alone when you were trying to study and he was buzzing around your room like a nagging fly, and man, did he adore it. He adored your attention, whether it was positive or negative. He adored how your reactions to his lack of personal space proved that you were acutely aware of his presence, of his space, of his body near yours. He adored how, though you considered yourself to be friends with all three of them, he remained the only one that you would constantly bicker back and forth with when he did something to agitate you. 

He adored everything about his interactions with you, for half the time they were the only thing motivating him to trudge out of bed and take on the day.

You, on the other hand, had very different opinions of Satoru Gojo. The first time he spoke to you, he reeked of privilege and presented himself as a position in such subconsciously. He was the stark opposite of you, having been handed a place in school, a legacy, an estate, and money that could last him, his children, his children’s children, and so on, for centuries to come. He was in a clear position of power, holding his head high and strutting about campus as if he owned the place. 

Your first impression of him was that he was an arrogant, pompous brat.

As you got to know him, Suguru, and Shoko better, however, your disinterest in him faltered and you truly did begin to view him as a friend and as someone you loved spending time with. Though he was still spoiled as all hell, he was funny, he was intelligent, he was smart, and he was hardworking when he wanted to be. He wasn’t a bad guy at all though he was preposterously clingy and bothersome, but in an endearing, playful kind of way.

Nevertheless, Satoru Gojo would always be someone who viewed himself as above you. Someone who toyed with you for fun, who said and did things solely to get a rise out of you, who flirted with practically the entire population of girls on the campus, and who found it funny when professors berated him because they were just too “uptight.” Satoru was a brat, through and through, and you knew that he’d only hover around you if it served well for his entertainment. 

This fact hadn’t bothered you before because you thought you understood the dynamic that Satoru had built with you and with many others, but when you started feeling pangs in your chest when he grinned at you or envy bubbling in your gut when another girl approached him to ask for his number, your stomach sank with fear because you knew that your feelings were shifting against your better judgment. 

Consequently, you began distancing yourself from Satoru as best as you possibly could. Your texts went from all caps to lowercase as your tone dried, you stopped by his apartment with Suguru less throughout the week, and when he tracked you down, throwing an arm around you and asking what you were doing for the night, you would tell him you were busy studying with people who didn’t exist. 

It hurt you to behave in such a way, for you could tell that Suguru and Shoko were beginning to notice not only your shift in demeanor, but Satoru’s obsessive panic over why you were talking to him less. You tried to keep your friendships with the two separate from your feelings for Gojo, but the task proved quite impossible due to how attached the three of them were to each other. No matter how far you tried to pull away subtly, Satoru was there. Everywhere. 

This is what led you to decide that a trip out of the country would do you some good. You had always wanted to go abroad and your professor had presented an opportunity to you in New York to do research with a colleague on a selection of artifacts presented in the MET gallery. You scraped up the money for a ticket and an AirBnB in SoHo, along with the generous help of your university’s study abroad funding, and set the date. You had mentioned that you were going away to Shoko a few nights ago over the phone, but were unaware that your voice was on speaker as Shoko got ready for the bar with Suguru and Satoru catching wind of your brief conversation in the background. 

Gojo must have seen the opportunity to catch up with you, and snatched it.

Suguru groans, rubbing his hands over his face as he takes it all in. The only reason Satoru is so set on this trip is because he will be hijacking yours.

Satoru rolls his eyes, sitting back up and crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest, displeased with the general reaction to Shoko’s observation. “Like it’s a crime to be in the same place as her for spring break. That could be purely coincidental,” he tsks, casting his gaze to the ceiling.

“Satoru, oh my god,” Suguru grumbles.

“What?! It’s not a big deal! We’ll be two hours away from her and we can hypothetically visit her in the city if we decide to one day.”

“Are you seriously staking this entire trip on the chance of seeing (Y/n)? Satoru, I’m pretty sure she’s not staying home for a reason.”

“Duh, because she has a research thing.”

“No- I mean, she’s trying to get some space,” he urges. “From us.”

The notion does not sit well in Satoru’s chest, so he decides to ignore it. “Impossible. She loves us.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I also can tell that she’s been distant and wants a break. A break… far away,” Suguru emphasizes the last few words with earnest. “Come on, you had to have noticed too.”

Had he noticed? 

It’s all Satoru can think about, day in and day out. He looks at your text messages, reading back over your loud responses from months ago that have resorted to short words with periods, and at times nothing at all. He wonders why you don’t visit him often anymore, why you blow him off every single time he tries to hang out, and his heart hurts at the thoughts.

He doesn’t know what he has done wrong or if he has upset you in any way. For a moment, he thought it was a mutual distance that you were putting between all three of you, but the night you had called Shoko telling her about your trip and not him really put things into perspective. You were avoiding him. Not Suguru, not Shoko, but him, and he has no way of knowing why or how he could fix it. 

He misses you, and he’s not ready for you to decide that you want nothing to do with him anymore, so he’s following you, chasing after the chance that perhaps there is something he can do to make you laugh with him, smile at him, whack the back of his head again like you used to. 

“I don���t know, Suguru… maybe it’s you she’s trying to distance herself from,” Satoru hisses through his teeth, purposely deflecting blame from him as a coping mechanism. “I mean, after all, you do get in a crabby mood after certain classes. You probably said something mean to her one day and didn’t realize.”

“Shut up, you idiot, we both know that didn’t happen,” Suguru denies confidently, for he knows exactly why you have been stepping away. 

He has seen it in your eyes when you look at Satoru, the way you unintentionally cast annoyed glances Suguru and Shoko’s way when the four of you are out and Gojo is stopped by an enamored pretty girl, looking to drag him home with her. 

He sees the love all too well, in the both of you. He and Shoko both do, but they can not for the life of them understand how the two of you have been so blind to it. If you had opened your eyes for one second to see the reason why Satoru would wake up every morning to text you random, insignificant thoughts or followed you around like a lost puppy, you wouldn’t have been distancing yourself the way you are now. 

Nevertheless, Suguru supposes he understands. Satoru can be a lot to handle, and when you are trying to look up at him from the bottom of the pedestal that the world has placed him upon, it is terribly difficult to meet him eye level and see the truth in his gaze. 

“You need to be honest with yourself,” the black haired man proceeds. “And you can’t just intrude on (Y/n)’s privacy because you want to. It’s not fair to her.”

“What do you know about what she wants,” Satoru mumbles bitterly under his breath, turning to look outside the window in hopes of the scenery outdoors drifting him away from this enclosed conversation. 

Suguru shakes his head to himself, watching as Suguru pouts. “She’s not just your friend. She’s a friend to all of us,” he says, voice growing softer as he knows this is a sensitive topic. “Yes, it’s sad that we don’t see her as much anymore, but you have to respect her wishes. We shouldn’t go on this trip. Not if it’s to see her.”

Satoru is stubborn. Incredibly stubborn. He was raised receiving everything he asked for and more, therefore, he did not understand the concept of not doing something if he wanted to do it. And of course, when it comes to you, Satoru is willing to challenge all barriers in order to get to you. 

So he shakes his head in retort and allows a smile to return to his face. “Even if I were bringing us to America for her, which I’m not, the trip is already fully booked and paid for,” he grins, and Suguru feels the color drain from his face. Shoko chuckles quietly to herself in amusement, all too familiar with the shenanigans that Satoru pulls. Only she finds it far funnier and less agitating than Suguru. “So either way, we’re going. No ifs, ands, or buts. And as a matter of fact, I'm feeling extra touristy this year. I say we hit the MET while we’re in New York too. You know what they say… when in Rome,” Satoru nods, entirely too satisfied with himself. 

Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, reluctantly accepting his fate. “I hate you.”

“Tell me about it,” the white haired man smirks.

“Even so,” Suguru starts, picking up his pencil once more in a half-attempt to conclude his closing paragraph. “We still have class tomorrow. Don’t we, Shoko?”

The said brunette hums. “True, but we’re not really going, are we? It’s the last day before break. No one will be there.”

Satoru stands abruptly, rekindled pride bursting in his chest. “Exactly. You’re gonna have to skip class just this once, Suguru. We’ve got a flight to catch,” he grins and Suguru grips his pencil so hard it almost snaps.

_______________________________

You huff as you slam your suitcase onto the hard floor of your temporary residence for the next week. The door shuts gently behind you, and you are finally gifted your first moments of isolated peace within your room. You step around your bag, exploring the space excitedly. You’re exhausted from your flight, more exhausted than you believed a person could be, but the spark of thrill buzzing in your body from making it overseas after a long journey is fresh in your mind. 

The space is far bigger than you thought after having been told of horror stories about New York’s cramped style of living. You have a cute kitchen that connects directly to your living space, which leads to a small balcony that overlooks the bustling streets and crowded stores of SoHo, New York. You see the corner that rounds to your bedroom and bathroom with a full shower, but rush to the balcony first. You throw the door open and step out, the muffled sounds of the city instantly hitting your ears with crisp clarity. You are seven floors up, looking down with wide eyes and a large smile, taking in the smoggy air and rows of brick buildings. You think to yourself that it is absolutely perfect. 

And what is best of all is that there is no Satoru in sight, no reminder of the heavy weight that weighs on your chest each time he is near, no image of his perfect face and haunting blue eyes, or that messy hair white as a cloud, or those glossy lips that always curl into a sinister smile. 

No, none of that here. You are free of him, of this burden of love for the next week, and you feel you can finally breathe. 

You settle in, unpacking your things and tucking your clothes away in the drawers, claiming the sunlit space as your own. You have a meeting early tomorrow morning with your professor’s research colleague at Central Park before heading into the museum, so you figure you could take the rest of the day to grab some food and rest, far too tired to explore a good chunk of the city due to the flight.

You go to sleep peacefully that night, the view of the city and busy noise surprisingly calming you into your slumber. Unbeknownst to you, however, while you drift off into a dreamless sleep, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko are lugging their bags through the East Hampton airport.

-

You’re up bright and early the next morning. The first thing you do is check your phone subconsciously for messages from Satoru before recalling that your once steady text communication had come to a slow halt because of you, and that you two are in separate parts of the world. You pause, heart panging suddenly at the thought of Satoru, before shaking your head and pushing the thoughts away. This trip is not for you to sit around and think about that moron. You have work to do, sights to see, research to accomplish- and a meeting in an hour.

You rush out of your AirBnB after a half an hour, waving your hand aggressively on the sidewalk to hail your first cab. One eventually comes along after three have passed, and you set your destination for the South Side of Central Park. You dig into the cash fare you set aside specifically for cab rides and step out into the path leading into the plethora of greenery and liveliness of the park upon arriving. 

You are instantly filled with childlike wonder when you catch sight of street performers, vendors, horse drawn carriages, and artists. You look around, teeth biting into your lip harshly to suppress your smile. Though it is early morning, it’s already loud and busy as people rush to work or take morning jogs down the street.

Your phone rings before you can wander off to where you are not supposed to be, and you see the name of the colleague you are supposed to meet pop up. You quickly answer and trek off into the park, following his directions and finding him sitting at a bench atop a large rock. 

He is much younger than you expected when you approach him. He may be a few years older than you are now, stubble shading his face and brown hair cut short. You smile when he catches your eye, and he’s standing, reaching out to shake your hand with a warm grin. 

The two of you talk about your education, your experience with art history, and the goal of the research you would be helping him accomplish for your professor back at home. The two of you walk and talk as you head to the east side of the park to reach the MET gallery. 

He, who you learn to be named Aoto, is a grad student in his mid twenties attending a school in the city, an alum to your current college. Aoto is helping your art history professor collect data on how certain artifacts on display in the MET gallery have been discovered and acquired over the years, and to categorize them by culture and country of origin. Your job is to assist by essentially organizing the data and taking note of his findings by following him around galleries, lectures, and meetings, and you can not be more excited to start.

You then ask the dark haired man about his experience in the city, curious to know what New York is like from an insider’s perspective. He almost laughs and tells you that living there has changed his life for the better. He admits that it takes some getting used to at first, but once you have spent enough time here, there’s no going back. New York is a melding pot, he tells you, where anyone can work toward anything. It is a tough city to attempt to conquer, but it rewards you with so many connections and experiences that you can not find anywhere else. 

You take his words to heart, already admittedly inspired by the atmosphere around you. It is nothing like home, so boisterous and hectic, but lively, eclectic, and artful. It intrigues you.

You're snapping pictures left and right when you reach the MET, a wide, tan building with large banners cascading over the walls, advertising wonderful areas of exploration and collections within the museum. Aoto, far more casual than your professor had led on, chuckles at your excitement and offers to take pictures of you in front of the building with your camera. The two of you are standing on the steps of the museum for at least fifteen minutes, distracted by capturing images on your phone, before trekking inside.

And inside, your heart bursts as this building is where you are meant to be. Ancient Greek sculptures, fragments of middle eastern fabrics, plates collected from the Byzantine Era, works capturing prominent artists of the Harlem Renaissance, and more captivate your eyes, your heart, and your mind; the museum is a melding pot of history, new worlds different from the last lurking around each corner. You jump between signs, unsure of where to go next as you take it all in. 

Today, Aoto spends by giving you a tour and familiarizing you with the environment. He works there part-time with a membership and is able to give you an in-depth analysis of as many galleries as you can conquer within the few hours of time you have set for the day. 

When the tour concludes, he gives you a brief assignment to write down a list of the galleries you would be interested in focusing on for your short participation in his project as well as what you observed about certain artifacts that are on display. It isn’t much, but he wants to get your mind pumping with something before he puts you to real work throughout the rest of the week. You accept your task happily, moved by the pieces of history that you have already seen in the span of less than one day. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you find a nearby cafe and get to work, fixated completely on the works that have caught your eye in the museum. You type away the hours, jotting down observations, things that moved you, things that confused you, things you want to see. The sun is setting again before you even notice, and you get a buzz from your phone that brings you back up for air and concludes the dive into a rabbit hole that you have traveled through for a good chunk of the day. 

Aoto’s name pops up again, this time in a text. 

