#where are the movies for us to have hope?

[kojidesu]

[image id's 1-12]

[image 1 is Obi-Wan or 'Ben' Kenobi in episode 4 of Star Wars, 'A New Hope'. It is the image where he is stood on a desert planet and pointing to himself. this version has been cropped to zoom into his face.]

[image 2 is Obi-Wan Kenobi in one of the prequel Star Wars movies, likely Attack of the Clones. he is stood in an empire-owned building, looking stoically at the camera.]

[images 3-11 are of screenshots of comments on this post. they mostly consist of the phrase 'of course i know him, he's me', with a couple of others saying 'now that's a name i haven't heard in a long time', and one person saying 'never met him in person, but i have heard good things.']

[image 12 is an edited version of image 1, however it is uncropped. it has several copies of 'Ben' Kenobi all standing around and behind the original with the quote 'well, of course we know him. he's us.' written at the bottom of the image in the style of tumblr gifs with show and movie quotes included.]

[end of id's]

DO YOU KNOW THIS CHARACTER?

[jiminiecrickets]

KILLER? I BARELY KNOW HER! FUSHIGURO TOJI / M!READER

summary. shadows of your past catch up to you – but you're the strongest, and there's nothing you can't handle.

wc. 5.5k

tags. smut | top reader, bottom toji. mentions of underage drinking. sorcerer + teacher reader, enemies-to-lovers (with extra steps), sorta sugar baby toji/rich reader, doggystyle + missionary, mentions of exhibitionism + filming, unprotected sex, brief degradation (r. receiving), brief breeding kink, implied shower sex

notes. every dark-haired male jjk character deserves a silly and illogically powerful best friend with whom they have romantic tension :3 you're him. literally.

The pleasant chime of the doorbell echoes throughout your home. You're not expecting anyone.

You know you should be careful. In fact, you shouldn't be staring at the back of the front door at all. Opening it would ruin the carefully put-together façade of the closed-curtain windows and dark rooms.

Maybe you're tired, and you forget, moving on instinct. Maybe you're bored.

Maybe you're hopeful.

The door inches open, and a man looks up from where he'd been staring listlessly at the flower-spotted bushes lining the patch of green between the entrance and the driveway. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and his eyes are dark, flickering with an emotion you can't quite catch before it flutters away.

"Toji?" you say, the surprise in your voice teetering on warmth. "Hey..."

"Hey," he replies – exhales, really, something like a hum. He reaches up by his shoulder, the action too familiar for you not to stiffen, but he just rubs the back of his neck, stretching out the cricks of his body. "So. New place, huh?"

Your hand rests behind the door. He knows better than to expect it to be empty. "Old, technically. It was my first property purchase."

He tilts his head. "Yeah? When did you get it?"

"Fifteen. A birthday present for myself – a gift for surviving another year of high school. And curses, I guess. Surviving them was way worse because getting their blood in my mouth made me want to die."

He scoffs, and the raised scar over the corner of his lips shifts with his amusement. "Fifteen... And what does a teenager do with a house?"

You shrug. "Drink. Party. Pirate movies. The usual."

"Hah. Sounds like you were a fun kid." Toji scuffs the toe of his sandals against the ground absently. Then he rolls his neck and sighs. "Look, I didn't come all the way here to talk history. Long-ass way out, too, so just let me in."

Lifting an eyebrow, you give him a once-over that feels keener than it should be. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What, you think I'm here for that bounty? Who do you think I am?"

"Don't blame me. You seem very well aware of it."

"Isn't worth the effort for the price. 'Sides, you've given me more than that over the years, haven't you? I like to keep my options open, and it seems to me like it's a better investment to keep you alive."

"You talk as if you could kill me at all," you mutter, a little disdainfully, but it dissipates swiftly when Toji cracks a smirk, so familiar and entwined deeply with your favourite memories. The breeze stirs lightly, and Toji's hair ruffles, almost blue in the sunlight.

"Couldn't I? You're the one who runs away."

"Yeah, after immobilising you. Not a lot of fun to be had if you're dead as a doornail. Say – how deep are you in the jujutsu world? You must be rusty. I'd be willing to help you train."

"You'd help me kill your fellow sorcerers?" He chuckles and arches a brow. "I'll have you know I'm looking at a contract worth thirty million from a bunch of religious crazies."

"Peanuts." You wave a dismissive hand. "Now that I mention it, I'm getting complacent, too... I could use the challenge. Keep in contact with me and I'll pay you double."

"You're paying me to use my body?"

"Your words, not mine."

He holds your gaze steadily for a while, and despite his airy voice, his eyes are thoughtful. "Let's not talk business on your doorstep. Lost your manners, have you?"

Finally, your shoulders loosen, and the tension in your body vanishes. With a soft chuckle, you pull the door open further and step aside. "Don't make me regret this."

"Please," he says, slipping out of his sandals and into your home. "You never do."

Zenin. Fushiguro. The Sorcerer Killer. All of his names, all of his history, and yet, to you, he is just your baby – your Toji. It'd be embarrassing if he cared enough to be embarrassed, he thinks as you draw him into a rib-shattering hug. Instead, he feels smug.

Before that Gojo kid, there was you. It wasn't a position you were born for – like the kid was – but you trained your way up and eventually found yourself most suited for the role, all but waltzing into it – because what youth wouldn't want to be number one? It was almost gross, your selflessness and single-minded ambition, and Toji knew how that sort of mindset made the people in power feel. They commissioned him for your death at one point, after all.

It was fun. You were both so young: dancing around each other's weapons as if it was all a stage, chasing each other's clues like a couple of dogs running after a bone. Still – you were society's best, the cream of the crop, and for you to be his, of all people, was a selfish triumph he indulged in too many times to count.

His hands creep up beneath your baggy shirt as he leans up to kiss you, tongue slipping between your lips to share in the taste of some expensive whisky he can't name. He hums – a low, rumbling sound, like a tiger chuffing – as his fingers bump over thick, warm muscle.

Blood and bone. That's what you all are, when it comes down to it.

"You should wear tighter clothes," he murmurs against your lips. "Less to grab in a fight."

The backs of his thighs press into the edge of the kitchen bench, where a forgotten glass of water sits – the remnant of your half-hearted attempt at being a good host while his lips found your neck.

You huff. "A 'fight', huh? I wasn't expecting one."

"You should always expect a fight. While you're at it, always expect to lose. Stops you from being disappointed."

"Sounds pessimistic."

"That's the price we pay for being good at what we do."

"As if you pay for anything, Toji."

He chuckles. He drops the hem of your shirt before sliding his palms up your chest – what a tease – and cupping your face. His hands are warm, callused, thrumming with lifeblood. He sweeps his thumb absently over your cheek, committing every pore of your face to memory. You have the urge to pull away, look down, like a schoolboy with a crush – but Toji's hands are firm.

"C'mon, at least look me in the eye before we kick this off. You that ashamed of me?"

Startled, your gaze flicks up to his. Instead of the half-wry look you expect, he smirks and pulls you in to meet his lips. His fingers interlace loosely at the nape of your neck, caging you in place, and you have no choice but to bend to his whim.

"Stupid," you mutter against his lips, mostly to yourself. "Stop playing with my feelings, Toji – that's manipulative. You're breaking my heart here."

Rather than pulling away himself, he pushes you away, a palm flat on your chest but without any real power. It remains there as he leans back against the stone countertop. "My bad, baby. It's just funny."

"Funnier than you calling this," you gesture between your chests, "something to 'kick off' after... how many years? If you weren't all over me seconds ago, I'd think you came over for a beer and a game."

He lifts his hands in teasing surrender at your accusatory tone. "All right. We'll fuck, then. Maybe include some heavy petting for the B-roll, if you're up for it. Sound good?"

You cross your arms over your chest and muster up a suitable amount of annoyance for a glare. Toji finds it hard to take you seriously – what with your dumb jokes and ridiculous inclination towards flashy fighting – so to him, it's more of a pout. "So, you got lonely without me, huh? Yeah, nah. We're not filming ourselves."

"Hm." It's not a yes, but it's not a disagreement, either. "Why not? It'd be hot."

"I'm a teacher, Toji," you remind him, clicking your tongue when he shrugs, one hand on his hip. "I don't want that kind of thing to exist. If it got out..."

