#what are the signs of alternator failure

[rumriverautos]

Wondering how do you know when your car starter is going bad? Starting problems can be caused by failing alternators, car batteries.

[heritageposts]

A week ago, US President Joe Biden claimed that a “ceasefire” deal in Gaza was imminent and could take effect as soon as March 4. “My national security adviser tells me we are close,” he told reporters while eating ice cream in New York City. But ice cream or not, Biden’s actual position was not nearly that sweet. A subsequent statement by a senior Biden administration official claimed Israel had “basically accepted” a proposal for a temporary pause in fighting. But as of March 4, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his Mossad director were still refusing to send a delegation to Cairo, where talks with Hamas were under way. The Biden administration’s eagerness to claim victory in its search for some kind of temporary truce indicates how much it is feeling the heat of the rising global and domestic pressure demanding an immediate ceasefire, an end to the Israeli genocide, an end to the threat of a new escalation against refugee-packed Rafah, and an end to the siege of Gaza and immediate unhindered provision of massive levels of humanitarian aid. Despite Washington’s vain hopes for March 4 and the unofficial goal of a ceasefire by the beginning of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan on March 10, the deal remains elusive. Media reports indicate Biden is telling the Qatari and Egyptian leaders that he is putting pressure on Israel to agree to a truce and a captives swap. But his claim of pressuring Israel is undermined by the continuing US vetoes of ceasefire resolutions at the United Nations Security Council, most recently on February 20, as well as the continuing flow of United States weapons and money to Israel to enable its assault.

And, on the alternative resolution the Biden admin has put forth after vetoing Algeria's resolution (which called for an "immediate humanitarian ceasefire," "forced displacement of the Palestinian civilian population," and "unhindered humanitarian access to Gaza."):

[...] Linda Thomas-Greenfield, Biden’s ambassador to the UN, cast the sole veto against the Algerian resolution, and instead put forward an alternative US text, claiming it also supported a ceasefire. But the proposed US language does not call for an immediate or permanent ceasefire or an end to Israeli genocide; it does not prevent an attack on Rafah or end the Israeli siege. The proposed US resolution is not designed to end the murderous Israeli war against Gaza – nor is the deal that is currently being negotiated in Cairo. To the contrary, the provisions of the US draft resolution reflect the true intentions of the Biden administration vis-a-vis its continuing support of Israel, and reveal the limitations of the truce it is trying to orchestrate. While the US draft resolution does use the dreaded word “ceasefire” – which had been prohibited in the White House for months – it does not call for an immediate halt in the bombing, only “as soon as practicable”, with no indication of when that might be. It does not call for a permanent ceasefire either, leaving Israel free to resume its genocidal bombing – presumably with continuing US support. Virtually everything the US draft calls for is undercut by what is left out. The demand for “lifting all barriers to the provision of humanitarian assistance at scale” in Gaza certainly sounds appropriately robust. But that’s only until you realise that the text’s failure to challenge or even name the principal barrier to aid getting in – Israel’s bombardment – means that this is not a serious plan to end Israel’s deadly siege. It should not surprise anyone that “the Biden administration is not planning to punish Israel if it launches a military campaign in Rafah without ensuring civilian safety” – as Politico reported – despite claiming it wants a credible plan to ensure Palestinian safety. No one in the Biden administration has even hinted at imposing consequences for Israel’s constant rejection of the insipid appeals for restraint – such as conditioning aid on human rights standards (as required by US law) or cutting US military aid altogether. That’s what real pressure would look like. A more accurate picture of Washington’s approach to Israel’s war against Gaza is the continuing US pipeline of weapons to make Israel’s murderous assault on Gaza more effective, more efficient, and more deadly. According to the Wall Street Journal, the “Biden administration is preparing to send bombs and other weapons to Israel that would add to its military arsenal even as the US pushes for a ceasefire in Gaza.” The arms the US intends to hand over to the Israeli army include MK-82 bombs, KMU-572 Joint Direct Attack Munitions and FMU-139 bomb fuses, worth tens of millions of dollars. It is more than likely that the administration will do another end run around US Congress to send the weapons without relying on congressional approval, as it did on at least two occasions last December.

. . . full article on Al Jazeera (4 Mar 2024)

[elicathebunny]

YOU WILL NEVER BE READY.

Let’s be honest, the more we wait the more we overthink and when we over think we doubt and we all know what happens when we start doubting. We will never find our selves in the perfect situation for the goals we want to achieve. Making yourself wait or putting things off because you need to be “ready” is self-sabotage. Obviously know the difference between pushing yourself in the right direction and overworking yourself. If you are doubting yourself because of xyz and the reasons you put forth onto why you shouldn’t do something are due to fear of failure or fear of rejection, that’s just a sign that you are scared and don’t believe in yourself. If you feel that you physically can’t because it’s affecting your mental state and quality of life then that’s probably a reason to wait .

Forcing yourself to do something you wouldn’t have done otherwise is discipline. Reaching your goals requires discipline. I’m not going to sit here and type like I’m a perfect being because I’m not, I also struggle with aiming to better myself from time to time. Nobody is perfect and people who you view as such have worked and pushed themselves to flourish where they are. The difference between successful people and average people are those who do what others could not, those who don’t wait for the perfect opportunity but seek other alternatives to get the same result. Those who are not bound by one idea of success but are willing to try different ways to get what they want.

Don’t beat yourself later for something you could’ve done now and don’t reject the past instead of learning from it. The time is now…

Embody your potential.

[devildom-moss]

Signs of Affection (kiss)

Part 2 of this request (Lucifer, Leviathan, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon)

(Mammon x gn!MC) (Satan x gn!MC) (Asmodeus x gn!MC) (Belphegor x gn!MC) (Solomon x gn!MC)

(Suggestive)

Word Count: +4,100 (we aren't going to talk about the size difference between these shorts okay?)

Mammon

“Geez, that sucked. Two hours of silent studyin’ for an F? I got a different F for that guy: a big ‘fuck you,’” Mammon grumbled to himself with his hands folded behind his head as he walked out of his mandatory extra lessons – or rather, they could have been classified as lessons if he had actually learned anything. Instead, Mammon spent the first 5 minutes trying to read one paragraph four times and the next 3 minutes trying to read the following paragraph before he became acutely aware that the supervising professor for today was watching him. He was clearly disappointed and judgmental of Mammon’s ongoing failure to turn the page. For the rest of his lesson, Mammon alternated between daydreaming about you – twisting your image in his head into a variety of different scenarios from innocent dates to the most depraved acts – and counting how many times he could spot the first letter of your name on the page. At least with the latter, it looked like he was reading.

“Mammon! How was delinquent rehab?” you teased him from your spot on the bench outside of the class.

Mammon shrieked and jumped. “W-what the fuck are ya doin’ here?!”

“MAMMON!” The supervisor poked his head out of the door. “Stop yelling in the hall and go home before I decide to keep you for another hour.”

“Sorry, that was my fault, Professor Amy. I startled him.” You stood up and bowed slightly, hoping the astronomy – and somehow, simultaneously, art – professor would go easy on Mammon if you took the heat.

“Oh, it’s you.” You were right to hope; Amy’s tone instantly softened. “If you’re on your way home, please take this loudmouth with you.”

“Who ya callin’ a loudmouth, man?” Mammon growled. You cupped your hand over his mouth; better late than never.

“Yes, I’ll be on my way now. I was just waiting for Mammon to finish his lessons.”

“Does being an idiot pay off after all?” Amy mused aloud – mostly to annoy the muzzled Mammon. “Very well. Be safe on your way home.”

“Alright, thank you, sir.” You smiled at him and began to drag Mammon down the hall. You only uncovered his mouth once the professor had gone back inside, and you were safely out of earshot.

“’Thank you, sir,’” Mammon mocked you. “Fuck was all that? You ain’t fuckin’ that teacher now are ya?”

“No, you pervert. It’s called being polite. You’d probably get in less trouble if you tried it with a few of your professors.”

“What’cha doin’ bein’ all polite to him for, anyway? Guy’s not even a good teacher, and he clearly has a human kink. Just stay away from him.”

“I almost never talk to him outside of our classes.” You rolled your eyes at Mammon. His jealousy had been excessive recently. As a slight punishment, you decided to tease him. “And why do you know so much about human kinks that you can recognize it in someone else?”

“Shuddup. It ain’t like that!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t have a human kink or nothing,” Mammon yelled. His cheeks burned, and he blurted out, “it’s only you.”

“Sorry, what was that?” you teased, biting back your smile.

“I didn’t say shit. Forget it.” Mammon crossed his arms as he picked up his speed just enough to walk ahead of you, hoping to avoid showing you the blush that stained his face.

“Okay, Mammon.” You dropped it, allowing him a bit of his dignity.

You both walked in silence for a minute until, finally, Mammon slowed down and started to walk beside you again. His blush had calmed. He glanced to the side briefly, trying not to draw your attention, but you noticed and smiled at him. Why do ya always look so cute ‘n happy when you’re walkin’ home with me, huh? What gives? Mammon wondered. If something as simple as walking home could make you smile like that, you were going to start charming demons left and right, and Mammon had no intention of sharing any more of you than he had to. That’s why he was so annoyed by you being nice to that professor. Just thinking about the way that demon’s face softened around you was pissing him off.

Suddenly, Mammon remembered what you had said, and his cheeks reignited in a faint blush. Nervous and masking his shyness with aggression, Mammon asked, “Hey, were ya serious about that back there – about just waitin’ for me to get out?”

“Yeah, of course I was.”

“For real? Ya waited two whole hours?”

“For my favorite hole? Yeah.” You smirked.

“Shuddup!” Mammon’s face burned. “Now who’s bein’ a perv?!”

“At least we’re even.” You smiled sweetly, as if you hadn’t just said something so vulgar – on a public street, no less.

Mammon stopped in his tracks, confidence surging in him. You stopped and looked back, confused. He grinned. “Ya must really love the Great Mammon, huh?”

“Sure do,” you readily agreed.

“I knew it!” Mammon pronounced – as if the occasional doubt had never wandered into his head. While he still had the courage to act, Mammon grabbed the sides of your face and quickly placed a kiss on your cheek. He whispered in your ear, “Thanks for bein’ so sweet to me, MC.”

Before you could register what had just happened, Mammon took off running towards the House of Lamentation. He pulled out his phone, skillfully dodging random obstacles and other demons as he appeared to start typing something. Seconds later, your D.D.D. buzzed.

Mammon: First one home gets a real kiss from the loser. Deal?

You laughed and stared down the street, watching as Mammon increased the distance between you. There was no way you were going to catch up to him.

MC: Deal. 💛

Satan

Satan was utterly thrilled when he found out the library had finally received the book that he requested two months ago. He insisted upon checking it out immediately after class, and since you had studying to do anyway, you went along with him.

With his new book acquired, Satan joined you at the small table you had settled into and began to read. However, his attention’s lifespan was uncharacteristically short despite his initial excitement. Satan’s eyes wandered away from the page, drifting up to you. Each time he tried to refocus on the book, his gaze punished him for a failure to indulge himself by lingering on you.

Few things enticed Satan more than you – especially when you got that serious look on your face. He had tried to keep reading too many times to keep track of, and now he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away from you again. So, he just sat there, watching you read over your notes, recopying the most relevant points on a fresh sheet of paper. You were being so diligent.

One of the awful things about demons is that the alarm bells that go off in your head when you think someone is watching you are stronger and scarier when that someone is a powerful demon – and the fear your innate human senses created under the predatory gaze of a demon like Satan, whose sin was a destructive and devastating wrath, was intense. It sent a shiver up your spine, and when you looked up to find Satan’s eyes locked on your face, you jumped in your seat slightly. He didn’t need to look so hungry.

“Please stop staring, Satan.” You looked away, trying to turn your attention back to your studies.

“You don't want me to stare at you?” Satan got out of his seat across the table and took the spot right next to you. He propped his chin up in his hand and stared at you up close, eyeing you up and down with a smug grin on his face. “I want to. What's the problem?"

“It’s a bit distracting to have your eyes on me.” That was at least mostly true. There was no need to mention he was also turning you on in public. “I’d rather you not just stare at me.”

“Is that all?” Satan laughed. “You don’t want me to just stare? Very well.”

Satan leaned in, slowly shutting his eyes, and kissed your cheek. His warm lips lingered on your skin and his hot breath tickled. You could feel another chill run up your spine when his eyes fluttered back open. Even when he pulled back, his mouth hovered just over your cheek.

Another set of eyes landed on you. From a few aisles away, another library regular was stunned in their spot, mortified to have witnessed the Avatar of Wrath kissing a human in the library – not that they hadn’t seen worse. They gave you an awkward wave before turning and walking in the opposite direction, abandoning the book they had been searching for.

“Satan,” you chided him.

“What?” Satan hummed, inching closer to your ear, and whispered, “Do you still want more?”

“Someone saw.” You felt a bit guilty about it, too. Their embarrassment matched yours; in fact, it may have been even worse. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to. And who cares if someone saw? What are they going to do about a kiss on the cheek? It’s fine.” Satan placed another kiss on your cheek before returning to whisper seductively in your ear, “Besides, we’ve done worse. Don’t act so shy and innocent now. Do you need a reminder of all the things we’ve done – or perhaps you’d prefer a physical demonstration?”

What did you do to deserve this? You were just trying to study.

Asmodeus

“You weren’t waiting too long for moi, were you?” Asmo rushed to the table that you had grabbed when you arrived. He had a grin on his lips, but that charming smile was a cover for the guilt and anxiety he felt about being fifteen minutes late for your date. He couldn’t figure out which pair of socks to wear to complement his boots and skirt – and in the end, he just ended up pulling on a pair of lace stockings. Usually, Asmo didn’t care if he was a little late, but the idea of leaving you all alone in a demon-infested night café didn’t sit well with him.

“I would have happily waited much longer – especially when you show up, looking this cute.” You smiled at him sweetly, and every inch of Asmo’s body burned.

“Ooh, you little charmer.” Asmo giggled. “Did you order yet?”

“Of course not; I wanted to wait for you.”

“Such an obedient human,” Asmo teased, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his hand. He stared at you affectionately.

“I’ve never been called that in my life.” You laughed, and that only made Asmo happier to have said it.

“Want me to go up and order? Just tell me what you want – other than me, of course.” Asmo got to his feet and waited patiently for you to relay your order. With a smile and a wink, Asmo booped your nose. “Excellent. Now make sure to enjoy the view.”