Dinner? I can show you a good spot near where you’re staying. We can talk work : )

You don’t see any reason for you not to accept, so you text back and agree. He sends an address instantly, and you’re packing your laptop and rushing out of the cafe to hail a taxi to head back to your place and put away your belongings before walking to your destination. 

You conclude that this is a nice change in pace from the constant harassment of Satoru as you sit across from your research partner at a bar and grill down the block from where you’re staying. It’s casual and friendly, refreshing, new. 

You talk about tomorrow's plans, your interest in the Arms and Armor gallery and the Islamic artifacts that you have analyzed earlier in the day. You also discuss your observation of missing fragments of Syrian tile or the preservation of torn carpet from centuries past. Many of the artifacts kept in the MET are still missing parts of itself that may likely never be recovered.

Once you finish discussing the day, Aoto tells you that tomorrow, you’ll be meeting up with him and a historian who will walk you through the findings of the Islamic Art collection. 

It is late when the two of you finish up. You step outside of the dim restaurant onto the sidewalk and into the cool air, facing each other to kindly bid farewell until the following day.

You smile to yourself as he walks away, heart fulfilled with the promise of a new week abundant with all the things you find joy in doing. You think to yourself that you are so very lucky to have been granted this opportunity, to travel, to learn, to experience, and that your spring break will be absolutely amazing. You grow excited even at the prospect of telling Shoko and Suguru about it when you return home.

You turn over your shoulder and prepare to walk home, eyes to the dark sky above before you lower them to look ahead…

And your face drops.

You squint, stopping dead in your tracks. Are you dreaming? Hallucinating? You must be, because there is no reality in which your eyes have caught a glimpse of that porcelain glow of silky hair in the midst of people walking by.

You scrunch your brows, a sudden aggressive sense of anxiety taking over you. Your heartbeat rises, the notion alone of seeing what you think you see makes your palms run cold with sweat and your body hot all over. No, you must be seeing things. Your mind is playing tricks on you, because there is no way in all hell that you just saw Satoru Gojo on the streets of SoHo, New York.

But then a path clears when people scatter to the sides, revealing two tall figures and a shorter  one ahead, and your jaw hangs wide open.

You have got to be fucking kidding. 

You wish someone was, that a prank is being played on you in poor taste, but your eyes have unfortunately not mistaken you. You could recognize your three friends anywhere. You watch in awe as Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, and Shoko Leiri saunter their way up the sidewalk into your direction. 

Satoru is looking around him with a childlike smile, flashing pictures of random people and alleys that hold no significance. He busies himself with the exaggerated pictures, looking everywhere but ahead of him, which tells you that he knows full well that you are standing nearby. 

Shoko stands behind him on his left with a cigarette propped between her lips, looking off across the street at an ice cream shop that catches her eye, and Suguru looks the most miserable of them all. Clad in dark, baggy sweats, he slumps on Satoru’s right, glaring in judgment at the people that brush by him, too close for his taste.

You don’t know what to say or do. You have half the mind to just turn around and walk off into a different direction, but Satoru’s eyes meet yours behind those damned glasses that he never took off of his face before you can even think about it 

He lowers his phone and parts his lips in feigned shock, cupping a hand over his forehead and leaning over to catch a better glimpse. He opens his arms wide upon detecting your face and his posture straightens. 

“(Y/n)! What a surprise, is that you?!”

His voice carries, turning heads as his tall form practically skips over to you and glomps you in a hug. You grunt, eyes wide and body frozen as the feeling of his body embracing yours fails to register very quickly. You stare off through wisps of white hair, tormented confusion written all over your face. Satoru is rocking your body side to side suddenly, acting as though you have not seen him in years, and for the blue eyed man, it may feel like just that. 

“It’s so good to see you!” he sings, pulling back with his large hands gripping your shoulders. You look up at him with a blank stare as he beams, pearly whites shining and fair skin tinged with a hint of pink on his cheeks. He chuckles when he looks at your expression, the bubbly sound making your head spin on your neck. “You look so shocked! Did you miss me?” he asks smugly, voice dipping lower as he leans his head in with a smirk.

You're speechless, stunned by his presence and distracted by his gut wrenching beauty. 

How the hell is he here? 

“Wh-” you stammer. “How- why are you-?”

“Why am I here?” he asks your unfinished question for you, and you nod stiffly. “Wanted to do some sight seeing for spring break, and I heard New York is great for tourists,” he grins, whipping out his phone camera once more to swiftly rush to your side and wrap an arm over your shoulders and snap a selfie of the two of you. You blink, the motion too quick for you to keep up with. Satoru steps back and looks down at his screen with a smile. “Aww, how cute! This one’s a keeper, for sure.”

A tinge of irritation captures you in the midst of your stupor when Satoru makes the picture of him smiling happily next to your ‘deer-in-headlights’ expression his new lockscreen. He’s messing with you, just as he always does, and for a moment you ponder whether this is truly a coincidence meeting him here or not. 

Suguru and Shoko slowly make their way over to the two of you. “Oh, guys! Look who I ran into,” Gojo gestures proudly to you. “Isn’t that funny?”

His friends do not look in the least bit surprised. When Suguru’s eyes swipe over you apologetically then back to Satoru with lingering annoyance, your suspicions are confirmed within seconds. “So funny,” Geto smiles tightly.

Despite his blatant displeasure in being here, Suguru is quick to mask his irritation and make his way over to you to hug you in greeting. “Sorry about this,” he murmurs to you before pulling away, and you’re reeling, overwhelmed. 

Shoko comes to you next with a soft smile, eyes lighting as she nudges your shoulder playfully. “Long time no see, huh? 

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, flashing her a quick smile before glowering angrily up at Satoru. “What are the odds that we all find each other in America?” you hiss. 

“I know, right?” Satory shakes his head as if marveling at a joke. “The universe has a funny way of bringing us all together.”

Your eye twitches and your cheeks burn. You’re flustered, having been caught off guard by the one person you were trying your hardest to get away from. Now he’s here, after following you around in your heart, mind, and back home on campus, he has followed you overseas into another continent. 

You can’t escape him.

“So what are you up to? It’s dangerous to walk out here at night alone,” he says.

God, he is so insufferable. The very sound of his voice makes you want to slap him across the face in hopes that it will buffer whatever simulation you have been plopped into that has forced you to face Satoru Gojo of all people.

“Have you started your research yet?” Shoko inquires.

“Um… yeah, I got started with some stuff today. I actually just finished meeting with my research partner…”

“Oh, you were with someone then?” Satoru asks, pretending not to care. You can tell simply by the way he shoves his hands into his pockets and lifts his brows as though clueless. One thing you have learned about Satoru over the years is that his vision is eerily impressive and he observes things from miles away. In fact, he brags about his keen observational skills all the time, therefore, if he was able to see you from afar, he would have been able to see Aoto bid you farewell and walk away too.

“She just said she was with her research partner, Satoru,” Suguru adds, voice monotone. 

“I know, but I didn’t see any woman near (Y/n) before I saw her.”

You clench your jaw. “It’s a he,” you clarify flatly, eyes sharp on his face.

He nods slowly. “Ohhh, really now?” he hums, and you fight the urge to strangle him. “That’s interesting. Cool, good for you.”

“I’m sorry- what- I mean, how are you guys even here?” you change the subject to get clarification. “I didn’t think any of you were traveling for break. Shoko, you just told me the other night that you would be home.”

You don’t miss the exhale that Suguru breathes and the way Shoko’s eyes dart instantly to Gojo. “That’s a great question,” Suguru says. “Why don’t you ask Satoru? He’s the one who wanted to travel so bad.”

Satoru looks over at his best friend out of the corner of his eye, eyes hard as if warning him not to give him away. 

“Is that so?”

“You know me, (Y/n),” he turns to you giddily. “I love to go outside the box.”

“Clearly,” you bite, and he only grins that same stupid grin. You understand now. It was all his idea, as always. “So then, where are you guys staying? Here in the city?”

“Actually, no,” Suguru grumbles.

“Satoru’s rented a place up in the Hamptons.”

“The Hamptons?” you reel at Shoko’s revelation. “That’s a two hour drive from here!”

“We know,” she and Suguru say in unison, and you look at Satoru accusingly.

“Why would you make that drive at this time of night?”

The white haired man rolls his eyes. “As if it’s so crazy to want to rent a car to drive down to the city.”

“On our first full day on vacation, yes. It is,” Suguru says.

“Well, I wanted to see Times Square.”

“Times Square is on the other side of the city.”

“Okay, and? We can’t make detours along the way?” Satoru argues sassily. “Plus, my decision to make a detour and stop in the closest neighborhood led us to our friend! You guys should really be thanking me for reuniting us all like this.”

You almost wish you can’t believe this, but sadly, you do. 

Satoru Gojo is the only person you know who has not only the means, but the funds, and the audacity to book a last minute trip to New York solely to disrupt your peace. You can tell by Suguru’s face that he is not keen on spending time in the city, for he had always told you about his pet peeve of large crowded areas with unsanitary conditions. New York is the last place he would want to be, and the only reason he would even find himself here is if his nuisance of a best friend forced him to be. 

While Shoko does not look bothered to be in the city at all, you know her very well. Shoko is low maintenance, but she likes to relax, to unwind, and she most likely much prefers the Hamptons and the beach over an impromptu drive into a city with no water or signs of relaxation.

And then there was Satoru, arrogant, hardly ever serious, and all too pleased with himself. He knows exactly what he is doing, showing up in the same part of the city you told your brown haired friend you would be residing in for the entirety of your stay. The pictures you have posted on social media hours ago likely led Satoru to this very spot, where he stands with an air of satisfaction and delight around him. 

You witness the way girls’ eyes linger as they walk by, his presence giving off that of a model’s. He clearly is not native to the city, for you all stand out like a sore thumb, but Satoru specifically gives off a vibe of untouchable refinement and value that not many have seen before. 

You hate him, how much attention he gets anywhere he goes, how he is so painfully aware of it. You hate how smug he looks, how pleased he appears to be in your presence after having shown up so unexpected. You hate him and those captivating round eyes complemented by snowy lashes glimpsing over round frames. You hate his irritating smile that prods into subtle indents of dimples in his lower chin and the stretch of pink lips that you catch yourself ogling at during the worst of times. You hate the way he dresses so well, how he stands confidently adorned in a loose, linen shirt and jeans, and how his clothing smells of him hand in hand with his intoxicating cologne.

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate how he won’t leave you alone, not even for a second, not even when you think you’re safe. He returns to haunt you, to flaunt himself all around you with no regard for how he makes you feel. He’s a brat. A spoiled, self-concerned, childish brat who you love with all of your being and you hate him. 

“Since we’re all here,” Satoru begins slyly, interrupting your train of thought with a shrug. “Why don’t you show us where you’re staying, (Y/n)? For old time’s sake.”

You try to regulate your breathing before you actually find yourself punching the white haired bastard beside you in the face. First, he springs himself onto you in the middle of the street, and now, he’s asking to intrude on your space. What gives him the right?

“I don’t think (Y/n) would want us marching into her space like that,” Suguru says pensively, doing his best not to further agitate you. He must have already seen the look on your face and determined that it is time for him to drag Satoru away from you and give you some breathing room. “After all, you’re working here, aren’t you (Y/n)? We wouldn’t want to distract you anymore than we already have.”

“Nah, (Y/n) would love to have us! Right?” Satoru speaks for you, moving behind you to cup your shoulders into his palms again.

You tense, his scent consuming you and his body heat radiating into yours. He’s so tall, you can feel his body dwarfing yours from where he stands so close. 

You want to kill him. 

“Come on,” he probes, grip on your shoulders tightening. “Just this once and we’ll be out of your hair.”

You know it's a lie the moment he speaks it into existence. Never once has Satoru come and gone so easily when you were involved. He always ensures to make a show of his pestering, sticking around you for as long as possible until he finally decides that he is happy with himself. You know that if you agree to letting him in, he won’t leave. At least, not for a long while. 

“Leave her be, Satoru,” Shoko waves at him. “She’s sick of your face already.”

“No one could be sick of my face, Shoko. It’s a work of art.”

“For real, Satoru. Let’s get out of this city already. It smells horrible,” Suguru adds.

“Hold on a minute, would you? We’re not going anywhere until we hear a yes or no from (Y/n).. Don’t be so impatient.”

Satoru happily places the spotlight onto you as your friends await a response.

Your first instinct is to tell them that it is getting late, that they should probably start heading back soon so that they are not driving past an unreasonable hour. You want to rid yourself of the thought of Gojo, of his eyes, his smile, his smell, his presence. You want to tell him off, to tell him that you want him gone, to go about your week as if nothing has happened.

You want to find the strength to do so badly, but you can’t.

As you stand there with your friends surrounding you, looking at their faces, you realize that you have missed them despite your desire to avoid Gojo for selfish reasons. You miss late night study sessions with Suguru in his apartment while you exchange laughs as well as answers for problems you were unsure about. You miss sneaking off into secluded areas of the campus to spark a flame in the dusk with Shoko, smoking until you were inebriated enough to bang on Suguru and Satoru’s door and demand food. And most of all, you miss Satoru. You miss the way he pestered you, the way he showed up outside of your classes, the way he took your phone to sneak a few pictures into your camera roll, the way he lounged on your bed and ranted to you about his father for hours while you listened as you painted your nails at your desk. 

You miss his company. You miss the way he makes you laugh. You even miss the way he makes you frown. 

You hadn’t realized before how difficult it had been to keep your distance from these people until seeing them here with you, and a wave of guilt sinks over your body. Suguru and Shoko are clearly attempting to do damage control before damage is inflicted by urging Satoru to leave you be, and them along with him, but despite your eagerness to stay away from Satoru, you find you don’t want him to leave you be. You don’t want any of them to leave you be. You miss your friends, and to turn them away now would be like rejecting them forever.

The four of you are out of the country together for the first time. You would be cruel to waste this opportunity to spend time with them after weeks of trying to step away.

