#what's that poem about being sick with want and everyone can smell it on you

[paranormaljones]

The way that even in the pilot Morse walks around like the human embodiment of an open wound just. augh. And he doesn't even know it but every moment where he's even a little bit sincere, he's just bleeding. His softness of manner when he meets Thursday for the first time and he's so carefully testing the waters to see if he's found someone who will believe in him. When he tries to describe his mother to Rosalind and stammers through voicing his raw fear of forgetting her. When he is shot down by condescending superiors and bites back like a dog that's been kicked too many times. Even with his hackles raised, you can see the bruises everywhere.

[bitesizedpoetry]

Sylvia Plath's "Letter to a demon"

Last night I felt the sensation I have been reading about to no avail in James: the sick, soul-annihilating flux of fear in my blood switching its current to defiant fight. I could not sleep, although tired, and lay feeling my nerves shaved to pain & the groaning inner voice: oh, you can't teach, can't do anything. Can't write, can't think. And I lay under the negative icy flood of denial, thinking that voice was all my own, a part of me, and it must somehow conquer me & leave me with my worst visions: having had the chance to battle it & win day by day, and having failed.

I cannot ignore this murderous self: it is there. I smell it and feel it, but I will not give it my name. I shall shame it. When it says: you shall not sleep, you cannot teach, I shall go on anyway, knocking its nose in. It's biggest weapon is and has been the image of myself as a perfect success: in writing, teaching and living. As soon as I sniff non-success in the form of rejections, puzzled faces in class when I'm blurring a point, or a cold horror in personal relationships, I accuse myself of being a hypocrite, posing as better than I am, and being, at bottom lousy.

I am middling good. And I can live being middling good. I do not have advanced degrees, I do not have books published, I do not have teaching experience. I have a job teaching. I cannot rightly ask myself to be a better teacher than any of those teaching around me with degrees, books published and experience. I can only, from day to day, fight to be a better teacher than I was the day before. If, at the end of a year of hard work, partial failure, partial dogged communication of a poem or a story, I can say I am easier, more confident & a better teacher than I was the first day, I have done enough. I must face this image of myself as good for myself, and not freeze myself into a quivering jelly because I am not Mr. Fisher or Miss Dunn or any of the others.

I have a good self, that loves skies, hills, ideas, tasty meals, bright colors. My demon would murder this self by demanding it be a paragon, and saying it should run away if it is being anything less. I shall doggedly do my best and know it for that, no matter what other people say. I can learn to be a better teacher. But only by painful trial and error. Life is painful trial and error. I instinctively gave myself this job because I knew I needed the confidence it would give me as I needed food: it would be my first active facing of life & responsibility: something thousands of people face every day, with groans, maybe, or with dogged determination, or with joy. But they face it. I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily. If I get through this year, kicking my demon down when it comes up, realising I'll be tired after a days work, and tired after correcting papers, and it's natural tiredness, not something to be ranted about in horror, I'll be able, piece by piece, to face the field of life, instead of running from it the minute it hurts.

The demon would humiliate me: throw me on my knees before the college president, my department chairman, everyone, crying: look at me, miserable, I can't do it. Talking about my fears to others feeds it. I shall show a calm front & fight it in the precincts of my own self, but never give it the social dignity of a public appearance, me running from it, and giving in to it. I'll work in my office roughly from 9 to 5 until I find myself doing better in class. In any case, I'll do something relaxing, different reading, etc. in the evenings. I'll keep myself intact, outside this job, this work. They can't ask more of me than my best, & only I know really where the limits on my best are. I have a choice: to flee from life and ruin myself forever because I can't be perfect right away, without pain & failure, and to face life on my own terms & "make the best of the job.

each day I shall record a dogged step ahead or a marking time in place. The material of reading is something I love. I must learn, slowly, how to best present it, managing class discussion: I must reject the grovelling image of the fearful beast in myself, which is an elaborate escape image, and face, force, days into line. I have an inner fight that won't be conquered by a motto or one night's resolution. My demon of negation will tempt me day by day, and I'll fight it, as something other than my essential self, which I am fighting to save: each day will have something to recommend it: whether the honest delight at watching the quick furred body of a squirrel, or sensing, deeply, the weather and color, or reading and thinking of something in a different light: a good explanation or 5 minutes in class to redeem a bad 45. Minute by minute to fight upward. Out from under that black cloud which would annihilate my whole being with its demand for perfection and measure, not of what I am, but of what I am not. I am what I am, and have written, lived and travelled: I have been worth what I have won, but must work to be worth more. I shall not be more by wishful thinking.

So: a stoic face. A position of irony, of double-vision. My job is serious, important, but nothing is more important than my life and my life in its fullest realized potential: jealousy, envy, desperate wishes to be someone else, someone already successful at teaching, is naive: Mr. Fisher, for all his student-love, has been left by his wife & children; Miss Williams," for all her experience & knowledge, is irrevocably dull. Every one of these people, the divorced Schendler, the unmarried Johnson, has some flaw, some crack, and to be one of them would be to be flawed & cracked in another fashion. I'll shoulder my own crack, work on my James today, Hawthorne for next week & take life with gradual ease, dogged at first, but with more & more joy. My first victory was accepting this job, the second, coming up & plunging into it before my demon could say no, I wasn't good enough, the third, going to class after a night of no sleep & desperation, the fourth, facing my demon last night with Ted & spitting in its eye. I'll work hard on my planning, but work just as hard to build up a rich home life: to get writing again, to get my mind fertilized outside my job.

I shall not, carrion comfort, despair … etc.

No more knuckling under, groaning, moaning: one gets used to pain. This hurts. Not being perfect hurts. Having to bother about work in order to eat & have a house hurts. So what. It's about time. This is the month which ends a quarter of a century for me, lived under the shadow of fear: fear that I would fall short of some abstract perfection: I have often fought, fought & won, not perfection, but an acceptance of myself as having a right to live on my own human, fallible terms.

Attitude is everything. No whining or fainting will get me out of this job & I'd not like to think what would happen to my integral self if it did. I've accepted my first check: I've signed on, and no little girl tactics are going to get me off, nor should they.

To the library. Finish James book, memorize my topics, maybe the squirrel story. Have fun. If I have fun, the class will have fun.

Come home tonight: read lawrence, or write, if possible. That will come too.

Vive le roi, le roi est mort, vive le roi.

From "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath", dated October 1, 1957

[walrus150915]

Goldenheart headcanons for when they have only started dating and were awkward as hell

(because I am a trans bi teenager who wants to experience mlm love yet can't because I'm afraid to date boys due to my dysphoria)

I noticed you people like when I make long posts like these and I love them too so I think I can share some hcs of mine about this stage of their relationship bc I have a lot honestly :]

- they started dating when they were around 16yo

- none of them actually had feelings for each other before puberty hit and they were like "damn my bestie is kinda fine- WHAT"

- Bal fell first. Ambrosius fell and broke the floor under him bc boyyyy did he fall HARD

- Bal navigated his feelings like "Ugh okay I guess that's what happens when you're friends with a handsome guy everyone has a crush on. That'll pass. That's part of puberty. Stay calm" meanwhile Ambrosius screamed in his pillow and freaked out and cried only to pretend nothing bothered him. It was hard to pretend when you literally study at the same academia/school/whatever and see each other every day bc you're best friends

- during the mutual pining era the PE lessons were DIFFICULT. Especially when they were put up against each other

- they look like friends who had no problem hugging/brushing each other's hair/being close physically in general yet when the feelings appeared, the things which used to be very easy turned torturous

- Ballister was the one to ask if Ambrosius saw that their friendship changed. Ambrosius couldn't hold it in anymore and mumbled through his confession so fast and awkward Ballister has only understood phrases like "I really like you" and "romantically I mean" and "you're very cool and that'd be sick if we became boyfriends"

- Bal turned his face to the side and muttered something like "yeah I think it would"

- and so they became boyfriends!!

- has something changed in the way they behaved around each other? Yeah but also not really. They were still besties and the physical contact became A LITTLE easier now that the sorta relationship they had was clear between them, but they just couldn't help but blush while touching each other

- their first kiss was a mess dude😭😭

- Ambrosius wanted it to go as smoothly as possible so he watched romantic movies and practiced kissing with his hand (embarrassing? Yeah I now) but when it was time to finally show off his skills he panicked and pressed his lips to Ballister's for a few seconds then his nose almost bled out bc of the nerves (not me projecting on Ambrosius but that's literally what happened to me when I had my first kiss)

- Ballister seemed calm about this whole thing but it doesn't mean he was. When they had their first ever date he brushed his teeth extra clear just to make sure he'd smell good during their first kiss. Bro was THRILLED

- basically Ambrosius was overthinking this and Ballister was... Also overthinking I'M SORRY THESE TWO ARE HORRIBLE

Now the headcanons are for the time when they've been dating for like more than a few months and have kinda got used to each other in this new ~romantic~ way

- Bal's way of flirting wasn't really obvious since he doesn't look like a guy who can come up with romantic compliments on the spot, however I think he touched Ambrosius if he wanted to express his feelings for him. Stroke his bleach-damaged hair, make their pinkies intertwine, put his head on his shoulder and nuzzle into him - this or he'd infodump new history/physics/chemistry facts he learnt

Bal: Okay, did you know that [some really complicated science stuff I cannot describe in words because I'm a literature major]

Ambrosius, heart-eyed, no clue what he's talking about: Wow that's really interesting anyways do you want me to change my surname to Boldheart-

- Ambrosius looks like a total theatre kid so I think he often flirted with Bal by quoting some love poems they had in their curriculum. Of course he quoted their analogue of Romeo's monologue under Juliet's balcony why do you think he wouldn't

- Having said that, whenever he quoted something which referred to a woman, he changed pronouns and general words bc he's attentive like that. Sometimes it got absurd tho. "Manservant of the moon" instead of "maid" like dude😭😭😭😭

- Ballister tried his best not to laugh but also not to pass out bcuz of the amount of praise his boyfriend gave him which was actually a lot. My man is as much of a mess as Ambrosius is let's not forget that

- one day Ambrosius quoted something which was not from the curriculum but instead from Bal's favorite book. I think Bal liked adventure books about knights which sometimes included romance and I imagine the dialogue going:

Ambrosius: "And even if I had to turn against the whole world to follow you-

Them together: "-I would do it with no hesitation-"

Ambrosius: "Because you are my world, Sir Redsword"

Them: *staring at each other*

Bal, all blushing: ...that's not from the books our teacher told us to read

Ambrosius, also blushing madly: Yeah but I figured I like some variety

- That's when Bal knew this guy was his forever soulmate

- Bal used to be taller than Ambrosius for a long time of their early years but then Ambrosius got late height boost or idk how it's called. Basically dude went from 5'5 to 6'1 overnight and I know Ballister was PISSED

- these two totally kissed in the janitor's closet when they needed some privacy I'm telling you (not even in a "steamy" way although I think some sort of tension existed - cmon they were late teens bro do you really think puberty is nice to teenagers???).

- why would you get a private space where you can explore this side of your relationship safely when you can have a literal closet with racks and mops and buckets, am I right

- Ambrosius tried writing poems for Ballister they SUCKED

- Ballister still saved each and one of them. One day, he'll sort through his things to move to his own place after the wall comes down and find these yellow checkered sheets of paper, full of bad rhymes and silly words. He'd bring all of them to his (and Ambrosius's) new apartment

Okay now the last hcs which I honestly have no idea how to call but umm ✨what people around them thought about their blooming romance✨

- Queen Valerin understood something was up on the spot. Like, for a straight woman, her gaydar worked flawlessly😭 it was enough for her to see them hide the fact that they held hands to go "I know what you are". She was pretty supportive although she did ask Bal on their one-to-one meeting to "use protection" like all moms do🖐

- The Director also knew something was up but her reaction was more like "Sir Ambrosius will grow out of it". As you know, he never did LMAOO

- Todd was hilariously oblivious despite teasing Ambrosius like "HAHA LOLLLL GOLDENLOIN WHY R U ALWAYS WITH THIS COMMONER GUY ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH HIM OR SOMETHING". He did it in a cishetero "haha gotta mock my homie for being gay" yet DID NOT REALIZE his homie was, indeed, gay

- some cadets could pick up on it, some didn't

- anyway I think the general public knew nothing about it bc if they did that'd be a scandal worse than Henry the 8th's when he created a new religion bc his loins were on fire thanks to Anne Boleyn

ALSO GET THIS LITTLE PIECE (which I don't really like bc of the coloring choices) OF THEM :D

I swear Ambrosius isn't yellow irl😭😭 I'm myself asian I now better than that

That's about it I guess! Lemme know what you think (if you wanna use/adopt these hcs, feel free to do whatever you want with them! Just tag me so I could see it wjsjjajaj!!!!) ;3

[danceworshipper]

@hphm-ship-week Prompt 3: Confession

I made a love confession angsty. You're welcome 😇

Ship: Tessa/River 🩵🩸

Date: December 24th, 1990 (seventh year)

It was cold, even sitting so close to the fire. Even with the blankets she'd pulled off of her bed to wrap around herself. Even with Gracie's thickest sweater on. Even with River sitting so close that she was practically in his lap.