Before you could question him, Asmo spun around and walked toward the register. Each step was a deliberate effort to draw your attention to his legs and ass. Oh. That view. Asmo was a hopeless flirt, but he was awfully sweet, too. Besides, you couldn’t deny that it was a good view.

Unfortunately, as Asmo returned from placing the order, he was faced with the irritating realization that he was not the only view in the café. He caught a handful of demons leering at you – and one of them appeared to be approaching. Not on Asmo’s expensive, crystal watch. He hurried back to the table just in time to cut off the tall demon, placing his delicate hand over your shoulder possessively. With a haunting smile, Asmo stared them down. He announced – more to the other demon than to you, “I’m back, hun. Did you miss me?”

A shiver ran up the demon’s spine, and their eyes went wide. They weren’t about to square up with Asmodeus over a human – not after all the rumors they had heard about bloodlust being stronger in lust demons than those ruled by wrath. The demon awkwardly tried to escape by blurting out, “enjoy your date.”

The demon scurried away quickly, and you looked up at Asmo just in time for his menacing aura to dissipate. “That was weird, right?”

“Some people just can’t act right around cuties.” Asmo dismissed your worry with a lighthearted laugh.

“So, you get that a lot?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t mean me.” Asmo leaned down to whisper in your ear, “You’re so cute it’s drawing attention.”

“I’m not as cute as you, though.” You smiled. “Now, sit down with me.”

“Actually, I was hoping we could snap a few pictures first. Do you mind?”

“Sure, I guess.” You shrugged and started to stand, but Asmo used his hand that was still resting on your shoulder to push you back down into your seat.

“No need to get up,” Asmo cooed. He took a step back and leaned over your chair so he could get right next to your face and drape his arms over you. “This position is perfect.”

Asmo snapped a few pictures. With each one, he seemed to get closer until his cheek was pressed to yours affectionately. He asked you to make a half heart with your hand and completed it with his own. Then, catching you off guard, Asmo kissed your cheek tenderly, waiting a few seconds before finally snapping a picture. He immediately pulled his phone back and stood up to discreetly examine the photo. The shit-eating grin on his face spoke for itself. He was all too pleased with it.

“What was that?” You scoffed. You probably should have anticipated that level of physical affection from Asmo, but sometimes, he still surprised you.

“Hmm? Isn’t it obvious?” Asmo looked down at you, innocently tilting his head. “I had to mark my territory.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. Sure, Asmo was always teasing you and flirting, but you hadn’t quite expected that answer. Asmo giggled and bent over, getting indecently close to your neck.

“I had to mark you,” he repeated in a low, seductive tone. “Would you rather I leave a hickey on your neck right now instead? I’d be happy to.”

“Just be a good boy and sit down.” You sighed. It wasn’t that embarrassing, but all you could do was imagine Lucifer’s voice scolding you for indulging Asmo too much in public.

“Ooh, I do want to be your good boy. Okay.” Asmo grinned, biting back the urge to call you one of a myriad of unacceptable titles, and returned to his seat across from you. He pulled his phone out and started messing with it. “See, I’m behaving.”

You laughed. Something told you that he was not, in fact, behaving. It only took a few minutes of mindless chatting while he continued tapping away at his phone – a habit you were so accustomed to that it usually didn’t strike you as rude – for your suspicion to be confirmed.

Your D.D.D. buzzed with an alert from Asmo’s Devilgram. He posted the picture of him kissing your cheek with a pink heart emoji covering your face – for the sake of your privacy. That was decent of him. You smiled softly, certain that Asmo was watching you. It already had over 6k likes by the time you scrolled down to read the caption: Ugh. My date is so cute that they’re attracting all sorts of attention. No one else deserves to see that cute face tonight but moi~ What do you think, everyone, should I mark them for myself?  

Asmo was spared a playful lecture when his name was called at the counter. You got up to help him carry the drinks and food back to your table. The barista seemed to be staring at you, but when Asmo put his finger up to his lips, they got flustered and looked away, returning to their work. Covering your face in the picture served another purpose: Asmo was hiding the gloss mark he left on your cheek. You didn’t need to know about it yet.

Belphegor

Belphie was lucky that you had chosen to sit in the back of the lecture hall where he could comfortably lean up against your shoulder and fall asleep without immediate repercussions. At least he was polite enough to nap on the shoulder for your non-dominant hand so you could continue to take notes as you listened to the lecture. Occasionally, you glanced down at his sleeping face; he looked so sweet, peaceful, and adorable.

The clock ticked down the few remaining minutes of the lecture, which was your cue to begin the wake-up process. Although Belphegor seldom cared what his brothers or the professor thought about him using you as a pillow during class, you found that it was easier to just wake him up before the complaints came rolling in. You set your pen down, pet Belphie gently, and whispered his name so that only he would hear you. A soft moan left him, and he nuzzled into your arm before leisurely opening his eyes with a content smile.

“Good morning, MC.” Belphie whispered into your ear.

Reluctantly, Belphegor forced himself upright and away from the warmth of your body just in time for the lecture to be dismissed. The professor and other students gathered their things and collectively made their way towards the doors. You, however, waited on Belphegor to shake off his nap and get to his feet.

“C’mon, MC. Catch up,” Mammon shouted from the front of the class.

“Give us a second,” you replied at a lower volume.

“Man, you two are so slow. I ain’t waitin’ around forever.” Mammon groaned and made his way slowly towards the door.

“He would know slow,” Belphie muttered just loud enough for you to hear as he stood up.

“Belphie,” you chided him, but your tone went ignored.

“Hey, can I borrow your notes later? Maybe we could review together.” There was a soft, sweet neediness in Belphie’s voice.

“Didn’t you catch the lecture in your sleep like you usually do?” Sometimes Belphie’s ability to remember things that happened around him while he was asleep creeped you out. He was like an unassuming monitoring device if he wanted to be.

“Indulge me.” Belphie knocked his shoulder against yours playfully.

“I always do, don’t I?” You sighed. That was the unfortunate effect he had on you: you always found yourself spoiling him, even when he didn’t deserve it – or rather, especially when he didn’t.

You were just about to walk into the hall when Belphie grabbed your hand and pulled you back into the classroom before the others spotted you. He played with your hand, caressing you with his thumbs. His cheeks were stained light pink as his eyes flitted from your hand to your face.

“What’s the matter, Bel?”

Belphie closed the distance between you, springing forward to kiss your cheek. The sudden movement surprised you, but it wasn’t especially shocking; Belphegor had always been physically affectionate. He inched closer, causing his hot breath to ghost over your skin. His lips curved into a precious grin as he whispered in your ear: “Thank you for always spoiling me.”

The honey-sweet tone of Belphie’s voice was undercut by a sharp yell from the corner of the room. “I saw that.”

It was Solomon. He stopped shoving his books into his bag to glare at the back of Belphegor’s head. Unfortunately for Solomon, Belphie wasn’t bothered; he simply rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Cool shit, bro.” Belphie replied in a condescending tone and lifted his arm up in the air to flip Solomon off. You watched Solomon’s jaw drop slightly as he physically recoiled. Sometimes Solomon forgot how rude Belphegor could be. It was hard not to laugh, but you really shouldn’t encourage his bad behavior by laughing. “Come on, MC. Let’s go.”

Belphie grabbed your arm and dragged you into the hall. He was attached, and he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. In fact, he planned to stay glued to your side until his desire for your attention was fully satisfied.

Solomon

The warmth of Solomon’s hands as he caressed your cheek was nothing compared to the warmth of his praise and your own pride swelling in your chest. Solomon hummed, “You did such a good job.”

You had successfully used a heating spell on the first try, evidenced by the warmth in Solomon’s previously cold hands. It had been a while since you got a spell that Solomon taught you perfect right away – let alone one that required you to manipulate another person’s body (and you could worry about the ethical dilemma involved with that later). Neither of you had expected you to raise his body temperature at such an ideal rate and stop at the perfect temperature. Of course, Solomon trusted you not to hurt him, but he was impressed by your control. He wanted to test you further.

“Excellent. Let’s try something similar.” Solomon began to search his shelves for the right ingredients. He continued to talk as he scanned, “I want to see if you can cool down an external object with the same level of control. If you can do it, I’ll reward you.”

“Bring it on,” you accepted. Solomon offered you plenty of praise when you did well, but he so rarely gave you an actual reward for your work. It was exciting to imagine what you could earn. Maybe he would teach you a cool, secret spell or give you a magical item. But more motivating than a reward was the idea of making Solomon proud.

“That’s my apprentice – so eager,” he mused, grabbing a bottle of glowing red liquid.

“Oh, but no home cooking as a reward,” you added, sparing your future self from potential suffering.

Solomon whipped his head around with a pout before returning to his search. He found a beaker and brought everything to his desk. By then, the pout had reshaped itself into a smirk. “I didn’t have cooking in mind when I offered you a reward, so it looks like we have a deal.”

Solomon poured plain water and the glowing red liquid into the beaker. They failed to mix. You asked, “What do I have to do?”

It was simple – or at least that was what Solomon said. All you had to do was cool the contents of the container between 32 to 36 degrees below the freezing point of water. If the red substance dipped under 36 degrees below the freezing point of water, it would become unstable. If you failed, the ice and glass would break open. Solomon didn’t tell you anything about the red substance or what “unstable” meant for it. All you knew was that you had a four-degree margin of error.

“And you’re sure it’s safe?”

“I wouldn’t put my favorite apprentice in danger for a game, would I?”

With that reassurance, you focused your magic into the beaker. As the water slowly solidified, the red liquid became concentrated at the center until it was encased in ice. You just had to keep lowering it until something felt right. You stopped and nodded. Solomon inspected the beaker.

“A beautiful job,” Solomon praised you.

“Really? What did I do though?”

“I’ll tell you once the ice melts,” Solomon waved off your curiosity. “For now, it’s time for your reward. Close your eyes.”

You did as he instructed and listened to him moving about the room. His presence got closer until you could feel his warmth. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, causing your eyes to shoot open and your face to burn. Solomon chuckled at your response.

“I could feel your cheeks getting warm. Did I embarrass you?”

“No. I was just surprised.”

“Really?” Solomon leaned in and kissed your cheek again. “I don’t know. Your face burns under my lips.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” you retorted. That wasn’t what you were expecting, of course he flustered you.

“Oh? That can’t possibly be true. My adorable apprentice seems to be doing quite well,” Solomon laughed, all too pleased with his successful attempt to tease you. “You learn so quickly. Should we try something even harder? Think you can handle it?”

There was a seductive tint to his words, and you narrowed your eyes at Solomon. “Same shady reward system? Pass.”

“Nope,” Solomon leaned close, trying to entice you. How were you just now noticing how sweet he smelled? Was he wearing perfume or cologne today? You didn’t have time to linger on the thought. Solomon dropped his voice, and through a wicked smirk, he added, “even shadier. If you succeed, I’ll do whatever you ask for a full day.”

“And if I fail?” you asked cautiously.

“I get to punish you.”

(gift version - Beelzebub, Thirteen, Raphael, Mephistopheles)

A/N: These ones got really flirty. . . oh well. Uhm, leave me nice comments or something. I don't know. I feel like I'm forgetting to say something. . .

[cookybananas]

Do I Know You? - Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Reader {Part. I}

a/n: an alternate universe/timeline!au fic! this is the first part, the second part is in the works!

summary: Where Darth Vader is sent on a mission and finds himself traveling through another timeline and meets another version of you where you aren't dead. part II: Do I Know You? II

"I am going to have a few words with you once I get back Sheev..." Vader thought to himself. His large frame was trapped in a tiny capsule that was rapidly moving downwards onto the surface of Tatooine.

His master had sent him to retrieve the Death Star plans on a rebel ship when all of sudden, the rebels managed to crowd him into this tiny capsule and drop him out of the ship. 

There was a faint beeping heard below him. He looked down at his hand and noticed a device strapped on the back of his hand. Those damn rebels. Vader toyed with the device, hoping to shut off the beeping, but the beeping increased and flashed the words on the device:

Coruscant, 20 BBY 

"Huh?" He thought to himself once again, what could this possibly mean? The light above him began flashing red. Out of the small window of the capsule, the dark space soon turned into a blue clouded sky. The Sith Lord let out a sign of frustration, how the hell did I get into this position?

The capsule came to an abrupt stop when it had landed on the ground, sending the Sith Lord face forward into the door. Vader groaned to himself. The door slid open, revealing a dark alleyway, similar to the alleyways in the Underworld in Coruscant.

Vader walked out of the capsule, turning around to admire the machine that the rebels had managed to squeeze him in. Interesting... The Sith Lord thought to himself before making his way towards the dimly lit streets of Coruscant.

The people off the streets eyed the tall, towering figure as Vader strolled along the sidewalks of the Underworld.

"Do you want to buy some deathsticks?" A Rodian man said as he approached the tall dark figure with death sticks in his hands. To which Vader took a step back and eyed the man.

"No..." He let out, debating on whether to take the deathsticks or not. This day was already terrible as is with how everything had gone.

"Are you sure? You'll have a great time-" Vader raise his hand, force choking the reptilian humanoid.

"I would rather not you pest. Now, you will go home and rethink your life."

"I-I will to go home and rethink my life." The man nodded up and down. Vader released his grasp, allowing the Rodian to scramble away from him.

There was whispering and murmurs from other onlookers, witnessing what the Sith Lord just did.

"Did he just use the force?"

"You saw that right?

"Do you think he's one of those Jedi?"

The Sith Lord looked around the people who backed away from him. Pathetic, he thought. He needed to find Palpatine and tell him that mission was a failure, the rebels had gotten away, and he was unable to get the plans. Meaning, that there will be a severe punishment waiting for him once he returns to his Master.

Vader walked into the nearest club and approached the Twi'lek bartender, hoping to find a speeder or station to get him out of here.

"Where is there nearest station? I need to get to the Emperor. 5127th level." Vader said to Twi'lek man who had just gotten done serving a drink to a customer.

"Emperor? Where on Hoth did you come from? Do you mean the Chancellor?" The man questioned, throwing his towel over his shoulder.

Vader sat in brief silence, thinking to himself, Chancellor? He could have sworn Sheev didn't go by that name anymore.

"Y-Yes, the Chancellor...Do you know where I can find him." Vader finally let out, after moments of awkward silence.

"Well, you won't have much of chance finding her. She's either too busy in her office or helping the people clear the debris that was left from the Clone Wars ever since the previous Chancellor was killed."

"She...? How strange." Vader said to himself. "And remind me, what is the name of the Chancellor is again?"

"Kriff dude, did your head get smack with a bunch of Ewoks throwin' rocks at it?" The man questioned, now cleaning cups with his towel.