So you sigh and give in, knowing that it is exactly what Satoru wants. “It wouldn’t hurt to have you guys over,” you say shyly, and Suguru and Shoko perk up. “Hell, we’re in America. Why not? I missed you guys.”

Shoko smiles, and against Suguru’s distaste for the city, he smiles tiredly with the shake of his head. He can only imagine that this trip will go into a far more chaotic direction that he had already believed. 

Satoru rejoices loudly, linking his arm around yours and yanking you to him. “Alright, (Y/n)! Lead the way!” he projects, marching forward and pulling you along with him. You stumble to catch up with his large strides.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! Just slow down, you idiot!” you bark as he drags you past Shoko and Suguru.

The two exchange glances, sharing the same knowing look, before following suit. 

The four of you stop to grab pizza and a few beers on the way before entering your AirBnB. After Satoru familiarizes himself with the entire space, nosily peering into every nook and cranny, the four of you settle in the living room to eat with the balcony door open, allowing the spring breeze and ambiance of the city to drift into the space while you all keeled over in laughter, reminiscing over the past few years you have spent in each other’s company. Hours fly by until two empty pizza boxes sit in the middle of the floor, forgotten by your boisterousness. 

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Shoko wheezes with laughter, leaning over in her seat on the sofa she shares with Geto to put out the ashes of her cigarette into the mug on that table. “What about that time Satoru got plastered and tried to scale the side of the science building?”

You and Suguru burst out cackling. You crane over your lap and Suguru throws his head back, amusement overcoming your bodies. Satoru rolls his eyes, tilting back the beer in his hand to prevent you all from seeing his smile.

 “Oh my god,” you cry. “He- He was yelling at us- for trying to tell him that the bricks- were too flat for him to grab!” 

“And then he made it up like five inches before falling flat on his ass!”

The three of you howl at the memory, stomachs aching from how hard you are laughing. “And his face after,” Suguru adds, swiping his hand over his face. “He was pissed at us like we did something wrong.”

“Because it was your lack of faith that fucked up my concentration,” Satoru butts in after lowering the bottle from his lips, thumb smoothing away drops of alcohol from his mouth. “I bet you I can climb that old ass building now. I know what to expect this time. I’ll be prepared.” 

“Sure, and you’ll break a hip this time around too.”

Satoru flips Suguru off from across the room, to which the dark haired man smiles with feigned politeness. 

“God, we used to get drunk like every weekend,” you say, placing your empty bottle on the floor next to the pizza boxes. You sit sprawled out between the couch and the chair that Satoru occupies, legs crossed before you. “How the hell did we get anything done?”

“Beats me,” Shoko chuckles, cooling down from her fit of giggles. “I don’t think I went to one class sober back in freshman year.”

“That sounds to me like you have a problem,” Satoru smirks.

“And you don’t? You’re a lightweight who actively chooses to get wrecked off three shots then makes it everyone else’s problem.”

“Wouldn’t me being a lightweight mean I’m less addicted?” he leans over his spread legs, sitting his elbows on his knees as he cradles his beer in his large palms. 

“No, it means you’re worse than any of us,” you tease, looking over to find Satoru’s eyes already on you.

He raises a brow. “Oh yeah? What about you, miss ‘emotional drunk?’”

You can hear Suguru snort, and you’re whipping your head between the two, offended. “Shut up! I don’t get that emotional.”

“(Y/n), you are so sappy when you’re drunk,” Suguru snickers. “One minute you’re taking a shot, the next you’re crying about how much you appreciate our friendship.”

Your face goes red. “I do not!” you deny.

“Oh, yes you do,” Shoko agrees.

“‘You guys, I just don’t know what I’d do without you!’” Satoru imitates your voice by scaling his own up a pitch, pressing a hand to his chest to encapsulate a touched emotion. “‘You all make me so happy! I love you all so much!’”

“Shut up!” you demand, fighting a laugh as Shoko and Suguru stifle their own. 

“‘Satoru, I know I’m mean to you all the time, but I don’t mean it! I love having you around! You make me smile!’” he sighs dreamily, batting his eyelashes, and your friends are laughing loudly again.

You crawl over to where Satoru sits and slap his shin hard, to which he looks down at you and grins snarkily. “Ow.”

“I do not sound like that,” you argue.

“Sure you do. I should know, I'm the one you always ended up babbling to.”

“Liar,” you groan.

“Whatever you say,” Satoru taps your nose lightly with his finger and you quickly swat his hand away.

“Oh! Suguru, do you remember that time (Y/n) cried over your hair?” Shoko brings up. 

It’s their turn to make fun of you now as you cross your arms stubbornly and listen. 

“She told me that she was crying because she was happy for me that my hair is so long,” the hazel eyed man recalls. 

“I mean, who wouldn’t?” Satoru chimes in. “Suguru was blessed with such beautiful, luscious hair, who wouldn’t cry over it? Isn’t that right, (Y/n)?” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you murmur. “At least I’m kind when I’m drunk.”

All eyes immediately turn to Suguru, and he freezes, laughter dying in his throat. “What?”

“You’re a fucking asshole when you’re drunk, Sugu, that’s what,” Shoko says. 

“Oh please, I’m not that bad.” 

“Tell that to those girls you made cry at the bar last year.”

Suguru grunts, pursing his lips in embarrassment. “I told them I was sorry.”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a monster off vodka,” Satoru says, and Geto throws an arm pillow at the blue eyed man’s face. 

You smile to yourself, leaning back on your hands and looking out the window at the city lights. “This is nice,” you say aloud.

Suguru and Shoko hum in agreement while Satoru stands to his feet after putting his bottle on the floor. “Isn’t it?” he announces loudly in content. “Aren’t you glad you ran into us and invited us here?”

“You invited yourself here,” you correct with a roll of your eyes. “But yes, Satoru. Yes I am.”

“We’ve missed spending time with you, (Y/n),” Shoko says. “You left me alone to deal with these two idiots and all they do is fight.”

“Because Satoru doesn’t take anything seriously,” Geto adds.

“It’s only ‘cause I love ya, Suguru.”

“Shut the hell up.”

You chuckle, bringing your knees to your chest. You glance at your phone beside you and see that the time reads 1:34 am. You cringe, unsure of where the hell the time went. “Damn, it’s late,” you say.

Suguru glances at his own phone and his brows jump. “Oh shit, yeah,” he observes. “Sorry, (Y/n). Didn’t mean to take up your entire night.”

“No, no. It's fine, I’m actually really glad you did.”

Shoko stands, stretching her arms behind her back with a sigh. “So, we hittin’ the road or what?” 

You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you in an instant, and you already know what he is going to suggest before he even opens his mouth to ask. You curse yourself internally because you know that you will regret proposing what you are about to propose, but you can’t bring yourself to watch your friends head out so late and drive two hours out to where they are staying.

Once again, Satoru’s decisions have become your problem. 

“Why don’t you guys just sleep over here for the night?” you suggest.

“...Are you sure?” Suguru questions. “I’m sure you’re busy tomorrow… and you’ve only been here one night.”

“It’s not a big deal. I meet with Aoto at ten tomorrow, so I’ll have plenty of time to get ready and see you guys off. Please, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let Satoru drive you all back this late.”

“Aoto?”

“My research partner.”

“Ah,” Suguru nods, eyes flickering up swiftly to Satoru’s face before landing back on yours. “Well, if it’s not any trouble for you, we’d appreciate it.”

“Not at all. The four of us have had hundreds of sleepovers, this isn’t any different.”

“Alright, then. Thanks.”

The moment you stand up, Satoru is leaning himself against you, resting his heavy head on yours and squishing against your cheek. “You take such good care of us,” he coos, giggling when you try to push him away but struggle under his weight.

“Satoru, get off!”

The next twenty minutes fly as you spend them setting up the pullout in the living room (that you have only just discovered) and moving the coffee table to lay extra blankets and pillows next to the pullout. Suguru and Shoko take the bed while Satoru teases you about letting him sleep in the bed with you. You tell him to fuck off and he winks. 

Suguru and Shoko pass out within minutes, likely exhausted from Satoru pulling them along with him all day. You see Satoru setting himself up on the floor, taking off his glasses and setting them aside, when you sneak past quietly to step out onto the balcony.

You aren’t tired. Your mind is racing and your nerves are jumping with their awareness of Satoru sitting in your living room. You exhale softly, leaning over the railing and looking down at the still busy streets, watching taxis round corners aggressively and pedestrians chat loudly. You close your eyes, setting your arms on the rail and your cheek atop them, listening to the sounds and savoring the feeling of the cool night breeze against your flustered skin.

You soak in at least five minutes of silence before you hear feet padding behind you and the door opens and closes again. You lift your head and turn to find Satoru joining you. He walks up quietly and stands beside you, peering over the ledge in the same fashion you had as you avert your gaze. 

He does not say much, shockingly. Sleepiness is finally catching up to him as he looks down lazily, peacefully, unshaded blue eyes glossy beneath his long lashes. The soft distant lights of the street lamps illuminate his face with a dim glow while he hunches over, watching calmly. 

It is quiet between the two of you for a moment before he’s talking, a deep voice sending chills down your spine. “Do you like it here so far?” he asks softly, voice low.

You nod, pursing your lips and keeping your gaze down. “Yeah, it’s nice,” you tell him gently. “Really different from home, but nice. I like it.”

“I can see the appeal,” he agrees. “It’s busy like Tokyo.”

“Yeah, it is,” you nod. “I don’t think it’s Suguru’s style.”

A huff of amusement breathlessly leaves Satoru’s lips, the corners of his mouth curling. “It definitely isn’t. I had to practically drag him out of his room to get him to come with.”

“You know Suguru. He’s picky.”

“Very.”

“Shoko seems to be cool with the city though.”

“Mhm. There’s not much she doesn’t adapt to.”

“That’s true…” you mumble as a lull in the conversation arises. “...Satoru, why are you-“

“So what’s your research partner like?” he interjects, turning to look at you now. You furrow your brows, meeting his eyes when you face him. His face is serene, still, yet his eyes tell a different story. They’re alive with an eagerness for his question to be answered, a curiosity, a hint of frustration. You grow confused.

“…Why?”

He tilts his head. “I can’t ask about the person my friend is working with?”

“I- no, it’s just an abrupt question.”

“I don’t think it is,” he disagrees. “What’s his name again? Ayano?”

“Aoto,” you correct sharply.

“Right. So? How is he?”

His eyes don’t waver, and you pucker your lips with befuddlement. “I mean, he’s nice. I only just met him today, but I like him so far.”

“Yeah?” he says. “You must. I mean, you just met him and he’s already taking you to dinner.”

“…For work, Satoru. Dinner for work,” you say firmly, put off by his comment. “And he was being nice because I’ve never been in the city before.”

He nods and hums nonchalantly. “That makes sense,” he says, though you doubt he’s very understanding.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” he answered quickly. “It’s just, we haven’t talked in so long and you’re already…”

You leaned over on your elbow and turned to face him fully. “Already what?”

He smiles to himself and lowers his head, picking at his fingernails. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “It’s just been weird, that’s all. I had to find you in America to get you to talk to me.”

A still silence settles in the air again as you stare at him, attempting to comprehend what is going through his mind. “Satoru,” you begin, and you almost think you see him jump when you say his name. “Why are you here?”

His eyes glance up ahead of him before back down at his hands over the railing. “I told you, already. For spring break.”

“You expect me to believe that of all places in the world, you chose to come to the same place that I told Shoko I was going?” you question and he only shrugs. “I’m not dumb, Satoru. You’ve always done this.”

“Done what?” his brows angle. 

“This,” you emphasize to yourself. “You always find ways to- to-“

“To what?” 

His eyes are on you again, vibrant, intense. You struggle to respond under the isolation of his gaze. “You know what I mean. It’s just what you do. You push your boundaries with people,” you say eventually. 

“Am I pushing a boundary with you by being here now?”

“I don’t know, Satoru, I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that you show up down the street from me in a completely different country.”

“But what if it is?”

“It’s not, though.”

“But if it is a coincidence, would you still be upset? Would you still be asking me why I’m here?” he questions. “Because I think you would.”

“The point here, Satoru, is that it’s not a coincidence and we both know it. That’s the only reason why I’m reacting this way.”

“So what I don’t understand, right,” Satoru starts and you can sense a tone of hostility creeping into his voice, though it remains mellow,” …is why it’s all of a sudden strange for me to want to spend time with you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re so busy focusing on why I’m here instead of just the fact that I’m here.”

“Yeah, because I know you.”

“Do you?” 

You straighten yourself, trying to act as if his words did not sting. “What’s going on, huh? What’s the issue?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, (Y/n). You stopped answering my calls and texts, you don’t hang out with me anymore, you leave the country without telling me…” he stops himself before he can go any further and turns to look down at you head on again. “Help me understand, did I do something wrong?”

You sigh and lower your gaze. “Satoru…”

“I just need to understand what happened between us. We’re friends, and all of a sudden you’re acting like we’re not. Even Suguru and Shoko see it, but you still talk to them more than you talk to me these days.”

“It’s not-“ you pause, trying to figure out what you want to say. You don’t want to talk about this right now. Not here, not with him. It’s too much for you to get into, especially so without revealing how you feel about him. “I’ve just been-“

“Busy?” he interjects, and you deflate.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay,” he nods, ripping his eyes from you as if the sight of you temporarily blinded him. “I can handle you being busy, (Y/n), but I can’t handle being ignored. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t been doing just that.”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you argue. “I’ve been giving myself space. It’s different.”

“But why do you need space from me? What did I do?”

“It’s nothing you did, per say, Satoru.”

“Okay, then why?” he pleads. “Why won’t you talk to me anymore? Why aren’t you happy to see me? If I haven’t done anything wrong, why have you pushed me away? If there’s nothing, then that would just mean that you chose to step away from me for no reason, and I refuse to believe that’s true.”

You can tell by the way he speaks that you have truly affected him by stepping away, affected him in a way you did not realize you had. 