It was cold, and everything sucked.

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut as she dug her head into River's bony shoulder. It was hard to decide if staying at Hogwarts had been the wrong choice this year. None of her friends had stayed other than River, and he was only here because he had no other choice. Gracie was gone: kidnapped, in danger, and Tessa could do nothing about it except slam pathetically at their legilimency link and be rejected each time she tried. She didn't know what to do anymore. Gracie was the one who solved mysteries. Tessa gave that up a long time ago.

Everything in this damn castle reminded her of her sister: classes, the common room, the Great Hall, Merula, Rowan, even the rare detention - though, Tessa supposed, being at home wouldn't be any better in that regard. At home she'd have to watch her mother cry into a woman's arms while she sat there alone in her room, trying to stop herself from going into Gracie's to see if anything still smelled like her.

Here, at least, she had River. Here, she didn't have to be completely alone. Tessa wanted to think that even if he'd had the option to go home, he would have stayed for her. She twisted at the ring on her finger. It had to mean something, didn't it? Friends don't give each other rings for no reason, surely? Her hand balled into a fist, the metal digging into her skin, and she shivered.

"Do you want another blanket?" River asked softly. "I can grab some from my room."

Tessa shook her head, but she pressed even closer. She felt him shift, his arm freeing itself from between their bodies to wrap around her. His fingers played idly with the loose hair at her shoulder. River liked her hair; it was the first part of her he had ever written a poem about, though he still refused to let her read that one, saying it was too embarrassing. Embarrassing because it revealed too much? She hoped so.

Maybe it was wrong to be hoping he loved her at a time like this, when everything was awful and no one had had a good day in months. Maybe Tessa shouldn't be sitting here with him, pressed close enough to feel the stale blood flowing in his veins - some being her own - wishing he would say that he'd never leave her like everyone else did. Tessa was being selfish. What else was new? Her selfishness had gotten her into this situation, too. Gracie would still be here if Tessa hadn't been selfish.

River leaned his head down onto hers. "You're crying," he said, still soft, still gentle. That's all he ever was, and it made Tessa sick. She wasn't good enough for him.

"Why are you here?" she asked, not bothering to wipe her eyes.

"At Hogwarts?"

"Sitting here."

"Where else would I be?"

Tessa shrugged. "With anyone else, I guess."

"I don't... " River trailed off, finger caught in a tangled curl that he carefully pulled out.

"You don't what?" she pressed. She needed him to say it.

"I don't want to be with anyone else," he said, and it helped, but not enough. "I'd spend every waking minute with you if I could."

"Why?" Tessa begged. Please say it. Please say it. I can't say it.

"You know."

"River, please."

He lifted his head up, pulling away to force her to look at him. Merlin, what would she do if he didn't love her? What if it was just because she fed him, or because she tutored him, or because everyone else was scared of him so she was the only one he could spend time with?

"I love you," River said, his eyes staring straight into her soul, and Tessa's mind quieted down at once.

"Oh."

Now he looked scared, as though he'd said something wrong. He hadn't. Tessa had to tell him he hadn't, but she didn't know what to say. She really hadn't believed River loved her until he said it.

"I'm sorry," River said, moving to stand up, and that simply couldn't happen.

"I love you," Tessa blurted, and thought that maybe she meant it.

The smile on River's face made her hope to any god that might exist that she meant it. If she ever broke his heart, she wouldn't ever forgive herself.

He settled back into the couch with her, both arms wrapping around her as she was pulled fully onto his lap. One of the blankets fell off, but Tessa didn't bother to grab it, instead tucking her head under his chin and staring at the fire until it roared.

"I can taste it when you do that," River said.

"What's it taste like?"

She felt him shrug.

"Hard to explain."

"In a good way?" Tessa hoped.

"Everything you do is good," River said, and he sounded like he meant it.

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut again and tried to believe him.

[throatcoat]

//i thought i was maybe turning into something different this time//

i am falling back in love with self-destruction. i am falling back in love with how simple it is to rewind and reset, to get back the progress i allowed to leak out and away in the presence of feeling like i meant more than i thought. when that feeling dissipates, as it always does when they finally see what is really underneath the surface, the only thing that remains is how none of it really mattered anyways, and this was how it was always going to end. the miles in between the lack of sleep, i refuse to appear as weak as i actually am. fragile, wind me up, the music box broke and all you will hear is silence in place of piano keys. i hope that no one says a damn word as i slip further and further again, i want to rot from the inside out. i'll hide calories in smoke clouds, fill my growling stomach with hot water until it feels like it will drown. they won't say anything until it is almost too late, they never tried to notice anyways.

i can not control how people feel, but i can control how they perceive me. the damage is physical, and one day, i know it will make me the ghost i fear i already am. i disgust myself, and i need the disguise of not giving a shit. the only thing that terrifies me is that there is not a single person who knows me well enough to deliver that eulogy. the podium will be bare and it will be like it always was, someone who no one will recall in a few months once the snow dethaws.

the only thing anyone knows about me is how sad i am. it is an illness that eats you alive and spits out the sinew and bones and teeth it can not digest. sometimes, i wish i was more than that, but it is a constant companion, and sometimes, i think it may just be who i am. there is not a person who could tell you my favorite book, the one filled with poems my dad would read to me as a child. there is not a person who could tell you my favorite song, the one i always play when i first get into the car. my favorite flowers and the way they smell in the summer. the movies that felt the most real, in the worlds i always lose myself in. rewatching the same films constantly, i like knowing the ending, that everyone forgives and the antagonist was really the protagonist the whole time, albeit misunderstood. it feels like safety. the diner and how i always get the same meal, blackberry french toast and black coffee that never seems to get cold. how i like my coffee in the morning, or rather, 2 p.m. in the afternoon.

the green room where i cried in the stall over saying the wrong thing again. the notes i keep from ghosts who do not think of me. how it felt the first time a girl kissed me. the details of every vehicle i have ever sat in. how my heart ached at being told i no longer had the privilege of using their full first name. how i still have his yo-yo, and i still give money when i have it to the charities for kids like his sick brother. how i felt in the dark of a room that smelled like every room where i lost pieces and parts. how it feels to notice that people all begin acting the same when they see through my ruse of convincing myself of some sort of permanence. they slowly stop texting you, and now they no longer care about your day. now, your promise of loving someone is only stifling, and the idea of laying in bed with me is suffocating. you ask if everything is okay, grasping for that reassurance that not everything will end the same, but it always does, and asking just makes the reality a thing to think about. like i put the idea in their heads when i grasp on with my fingertips, afraid of drowning in the columbia, falling asleep in the bathtub. the phone calls stop, and they slowly remove their presence from every facet you barely got to share. the texts go unseen and the letters unread. now, i am the nameless stories they share of a girl that can only haunt them when they can not sleep at night. the moral thing to do is put down the sick dog. keep me around for as long as i am needed, until somehow, you need more.

my feet hit the pavement, the shock sends signals through my ankles and my legs buckle. i do not believe the promises any longer, that there is something more to see in me than simply forgetting in the first place. i think about Jeremy, how he was the first to leave me alone and now i am just angry. i think about how i keep looking for the same person in everyone, but that person never existed in the first place. maybe, i just want to find myself. something untainted. somehow, whole.

i want to be beautiful, for it all to no longer hurt.

i want to be more than the bed you sleep in.

i want to be worth it.

i think i have given up on the idea of being worth anything at all.

i want to be the poem you read over and over as a child, something about being blue and being seen right through. a tree stump cut down, she gave it all and he only wanted more. the apples were never enough. the shade did not keep him from getting burnt. a monster in a cave sleeping in a pile of other monsters, maybe i can find a home there on that island.

all i ever am and will be is never enough.

i missed being sick.

at least i know what to expect.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Call of Cthulhu (Jade Leech)

Thank you for 1000 followers! Hope you enjoy the Horror Event!

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Horror Event Masterlist

Requested by a lovely Anon!

⚠️ WARNING: slight gore, depictions of falling into madness, Jade is a bit of a madlad

"You like interesting things, don't you? And yet, you surround yourself with boredom."

"A necessary evil."

"I can help you get rid of the boring."

"I require no assistance."

"A man of science, a man who longs for knowledge, don't you want to experience the exhilaration of losing?"

Jade grits his teeth, trying to keep his reactions to a minimum despite the splitting headache ravaging his consciousness. He has no idea of where he is, but also he absolutely knows. There’s far too much assaulting his eyes, and yet he stands in total darkness. He hears a million voices coming from the silence, and there is no smell to register in the thousand scents reaching his nose. Too much and nothing, at the same time.

He can feel himself slip, and he fights it with all he is.

If only he could grasp what he is.

It’s difficult to think when there’s Them and then there’s You and You are not Yours but Theirs—no. Wait. You are Jade. He is Jade. Jade Leech.

Jade Leech.

Jade.

“Jade.”

He gasps when one familiar voice reaches his existence. It is his lover’s—right, he has one of those. A love whom he loves with a love that might be more than love. That… is a poem? From her world. Right. Her world, the world of his lover. The world that is filled with poems and words and stories and—stories and stories and stories—stories about…  mythos. Mythos beyond the being to explain—or to play with, play with like a game of possibilities, humans love those, sentience loves those, the possibilities—things beyond comprehension.

Old Gods.

Jade grunts when the headache becomes a piercing drumming against his mind. The feeling of being right should be more pleasant.

“Give in. Give in. Give in give in give in givegivegivegivegivegeigevigeivegei–”

Enough.

Silence.

“Jade…”

A whimper.

Jade hears something drip. He’s in a laboratory, fascinating tools littered all over, tools and tubes and blades and glass and rubber and metal and—blood. And blood. Bloooood. BloOd.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

He looks at the floor where the blood is forming a pool.

Drip drip drip drip

He follows the trajectory of the drops with his eyes.

Dripdripdripdrip

On top of the table, lies (Y/N). Her body opened like a science experiment, opened and held open by fascinating shiny metal tools. Blood and guts and guts and blood. Organs. Flesh. Meat. Bones. Blood. Her eyes devoid of all shine except those of betrayed tears. The pungent smell of death hits his nose the same time a sick sense of thrilled despair floods his veins in the place of his blood.

He—Jade. Jade. Jade. Jade does not need to look at his hands to know.

He knows the grip of a blade.

He knows the grip of a loss.

Jade. Jade knows the exhilaration.

Jade hates it. Hates it. Jade hates it.

“Jade!”

Retching right after waking up surely is not the normal for one Jade Leech—right, he is Jade Leech—, but crying and clinging to his girlfriend is also not normal, so he won’t put much thought into it. He does try to not grip her too tight, afraid of what his hands can do when he’s out of control.

“Jade, honey, what happened?” (Y/N) runs her fingers through his hair, and he’s back at existing within the limits of comprehension.

In a soft voice, he tells her his experience, not daring to leave out even the most disturbing detail, and he is pleased when she keeps her ministrations without so much as flinching. Once he’s done, she confirms that he probably just got messed with by an Old God, and explains the concept of cosmic terrors beyond reality once again to make sure they’re on the same page. Then she goes on to talk about games and game lore and how they shouldn’t be there nor should Jade be seeing things so early in the game and Jade can tell it is relevant information he should be paying attention to, but instead he retreats to his thoughts and organizes what he knows about Old Gods, trying to look for weaknesses.

After all, more interesting than experiencing the death of his lover, Jade muses, would be to kill a god.