Vader sat in silence again, staring down at the man. Debating on whether he should have killed his man sooner, or wait until he got a response. Luckily, he chose the latter.

"Chancellor Y/N L/N is her name. She was the former Senator of Naboo before she was elected right after Chancellor Palpatine's death. There's rumors that she had a fling with a Jedi Knight, by the name of Anakin Skywalker-"

"Tell me. Where is she." Vader said, his tone revealing his impatience.

"Woah woah, don't you want me to finish telling-"

"Where is the nearest station. I will find her myself." He stated.

"O-okay fine. The nearest station is quite a distance. But we do have this old speeder at the back of-"

Before the bartender could finish, Vader had already made his way out of the club and around to the back to the speeder. Chancellor Y/N? It couldn't be possible. You were dead, but he needed to see it for himself.

-

"Your Majesty, do you think-"

"Who cares, she has already told you how she felt-" 

"Oh I wasn't talking to you-"

The doors of my office slide open, revealing Obi-Wan with a tray that had two cups on it. I smiled at him, to which he returned. But that smile soon turned into concern as he looked over at my two handmaidens who were having a little dispute.

"Are they still fighting about it?" Obi-Wan said, approaching me and handing me a cup of warm tea.

"Yes, yes they are." I responded, sipping and savoring the earthy taste of the tea.

"Chancellor! Chancellor!" A voice from outside my office called. I looked up at Obi-Wan who looked down at me. The doors to my office slid open, revealing Cal?

"Cal? What's the matter?" I said, now standing up from my chair and making my way towards him.

"T-There's. there's someone looking for you. We don't know who o-or what their name is." He breathed out, trying to catch his breath. "I'm just gonna take a seat here." before plopping himself on the loveseat.

"Astra, could you grab Cal a glass of water please?" Both my handmaidens stopped their bickering and turned to look at me.

"Y-yes of course your Majesty." Astra bowed, both handmaidens leaving the three of us in my office. I turned back to Cal with concern.

"Cal, take a moment to catch your breath. Now, what is this you heard of someone needing me?" I asked him, taking a seat next to him on the loveseat, my hand resting on his shoulder.

"Of course Chancellor. There are talks in the Underworld, that there is this dark figure, who I think is a force-user, is looking for you... I don't know if he's from another planet or something, but there's something off about that thing." Cal spoke, still breathless from running to get to my office.

"Thing?" I furrowed my eyebrows at his words. I looked up at Obi-Wan who was standing next to Cal, caressing his beard in thought.

"Well, it could be a droid of some sort. The thing sounds mechanical." Cal continued, gnawing at his lips nervously.

"Interesting Cal, do we perhaps have another other information of the individual?" Obi-Wan inquired.

"N-No Master, but I felt this dark energy from him. Almost as if it was evil, pure evil." Cal responded. He pulled out his holoprojector, showing footage of a tall dark mysterious figure force choking an innocent bystander.

Obi-Wan and I looked at each other before looking back at the hologram.

"He doesn't look like he would be friendly. Perhaps we may need to take action and find what this individual wants to do with you." Obi-Wan said, still stroking his beard. I thought to myself. How strange, what could I have possibly done that I was involved with this individual?

"We may need to tighten up security among the people and the rest of the sovereign powers. I don't want to draw too much attention to this. I already have much going on. Perhaps I'll bring this up to the Jedi council tomorrow morning and see what they think." I said sighing to myself, as I walked over to the large window that overlooked beautiful skies of Coruscant.

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, Cal sat there looking between us.

-

The skies of Coruscant were pitch black, but littered with stars in the sky. The Sith Lord arrived at the small landing pad with his airspeeder, just outside of a familiar penthouse. The penthouses and apartments in Coruscant were always open air. Since they were high up in the skies, the only way to get in was with an airspeeder or the elevators to the buildings. So it was fairly easy for Vader to walk into your penthouse without needing to break a sweat.

The Sith Lord made his way into the penthouse. The lights of every room were turned off, except for one. Light faintly emitted from a set of closed doors, assuming that was your room, Vader made a beeline towards your bedroom doors.

Even with his ultraviolet and infrared vision, it was still limited to where Vader missed the Jedi that was hidden behind one of the large pillars of the penthouse.

"You're not welcomed here. You are trespassing a politician's home and I advise you to leave this instant." A familiar voice spoke up.

"I will not leave until I see her, the Chancellor." The Sith Lord turned around, but did not see anyone behind him. Vader turned back around only to be met with Obi-Wan with his hand on the hilt of lightsaber.

"M-Master..." Vader let out, only for Obi-Wan to quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Do we know each other?" Obi-Wan responded, his hand still resting upon his saber.

"Master, it's me... Anakin Skywalker." Vader spoke out to his former Master.

"Foolish nonsense, Anakin Skywalker is dead." Obi-Wan stated.

Both the Sith Lord and Master Jedi eyed each other, waiting on who would make the first move. After moments of deafening silence, Vader took off his helmet. Revealing his burnt, scarred face, and yellow Sith eyes. Obi-Wan watch him in disbelief, taking a step back from the Sith. 

"Obi? Obi-Wan are you there? Who are you talking to in there?" Your voice was muffled on the other side of your door. Anakin's desperate eyes darted over to Obi-Wan and to your door, hoping he'll say something.

"Y-yes Y/N! No worries, it was just a false alarm! It was just a hawk-bat!" Obi-Wan shouted.

"If you say so Obi. I'm heading to bed now!" You shouted in response. The light emitting from your bedroom doors shut off, leaving the entirety of the penthouse dark and only for the Coruscant moonlight to shine through the large windows.

Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed to himself. "You have some nerve for showing up here. And to say that you are Anakin Skywalker? Ludicrous." He spat at Vader.

-

part II: Do I Know You? II

[ckret2]

You know, after seeing your evil Ford au, I wonder what would happen if evil! Ford, met cannon! Ford. I feel like Cannon! Ford would hate him because he's just an example of what would happen if he haven't learned his lesson on perfection and how it's impossible to reach and how he doesn't need to impress people to be happy. I wonder what evil! Ford would think of his original counter part..would he be a little regretful? Since his cannon counterpart got more happiness than him? It's honestly intriguing to think about.

That's actually part of why I made Evil Ford: I was thinking about a dimension of lost Fords (like the dimension of lost Mabels in Don't Dimension It) and asked myself, which Ford alternate would Canon Ford most hate to meet?

So yeah you're right, Canon Ford would HATE Evil Ford—but not for thematic "you haven't learned the moral lesson about perfection & family" reasons. That's how audiences think about characters, it's not how people think about other people. When's the last time you hated somebody in real life because they missed the point of their own narrative arc—rather than because, say, they're rude to cashiers?

No, the reason Canon Ford hates Evil Ford is much simpler.

Similarly, meeting Canon Ford wouldn't make Evil Ford feel regretful because Evil Ford still thinks he made the right decision. What does he care if Canon Ford is "happier" if he only found contentment by—what—giving up on his high ambitions and settling for being a washed-up burnt-out ex-academic with no memorable achievements to his name? Evil Ford would rather die as a miserable overachiever than live as a peaceful slacker.

And he didn't spend thirty years on a completely different life path from Canon Ford without developing a totally different perspective.

Note: when Canon Ford found out Bill lied about the portal and declared he'd stop Bill no matter what, Evil Ford thinks that's Ford betraying Bill, not the other way around.

Also note: Evil Ford thinks Canon Ford is only motivated by anger over being deceived—not concern for the safety of the whole planet. Like yeah sure, he's HEARD that excuse; but that's what he thinks it is: an excuse. If he'd decided not to forgive Bill, he probably would've used the same excuse himself. A convenient, heroic-sounding moral justification for a thirty year vengence quest—but he doesn't really care that much about who's running the Earth, why would his alternate self?

(And really, Canon Ford? Thirty years? Thirty years?? You never found anything more productive to do with all that time than stalk your former mentor because you're MAD about ONE LIE?? If Canon Ford had said he thought killing Bill would net him more interdimensional fame and praise than he'd ever have as his underling, then Evil Ford could understand THAT—he himself has had misgivings about the fact that he's signed up to spend all eternity playing second banana—but as it is, though...)

Also also note: Evil Ford never reconciled with Fiddleford because he never acknowledged Fidds was "right" about Bill. He spent two-thirds of his life estranged from his brother. He moved across the country from his family. He made no friends in Gravity Falls, and likely no other college friends than Fidds. But he spent over half his life working with, dreaming with, living with Bill Cipher.

Evil Ford is evil; but he's not heartless.

Bill's the muse that gave him the blueprints he needed for his greatest invention and for the culmination of his life's work as a scientist and explorer. Bill's a near-god who hailed Ford as the greatest genius of his century, the man who's going to change the world, and via divine weirdness intervention he personally made sure that prophecy come true. Bill's the guy who—after Ford's embarrassing failure of a portal accident—welcomed Ford into his gang with open arms and the assurance that all his hard work wouldn't be for naught. He's Ford's longest-lasting friendship, his partner in crime and in science and in just about everything else by now, the person he trusts to puppet his body.

Is that a very skewed perspective on Bill? God, yeah. But it's Evil Ford's perspective.

If someone told you that all your suffering is due to the one person you trust most in all the world and the one person outside your family you care about the most—someone you've known for over thirty years—and your life would be so much better if you'd ditched this person the very first time you didn't get along—and that ditching them would have been the moral action—and that, in fact, you should have dedicated your life to killing this person...

Would you regret your life? Would you envy the life of the man who told you all this?

Or would you despise him?

How much more would you despise him if you knew he was you—had lived the same life as you—and that he had killed the most important person in your world?

Oh, Evil Ford resents the hell out of Canon Ford. Who are you—you slacker, you betrayer—to say you're "happier" than your counterpart? How do you deserve that "happy" ending? How is that fair?

Evil Ford only has one regret: not locking up his entire family before Weirdmageddon, where they'd all be safe... and where Bill would be safe from them.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐎𝐟𝐟-𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 | 10-24

"We're partners."

Tags/Warnings: Police Officer!Jungkook, Dog Hybrid!Reader, Partners to lovers?, Alternate law-system/made up laws, crime, futuristic, sci-fi, body-modifications?, Fluff, romance, angst, medical themes, injuries

Length: 4.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

A/N: the fic was supposed to end with thispart, as there seemed to be no more interest for it, but I decided against it haha

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You know your fate the moment you wake up.

From the apologetic looks of nurses to the sighs then leading doctor keeps making as he checks your reflexes- or lack thereof- you know that you’re done for. How will your life change? Will the carecenter at least be nice to you? How will you adapt?

Is Jungkook going to at least say goodbye to you?

You kind of.. Exist for an entire week in the hospital, not really interested in anything as they prepare you for your next surgery. Bodymods- Paid for by the government due to your outstanding work in the police force. It’s normal, a regular thing, you’ve heard about it all the time and you know somewhat that Jungkook was covered by the same program as you are right now- but Jungkook had had time to adjust. Hybrids, as far as you know, don’t get that time.

Because they take much longer to figure things out.

When you wake up after your surgery, you’re yet again alone. You see no familiar faces, only the nurses who keep trying to cheer you up, and you honestly feel bad for not reciprocating at least a smile every now and then. You feel horrible. Like a failure.

What’s going to happen to you?

It’s the day after your surgery, that something happens. Someone enters your room, and you believe it might be someone who’s been working with Jungkook recently due to his faint scent, maybe having been sent to give you some important notice or something- but when you turn around to look at who’s closing the door, bags rustling in his hand, you’re surprised to find Jungkook himself here.

“I’m sorry I only came now.” He apologizes quietly, putting the plastic bag down before he lets another black backpack slip from his shoulder down to the floor next to your bag. “There was.. Some stuff I had to take care of.” He says, and you nod, quietly.

Of course. He’s got to find a new hybrid now, after all.

“How are you?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed near your legs, watching you. He looks tired- more exhausted than you are right now, clear fatigue on his face as he waits for an answer. You shrug, because that’s all you can offer. You’re physically doing good, surprisingly so according to the doctor who’s overseeing your condition, but mentally, you’re not sure. “You’ll be okay.” Jungkook offers, a hand on your leg feeling weird. You know its there, but its still an odd sensation.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You stare at his hand on your leg, limbs tucked away beneath the blanket you’re sleeping under most of the time. “When will they pick me up?” You ask, and he frowns a bit, obvious sign of confusion on his side, before he realizes what you might be asking about. He shakes his head.

“They won’t.” He denies. “We’re partners, remember?” He offers, and you can’t help but feel your throat clog up and eyes sting as they fill with tears, forcing you to look away.

And then, he moves, gets up before he leans over the bed- hugging you close.

“We’re partners.” He whispers to you, while you can’t help but begin to cry- both in relief and also because he finally makes you feel safe enough to let it all out. “and we’ll stay partners.” He reassures you, hands softly holding you.

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It turns out that the reason Jungkook didn’t visit you for this long, was because he really did have to take care of stuff. That ‘stuff’ not actually being just finding a good place for your physical rehabilitation, but also adjusting his home so you can still somewhat move around freely. Everything is suddenly a lot more.. Open almost, not disconnected from you anymore. It feels like you’re actually supposed to live with him from now on, and not just alongside him any longer.

It’s odd.

Jungkook’s request for official ownership has been sent out despite the fact that he’s technically not yet eligible for it due to you both not having worked together for enough time. But he’s found a potential loophole, has made use of the fact that you got injured on duty and that he himself has to resign soon anyways- so with a bit of luck, and his good writing skills that described your situation and dedication towards your job in the past, he might just get it approved.

He hopes he will. He can’t imagine letting you go.

You’re on heavy medication, similar to how he used to be years ago when he got himself injured enough to require such a surgery. But bringing you back home into a familiar environment surely helped your sleep- your body knocked out on the couch with your legs close to his own. He’s watching TV when he notices them twitching while you dream- nerves still confused and healing as they adjust to the changes and new situation.

He’ll be there every step of the way- figuratively and literally.

Everyone wants to visit you- even Yoongi- but that’s too soon yet. Jungkook fears that it might overwhelm you to have people roaming around already, and also, he kind of wants to be selfish just for a little bit, and use this time to be for you who he’d wanted to be for so long. Not just a coworker- but a friend.

Because you deserve it.

His hand carefully help you turn onto your other side when you wake up itching to move into a new position to nap, and this time, you put your legs over his lap just to see what might happen. And he lets you, accepts them, even makes sure to try and comfort you when they begin to hurt a little later in the day. He doesn’t know if he will get the papers approved, but he also knows he’ll fight for it- so there’s no reason to keep you at an arm’s length anymore.