"So you are ashamed of me," he mutters. He steps forward to grab your hands when you start to protest, visibly distressed. He snickers. "Kidding, kidding. Fuck, it's fun to play with you. You don't care about the other one, then? The one from the abandoned restaurant?"

"Well—" Your breath stutters when Toji absently compares hand sizes and laces your fingers together. You watch as he aligns four of his fingers against your ring finger specifically, one at a time as if comparing again, but this time...

"Well?" he prompts, his grin broadening. His shaggy hair falls across his eyes as he tilts his head.

"Well, I don't look like I did ten years ago, and as far as I know, my face isn't in it..." All logic scatters like leaves in the wind when he looks up at you through his lashes, that playful, pretty smirk of his tugging at your heartstrings just right. It's like the years never passed. You swallow. "I-It was different," you finish lamely.

Toji's eyes flicker down to your lips. With a flick of his wrist, he twists a hand in your collar and tugs you down so that your faces are inches apart. Your chests collide roughly. He doesn't seem to care, his gaze trained on you with a heavy, smoky intensity. "Fine. If you won't let me film it, you better make it memorable. I'll decide later if it was worth coming here for."

—

Toji should have known you were serious when you pulled the bedframe about six inches out from the wall. He'd laughed at first, insulting you for such uptight behaviour regarding something as boring as walls, but you'd just dragged him to the bed with a roll of your eyes.

With how loud he was moaning, you could only be glad that he didn't find you at your apartment property.

"Toji," you breathe, your gaze trapped on the tight, firm ass ricocheting off your hips. Your grip tightens. "Toji."

"Fuuuck," he drawls as his cock throbs, prying his eyes open to narrow them at you over his shoulder. Lust has turned the usual green of them nearly black. "What?" he bites out.

"I missed you. Missed this. Fuck, baby, you're so fucking tight."

He lets out a throaty chuckle, turning back around to rest his head on his forearms. With a shift of your hips, your cock punches his prostate, over and over, and his eyes roll back briefly, a pleased groan rumbling from the depths of his stomach. His dick pulses and swings uselessly between his muscular thighs.

"M-Men are all the same," he grumbles. You click your tongue, though you don't miss the way an involuntary moan makes him stutter.

"Awful way to greet an old friend, you know. I thought you were smarter than that. Try being nicer," you slam your hips forward, making his eyes fly open with a gasp, "and you'll get what you want."

His skin prickles when you glide a warm hand up his side and come to rest it upon his shoulder, holding him down with just enough strength to make his muscles flex to fight it. Your thumb rubs little circles into the back of his neck, tracing the dips of his shoulders until you find what you're looking for. You dig into the taut muscle, making him wince.

"Stressed?" you hum, and your voice is gentle. Gentler than he deserves. "Is it money problems again?"

Something like guilt stirs in his belly, but a well-angled thrust has his thoughts unravelling. "No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats. You hum in response and don't push the matter further.

Your hand lifts from his shoulder, and already he can feel the stiffness returning. Damn those God-hands of yours. He finds himself arching back, bracing against the bed, in an effort to return your hands to their rightful place.

You hush him sweetly, pressing your chest to his back and burying your face in the crook of his neck. The angle has the shaft of your heavy cock pressed right up against his prostate and his body jolts with the fiery burn of pleasure, his knuckles turning white as he fists the sheets. "No need to chase me anymore. Not going anywhere. 'M right here, baby."

Toji manages to scoff, and his voice is steadier than he expects. "Not chasin' you, asshole."

"Yeah? Then what do you call showing up at my door as you did, unannounced?"

"Welfare check."

You roll your eyes. "I hate you."

You punctuate your sentence by yanking his hips back on your cock, the wet squelch of lube and precome making him shudder. Despite the rough treatment, a moan tumbles from his lips, and he laughs, loose and breathy.

"Fuck me like it, then," he dares, knocking his temple gently against yours.

One hand lifts to card through his hair. He groans softly as your nails scrape his scalp, but his eyes fly wide open as you grab a fistful and tug, wrenching him up to kneel. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as you wrap your hand around his leaking cock, jerking him off at the same pace as you fuck into him – he swears he sees stars as your thumb and index finger twist roughly around his swollen tip. His cock squelches in your fist, bubbles of precome sliding down his tip and smearing across your palm.

"Fucker," he snarls, ceasing his split second of flailing to grip your hip and thigh. You'd consider it painful if you hadn't also had the pleasure of being stabbed, slashed, shot, and bitten. "Nngh – so fuckin' big—"

"Going back on our word, are we, honey?" you say slyly, twisting your fist up and down his wet cock. "Tsk, tsk, Toji... so forgetful. I'd say you're getting old."

You glide a fingernail up the line of his vein, making his hips stutter and forcing another curse to slip from his lips, and you dig the tip of your finger roughly into his leaking slit. He moans and his back arches against your hold as your throbbing cock easily slides deep into him, the harsh, rapid smack of your balls against his ass almost disorienting.

He shudders. The heat of his body pulls his skin too tight, makes his tongue heavy and clumsy. Your hands are not quite soft – years of weapons training and hand-to-hand combat would do that to someone – but they're sweet on him. Loving, nearly. Your warmth softens the rub of calluses and tough scar tissue, and Toji learns them anew.

"C'mon, baby... want you to talk to me. Love your pretty little sounds." You end the sentence in a whisper, patting his stomach with the absent sort of friendliness you had as a youth. You never shied away from touching him, rewarding him with your weight draped over his shoulders or entwining your fingers when he did something that pleased you.

That familiar feeling jolts him back to reality. He glances your way – perhaps to say something, but he doesn't remember what about – and you capture his lips with yours, tilting your head and running your tongue over his lower lip.

He keeps them sealed, airtight.

You groan into the kiss and nip at him pleadingly, because you'd have to break Toji's jaw to get him to open up – and you couldn't do that to your favourite killer. Your name falling from his lips like a prayer is too sweet to pass up on.

Eventually, with enough petting and kisses, Toji relents, if only to see you perk up like a puppy tossed a bone. He groans softly as you explore his mouth, tongue curling around his and gliding over his teeth.

Your breath is hot and sweet against his, your lips shockingly gentle despite the quick and steady pace of your hips bouncing off his ass. He jolts every time your cockhead kisses his prostate, swollen and sensitive from your unrelenting pace. His dick bobs, dark red and pulsing hotly in your palm, and he groans like an injured animal. It's almost desperate.

Your shaft drags against his slick walls, which clench with a rippling squeeze as if he's trying to milk you dry. With each hungry snap of your hips, your tip punches the breath out of his lungs. His vision blots out, and he swears he can feel your cock in his damn throat.

Without warning, and without a word, he comes, his expression going lax with pleasure as he releases thick ropes onto his stomach. It's four hard spurts and two weaker pulses, the slow, measured tugs of your wrist twisting in a way that has his thick thighs trembling.

You coo softly, and Toji's face is uncharacteristically warm. Little kisses drift their way up his shoulder and neck and he sighs softly, eyes shut and head tilted back against your shoulder. You press your palm against his chest to feel the heart thudding beneath his ribs, the rise and fall with each shallow breath.

You cup his chest and squeeze.

He cracks an eye open, disapproval furrowing his brows. In response, you grin cheekily and nip at his earlobe as you smooth your fingers through his hair – a silent apology for being so rough.

To his credit, he lets it go. Doesn't even smack you for being an ass. He does, however, clamp down punishingly around your cock when he pulls off, making you hiss at the scrape. It bobs and you shiver at the cold air.

Thoughtfully, Toji glances down at it, still hard as rock and curving upwards towards your stomach. He reaches for it.

Your eyes widen when he slips a nail under the edge of the condom. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"Don't sound so scared. I know we're both safe. Said ya missed me, right?" He grins, dark and sharp, with eyes half-lidded – almost coy. "I'll let you finish inside me. For old times' sake."

"Contract-sanctioned stalking? I thought better of you, Toji." Despite your flippant words, your breath hitches, and Toji's grin widens. He tugs the slick condom off and tosses it aside – without even tying it up, the bastard – and before you can grumble about it, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him, and presses his lips to yours.

You groan softly as he parts his lips and allows you in. He shifts closer, his knee between yours, and grabs your hand. He brings it down between your bodies.

"Baby..." you whisper as he wraps your hand around your lengths, pressed together. He is hot and velvety in your palm.