You honestly didn’t think he would have cared either way if you had waned off your contact, but you were clearly very wrong. After all, like Satoru said, you’re his friend above anything else. 

He’s looking at you again, desperation swirling in his crystal irises. “So just tell me, (Y/n). Tell me what it is. What did I do? What can I do?”

You sigh, hardened exterior softening, because how could it not when he’s giving you those huge puppy dog eyes.

“If I hurt your feelings, I didn’t mean to,” you tell him. “That wasn’t why… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not trying to get you to apologize for something you knew you were doing, I just want to understand why,” he says gently. “But if you don’t want to tell me… I guess that’s fine. I can’t force it out of you. I just thought you should know that I’ve missed you.”

You feel your heart do that thing it does every time Satoru is around, and you melt slightly. “I missed you too.”

Then, he’s smiling again, as though he wasn’t just upset. Eyes bright and cheeks warm as he turns to you with a newfound warmth returning in his composure. “Did you really?” he inquires, bending over slightly and craning his neck down to you with a low lidded eyes and cheeky grin.

You scoff, pushing his head away and turning your head to the side. “Don’t push it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he teases. “But seriously though.”

He steps closer to you, eyes peering down at you with a soft gleam. You look up and stiffen as he nears further into your personal space, his hand gripping the rail as the other tucks into his pocket. 

“Don’t ignore me again,” he mutters, gaze piercing into yours. “Please.”

You stare at each other wordlessly, air bristling through your hair as an intensity swelters between you. You blink, swallowing nervously. “O-Okay. Sorry.”

He hums, a smile stretching over his face once more, and ducks down to wraps his arms tightly around your waist, hoisting you up in the air as he embraces you. You squeak, your arms grasping at his shoulder blades to steady yourself once you're off balance. “It’s okay, munchkin,” he squeezes you tightly. “I could never stay upset with you!” 

“Satoru, put me down!” you hiss, face flustering. 

He chuckles, setting you gently back down onto your feet. You put bashfully, straightening out your shirt as he looks at you sweetly. “Man, am I glad we made up. I would have done something crazy if this went on much longer.”

“Oh, you mean crazier than flying all the way to fucking New York?” you quip and he grins.

“I told you, I’m here for vacation. Not everything’s about you, you narcissist,” he says, and you can feel a vein bulging in your forehead. 

“Sure,” you grumble.

“Anyways, since we’re all already here, I think we’ll stay in the city one more day before heading back up to our place.”

You quirk a brow. “Um, you think Suguru is gonna be okay with that?”

“Not at all, but I’m the one driving, so he’ll have to be fine.”

You shake your head to yourself, laughing quietly. “He’s gonna kill you one of these days.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Satoru says, making his way over to the patio door. “Oh,” he stops and turns over his shoulder. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“Well, I told you, I have a meeting at ten.”

“Oh yeah, with Aromo.”

“Aoto.”

“Same thing,” he sighs loudly, turning his eyes up. “Whatever, either way, we should all hang when you’re done. You know, before we head back.”

“While that sounds fun, Satoru, I’m here for research. I’m not sure I'll have much free time.”

“Right, like you’ll be doing work all day,” he says sarcastically.

“...Yeah. I might be,” you repeat with a straight face. 

“Uh huh. So, we’ll see you at one?”

“Wh- Satoru, I have to check with-”

“Great! Text us and we’ll meet you wherever you are when you’re finished,” he cuts in, not even allowing the word no to hit his ears. 

“No! Satoru-”

“Good night, beautiful,” he blows a dramatic kiss, swinging the door open. He reduces his voice to a whisper, mindful of his sleeping friends on the pullout behind him. “See you in the morning~” he wiggles his fingers in a dainty wave before leaving the balcony and shutting the door behind him, plopping himself down on his makeshift bed after making his way around the couch. 

You look after him in agitation, finding yourself alone and processing what Satoru has just said to you, the way he looked at you as he begged to understand why you took steps away from your friendship, the warmth of his arms as you held you tight, the gleam in his eye when he asked you not to ignore him. You shiver as the moments replay in your head, making you wonder how things have come to this. 

You sigh and turn back around to look out at the city one last time before turning into bed. It’s going to be a long week. 

[mousy-nona]

Because I'm a sucker for seeing Vox lose it over RadioApple, and also them dancing, maybe a thing where RadioAaple both a little tipsy, dance in Lucifer's room late at night. Vox sees them on his drone and freaks because 1) Alastor is letting himself be unguarded with a person 2) Alastor is dancing and 3) Alastor has, in fact, made nice with the King like Vox was afraid of. Very nice by the looks of it.

“Do you ever think you may have a problem?”

That was Velvette, who was using her best “let’s not piss off the crazy man” voice. 

“No.”

“Not even a little one?”

“No.”

Valentino and Velvette exchanged telling looks, which Vox promptly ignored. He had more important things to worry about, like keeping this stupid drone in the air. Maneuvering the machine itself was easy, but getting around the electromagnetic force field Alastor had set up around the hotel’s perimeter was a whole lot trickier. Vox had been flying in circles for hours, trying to find a weak spot in Alastor’s defenses. 

(He knew it’d been hours because Velvette had started shooting worried glances at him around hour two, Valentino had showed up around hour five, and they’d started a game of rock-paper-scissors to figure out who was going to do a wellness check on him around hour six.)

“Ah-ha!” Vox screamed, jabbing both fists in the air when the force field flexed and glitched, creating a half second window of opportunity. He urged the drone forward, barely zipping past before the shield re-formed. “Boo-yah! Who’s your daddy?” 

Valentino smirked and took in a long drag of his pipe. “Vox, baby, not outside the bedroom.” 

Vox’s metal heart – the same one he always denied having – started beating faster as the camera zoomed closer and closer to the hotel. He zipped to Alastor’s radio tower first, then his room, frowning slightly when all he found was a half-eaten deer, a cooling cup of coffee, and a discarded coat.

From behind him, Velvette clapped her hands with an annoyed huff of relief. “Oh, well, looks like the asshole is out. Too bad, so sad. Can we please get back to something actually fucking important?” 

But Vox shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s 11 o’clock. Alastor usually finishes his business before seven so he can have dinner at eight, or else he gets too hungry to do–” He trailed off when he saw the look on both their faces. They were both staring at him as if he was a terminal patient, come down with an incurable case of Alastor-itis. 

He sighed and re-focused on the screen. “It just doesn’t make sense, okay?”

The library. The lobby. The kitchen. Alastor was nowhere to be found.

Then Vox had a horrible thought. He remembered the rumors flying around town, the wild laughs of excitement and the curses emanating from the hotel recently. He remembered Alastor’s most recent broadcast (“Folks, when living with an annoying roommate, always remember to assert your dominance wherever possible”). And most of all, he remembered Alastor’s smug face as he strolled down the street, humming merrily to himself as he twirled an unfamiliar white top hat on his staff. 

He remembered the strange apple that had appeared on the top right of the hotel, just down the hall from Alastor. 

His heart in his throat, he slowly moved the drone higher, then higher still. Don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there –

Velvette and Vox went quiet at the scene that appeared on the screen. Alastor was there all right, but he wasn’t alone. As if he’d suddenly downloaded a virus, Vox could only process what he was seeing in chunks.

He saw the record player first, oddly enough. An old-timey song was playing, static crackling and popping as a low sweet croon, somehow both deep and high, filled the room. 25%.

The room was dark, but a few candles and duck-shaped lamps were gleamed with a heavenly light, washing the pair slowly revolving in the center of the room in a seductive golden glow. 50%. 

The king of hell was there. The expression on his face was…tender. His head was tucked into Alastor’s narrow chest, one hand on Alastor’s shoulder and the other clasped in Alastor’s hand. His eyes were sparkling, almost overfilled with a nameless emotion that Vox knew all too well. Alastor’s hand was curled around his waist protectively (possessively). 75%. 

And finally, Vox saw Alastor. Really saw him, as if for the first time, because this wasn’t his Alastor. His Alastor was always one step ahead, always untouchable, cold, cruel, and capable of truly unspeakable acts of violence with an effortless charm that made his blood boil with envy and need at the same time. 

But the Alastor in front of him…his coat was off. For the first time in fifty years, Vox saw Alastor’s bare skin, his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he allowed another living soul to see him undressed. Unguarded. His eyes, always so alert and aware, were closed. 

Worst of all was his smile. It looked soft. Gentle – or whatever passed for gentle with Alastor. As Vox watched, Lucifer’s lips moved. The words were too soft for the drone to pick up, but whatever it was, Alastor laughed. Not in a mocking or teasing way, but an actual, genuine laugh, as if Alastor was a real boy with a real heart.

100%.

Suddenly, Alastor’s eyes flew open, and he stared at Vox through the screen. The wicked smirk that curled his lips was the last thing the drone ever saw as it glitched, red shaking and warping the feed until it went completely dead, and the three of them were left staring at a black screen. 

Silence reigned. Then – “Well, I’ll be. Looks like the deer found himself a doe.”

Velvette shot Valentino a warning look, then took a hesitant step forward. “Vox – “ Velvette started, but Vox started cackling. Wild, out of control, utterly insane laughs ripped from his wires as his monitor-face went haywire. 

“I am going to kill that motherfucker!”

[mira--image]

Here's a wip compilation of my latest piece!

You ever take a photo of a sketch because you're about to commit to lineart and wanna make sure you have a record of it in case it gets ruined? 😂

Even my tiniest eraser was bigger than Leo's face, which meant if I made a mistake, I was starting over. If you haven't yet noticed, I like to draw small, which has natural consequences 😂

Those who follow my Instagram actually saw wips for this drawing ages ago— I mostly post to my story there, and it's more daily shenanigans than just art if you like following that kind of social media!

When i'm intimidated by a piece, I like to pick a stage and completely finish it so I can get an idea of what the final product will look like, and complete it in more manageable chunks.

Mikey be like 🦅🦅

Another example of me doing all of a chunk first so I can see if the process is worth trusting— the answer was a resounding yes! I also like seeing the colored lineart before shading.

Told ya the paper was brown! I have a white pen that smudged when I first colored over it— but when I realized I could use that to my advantage, I really enjoyed using it to blend colors in the background, since my markers are india ink and are usually resistant to that unless very wet! Speaking of markers, these things are old enough to go to middle school, every time I use them it's a gamble to see how long they'll last XD

[librarycards]

do you have any tips for making reading more accessible for people with attention / focus issues and low energy? i feel like whenever i try to read, i'm missing huge chunks of information or otherwise not reading as closely as i would like due to having adhd, and it discourages me from reading entirely.

ty for the question! I've addressed this in some ways here and here, but i'm also listing some quick bullet points for both pleasure / leisure reading and for more intentional reading (it's important to have both in your life!)

intentional reading: citation managers, esp. Zotero, are your friend. Read slowly and annotate. annotation forces your brain to get out of skim-mode and really think about what you need to remember from a given passage! it's best to do this when you're not on a deadline, because you can take all of the time you need.

intentional reading: for many people, print is the only way they can read intentionally, as digital is too distracting. try printing readings or using only paper books, and get physical with them - colored highlighters and pens, post it notes, etc. physical engagement helps a lot! write in your books!

intentional reading and leisure reading: if you're worried about not retaining information, try doing a quick mental summary after every x number of pages, or every chapter, etc. like, okay, if your friend asked "what happened in chapter 3" what would you say? I do this all the time, especially when i'm reading more intricately plotted scifi/fantasy with lots of unfamiliar words/names, as i get confused. if it's a very popular book with existing summaries, you can also read a chapter summary after finishing a chapter and make connections/go back to places you didn't understand. this is the best use of sparknotes and similar services, imo.

for leisure reading: you're reading for fun, so make your environment as comfy as possible. do you have a drink or snack with you? do you have your annotation materials close? make reading as convenient as possible so that you don't have to interrupt your time.

if you're busy or work with your hands, try an audiobook! you can speed it up or slow it down, depending on your brain's processing speed. [i listen to mine on 2x speed (narrator accent permitting) bc i'm a maniac.]. for a lot of people, stimming while reading helps them stay focused, so if you stim by knitting/doing something with both hands, audio might be for you.

for leisure and intentional reading, especially if the book is very difficult, you can try listening to an audiobook while reading a physical copy! if you're in college and have accommodations, you might be able to get audio copies of otherwise unavailable books through disability services.

lastly, for leisure reading: don't be afraid to start basic. there's kind of a novella boom happening right now, and a lot of books below 200 pages getting the recognition they deserve (if people want, i can make a recs post for short books?). if you can read ten pages a day, you can finish a 200 page book in less than 3 weeks, which is a lot more encouraging than picking up a 600 page tome. if you want to start smaller, try 5 pages! some people assume that they need to read a ton immediately, but what matters is that you're enjoying it and getting something from it. Quality >>>>> quantity.

Let me know if this is helpful/if you have any other questions! Good luck and happy reading :)

[sp1ll3d1nk]

A little guy COMPLETED (part IV)

Started 8/23/24

Completed 9/1/24

I put all faith in the process and look at him.

YOU GUYS BETTER TRUST THE PROCESS WHEN IT COMES TO PROJECTS. They may end up becoming unbalanced (ahem.) but it's worth it at the end.

I painted his gloves, but I don't think this picture does it justice. I made his scarf (?? idk what it's called) out of paper and taped it to him.

My camera was absolutely tweaking out with this photo. I'm a little upset about that. Finally, him in his round head glory.

Under the cut is just a few words I have about this guy and the future of the blog (nothing bad dw!!)

I am absolutely glowing with pride from this dude. For the few days where he stood un-painted, I was really thinking about giving up on him since I've been tired and the want to start on other projects was getting to me.

Surprisingly the only thing that kept me going was the fact I didn't want another two chunks of dried clay on my desk. (The other chunks came from a never finished WIP for my Ralsei cosplay.) They're still sitting here very much lifeless.

I'm glad I have another addition to my ghost collection. He sits on the other side of the of my Papa Nihil 'figure'.