[memelleity]

freaky (2020) sentence starters

some nsfw

❝ a geriatric serial killer? really? ❞

❝ don't underestimate a straight white man's propensity for violence. ❞

❝ what is all this shit? ❞

❝ are you gonna help me or not? ❞

❝ this looks so expensive… ❞

❝ you're taking too long. it's a vagina, not an all-night drive-through. ❞

❝ do you have a date for homecoming tomorrow? ❞

❝ you're so cute. ❞

❝ ____, you promised. ❞

❝ you can't keep living your life for someone else. you've got to start doing things for you. ❞

❝ i just don't want you to wake up one morning and realize your whole life passed you by ‘cause you were busy being everything to everyone but you. ❞

❝ i love your dress. ❞

❝ pro tip: always set your watch five minutes ahead. it saves my ass, like, every time. ❞

❝ everybody is freaking out. ❞

❝ don't say that word. ❞

❝ i smell like orange soda. ❞

❝ you sure you don't want a ride? ❞

❝ help's on the way. you're gonna be okay. ❞

❝ it wasn't my fault! ❞

❝ good, you're up. how are you feeling? ❞

❝ why do i sound like that? ❞

❝ i don't have any drugs. i'm not a drug person. ❞

❝ what do i look like? ❞

❝ do i look like a, um, you know, do i look like a girl? ❞

❝ i didn't see you there! ❞

❝ i really want you to try to eat, okay? ❞

❝ what's with the outfit? ❞

❝ piss off, ____. ❞

❝ this is not about you. ❞

❝ something else happened last night, didn't it? ❞

❝ i'm, like, the most trustworthy person. ❞

❝ i've had, like, ten kombuchas today, so i'm gonna go pee, and when i get back, you're either spilling the tea or i'm out. ❞

❝ are you sure this is safe? ❞

❝ hey, how are you holding up? ❞

❝ i am so sick of your constant need for attention. ❞

❝ if only you would spend a little less time flirting and a little more time learning, you might actually make something out of yourself. ❞

❝ ____’s acting weird. ❞

❝ listen… it's not what you think. ❞

❝ you're black! i'm gay! we are so dead! ❞

❝ stop running. i'm not gonna hurt you. ❞

❝ will you stop throwing things at me? ❞

❝ i am not trying to hurt you, okay? ❞

❝ what's your favorite movie? ❞

❝ who's your biggest crush? ❞

❝ how did this happen? ❞

❝ standing and peeing is kind of rad. ❞

❝ i think it's spanish… i can't read it. ❞

❝ ay, estúpidos niños gabachos. ❞

❝ boys are so gross. ❞

❝ i didn't mean to interrupt. i... i was looking for someone else. ❞

❝ you like being scared? ❞

❝ oh, my god. did you just pee yourself? ❞

❝ self-defense. i had to do it. ❞

❝ that's what you get for fucking with me, ____. ❞

❝ what do you want from me?! ❞

❝ why can't i just have a normal life? ❞

❝ don't tell me to calm down! ❞

❝ can you scooch your seat up just a little bit? ❞

❝ okay, we need a plan. ❞

❝ everyone knows who you are. ❞

❝ i didn't mean to share all that with you. ❞

❝ i lost somebody, too. ❞

❝ you must miss him so much. ❞

❝ nothing prepares you for this stuff, right? i mean, we're all just left here, to pick up the pieces, and... ❞

❝ i can't figure out what's going on inside your head. ❞

❝ you're so easy to talk to. ❞

❝ this is terrifying. i can't breathe. ❞

❝ if you get recognized, we are screwed. ❞

❝ your touch makes this pussy drier than sandpaper, you fucking monkey. ❞

❝ i can't wait to kill you. ❞

❝ i fucking hate this place. ❞

❝ i just w... i just want to talk. ❞

❝ where the hell did you learn how to do that? ❞

❝ this is gonna sound really strange. ❞

❝ ____, look at me. ❞

❝ a few weeks ago, i found a poem in my locker. it was anonymous. ❞

❝ you sad fucking cunt. you pathetic coward. ❞

❝ this should be your new mug shot. ❞

❝ i've never been so stressed and excited at the same time in my life. ❞

❝ you know, i have to admit, in a really strange way, that it hasn't been all bad. ❞

❝ you are a lot stronger than you think. ❞

❝ why is ____ tied to my dining chair? ❞

❝ we're role-playing. ❞

❝ i'm a little confused. ❞

❝ i-i didn't want to tell you until i was ready, but... i'm straight. ❞

❝ you are many things, but straight isn't one of them. ❞

❝ i don't have time for this. ❞

❝ what the fuck is going on? ❞

❝ how weird is it that i kind of feel like kissing you right now? ❞

❝ i'm not going anywhere. ❞

❝ i don't need your fucking help. ❞

❝ so you think you're this hot shit now, huh? ❞

❝ you stay here. this is way too dangerous. ❞

❝ well, what do you know? looks like we got a little private party going here, huh?❞

❝ are you good at math, ____? ❞

❝ do not try and be a hero. ❞

❝ you tell anybody, i'll fucking kill you. ❞

❝ i want my body back. ❞

❝ you're too late. ❞

❝ so, what are you gonna tell the cops? ❞

❝ you're my daughter. nothing will ever change that. ❞

❝ you got what you wanted, right? why aren't you happy? ❞

❝ little girls shouldn't play with guns. ❞

❝ i understand why you feel so weak. ❞

❝ having balls sucks. ❞

[allofasudden00]

The all about me

And error 404 are so cute one you like more 😩

A little attention never hurts

Dolores is never one to get sick. Unlike Camilo and her Mama, she is always the last person in the house to get sick. She could count on both hands how many times she’s been sick in the 21 years of life she’s lived. The whole family dislikes being sick, everyone except Dolores. It’s not that she enjoys the heaviness she feels in her chest, or how her nose is stuffed up. She does, however, enjoy the attention that she gets from being sick.

Dolores being sick is so rare that everyone gets slightly panicky whenever she does. When she woke up feeling awful today, she informed her Mama who immediately peppered her with worried kisses and told her to stay in bed. After she missed breakfast, her nap was interrupted by Julieta coming in with a bowl full of her favorite soup. Her Tia gently placed the bowl in her hands and kissed her forehead and left with a quiet “There is a lot more of that. I’ll bring you another bowl if you want.”

Dolores smiled to herself and enjoyed her soup in comfortable silence. That is another thing she enjoys about being sick. The silence. Her family never fails to be as quiet as possible when she is sick. Her day went by quickly, but she was visited by the entire family throughout it. Camilo had come to say hi and give her the laundry he finished (today it was supposed to be her job to do it, but she got out of that too.). Isabela came and decorated her room with plants and flowers so that Dolores can smell them when she gets better. Abuela came in and they talked a little while Abuela mindlessly dusted the bookshelves and organized the books.

Mirabel came after lunch, with Antonio close behind. They brought with them small sandwiches and sweets. Dolores and them had a little picnic on her bed and Antonio gave her one of his stuffed animals to cuddle with. Luisa and her talked about a book they’ve been reading together and had fun theorizing what will happen in the next chapter. Agustin popped his head in and informed her he finally got around to fixing the hole in her favorite dress. Her parents were the last to visit when nighttime was rolling in. Despite Dolores’ protests, her mama insisted on helping her with her hair and getting ready for sleep. Her papa made her laugh with his stupid jokes while her mama went through her closest to find a fresh nightgown.

When they left, and Dolores was finally alone, she breathed a satisfied sigh. She doesn’t feel any better, but she got to be slightly pampered and didn’t have to get out of bed. For her, that is a win. There was only one thing that could make her feel even better. She turns on her side and looks out her opened window. His voice seemingly carried on the wind, his gentle words reach her ears.

“Hola Dolores, Camilo told me you were sick.” Mariano whispers to himself while laying down in his bed and looking at the ceiling. He hopes she can hear him and she isn’t asleep already. “Sorry I didn’t visit you today. I’ll be around tomorrow. But to make it up to you, I wrote you something.”

As Mariano recites his poem, Dolores closes her eyes and smiles. She really should get sick more often. It isn’t so bad.

--------------------------------------------------

I feel like Dolores would be the one who likes the attention when she is sick. She is kind of the background sibling and family member, she is there when you need her and she likes watching and listening. But when she is out of commission, everyone rushes to be there for her like she is for them.

[sukirichi]

jujutsu kaisen characters as students in high school: (non-canon AU)

featuring: itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, getou suguru, & ryoumen sukuna notes: some parts include you as their friend, or even their high school love! (this is unedited/ not proofread)

masterlist ! requests are open 

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

he’s not the brightest bulb, but he makes up for it through hardwork and enthusiasm

yuuji is literally that classmate everyone is just friends with

the type who waves with a smile, saying “good morning!” the moment he walks through that door

with that being said, since he’s everyone’s friend, i headcannon that yuuji doesn’t really have a best friend because he’s so open and available to everyone it’s hard to have just a one on one conversation with him

not to say he’s always surrounded by a crowd that you can’t get near him, but everyone likes talking to yuuji

he just fits in so well and understands people 

kind of like how he easily clicked with junpei (please, i miss him, i still can’t believe that he’s...you know...)

whether it’s the guys raving to him about sports

or girls shyly talking about their crush on class or about that new shojo manga

yuuji is open to anything and everyone. this boy wears his heart on his sleeve and he’s honestly such a precious boy, please be kind to him <3

the type of student that gets called to answer in class but isn’t shy to admit he doesn’t know the answer while rubbing the back of his neck

he does pay attention tho

i think it’s canon that yuuji is a dedicated man, like from that time he just watched movies straight and kept his cursed energy controlled so the cursed corpse would stop hitting him

overall, yuuji is a very hard working student! 

he wouldn’t get over the top grades, but he’s really proud of himself (and he should be!)

also that one kid in class that is surprisingly good in sports despite his lanky figure and laid back persona, because all the other sports-craved people are always flexing or challenging other captains 

but plot twist, this boy is ripped and very, beautifully kept in trim

yeah he’s not really into club activities that much

not because he hates them, but he’s just not that into it. he’s more than glad to join in whatever activities though and enjoys them, but if asked what he’d like to do, it wouldn’t be that first thing that came to mind

in conclusion: itadori yuuji is the class sunflower that lights up everyone’s day  🌻

yuuji’s role: the hard worker! 

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

hands down, megumi is THAT student

if you’re volunteering in the library, you can sure as hell guarantee you’ll see megumi there

he doesn’t like studying in class because it’s too noisy, so if he’s in school, you’ll always see his name in the library logs

he’s that kid that aces all exams

the type to scowl when he sees a 96% mark because he’s expecting a perfect mark

okay before you come at me, i’m not saying megumi is that annoying smart kid in class that goes, “Oh, I’m so dumb, just a 96?”

no he’s more frustrated at himself because he knows he studied hard and lost sleep over it. he’s just wondering where he went wrong. he has literal note cards and customize flash cards on an app on his phone, waking up every four am and probably taking supplement classes after regular school hours

i headcannon that megumi is someone who always wants to do his best and actually goes through lengths to prove his worth

maybe it stems from having the need to show who he really is and what he’s capable of

but yeah i can totally see him doing that

also that cute student that keeps visiting the cafe every saturday morning, wearing a black hoodie and headphones tucked in, his pretty hands nestling over a book

he looks like a gamer but honestly i don’t think he’s got time for that lmao

would also be that guy people find hard to approach because of his quiet and reserved self

he’s pretty intimidating too

definitely sits beside the window at the back of the class. you can’t fight me on that

just because he’s smart and loves studying, it doesn’t mean he’ll sit on the front row and raise his hand every damn second

the teachers will encourage him to participate in class a little bit more, especially after seeing he’s awkward during group activities, but megumi just really prefers to do things by himself

i also headcannon him eating in the cafeteria like everyone else instead of having his alone time during a rooftop? like idk i can’t picture megumi completely isolating himself like that

he blends in well in a way that you know he’s just like everyone else; a human

but he also stands out in the manner that he’s a lot more introverted and reserved compared to everyone else

surprisingly good during sports and relay games

100% reliable

the type to stay up at midnight to finish a group project, sighing because his groupmates doesn’t care as much as he does, but turns it in anyway the next day

he’d be annoyed at them, but he doesn’t really like confrontation so he doesn’t out them to the teacher like that

but he’s also not someone who lets people walk over him, so he’ll simply say something about his groupmates becoming more responsible and to be serious for once as a “warning”

and yeah, he may be closed off, but once you get really close with him (even better if you have similar interests) you’ll find there’s a lot more to him than what you’ve originally seen and he’s actually a pretty great friend and supportive classmate

would teach you instead of just letting you copy his work or snap pictures of his notes

ugh he’s so responsible and morally right and that’s so attractive help

in conclusion: fushiguro megumi is the hidden gem  💎

megumi’s role: the intellectual outsider!