He can let you in.

Suddenly, you want to move again, whining for him to help once more as he makes sure not to cause you any harm as he helps you adjust your position once more. And as soon as he sits down again, a pillow of yours is slapped onto his lap, boldly so, before you pull yourself even closer, laying your head on his thighs. He’s got no choice but to lay one of his arms over your shoulder now, and you receive it well- even holding onto his hand in your sleep now, as he turns down the volume of the TV just a tad bit more so you can sleep better.

This is heaven to you.

This is who you would’ve loved to be- if your tail was working properly it would be wagging at a constant, heart warm at the way he finally offers so much gentle affection. You love your job- but you also love the idea of this maybe potentially being your future. Just a normal hybrid, nothing to fear, and nothing outstanding to expect from.

Just a normal life.

You turn around somewhat by yourself this time with some help of his to guide your legs, face now hidden in the soft fabric of his sweater, hands still holding his.

And he lets you.

Because, He honestly doesn’t want to let go either.

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Jungkook enjoys life like this- though he could most certainly do without you in a state of hurt and discomfort. The brace you wear currently for both your pelvis injuries and your new mods, so that they can heal properly and that the movement and possible disturbances are reduced to a minimum clearly limits your movement and makes you feel stiff- but its there to make sure you heal properly. You’re fidgety with it, and he knows you’re clearly not comfortable- but it’s necessary.

He’s trying hard to both distract you from it, and help you adjust to your new situation.

“See? You’ll get to swim a lot there.” He tells you, currently showing you the website of the rehabilitation place he chose. “I’ll be there too if you’d like. There’s trained people there too but-”

“I want you to!” You burst out, turning your head to look at him. “I’d.. Like if you’d go there with me.” You say more quiet now, noticing that he might not actually want that. What if he simply feels bad you got injured on a job with him? You never thought of this all potentially just being a fruit from his guilt and nothing more.

But be smiles, and nods, and maybe that’s enough for now.

“Listen..” He starts, closing the tab of the website for now to do something surprising- a gentle hug from where he’s got you sat on his lap, arms around you and chin on your shoulder, careful not to cause you any pain. “..even if it get’s declined, I’ll fight.” He says.

“Fight for what?” You wonder, and he’s quiet for a second, before he speaks again.

“Fight to stay at your side.” He mumbles. “They’re not taking you away from me like that. I know you want to stay, and you should have the right to do so no matter what.” He sighs.

“jungkook..” you start, unsure what to really say. He’s right that you want to stay with him, but does he know why? Your reasoning might not be what he thinks, considering he never really gave you any hint as to how he feels about you. You’ve got a crush on him basically- wouldn’t that make living here together make it unbearable for him? “I’m scared.” You admit.

He turns towards you right away.

“of what?” He worries, not sure what your problem is. Maybe the incident had left you with some more psychological trauma as well?

“..the future.” You say. “I don’t.. I don’t know if living here is such a good idea.” You tell him, and at that he becomes a bit nervous. You don’t know he has some deeper feelings for you. He’s kept it quite secret from you after all- so you don’t know. Right?

“What do you mean?” He asks back, eye contact not as strong as before.

“I don’t think I can.. What if you want to live with someone?” You ask, shrugging. “What if you.. Find someone you like, then what?” You worry.

“I won’t ever like someone as much as you.” He simply sighs, a bit relieved and hopeful he’s interpreting your words correctly. And from the way you look at him full of wonder, he knows he is- which makes him visibly relax now as he watches you. “I think.. As weird as it might sound..” He starts, shrugging as he helps you adjust your position a little, making sure your brace is still properly placed. “I always believed that we meet people for a reason. That I.. that we always got the jobs we did for a reason.” He explains. “From the little girl we found when she ran off a few years back, the veteran we made sure was safe when he was having a flashback, or even that last one.” He sighs. “I think, just maybe, things happen for a reason.”

“I like the idea of that.” You say, leaning into him to rest your head against his shoulder. “It sounds better than.. Having to accept that people are sometimes just plain evil.” You say, and he can pretty much feel you not only physically leaning into him-

But emotionally as well, as you relax in his hold.

“Hey, kook?” You wonder quietly, and hems his answer to you. “can you leave your.. room open, maybe?” You ask, and he nods.

“Of course.” He tells you. “I can also.. sleep in the living room. So you can see me when you keep your room door open- just in case you need something.” He offers, but you fidgety again.

“I kind of.. it’s not for that.” You deny. “just.. if we live together now.. “ you mumble, unsure how to say it, before you take a deep breath and rush it out before you can chicken out again. “I don’t wanna sleep alone anymore!” You say, eyes closed as you wait for the inevitable.

But instead, he just hugs you again, and softly laughs.

“Alright.” He simply agrees. “You could.. also just sleep in my room. My bed is big enough, after all.” He offers, and you turn around to look at him.

“wait- really?” You ask, and he nods.

“Really.” He nods, and at that, you both notice something remarkable happening.

Because despite everything you’ve both been told, and even though it’s very uncoordinated and weak-

Your tail starts to wag again.

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Despite Jungkook not getting proper rest due to you turning and waking up so much during the night, he still enjoys having you so close these days.

You often wake up sore or with pins and needles in your leg- most of the time just one, but sometimes, like tonight, it’s both. He’s tired, but he pushes through that as he helps you get through those tough episodes of your healing process, having given you your medication, before he began running his fingers and hands over your legs like he’s been taught at the hospital to help circulation.

He’s yawning, and so are you just seconds later. It’s a hard time for both of you- but you’ve got each other, and that makes it a lot more manageable.

And right now, after you’ve caught up on some of the lost sleep with a good nap on the couch in the living room, you’re floating in water with Jungkook holding your shoulders so your head doesn’t accidentally dip beneath the surface. He’s listening to the instructor while you do the same, moving your legs a lot more easily this way, as you work up your strength again with the aid of the pool you’re in. And, in a way, it’s also partially a good way to bond with Jungkook- at least in a more personal way compared to before. And you know that it’s more than just friendship- he’s clear in that department, just simply moving it slow, most likely until he knows if he can live with you permanently or not.

Which makes sense. He probably doesn’t want to make you feel worse than you have to if he doesn’t get it approved after all.

Still, you let yourself enjoy this made up dream for as long as it lasts. “You’re adapting a lot faster than other hybrids.” The instructor comments, watching how you kick the water the way he told you to- not very strongly, and a little uncoordinated, but there’s clear control over your legs. “I’m very sure you’ll be just fine by the end of the year.” He says, making you proudly look up at Jungkook, who smiles encouragingly.

You can take as much time as you need- he doesn’t mind one bit.

“I saw you had mods as well?” He asks Jungkook, who nods. “that’s good. A lot of the things you went through will most likely help her too in her recovery.” He informs him, and Jungkook smiles down towards you. “But it’s a good sign that she’s in such high spirit. Usually, hybrids tend to become very shut off and withdrawn, especially former police hybrids. It’s good that she’s got emotional support as well.” He comments, making your tail wag again beneath the water surface.

“well, she deserves it all.” He says, looking down at you with a fond smile-

And you feel like he really means it.

Later, you’re both stopping at a park just to unwind, but you don’t want to really get out of the car at all. The sight of all the people playing around, children running, hybrids having fun, just makes you feel way too melancholic. You’ll most likely never have this again. You’ll never be able to run like that ever again, no matter how hard you try. From now on, you’ll always have to be careful, always have to keep in mind not to overdo it, always have to make sure you’re not pushing any limits you now have.

Jungkook sighs. He’s most likely at a loss on what to do as well- and even if he was to ask you, you’re not sure if you could even tell him what could make you feel better.

“Here.” He suddenly says, catching your attention again as you’re sitting in the open trunk with him, watching the people at the park before you look at the phone he’s showing you. His phone- and there’s a video playing.

It’s him- he has a bit less tattoos clearly, and his hair is a lot longer, pulled back into a tiny little ponytail while he’s holding onto two bars set up at the sides. He’s unsteady, a lot of medical tape covering his back and neck, while he holds onto the bars for dear life, taking step after step in a hardly coordinated way. He’s concentrated, clearly.

“It took me months to take those steps.” Jungkook explains, swiping away into his gallery again to find other videos and images he shows you. “And at first, I really thought ‘that’s it’. I believed I’d have to just resign and accept the fact that I’m going to have to rely on help for the rest of my life.” He tells you, letting you scroll through the videos yourself. “But I got back up. It just took a little time.” He tells you.

“But that was you.” You disagree, giving him his phone back. “What if I can’t do that?” You worry, and he just reaches over to pull you into his side, running his hand up and down your arm in comfort.

“Then I’ll carry you anywhere you want to go.” He reassures you. “I’ll be your legs.”

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“Is there a reason you’re carrying her around?” Seokjin asks, watching you sit in the middle of the police headquarter’s training grounds, while Yoongi plays simple tug-of-war with you. Everyone can see that while he doesn’t outright show it, he is a lot gentler than he would usually be.

“She hates the wheelchair.” Jungkook sighs, sitting at the sidelines with his coworker. “And she’s still too weak to use crutches. So I carry her.” He shrugs, making Jin nod.

“Will she even ever walk again?” Taehyung curiously asks, not even aware that the question could hit a nerve for Jungkook- though he takes it lightly.

“She will.” Jungkook says with a final tone to it, shutting every different thought about the situation down. And he also makes it clear that he doesn’t allow any other opinion about it- or at least doesn’t want to hear it. He knows there’s a possibility you might not recover as well as he did, after all, hybrids tend to statistically have a harder time adapting to modifications than humans do. But Jungkook believes in you.

He knows if he doesn’t, you will stop believing in yourself as well.

He hears his name being called instantly and gets up even faster, as if his body reacts earlier than his brain can comprehend what he heard, walking towards you who’s still sitting in the grass outside. “She’s tired.” Yoongi chuckles from the side, leaving the toy in your lap as you hold onto the long bunny.

“I’m not.” You defend yourself. “But I.. do wanna go home for now.” You say, and Jungkook nods.

“Alright then. Up you go.” He jokes, as he positions himself in front of you for you to climb onto his back, so he can carry you out of the building and back into the car that you both take to drive back home. Only once you’re back in your bed is when you finally reveal to Jungkook why exactly you wanted to go home so suddenly.

“..can you maybe give me one of those painkillers?” You wonder quietly, and Jungkook nods, fetching your medication for you together with a bottle of water.

“I had them with me, you know?” He says as you take them, clearly in pain by now from the way you seem so stiff in your movements. “It’s not bad at all to admit when you’re hurting.”

“I know..” You mumble defeated. “I didn’t want Yoongi to feel bad or something. I had fun.” You say, and Jungkook smiles.

“I’m glad you did. But don’t overdo it.” He teasingly scolds, putting your water to the side for now. “You wanna nap alone, or should I stay?” He asks, and you look up at him hopefully. “Alright alright.” He laughs, easily able to interpret your subtle body language into proper answers by now. You instantly cling to him, bolder than ever before, and he’s a little suspicious about it. “You’re pretty cuddly today.” He comments, and you nod.

“Shouldn’t I be?” You wonder. “Do you not like that?” You ask, and he immediately denies that claim right away.

“No, I love it. It’s just sudden, that’s all.” He shrugs off, helping you adjust your position a little to lay even closer to him.

“I just don’t want to.. waste time. You know. If we do end up being unable to live together.” You mumble into his chest. “I don’t want to.. have to regret not using my time with you good enough, you know?” You explain, and he nods.

He understands this. After all, your words hold a lot of true meaning in them.

But for now, you both can pretend. That nothing is wrong, that you’re just two people, that you have all the time in the world.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

“I came as fast as I could. What’s wrong?” Jungkook worries, having left you at your physical therapy place for now when he’d gotten the text from Seokjin, who made sure to emphasize how urgently jungkook was needed.

“You might want to read this.” Seokjin says, handing him a letter that the younger officer opens to unfold it, and read what it’s about.

He has to sit down.

Letting it all sink in, Jungkook just sits in silence for a good moment, as he sets the letter down on the small plastic table that he sits at. “Yoongi is actually pretty upset over it.” Seokjin admits. “That’s why he’s not here today. He just doesn’t want to hear any of it.”

Yoongi has had a bit of a tough time bonding with you at first, as far as Jungkook knows. Yet over the course of time, you two had bonded very closely, like two pups of the same litter so to speak. He’d watched over you, had always made sure you’d feel included and valued even when you struggled at first to really find your place. And when you were paired with Jungkook, and that whole fiasco went down, Yoongi had been there too- to make sure you know that everything’s going to be alright.

And now, that all ends. Not right away- but it will.

Later, as he brings you home, he’s not sure how to really break those news to you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it, what you think about it- but he also knows that you’re already aware that something’s off about his behaviour. You’ve been trained to sniff out such things after all.

And you’ve always been damn good at your job.

You finished eating your dinner, when Jungkook presents the letter to you- having you read it, and make up your own mind about the contents of it. “I don’t.. Really understand.” You admit, giving the letter back to him. “What does that mean?” You ask with worry- which he understands fully. It is also worded quite complicated, so he doesn’t blame you for having trouble interpreting it all.

“Remember how I filed in for official ownership?” He asks, and you nod. “Well, it neither got denied, nor approved, basically.” At that, you tilt your head a little, confused. “Once you’re rehabilitated enough to return to basic service, we will basically resume our jobs until I fulfilled my time before retirement.” He explains, as you listen. “And then, they’ll transfer me to you, basically.”

“So, right now, I’m still belonging to the.. Police?” You wonder, still not quite getting it.

“No. Right now, you’re fully under my care, until you’re healed enough to get back to work. At least for regular patrol.” He tries again to make it even simpler to understand. “Once you do, we both resume work, until I have fulfilled enough time to retire since my mods prevent me from continuing service.” Jungkook says. “Right now, we’re basically on pause. Once we’re back in service, we work together until I retire together with you. And you’re automatically transferred under my name.”

“So.. Right now, we’re just.. Making sure I heal, and then we just get back to work? Until we both retire again in a year?” You ask, and he laughs, nodding.

“Essentially, yeah. It’s pretty complicated, but I guess it’s protocol.” He laughs.

“But that means.. We can’t be together anymore. Until we retire.” You worry.

“Not really. We can still be together, openly, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our work. You’ll have to take a test basically, and when you pass it, we’re good to go.” He explains.

“So.. I’m not useless?” You ask, and Jungkook’s face instantly falls.

“What? You were never useless, what do you mean?” He worries, pulling you closer to hug you. “What made you think that?”