"Mm." The sound is deep and content, and he blinks up at you slowly like a cat. "I know. I want it."

Then, slinging his arm loosely around your shoulders, he pulls you down with him.

You barely manage to catch yourself before crushing him, your instincts and reflexes dulled by familiarity and a dreamy languor. Not that you think he'd mind – not with that grin.

Toji spreads his knees and hooks his calves around your thighs. He guides your cock into him again, and he rumbles out a pleased moan as it buries itself hilt-deep into his slick warmth.

His head falls back against the pillows as you press your hips flush against his ass. "Ah, shit..."

"You good, baby?" you murmur, swallowing harshly as his gummy walls flutter tightly around you, as if he can lock you inside forever. Your dick twitches.

"Mmh, fuck, jus' sensitive. Move."

It's only natural that you obey.

Toji feels hotter now that you don't have the layer of plastic to contend with – hotter, wetter, hungrier. You thrust shallowly at first, but as his moans grow louder – less restrained – you allow yourself to move tip-to-base, deep and dirty the way he used to like it. Seems he still does. The rim of his puffy asshole catches on the ridge of your cockhead and his nails rake down your shoulders and back, leaving stinging raised lines in their wake.

Pride fills your chest, inflates your ego. An infamous assassin, the Sorcerer Killer, spread wide and inviting with his cheeks all flushed – he's certainly given you a thousand little deaths. You grip the meat of his ass and lift his hips off the mattress, fucking into his wet heat at a new angle that has him shouting your name.

Maybe it's because you can see his face – see all the pretty cock-drunk expressions that wash over his features – that you find yourself chasing the precipice of release embarrassingly fast. He locks his legs around your waist, thick and muscular, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Why would you ever want to leave?

"Toji," you grunt, panting softly. "'M gonna..." Your breath fans against his sweat-slick skin, making him shiver and arch into your touch. He cups the back of your neck as you nibble and suck dark bruises into his tanned skin, his lashes fluttering as you shift his thighs on your lap and leave far too many deep red hickeys printed on his skin. You even scatter a few across his collarbones and chest, and you're only pleased when he looks like he was mauled by a bear.

He pants softly, his bitten moans making your cock throb even harder. Fuck, you're so hard – the shape of your teeth printed into his skin for all to see makes you prouder than you'd ever admit. You trace the marks gently with your fingertips and Toji's chest stutters.

Gazing up at you with lidded, unfocussed eyes, he laughs, freer than he had since you met him earlier. Your heavy cock plunges into his stretched hole, again and again and again like you're trying to make him take, and your grip on one of his thighs is tight enough to leave red crescents. He grasps your face, turning it down towards him, and offers a sleazy, roguish grin, breathless. His eyes trace the cut of your cheeks, the curve of your lips.

"You look less stupid than usual. S'all you're good for, ain't it? Fucking me nice an' deep with that fat cock of yours – f-fuck. S'mine, yeah? All mine?"

You shudder and groan, bone-deep, and Toji can feel the heavy throbbing of your cock leaking inside him. The slick feeling of you against his walls builds a hot ball of arousal in his lower belly. Your chest heaves against his and your stomach tenses, familiar planes of muscle firm against his hand. Excitement roars through him like a wildfire – eager and keening.

He yanks you down for a devouring kiss as you come, catapulting off the precipice into white bliss. You gasp into it. His ass clenches around you with his own release as he moans, his soft walls stroking you and sucking you in.

He's so fucking warm, so fucking wet. His body is slick with sweat and he shoves his tongue into your mouth like a man starved. Maybe he is. You groan, low and pleased, and his thighs tighten around you like a cage, possessive in his hungry, unyielding embrace.

Spilling into him is heaven. You've died and ascended, you're certain of it. He drinks you deep, as if he was made for it, and lets his head fall back against the pillows with a less-than-steady sigh as your balls tighten and pulse hotly against his skin. Dragging it out, you grind your hips into his ass in lazy circles, huffing and puffing against his throat as if you've run a marathon. Your fingers graze his own, fluttering in a way that seems almost... uncertain.

Hah. As if you knew what that word meant. You were unshakeable, infallible. The strongest. You'd hold onto that title for as long as you could; the burden was heavy.

Rather disappointingly, you don't choose to hold his hands. They glide down his waist and hips, making him shiver, and you slowly pull out, the solid but gentle grip on his thighs never wavering. You set him down as if he was made of glass and his body twitches as thick come leaks from his stretched hole, dripping and pooling white below his ass.

He tosses a lazy arm over his eyes, bending one knee and bracing against the bed. Another hot gush of come. "Ah, f-fuck... shit. You still come like a truck..."

Your gaze, once so dark and sultry as if you were about to eat him alive, now snaps to him, wide and kind and so embarrassed that Toji can't help but crack a grin.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He rolls his eyes. "Other than the hickeys, no. Wouldn'ta minded it anyway," he adds slyly, peering out from within the shadow of his arm. "Pretty hot when you get creative."

Shuffling off of the bed with a soft chuckle, you pick up the discarded condom and toss it in the bin. You pull open the wardrobe with a flex of a wall of muscles that Toji watches keenly, spreading his knees to eye you through them. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

"Y'know, I was thinking," you begin suddenly, rifling through clothes and drawers.

"You can do that?"

"Shut up. I was thinking about you – your situation."

He closes his eyes and sinks back into your bed. "When'd you have the time? Not while you were fucking me, I hope."

"Just listen, Toji." You turn around, washcloth in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. Dark, but loose and unremarkable – as he prefers it. You toss the clothes at the bottom of the bed and disappear into the adjoining bathroom, raising your voice as the faucet squeaks on. "I was wondering if you'd wanna... you know – catch up. Or at least let me help you."

You continue, "I could find you a place in a better school zone, get you set up legitimately. Honestly, actually, you wouldn't even need to work. You could just focus on your family and I'd take care of the rest."

Toji sits up, ignoring the pinch of pain and the mess between his legs. It'll ache later, so he'll deal with it later. "What?"

"I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time. But why?" He lowers his voice as you return to him and begin to clean him up. He meets your eyes and his mouth takes on the beginning slant of a smirk. "My ass that good, huh? You want me to be your sugar baby?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "You're not that hot, Toji. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Wasn't talking about my face. Still – it's not like you to beg me to go on the straight and narrow. What's with that?"

"At the risk of sounding humiliatingly sappy after sex," you sigh, sitting back and dropping the cloth aside, "I still care about you. A whole fucking lot. I only want good things for you, Toji, and I have all this excess wealth that I can't donate fast enough, so if I can change just two more lives – I'd beg for the chance."

The desire to change lives without ending others'. He can understand the sentiment.

"What would you want from me?"

For a moment, you're taken aback by the tiredness in his voice. You blink. "Nothing? Like I said, the money would just vanish into a charity otherwise. Well – maybe I'd like to be invited over on the weekends, and maybe drop off-slash-pick up itty-bitty Megumi every so often. He's that age, right? Oh – and you gotta let me into the kitchen. I make a mean lasagne. Wonder if the boy would like it..."

He snorts. "That's a lot of conditions."

"Well, I am offering to let you live like a plump and happy housewife, so..."

He's quiet for a while, his hair falling over his eyes in a way that blocks your view of his face. You toss a rolled-up towel at his head, and he catches it without looking.

He lowers the towel. "You... don't seem to care that I left you."

"No, I didn't at all care that my friend dropped off the face of the earth without warning." You cross your arms and scoff, the smile slipping from your face. "I only heard about what happened months after you vanished, and by that time, there was nothing I could do to search for you. I had too many people looking at me to dig up old underground contacts and not enough time to comb through the country myself. You could have talked to me, you know," you say, your voice softening. "I would never turn you away."

He shrugs, noncommittal. "It's like you said – too many people looking at you. Would be alarming if I came strolling up to your door, wouldn't it?"

"You did today," you point out.

"Yeah, when there's a bounty on your head. I could be killing you right now."

You scoff, though the hint of a smile flickers across your lips. "You're impossible. But fair point. Just... think it over, okay? Come find me after all this bounty business is over and done with. You know where I live."

Toji chuckles softly, and he accepts your offered hand. You lead him to the large bathroom and he threads his towel over the rod next to what must be yours. He stares longer than he should, but the sight of the two towels beside each other – his green, yours blue – forms a lump in his throat that's hard to swallow around. His heartbeat quickens.