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

man...i don’t know how to start this

i’ve said this about megumi, but gojo is also that student

no, in fact, he’s THE student

everyone loves him. literally everyone

the teachers? smitten

his classmates? in love

the school guard? calls him by his first name

the cleaning lady? turns into a star with the way she lightens up when he’s there

the cafeteria staff? yeah free food because he’s gojo satoru

gojo is what i like to call the “one who has it all” because....well, he kind of does

he’s really smart and talented, which comes as a surprise to everyone in the first day of school when he nearly gets kicked out for falling asleep in class

only for everyone to be shocked that he knows the answer already and the teacher is only discussing chapter 1 lmao

yeah he’d be that kid who always sleeps in class

or is playing games on his phone behind an open textbook

he literally doesn’t listen to what the teacher is saying at all - or at least that’s what he wants you to think

man is a god at multitasking and his seatmate would snicker because he’s crushing his enemies at a phone game, but then gojo coolly corrects the teacher about history or something

he’s pretty laid back tbh

but when he’s got everyone’s attention on him? ofc he’d show off

basketball meats are wild. even students from neighbouring schools would visit just to see gojo play - and he’s not even an official member! the coach just asked him to replace a sick player but boy won that champion shot

omg BASKETBALL PLAYER GOJO I CAN’T

but he pretty much excels at everything

except cooking class, gosh, don’t ever bring this man anywhere near a fire. that’s probably the only thing that really got him to detention this time because he always somehow talks himself out of getting that red card with his words and charm

also that kid that would receive lots of confession letters, chocolates, and random gifts in his shoe lockers

he knows he’s handsome and he’s not shy about it. in fact, he’s shameless when it comes to his allure on people

but he also doesn’t really date anyone (it’s canon this man won’t stay loyal to a single woman lmao)

if he and megumi were classmates, they’d be sort of rivals

megumi would always come on top of class, but gojo is just a breath away from the former’s perfect marks. if it only weren’t for megumi’s squeaky clean record and reputation - whereas satoru’s is TAINTED as heck - and the fact that gojo doesn’t really study as much as gumi, then yeah he’d also be top of the class if he wanted to

on a much more serious note,,,gojo acts like nothing really bothers him and he’s simply that effortless

but i feel like he grew up with tutors from a very young age and that’s how his natural intelligence was just further improved and increased with that type of environment in his childhood

and unlike megumi, i don’t think gojo would really have a set goal in mind on who he wants to be or what he wants to do in the future

he’d just be enjoying the moment <3

in conclusion: gojo satoru is the effortless god!

satoru’s role: the lazy king everyone is envious of 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

the playboy

you can’t argue with me on this one

he just is, i feel it deep in my SOUL he just is

moment he walks in, all classy and suave aura and all, you can honestly smell and taste the amount of confidence that drips from him

probably came from a well-off family

probably the mayor’s kid lmao and he’s been used to the attention ever since he was young

much like megumi, he’s not really the type to show off his intelligence

and similar to gojo, people are surprised he’s actually got them brain cells just because everyone is more focused on his appearance first

like who would expect this tall hunk beautiful beast of a man with long hair and piercings actually liked classic novels and could effortlessly recite sonatas and poems in different languages

yeah i headcannon that getou is an intellectual, cultured man

ofc having long hair and piercings isn’t allowed in his school, but because he’s geto and the school knows about his family’s influence, they just let it slide

probably comes late to school too

he eats in the cafeteria, but you don’t really see him indulge much. some days, he’ll have his own fancy bento box prepared by a family chef, but geto is actually pretty simple and humble that he also buys packed bread or canned coffee 

takes the library volunteer by surprise when he drops by one friday after class to borrow an old classic novel that even your professors had a hard time analysing

but geto’s like, “oh this? yeah i last read it when i was thirteen, thought i’d read it again”

IDK WHY but I can see him as sort of breaking the rules when it comes to the school uniform

top three buttons of his shirt open when he’s feeling hot or something

doesn’t really keep his tie that tight too

but overall, geto is a composed and well-put together guy

i just can’t picture him slacking when it comes to his appearance, he’s too fancy and pretty for that

he’s also similar to megumi in a way people find it hard to approach them, but most definitely, geto also receives confessions often 

i can see him dating someone after being interested in someone in school and actually being serious with them unlike gojo

then they would be “that” couple that’re just so couple goals

not the type that goes overboard with pda and pulls off the angry face emoji when they hear someone talking about them and they’re like, “NO HE’S MINE”

okay that’s cringe but i legit witnessed that way too many times in high school yall cant blame me lmao

but they’d be more like the chill laid back couple that supports each other in everything and you can just tell they have a happy, healthy relationship

(oh to be getou’s girlfriend in high school and his first love and all his firsts)

in conclusion: getou suguru is the unpredictable!

getou’s role is: that one classmate you really admire but he’s so far out your league but he’s genuinely a good guy anyway so you’re happy for him no matter what <3

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

okay okay hear me out but...the stoner

i really can’t see him any other way guyssss

and if you’re his classmate, you most likely wouldn’t see him that much either

dude is like 2-3 years older than everyone in class and he doesn’t give a shit about it

he’ll come like...once a week, if he’s in the mood enough

teachers don’t even bother scolding him for his tattoos anymore because there’s rumours going around he’s the son of a yakuza leader or that he’s a gangster who sells organs or some creepy dark stuff

ofc he doesn’t do that

he just does drugs and gets drunk at most

sukuna doesn’t really have that much friends either. yeah he parties with people and often gets high with some older kids, but he doesn’t genuinely enjoy their companies either

would totally come to school with his uniform unironed

red-eyed from his high and naps at the back of the class, making the teacher soften their voice in fear of waking him up

also doesn’t have a pen or paper

i mean...he doesn’t even bring a bag

fails the exams all the time, making him repeat year by year, and he’s even known for beating his senpai up for something stupid and sending the guy to a hospital where he stays for two weeks

but on the other hand

he’s also freakishly attractive and surprisingly easy to talk to

you probably bumped into him one time and you profusely apologize, but then he notices something about, something odd like, “did you just cut your hair?”

“uhm yes...you noticed?”

sukuna shrugs lazily, “noticed something was different, but whatever. it looks good on you though.”

he’s just soooo nonchalant most of the time, it’s hard to believe he’s actually pretty violent

but yeah this man has anger issues i’m sorry

but with that speaking, i actually don’t see sukuna as a bully with like a gang of his “followers” or that type of jazz

he’s more like the kid that hides under the bleachers or gets high in a storage room while everyone else is occupied with school festivals

it’s a shock he even came, but sukuna just says “free food is always a gift” but ofc it’s not free food...he just steals from the stalls

now here comes the fun part

so now that we know sukuna pretty much is a hopeless case...suddenly, he isn’t? maybe he meets you, the class volunteer who goes out of their way to visit his shabby apartment just to hand him his class work that he’s missed out on

he obviously disses you at first and ignores you, telling you to get lost

but somehow your kindness and persistence has him breaking

now he starts coming to school often, carrying a pack of gum or mint pops because he smells like weed and he’s slightly conscious of himself

this is supposed to be just them being students in high school, but i could honestly sukuna changing colors once he just gets a better grasp of what would be good for him

or maybe something finally interests him and gives answers to his silent questions

i feel like he’s such a troubled kid and just lacks proper care and attention, but once you become his friend and show him you don’t have bad intentions, he’s actually a loyal and decent guy

and when you two finally get close, you eventually gain enough courage to tutor him. sukuna is actually pretty smart too, he just doesn’t like studying, but when you compliment him, oh man, he melts

“yeah, you actually got that right! i told you you could do this!”

tsk,” he scoffs, “that’s all kindergarten shit.”

“if it is, then why haven’t you graduated?”

“shut the fuck up.”

although he sneers, you and sukuna have gotten close enough that you know both of you don’t mean anything bad behind those words and it’s all light hearted teasing

oh and when you ask him to take a picture with you for “high school memories?”

sukuna is disgusted

“get that thing away from my face - did you just take my photo?”

“yeah, you look pretty cute here! i’m so printing this and putting this in my album.”

sukuna is about to scold you even more, but the thought of you putting your photo together - even when he’s frowning in the picture - in something as sentimental as a photo book really has him softening up

would even try - keyword is try - to study more just so you’d stop frowning when you see his paper covered in red marks all over again

and he’d even try cutting down on his weed for the sake of his “health”

ofc he won’t suddenly - or ever, even - become the amazing student megumi is

he’ll still get into trouble because he’s impulsive and has poor coping skills, also he’s not good with words or dealing with his emotions

but on his good days, he’s a pretty funny guy

it just takes a lot to see that side of him, but it’s worth the time and patience

also i was expecting to write funny scenarios or imagines of stoner! sukuna because he’s too high to even hold a proper conversation sometimes but all i got is him saying weird words like “snail trap” or something when you ask him how his day is

would also have that garbled little laugh when he’s so out of it

sukuna will try to be better though, you just need to be patient him

but my GOSH when he finally graduates

he’s going to hide that little smile because deep down, he’s also pretty proud of himself and how far he’s come <3

lol now this makes me want to writer a high school au lololol

in conclusion: yeah he’s the stoner with a good heart 

which is so not canon...this shouldn’t even be a headcanon we know ryoumen sukuna is PURE EVIL but oh well maybe when I’m down from my sukuna high I’ll write him a lot more canonically

[books-and-catears]

Okay so I've been thinking of writing this for a while now. (Spoiler alert for chapter 16-20)

After MC is brought back to life, everyone approaches them as Lilith. And everyone seems to be all over them as if they weren't just almost killed by Belphie.

So MC feels uncomfortable over this whole thing. Not only do they feel like a replacement for Lilith but they can't even tell anyone about the trauma of almost dying cause they are demons, they can't possibly sympathize with human fragility. Well maybe one of them can.

The only brother who didn't know Lilith firsthand. The only brother who has spent centuries studying humans and reading all about their emotions.

Satan.

Tags: Angst, Hurt, Comfort

Only You

GN! Reader X Satan

"Ah MC...It seems you have only a week more left in Devildom." Lucifer announced in the middle of breakfast.

Everyone paused and stared blankly. Even Beel stopped chewing and put down his sandwich. You smiled, "Ah I was guessing it might be. Thank you for confirming, Lucifer."

One more week and then you could stop pretending to be okay. One more week of being Lilith. One more week of holding in your trauma. You smiled at the thought of being free of it all.

Everyone around looked dejected. Mammon was the first to break the silence, "Oi! You both are kidding right?!" Lucifer shook his head sternly.

"Ah how unfair! It seems only yesterday we met MC!" Asmo piped in.

"B-but we have so many animes left to finish in our watchlist, MC! And so many games we're still waiting for release!" Levi whined.

"So we can not have MC's cooking anymore?" Beel asked sadly.

"I barely got enough time with them! And you all are complaining?!" Belphie said, annoyed.

Satan was still silent. You looked at him only to find him staring right at you. You blush and look down, picking at your food. No matter how many times he did that, you still couldn't get used to it.

"You must have missed home a lot MC. Happy to go back?" Satan asked softly into your ear. You nodded slightly.

Then you felt your chest tighten. You did want to leave but that would mean no more Satan. You wanted to open up to him. If there was anyone among the brother's who could understand you - it was him.

After breakfast was over you stopped everyone before they left for class.

"Um..since it's my last week here, I have a request on how I want to spend it." You announced. All the brothers nodded and stared attentively.

"I will spend one whole day with each of you individually. And the order will be Beel, Belphie, Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Asmo and Satan. Is everyone okay with this?"

Everyone shared confused glances at the sudden statement but obliged never the less.

The rest of the week flashed by and soon it was your last day. Satan's day.

You woke up early that day, already prepping his parting gift. A bookmark made of dried flowers, with two petals on top shaped like cat ears, inside your favourite book from the human world.

"MC? Are you awake?" Satan called out, after knocking on the door.

You were still dressed in your flimsy pajamas but who cares? You ever going to leave tomorrow anyway. You put on some cat ears and called out, "Come in Satan!"

"Good morning MC, I think you'll like what I've planned for-" Satan stopped in mid speech. His eyes widening at the attire that did a fine job of wrapping around your body seductively.

"Good morning...sorry I was too busy to freshen up haha.." You apologize. "Wait for me here, it'll only take me a few minutes."

Satan nodded, hiding his blush behind his golden locks falling all over his cheeks as he lowered his head. You sighed. How was he so beautiful early morning?

Satan held out his arm like the gentleman he was as you prepared to leave for your date. "Take my arm, MC. We have lots of places to be."

You chuckled and did as told. "I can hardly wait."

You spent the day as if you were in a Romance novel. Cat Cafe, the bookstore, walking in the park watching the setting sun, holding hands. Satan really knew the ways to your heart.

After the sun set, you returned to the house of Lamentation.

"Would you like to come to my room later? We could read your favourite book together one last time before you leave?" Satan requested, his fingers still interlocked with yours.

"Yes..." You nodded, "I was going to ask you the same..."

"I'll be waiting." Satan said, walking you to your room and reluctantly letting go.

After dinner when everyone was asleep, you sneaked into his room. He was wide awake, waiting. He was sitting in his bed in only his black t-shirt and jeans, reading a book. The room was dark with only candles providing enough light to read. He looked up when you called for him softly.

"Satan I'm here...sorry for making you wait.." You said sheepishly.

His eyes lit up and he held out his hand for you to take. "Come sit with me."

You joined him on the bed. He swiftly put an arm around you, holding you snug against him. You could smell his scent and feel his breath on your cheek.

"I got something for you. It's not much but.." You handed Satan your gift.

"A gift? For me?" Satan saw the cover of the book and flipped to where the bookmark was. "That's... beautiful. Thank you MC I can't believe you'd- wait what's this?"

He fished out a long strip of stray paper in the middle of the pages beside the bookmark.

You remembered what it was and tried to snatch it away. How did this even get in there?! What the hell?! "IT'S NOTHING!", You scream

Satan smirked as he held it beyond your reach and started reading it. "A poem for Satan? That doesn't seem like nothing MC."