“Because I can’t even walk right now. I can’t do anything.” You huff, clearly still upset with yourself.

“You can. And you’ll get better soon, promise.” He says. “They already praise you for your quick progress. They don’t just lie and say that to everyone, trust me!” He reassures you, while you cling closer to him. “For now, lets just enjoy the time we have. This isn’t a final decision yet, so there might even be a chance they decide otherwise and just let go of the year missing entirely.” He tells you, as you sigh.

“But we’ll stay together?” You ask, and he nods, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours with a smile.

“We’ll stay together.” He tells you.

“We’re partners after all.”

[thegnomelord]

what if reader worried about speaking around the 141 boys because he worries what if his voice alone is too overwhelming for simple human minds to grasp and the sound of it alone could accidentally melt their brains into mush? Being finally comfortable to say a few words around them but still being hyper-aware of keeping his voice and all aspects of his form under control so nobody gets hurt.

Okay the absolute angst you could come up with this is astounding anon but also I'm in the need of fluff after a depression inducing exam sooo;

Imagine Calling Their Name For The First Time

CW:SFW, Fluff, Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost x Eldritch reader (separate) slight hurt/comfort with Price, each part is roughly 600-700 words.

Imagine GAZ — As a cat, your presence used to help him sleep calmly on nights when his mind was hell bent on reminding him of his failures. Petting your belly or scratching down your spine while you laid on his chest gave his hands a mindless task he could succeed in, the sensation of your fur on his fingers just enough to keep him lucid and grounded when it felt like his bed wanted to swallow him whole. But now that you've revealed your true nature... things have changed.

He was the first one on the taskforce to trust you again; but make no mistake, it still took him months to stop jumping at shadows in the corners of his eyes. He still touches you, but it's different. Now his touches are contained to a pat on your shoulder or a small scritch under your chin when he thinks no-one's looking.

Even in the body of a cat you'd been silent as the grave, so he knows better than to force you to speak. Hell, he even offers an alternative after he sees how you struggle to express your thoughts through paper and pen: Sign language

It's a joint effort as he doesn't know it either, but you can't be mad at him when he giggles so sweetly every time your uncouth hands sign something ridiculous. It's hard to move your fingers with finesse when you've forced yourself in such a limited body and it translates to your language with it ending up bastardized and warped when compared to the real thing just as you are to reality itself.

On a night when his mind has run him ragged and chased away any hope of sleep, you find him on the roof of the base. He's easy to track when millions of your eyes dot the night sky; though you may be a god, you are so small you escape his notice as a storm of thoughts clouds his bloodshot eyes, not even the blanket you drape over his shoulders gets a reaction.

So like a young fool, you try something else.

Just like your sign language, just like you, the sounds escaping your throat are a distorted mockery of the real thing. What should be clean notes come out filled with whistles and chirps and the whispers of a million dead sacrificed to you over the millennia, each one speaking a fraction of a second out of sync to form a low and warbled "Kyle."

His name comes out like tar and sticks to the fabric of all that is, the air around you vibrating. He deserves far more than this, but it's the most human you can make yourself sound.

His head snaps to look at you, mouth agape and wetness around the corners of his eyes. For a second your nonexistent heart shreds itself into pieces thinking you'd broken him and you're ready to disappear into the blackness you crawled out of in an attempt not to harm him further; his hand stops you, pulls you by the front of your clothes so his sturdy hands can wrap around your body.

"Took your sweet time." He whispers so quietly even you need to strain your ears, burying his head into your shoulder. His rapid heart drums so hard against his ribs like it's trying to leap into your cold chest, and for a moment you can almost believe you have one of your own.

Against your better judgement you open your mouth again, speaking in just as quiet a voice as him, yet it still shakes every bone in his body. "You broken?"

He hugs you tighter. "Nah." Gaz gives a weak chuckle, squeezes his arms to check if you hadn't disappeared; that you're more solid than the dead men in his nightmares. "Keep talking to me, please? Say my name again, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

Imagine PRICE — At first, he doesn't know what to do with you.

Finding out the cat Soap and Gaz had begged his ear off into getting is actually some unspeakable god is one thing. Realizing he'd been letting said god use his tits pecs as stress balls and nap on them is a whole 'nother can of worms. Having to chastise a damn god about what is and isn't appropriate, let alone why trying to burry your head into his pecs in front of recruits isn't, is just down bizarre.

But he still treats you like any other soldier in need of guidance, he gives you structure despite the fact you, by definition, are structureless. He's strange like that, perhaps due to age, perhaps due to his asinine stubbornness, but he's a little more resistant to your existence than most. This lets him sit you down every week on the same day and try coaching simple words like 'yes' and 'no' and 'here' out of your throat, wearing ear muffs more for your sake of mind than protection.

Granted, you're as bullheaded as you are old, so most days he ends up talking with himself. But he considers it a small victory every time he manages to pull a word out of you.

Then your hubris makes a mission go to shit, because while you may be immortal in your human disguise, the three bullets in Price's chest that nearly kill him can attest he isn't.

Humans often speak of a god's wrath and they are right; you make a blackened hole out of the enemy base when you find him bleeding out, steel and stone bent into obtrude ways to ensure it may never be restored. You are lucky he's too exhausted to see parts of you burst out of your human back, tentacles of liquid abyss reaching through solid walls to grab the enemies and pull them down into the waiting jaws of nothingness. Not even a bug can save them from being erased from existence like they're drawings on a paper sheet...

But they hardly speak of a god's sorrow; you stay by his bedside while he sleeps, every inch of every surface of the room dotted by your eyes so you can make sure his chest continues to rise and fall in an even tempo, bearing your teeth at Death until it scampers off.

But it's still not enough with how regret claws at you, so you lean over to cover his body with your own, mindful of his sutures as you bury your head into his chest and let out all the words clogging your throat.

It's the tremble of his bones that finally wakes him, his eyes fluttering open to be met with a sea of maddening eyes across the ceiling staring back at him. But with exhaustion clouding his mind the incomprehensibility of the sight simply washes over and past him like a small wave, not even tickling his brain.

But your voice gains his attention, the soft saccharine croon in your voice, the little crackle of lightning in the bleakness behind each syllable vibrates every rib in his chest as you mutter something into his skin, like you're trying to pass a secret to his heart without him hearing it.

"Now what's that, Mittens?" He calls you the name he used when you were a cat, raising a hand to ruffle your hair. Your body hovers over his, enough to feel you against him but not enough to crush him. "Speak up, c'mon, ain't going to hurt."

You raise your head to look at him, his eyes are too blurred to see the gateways to oblivion yours have become, little drops of starry tears bleeding from the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for getting you hurt." You speak before you can even remember you shouldn't, "I'm sorry John."

He just chuckles as much as the stitches will let him. "Well look a' you." He slurs and kneads the muscles at the nape of your neck, hand trailing down to hook his fingers over the harsh edge where your back is still hollowed out like a rotten tree until he can feel solid nothingness press against his skin. "Only took me nearly dyin' for you to finally talking in full sentences." He draws in a sharp breath and pulls you by your back so you're splayed out on top of him fully. "Go on, purr for me some more."

So long as he forgives you, you'll speak until the whole world's gone deaf.

Imagine GHOST— Ghost is the most vary of you after you reveal what you are, he still is in a way. You can feel his eyes on you whenever you two share a space as if he's just waiting for you to drop the charade and turn monstrous, but at the very least his fingers don't twitch for the trigger of a gun each time you draw close.

He doesn't force you to speak, not when he's not much of a talker himself. A simple grunt or a shift of the eyes is all it takes for you to understand him and vice versa, he even learns a few simple words in sign language, though he doesn't acknowledge it when Soap calls him out for growing soft on you.

Because your control of your human body is amateurish at best, he pulls you into sparring frequently. Of course he won't admit that he likes the power trip he gets when he pins you down, even if he does mock your godhood in his deep baritone that makes something new churn in your stomach. And he pins you down frequently, your superior strength of little use when he knows better techniques.

Somehow, this time you manage to knock him down on his arse with only a little cheating on your part. He stares back at you and you grin down at him to the best of your ability, not quite right but close enough, and with a happy glow in your eyes you let out a short and quiet "I win." without even noticing, the air around you vibrating with the laughter of reality.

You freeze and it feels like the cold oblivion in your veins turns to ice, and Ghost uses that distraction to grip your shoulders and roll you over so he's on top of you. But this time something feels different; you can't read his mind like you do communicating with your kin, but you see the tenseness in his muscles, the stiffness in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes like he's on a mission.

"I win." He growls, pushing all of his weight down to pin your shoulder on the ground despite you not struggling as he rests his hand on your throat with his fingers on your silent pulse points. "Now, say my name." He orders. "Go on, sing fer me."

You swallow and feel the tightness in your throat from the resistance of his hand. It's funny; he is like a fly to you, yet you're the one who feels small. "Ghost?" You warble out with just enough intonation to phrase it as a question, something echoing in the silence behind your voice like the crackle of flame and the snapping of old bones.

A shiver races down his spine as he feels the you wiggle and shift beneath your human suit, pushing against his hand as if to caress him through the thin separation of skin. It makes something hot burn in his chest, something primal demanding to feel this supposed god trapped beneath him; to taste twisted divinity and maddening oblivion.

"No, not that one." He growls, lifts his mask just up to the bridge of his nose and then leans down so his eyes are level with yours. "Say my name." His order is clear even as he mumbles it against your cold lips.

You breathe in his scent, the edges of your form rippling in and out like fog or a glitching computer in a desperate attempt to hold on to your body. You tilt your head so your lips brush against his, suddenly short of breath despite the fact you don't need to breathe. "Simon." You whisper and you can taste heat on your tongue with each letter, the ground beneath you shuddering.

You feel him smirk. "Much bettah." Then the hand on your throat is tilting your head up further and his lips descend on yours. Distantly you can feel a bit of your oblivion seep from the pores of your skin, dark abyss clutching him tightly as the sweet taste— of heat, of life, of Simon —steals your ability to think.

You suffer a thousand deaths when he pulls away, the air turning heavy like cement. A low warbled whine escapes your throat and Ghost just chuckles. "Say it again."

You do, you do it as many times as he asks, each word rewarded with a kiss that leaves your eternal mind blank like paper.

Imagine SOAP — You think he's gone mad when he's more bummed out about losing a cat than learning you're actually a creature beyond human comprehension that can destroy him with a blink. If anything, it's like he sees no difference between human 'you' and cat 'you'.

He's touchy and tactile, his fingers always lingering on your cold skin like he's trying to pass the warmth of life into you; his hand ruffling your hair after a job well done, his fingers feeling up your bicep when you work out, the little tap tap tap on your side when you and him cross paths in the hall, his possessive grip on your hip whenever some recruit gets too close to you.

And all the while he's yapping for the two of you, talking with you as if you'll answer only to continue speaking about some other topic a second after you remain silent. You let him because the sensation of his touch and the sound of his voice outweighs the annoyance you feel when he tries to pry words from your mouth.

Even after witnessing first hand what you can do, how reality pours through your fingers like wet sand, he's arrogant to think he can withstand what you are. He's worse when he's drunk, booze loosens the chains on his tongue and inhibitions and makes your Icarus to jump into your lap when you're reading.

"Now what's thaet for?" He slurs as he knocks the book out of your hand, "Thought yea was some all knowing dobber." He nearly makes you topple over when he winds his arms around your neck and pulls your head down until your noses touch, the scent of booze washing over your face.

He hopes to get a reaction out of you- even elephants swat away flies when they buzz in their ears long enough -maybe a curse or a harsh 'MacTavish' with how many mannerisms you've picked up from them; the only thing that makes it's way out of your hollow throat is a small hum of surprise, ringing like the inside of a dead planet and scrapping against his ears like an iceberg on the ocean floor.

Soap gives you an indignant huff like you've offended him, shifting in your lap until his knees are on either side of your hips, thick thighs caging you in on the couch as if something without true form can be contained. "What's thaet s'posed tae mean?" He tries to lean in but overshoots, bonking your foreheads together before nuzzling his nose into your hair. Under the veneer of standard issue bodywash and cologne he can smell something exclusively you, like the heat of a dying star and the cold of the void you spawned from.

You furrow your brows, worry gnawing on your stomach. You know alcohol is poisonous to men though you've seen them drink plenty of it, and Johnny is more out of it than usual. "You are drunk." Each letter crackles though the air like firecrackers, his hair standing on end as your words are warped by an accent of a language so ancient the earth is too young to know it.

"Nea I'm not." His brain is so drowned in booze your voice barely gets pop rocks to fizzle in his ears, but he wiggles his hips like a tempter and when you don't catch the hint he grabs your hands and places them on the curve of his arse. "'M nae as think as ye drunk ah am." He whines, pulling back to look at you with wide blown pupils before he grinds his hips down into your lap.

His name flies so fast out of your mouth it nearly sucks the air out of the room, "Johnny." the lights overhead flicker, your traitorous hands gripping his rear tightly. Your voice continues to echo after you've closed your mouth, each letter creating little pockets of nothingness in the space you share for a second before reality can fill them back up.

"That ah am." He grins like a child and bonks your heads together, placing a wet kiss on your cheek seconds before he passes out on top of you. You sigh and recline back into the couch, letting him use your shoulder as a pillow while he snores like a pig.

And, perhaps, you let yourself whisper his name a few more times...

[seeingivy]

family rules (alternate version)

satoru gojo x f!reader 

in which you’re the one who gets in the accident this time, not satoru and megumi 

**read the other ones here 

content warning: car accident, mentions of glass and blood, reader in pain satoru says daddy, megumi wants you to break satoru’s neck

an: for all my very lovely family rules fans, this is the part for the request I received here. I hope you all enjoy :D 

-

Satoru pushes his key into the door, swinging the door open as he calls out to the three of you. He’s balancing the pink box in his hands, very excited to see your very irritated face when you open it. 

He stops for a second, eyeing the light purple around Megumi’s eye as you push green peas into his face, before turning to the fridge to steal your leftovers from last night. 

He can feel you opening the box out of his peripheral vision, preparing his silly little consolation piece to calm you down. He knows you’ll be irritated, obviously, but he’s always sweet talked his way out of situations, especially with you. He just wanted to ease the air after the lecture you were probably going to give Megumi, settle everyone down. 

“Megs, do you mind joining Miki upstairs? I need to talk to Gojo over here.” you say, watching you press a very strained smile to your face. 

Maybe the cake was too far. He should have settled for balloons instead. 

“You have got to be kidding me, Satoru. You bought him a cake for punching another kid in the face?” 