Now for the future of the blog:

For a while I've been wondering if I should keep this a Ghost fan page or if I should post art of the fandoms, I'm into (like ATHF, Undertale, Splatoon). I also have a story that I'm currently writing that's unrelated to everything that I just spoke about. But uh it would be nice to hear what y'all think.

If you made it this far tysm and hopefully I didn't bore you with this block of text.

[whats-she-gonna-post-next]

So I just finished binding Trust Life by the absolutely amazing @chaiandsage (Hello, I am ready to be perceived now, I hope that I have done your story even the slightest bit of justice) and I just wanted to make a post both showing it off, and going through what I learned doing this bind because I did a few new things here and want to talk about it.

Also I'm not going to subject you all to this, so most everything but the final product here is going to be below the cut.

(Also so sorry that the photos aren't the best. I am... Very bad at photography, lmao)

Ok, so let's start off with some of the cool things I learned during this bind. Or, maybe not necessarily cool, but they are things I learned and I think that learning is cool!

First off, I learned how to download and add fonts to Microsoft Word, which while not interesting, does open up a whole world of fonts for future binds. Is it a little late in the game to have found this? Probably. But it is what it is. I actually downloaded a pretty good chunk of different ones, but the fonts I actually used were MF Love Dings for the heart motif dividers, which was a new download, and then a few standard fonts - Edwardian Script ITC for the title pages, Baskerville Old Face for the chapter headers, Book Antiqua for the chapter titles, and good old Garamond for the actual text of the novel.

Here is the divider and the title fonts. I just think they are neat.

Another thing I learned was how to make book cloth! I found these squares of white cotton fabric at a dollar tree and decided to give it a go. The way I did mine was by painting them first (a task in and of itself, and as you can see on the cover, did not turn out super even, but I love them nonetheless) and then I glued down a layer of tissue paper to give it a little stiffness and make it stick to the chipboard easier, it was a super cool process and I look forward to trying it again in the future now that I have done it once and have a better idea of how I can improve in the future

And now onto some of the other cooler parts of the process!

So I had a lot of fun doing the formatting, it's my favourite part of any binding process, I cannot tell you how many fics I have formated that I have yet to print out and actually bind because I enjoy the process so much (the answer is actually 5 that are completely formatted and ready to go, 3 that I am actively in the middle of formatting, 4 projects completed - including this one, which... may technically count as 3, granted 2 of them were gifts for other people - and 3 that I am planning on doing that I haven't gotten to start on yet. Oh, and a 5 part series that I have printed out but haven't actually bound yet. I have a problem, lmao.) As I mentioned, I downloaded a few fonts for this but it just ended up looking so good in the end. Here is what some of the inner formatting looks like (I did just take the screenshots from word, I thought it was easier than getting the pages in the book)

Something else! This was the first time I actually broke a single fic into multiple parts, and I do not regret it. Each section is fairly large on its own, so it would have been a monster all together. I gave them basically the same title pages and such, just used the main stories summary for all of them and copy pasted everything - work smarter, not harder - and kept the same format for the chapters and such. There were 2 obvious spots (at least imo) for breaking things up, those being at the end of chapter 24, and then again at the end of 57, if you know, you know. However, that made the divide be 24 chapter, 33 chapter, 9 chapters. I was a little worried about how that divide to affect the look of the books, but I was pleasantly surprised how well it worked out. Book 2 there is quite obviously the largest part (it's basically double the length of book 1) but book 3 was surprisingly long for being only 9 chapters and I think they look fairly cohesive together. I didn't realize how long the last nine chapters themselves were. The first and third ones are actually about the same size together as book two, which is pretty cool!

When it came time to put together the actual books, I stuck with my tried and true french link stitch, as I find it to be a sturdy stitch, and then used green, yellow, and red card stock for the end pages, I felt it thematic.

I'm super excited to have this as a physical book now, thank again to chaiandsage for allowing me to bind this amazing story and just for writing it in the first place! I read it like twice in the span of a month, and I swear I have read chapter 57 and 58 themselves way too many times to count. Not even going to mention the amount of times I read the last 6 chapters because I just love a good happy ending.

But yeah, I'm really happy how this bind turned out, I still have to put an actual cover in these - which I plan on doing, I have a friend who is going to help me with the cover design when they are free, so there will be an update at some point.

[godesssiri]

10 Thrifting tips the thrilling continuation

I am a dedicated thrifter and I have done a few thrifting tips posts, things to look for, how to find the best stuff. I had an excellent day thrifting today and decided it was a good day to polish up a draft I had and post it. So read more for tips to get the goodies.

If you buy fairly plain wooden furniture, it doesn’t take a whole lot of expertise to refinish it. You can get a cheap palm sander for less than 50 bucks, and a small tin of furniture wax goes a long, long, loooong way. Or you can get Danish oil if you want a satin finish or Teak oil for a gloss finish. Don’t let Youtube videos make you believe you have to test out 10 zillion different coloured stains unless you are aiming for a very specific look. Just make sure you slap something nourishing on the wood after you’ve sanded it. Also remember that whatever product you use; multiple light coats will come out better than one thick coat. There’s a huge amount of satisfaction in looking at a gorgeous chunk of wood you’ve bought back to life.

French milled/triple milled soap. Old ladies like to give soap as gifts and people tend to stick it in their drawer to scent their clothes and never actually use it, eventually they have a clean out and this unused soap goes to the thrift store still in it’s original paper wrapping. This soap is expensive. This soap is fantastic. The milling process creates a very different product than the bars you get at the supermarket. It doesn’t go goopy and melty even if you leave it sitting in a puddle in your shower, it’s not as drying to your skin, the scent stays on your skin for longer. These bars last for months, it’s well worth picking them up if you like the scent.

Blue Willow. Would you like to have a nice set of china but don’t want to drop a lot of money on something that might look dated in 10 years? Collect blue willow from thrift stores. Blue willow has been around for hundreds of years and it’s going to be around for hundreds more. It can be slotted in to almost any home style, classical, boho, maximalist, scandi, etc, etc. Because it’s been around for so long pretty much every manufacturer has done it, so you find it really often at thrift stores and it’s easy to pick up a couple of plates here and a serving bowl there. Also, because so many companies have done it over such a long period it’s possible to pick up modern dishwasher safe dinner plates that you can use alongside a lovely 100-year-old antique gravy boat.

Gifts. Never feel ashamed of buying gifts from thrift stores. The perfect vintage item is way more meaningful than any amount of new stuff. And if you’re buying for someone who doesn’t like vintage; if something looks new and undamaged how is the recipient going to know that it’s not new?

Get yourself a thrifting routine. You’re gonna find the best stuff if you go often so don’t just randomly go every now and then. People who say they never find anything are the ones who only call into a thrift store every couple of months and expect something amazing to just drop into their lap. Set a day once a week, or every other week or once a month, but make a commitment to go on a regular basis.

If you see something that you think you like but you’re not 100% sure, as long as you can afford it and have a place for it, get the thing. Take it home, live with it. Maybe you’ll decide you don’t really like it and take it back to the thrift store and consider the price you paid a charitable donation. But sometimes you bring something home that you kinda like and end up absolutely loving it. Some of my favourite things in my house are things I wasn’t completely sure about when I was in the thrift store. There’s nothing worse than the regret of leaving something behind because you weren’t sure about it, then deciding actually I do want that thing, but it’s gone, and you’ll never find another quite like it.

If possible, go with someone who knows your likes/tastes. It’s amazing the number of times I’ve been in a thrift store with my mother or best friend, and they’ve found something I love that I hadn’t even noticed. Plus they’ll be dirty rotten enablers and encourage you to buy the thing that you love but you’re not sure you can justify to yourself.

There are a bunch of Youtubers who do thrift flips. If there’s some décor item that’s in all the stores at the moment and you love it, but can’t justify spending money on it, then it might be worth looking up to see if anyone has done a thrift flip and can give you a tutorial on how to turn a thrifted item into the hot décor items of your dreams.

Keep the cycle going. If you have stuff in your home that you no longer use/love, then donate it. If you’ve traded up and found something better but your original thing still has life in it, donate. Even if you originally bought something from a thrift store no one is gonna be mad if you send it right on back (unless you’ve used it to death, and it really should be heading for landfill).

Don’t put yourself in a box. Don’t refuse to get something because it’s not ‘your style’. What is ‘your style’? Things that you love, that make you happy. Do you love this thing? Does it make you smile? Then it’s your style. Honestly style is something that evolves organically, that grows and expands as we’re exposed to new things. If you try to follow a certain style rigidly then you’ll end up with a home that looks boring and cookie-cutter. Throw in something unexpected that speaks to you. Then throw in another of those things and another and another and pretty soon you’ll end up with a home that actually is your style – maybe you just don’t know what your style really is yet. I think of myself as very confident in my style, but I’m constantly stumbling across new things that I didn’t know I needed in my life.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

[gomzwrites]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: Im fERAL over Professor Price contents, and I NEED MORE- so here's my take, with a spin! >:)

Pairing: Professor John Price x fem!reader x Mr Simon Riley

Notes:

✎…Banner taken from Pinterest and edited, drawing done by @gomzdraws ✎…Reader's texts are in purple, indented text are memories ✎…Want to be added into a tag list? click here ✎…Part 1 (you're here!) is introduction, just me setting the scene for our reader and displaying the vibes from Price and Riley in this AU ✎…Part 2 is smut :) tags will be shown there but in short it is a slow build up ✎…Chocolate is just my thoughts, process, notes, recommendations and future planning for the series, I welcome discussions over there if you're interested :D

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

➵ Part 1

You rubbed your eyes as you finished scribbling around your tablet, noting down the last important point of the lecture with a small yawn. Maybe staying up late and studying four chapters ahead was not a good idea after all. But you always study ahead because you take a longer time to understand and digest information. Not that you’re slow or anything, but sometimes the lecturers speak too fast or brush over some points that make you feel puzzled or confused, and that confusion often carries on to the next content, but feeling prepared for a lesson is also a good practice even if that is not the case.

"That will be all for today."

The statement elicited a few cheers and sighs from the students as Mr. Simon Riley, the lecturer in charge of the module today, ended the class. You liked his class because he was great at explaining everything, easily breaking down big chunks of information into small, digestible notes to see the entire picture. What you really like about him, though, is how he always offers to help out when you have any questions.

You glance back at him who was organising his papers on the podium, staring down from your seat as you take in the view. Well, other than the black mask he wore all the time, he is pretty built for a lecturer; perhaps he worked out a lot given how tight those sleeves clinched onto his arms.

You waited until most of the students left as you took your bags and walked up to him, with one tablet in hand and the notes you'd been making. You spoke to him politely after giving him a smile.

Good evening, Mr. Riley. Can I ask you a few questions about the lectures today?

Ah, y/n. Sure, how can I help you at this time?

You proceed to voice out your concerns as he nods and explains. You can feel him standing close to you by your side as you go on, catching a whiff of his cologne sometimes and blushing slightly when his hand brushes against your finger when he takes your stylus pen. You admit you have imagined him in some other ways.

Can you understand? 

He asks you as you glance back at him. Your words catch in your throat as you realise the close proximity; he was just a few inches away from your face, and you swear you would have been able to count the freckles on his pale face. 

A-ah, yes, yes... Thank you, sir. 

You replied back as calmly as you could before slowly turning away and saving your document. He gives a hum as a reply before he glances around and pats your head, like he always does whenever you answer him back, a small gesture that always sends butterflies in your stomach.

Good girl. You know where to find me if you have any more issues. 

Good girl. 

You give him a nod as you hurriedly make for the exit. You’d like to think he treats every student this way, giving praise and guiding them when needed. It’s not like you’re the only student he teaches in class; there are always a few girls who like to surround him sometimes. 

Girls, who, in your opinion, were much prettier than you. Pretty hair, pretty faces, and pretty voices with their pretty outfits that never seem to repeat every day. Meanwhile, you’re more on the formal mundane side, wearing a hoodie most of the time with a pair of black pants during casual lessons; if not, you often wear a white button-up and a long skirt like today. As long as it's comfortable and it's compliant with the university dress code, which, in your opinion, no one really follows, it's good enough for you because you don’t really fuss in terms of appearance; you just want to do well on your course. 

Yet, part of you still indulges in thinking that maybe he did treat you differently than other students. You collected every praise and "good job" handed out by him like a trophy; it also made you push yourself further, chasing after those achievements and scoring well in exams just to get a pat from him on the head or your shoulder, or if you’re lucky, sometimes you’ll get to see him smile without his mask on.

You stop for a moment as you walk past a window, noticing how flushed your cheeks have become from your own thoughts. You shake your head and adjust your hair before a voice catches your attention. 

Evening, y/n, just finished your class?

You look ahead to the source of the voice and give a bow as you nod. 

Ah, good evening, Professor Price. Yes, I just finished the last class of the day. 

He hummed as a reply as he walked closer to you, giving you a smile as you stared at him. He is also another lecturer who is great at what he is doing, though he is slightly more strict and intimidating than Mr. Riley. You wonder if it's because of his much rougher, deeper voice or the muttonchop that made him look older; not that you mind; if anything, he is incredibly dashing in your opinion. With the sway of his hips and his confident voice, sometimes you would get lost in his features in the class, distracting you in a sense.

How’s the assignment coming along? Still having difficulties with it? 

He stops before you and leans on the window with his arm crossed. You gulp when you remember that a few days ago you were asking him a bunch of questions in his office, to which he helped you out immensely, but there are still just a few concepts that you’re not very sure of. Sometimes, he’ll ask you a random question related to the project that, if you can't answer straight away, he’ll shake his head and flick your forehead. You whine every time, but he only chuckles and continues teaching, while calling you nicknames that melts your heart a little every time. 

If you can’t understand this simple concept, then it’ll be harder to grasp it in the next few chapters, darling. I know… but it still hurts. What a soft baby you are Hey, I'm not! 

You know that as annoying as he can be, he only wants the best for his students, so you still try hard every time on his modules, spending more effort just to impress him, to hear him chuckle and pat your back, and to feel the warmth of his hand on yours. 