You tried getting up to gain better access to snatch the paper from him. "DON'T READ IT I SWEAR IT'S NOT SOMETHING SERIOUS. I WAS JUST BEING SILLY!"

Satan tightened his grip on your waist and started reading it out loud to your utter humiliation. You struggled in his grip, gave up and hid your face instead. He stopped midway.

"You read it to me." He demanded.

"Like hell I will!" You rebutted.

"Please." He splayed out his fingers on your back holding you close. His locks tickling your nose.

"N-no. It's embarrassing. I can't-" You started but he looked so dejected you gave in. "Fine but you have to look away from me."

Satan swiftly turned his face away and nodded. You cleared your throat nervously and started.

"Dear blonde boy with the sea in his eyes,

I'll be gone soon, so I'm done with the lies,

I've liked you for a long long time,

But it's too late to impose now, so I guess it's fine?"

"You see me for me, like I see you for you,

Everyone else, they just put me in her shoes,

But these shoes don't fit, they're not mine

And I'm sick of having to toe this line."

"But with you, I'm better, I'm more like myself,

And I can't thank you enough for all your help,

For your kindness, smiles and touch,

You always save me when it gets too much."

You stop. The next part of the poem feels like oversharing. Maybe you should have talked to him about this first. He squeezes your arm, asking you to continue.

"Satan I should explain this-"

"I know. I've known this for a while. But I want to hear this first please continue."

Shakily, you continued.

"I feel his fingers on my throat, unforgiving and unkind,

Help it's getting dark...am I going blind?

I let out a tiny scream with whatever voice I have left,

You're the only one here who didn't turn deaf."

"So replace his touch with yours, with your fingers so gentle and nice,

Hold me, warm me, I feel as cold as ice,

I wish I was a kitten, in your care,

You may be full of wrath, but I was never scared."

"But I'll be gone soon, I don't want to return,

But for you my bookworm, my heart will yearn,

Blonde boy with eyes of sea,

One last time, will you kiss me?"

You had barely finished when Satan spun around and cupped your face. He peppered some kisses on your lips, going upto your ear. He nipped at your earlobe and you let out a soft gasp. His face felt warm and flushed.

He placed his head against yours and sighed. "I can't get enough of you. How do I hold myself back when you're showering me with this much love and that too so beautifully?"

He wrapped his arms around you protectively. You instinctively buried your face in his chest and put your arms around his torso.

"You don't need to hold back..." You whisper.

Satan stiffens. "MC, you don't know what you're asking for."

You hold him tighter, lifting your head you place kisses on his jaw and nibble on his shoulder. "I know."

"Then I won't hold back any longer" He says, slowly pushing you down against his pillows.

He reached down and removed your slippers off your feet. "A part of me suspected you might feel this way. But you're not Lilith. You never will be and you don't have to pretend to be. You're MC. And that's all you need to be."

You looked away, outside at the moon. "Tell me honestly...if I didn't have Lilith's bloodline, would you all care the same way?"

Satan held your chin and turned your face towards him. He may never have been an angel but awash in this silvery moonlight, he certainly looked like one.

"Remember when I told you how much I hated being a part of Lucifer? And you told me that I'm my own person. You told me there was more to me than my wrath."

"Of course." You reached out to hold his face. "You're the smartest demon I know. And your love for cats and literature is unparalleled."

"Well then you're the only human who has swayed my heart. The human so strong and capable enough to bring a semblance for harmony to a dysfunctional family of demons." He smiled gently, running his fingers in your hair.

You felt warm inside. Atleast there was someone who liked you for you. You were so happy you could cry.

"As for what Belphie did, I made sure you never really alone with him." Satan said, now intertwining his fingers with yours. You give him a questioning glance.

"Remember the book of defense spells I gave you? I cast one on you whenever he's in the vicinity. It will render him useless if he dare attack you." He said, matter of factly.

"You knew...? But I never told anyone." You said, confused.

"I know. You held it in for our sake didn't you? You repressed it so much. I can't imagine what kind of hurt you went through." Satan's fingers tightened around yours.

"But one night, you fell asleep in the library. I went to put a blanket on you when I heard you mumbling for help. You kept saying it hurts and you can't breathe. And then you said Belphie's name and asked him to stop hurting you."

"I was so furious I rushed straight to the twins room. I was going to yank Belphie out of bed and renact what he did to you. But Beel woke up and stopped me. I told everyone in the morning before Belphie woke up. You've never been alone with Belphie ever since. One of us always stayed nearby."

You listened in utter shock. "You...you were protecting me all this time?"

Satan nodded, "Well I can't take all the credit. My brother's helped too. But just know that you're not a replacement for Lilith. And Belphie's an ass who doesn't know how to apologize. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. I know it's your last night here, MC... so I'll make this one worth remembering."

You smiled and pulled Satan towards you for a kiss. "I'm glad I saved the best for last."

[yejiroh]

Runaway Bride

Yandere! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

Part 3

Authors note: Hello everyone! Thank you for being here for the (most likely) final part of the Runaway Bride story!

Tag list: @yanderes-are-the-best @ejeeart @misskuudere-chan @fatherrrora

***

It was a race against time. As the news reported false information, Chrollo and his subordinates continued to search for the Nen user they needed. Meanwhile, Y/n continued to change her appearance, running farther and farther away. 

A rough hand slammed against the table, a chewed bullet resting beside it.

Gripping his hair, Uvo screamed in frustration as they had lost another person. It was amazing how many people had such a good sense of smell, yet died the second they smelled Y/n’s belongings. 

“How many does that make?”

“I think that was the 19th person. “

“You’re kidding.”

“Uvo, there’s literally bodies behind your chair. “

Kortopi walked in, messy hair hiding his face like usual. He did not say anything, but a curt nod to the two made them stand up and follow him out of the hotel room. 

Feitan stood in the hallway, knife in hand.

“Anything new?”

Shalnark shook his head ‘no’ with a sigh.

“The boss isn’t going to like this…”

Scratching his chin, Uvo pondered aloud “Why doesn’t he just take their Nen and use that? Doesn’t he take Nen abilities that he likes?”

“Doesn’t work like that, and Uvo, how come you’re the one coming up with all the ideas?”

‘I’m not sure. All I did was drink a case of beer this morning.”

“What are we gonna tell the boss? It’s already been some time- oh god, what if Y/n, you know- committed-”

“She wouldn’t do that unless it would be fun. It’s not fun when you’re scared.”

“Maybe she’s not scared? Huh, what about then, Uvo?”

“Would you two please shut u-”

“WAIT WAIT WAIT!”

“Hm?”

“Call the boss now, I just figured it out! Ooh, Y/n is smart!”

“No shit Shalnark.”

“Just call Chrollo.”

***

Dark eyes stared back at each other, the only thing separating the pur reflection was the spider web cracks of the glass mirror. Phone ringing, a gloved hand went to pick it it up, pressing the speaker icon.

“Any new-”

“BOSS! IT’S INTOXICATION! EVERYONE’S DYING BECAUSE OF INTOXICATION-”

“Explain Shalnark.”

A deep breath was heard in the other side of the phone, and the younger man began to speak rapidly.

“Okay, so basically, everyone- besides us, or people who have generally been close to Y/n for a while, are either passing out or dropping dead like flies right? It’s her! A part of her Nen- I think. Some sort of precaution since she was always on the move, ya know?”

“How does that help us find her?”

“Well, we just need someone who can sniff her out without any damage- so back to our original idea, we just need to smell her out! We had the wrong scent cause we were tracking her by her stuff, not her!”

Chrollo looked at himself, mouth slightly open. Of course! How had he not seen it before? Hadn’t Y/n mentioned something like that before? Smacking his head, he began to laugh, a wicked smile plastered on his face.

“Oh god, thank you Shalnark, I can do this on my own now- let everyone know to return to the hotel, and clean up the mess. My runaway bride is coming  back.”

“Understood.”

Hanging up, the man hurried out of the bathroom, grabbing a black bag, laughing maniacally. 

Now all Chrollo had to do was get ready.

***

Sweat dripped down the side of her nose, hitting the countertop. It was to be expected that running from Chrollo of all people would be difficult. Y/n shook her head, refusing to think of why it was a bad idea to run. The bastard had too much control over her already. A hand in her hair, Y/n looked up, having forgotten that she had cut quite a bit off earlier. Eyes on her hair, Y/n inhaled deeply, calming herself as she tried to stop the tears before they could come.

Gray eyes shone like jewels, boring into her own, soft strands of ebony hair framed his face beautifully as he looked down on Y/n, arms around her, a smile on his face.

“You’re so beautiful love, smile for me?”

“Chrollo, I’m nothing special- we both know that.”

“Ah, but you are; to me, you always look like you’ve just fallen from the heavens, just for me!”

A playful chuckle from Chrollo as he blushed. It was a cold night, and the secret visits he would make just for Y/n were treasured. Holding her closer, he moved a stray strand of hair from her face, pecking Y/n’s nose. Ticklish as it was, she let out a giggle.

“Will you stay? At least until I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you love.”

“WHAT THE HELL! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ASSHOLE!”

Y/n hit the table, grabbing her keys. If she was going to dream about the man, it wasn't going to be now.

***

Various parts of red roses lay scattered on the floor thorns, petals, leaves, and if you looked very closely, pollen.  Various gifts lined the walls, all wrapped up nicely. Soon, guests would be filling the seats, and Chrollo would once again stand at the altar, and once again he would expect Y/n too walk out those doors oh so bashfully. But this time he would take her hands into his own, tell her how utterly beautiful she looked, and skip the vows- the faster, the better. 

Why was he even going through with marriage if he already had Y/n tightly wrapped around his finger, under lock and key? It’s not like they pay taxes, and he never wanted to marry- and Y/n didn’t care for it. 

‘Because it’s poetic you fool.’

This whole ordeal, just to add another story to his vast collection? Chrollo let out a laugh; to think that he had wasted precious months for the sake of poetry amused him. 

Sliding off one of the silver bands off his ring finger, he set it on the pedestal, messing up his silky black hair. 

“Why waste time slicking your hair back if you have such pretty locks?” Y/n looked up, eyes wide as her hands raked through his just washed hair.

“Gets in my face too much. And it gives me a cool vibe when I slick it back.”

Y/n stopped, bursting into laughter as she uncoiled the hair dryer’s wire. Plugging it in, she sat on the couch, grabbing a comb.

“Let me dry it properly- you're gonna get sick!”

“If you insist- there’s no need to though.”

“Sure there is! Now come on, sit here.” 

Between her legs, Chrollo hummed in content as the hair dryer blew hot air all around and the comb’s teeth raked through all the little knots. 

“I seriously can’t believe you're this pretty, Chrollo. I feel like seeing you like this is illegal!”

“Well, thank you.”

Chrollo leaned back, head hitting the couch cushion. Grabbing Y/n’s thighs, he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, basking in the soft warmth.

Heaving a sigh, Chrollo adjusted his tie, and headed out to retrieve his bride.

***

The T.V. blared as the flashy icon of the station appeared, the host and hostess of the night smiling proudly as they set their papers down on the prop desk. 

“It’s 10 o’clock, do you know where your children are?”

“Hello everyone, I’m Raiyah Ourani,”

“And I’m Bobby McOkazawoo.”

“It has now been 4 months since the disappearance of Y/n L/n. In that time authorities have been conducting investigation after investigation, but no new news has yet to be released. However, the Grungingham Ball House assures the people of Yorknew that their organization is completely safe, and for any future customers to not be shy as they have updated the security, granting the safety they desire as well as the fun time they want.”

“Coming up: Are DonaldMc’s really everywhere within 5 miles? Now, a word from our sponsors.”

“NEW! Scrubbing bubbles foam tastic-super mega ultra is THE cleaning solution to all of your dirty needs! Skin safe to use as a lubricant, and a natural cleanser! You can use it on windows, counters, and so much more!”

Y/n turned the T.V. off, rubbing her temples. Looking at the clock on the wall, it was now 0:45 p.m. Who knew so much time would pass by just from a commercial? About to grab her phone, Y/n suddenly froze; her phone was on, a text notification on the screen. 

‘Where are you, darling?’

A hand on her mouth, she quickly grabbed her jacket. There was no time, she'd have to leave everything behind now or never. It’d be too risky to go out the door- there could well be innocents or perhaps Chrollo himself.

“Please tell me he sent Uvo…”

After the first escape, she couldn’t possibly go out the window; they’d expect that. The door, or  the window?

She looked around the room: too big to go into the vents, too risky to go out the window or door. So how do you escape?

Another ping from the phone, but Y/n didn’t dare look at it. Paranoid, she steadied her breathing; can’t have them sniff her out too easily. 

But…

If Chrollo wasn’t at the door, then she could use her Nen...everyone would either die or pass out, but it would be a better fate then having to deal with Chrollo’s or any of the spider’s blood lust.