The sound of water hitting the tiles fills the bathroom. He raises his voice over it. "Hey."

Glancing over, your arm shimmering with water droplets from where it rests against the faucet handle, you tilt your head wordlessly.

"I should be picking up the kid in a couple of hours," he explains, "at six. As far as he and the childcare know, I work a normal nine-to-five like the rest of 'em. You could go."

Your eyes widen, and you let out an endeared laugh. "Toji, Megumi doesn't know who I am. The last time we met, he was a newborn. I'm not about to give everyone a heart attack by showing up on your behalf."

"It wouldn't be on my behalf, dumbass." His tone borders between disparaging and fond. "I'd go with you."

"Wh—?" Your throat bobs harshly. The shower seems forgotten, and Toji pushes you backwards into it with a palm on your chest because he's not about to waste the water. It pours onto your head, your hair beginning to stick to your face, and it still doesn't seem to register. A smile pulls at his lips as he reaches for your body wash, scanning the label while your brain putters out and short-circuits.

You didn't expect an answer that soon.

"You heard me," he says coolly, as if this is a normal Tuesday for him. He squirts a dab of body wash onto his palm. "Isn't this what you asked for? In my opinion, it's not that fun. I get a lot of women chattin' me up while we wait. Awkward as hell since I can't be rude or they might tell their kids, and then their kids won't like Megumi... ah, it's a big deal. You being there will help. You love to talk, so you can do it for me. Good game plan, right?"

"Toji, I..."

"The fact that I'm talking more than you worries me."

"You said pick-up's at six, right?" you say suddenly, the glint in your eyes intensifying.

He arches a brow, glancing up at you. "Yeah."

"That means we have an hour." You lean in, trapping him against the glass of the shower. There's a hint of mania in your gaze, starved with a vehement zeal. "I'm gonna fuck you, now."

His eyes widen. A feral grin spreads across his face. He laughs against your throat and moans when you press your thumb roughly into one of the many hickeys littering his neck and chest. "You're crazy. Fuckin' crazy – oi."

It's disturbingly easy for you to lift him by his thighs and press him against the cool glass. His skin prickles as he grips your shoulders and mutters, his breath mingling with yours: "If you drop me, I'll kill you."

"Promise?" you ask with a breathless grin.

He crushes his lips to yours. No one else gets the privilege of taking your little deaths.

[ressjeon]

for the drabble event i wanted to ask if you could

jjk

eros + pragma

row 3+seat 1

chips + bottled water + slushie

i’m so excited and i can’t wait to see how you’ll write it,, i’ve never requested something before and youre one of my favorite authors <3

pairing: roommate!jungkook x fuckgirl!reader

summary: the normal way of trapping your adorable roommate in your allure has been leading to nowhere, prompting you to approach him in subtle ways until you become irresistible in his eyes.

genre/au: angst, smut, roommate!au, college!au

warnings/content: explicit sexual content, jealousy, free use?fingering, doggy, backshots, angry sex? humiliation cuz kookie's mean :(

a/n: it's been 3 years since you've requested this anon and for that i apologize. i hope you'll still manage to see/read this now though and thank you for requesting! i'm honoured to be one of your favourite authors <3

☞ part of @btsgoldnetwork’s two hearts, one love valentine’s day event in 2022 🎞💓

🍿 bangtan theatre presents: irresistible 🍿 purchases for movie tickets and snacks are now closed!

Jungkook’s confused when he gets a whiff of another sweet scent coming from across his room. For about two weeks now, he noticed his roommate lighting up scented candles and placing them around their shared apartment.

Which is pretty random because you never do things like this. 

He’s wondering what brought you to start using scented candles when you didn't have the slightest interest in it before. Jungkook tried giving you one as a welcome gift when you first became roommates but you never even touched it until these days.

“where did you buy this one?”

You're startled with your roommate's question. It’s the first conversation you have with him regarding your current obsession. He's never acknowledged it verbally although you remember him scrunching his nose when you wore your bold perfume once before going on a date.

“i’m not sure to be honest, it’s a gift”

It is; only one of the many that you received from your long string of admirers. They were hoping that you'll see them more often through these gifts after you expressed your “love” of scented candles.

When in fact, it’s for your gorgeous roommate. 

You’re aware of Jungkook’s fondness for smells and after the direct flirting on him didn't work, you resorted to this. Using those boys for your agenda didn't really impose any guilt within you. They're exactly the same type as you but thankfully, they're pussy whipped that it was so easy to weave them into your plans on getting your roommates attention.

After you realize your fondness and interest are turning into serious feelings for Jungkook, you've expressed your feelings to him as clearly as you could. However, you didn't know how to approach him after his subtle rejections on your usual method.

Your feelings for Jungkook genuinely bloomed that you've stopped bringing guys over even when he's not home. It's a basic rule to respect each other's boundaries; the both of you having an agreement where only one can bring someone over when the other is not home.

Sometimes, Jungkook catches the boys coming out from your room, nodding at them in greeting but then ignores you afterwards. You tried whisking it as him being awkward seeing some people knew knows. Many times, you've contemplated on breaching the subject but he's barely home anyway. When he does, you flirt with him to see if he still gets flustered. He does and when he's in a pleasant mood though, he greets you and you relish them because it's rare.

Just like his smiles.

Jungkook wants to ask who gave those gifts but he already knows. He didn’t need to see the fancy paper bags on the counter to guess where those candles came from. It's given by those boys you’ve been seeing lately, if it's from the same person or multiple people, he's not sure and he doesn't want to find out.

What he's sure of is your reputation. He's aware of you because your popularity even reaches to other universities nearby. You've built your reputation since the start of freshman year so he was a bit hesitant in accepting you as a roommate before.

Another thing he's aware of is that you never take boys seriously hence he’s been wary each time you flirt with him. It seems so natural to you while he gets flustered. You find his reactions amusing though, as if you can’t tell that you do have an effect on him more than you think you do.

"you look great today kookie"

"we should do a movie night!"

"jungkook you're so adorable"

All your attempts at luring him went into dust and you can't figure out why. He can tell from your face each time he doesn't respond to you and does feel bad but he had to. Like a typical scenario, Jungkook did develop feelings for you no matter how much he tried avoiding so. He went as far as focusing on things that hurt him to reduce whatever he feels for you but to no avail and it scared him. He didn’t want to be one of those guys that you drop after sleeping with them.

However, he’s been getting better than before, reaching as far as rejecting you directly.

"you really think i'd believe that you out of all people, like me" he points to himself exaggeratedly but that's not what concerns you.

It's his eyes that are full of loathing after hearing your confession. He just arrived from one of his late lectures to find you preparing dinner for the two of you with a big smile on your face. He didn't read too much into it because you could just be hungry. Although, he should've because your full confession was something that he didn't anticipate.

“what do you mean? come on kookie, why don’t you believe me?” your voice came out a bit whiny when you realized that he's dead serious.

"what? you think i'll give in quickly?"

Maybe it's his ego talking but seeing the uncertainty in your face boosts his confidence a bit. Jungkook doubts other guys were able to make you react this way. He's the first and he'll hold out as long as he can. You've been making it pretty difficult lately but he still can't trust you.

"that was never my intention. i genuinely like you, kook"

"no? didn't you wanna sleep with me? be honest" he barks, crossing his muscular arms across his chiseled chest, challenging you to deny it.

"i-i do but—" you admit, shying your eyes away from his intense gaze.

This confrontation was last on your bingo card for this month. You just wanted to try again, confessing your feelings like a normal person even though it's not something that you're used to. But here Jungkook is, breaking your heart into pieces like none of those ever mattered to him.

"let's just get this over with" he suddenly says after a few minutes of silence and you didn't even get to process what he's saying cause he's suddenly on you.

Jungkook closes in as he focuses on your lips. Your lips that he wanted to kiss since that morning he found you adorably tip-toeing in the hallways to not wake him up. He had back to back football practice back then along with deadlines that he was extra tired every night because of the lack of sleep.

You welcomed his lips with fervour, closing your eyes and clutching his wrist when he grabbed your jaw to tilt it, deepening the kiss. Believe it or not, you used to dream of this, going as far as imagining that it's Jungkook when you're kissing other guys.