“It’s just a joke, my love. No harm done. I’ll talk to him about it later. You know, all that cheesy stuff you say - words before violence, be the bigger man by walking away.” he leans over, pressing a kiss to your cheek, before he sets out to set the plates for dinner. 

“Satoru. Be serious for one minute. Megumi is our responsibility. You’re doing him a disservice if we keep letting him process his anger this way. Don’t lead him down the wrong path.” 

He can feel the stinging in his chest, the anger developing in his chest. He would be lying by saying things were perfect between the two of you, as of late. The two of you were polar opposites, something he always considered as a strength to your relationship. When he was drifting away too far, you grounded him in reality. When you were too stuck in the little things, he always reminded you of the big picture. You worked - moon and sun, salt and pepper, black and white. However, the two of you had been finding it harder to find compromises lately, arguing more lately, especially when it came to Megumi. 

It’s a few fights, not mass murdering people. If anything, Megumi’s doing very well, considering who his father is and what happened. He’s doing very well, considering the fact that he’s being raised by two twenty year olds. Satoru’s doing very well, considering the fact that he’s trying his best to be there for him. 

“I’m not leading him anywhere wrong. You’re setting him up for failure if you keep letting kids push him around like that. You’re the one leading him down the wrong path.” 

“Solving your problems with fists isn’t always the right answer, Satoru. This is why he doesn’t talk to us when we ask him what’s wrong. We just have to wait for him to explode, just to find out he was suffering the entire time.” 

He feels your words sink into his chest, burning him in a place he hadn’t been before. No. Surely you couldn’t be insinuating what he thought you were. You wouldn’t. 

He thinks back to the third grade, his parents' faces engraved in his mind. He learned all too quickly that punching another kid in the face, pulling a girl's pigtails, running out of class would get their attention - faster than asking them to tuck him into bed, eat breakfast with him, or come to a school play. They would drop everything, run to his side to see him at the first sign of trouble. There’s no way you’re insinuating Megumi is doing the same. 

It kills him. Even the thought of it being right. Megumi’s mimicking him, when he was younger, acting out to get someone to look at him. The two of you tried your best with him, he was always a little more closed off, but you were doing everything you could. 

No. No. Satoru Gojo was not his father. You had to be wrong. You had to be wrong because if you were right, he was no better than his father. 

“Whatever problem he has, I’ll deal with it. Remember, he’s my kid, not yours. My responsibility. So I’ll figure out what’s best for him moving forward.” 

He comes to realize that this was his first mistake, one he’ll come to regret in a few hours. 

He can feel the words hanging in the air, waiting for your anger filled response. But it doesn’t come. You compare him to his father and then have nothing to say?

“All quiet now, Y/N? Have nothing to say to me?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“And why’s that? You sure had a lot to say a few minutes ago.” 

“Because. He’s your kid. Not mine. It’s not really my business what he does, is it?” 

He feels his heart sink in his chest, his cheeks burning with regret already. Why did he say that? You didn’t mean it like that. There’s no way you would ever compare him to his dad, in earnest. He curls his fingers around your wrist, pulling you closer to him. Kiss it better, Satoru.

“Hey, hey. Wait a minute.” 

You shrug him off, swiping the keys off the counter and running out the door. This is his second mistake - letting you run out that door - and surely the one he’ll regret even more. 

He stands there in shock, your absence chilling him. What the hell is he doing? The table is half set, your sweet strawberry smell absent, your glimmering smile gone from the kitchen. 

You left. You actually got up and left. It’s his fault. He hit it where he knew where it hurt. He can feel his heart sinking in his chest, the stinging vertebrates through his bones. Why did he say that to you? He loves you. He reaches around for his phone after a few seconds, his fingers shaking as he texts you. 

i’m sorry love

you know i didn’t mean it

just come back. you know he’s our kid. 

i know you’re right. he shouldn’t be punching people every time he disagrees with them. i just have trouble being too hard on him, i don’t want to be like my parents

not an excuse. i know i’m in the wrong. we can have the talk with him, just like you wanted. just come back y/n. 

Satoru nearly drops his phone into the sink, at the sight of Megumi pushing into his legs. He presses his arms around Satoru’s legs, hiding his face against in the fabric. 

“Hey Megs. You okay?” 

“Did Y/N leave?” 

He leans down, intending to talk Megumi down. You were always better at it, but there’s no harm in trying. 

He looks over, really observing the bruise on Megumi’s eye for the first time. His eye is swollen, coloring into a dark purple. There’s a tiny bit of pink in the whites of his eyes and he doesn’t miss Megumi keeping his eyes closed, squinting whenever he makes contact with the light. 

He reaches down, pressing the green peas you were pushing into Megumi’s face, back to the spot. He didn’t realize Megumi was hurt this bad. 

“Yeah. We just had a little argument. She’ll come back.” 

He feels Megumi clench his fist, his hand crumpling the fabric of his slacks. 

“Do you think she hates me?” 

“Megumi. Y/N loves you. She’s mad at me for being stupid, not at you for fighting.” 

He feels another set of tiny hands, this time resting on his arms. Tsumiki’s tear filled face is at his side. He’s messed up. 

It’s in this moment, Megumi’s stressed out expression and Tsumiki’s tear stained face, that he realizes how small they really are. He’d been teaching Megumi how to master his cursed technique and he was always impressed with how self-sufficient Tsumiki was, but he never realized how wrong it was until now. 

They were kids. They’re small, tiny little kids acting like adults. He leans down, pressing the two of them against his chest. He won’t let them burden it - that’s what you and him were for. You, when you were still here anyways. 

He reaches for his phone again, shooting you another text. 

kids are getting real upset with you gone, they miss you already 

“Satoru.” 

“Yes, Miss Miki?” 

“Why did she leave?” 

He sighs. Because he’s an idiot. Because he can’t control his tongue, because he can’t accept his faults, because he’s in over his head. 

“We had an argument. I got upset with her and said something that wasn’t very nice to her.” 

“Does she still love us?” 

“You’re her entire world. She loves you both, so much. That’s partially why she’s so mad at you Megumi. She doesn’t like to see you hurt and gets upset when you willingly put yourself in situations like this.”

He feels his phone buzzing on the floor, basically collapsing trying to pick it up fast enough. He presses the phone to his ear, without even checking the caller ID. 

“Y/N?” 

“Am I speaking with Mister Satoru Gojo?” 

“Yes, this is him.” 

“This is Tokyo Medical Hospital. I’m calling regarding a Miss Y/N L/N. She was in a car accident around thirty minutes ago, near the central line highway. She’s just been transported to our Emergency Department where we are responding to her now. It would be best if you could arrive as soon as possible. Do you know her blood type? We need to attempt a transfusion.” 

He feels his voice strain in his neck, fighting to get the word out. Blood type. They need your blood type. You were in a car accident. Blood transfusion.

“O negative. Her blood type is O negative.” 

 - 

Shoko and Nanami meets him at the front of the hospital and he nearly breaks down right there. He was a mess without you. You had to be okay. You had to stay alive. 

“I’ll watch the kids.” 

Nanami walks off, his hands holding their tiny ones as he takes them on a walk around the block. 

“Am I going to lose her, Shoko? Is she okay?” 

“She’s really hurt, the glass shattered on impact. Just go through the doors, Satoru. She was asking for you.” 

Glass. He nearly runs through the double doors and is met directly with the sight of you. 

The air is gone from his lungs and the room is on fire. No. You’re lying on the gurney, the two nurses balancing shining, silver surgical tools in their hands. They’re digging shards of glass out of your soft, soft skin - from your arms, your chest, and the sides of your face. 

He can see the tears streaming down your face, your eyes pinching in pain every time they pull a piece out. The worst part, he can hear you murmuring his name and asking for him every time they do. He walks up aimlessly, interlocking his hand with your free, uninjured side. He can feel his hands shaking in yours, his blood burning in his skin. 

“Satoru?” 

He reaches forward, patting down your hair. 

“I’m here, i’m here.” 

“It hurts, Satoru.”

He feels his resolve break at the sound of your voice. He’s crying, full on crying at the sight of you like this. In pain, sitting alone for the past hour. He lifts your uninjured hand, pressing a kiss to the top of your knuckles before resting your fingers against his eyes. 

“It’s best if you can distract her while we do this. The silence makes it easier to focus on the pain.” 

He nods, turning his face away from the nurse and towards you. 

“Hi love.” 

“Hi Satoru.” 

“Don’t…don’t die on me, okay? I still have a lot of things I want to do with you.” 

“Like what? 

You hiss in pain, squeezing his hand as they keep going deeper into your skin. 

“Eat breakfast with you tomorrow. Make you those strawberry pancakes you love so much. Watch you yell as me as I squish whipped cream into Megumi’s hair.” 

He watches you laugh, the pain still pressed on your face as you try to respond. 

“Don’t respond. It’s okay, love. Just listen to me, yeah?” 

You nod, squeezing your hand in his own. 

“I…I love you.” he can feel his voice breaking, trying to stop his tears from returning. He clears his throat, his heart screaming in his chest. 

“I love you so much, Y/N. You’re everything to me. You and me, we’re going to be okay. I- I…there’s just so much we have to do still. I didn’t even get to marry you yet. Or put my own kid in you.” 

“Gross.” 

“Out of all that, that’s what you chose to respond to?” 

He sees you smile, your eyes all watery at the sight of him. He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. 

- 

You wake up a few hours later, to a very pink eyed Satoru sitting on the chair next to you. He looks horrible.

You make the slightest bit of movement, attempting to reach out for him, and he jumps up from his chair. He presses his hands to your face, shaking his head profusely at you as you put your hands down. 

“No, no love. No moving, okay?” 

You nod and he gives you a soft smile, before locking his fingers with your own. You can see the tears building in his eyes, his smile being replaced with tears streaming down his eyes. 

“Can you put on a little nurses uniform? We’re about to live out my wildest dreams.” 

He laughs at your joke, his teary smile returning. 

“Shut up. Stop copying my fantasies.” 

His hands don’t leave your face, his entire body shaking at the sight of you. He’s scared, scared shitless and you don’t know how to fix it. You’re okay. You’re both going to be okay. You try to sit up, Satoru’s hands helping you most of the way. He has his arm secured around your waist, holding you steady. 

“Satoru. I’m okay.” 

“You’re not allowed to do that. You can’t just pick up and leave every time you get mad at me. I thought I lost you. I almost did lose you. Do you think I could live if I actually did?”  

“I know, Toru. I’m sorry.” 

He presses himself against your shoulder, crying into your arms. He’s ran his hands over your arms multiple time’s now, his fingers resting against your beating pulse at your wrist. You can feel the guilt twisting in your chest, for leaving, driving so recklessly, upsetting him in the first place. Any normal person would get up and run right about now. 

“You are the only family I have. Please don’t leave me, Satoru.” 

You feel your heart clench in your chest at the sight of his defeated resolve and can’t even remember why you were mad, why you drove off in the first place. You squeeze his hand twice, rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. 

“You’re the one who left me. I would never leave you. It’s you and me, in life and in death, Y/N. Preferably not the death part from you, if that’s possible please. That’s against the rules.” 

“In life and in death? Those are wedding vows, Satoru, we aren’t even married. And we don’t have rules.” you deadpan.

“You didn’t get the memo? We’re married in my head, sweet thing.” 

The two of you laugh, the giggles filling up the little medic bay you were sitting in. You feel him lean over, his face still wet and pink from his tears, and press a soft kiss to your forehead before pressing one to your lips. 

“Did you eat chocolate from the vending machine?” 

“No.” 

“Don’t lie. I can taste it on your lips, idiot. Your supposed wife is maybe possibly dying and you’re eating candy?” 

“You’re so vulgar. Talking about my lips like that in public. And I was eating for both of us. In your honor. I knew it’s what you would have wanted.” 

You roll your eyes at him, giving him a smile, before leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“Where are Megumi and Tsumiki?” 

“With Nanami, outside. I’ll go grab them now that you’re all bandaged up.” 

As he sprints out the door, you readjust in the bed, sitting up. You watch the two of them run in, their little faces swollen from crying. You feel the tears well in your own eyes at the sight of it. You open up your arms (which hurts like a bitch), signaling at the two of them to climb up. They press their bodies against you, their distinct smells pressed against your nose (vanilla for Tsumiki, clean laundry for Megumi). 

You can feel them sobbing against you and press kisses to both of their heads as they shake in your arms. You can feel your skin burning at them pressing against your bandages, but you don’t want to let them go.

“Okay, kids. Off. We can hug her as hard as we want when she feels better, okay?” 

Satoru Gojo, mind reader. They climb off, the three of them facing you at the side of your bed. They all have their hands pressed against you - Satoru’s resting in your hair, Tsumiki’s in your hand, and Megumi’s at your shoulder. Satoru speaks first. 

“I was thinking.” 

“You can do that?” 

“You wound me, Fushiguro Megumi.” 

The three of you snicker at the sound of his whiny voice, the smiles reaching all the way to Tsumiki and Megumi’s cheeks. 

“I’ve always had mental rules you should be following in my head, as I am our benevolent, perfect, spectacular leader. But we should establish real ones, for each other. We are a family after all.” 

“You’re not our leader.” deadpans Megumi, rolling his eyes at Satoru before eyeing you exasperatedly. 

“I like it, Satoru.” you whisper. 

“Me first, then. My first rule is for Miss Miki. You have to do anything and everything I say.” 

The three of you stare him down, pinching your eyes in annoyance. 

“I’m kidding. You guys are such a tough crowd. My first real rule is for Megumi. You’re not going to fight anymore. No punching people when you get angry.” 

He nods, whispering a promise to you, more than Satoru, that he won’t fight again. You squeeze his fingers that are interlocked with yours, nodding at the promise. 

“The next one is for you, missy. No running away, Y/N. Ever. We can argue all night for all I care. You don’t get to leave.”

You nod, promising all of them that you won’t leave them again. You don’t miss the way their tensed shoulders relax at your promise, shocked that they were even worried about you leaving again in the first place. You would never leave them again. Tsumikis’ quiet voice fills the room next. 

“Third rule, no fighting if we can avoid it. We’re all on the same team here so we can just try to work it out.” 

You reach forward, pressing your hand into Tsumiki’s hair, you and Satoru promising her you won’t fight, at least if you can’t help it, again. The three of you nod, smiling at each other at your new rules. 

“I have one.” 

You reach over, running your hands through Megumi’s hair as you smile at him, encouraging to speak up. 

“No one leaves the house without saying goodbye. You especially, Mom.” 