A deep breath,  she released her ability, and opened the door, running as fast as she could, not bothering to see who would have been near the door.  She could hear laughter, crunches, dancing feet- all innocents, but there had to be someone, anyone. There was no way Chrollo wouldn’t have sent someone. 

‘It’s like last time…’

Pulling her hoodie over her face, she scanned the crowd before turning around. About to scream, she covered her mouth, looking up at the man who she had bumped into.

Chrollo smiled kindly.

“Nice hair. Where have you been?”

"Chrollo, please n-"

With a flick of his wrist, he had knocked his former fiance unconscious, putting her on his back as if she had just fallen asleep- not like the locals would know. It wouldn’t matter anyways. 

He had gotten his runaway bride back, and this time, he would have his wedding and poem complete.

[mammonshuman92]

- Sapphire -

(Mammon x MC)

| part two | part three |

NOTE: F!MC

It’s here, in the endless sapphire pools, that I could get lost swimming, forever. The sheer power that they hold over me is otherworldly, and to be honest, quite unfair.

“MC! Are you listening?” Satan was looking at you with slight irritation, closing his book. The two of you have been studying for an upcoming test in the common room since you got home from RAD.

You jumped a little, abruptly interrupted from your daydream.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. I guess I zoned out.” You replied sheepishly. You sat up in your chair, looking at your textbooks trying to regain some kind of memory of what you and Satan had been studying, but it was no use. As of late, there was only ever one thing on your mind. Well, one demon anyway.

“It appears that your mind is elsewhere. Maybe we should take a break and pick it back up after dinner?” he suggested.

You checked the time on your D.D.D., and jumped up from where you sat. Satan looked at you, shocked by your sudden rash behavior.

“Oh, umm.. I can’t tonight, I have a....thing. Tomorrow though?” You rushed around gathering your books and notes into a disorderly pile. Satan looked at you suspiciously. What has gotten into her? He thought.

“Alright. Are you actually going to be present? More than just physically, I mean.”

“Yes, yes. I’m really sorry. Thanks!” You yelled over your shoulder as you ran from the room.

As you rounded the corner of the hallway, you ran right smack into something, sending you and all your books and papers flying. 

Great.

“Oof!” 

That thing you smacked into? Yeah, that was Mammon. You both landed on your butts with a *thud*

“What the Hell are ya runnin’ for?!” He griped, confused as to what had just happened. When he noticed who had run into him and his attitude changed. “MC? What are ya doin'?”

“I’m sorry, Mammon! I didn’t mean to run into you, I’m just in a hurry.” You quickly explained, trying to gather all your papers, again. He grabbed the small bit of papers near him and handed them to you.

“In a hurry for what?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side a little.

Shit! He can’t know where I’m going! I need to make an excuse and fast!

“Oh, umm.. I, uh, I-I’m going shopping with Asmo! Yeah.” That should work. He ususally follows you everywhere, especially shopping but once it comes to shopping with you and Asmo? Yeah, he’d rather sit that one out. Although, I’m sure he’ll complain that you’re not hanging out with him anyway.

You quickly grabbed the last bit of papers and took off toward your room without another word to Mammon.

“It’s movie night, ya know?!” He called after you.

“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” You yelled hastily, before quickly shutting your door.

“Hmph. Guess I’ll just do movie night by myself then” He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip a little like a small child.

As he turned to go to his room, something caught his eye. 

A piece of paper the two of you had missed. He picked it up and looked it over. 

It’s for sure MC’s handwriting. Is it song lyrics or somethin’?

He shrugged and shoved it into his pocket.

--

“I don’t have time to change, so my RAD uniform will just have to do. I just need to grab my bag, then I can go. Ugh! I’m gonna be late!” You said aloud while darting around your room.

I’m pretty nervous. I’ve never read any of the stuff I write in front of anyone, much less a crowd or people. Maybe I won’t choke since none of the brothers will be there. Could you imagine reading what you wrote in front of HIM?

*Shiver.* No thanks. Pretty sure I would spontaneously combust.

You grab your things and hurriedly rush out of your room. Hopefully I get out of here without being seen. I’m not sure how many lies I can come up with.

As you made your way down the staircase, someone came through the front door.. Dammit! It’s Asmo.

After a quick discussion, you were able to slip away from him.

Checking your D.D.D. for the time, you quickened your pace. “If I hurry I can make it there before the first reading.”

--

Mammon laid sprawled out on the couch in the common room, scrolling through Devilgram. He sighed heavily. “I’m so bored.”

He heard someone talking just outside the doorway.

Is that Asmo?

He went to investigate only to find Asmo walking down the hall with an arm full of shopping bags.

“You guys are back already?” Mammon questioned him. 

“Pardon?” Asmo asked, visibly confused.

“You and MC only left like an hour ago and you’re already back? Are ya sick?”

“Mammon what are going on about? I left to go shopping right after school.”

Huh? She ...lied?

“MC told me she was goin’ shopping with ya and left in a hurry earlier. If she ain’t with you, where’d she go?”

“Maybe she has a date.” Asmo shrugged and headed toward his room. Mammon stood there motionless and shocked like he’d been slapped in the face.

A date? The thought clawed it’s way around his brain. He felt a pang in his chest.

He’s always with her. To and from RAD, after school, through dinner, and until bed. Always together. They’re best friends.

So how did she manage to meet some other demon without him noticing? He started to get antsy and decided to go look for evidence in her room.

He looked everywhere. All over her desk and dresser, he couldn’t find a single shred of information on this mystery demon. Feeling defeated, he flopped across her bed with a groan.

Am I not good enough? I mean, she already spends all her time with me, what’s she need someone else for?

Thoughts of MC being with someone romantically ...intimately, started flooding his mind. He tried to shake it, but they just kept coming. The pain in his chest got worse.

He’s always been fond of her. In the beginning, when she was still new, he acted like it was such a burden to watch over her, but he secretly enjoyed it. There was just something about her. As hard as he tried to fight it, he found himself developing a sweet spot for the human. She’s always so nice and sticks up for him when it comes to his brothers. She always seems happy to see him and is down for whatever crazy money making schemes he can come up with. Before she got here, it had been a long time since he had felt this happy. He’s pretty sure he’s never laughed so much in his entire existence than when he’s with her.

As much as he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care about the human, he doesn’t want to go back to life without her. Truth is, he cares about her. A lot.

All the thinking was starting to depress him.

He decided to get up and go to his own room and sulk for the rest of the night. Maybe he could stop by Lucifer’s study and sneak off with a bottle of Demonus. 

As he made his way to the door, he noticed something. The little calendar on your desk had a date circled in red. He picked it up to get a closer look. The date circled was today.

“Coffee shop, 6pm”

Boom. Re-con was successful! He found out where your date was!

He put the calendar back on your desk and checked the time. Crap! It’s almost 7.

He bolted from the room. If he had any chance of seeing what kind of punk lesser demon you were on a date with, he needed to hurry.

--

“This has to be it. She only goes to one coffee shop.” Mammon whispered to himself as he tried to peak inside the front window of the establishment. He couldn’t see you anywhere from where he was and decided to go inside and sit at a table in the very back. Maybe she won’t notice me. He thought. 

He scanned the room, but still couldn’t see you anywhere. Maybe she went to the bathroom?

As he kept scanning the room, the lights started to dim and everyone focused their attention to a small stage with a lone microphone at the back of the shop.

Huh?

A light shined on the stage and a man stepped up to the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming, we have a great turn out tonight. Without any further adieu, let’s get open mic night started!” The crowd applauded and the man walked off stage.

"Open mic night? I didn’t know she liked this kinda stuff.” Mammon said quietly to himself.

Maybe that’s why she’s on a date. He probably noticed all the stuff I didn’t. Mammon sat back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest, pouting. She’d never wanna be with an idiot like me anyway.

--

A couple people read poems, one girl sang, and a few people played instruments. Still no sign of MC.

Maybe she does know a different coffee shop. He started to fidget in his seat, mentally kicking himself. You shoulda told her, ya idiot!

How could he though? He is one of the seven rulers of the underworld. How is he supposed to tell a human that she makes his life so much better? That your laugh is like music and his favorite smell is that of your shampoo? That when you fall asleep next to him on the couch on movie night it’s the best night of his week? 

“Our final act of the night is new to the stage and a little nervous, so go easy on her.” said the emcee. The audience started to applaud as the man walked off stage.

Mammon scooted his chair out and stood to leave. She obviously wasn’t here and he needed a drink.

He was making his way to the door, when he heard it. 

That voice. MC?

He turned to see you standing on the stage, spotlight shining on you. He listened as you spoke.

Is that ...a poem? The words sounded very familiar, like he had heard them very recently. Then it clicked. 

He fished the piece of paper out of his pocket. The poem you were reciting on stage was the same thing written on the paper he found in the hallway.

She wrote this?

He looked up at where you stood on the stage. You hadn’t noticed him so he made his way back to his seat. As he watched you, he started paying attention to the words you were saying. You spoke so softly.

“It’s here, in the endless sapphire pools, that I could get lost swimming, forever. 

Gold flecks, warm like sunshine, adorn the precious gems he dare call an iris.

The sheer power that they hold over me is otherworldly, and to be honest, quite unfair.”

So there really is someone. He thought. There was a stinging feeling in his chest. You don’t talk like that unless love is involved.

“Warm skin, the color of caramel, electricity felt in the slightest of touches.

Hair born of the winter, soft as the Heavens from where it once reigned.

Completely enamored by this creature, I would also happily fall from grace.”

Hair born of winter? Fall from grace? Tan skin?

Wait. That sounds like..

Realization hit him like a truck.

“..It’s about me..” He whispered, barely audible even to himself.

His chest felt like it was going to explode. His stomach so full of butterflies he felt nauseous.

He couldn’t believe it..

| part two |

[loopy777]

RE: WIPs game: Actress Mai. what is she acting in? besides her ongoing starring role as Repressed Perfect Child?

Ah, "Actress Mai." This is a headcanon I keep chipping away at in the hopes that I'll eventually have something I want to publish. I have a whole host of little ideas and scene concepts, but only one actual WIP.

It started with the idea that Zuko and Ursa are theater snobs. Sure, Ursa apparently attended Ember Island Player performances, which Zuko disdained, but my thought is that she took what she could get in terms of live theater with her family even if she agreed with his criticisms. However, I like to headcanon that Mai loves the Ember Island Players, hates classical theater, and generally is the type of person who thinks that Michael Bay movies are great and more people should just turn off their brains and allow themselves to be entertained.

Why?

Well, because character conflict is what makes stories interesting. Zuko gritting his teeth through Mai's praise of how the EIPs finally made "Love Amongst the Dragons" interesting? Gold! Ursa and Mai getting into heated drunken arguments about theater styles? Gold! Mai convincing Kiyi of the good points of the controversial 'Love Amongst the Dragons II: Love Harder' (which is canon to at least two of my Maiko fics) while Zuko and Ursa grit their teeth? Solid gold!

This fun little conflict turned into something more, though. If Ursa and Mai are dark mirrors of each other in terms of theater tastes, then it felt like Mai needed a little acting history to parallel Ursa's own. But Ursa could be a publicly known actress because she was a peasant; such a profession was okay for her. Mai is a noble, though, and an acting job would be seen as beneath her, especially as a woman, as Polite Fire Society knows (or thinks it knows) that 'actress' is really just a polite term for prostitute. This is a takeoff from some real-life history stuff that I first learned of through Sherlock Holmes stories. Apparently, Irene Adler being an 'opera singer' was a thing British readers would recognize as being of a sordid nature.

So I decided that Mai did some secret, illicit acting anonymously during her childhood and teenage years. She stumbled across an opportunity, gave it a try, and found it fulfilling despite the social stigma. She liked being able to project emotions of all kinds in public, while at the same time shielded by masks or makeup or costumes or whatever. She liked being other people, people who find love with their heroes or die tragically to teach everyone a point or villainously ruin everything around them as a force of vengeful nature. It was the only opportunity for expression that she had, as well as a quiet form of rebellion. So for years she snuck out of the capital, down to Harbor City, and acted in all kinds of plays for a troupe that accepted not paying her as a fair trade for keeping her anonymous.

Naturally, moving to Omashu put a crimp on that, and so it ended.

So the idea is that Ursa eventually learns this about Mai after years of their butting heads over theater opinions, sees the parallels and perpendiculars in their lives, and grudgingly comes to respect Mai's completely wrong opinions about theater as at least being informed. And Mai, who is good at acting and does know the classics and would be wasted in the Ember Island Players, helps Ursa out with some plays she writes (still anonymous, although Zuko and Ursa know) even though Mai privately thinks the dialogue is too stilted and the stories kind of cliched.