His kisses are harsh, with lots of teeth clashing and he's biting your lower lip for you to grant him entrance in which you did. Jungkook just wants his mind to shut off, to drown in you for once without second guessing his moves and yours.

For all he knows, you could only be playing with him but Jungkook doesn't care about that now. It's funny because it was you who initially pursued him and this time it's him. Jungkook will be damned if he doesn't make sure that he'll be the best you'd ever had. Never mind that you've fucked many guys before; he doesn't even wanna think if you will still fuck other guys after he's done with you.

You've basically given Jungkook free reign, looking at him with glossy eyes as you kneel by the couch after he releases you. Looking at you now, you look behaved while waiting for him. Jungkook could walk away right now to end this, to get back at you real bad but it's too late.

He's held back for too long and he feels like he's going to explode. All his mind can think of is how he's finally got you where you wanted to be. Letting himself go just for tonight would solve something, he's hoping.

Whatever the consequences are after this.

Jungkook doesn't make a move as he undresses, his piercing gaze eyeing you while you're finishing up discarding your clothes. You gauge what he's thinking, only that his pupils have dilated as he scans your bare body.

"why kookie what's wrong? you don't want me to suck you off? come here" you call him invitingly, batting your lashes at him but unlike other boys, Jungkook remains unaffected.

Or maybe not.

"no, you don't deserve it. why would you be?" he goads you and you're left speechless as you stand back up, climbing on the couch in all fours to entice him. "because i like you?" your voice came out quietly, full of desperation, looking back to hopefully catch his eyes.

Jungkook only scoffs as a response, the heel of his large palm pressing the top of your ass to push your body down until you're fully lying on the couch.

"like me? ah yes. but you like many guys y/n, like them enough to fuck them right?" he replies with a menacing tone and once again, you're left trying to process what he means by his questions but that flutters away when the tips of fingers runs along your drenching slit.

He's teasing you of course, he already said you didn't deserve to suck his cock earlier so maybe he'll only give you his fingers. It doesn't matter; it's the furthest you've ever had with Jungkook intimately so you'll just accept whatever he gives you.

Jungkook's waiting until he hears any complaint from you but it's been more than a minute and you've remained except for the heavy breaths you let out the longer he keeps his ministrations on you. He enters one finger to test your tight walls but also to see what you're playing at.

Another finger after a while and you're getting impatient no matter how much you coach yourself that Jungkook's just taking his time with you. When he pushes in the third one, that's when your body jerks, pushing back against his hand.

"there you go. thought i'd have to wait longer" he snickers, increasing the speed of his fingers. "kook—" you whine, unable to hold back your moans anymore.

Then Jungkook stops you by removing his fingers all together.

"up" he instructs and despite your frustrations, you did raise your body, going back on your knees. You didn't want to turn back now just in case you annoy him, wiggling your ass to give him a sign that you're more than ready for his cock.

Jungkook planned to fuck you in the previous position but it's too intimate. Even when he can't see your face, you'd still be so close to his body and it'll crack his barriers. He'd love to fuck you while seeing your face but that would allow you to see how vulnerable he is around you.

"jungkook..please move" you immediately cry out once he pushed in because he stayed still. You're tempted to grind back, your sensitive walls have been clamping around his dick, adjusting to his size that made him grip on your hips tightly.

"who says you can demand anything from me? you're lucky i'm giving you what you want." he spits but he begins moving his hips, ruthless unlike you've imagined before.

Jungkook's wrong. Everything is the opposite of what you wanted. He's barely even touching you, hands never moving from your waist just to hold you steady. Your brain's clouded with the pleasure that he's giving so you focus on that instead; relishing the tightness of his hold depending on his mood.

"kookie—fuck" you scream out when he finally angles his hip, hitting that soft spot inside you that you couldn't help but reach back to grasp his hand. He swats it away and you whine out, he's clearly displeased but maybe this is a way for him to believe you.

Jungkook doesn't want any ounce of affection from you. He's supposed to be mad, well he is, fully enraged with his insecurity that he's never been good enough for you. Plus, he'd be lying to himself that he was never jealous with all those guys you brought over. It's the reason he never stays home long, to avoid seeing them with you but he still did.

He's liked you for months already, showing his affections by cooking you breakfast and doing most of the chores when you're out with your friends or at parties. He never complained even when you started flirting with him, dodging you as much as he could because you're doing it to toy with him.

"just take it will you? acting like you've never had cocks in you before..." he drawls as he speeds up, leaving you mewling with tears welling in your eyes at the wave of humiliation that crashes on you.

You're back to gripping the leather couch when his fingertips brushes your swollen clit, flicking the bud after and you almost came.

But you didn't. Jungkook made sure of that.

All night he repeats teasing and fucking you endlessly until your body convulses, only stopping and doing it again. For a moment, you almost forgot who you're fucking with the amount of stamina that he has. Although you did fuck many athletes before, Jungkook still surprised you with his self control.

"no more.." your voice is hoarse with all the nonstop screaming and thankfully Jungkook stops his ministrations. "n-no, no i wanna cum, please kookie~"

"mhmm..shit..okay"

He's not faring well either but you could barely tell when all you can hear are his deep guttural moans and the skin slapping echoing around. You're both very sweaty but Jungkook's large hands miraculously maintained their grip on your body. Eventually, you both reach your climaxes, having Jungkook pull out and finish on your back to your dismay.

"wanted..inside.." you mumble, nuzzling the couch's arm. You only hear a task from him before you feel a piece of clothing rubbing along your sweaty skin. You've closed your eyes at the comfort but tried opening them when he turned your body around.

Then the combination of the mind blowing orgasm and exhaustion knocked you off to sleep. 

You've woken up sore everywhere but it doesn't compare to the ache in your heart when you couldn't see Jungkook anywhere in the living room. You don't even wanna try to get up or call his name in case he's inside his bedroom. He's not but you'd like to hope because of last night.

He took care of you, providing you with your own blanket and pillows after cleaning you up. Thankfully, you had no early lectures today; you were pretty much spent so the energy for attending classes is at total zero.

Not going is a more tempting option for you though, the chance to see Jungkook is high with how involved he is on campus. He's quite popular as well but not on the same type as you which was how he possibly found out this much about your history. You've met other girls who've hooked up with him before, telling you how he's actually more on the subby side which further increases your interest on your roommate.

You blink, realizing you're smiling at the memory.

Reminiscing those memories before you fucked him won't help you at this point. Jungkook for sure hates you now because you proved him right, using your tactics on him so he'll sleep with you. Both you and him did make the decision yes but he probably agreed in order to stop you from pestering him further.

The wise move for you is to forget this ever happened and move out but you won't. You'll prove to Jungkook how serious you are on him no matter how long that may take. You can still fix this you believe; you're never gonna give up on him unless you hear that direct rejection from his pretty lips.

e/n: i haven't really written the loml for almost 2 years now so if it sounds or feels different then that's why 😂 i've been missing him a lot tho so here we are :D

[remina-mina]

Twst Yuu Theory: Magic as Desire

We got a lot of information from the chapter 12 update so I feel like we can finally have a grasp on Yuu and their future role in the story. Honestly this is practically a crack theory but I feel like there is something there. So throughout the story we have had glimpses of Yuu's insecurities, especially in Book 6 when we lost Grim and couldn't help Ace or Deuce in battle. Its been established that Yuu sees themself as useless and powerless and feels frustration at the fact that they cannot do anything but be protected in battle.

This comes up again in this update but I think its on purpose that Yuu's frustration at being useless mirrors Ace's and the other freshman before they unlock their unique magic. It feels like Twst is creating these parallels on purpose to lay the groundwork for Yuu to have an important role as a 'trump card' in the future (book 8 maybe) just like Deuce was in Book 5 and Ace in this update.

I'm hesitate to say something wild like Yuu will develop a unique magic, however I do think that Yuu will have a role that only they can fulfill possibly because they don't have magic.

Or maybe they will temporarily gain the ability to use magic because as established in this chapter update magic in its ancient form was miracles born out of people's deep desires such as wishing to fly or heal. Following that logic then maybe Yuu will be able to harness the oldest and original form of magic simply through their deep desires.

Also in the Chapter 12 update Leona offhandedly mentions that the dark mirror's criteria for choosing mages is vague but without a doubt everyone chosen to go to NRC has what it takes to make their mark on history. All these lore drops makes me sure that something will be happening sooner or later.