Ah well- 

y/n! 

You get caught off guard as you look behind, curious as to who called for you and surprised to see Mr Riley jogging towards you and Prof Price. Both lecturers shared a glance in silence before Mr Riley glanced down at you and handed a book to you. 

You left this back at your desk.

Oh! I didn’t even notice... thank you. 

You take your notebook and smile at him, sliding it into your bag as you hear them speak. 

John.

It's good seeing you, Simon. 

You can’t help but feel like there is tension in the air as you look at them before clearing your throat as you awkwardly rub your neck. 

I- well, I guess I’ll get going. 

Not so fast-

Wait- 

Both of them reached out to grab your arm as you jolted slightly; their eyes widened as they, too, shared the same expression. Prof Price was the first to break contact as he let go and cleared his throat, with Mr. Riley following as he glanced away.

You were talking about the assignment. 

You give an "ah" as you snap your fingers. 

Oh right, actually, regarding that, I'm still not certain with the last few points, but I can send you a text on Team instead of taking your time-

No, it’s okay. My office like last time? 

Oh, are you sure? I really don't want to impart your schedule, sir. 

Im sure, darling. 

You stopped protesting as you nodded sheepishly. You watched from the corner of your eyes how Mr Riley was acting rather strangely; his fist curled up into a ball as he glared at Prof Price. You gently grab his sleeves as you tilt your head and stare at him with concern. 

Sir? 

You felt his breath hitch as he snapped his eyes back to you, his gaze softening as he sighs, pats your hand, and nods. You smiled when you saw his tense shoulders relaxed. Prof Price then starts walking to his office as you do the same, with Mr Riley following you close behind. 

I didn’t realise that this assignment was your business as well, Simon.

I may not be the module coordinator, but I’m well versed in the subject too, Professor. 

Once again, the tension returned as you nervously grabbed onto your bag strap, clearing your throat as you tried to stand between them, awkwardly bumping their chest as you gestured your hands in the air. 

E-erm, I wouldn't mind hearing a second opinion…?

You glanced at Prof Price innocently as he stared back at you with a frown while Mr Riley gave a huff of air and nod.  

Ah crap, now I'm pissed off the professor- 

Alright, fine, sure, if it means helping you.

Prof Price said with a groan as he opened the door and guided both of you into his office.

You took a seat on the mahogany office table that wass smaller than his main office desk, taking out your tablet and books as you asked Prof Price your questions. He takes a seat next to you as Mr. Riley does the same, effectively sandwiching you in between them.

You tried your hardest to calm down your heartbeat, praying the fast thumping against your chest and the bounce of your jugular vein were not as loud as you think. You really tried to keep it cool, but every single time they leaned closer, speaking directly into your ears, it made your skin twitch with goosebumps, and the way they took turns praising you when you get things right was making your head dizzy. You swallow hard as you listened and jotted down the notes and points both lecturers were sharing, hoping they don’t notice how your fingers are shaking slightly. 

But of course they noticed. Prof Price leans in as he whispers into your left ear, feeling his beard brushing against your skin. 

Are you alright, darling?

Meanwhile Mr Riley cups your hand as he rubs circles around your knuckles, staring at you as he too, also leans in and watches you with his hazelnut eyes, feeling his chest resting behind your arms.   

I-erm…y-yes… 

You sure? Your cheeks are pretty red. 

Mr. Riley says with a soft tone as he brings his hand and gently strokes a hair strand and tucks it behind your ear, brushing your cheek as you feel your neck burning up. You were about to say something before an arm snaked around your shoulder and pulled you away from him. You gasped when you rested against Prof Price’s shoulder. 

I don’t think it's appropriate to touch a student, Simon.

You’re the one to talk. 

Mr. Riley bit back with a growl as he grabbed your wrist and pulled your arm, causing you to wince slightly at the sudden force as you closed your eyes. 

H-hey erm- 

You called out as you stared back at them nervously, gulping as you watched them stare at you with an expression that sent shivers down your spine. It felt dangerous…but also….enticing. 

What….what’s going on?

You asked again with a shaky tone as they let go of you and sighed. You could tell there was hesitation in the air as Mr. Riley cleared his throat and spoke softly.

y/n…. 

He sucks in another breath as he rubs his neck, unsure and nervous. Prof Price rolls his eyes as he shakes his head and tilts your chin, giving you a sly smirk as he brushes his thumb. 

We’re just wondering…what your opinion is about us.

You blushed at the question as you held your breath, uncertain if you should be honest and confess right then and right now. You looked away shyly as you heard Mr. Riley chuckled, taking off his mask and placing it on the table as he started kissing your knuckles gently as he whispered softly. 

Come on, tell us...you think we don’t know the glances you give us during class? 

I…well- erm- 

You stuttered as you felt Prof Price’s hands slowly trailing down to your waist, resting them there as you felt his breath fanning against the nape of your neck. 

Getting shy of us now, are you? 

You let out a shaky exhale as you hid your face with your hands, unable to face them and be caught red-handed, muttering apologies as you tried to inch away from them. 

I-Im sorry I know I shouldn't-

Hey hey, look at me sweetheart. 

Simon cooed as he took your wrist and rubbed soothing circles on it, easing your nerves as his soft voice calms you down. 

We can stop…, I promise I wouldn’t mind.

Likewise here. I wouldn’t want to make my favourite student uncomfortable.

Real sly, she's mine old man-

Both men bickered around you and couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, making them focus on you again as you cleared your throat and replied meekly.

You are not making me uncomfortable, both of you, I mean... Im just… 

You start off slowly as you take a deep breath, before blinking a few more times as you let out a sigh. 

I just didn’t expect this, I suppose… 

You blushed at your own words as you stared at them through your lashes, watching them shift slightly in silence. 

But why me...?

You dare to ask as they share a glance, then smile back at you as Prof Price snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you close to his chest, while Mr Riley grabs your legs and rests them on his thigh, leaning in close as they caress your hands and face softly. 

We’ll show you why, would you like that darling? 

You nod slowly, heart brimming with anticipation as Prof Price taps your cheeks, angling your face towards him as you feel the deep rumble of his chest against your back.

Words baby. We need to be absolutely sure that you want this.

Just as much as we want you. 

Mr. Riley now hovers over you, and both men await your answer with hungry eyes.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

a/n: ah yes, Simon with dat juicy aSS- have yall seen his senpai skin? Im so not normal about it, anyways, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :]

➵ Part 2 | ➵ Chocolate

[elysians-adventures]

My Muse

Chapter 2: 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

➺ Confusion fills the both of you in different forms.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

The morning doves squawked their song, rising you from your deep slumber. You had an odd dream that night, involving parsnips, letters and some sort of… what was it again? You shook your head, deciding to cast the thought away. It left you a little shaken up– yet you couldn’t understand why you dreaded the letters aspect out of all. Sliding the thin blanket away from your body, you put on your slippers. Clack. A sharp sound sounded outside, like a letterbox being closed. You peeked your head through the misted windows, seeing some paper peeking through the hole in the box. Whoever delivered it must have done a terrible job, folding most of the letters– giving them dog-eared looks. 

 

Gradually, you finished your morning routine, having brushed your teeth, dressed appropriately for farm-work and steeled yourself for the gruelling hours you were about to endure. Noticing the parsnip seeds on the table at your left, you pocketed them and exited the door. You decided to make a mental list of what you had to do for the day: plant the parsnips, meet the other villagers, check out the deeper parts of the farm, check out your letters and… you almost forgot. You took out the seashell in your pocket, looking at the small engravings in it. You had to return this to Elliott– remember?

Taking your hoe, you began. Heave– ho, heave– ho. 

Either breakfast didn’t give you enough energy, or you were extremely unathletic. Each time you hoed the ground you felt a small chunk of you being ripped away, leaving you absolutely exhausted at the end of it. To be fair, it wasn’t only hoeing you did, but also chopping down the trees that seemed to infestate your farm like pests.  

 

You wiped the sweat from your face, breathing heavily. Sowing was much easier, barely taking a swipe to finish all your seeds. Planting parsnips, done. You may have forgotten an important piece of the process, yet you didn’t notice yet.

 

Now for the next job in question would be… checking out the letters, right? It was right there on your farm, it wouldn’t make sense not to since you were already here. You opened the box, a flurry of paper spewing out. The previous critique of the postman being bad was gone, rather feeling pity for him having hauled all of this so far. Most were from your parents and old friends from Zuzu, congratulating you for moving and wishing you luck. Some with small specks of change and food here and there. Though, a few were from villagers, piquing your interest.

 

 

From Robin,

 

Hey there, Y/N! I’m the carpenter for this town. We already got introduced when you first got off the bus, but I wanted to remind you about me… annnd to encourage you to come to my shop sometime! 50% Off for the first time!

 

 

You smiled, switching to the next letter.

 

 

Ahoy farmer, me and your grandfather were buds a while ago. Come to the beach and I’ll teach you some tips on how to fish. It’s the best sustainable way to eat meat here in the valley. I’ll even share some stories about me and your pops when we were young.

 

Willy.

 

 

Each villager had their very own writing styles, though it seemed all of them shared the mutual feeling of wanting to meet you. There was one last letter from someone, marked with a cross on the envelope. The rest of the letters being maps for the village and a small guide.

In scrawly handwriting, it was written:

 

 

Your eyes are a prison I never wish to escape from,

Nor accept rescue. You are like the sun;

I wish to for you to shine forevermore, 

Even if in my mind it will be.

But even the sun does not compare to your beauty,

Even with its light it does not hold a candle to your eyes.

 

 

You stared at the words for a few moments. Confused. Surprised. Perplexed. Any of these words wouldn’t begin to describe how you felt. The letter wasn’t signed, and it seemed like it was crumpled before, being straightened out and folded neatly to send to you. You could see how hard the pen was pressed against the paper, making obvious markings. 

 

You blinked slowly, before pocketing the letters, still startled. How were you meant to react? Sure, you felt complimented, but you hadn’t even met anyone in town… hold up… it couldn’t be? He did say he was a writer, and this is a poem, but it felt like the coincidence was too great. Surely after only a day of not even ‘knowing’ each other, he couldn’t be enamoured?

 

The song of the birds softened, letting you listen to your thoughts. There was no way, literally. Only a crazy person would fall so hard so easily… thus, you decided to stop thinking about it. Maybe it was someone from Zuzu, having met a few weirdos in your time there.  No, it was definitely someone from Zuzu. At least, that's what you managed to convince yourself. Guilt littered your heart, being suspicious of Elliott felt bad. You had just met him.

 

Okay… you needed to get back on track, what was next? Right, you should return the seashell before anything else, since he was on your mind now. It looked important, and for all you know he could be panicking for it. 

 

You slipped off your boots coated in mud, and decided to wear the farmer attire for the rest of the day, making your way to the beach. During your trip, you had met a few more faces: namely Haley, Harvey and a small kind grandma called Evelyn. Each personality was a stark contrast to each other: Haley having called your clothes ‘dirty’ and ‘unfashionable’; Harvey stressing the need for medical care; and Evelyn simply commenting on how ‘hardworking’ you looked in your denim overalls. By the time you stepped on the sand, a smile coated your features.

 

Your eyes noticed a ginger-haired man wafting through the sand, picking up seashells and tossing them after examining them for a brief period. It seemed your doubts were right.

“Hey, Elliott!” You waved at him from a distance, though your voice seemed to stop the man in his tracks.

 

You couldn’t have found out already, surely? His thoughts were a sudden wreck, already in a mess due to losing his belonging. He stopped in his tracks, slowly raising his eyes to meet yours. You held a look of utter innocence and obliviousness. His doubts seemed to wash away like seafoam… talking of seafoam, his feet were getting wet– water seeping through his shoe. 

 

���Y/N,” he said, shakily– silently as if admiring you, before clearing his throat and repeating it louder for you to hear: “Y/N.” 

You walked towards him, palm outstretched with the clam in-hand. He bore a look of amazement, taking it gently from your hand. The man couldn’t believe you had found it, and nevertheless, returned it. Elliott worried Vincent or Jas mistook it for a normal shell, yet it seemed as if fate brought you two together.

 

“What’s with all the little drawings carved on it?” You asked, still smiling, happy that he looked so grateful.

“Ar… Urm…” He stumbled on his words, putting the object in his pocket and closing it tightly. Never again… “It’s a gift from Leah, my first friend in Pelican Town. She picked up this shell from the tidepools down there, and painstakingly carved out each drawing by hand. I couldn’t bear to lose my lucky charm, thank you, Y/N.”

 

The absolute show of gratitude almost caught you off guard, Elliott cupping his heart to show his utter appreciation for your attention. ‘ My muse is observant, best not to let my heart take me again and deliver one of those poems lest she figures it out… ’ He sighed, his thoughts bothering him. Why on earth had he trekked out in the early hours of the morning to show you his lovesick work? After he came back, a sense of guilt overtook him like nothing else, yet it was too late. 

Perhaps he was too forward… at least he complimented himself for not signing the letter.

 

“That’s so cool! They’re so tiny, that must’ve taken a lot of time,” you commented, now staring him directly in the eye. The man’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted, now focusing once on you. His mind ran wild with ideas simply standing by you, all to fuel his novel. He couldn’t let such a source of inspiration go. He had written more last night than he had in the past months, even though it was unrelated to the book.

 

“Yes, she actually gives me some art every once or so, in exchange for a sneak peek at my book…” He trailed off, adding quietly at the end: “not that I work on it these days…” The fact you were interested was bewildering to him, barely able to speak such things with others. They all shook him off, so he rather chose to be a listener than a speaker. In fact, his previously honeyed words stopped short at your sight, barely able to hold a conversation now. What have you done to him? You must be a witch, in his eyes, to make him so longing. 

 

He could not yet describe this as love, rather a lust to continue his long-lost passion by using you. That’s why he felt guilty. All these thoughts crossed his mind a split second before you responded, still joyous and unaware.