Mom. Mom. Fushiguro Megumi, in the six months he has been staying with you, has never called you Mom. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, wanting to crush him in a hug for a better part of the next hour or the rest of his life. You’re his Mom. 

Before you can reach forward to do so, Satoru’s whiny voice stops you. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s not even fair.” 

“Toru, shut up.” 

“Megs. If I break my neck, will you call me dad?” 

You roll your eyes. Way to ruin a moment. 

“How about I break it right now and we test the theory?” 

Megumi and Tsumiki break out into giggles and you and Satoru can’t help but join them at the sound of their laughter. The three of them press themselves against you, wrapping your arms around as you all laugh. 

“Hey, one more rule, okay?”

You all nod, turning to face Satoru. 

“Everyone calls me daddy from now on.” 

“Can you actually break his neck now? Please? I can help.” 

[rumriverautos]

Wondering what is the lifespan of a car starter? Ask your auto mechanic for advice on how to maintain alternators and Auto electric problems.

[soobszzn]

shut me up!

synopsis: despite his tough and confident rockstar persona, even beomgyu needed reassurance sometimes.

pairing: rockstar!beomgyu x reader

genre: fluff, semi-comfort, established relationship

content/warnings: kissing, (playful) teasing/bantering/yelling, beomgyu says ‘shut up’, beomgyu is in a (rock)band that isn’t txt

wc: 1.2k

a/n: this one’s for u, G🌼

- 

you’d be lying if you said being a rockstar’s girlfriend wasn’t absolutely exhilarating. you’d fall asleep in one city and then wake up in the next. you’d go from private jet, to tour bus, to private jet again. life was insane, but it didn’t matter how crazy and unpredictable life had become, because beomgyu was your constant.

you knew the band’s setlist by heart at this point, but the atmosphere and energy of each night’s crowd was always a new experience. what never changed, though, were the loving gazes you shot your boyfriend as you watched from stage side.

you’d hand him a sweat towel or a bottled water whenever he stepped backstage. with no time to chat, you’d occasionally shoot him a thumbs-up or a “fighting” gesture. in return, beomgyu would alternate between quick pecks and forehead kisses as a sign of thanks.

watching him up on that stage was the best part of each day. when he was performing, he was completely in his element: his expressions were always filled with joy and excitement, and with his electric guitar in hand, he’d move dynamically across the stage without missing a beat. he’d look out into the crowd affectionately, face beaming with gratitude towards the dedicated fans.

he’d never miss a chance to turn to you and shoot a loving glance back. you knew how grateful he was that you could follow him on his first major tour. you were there for the first performance jitters, mid-tour anxieties, and now for the band’s long-awaited performance at lollapalooza.

the band had a couple hours before showtime to film content and do interviews, which left you passing time in their trailer with some staff members. you’d already sped through a book on the plane ride here, opting to mindlessly scroll on your phone as you anticipated your boyfriend’s arrival. eventually, the group returned, giving them time to decompress and prepare for their set. 

you were sprawled on the couch at the end of their trailer. when beomgyu walked in, he motioned for you to lift your legs so he could take a seat. plopping himself beside you and letting your legs fall to his lap, he let out a sigh.

“how’d it all go?” you asked, turning to face him while still laying down.

“i don’t really know why we need to do so many interviews when they just ask the same stuff.” he complained as he fiddled with the hem of your pants. 

“it’s only cause so many people love your music.” you lightly nudged his arm as you sat up. you leaned your arm against the sofa backrest as you rested your head in your hand. this put the two of you face to face, giving you the opportunity to look at him closely.

you loved the way his ashy purple hair fell onto his face. as a matter of fact, you loved every damn part of his face. from the warmth of his eyes to the softness of his lips, you could just never get enough. those blush pink lips of his were so irresistible, you just wanted to lean in and kiss him right then and there.

he looked at you quizzically. “what?”

“you have something on your face.” you lied, reaching to brush nothing off his cheek in embarrassment. he smiled, but it quickly faded. he let out another sigh. 

“what’s wrong?” you asked with a slight pout. 

“it’s my song. i’m scared people aren’t gonna like it.” he confessed, now hunched over with his forearms resting in his lap. you had almost forgotten that the band was planning to premiere a new song tonight. and it wasn’t just any new song, it was a song beomgyu had produced.

“what if nobody reacts? what if they leave during our set? what if they start booing? i’d be a failure of a musician!” he cried, now sitting slumped on the couch. he was bouncing his leg and staring off into space, and you just knew his mind was racing. 

“stop stop stop!” you exclaimed through a laugh. his concerns were understandable, but you had to admit he looked a bit silly whining the way he did.

“why are you laughing?” he asked with a pout this time.

“because you sound a bit silly,” you replied cheekily, in hopes the teasing would cheer him up a bit. 

“i’m being serious.” he said quietly. 

“i know, and i get it. but you’re so good at what you do.” you reassured him.

“but this is lollapalooza. it’s a big deal. it’s a huge deal for us.” he replied in a bothered tone.

you had a feeling beomgyu’s worries were the main contributor to his now souring mood. but a part of you was beginning to get annoyed at the fact that he just wasn’t listening to you.

“you’re being stubborn.” you blurted out, regretting it immediately. 

“i am not! god. maybe i should just take it off the setlist now while i still have a chance.” he replied defensively, quickly standing up from the couch.

“can you stop it!” you cried, also standing up to face him. “you’re being so annoying. you don’t see what i see.” 

he looked at you perplexed.

“i know how much time and effort you put into your music, gyu. but most of all i see how talented you are,” you spoke earnestly, unintentionally starting an impromptu rant at your boyfriend.

“people love your music. why do you think you got invited here?” you continued, noticing his expression soften. “even though you’re the one on stage, i watch the crowd too. they eat it all up, they love you guys!”

“it annoys me because you don’t get it. you don’t get that your music is loved by so many!” you continued on your tirade. beomgyu inched his way closer to you. “you annoy me because you don't see how much you are loved!”

“and not just by me-mmph-” your words were suddenly interrupted by a pair of lips on yours.

cupping your cheeks in his hands, beomgyu guided your face closer to his. he deepened the kiss before pulling away and saying “and that’s all that matters.”

“i’m sorry for being stubborn,” he apologized, looking at you softly. you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck. 

“everyone’s going to love your new song. i promise.” you mumbled into his chest after a few seconds of silence. then, you looked up at him.

he whispered “thank you” before kissing your nose. 

- 

an absolute success; that’s what you’d call their performance.

beomgyu was absolutely electric on that enormous stage. and maybe it was the bias in you, but his band had to have been the highlight of the weekend. the energy of the crowd was unmatched, and the familiar melodies of their discography were transformed into amplified versions of themselves. 

the reveal of your boyfriends’ newly produced track was met with an eruption of cheers. you watched fondly as beomgyu gleamed, face softening with both relief and delight. your heart was bursting with happiness, feeling so incredibly proud of him.

the second his band finished their set, you watched beomgyu hug his bandmates as they made their way off stage. they were all smiling so brightly, but your boyfriend’s smile was most infectious. on his way backstage, he thanked the stage crew and staff members as he caught his breath, coming down from his “performance high.”

then, you noticed his eyes start to wander and you had a feeling he was looking for you. you raised yourself up on your tippy toes and waved to get his attention. you met eyes, and the sweaty, out-of-breath boy made his way directly to you with absolute excitement. his ashy purple hair was almost matted to his forehead, skin glistening with perspiration. and you loved it.

immediately taking you into his embrace, he lifted you up and spun you around. you latched onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“i told you they’d love it.” you said cheekily as he set you down.

“can you shut up?” he teased with a smirk before pressing your lips together.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Escalation

This keeps escalating and I'm sooooo here for it!

Carmy:

S1 → Carmy gave her a job and his trust.

S2 → Carmy gave her a restaurant and a jacket.

S3 → Carmy gave her an agreement to share his family business and possibly an award, (although that would be shared, because if he gets it, they actually get it together, not just him because she's also busting her ass at that restaurant) which we haven't seen yet bc S3's time span was only 3 months, and a year's run is required to even be considered. So, the awards are most likely gonna start coming in next season as I anticipated → here. That being said, he wants to give it to her, that's why he leaves her out of everything and she resents him.

Syd:

S1 → Her patience, forgiveness, and trust.

S2 → Her patience, work, forgiveness, and trust.

S3 → Her PATIENCE, work, and we are not so sure about whether she will continue putting her trust in him and therefore forgive him and stay by his side till he changes for her. Well, actually I am.

So there's a pattern here. An escalation.

He keeps giving her more and more as time goes by. Maybe it's not what she wants from him... Wait, it sure isn't. But it's definitely more and more every time, that's undeniable, whether she appreciates it or not.

We all know by now that this is how Carmy expresses how he feels because words are not his forte. After all, he's avoidant and transferring his undealt-with feelings for Syd to a more attainable prospect, or at least that's what he tried to do last season, and failed and it's quite clear why. More about that failure → here.

Now, what's next for both?

Is he gonna keep on giving her more until he has nothing left to give -and if so: what does that look like?- or will the star be the limit?

Will he be able to give her that star before she has enough of him giving her what he thinks she wants but not what she really wants?

Will she be able to actually clarify for him exactly what is it that she wants from him?

Does she know that herself by now?

Is she willing to admit it?

Or will she just give up on him, on them?

If so: Does that really solve anything for both?

The answer to ALL those questions was given by Storer already in:

The loop:

Bonus track: There is a chance the review is not exactly what the montage shows, maybe it's actually good. We know this because Carmy's perception is altered. His mental space tends to alter reality, we saw that → here. So we shouldn't 100% trust everything we think we see through his eyes. Those missed calls and texts could be congratulations because the review was not bad or not that bad, or good enough for Cicero to continue funding the restaurant, etc. Carmy's “motherfucker!” could be his overachiever talking, maybe he focused on the one word that wasn't amazing and disregarded the rest, and in his head, he actually read a terrible review. Which is common in people with the mental disorders he has. It wouldn't be totally farfetched.

Even if the review was as "mixed" as the montage shows, right after that we see the L.

We're looping back.

Hopefully to a more Sydcarmy-friendly place. Because this was rock bottom. Now we gotta bounce back.

This means that Carmy's escalation will continue.

He will keep on giving her more, better, bigger, more meaningful, deeper, and more intense in both a bad and a good way because the change will not be clean, it will be messy, till all he can give her is the one thing he hasn't yet.

The truth.

Either because she stayed and signed the agreement (my money is here) or because she left and he got her back WITH A BIGGER DEMONSTRATION OF HOW HE FEELS, WHICH MIGHT INCLUDE WORDS AT THAT POINT BECAUSE HE HAD ALREADY TRIED PRETTY MUCH EVERY OTHER NON-VERBAL ALTERNATIVE (then she'll sign the agreement anyway). The breaking point they got to already is not just emotional → The crying game. It's also practical. None of them can go on like this much longer and if this keeps escalating like their pattern indicates it will, the next logical progression is to admit and uncover what has been covered for 3 seasons now. It's time. Maybe Luca will be one of the catalysts too for this to happen. Most likely, actually. But that's not necessarily a bad thing if we take into account Carmy's escalation tendencies.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[cryobabyy]

Realistic predictions/analysis for the dynamic between Syd and Carmy for s3 and what the writers will potentially do with Claire.

Pls keep in note that my sydcarmy brain was OFF and the Film/Television production student brain was ON when I wrote this. I am trying to imagine their potential romance in the most realistic and grounded way possible don't be mad at me please I'm sensitive sjhdsajdsjdhsfafafjskdlfh okay lets get into it

Carmy is back in a high-end kitchen environment, which means toxic ocd perfectionist Carmy is back because he has yet to deconstruct that part of himself

that being said, he wants that star, not only because it'll justify the pain of gutting his dead brother's restaurant and perhaps soothe his self-loathing, but also because Sydney wants it- and Carmy wants to keep Sydney. He wants to see her get what she wants.

Carmy still has the toxic mindset that success is defined by how much you suffered for it, and how much pain you've endured. He is back in an environment where he will forever be chasing perfection that doesn't exist. He has an incessant need for control that makes him difficult to work with.

Carmen holds the staff, especially Sydney, to impossible standards of perfection

IMPORTANT TO NOTE THAT CARMY IS A VERY EXTREME PERSON

HE WILL BE PLAGUED BY BLACK AND WHITE THINKING THIS ENTIRE SEASON (as opposed to the wishy-washy, one-foot-in-one-foot-out vibe we got last season)

Enter the partnership contract lol

To Carmy, the contract is a testament to his commitment to Sydney. He would have a professional and legal obligation to operate at the highest standard. You have my full focus, and I have yours. He's basically trying to correct his mistakes in s2 in the most extreme way.

The problem is that Sydney knows this means she would be legally and professionally bound to Carmen. It means she would have to subscribe to his toxic standards and warped ideas of success to uphold her end of the contract.

Sydney will be forced to reevaluate if the path to success Carmy has laid out will be worth the suffering. We saw last season that the stress literally made her vomit. She is asking herself: does it have to be like this? Is this really the only way?

Sydney will be presented with alternative opportunities because of the attention she's received from being professionally associated with Carmy.

They will become increasingly tempting as The Bear continues to bring out the worst in Carmy

Maybe Carmy catches wind of the attention Sydney has been getting, which he thinks explains why she has been stalling signing the contract.

Carmy feels rejected. Of course, he doesn't realize it's rejection that he's feeling. He confronts her from a professional angle. It devolves into a fight because he'll probably end up lashing out.

"This is what you wanted! I'm giving you what you want!"

It is, in fact, not what Sydney wants. LMFAO

Sydney, of course, wants Carmy. But she wants a version of Carmy that doesn't exist, and she's not sure he ever will.

Sydney's relationship with failure is important for her character. She initially wanted the success Carmen has.

At the end of s3 she realizes she just wants Carmy. As a friend and a creative partner (and in my most unhinged fantasies a lover :P). She wants the Carmy she gets when they're riffing off each other's ideas in his kitchen. She doesn't want the tunnel vision perfection machine version of himself when he's in his chef whites. She grows to resent that version.

s3 wraps up with their relationship on rocky terms

Best case scenario, Carmy tries to change

worst-case scenario, Sydney steps back from the bear

CLAIRE PREDICTIONS

Carmy operates at extremes. He either pursues a personal life or his professional life. In his mind, it is impossible to have both.