Honestly I hope in Book 8 (if that really does end up existing someplace that isn't my hopes and dreams) we explore Ramshackle's history because it seems special that the dorm has strong ties to other worlds. Considering that they straight up have a mirror that connects to other worlds where we see Mickey and whenever we get snippits of the old disney movies it also is through that mirror it feels important. Maybe we will learn about Skully and how he possibly was a Ramshackle student in his time at NRC.

[anonity]

wrote something quick and sweet for you guys because i have a whopping 40 pages of angst sitting in my drafts rn.. do we want the pazzi fic first or the paige x reader fic? 

anyways enjoy

summary: azzi drags paige out of bed at 6 in the morning, just to go to the gym. (also, they’re dating and paige is in love) WC: 1000ish

beep, beep, bee–

paige buries her head into her pillow as silence befalls the room – for three seconds. then, it gets ripped out from underneath her. 

“morning, paige!” azzi’s voice rings, annoyingly chipper for – paige cracks an eye open, finally looking at her alarm – 6 in the morning.

hesitantly, hoping if she moved slowly enough azzi would not notice she was awake, she looked towards where the voice had come from. instead, she comes face to face with neon pink. azzi steps back, and paige finally gets to take in everything in front of her – gray sweats, a bright hoodie, and a black gym bag slung over her shoulder.

the sight makes paige want to die. 

“az,” she groans, yanking their blanket up over her head, “it’s six in the morning.”

azzi promptly pulls the entire comforter away. “six-thirty,” she corrects helpfully, balling up the blanket and leaving it on the opposite end of the bed. paige groans again, reaching blindly for it. it’s decidedly too far, so she settles instead on falling limply against the mattress.

azzi’s nose scrunches in response. “you promised you’d come to the gym with me.”

paige mumbles something that sounds like another complaint, but her voice is muffled in the mattress. azzi shoves her shoulder, forcing her face up. “c’mon, don’t make me pull you out.”

paige just barely cracks a smile. “you never have to pull out, ma.”

“paige!” azzi yelps in response, slapping her chest half-heartedly. “that doesn’t even make sense! get up!”

feeling particularly unamused again, paige's voice comes out groggy. “you know not to make plans with me before nine in the morning.”

azzi’s eyes narrow. “then you shouldn’t have said you’d go with me.”

paige doesn’t answer, throwing an arm over her eyes instead. azzi lets out an overly-emphasized sigh, leaning down so her face is level with paige’s.”you’re lucky i think you’re cute.”

paige peeks out from under her arm. she’s met with that soft, sickeningly fond look azzi reserves only for her, and can’t help the smile it warrants. “you think i’m cute?”

“i think you’re lazy,” azzi shoots back, standing straight again. “but, because i know you soo well, i brought you coffee.”

paige perks up immediately, reaching for the cup expectantly. “you’re the best, az.”

azzi immediately pulls back, holding it just out of reach. “nuh-uh,” she chides, a glint in her eye that can only mean trouble for paige. “not until you’re ready to go.”

paige scowls. “you’re joking.”

“it’s strategic.”

the second the word leaves azzi’s mouth, it’s a mistake – she knows it because paige immediately shoots up from the bed, wrapping her arms around her. 

“paige!” she tries to sound annoyed, but the giggle that follows is indisputable. “get off of me!”

paige immediately fumbles for the coffee cup, a disposable one from downstairs, and briefly wonders when azzi had time to even go get it. “taunting opponents is not a strategy, it’s a flagrant foul,” she corrects, still fighting for the drink. azzi pokes her side in that spot that always has paige jerking away and frees herself, holding the still-intact coffee up triumphantly. 

“all is fair in love and basketball,” she grins. 

paige scowls. “don’t use my favorite movie against me.”

“it’s my favorite movie.”

“i had it first.”

“you did not!”

“did too, i’m older than you.”

baffled, azzi jerks back. “what does that have to do with anything?”

paige straightens, looking particularly smug. “it means i had time to watch it before you did.”

“paige!” azzi groans, shoving her towards the dresser. “get dressed!”

paige grumbles but acquiesces, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. there’s cold biting through the windows of their apartment, and azzi briefly comments on paiges lack of a jacket, but paige shrugs her off lazily. “ion’ need no jacket, i’m a big dawg.”

azzi doesn’t try to correct her again, (even though the phrase big dawg has her rolling her eyes) and instead leans against the doorframe of their room. paige all but throws herself back onto the bed, tying her shoes with drama only rivaled by toddlers.

azzi tracks each tug of laces with barely concealed amusement, taking a purposefully loud sip of paige’s coffee.

giving one last tug, paige stands from the bed and saunters over to where azzi is leaned. raising her eyebrows and staring expectantly at the coffee again, azzi finally hands it over. “now, all that drama was for nothing,” she says pointedly. paige hums as if she disagrees, but doesn’t add to her argument as she follows azzi out the door.

they don’t speak again until their feet land on the sidewalk outside. the air in storrs is sharp, frost clinging to the ground like broken cobwebs, and paige can’t help the shiver that wracks her body.

really and truly, she should have grabbed a hoodie like azzi had suggested. she can already hear the i told you so forming in azzi’s mouth, though, so paige stays quiet. instead, she scrunches her nose against the breeze and turns finally to look over azzi’s features.

the sun is just barely rising – the barren trees lining the sidewalk are casting long, soft shadows across her face. azzi walks a step ahead, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets and posture straight. the light flickers over her features – the way her lashes fan against her eyebrows, the pink dusting the easy slope of her nose, the way her lips are tugged into that ever-present smile.

paige can’t help the way her gaze lingers. azzi’s exhale rises in a delicate plume, curling lazily into the quiet air. 

paige thinks she’s pretty – and, actually, that she’s quite lucky to have someone like azzi dragging her out at 6 in the morning.

ever the instigator, though, paige chooses not to voice the softness of her thoughts. instead, she tears her gaze away and rolls her eyes. “you’re lucky i love you.”

azzi glances over, dimples falling over her face as she grins again. her voice is soft, tinged with a quiet warmth meant only for paige to hear. “i know.”

[nanamineedstherapy]

I lost you when I lost me

Summary: You never wanted to say it. You never wanted him to know. But when the truth comes out—when the realization hits—there’s no escaping the devastation that follows.

A/N: Hey there, fellow emotional masochists! 😈💔 Buckle up because this fic is here to ruin your day. You know that tiny sliver of hope you have for comfort? Yeah, crush it. The title is from the song 'The Pool' by Stephen Sanchez. I highly suggest you listen to it along with its lyrics while reading this. TW: All characters are like around 30s. The reader is gender & racially neutral; you can imagine however you like. Only one bit is slightly suggestive, but nothing in detail, only for the plot. Ok, ready? Now imagine your favorite JJK Male Love Interest & read this. Trust me, it'll be worth it.

The clock ticked relentlessly in the quiet apartment which felt colder than usual. He sat at the dining table, his head resting on his folded hands, eyes heavy with exhaustion. A plate of cold, untouched food sat before him—the dinner he’d cooked, the dinner you hadn’t eaten. Again.

You’d walked in hours ago, a soft smile on your lips but not for him. The same smile you saved for your phone calls, your whispered conversations. He’d tried not to listen, but the way your laughter echoed in the room had gnawed at his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

You were busy, you’d said. Work had been demanding. He understood—of course, he did. But when had "demanding" started meaning you had time for everyone but him?

He stopped setting the table for two. It was easier that way. The leftovers in the fridge piled up, each container a silent testament to another night spent eating alone. The apartment still smelled like your perfume, like the shampoo you used, but it was starting to feel like a place you passed through rather than lived in.

He tried to bridge the gap—suggested a movie night, offered to pick you up from work, even learned how to make that pasta you loved. You’d smiled, thanked him, and promised next time.

The next time never came.

Instead, the glow of your phone lit up the dark bedroom at night, your quiet chuckles slipping between the sheets like an intruder. He lay beside you, staring at the ceiling, hands clenched into fists beneath the covers.

You stopped saying "I love you" first.

The words had once been effortless, tumbling from your lips in the mornings, between sips of coffee, when you rushed out the door. Now, they came only as a response, an afterthought. If he didn't say them, he wondered if you’d notice.