 

“Oh! You told me you were a writer, but I didn’t know you were writing a book…” You stopped short, wondering if that sentence made you sound stupid or ignorant to what writers do, “What’s it about?”

 

Elliott took a breath, ‘ compose yourself ’, “It’s a secret,” he winked, a smile creeping up his face once more.

 

“Agh, c’mon man. Can’t you spill?” You asked, pouting slightly in disappointment. Taking a slight glance at the sky, you remembered your list. And how little time you had to complete it. 

You went through it again in your head: meet villagers, clean your farm– you forgot to water your parsnips! You weren’t confident that they would die, after all they were seeds, but you weren’t going to mess up on your first harvest. 

Before letting him respond, you started to back away slightly, “Elliott, I forgot something important! Just– tell me about it through the mail or something, okay? Or, I’ll come by later!” 

 

You began jogging on the spot, waiting for a nod of acknowledgment from the man. When received, you began dashing back to the bridge, a fog of sand trailing your steps. 

 

Elliott was left there, slightly amused by your sudden disappearance and slightly disheartened. He was about to tell you, yet it seemed there was something more important in your mind. You had only came to give him back his belongings, so why was he so irritated? ‘ Something more important than me? ’ He couldn’t stop thoughts of envy, he had met you so shortly and yet he was thinking like this. 

 

Was it the practical human isolation? He hadn’t talked to anyone in a week. Or was it…? The ginger-haired man shook his head violently. He gripped his wrist in shame, trailing back to the cabin. The sound of his shoes and stones coming together resonated through his mind, deciding to focus on his environment for now. If he thought about you now, god forbid, he might do the same as last night. His eyes were still heavy and wrist was still tired. Yet, he couldn’t stop reciting in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

 

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

[99corentine]

Corentiiiine!

First of all I want to say that I love love love Gol Hah Dov! Definitely one of my absolute favourite fanfics of all time. I'm on my 5th or so reread at the moment and love it just as much as when I first ready it. The way you write the relationship between Miraak and Chrysanthe scratches that fated-enemies-to-lovers itch perfectly.

I loved GHD so much that it has inspired me to start writing my own Miraak/LDB fanfic, I have read most of fics available but want more! I have been planning it for ages (an embarrassing amount of time and many, many notebooks in fact) but have just started writing it out officially. The first chapter is very nearly done, and I have plotted up to the final act, but I just wanted to ask how you found the writing process and managed to keep motivated? I haven't evenn published it yet, but I'm already worried that it won't hold up to the other fics out there, especially one as amazing as GHD. I also fear I have bitten off quite a lot with the amount I want to write, and keeping momentum may be difficult.

Thank you again for sharing Gol Hah Dov with us! I look forward to reading Tooth for a Tooth, Tavstarion is another favourite ship of mine and if it's anything like your other fics I'm sure to love it!

Hello, and thank you so much for such wonderful words! I too have been re-reading GHD as I'm proofreading it one last time at the moment, and it's been interesting to see how my writing style and preferences have changed over the course of the story. I'm very proud of how it turned out, and endlessly bowled over by how many people have come forward to tell me they liked it. My dumb self-indulgent story about a 2011 game! It's crazy that it's had so much attention.

You can never over-plan for a story, so having a number of notebooks worth of planning is a great start! I would say you'll want to write the first few chapters before publishing it, just to assure yourself that you're going to keep writing - I have written loads of stuff I was sure would turn into an epic longfic and I never made it past chapter one or two, sometimes it's just like that. When you're confident you'll keep going, publishing it will then motivate you to do more.

I've covered a little of my writing process in this guide I knocked together (which you may have already seen). I'd say specifically for writing motivation, these three things work for me:

Absolutely DO NOT discuss the plot or story arcs in great detail with anyone, as mentioned in my guide this will demotivate you to actually create a finished piece of writing. Holding onto that cool plot thing you want to show to the world and what people's reactions to it might be will fuel you to Write The Thing

Sometimes it's hard to get stuff down on paper, and when that happens eventually I just brute force it: sit down, no distractions, no phone, and force myself to write something, anything, even if it's garbage. I kind of hold myself hostage sometimes, e.g. I'm not allowed to watch this TV show/play this game/do this other project until I've worked on this one

It's helpful to break writing down into smaller chunks. You mentioned you've bit off a lot, can you break it down into story arcs or segments? If you do you'll be writing not to the end (a distant and unattainable-feeling finish line), but just to the end of the next story arc, which is less daunting.

As for quality, I wouldn't worry about that because you'll improve over the course of your story. I loved the events in the early chapters of GHD (scary Miraak is my favourite Miraak) but I think the writing of the later chapters is much, much technically better, because writing so much made me improve. We're also our own worst critics, of course! So your writing is likely better than you think, and it can only grow.

Best of luck to you with it! A longfic is no easy endeavour (and Tooth for a Tooth is probably going to be enormous too...) and it takes a lot of patience and perseverence, but I believe in you!

[pygmi-says-hi]

just wanted to pop in and say that I appreciate the tips you gave on flow. You answered what I needed and the tips are very helpful to me, thank you!

I'm a bit curious though—judging by your other posts, your writing seems so very intentional down to the very words used (I mean, as it should be) but are you typically thinking about all this stuff as you're writing down a first draft? Or do you just kind of word-vomit just to get all the story down first and then you consider all the technicalities when you're editing? I guess this has just turned into a 'what's your process' kind of question haha

oh hi anon! thanks for coming back!

this is gonna be the most disappointing answer ever because my process is all over the place. it depends on what I'm writing, the length, how invested I am in it....

if it's something academic.

I outline the most. I have so many sheets of notes and half-written papers before I even begin the actual rough draft. I write in just the sources, then all the connecting commentary, then I mix it up, I do a bulleted summary and then I start the draft.

If it's multi-chaptered.

I always like to have some kind of list or outline when I start. Just a general collection of plot points and only minor elaboration in case I get lost. That way I have something to stand on if I feel lost.

Big projects sometimes are hard on my confidence so I like to go scene by scene, chapter by chapter, and then the whole story. Knowing the ins and outs of my plot before I start improves my motivation and confidence with sentence choice.

It usually ends up being a word vomit initially, but as I write, I get warmed up and really start looking for the right stuff. I personally don't find the 'write whatever even if it's all messed up' advice to be helpful, because if I lean too hard into that it gets so messy I end up losing the plot.

It's a tricky balance for me, because if I get too caught up in the details before I even start, I get into my own head and lose the motivation because of all of the info. A loose structure is best.

if it's something short.

garbage. hot steaming garbage, honey. Just straight from the can, all over the page. I do not plan out one-shots or drabbles. Usually I was inspired based on a random song or picture and I go off vibes. After a moment I find a groove and go with it, but it is not uncommon for me to write and rewrite like a dozen times.

if it's something I have no idea how to do.

I have written plots that fizzle out halfway through before and at that point all I want is to go off grid from irritation. I've been a part of research papers and anthology collections that are perhaps the most confusing projects on the planet. and that's fine but I hate it actually. It kills the vibe so hard.

In these cases I just stick to what I know and go in baby steps. Taking huge bites to start gives me a writing tummy ache. I'll write a paragraph, edit it till it's polished, and move on.

I do editing phases.

Initially I get all of the typos and grammatical errors out of the way. this is when I use grammarly or something like that. it's so hard to even focus on the plot when glaring errors are in the way.

Then I go over sequencing. this is when I do not use editing software. AI does not know what this is supposed to sound like, I do.

** part of understanding how to write critically is knowing how to edit. I usually discourage using software for personal/creative writing because AI is a developing art and cannot understand abstract fiction. work those editing muscles!!!

anyway, that editing phase is for comprehension. does the sequence of events make sense? does it match up with the plot map and if not, is the deviation still comprehensible and interesting? This is when I move around dialogue and do most of my chunk deletion.

The last editing stage is flow and artsy stuff. Any interesting metaphors or text editing to help with the vibe; the finishing touches. I usually do this two or three times.

hope this helps!

xox

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Cookies - Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1065

Summary: Reader teaches Tyler how to bake her signature cookies

Tyler Joseph loved eating cookies. And I loved making them. I’d made my brown butter chocolate cookies for him and Josh every week since we met. Except this time was different, because this was the first time Tyler and I were living together in our own house. And this time I was teaching Tyler how to make them himself. 

“Shouldn’t we be using a recipe?” He asked, grabbing out the ingredients as I called them out. I’d made these cookies more than 10 times, I knew the recipe by memory. 

“I’ve got it Ty, it should be fine,” I said, grabbing out measuring cups, bowls, and a pot to brown the butter. I measured out the butter before placing it on the stovetop to brown. 

“And what’s this supposed to do?” Tyler asked, standing behind me and looking over my shoulder. I could feel his breath on my neck and I smiled to myself, happy he was actually interested. 

“Browning butter makes it have this nutty flavor that makes the cookies taste so good. It’s hard to not burn it though so that’s why I’m doing it for you.” I continued to stir the butter until it foamed up, started to smell nutty, and was a golden brown color. Tyler’s eyes widened as I moved the hot pot off the stove to let the butter cool. “Can you measure out the sugars please? I wrote down the measurements for you,” I asked. He nodded and started pouring white and brown sugar into the bowl. 

“Hey Siri, play y/n’s (insert favorite non tøp band)‘s playlist,” he called out to our smart speaker. I grabbed out the eggs and cracked them into a bowl along with some vanilla extract which Tyler called ‘spicy’ when he dipped a pinky into the bottle. Once the butter had cooled enough I poured it into the sugar bowl and had Tyler stir it. I danced and sang along to the music playing in the background, waiting for him to finish mixing. I added in the eggs and vanilla, he continued mixing. I added the flour, salt, and baking powder. It always got harder to mix once the flour was added and I struggled to watch Tyler be so slow at something I’d done for weeks. 

“God could you stir any slower?” I laughed, snatching the bowl from him and folding the flour in. 

“Well, is there anything else I can do?” He laughed, leaning against the counter. 

“Uh yeah actually. Can you preheat the oven and line the baking trays?” I nodded towards our oven as I grabbed the block of baking chocolate and started to cut it into little chunks. Tyler looked entirely clueless but he was trying and it was cute. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at the oven dial. “Shit!” I swore, feeling the blade of the knife nick me like a paper cut. 

“I swear y/n if you just cut off your finger with that knife,” Tyler turned around and grabbed my hand to inspect it. He squinted extra hard at the cut till he saw a couple drops of blood and ran to grab the first aid kit. 

“I’m fine, Ty. It happens all the time in the kitchen,” I say, slapping on a bandage and reaching for the knife again. 

“Ah ah, I’m not letting you hold a knife ever again babe. It’s not happening,” he stole it from my grip and started chopping the chocolate exactly how I had been. We finished mixing everything in and put the cookies into the oven. 

“Did you wash those?” I asked, pointing to the pile of dishes we’d been using. 

“Of course I did,” he smiled, pulling me into his chest. “Now we just wait for y/n’s amazing cookies to be done and we can send half off to Josh.” We sat on the floor in front of the oven, me in between Tyler’s legs and his arms wrapped around my waist. I could feel the rising and falling of his chest with every breath. 

“How’s the songwriting stuff coming along?” I asked. He’d been spending a lot of time in the home studio lately. Normally I wouldn’t ask, knowing that his process was very personal and that he’d mention it when he was ready but it felt right to ask. 

“Not too bad. I think you’ll like the new album if that’s what you’re wondering,” he responded. I’d missed spending time with him like this. The last time we properly got to spend time together was when we were on tour and the boys had a lot of spare time waiting around. I was grateful he’d taken the time off, the warmth of his presence filling my heart. 

“I love you,” I rested my head on his chest as he caressed and curled my hair in between his fingers. 

“You’re my everything y/n. I love everything about you,” he pressed his lips softly to my neck, a fluttery feeling running across my skin. “I don’t know where I’d be without your cookies,” he stopped, desperately trying to hold in his laugh and knowing full well that I was about to destroy him. 

“Oh fuck off,” I grinned, jumping up to check the oven, each cookie a perfect flat golden brown treasure. “They’re done if you want to call Josh and Debby to come over,” I placed them on the cooling rack and wrapped one in a napkin for Tyler to eat fresh out of the oven. He responded with a keen hum before taking a bite. 

“Ugh this is why I love you. Because you make the BEST cookies I’ve ever eaten in my entire life,” he groaned with satisfaction.

“Well now you can make them for yourself,” I felt my lips tug up in a smirk, knowing there was no way he’d ever make them for himself. He would just complain they didn’t taste as good if he made them.

“Or… you can just keep making them every week instead of paying rent.”

“I already don’t pay rent, we own the house,” I said, watching him take another bite. 

“Well if you don’t make these then I’ll start charging you, good enough?” He clearly hadn’t thought through the rent joke before attempting to crack it. 

I nodded, chuckling under my breath, “yeah good enough Mr Joseph.”

//

Please submit any requests y'all have! I love to write so let me know if you've got any!

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - twenty-eight | double high five

You finished the customer’s order and slid the cup into the cardboard cup holder with the café’s logo on it and handed it to them.

“Have a nice day.” You smiled.

“Thank you. You too.”

The customer left.

You looked out of the corner of your eye and saw Minsoo struggling with the espresso machine, fighting back tears and possibly a breakdown. You walked over to her.

“Are you okay?”

“Umm… no?”

You looked at her for a second, frozen where she was, and took the portafilter out of her hand.

“You know, you should really get mad at San for abandoning you right now when you need help.”

“Oh, he was helping me all earlier though.” 

You nodded with a sigh as you cleaned it out so she could start over.

“He’s a good guy.”

“Maybe.

“H-he helped get me the job.”

“Okay, maybe. But if he isn’t helping you right now, he isn’t shit, okay?” You said as you pointed at her with the portafilter in your hand.

Minsoo looked shocked. “Oh, okay.”

“Alright. Let me show you again.”