Claire and Sydney/The Bear are on opposite ends of the spectrum

If he commits to Claire, he can't commit to the restaurant

If he commits to Sydney/The Bear, he can't commit to Claire

Instead of trying to find balance, Carmy throws himself into Sydney/The Bear

Fak obviously observes that this makes Camry worse, and decides to talk to Claire to suggest some sort of contact between the two. He probably thinks this might keep Carmy from nosediving further. I don't have any guesses for the context of their conversation though. It could be anything. I think it would be hilarious if Fak hurts himself during dinner service and has to go to the ER and the convo unfolds that way lol.

Meanwhile, Carmy thinks he's doing the right thing by presenting his most extreme and professional self to Sydney because he thinks it's what she wants. He wants to give her his full focus.

What Sydney actually wants is fucking BALANCE. Which is exactly what Carmy NEEDS, but doesn't think is possible.

Sydney potentially walks away to find it elsewhere with someone else.

Carmy is angsty about it, obviously.

Carmy and Claire will probably reconcile, before or after his potential falling out with Sydney

If they do get back together, I don't think it's sustainable for Carmy. They both have very demanding careers, and Claire triggers trauma associated with his past. They might like each other, but they are incompatible, IMO.

I do think Sydney and Carmy will end up together eventually tho lol. Eventually, Carmy will realize that Sydney is his balance. The problem is that Carmy currently is incapable of providing Sydney balance. But if he learns that he can be that for her, he might realize that he wants her beyond professional partnership. Fingers crossed lol.

[we-stan-cale]

This is definitely spoilers for tcf part 1, just saying.

I keep thinking about how Cale handled the calebab situation.

In particular his friends suspected something was up, and asked him about it. He told them most of it, but chose not to mention that he needed to stab himself in the heart in order to defeat the White Star.

Of course the World Tree told him that he wouldn't die, and that it would even be beneficial for him. But still. Stabbing. In the heart.

And Cale's thought process when he decided to hide that was interesting.

Because he knew, if he told them, that one of two things would happen. They would either insist on finding another way (and who knows how hard it would be to defeat the White Star while they looked for an alternative?) or they would insist on being there while he did it.

And he didn't want them to see such a gruesome sight.

I... Can kind of see his reasoning. And yet in deciding to keep that knowledge, to not even let them have the choice, it shows... Something.

A lack of trust? A level of consideration that fails to see why his friends and allies would rather see such a gruesome sight, than discover he did something like that without even telling them?

If you finished part 1 then you know that his plan to take care of things on his own failed. And failed miserably. Rather than finding a place where he could stab himself and then the White Star in private, it was all put on display by the temple... And even caught on video by Clopeh. And poor Choi Han made it out just in time to see it too.

But if he had succeeded at keeping it secret, would that really have been okay?

Yes, he was fine. Even better than fine. But still. Stabbed himself. In the heart.

And because he knew he only had a short period of time before the White Star would recover from escaping the seal and be able to fight (and that it'd be worse to fail at the stabbing and have to try again), he did it with no hesitation.

I also keep remembering some of what he said about his own scars. Some of it's the hypocrisy we all know he has, where Mary and Hannah should be able to show their scars proudly... But he considered his disgusting, and always wore long sleeves and covered them. Even if using his Record ability to the point that he overheated.

I think some of that is that he saw his scars as a sign of failure? But he also said something else about them.

However, Cale was quite relieved as he undid his buttons. He could not undo his buttons nor pull up his sleeves in front of his subordinates when he was Kim Rok Soo, no matter how hot and sweaty he became. He didn’t want to show them the scars on his body. It’s not like they were anything to be proud about. It would just scare the people who were doing the same jobs as him.

Cale looked down at his body that was now visible and started to think. ‘…This is nice.’ This body did not have any scars. Even if it did, the Vitality of the Heart would quickly get rid of them. That was good. Scars were records as well. Terrible records. It was better if those disappeared. It would only cause pain to those watching and those nearby as well.

He thought his scars would scare them. Not only that, but he knew they were a reminder that hurt the people around him to see.

(I love our boy, but he has issues).

Probably because it was a reminder that he got hurt protecting them, and not something they'd want him to hide...

But we all know he's dense when it comes to things like that. It does seem like he noticed that they were pained by the scars.

So he chose to hide them.

I think calebab was something similar. He was trying to protect them from that type of pain, and in the process hurt them far worse.

But then again - did he have a duty to tell them? I mean, it's not a good thing to do as a friend, but it was kind of his choice to make...

Well. He did what he did, and he completely failed to hide it, and to there's now a few underlying trust issues that they got a bit too busy in part 2 to really address. Yet.

I suspect it'll come up again at some point though.

[nenelonomh]

knowing when to let go

here are some insights on knowing when to let go. perseverance, though a good quality, can be harmful when you push yourself too far past your limits.

perseverance vs letting go while perseverance has its benefits, it's essential to weigh the costs and potential downsides of continuing. consider whether continuing will lead to incremental learning and development or if it it's causing wasted time and energy.

signs it's time to give up 1. obsession. if a problem consumes your thoughts and affects other aspects of your life, reconsider your reasons for persisting. 2. enjoyment. are you still enjoying the journey, or has it become a burden? 3. health. stubbornly holding on can negatively impact your well-being. 4. better alternatives. sometimes letting go opens doors to better opportunities.

relationships when considering giving up on a relationship: process grief and hurt, let go of resentment, and wish the other person well without needing them in your life. remember to learn from past experiences.

practical steps 1. acknowledge your feelings. recognize and accept your emotions related to what you want to let go of. it’s okay to feel sad, disappointed, or frustrated. 2. identify what you're holding on to. be specific about what you’re trying to release. is it a relationship, a goal, a habit, or a belief? 3. reflect on the why. understand why you’re holding on. Is it fear, attachment, or habit? reflect on whether it serves your best interests. 4. create distance. physically or emotionally distance yourself from the situation. take a break, step back, and gain perspective. 5. practice self-compassion. be kind to yourself. letting go doesn’t mean failure; it’s a courageous choice.

strategies 1. release rituals. write a letter expressing your feelings, then burn or tear it up. visualize releasing what you’re holding onto, like releasing a balloon into the sky. 2. focus on the present and future. redirect your energy toward positive aspects of your life. set new goals or explore new interests.

final note i hope this post was helpful! ❤️ nene

image source: pinterest

[scuttlingcrab]

A Devil's Lament

Summary: Raphael brings Tav to an abandoned chapel, hoping to complete one final task before he begins his conquests of the Hells.

Notes: I was inspired by my friend Mark Choi and his announcement of a new piano arrangement of "Down By The River." I desperately needed to see Raphael playing not just a piano, but a pipe organ. And what would suit the occasion? Our favourite Devil playing a song he had composed over a millenia ago, after he first lost the Crown of Karsus...

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via certifieddilfenjoyer)

There once stood a magnificent chapel along the road to Baldur’s Gate. Mortals came from far and wide to bask in its glory, seek refuge from whatever sorrows afflicted them, and pray to the deity it was erected to honour. However, like most beautiful things on this plane, it was slowly worn down from one conflict after another, until it merely stood as a dilapidated relic of a time gone by.

On a particularly humid evening, nearly one year after the Elder Brain’s assault on Faerûn, Raphael found himself with Tav on the outskirts of the chapel, staring fondly at his old stomping grounds. No place was off limits when it came to his Devilish business, and the various religious structures scattered across the realms always proved to be the most lucrative. Raphael partook in his favourite game of hunting mortals in the very establishments they trusted, luring them into his traps with fanciful proposals of fortune and glory. 

The Devil never settled on the weaker creatures unless there were no other alternatives, but it was the clerics and overly righteous he craved. There was nothing more joyous than watching their resolve slowly decay after his cunning verbiage and skillful charms got under their skins. Their potent souls were simply delectable, and worth all the time and effort to acquire them.

“So what are you planning?” Tav asked, stopping Raphael from reminiscing any further. “I thought you said we had no time to waste.” 

“Walk with me, if you will, there is a final task I must complete before we are to continue.” 

Raphael had already started on the path ahead and Tav quickly jogged to keep up, the stones crunching beneath her boots. He smiled to himself at the notion of her, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, running after him.

As Raphael strode through the remains of the toppled structure, he searched for something far more valuable than the achievements of past meals. Raphael was after the heart and soul of the old chapel, the instrument responsible for the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his lifetime. The chapel’s pipe organ.

He heaved a sigh of relief to find the instrument still nestled at the far end of the rubble, under a canopy of overgrown trees. He had not been back since the fight against the Absolute, and in truth feared for the worst. Raphael would never let that spectacular creation suffer the same fate due to the failures of mortalkind, but he too had neglected it; spending the last few months muddled in the intricacies of reforging the Crown of Karsus.

The Devil had often argued with himself about whether or not to bring the pipe organ to the House of Hope. He had an idyllic place for it on his atelier balcony, overlooking the River Styx and barren wastelands of Avernus. But doing so would open him up to countless interruptions and he’d lose what he valued most: his precious solitude. He would never risk it.

“A marvel…” Raphael whispered, tilting his head up to admire the towering organ, the 3,000 golden pipes glistening in the darkness. 

His eyes attentively moved across the pipes, carefully inspecting every surface for signs of damage. It was no secret that Raphael cherished the instrument, nearly as much as the Crown he had desired for over a millenia. It was Raphael’s own toy box, it could imitate nearly any orchestral instrument with just a few minute actions unnoticeable to the common mortal. The organ could do wonders above and beyond any grand piano, or even any symphony. With this tool, Raphael was his own maestro, having the power to freely weave his own melodies into existence and escape into the futures he so desperately desired. 

“This hunk of junk? It’s practically falling apart.” 

“I will not hear another peep from you.”  Raphael hissed, turning to face Tav. He raised his finger threateningly towards her, as if scolding a small child. 

Tav raised both of her hands apologetically, though there was still a hint of impishness in her smile as she took a step back.

“Sorry. Carry on then…” 

Raphael sniffed sharply, in an attempt to keep his infernal flames at bay. As powerful and useful as that mortal was, she was a constant irritant; pushing Raphael closer and closer to his boiling point the more time he spent with her. And yet, they were inseparable since Tav had gifted the Crown to Raphael. Of all the creatures, in all the wretched planes, that little mouse had to be the one to fall into his claws, leaving a lasting effect on him.

He quickly redirected his attention to the pipe organ, brushing off the rotten twigs and dirt from the three keyboards. He snapped his fingers and a leather bench appeared, replacing the one that had broken long ago. 

Raphael eagerly took his seat, lightly running his feet over the pedalboard to test it was still functional. He then prepared the various stops along the edges of the organ, choosing his intended octaves for the serenade to come. 

After a few more minutes of fiddling with the organ, making sure all the divisionals were arranged accordingly, he was ready to begin. 

With another snap of Raphael’s fingers, sheet music took shape before him. The chosen melody had been etched into his memory for a thousand years, yet he still brought out the yellowing sheets of paper whenever he dared to play it. Like the ruins surrounding him, the pages were close to deteriorating, slowly withering away at the edges. 

The music notes were barely legible, the ink having faded a century or two earlier. Raphael dared not handle the pages by hand, as they would crumble at the slightest touch. Seeing the pages again were oddly comforting to the Devil, a sign of how far he has come. As painful as it was to revisit the meaning behind the music, the moment would always be part of Raphael, no matter how often he tried to consign it to oblivion. 

The Devil took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against the keys. His exhale matched the roaring bellow that emerged from the pipes. Energy surged through his hands as he played the beginning of the piece, his feet moving to a completely different rhythm against the pedalboard. The low notes coming from his feet accompanied the lighter ones from his fingers, creating a flawless harmony. 

The sounds of the pipe organ soon filled the air, echoing around him like lost ghosts wailing in the dark. It was haunting, exquisite, and a perfect representation of his internal strife. It was Raphael’s lament - the anguish, vexations, and seething hatred from all the years of his existence poured through his own spirit into the instrument. The reverberations from the pipes shook the trees above Raphael, causing the leaves to fall like snowflakes. 

These same feelings had fuelled Raphael’s drive and ambition since he was a young Devil. He was discarded by Mephistopheles and left to rot in the deepest, darkest parts of the Hells; forced to suffer for a sin he had not committed. Raphael still found his way, against all odds, and survived every obstacle thrown at him. He learned how to rely only on himself, to play the game of the Hells, and quickly rise up the ranks by tipping the scales in his favour. He had ruthlessly betrayed allies and levelled entire cities, and he would do it a hundred times over if it meant he was closer to fulfilling his destiny of uniting the Nine Hells. He would show his father how powerful and capable he truly was. 

As Raphael continued, he let himself get lost in the tempo, not questioning where his hands went next, which stops he pulled, or where his feet would take him. He soon found the keyboards were wet, had it begun to rain? He closed his eyes, a lump forming in his throat as decades worth of repressed emotions started to bubble to the top. He felt his fingers slip on a key, and then another, causing him to miss a few notes, but he quickly amended the mistake. He opened his eyes in fury, only to realise that he was crying. He clenched his jaw, causing the tears falling down his cheeks to quickly evaporate as his body sizzled in anger; resenting himself and the situation, always such a fool to let these fleeting emotions get the best of him. 

He wasn't sure how long he had been playing, but his fingers throbbed as they continued to press against the keys. He wanted to continue, to replay the song again and again, to make sure it was perfect, but it was coming to its natural conclusion. He would need to leave it as is.

Raphael played the final notes, holding his fingers to the keys for an extra beat as the sounds slowly faded. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared in his hands. He lifted it up towards the music sheets and let the edges of the papers catch fire. The pages were devoured by the flames within a matter of seconds. Let the ashes of his lament stay within the ruins of the chapel.

“Gods…” Tav whispered, her voice choking with emotion. “Did you…?”

“I have never played that in front of another mortal. The first and last time you will ever hear such a piece.” 

“It was remarkable.”

“I know.” Raphael responded, rising from the bench.

He flicked his wrist and the Crown of Karsus materialised before them. He caught reflections of himself in the Crown as he stared at it, his visage splitting into broken shards against the material of the relic. Different versions of Raphael stared back at him, as if from alternate timelines, offering a range of glimpses into his future. He smiled at the reflections and the thought of what he might look like donning the Crown, fighting against Zariel and her forces, in all his glory. 

“It was a fitting farewell and one I had been looking forward to for a considerable amount of time. Now onto new beginnings, come.”

Tav didn’t wait for Raphael to create a portal, she jumped towards him, latching on to his arm. On previous occasions he would’ve shooed her away, like an irksome mosquito, but he let her stay clinging to him. Just this once, perhaps for his own comfort.

Tonight Raphael would write a different composition - one of celebration and conquest, that he would play throughout the decades to come, solidifying his reign.