The apartment felt larger these days, too big for just one person to exist in. He found himself cleaning just to fill the silence, scrubbing countertops that weren’t dirty, rearranging bookshelves you no longer touched. He scrolled through old pictures—of vacations, of nights spent tangled together on the couch—and wondered how they had turned into this.

He stopped waiting up. What was the point?

He'd long given up asking where you’d been, who you’d been with. The answers had become vague, rehearsed, the kind designed to end a conversation rather than start one.

The bed felt colder, the nights longer. He filled his time with hobbies, things he never cared for before—reading, baking, even knitting at one point, just to have something to do with his hands. Anything to keep himself from checking the clock, from counting the hours between the moment you left and the moment you came back.

You still kissed his cheek before bed, a ghost of affection that barely lingered. But the warmth was gone, the weight of your love no longer something he could hold.

And so, he sat in that quiet apartment, a forgotten housewife in a home that no longer felt like his, waiting for someone who had already left.

So yes, the apartment felt colder than usual. Not because of the temperature, but because of the distance between them—an invisible chasm that had grown wider with each passing day. He sat on the couch, staring at the muted television. The faint sound of your laughter drifted from the balcony. His jaw clenched.

You were on the phone again.

The laugh that used to light up his world now cut through him like shards of glass. It wasn’t his jokes you were laughing at anymore. It wasn’t his voice that softened your features or brought that sparkle to your eyes. No, that belonged to someone else now.

He’s fists tightened against his thighs as he listened. The man on the other end of the line—some colleague, you’d said—had become an unwelcome fixture in both your lives.

He’d caught glimpses of your texts when your phone buzzed on the counter.

Friendly messages, full of inside jokes he wasn’t privy to. 

You never laughed like that with him.

Not anymore.

---

One night, the dinner sat untouched on the table.

The same as every other night.

He’d spent an hour making your favorite meal, hoping you’d sit down with him, talk to him, see him. But when you walked in, you barely glanced at the plate before heading to the balcony with your phone.

After you disconnected the call, you turned to find him standing behind you.

He wasn’t spying, just hesitant.

Not sure how to exist in a place where he felt like he wasn’t wanted anymore.

This used to be his house too, wasn’t it?

“Who was that?” he’d asked casually, clearing his throat, though the edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Just a friend from work,” you replied, brushing him off.

“You’ve been talking to him a lot lately.”

Your fingers paused mid-swipe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, unsure whether to push further. “It means I’d like to spend more time with you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Physically, yes. But your mind, your heart… they were somewhere else. With someone else.

---

It had been weeks—maybe months—since the last time you two had shared a proper meal together, one that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t filled with silences too thick to cut through.

But tonight, he was trying.

One last time.

The candles flickered on the dining table, their soft glow casting shadows against the walls. The air smelled of slow-cooked garlic and rosemary, the kind of dinner that used to make you press up against his back in the kitchen, stealing bites, giggling as he swatted you away with a wooden spoon.

He’d set everything perfectly—your favorite wine, the playlist you once called "our soundtrack," the one you played on road trips, during late-night dances in the living room.

When you walked in, he felt it—that brief, fleeting moment where your eyes softened, where your lips curved into something real.

"You did all this?" you asked, stepping closer, inspecting the meal as if it were some rare artifact.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "figured if I waited for you to cook, I'd starve first."

You laughed. A real laugh. The sound was warm, familiar, like home.

"Rude," you teased, nudging his arm before taking a seat.

You actually ate this time. You talked, joked, and rolled your eyes when he grumbled about how much effort it had taken to perfect this dish. He felt like himself again, like the version of him that existed before the distance, before the cold bedsheets and unanswered questions.

Maybe—just maybe—he could fix this. Maybe you were still his.

After dinner, he put on music, an old, slow song that once made you sway in his arms without a second thought.

He extended his hand. You hesitated. But then, with a small, almost shy smile, you took it.

Your fingers were warm against his as he pulled you close, resting a hand on your waist. You smelled the same—like something undeniably you. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t pulling away.

"You still dance like an idiot," you murmured, but you were grinning.

"And you still can’t follow my lead," he shot back, earning a playful shove.

Then, without thinking, without analyzing, he tilted your chin up, his lips brushing yours.

It wasn’t desperate or demanding.

Just a reminder.

But you kissed him back.

Something ignited between you both, something raw, something that had been buried under months of silence. Your fingers tangled in his loose unstyled hair, and his grip tightened on your waist. He pressed you against the table, the wine glasses rattling as he lifted you onto the edge.

For the first time in so long, it felt right. It felt like you wanted him again, like you missed this as much as he did.

And then—just as quickly as it began, it stopped.

You pulled away, breathless but distant, and murmured, "Let’s go to bed."

Bed.

Not together, not with him. Just bed.

He followed, swallowing the unease rising in his chest.

You climbed under the sheets, and he hovered above you, waiting, wanting, aching. But instead of pulling him down, instead of pressing your lips to his like you used to—like you once swore you’d never stop wanting—you reached up and gently, gently, placed your hands on his shoulders and held him there.

Not pulling him closer.

Just holding him down.

His breath caught in his throat. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

You didn’t answer, just smiled softly, brushed your fingers through his hair, and whispered, "Just stay."

He didn’t move.

He didn’t argue.

He just lay there, going along with it, convincing himself it was enough.

That this was still love.

Maybe you were tired, maybe it had just been too long, too much at once. He could wait. He’d waited this long, hadn’t he?

It became a ritual. A routine.

You’d let him kiss you, let him touch you just enough to keep the illusion intact. But every time, just before it could become something more, you’d stop him. You’d wrap your arms around him, whisper something sweet, something distant, and hold him there like a thing to be kept, not wanted.

And he let you.

Because if he didn’t, then he’d have to admit the truth—that something was dying. That maybe it was already dead.

---

Then one night when he couldn’t take it anymore.

When his body felt like tearing itself apart.

It happened.

You were in bed, waiting for him, already curled up like you always did, expecting him to play along.

But something inside him had shifted. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

"You don’t want me anymore."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t angry.

It was just true.

You stiffened but said nothing.

He let out a hollow laugh, running a hand over his face. "I used to be the best you ever had. Remember?" His voice was quiet, but there was something damaging lurking beneath it.

"Of course," you said softly, like you always did.

Like it was rehearsed.

He turned to look at you, his eyes empty. "Then why do you keep stopping me?"

The silence stretched.

He felt something in his chest tighten, twist, break.

And then—he stopped speaking altogether.

He lay down next to you, let you wrap your arms around him like always, let you hold him down, let you reduce him to something small and quiet.

But in that silence, something inside him went cold.

And you didn’t even notice.

---

Then one evening your co-worker who you swore was ‘just a friend’ dropped you home. Drunk.

The door clicked shut, followed by the faint sound of retreating footsteps.

He sat in the dimly lit living room, the untouched dinner still laid out on the table, growing colder by the second.

The scent of rosemary and garlic—once comforting, once meant to bring you home—now only mocked him.

His grip tightened around the glass in his hand. He had heard it all.

"Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything."

"I will. Thank you!"

The laughter. The softness in your voice. The kind of warmth you hadn’t spoken with in months.

Not to him, anyway.

His jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He didn’t want to fight.

He’d let so much go already.

What was one more thing?

You walked past him like a ghost, barely sparing him a glance. "I’m going to shower."

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His throat felt thick, his chest heavy, his fingers twitching.

The food in front of him blurred.

He swallowed hard, forcing it all down—the questions, the resentment, the ache.

You had forgotten the anniversary.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, before standing up and packing away the dinner.

Like always.

---

Now, the TV hummed softly from the bedroom, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Cartoons. Again.

No invitation for him to join.

You were curled under a blanket, eyes fixed on the screen, the faint remnants of a smile still playing on your lips. The same smile you used to give him.

His patience snapped like a brittle bone.

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed away from the kitchen table. His footsteps were steady but heavy, each one sinking deeper into the weight of everything he had swallowed for far too long.

"Hey," he said, voice low, measured.

You hummed in acknowledgment, but your eyes never left the screen.

His fingers curled into fists. "Can we talk?"

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you grabbed the remote and muted the TV. "About what?"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "About us."

Something in your face flickered—hesitation, maybe guilt—but it was gone before he could hold onto it.