What ensued was an hour and forty-five minutes of you teaching Minsoo how to make espresso, only in very small chunks of the process. You showed her how to use the dispenser nine or ten times in a row until she got it right. Then you showed her how to pack the portafilter fifteen or sixteen times until she got it right. Then you had her make the espresso over and over again until she finally was able to slide the portafilter into the machine without freaking out that she was going to break something or ruin it. The whole time, San was the only one helping customers and the counter was progressively being covered more and more with coffee grounds.

“Should we really be wasting this much coffee?” Minsoo whispered.

“If Seonghwa really gives that much of a shit, I’ll pay for it all.”

“O-oh.”

Finally, you had her do it all again, in one shot.

Minsoo held the portafilter under the dispenser and stopped it, eyes darting over to you as you leaned against the shelf for the cups with your other hand on your hip. 

She looked to you for confirmation of how full it was.

You nodded.

She nodded shakily, and picked up the tamper, turning it three times exactly. She removed it to reveal beautifully packed coffee. She looked at you again.

You nodded.

She nodded. She carefully brought the portafilter over to the espresso machine and slid it in, surprising herself with her ability to do it correctly on the first try.

“Ooh!” She clapped. “Okay, okay.” 

She took two cups and placed them under the spouts and pressed the button. A pause for a second as the machinery inside whirred and espresso poured out and into the cups.

“I-- I did it.”

San wished a customer a good day and turned to look at the two of you.

“I did it!” Minsoo said happily and clapped. 

She ran over to you and held her hands up in a double high five and you held yours up with a laugh so she could high five you. She hit your hands a few times and then ran to San and gave him a hug. You averted your eyes and turned to clean the counter.

“Your shift has been over for at least an hour, Minsoo, you can go home if you want. I’ll ask Seonghwa if he’d be nice enough to pay you extra since you can make espresso now.”

“Really? Would he do that for me?”

“I think he might.”

“That’d be amazing. And yeah, I have a paper I need to work on so I have to go.” She walked back over to you to clean up.

“If you have to work on a paper then go, I’ll clean this up.” You said.

“Oh-- are you sure?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Thank you so much. And thank you for helping me until I got it right. I was afraid I’d have to quit before I could even start.”

“Not a problem. I know I’d want someone to help me if I were struggling.”

Was this reassurance for Minsoo or a barb for San? Both, really. Minsoo didn’t seem to notice the second purpose. Neither did San.

“Thank you so much, you’re so kind.”

You smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

Minsoo ran back to San and grabbed his hands and jumped happily before running to the cubby area so she could exchange her apron for her personal belongings. She waved and ran out the front door, still excited.

San smiled at you and walked over.

“Thank you for helping her until she got it.”

You shrugged. “I’m being paid to, aren’t I?”

“Well… I’m just happy that you took the time to help her. It means a lot to me.”

You shrugged again. “Not helping her would also end up hurting me since I’d have to pick up her slack, so…” You concluded with another shrug.

San nodded slowly. 

You continued to clean up the mess created by helping Minsoo over and over.

“Um… I think Wooyoung wanted to have another get together with the four of us again.”

“The four of us?”

He tilted his head. “You, me, Woo, and Yeosang.”

“Oh-- yeah.”

“Would you want to come over Friday? I can actually show you my computer working if we abandon the two of them before they fall asleep.”

“Oh-- um…”

Knowing what you knew now… it kind of felt wrong. And why did he always want to hang out with the three of you - two coworkers and a guy he doesn’t know too well - instead of his girlfriend on a Friday night?

“Uh, I think I have something I have to do?”

San’s face dropped. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… can I ask what it is?”

“Some editing work I’ve been putting off lately. I really need to catch up.”

“Oh yeah… you edit videos too, right?”

“Yep.”

“Seonghwa said you wanted to drop one or two of them after you got the job here, did you end up dropping them?”

“Yeah, like, the next day.”

He nodded.

“One of them kept trying to hit on me, so I’m really glad I could get rid of him.”

“Oh shit. I hope you gave him a piece of your mind.”

“Me? A woman on the internet being able to tell a man what I actually think without fearing repercussions? It’s more unlikely than you think.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Does that… does that happen a lot?”

You continued to clean for a second before looking up. “Yeah… too often. Way more often than I would like.”

San nodded slowly. 

You just looked at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Are you behind the screen names of the guys who harass me?”

“No… I just feel bad.”

“Yeah, well, I try not to let it get to me. Otherwise it’d chase me off the internet forever.”

San nodded.

“And… as much of a mind-fuck as it can be sometimes, I kind of like it there since it was always hard for me to make friends with the people I grew up around, you know.”

He nodded.

You nodded back. “Um… I’m going to dump these coffee grounds out and tell Seonghwa I had to use a ton to help Minsoo.”

“Why? Telling him I mean.”

“It’s not cheap. I don’t want her to get into trouble when I’m the one who made her do the steps over and over again. If anyone should get in trouble, it’s me.”

“I don’t think you’ll get into trouble.”

You shrugged. “I’ll tell him anyway. He is the boss man, after all.”

San nodded as you walked into the back.

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[yeonjunszn]

ASAP! — NINE

PAIRING! mark lee x f!reader

SUMMARY! you’re not exactly the best barista at zhong coffee, but for some unknown reason (his massive crush on you), mark thinks you can do no wrong. sick and tired of his favoritism and your lack thereof due to absolute obliviousness, your coworkers are determined to fix this problem. asap.

MORE! first written part let’s go

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To be completely honest, Mark was kind of dreading Thursday.

The bigger, better part of him was excited to get the opportunity to teach you some of the tips he received when he was first starting out as a barista at Zhong Coffee. He was looking forward to seeing that cute little quirk of your brows whenever one of your shots wouldn’t pull, and then watching it smooth out when he helped you adjust the grinder.

When you were first hired at Zhong Coffee, he was only a shift lead and Chenle’s older brother was still manager, so he never trained you. (This was before he left to pursue his big boy job.) The shop ran differently and the environment wasn’t as relaxed. Mr. Zhong’s ideals have always matched up with Mark’s, so it was no surprise to anyone that he was named manager afterward.

He likes to think you never got the opportunity to grow confident in your job because you were too scared to ask questions. Chenle’s older brother was a stricter manager and his training wasn’t as personal. Mark assumed that disconnection is a chunk of the reason why you’ve always struggled to figure things out.

But then there was this tiny, ugly part of him deep inside that reminded him of Choi Yeonjun’s existence. It reminded him that there were other men who were equally as drawn to you as he was and he couldn’t stomach the idea that one day, one of those men just might sweep you off of your feet.

That part kept winning no matter how many times he tried to push it away.

When Mark arrives at Zhong Coffee at around 6:15 Thursday morning, he has to hold his breath and bite his tongue. The shop opens at 7 am every morning, but on days when it receives product, it gets dropped off at around 4:45, so those scheduled to stock go in at 5 that day and then continue with their morning shift as usual.

He’d nearly forgotten you were going to stock with Jeno before your training, so it felt like a punch in the gut when he saw the male standing so close to you as you put the syrups on top of the bars. You giggled at a joke he made, not paying any mind to the fact that Mark was openly staring at both of you. Jeno wasn’t even funny.

It’s when he trips over a box on his way to his office, that you finally look away from the unnecessarily buff barista. Mark blinks, standing up right and letting out an awkward laugh as he dusts his hands on his pants.

“Are you okay?” You ask with so much concern in your eyes, it genuinely hurts Mark’s heart.

“I’m good! Don’t worry about me! Finish up your stock so you can take a little break before the new hires get here for training.” He says, words coming out a little too fast and pulse beating a little too hard.

He sits in his office in complete silence for what feels like years, his focus on a blank computer screen as he processes just how down bad he is for you. It doesn’t help when he hears the softest of knocks at the door at around 6:45 and he knows it’s you. He calls out for you to come in and you do, a paper sleeve with the shop’s logo in your grasp.

“I didn’t know if you’d eaten yet this morning, so I warmed up a couple croissants for us,” you tell him shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want the plain or the chocolate one?”

And this is why Mark has the world’s biggest crush on you. You had such a pure soul, too kind for this cruel society. You always thought of others first and yourself last, not caring if it meant that you’d get the last cookie in the batch— or if you got one at all. You thrived off the happiness of everyone around you and it was something he admired so fondly.

“I know you really like the chocolate ones, so I’ll take the plain.” He answers, smiling when you take a bite of your croissant, savoring the pastry.

When all of the new hires arrive for their first day of training, Mark realizes that a group training was probably the worst idea he’d ever come up with. It feels more like a show and tell than a manager teaching new employees how to do certain tasks. It was worse when you factored in Choi Yeonjun and his stupidly beautiful lips. (How Donghyuck thought this guy was mid was beyond him. He wondered what he truly thought of him.)

Mark has to stop himself from huffing like a petulant child when all the trainees partner up and take turns trying out the bar. Of course, Choi Yeonjun asked you to be his partner, because why wouldn’t he? Yeonjun was shots and you were his milk, but his shots kept pulling too short, so he asked you for help.

“Hey Y/n, can you help me adjust the grind?”

“Um, I don’t really know how to do that myself… I always just ask Mark to do it for me.” You shrug, turning around and giving him a lopsided smile.

He pretends that it’s just the two of you when he comes over, pointing at the machine. “Okay, do you know why the shots are pulling short?”

“It’s because the grind is too coarse right?” You ask hopefully. Mark nods with a bit of pride swelling in his chest.

“Yes, exactly. So we want it to be finer, that way the espresso runs through a little slower. You’re gonna push the lever away from you— righty tighty, lefty loosey— and then you also want to make sure you’re tamping with the right amount of pressure.” He explains, watching as you do what he told you.

You stick the tip of your tongue out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrate on tamping the grind. When the shot pulls at a perfect 22 seconds, you squeal, fist bumping the air.

“Oh my god! Mark! I’ve never pulled a 22 before!” You slap your forehead, over the moon with joy.

“Which way does the lever go when it’s pulling short?” He quizzes you, the smile on his face not disappearing.

“To the right! Away from me!”

“Good job, Y/n. I’m proud of you.” He pats the top of your head.

You look up at him with this gleam in your eyes as you say, “Thank you so much! You’re the best ever!”

Mark thinks his heart might’ve stopped that day.

NINE — the best ever

PREV! eight — mark antis 1 - mark 0

NEXT! ten — NANEUN ALCOHOL-FREE GEUNDE CHWIHAE

MASTERLIST!

◠‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠ ‿◠

TAGLIST! @stardusthyuck @erin-calling @tddyhyck @bigheadchen @choiwonder @neozon3nha @sunflowerbebe07 @kissesfrmwonwoo @miyawwn @sserafimez @haechansbbg @lilyidk03 @mowchiie @jaemsrina

[thoroughlysaucedsparrow]

AAAAAAAAA ITS DONEEE

I measured it and this thing is fucking 6’6-

(materials and process underneath vv)

Materials used:

-3 pvc pipe segments with the screw adapters

-Eva foam : 2mm, 5mm, 10mm

-Foam clay

-Thermoplastic beads

-Metal wire

-Various superglues

-Spray paint

-Acrylic paint

~~ The Pvc Segments:

I started off with three 2ft pvc segments and glued the cross adaptor on the top, then proceeded to hack off and move around pieces as I saw fit. For the top segment I believe I cut off 5in, then glued 3 to the top of the cross pipe and tossed the remaining 2in. I also cut off 8in on the bottom to make way for the spike which is around 5.5in.

(The original pipes, I didn’t really have any other progress pics of this part)

~~ The Main Blade:

I started by going into FireAlpaca and separating the halberd from Sinclair’s sprite, then broke it up into various pieces and used Rasterbator to size up the blade. After that I printed it out, assembled it, and transferred it to freezer paper to adjust it as I saw fit.

After that I cut out two pieces of 10mm foam and glued them together as the main blade, then added the details with some 2mm foam I got from Walmart I think? I proceeded to hack away chunks of foam with Eva foam with a box cutter (and almost sliced my hand open in the process) before sanding the absolute crap out of it)

Once it was all sanded and I was content with it I took my heat gun and sealed all the foam and got rid of the fluffy texture created by the sanding and filled some of the gaps with foam clay.

After the blade I was done I stuck some wire into it, then shoved that wire through some thermoplastic beads I had melted and put in the pipe, and superglued it. It really wasn’t wanting to stay so I added more thermoplastic around the outside and proceeded to add more superglue (Gorilla and Flex Seal glue if I recall correctly) which has seemed to help it stay on. It’s not 100% stable but as long as I’m careful with it I’m ok.

~~

The Spikes:

Just like the blade, I made the pattern based the sprite itself. Using the line tool in FireAlpaca I traced over the top spike and the side spike and got the pattern from that. I resized and reshaped them in a Google doc before printing them out. After that I traced two of the spike pieces, cut one in half vertically and glued them together. After that I used small triangular pieces of foam to connect the corners and with that the skeleton was done (I added wire into the bottom spike for support as it is going to be bashing the floor a lot). i then filled the skeletons with foam clay, making sure to get all the sides even and filled completely.

(I forgot to add the triangle pieces in the bottom spike until later)

Once I sanded them and attacked them with the same method as the blade the base was done!

~~ Painting:

In order to create a stable base to paint on I shoved three wooden dowels into a fertilizer box and hot glued them down. I then broke the halberd down and put each piece on the spike before spraying it with multiple coats of plastidip.

(Note- I taped off the parts that would be screwed down as I was afraid that the paint would interfere with the threading. I don’t know if it would actually cause any problems but I didn’t feel like risking it)

Once that was completely dry I sprayed it with three coats of Rustolem Black High Gloss paint.

Finally, I dry brushed everything with silver paint and added the lettering, using some black paint to mimic the paint chipping.

Once I added two coats of Rustolem clear sealant it was done!! The overall process took about two weeks and I’m quite happy with how it turned out! I may or may not have injured myself a lot during the process because I’m stupid but it was quite a fun project, and I do have more Project Moon props planned for the future such as Don’s lance and Argalia’s scythe. Once I finish my full cosplay I’ll make a post similar to this one :)