But I have had trouble beating all of this into a proper story. I want to do flashbacks to Mai on stage, I want to show her conflict with Ursa, I want to reveal how Ty Lee found out and used that to get Mai to accept running away to the circus, I want Zuko's reaction to finding that his wife can recite soliloquies from all the major classics, I want Kiyi becoming an Ember Island Players groupie, etc. It's just missing a plot to hang it all on.

So here's a snippet of one of my attempts to construct something:

Noren grimaced. "Honestly, I was impressed we got enough people to fill out all the parts, never mind understudies. This play-"

"-is important," Ursa finished for him.

He hesitated just a moment before nodding. "And it's important for the same reasons that it was tough to get actors. I'm sure once Zuko sees it and can give it his official approval-"

"But he can't see anything without a Rinzen." Ursa thought about her son out there in the audience, anonymous amidst the 'peasants' of Hira'a. Zuko didn't mind mixing with his people, despite being their Lord, but the only reason he was here, tonight, was because Ursa herself had written the play, and he was a good son who would always support his mother.

Zuko had even brought his friends, including the Avatar. Aang was a delightful young man, and always very nice to Ursa, but she couldn't help but feel trepidation at his presence. After all, Avatar Roku, Ursa's grandfather and Aang's previous life, was a major character in this play, and while the story was based on real events, it was Ursa's hand that had shaped his dialogue and actions. She was putting her thoughts and philosophies, her very heart, out on the stage for public assessment, and this was tricky material. Would it do right by history?

Plus the lead actress was sick, and going by her complaints and the smell of the privy, perhaps dying.

Ursa had to tell herself that her audience, her friends and family and neighbors, wouldn't enjoy this play becoming a disaster. None of them were that bad. This wasn't the Capital. And she wasn't a princess. Not anymore.

So why had she taken it on herself to write this play, to positively dramatize a story of an ancestor who a few years ago was considered a heretic and traitor, to will into being a performance right here in the Fire Nation of a play that featured a heroic Air Nomad character whose actress was currently trapped in the privy?

Because her nation had hurt the world, and she wouldn't leave it to her son alone to do all the work of helping to fix that. That's why.

"Maybe," she ventured, "I could play the part."

Noren frowned. "You? But you're playing the Lady of Glass, and the characters share several scenes."

But Ursa was already analyzing the copy of the script that existed in her mind. "Rinzen has a lot more lines than the glass spirit, and I'm the only one who knows them. And playing a spirit is a lot easier than playing an Air Nomad. A spirit is just a voice, a costume, and some special effects. An Air Nomad character is a performance, and we're fresh out of actresses."

Noren's head tilted from side to side. "We could ask Kiyi. She knows the play by heart. She's a bit young for the part, yes, but-"

"No," Ursa cut him off. "She'd say yes if we asked her, but she hates being on stage. I'm not going to do that to her. I'd rather call off the play and see if our Rinzen is feeling better tomorrow."

Noren blanched at the very thought and made a gesture of good luck. "Well, maybe we can find a new Lady of Glass. And adjust the Rinzen costume. So are you thinking we'll just go on stage and ask the crowd who wants to join the cast, or maybe-"

And then there was a shift behind Noren, the red curtain over the office's doorway being pulled aside to reveal a living shadow. It seemed to Ursa that a chill had entered the room.

Lady Mai, Intended to Fire Lord Zuko, had arrived.

Ursa stiffened as Mai stepped into the office and let the curtain fall back into place. Time and familiarity had not made it any easier to be in a room with her son's lover. She had no real doubts about Mai, no resentment over the early difficulties Zuko that had apparently been overcome, but it was hard to reconcile Azula's shy and dour childhood companion with what existed now. Mai walked around covered with knives, watching everything; she never spoke unless there was an explicit need, but her gaze was always focused and her eyes missed nothing.

And it was in Mai's kind of silent, watchful abyss that Judgement grew. Ursa did not have a good feeling about how Mai likely judged her. How could a child of the Fire Nation's capital, someone who had become strong alongside Azula, a world-class warrior whose last stand for the life of her lover was already the subject of at least one popular poem, have any empathy for Ursa's life or the mistakes she had made?

Mai looked at her with dull eyes. "Is everything okay? The crowd is getting restless, and Zuko was worried. I told him I'd check on things so that he wouldn't miss the beginning of the play."

Ursa hesitated against that flat, low voice, and Noren stepped in to answer, "Our lead actress is sick. Ursa and I were just discussing options. There- uh, there aren't a lot of them."

Mai might as well have been told that dinner was planned to include green sprouts, but they were all out and so the yellow ones would be substituted. "Which part?"

Ursa swallowed. "The Air Nomad girl, Rinzen."

Mai quirked an eyebrow. "The heroine." She was still and silent for a long moment, and then sighed. "Zuko's really been looking forward to this. I guess I can help out. All right, I'll be your Rinzen."

Ursa wasn't quite sure she had heard that right. "You- you want to take the part? But-" Her voice faltered, as all the possible objections swirled through her mind. Mai was, to put it simply, completely lacking in charisma and non-threatening presence. She spoke without emotion. She moved so efficiently that no one in the back of the audience would even notice her. And she was so disinterested in everything that she'd probably nod off in the middle of the performance.

Noren offered a troubled smile. "Thank you for the offer, but acting is harder than it looks. It's not just about going on stage and reciting lines. An actress needs-"

"It's Nomad part, right?" Mai shrugged. "So we want a high, bright voice. Circular gestures. A bounce in all the movements. Here, like this." She stretched out her arms, shook her head, and then-

-and then-

-and then Mai was no longer there. The woman in red and black looked like her, but there was a wide mischievous smile on her face, and her eyes were big and bright. She stepped towards Ursa- no, they weren't mere steps. She kicked her heels high with each one, and the way she shifted her weight flirted with almost being a dance. She held her arms up at her side as she moved, and then when she reached Ursa, swung them dramatically to bring her hands together into a sign of respect.

She bowed, and in a voice that positively rang and filled the room, said, "Are you not the Firebender Avatar, Roku? What a fortunate wind blows to lay my path upon your own!" She rose again, and trotted in a circle around Ursa. "I say, you are taller than I expected, and must be quite heavy. Are you sure you're keeping up with your Airbending, young Avatar?" She raised a hand and held it out to the side.

Noren recovered before Ursa did, realizing what was going on, and quickly found a rag and placed in the waiting hand.

Mai's eyes never left Ursa the whole time, and as soon as the rag was in her grip, she moved again, taking a stance that had clearly been modeled on Avatar Aang's own style, and held the rag out in front of her, dangling it from her fingers and bouncing it in the air.

Mai gave a laugh that was echoed through the little room. "Your beard flutters in my breeze! Come, young Avatar, let's have a spar!"

There was a beat, and Ursa was tempted to deliver Roku's next line in response, but then all at once the younger woman slumped, letting the grandness leak out of her limbs. When she straightened, Mai was back, standing like a blade made of shadow, her face blank and her eyes dull.

Ursa blinked. What had she just witnessed? So many questions swirled in her mind, and she decided to ask the most important of them: "You know all the lines?"

[itmaylooklikedisaster]

Letter 1 October 1957

Tuesday, October i

Letter to a demon: 

Last night I felt the sensation I have been reading about to no avail in James: the sick, soul-annihilating flux of fear in my blood switching its current to defiant fight. I could not sleep, although tired, and lay feeling my nerves shaved to pain & the groaning inner voice: oh, you can't teach, can't do anything. Can't write, can't think. And I lay under the negative icy flood of denial, thinking that voice was all my own, a part of me, and it must somehow conquer me & leave me with my worst visions: having had the chance to battle it & win day by day, and having failed.

I cannot ignore this murderous self: it is there. I smell it and feel it, but I will not give it my name. I shall shame it. When it says: you shall not sleep, you cannot teach, I shall go on anyway, knocking its nose in. It's biggest weapon is and has been the image of myself as a perfect success: in writing, teaching and living. As soon as I sniff non-success in the form of rejections, puzzled faces in class when I'm blurring a point, or a cold horror in personal relationships, I accuse myself of being a hypocrite, posing as better than I am, and being, at bottom lousy.

I am middling good. And I can live being middling good. I do not have advanced degrees, I do not have books published, I do not have teaching experience. I have a job teaching. I cannot rightly ask myself to be a better teacher than any of those teaching around me with degrees, books published and experience. I can only, from day to day, fight to be a better teacher than I was the day before. If, at the end of a year of hard work, partial failure, partial dogged communication of a poem or a story, I can say I am easier, more confident & a better teacher than I was the first day, I have done enough. I must face this image of myself as good for myself, and not freeze myself into a quivering jelly because I am not Mr. Fisher or Miss Dunn or any of the others.

I have a good self, that loves skies, hills, ideas, tasty meals, bright colors. My demon would murder this self by demanding it be a paragon, and saying it should run away if it is being anything less. I shall doggedly do my best and know it for that, no matter what other people say. I can learn to be a better teacher. But only by painful trial and error. Life is painful trial and error. I instinctively gave myself this job because I knew I needed the confidence it would give me as I needed food: it would be my first active facing of life & responsibility: something thousands of people face every day, with groans, maybe, or with dogged determination, or with joy. But they face it. I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily. If I get through this year, kicking my demon down when it comes up, realising I'll be tired after a days work, and tired after correcting papers, and it's natural tiredness, not something to be ranted about in horror, I'll be able, piece by piece, to face the field of life, instead of running from it the minute it hurts.

The demon would humiliate me: throw me on my knees before the college president, my department chairman, everyone, crying: look at me, miserable, I can't do it. Talking about my fears to others feeds it. I shall show a calm front & fight it in the precincts of my own self, but never give it the social dignity of a public appearance, me running from it, and giving in to it. I'll work in my office roughly from 9 to 5 until I find myself doing better in class. In any case, I'll do something relaxing, different reading, etc. in the evenings. I'll keep myself intact, outside this job, this work. They can't ask more of me than my best, & only I know really where the limits on my best are. I have a choice: to flee from life and ruin myself forever because I can't be perfect right away, without pain & failure, and to face life on my own terms & "make the best of the job."

each day I shall record a dogged step ahead or a marking time in place. The material of reading is something I love. I must learn, slowly, how to best present it, managing class discussion: I must reject the grovelling image of the fearful beast in myself, which is an elaborate escape image, and face, force, days into line. I have an inner fight that won't be conquered by a motto or one night's resolution. My demon of negation will tempt me day by day, and I'll fight it, as something other than my essential self, which I am fighting to save: each day will have something to recommend it: whether the honest delight at watching the quick furred body of a squirrel, or sensing, deeply, the weather and color, or reading and thinking of something in a different light: a good explanation or 5 minutes in class to redeem a bad 45. Minute by minute to fight upward. Out from under that black cloud which would annihilate my whole being with its demand for perfection and measure, not of what I am, but of what I am not. I am what I am, and have written, lived and travelled: I have been worth what I have won, but must work to be worth more. I shall not be more by wishful thinking.

So: a stoic face. A position of irony, of double-vision. My job is serious, important, but nothing is more important than my life and my life in its fullest realized potential: jealousy, envy, desperate wishes to be someone else, someone already successful at teaching, is naive: Mr. Fisher, for all his student-love, has been left by his wife & children; Miss Williams," for all her experience & knowledge, is irrevocably dull. Every one of these people, the divorced Schendler, the unmarried Johnson, has some flaw, some crack, and to be one of them would be to be flawed & cracked in another fashion. I'll shoulder my own crack, work on my James today, Hawthorne for next week & take life with gradual ease, dogged at first, but with more & more joy. My first victory was accepting this job, the second, coming up & plunging into it before my demon could say no, I wasn't good enough, the third, going to class after a night of no sleep & desperation, the fourth, facing my demon last night with Ted & spitting in its eye. I'll work hard on my planning, but work just as hard to build up a rich home life: to get writing again, to get my mind fertilized outside my job.

I shall not, carrion comfort, despair ... etc.

No more knuckling under, groaning, moaning: one gets used to pain. This hurts. Not being perfect hurts. Having to bother about work in order to eat & have a house hurts. So what. It's about time. This is the month which ends a quarter of a century for me, lived under the shadow of fear: fear that I would fall short of some abstract perfection: I have often fought, fought & won, not perfection, but an acceptance of myself as having a right to live on my own human, fallible terms.

Attitude is everything. No whining or fainting will get me out of this job & I'd not like to think what would happen to my integral self if it did. I've accepted my first check: I've signed on, and no little girl tactics are going to get me off, nor should they.

To the library. Finish James book, memorize my topics, maybe the squirrel story. Have fun. If I have fun, the class will have fun. 

Come home tonight: read lawrence, or write, if possible. That will come too. 

Vive le roi, le roi est mort, vive le roi.

- Sylvia Plath, Letter to a demon

[recurring-polynya]

Hey this is for our Redhead's bday. Its like a fluff and angst with a happy ending. Is it possible to make a Renruki based on Hanahaki disease? Do you know about this fanfic trope? Its like a person who doesn't know or think their love is requited, will cough up petals. They can only be saved with a confession or accept that they cannot be together with their love interest. I don't want it to sound too morbid. Let me know if its possible.

Wikipedia description for better understanding:

Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. There is no set time for how long this disease lasts but it may last from 2 weeks to 3 months, in rare cases up to 18 months, until the victim dies unless the feelings are returned or the plants are surgically removed. There is also no set flower that blossoms in the lungs but it may be the enamoured’s favourite flower or favourite colour. Hanahaki can be cured through surgical removal of the plants' roots, but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It may also erase the patient’s feelings for and memories of the enamoured. It can also be cured by the reciprocation of the victim's feelings. These feelings cannot be feelings of friendship but must be feelings of genuine love. The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamoured returns the feelings, they will be cured. In some literature, other symptoms can be fever, uncontrollable shaking, loss of appetite, low body temperature, and hallucinations. Even after curing, with or without surgery, there can be irreversible damage to the lungs and, although very rare, in some cases the disease cannot be cured.

Ha ha ha, of course I have heard of Hanahaki disease, my brain is 100% rotted by fanfic.

I. hate. Hanahaki disease. It is probably my #1 most hated trope, up there with every single soulmate thing that treats love like some sort of inescapable destiny and strips the characters of any agency. To me, falling in love may be more or less involuntary, but the choice of whether or not to pursue it is the very crux of romance.

In any case, I was just going to... not do this one, except that I walked around mad for half a day and then wrote this up in, like, two hours. This sounds terrible, but this is actually an ideal day for a writer! I am really happy with how it came out! Thanks for the prompt!! I mean this with absolute sincerity!

Warning: Bad language, because Renruki aren’t any happier about any of this than I am.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🌺   🌺   🌺  

“How the fuck,” asked Rukia, “did you get that into my house?”

Sitting on Byakuya’s good tea table was a heavy green glass bottle of Rukongai’s worst rotgut. And two saucers.

Sitting cross legged and cross on the other side of the table was Abarai Renji.

“I told the captain it was necessary. Sit down.”

Usually, Rukia would take being ordered around like that as an invitation to call him names, but there was something angry and serious in Renji’s tone, so she sat instead, and let Renji pour each of them a saucer of something that smelled like lamp oil. Silently, they tossed back their drinks.

“You want to tell me what this is about?” Rukia asked as Renji refilled.

Without speaking, Renji pulled a carefully folded handkerchief out of his kosode and slid it across the table.

Rukia’s hands clenched into fists.

“Go ahead,” Renji said offhandedly, sipping his sake.

She didn’t want to. She knew what it would be. But she did it anyway, reached over and flipped open the handkerchief to reveal a handful of mangled, half-rotted flower petals. Hot rage ran through her veins. “Are you going through my trash now?” she demanded.

“No, I asked the captain to,” Renji replied coolly. “I assume he had someone do it for him, but he didn’t say.”

“Fuck you,” Rukia snapped.

Renji stared at her, his eyes cold and angry. “That night we camped in Hueco Mundo. Before we caught up with Ichigo and the others. You coughed up half a camellia and a good inch of stem in your sleep. I… figured we had more pressing concerns at the time, but I asked your brother to keep an eye on you after we got home.”

Rukia took a gulp of her drink. “Well, congratulations, Detective Abarai, you cracked the case. You’re so smart that I’m sure you know how these things end, so we don’t need to discuss it.”

Renji squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them again. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be a death sentence, you know?”

“It’s complicated,” Rukia grumbled. “I’m not explaining it to you, but it’s not… solvable, and I can’t… I won’t give up. Not this time.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Renji continued, his voice quieter. “There are ways to… manage it. Live with it.”

Rukia’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a disease of the soul, y’know, not the body, which is why humans don’t get it. With a strong enough will, you can keep it in check. The key, the thing that really lets it get ahold of your lungs, is when you start to lose hope.”

“You want me to live in denial, then?”

“No, not quite. But there’s some… techniques. We live a really long time, Rukia. Things may seem one way now, but… but who’s to say how they’ll be in sixty or seventy years, right? I mean, it’s not easy, but if you can imagine sort of… jarring up your feelings and packing them away for later.”

“Like pickles.”

“Yeah, like pickles.”

Rukia finished her saucer and reached for the bottle.

“Another thing that works sometimes is to try to…” Renji gestured helplessly. “Reframe it. I’m sure you’ve read poems about courtly love.”

Rukia made a face. “I fail to see how reading old-timey thirst poetry about wasting away from wanting to sleep with someone else’s wife is going to help anything.”

Renji’s face took on a pained cast. “Yeah, I guess some of them are like that. But being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back doesn’t mean your life is...meaningless. There can be something really beautiful and noble and sorta romantic in and of itself about loving with no hope of reciprocation. That you can still be of… of service to a person, even if they never notice you.”

“Renji, that’s fucking nonsense,” Rukia informed him, topping up his drink as well. “Where do you get these ideas?”

“Or you can just really absorb yourself in some goal. Be so busy you don’t have time to worry about love. Time passes quickly when--”

“Renji, just stop. I know you’re trying to help, but I’m… I’m sick and no amount of made-up wishful thinking is going to make me better.”

Renji’s face rapidly cycled through a number of emotions, like he kept coming up with things to say and then biting his tongue instead. “It’s not fucking made up, okay? People have lived with it for years, you know. Decades. Fuck, Rukia do you know selfish this is?”

“‘Selfish’?” Rukia echoed incredulously. The alcohol was starting to hit, and it made her feel unmoored, a raft floating in a sea of her own grief and anger. What did he know anyway? He was married to his job and his duty. The truest companion, the most generous soul, so free with his heart to everyone he called friend, but he didn’t know jack shit about being in love. Renji was the most transparent person in Soul Society. If he had ever fallen in love, it would have been public knowledge. Maybe his heart didn’t even work that way. What the Hell did he know?

“Yeah,” Renji spat back. “Selfish and cruel. How can you love someone-- even if they don’t love you back-- and-- and-- let yourself die from it? What kind of a monster would do that? You can hold on, Rukia. You’re so strong, I know you can. Just… just listen to me, for once. I can help you.”

Rukia felt her eyes burning, so she grabbed the bottle and took a long drink from it until her whole face burned. “Fuck. Off,” she replied, slamming it down on the table.

“I won’t,” Renji growled. “Ichigo cares a lot for you and it would kill him, Rukia, you hear me? You can’t do this to him, or-- or the rest of us, either.”

Rukia stared at Renji uncomprehendingly. The room was starting to swim. “What the fuck does any of this have to do with Ichigo?” She suddenly felt very tired, so she folded her arms and put her head down on them. “You fucking dumbass.”

[rodeoxqueen]

Hi! For the 300 Lone Rangers event, perhaps I could request Nico and best friend Reader (G/N) being on a roadtrip in her very cool van and then reader just confesses? I don't see much love for her as there should be! Nico's amazing. ❤❤❤ And so are you, Rodeo. Congratulations on reaching this milestone. I've heard you're a bit burned out.. hope you're doing alright.🌟

Howdy, 

Due to personal cowboy experiences, I think I’m more than qualified to write this. And thank you for the congratulations. And yes, I’m a bit burned out. 

That’s Alright, 

Rodeo 

Heartline Driver, Front Seat Lover

Nico/Reader

Summary: At the end of a road trip begins a new path for you and Nico. But first, you have to turn on the ignition. 

Tags/Warnings: Swearing, Yearning, References To Richard Silken’s Poem “You Are Jeff,” Requited Love, Slow-Burn, Gender-Neutral S/O

You’re sitting in a van with a gorgeous girl. And you don’t know how to tell her that you love her, as she drives miles around your mind. You don’t know how to tell her that every time she touches your skin, your heart internally hits a speed bump, jumping to your throat and catching at the words you want to say. 

It feels like a crime to sit here next to her, an imposter of who you want to be to her. A crime to exist in her space, as her passenger, as her best friend. Are you lying to her? Or are you keeping yourself safe from charging yourself as an unrequited lover? 

Are you a fraud? Do you want to turn yourself in? Red handcuffs upon your soul, desires arrested? 

The road trip ended, and you are going to go home. And maybe once again, you will smother your love with your pillow and sleep with your yearnings as your sole company. 

Each raucous turn she makes, cutting corners of streets and screeching wheels, you feel your bravery accelerate past your threshold and fall just short. Each turn, you want to tell her. Each turn, you don’t. Nerves shot, you find yourself staring at her profile, freckled like the galaxy. 

She’s your fucking world and she is the stars, the ozone, and the space between that too. And you think that if you tell her, you’ll explode like the sun in the nearby future, a brilliant and devastating cascade of events. And everything will turn dark. 

How long do you want to wait for that to happen?

How long do you keep having to keep burning? 

You’re on the empty country road, and it is pitch black except for the van’s lights and the dinky metal street signs illuminating from said lights. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, elbowing you. You laugh and shift away from her, shrugging. 

“A lot.” She snorts, facing you with a smirk. 

“Thinking about a lot of h’wat?” She asks, pronouncing that last word in a way that always makes you giggle. It’s an empty sound today, your joy as you lay plagued thinking about what you’re going to say. 

“I think about a lot of things. Y’know. Stuff, things, events, people....” She ah’s in understanding. 

“Thinking bout me?” She teases. The joke flies over your head, and you answer truthfully. 

“Always.” 

“Of course you do.” She drawls. 

Your heart does the thing where it explodes again. A pot that pops the lid off, and then begrudgingly allows itself to be contained. 

You decide you don’t want to contain how you’ve been feeling tonight. 

“Nico. Can I tell you something?” She lights another cigarette while braking at the golden stoplight.  

“Mhm. Tell me anything.” She ignites a yellow flame by herself, and the sparks smolder quickly to that familiar smell of smoke. 

Your heart says green when the lights turn red. 

“I love you.” 

The lights turn green, yet your heart is stopped. 

“I mean, I love you too,” Nico says as a-matter-of-factly. 

“No. Not as best friends. I-I love you like, I love you, Nico.” You don’t know how to make it make sense if she doesn’t feel the same. 

“I know what you mean.”

She’s staring off into the road, driving a straight line back home. And you think you just sent yourself into a shallow grave, a ditch. 

She sighs, and you focus on the familiar pavement back to your place.  

You feel sick. You feel lightheaded. And the smoke from her cigarette is the funeral incense to the last time you can ever sit here again without feeling like you’ve been caught with an awful secret. 

Or maybe you’ve always felt like this, and it’s finally eating you alive. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I get it. You probably don’t feel the same.  If we can stay best friends after this, I mean-”

“I don’t want to be best friends after this.” You look at her and her glasses reflect your heartbreak. 

But she’s smiling. 

She shakes her head, the apples of her cheeks that earthy red color. She’s blushing.  

“I love you too.” She smudges her lit cancer stick into an ashtray haphazardly placed in the cupholder.

She takes your hand into hers and squeezes it. With a choked out sigh, you wipe nervous tears away. You laugh and you sob, and she is there in your duality. 

“You ain’t gotta cry about it.” 

“But it’s you.” 

“I ain’t gonna let you cry about lil old me.” She nudges you again. 

The two of you finally make it home, a journey of a lifetime having been taken. 

“You wanna go out?” Nico asks. 

You let out a breath of relief as if the heavy smoke within your own lungs has finally left you in the form of a “yes.”

“Then I guess we’re going out.” She cheekily says. You can’t stop looking at her. 

You’ve always been able to sit in the silence with Nico, as her best friend for all these years. And this is the first time, it’s different. It’s the same and it’s different. 

You’re still you, and she’s still who she is. And yet, you’re both new to each other. New to learning that you both burn for each other like the sparks from her tools.

And yet, it feels like this ambience is still the same as it used to be. The air around the two of you has relatively shifted, the same in a different place. 

Fuck thinking about it too hard. You’re living it. And it is euphoria.

Who in their right mind wants to stop and think about the best thing that’s currently happening to them?

You’re crazy, she’s crazy, you’re both crazy. But the two of you have half the mind to at least know that. 

You’re in a van with a gorgeous girl. The radio’s playing static but you can’t hear it. You feel it. 

The sun has exploded, and the galaxy takes you into her arms, and you are accepted as your core, your soul, is cracked open and exposed. 

You’re in a van with a gorgeous girl, and there’s no one and there’s everyone to watch the universe create a new solar system in your shared embrace. 

You kiss her where she sits, and she wraps her arms around you.

Nicoletta Goldstein is organized chaos and she is kissing you, this person of tumultuous methodology.

She tastes like nicotine cinders, sweet tea, and warmth. 

You’re in your girlfriend’s van and you’ve forever made yourself a passenger in her life. 

To Nico, you’ve been calling shotgun to her heart since the day she first saw you. 

And tonight, the stars are twice as many.