He swallowed. "You’re never home anymore. You barely look at me, let alone touch me. You laugh on the phone with… someone else. You don’t eat what I cook, and you don’t—" His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. "You don’t love me anymore, do you? Haven’t in a long time."

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Instead, you shifted, like you were about to get up, about to walk away like you always did.

His breath hitched. His body moved before he could think.

He stepped forward.

"Don’t," he said, voice firmer, sharper. "Don’t walk away from this. I deserve an answer."

"Baby, please…" Your voice was soft, but it felt like a knife, carving through him with its emptiness.

"Please, what?" His voice rose, frustration bleeding into every syllable. "Please let you avoid this? Let you keep ignoring me while I sit here wondering what I did wrong? While I beg for scraps of your affection?"

You flinched, and for the first time in months, he saw something break in you. Your hands trembled as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, like it could shield you from him, from this—from the ugly, raw truth between you both.

"It’s not like that," you whispered.

"Then tell me what it is!" His voice cracked, his composure crumbling to dust. "Tell me why you’re shutting me out! Tell me why you’re treating me like I don’t exist in our own home!"

Your lips quivered, and then the tears came—slow at first, then all at once. You lifted your hands to your face, shoulders shaking as quiet sobs wracked through you.

And just like that—the fight was over before it even began.

The anger in his chest burned, smoldered, and then twisted into something else. Something worse.

He had been so ready for a war.

Ready for screaming, for accusations, for ugly confessions to come spilling out like blood on the floor.

Anything but this.

Because this?

This felt like surrender.

And he didn’t even know which one of you had lost.

"Hey…" His voice softened, guilt threading through the remnants of his anger. He took a step closer, reaching for you, hands trembling. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Don’t cry."

But you only cried harder, shrinking away from his touch.

Something sharp twisted in his chest.

He crouched in front of you, desperation bleeding into every inch of his expression. "Please, talk to me," he whispered. "Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me how."

Your hands slowly fell from your face, revealing red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

You looked at him—not through him, at him. Like you were memorizing every detail, like you were grasping onto something fragile before it shattered completely.

Then, so gently it nearly broke him, you cupped his cheeks.

"Baby…The love of the very essence of my existence in every universe…" Your voice cracked, barely audible. Your thumbs brushed against his skin, slow, reverent. Like you were trying to convince yourself.

His breath caught. His eyes shining with all his love.

"You’re not real."

The words hung between you both, sinking into his skin like ice. A deep frown now etched onto his face.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was steady, but there was something trembling underneath, something afraid.

"You remember your last mission?" you whispered. "When you came home and said you’d retire? For us?"

He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Of course. We defeated that cursed spirit. It was…"

He trailed off as you shook your head, your touch growing lighter, as if you were afraid he’d dissipate.

"No," you mumbled, voice breaking with sobbs. Each one harder than before. "You didn’t. You never came home."

The room seemed to shrink around him.

"You died that day."

His world stopped spinning.

"No," he said immediately, shaking his head. "That’s not true. I—" His breath hitched.

"I kissed you that night. I held you." His heart was pounding, desperate, frantic. "You were in my arms. We even watched cartoons and ate pizza."

You let out a sob so broken it tore through him. "I’ve been pretending," you whispered. "Pretending you’re still here. Pretending I’m not alone. But you’re not real, baby. You’ve been gone for so long."

His lungs felt too tight. His pulse thundered in his ears.

"You’re lying," he rasped. He reached for your hands, gripping them tight, pressing them against his chest. "You feel that? My heartbeat. I’m here. I’m right here."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around his for just a second—one last second.

And then, with a look so full of sorrow it made his stomach drop, you whispered, "There’s nothing there."

He froze.

"No." His voice was barely a breath. "No, that’s not—"

But then it hit him.

The way you never looked him in the eyes for too long.

The way no one else ever acknowledged him.

The way you never reached for him first.

How the food he cooked never tasted right. Not like how it used to.

How the memory foam mattress only ever had one dent in the mornings.

And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

You were still crying, shoulders shaking with the weight of grief too heavy for your frame. "I wish you were here," you sobbed. "God, I wish you were."

He wanted to fight.

Wanted to prove he was real.

Wanted to pull you close and never let go.

But then—the look in your eyes.

Not avoidance.

Not guilt.

Just loss.

And for the first time, in the suffocating silence of your shared home—

he felt the cold, hollow weight of truth.

---

Fushiguro Megumi

At first, he doesn’t say anything. Just… stares.

And then, slowly, his hands lift, pressing against his temples.

"No."

It’s not a yell.

It’s not even firm.

It’s quiet, almost pleading.

"No. That doesn’t—" His breath shakes. "That doesn’t make sense."

He sways slightly, his knees nearly giving out beneath him. His head pounds, his body feels heavy.

"I am with you," he murmurs.

He’s always been logical, always been able to process things quickly. But this—

This is different.

When he finally looks at you, his eyes are empty.

"So that’s why everything felt off."

His voice is hollow. His hands tremble, curling into fists.

"I should’ve figured it out sooner."

And then, finally, his face crumples.

"I should’ve done something."

---

Fushiguro Toji

Toji laughs. Short. Bitter. A sharp exhale through his nose.

"Tch. Bullshit."

His arms cross over his chest, his weight shifting onto one foot like he’s gearing up for a fight. Like he’s daring you to say it again.

You do.

And this time, his smirk falters.

"The hell are you talking about?" His voice drops an octave, his brows knitting together. "I’m right here."

But you just look at him.

No words. No argument.

And that’s what does it.

His fingers twitch. His throat tightens. And suddenly, the air feels wrong.

His mind races—memories flickering like a dying lightbulb. The fight. The pain. The blood.

The way everything just… stopped.

And then, just like that, he remembers.

His breath stutters. His fists clench. His shoulders tremble—not from fear, not from sadness, but from sheer, gut-wrenching denial.

"No." His voice is sharp, biting. He shakes his head. "No, I walked away. Megumi, I—"

His chest aches. His vision blurs.

"I can’t be dead. I fucking can’t."

His own voice shakes, and he hates it. He hates the way his body betrays him, hates the lump in his throat, hates the way his vision distorts as the first tear falls.

"I was supposed to come back to him."

You flinch.

Because you know exactly who him is.

Toji squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it aches. His whole body trembles as the weight of his absence finally, finally crashes down on him.

He falls to his knees.

“I have him. He’s safe with a friend.” You get on the floor and hold him.

You wiped your tears quickly from the back of your hand because you could not bring Megumi in a house that was haunted by you and his father.

---

Geto Suguru

His arms instinctively come around you, protecting you from something he can’t even fight. His breath is uneven, his body trembling as he holds you as tightly as he can, as if you might slip away too.

"I’m sorry."

He says it over and over, voice cracking, shaking, breaking. As if this is his fault.

Tears slip down his face in silent streams, dripping onto your hair as he buries his face in your shoulder. He never cries. But now, he’s unraveling, feeling every moment he missed, every touch that wasn’t real.

"I wanted to come home to you."

And when he finally pulls back, his eyes are haunted.

"I don’t want to go."

---

Gojo Satoru

He laughs. A shaky, humorless laugh—like this is some joke, like you’re playing a cruel prank.

"Nice one, babe. You almost had me."

But then he sees your face. The grief in your eyes. The way your hands tremble. The way you look right through him, like he’s already gone.

And suddenly, the air is gone from his lungs.

"No, no, no—"

His voice wavers, his fingers twitching as he grabs you, pulling you against his chest, shaking his head.

"I’m right here. You feel me, don’t you? I’m here. You’re messing with me. You have to be."

His breath hitches, his infinity flickering, his body betraying his denial.

When you whisper his name, soft and full of sorrow, something inside him snaps.

He crumbles. Completely.

"Please…" he begs, his voice so raw, so helpless. "Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me alone."

Gojo never begs. But he begs for this.

For you.

For one more second.

---

Haibara Yu

He smiles.

A soft, sad little thing.

"Oh."

And then he laughs. Because of course, of course, it had to be true.

He should have known. Should have realized.

The laughter fades, his throat tightening, and his hands shake as he lifts them—to touch you, to hold you. But they hesitate.

Because what if he’s not really here?

The thought makes his chest cave in, and suddenly, he’s crying—quietly at first, then ugly, body-wracking sobs.

"I didn’t want to leave you."

His fingers reach for yours, barely brushing against them.

"I wanted forever with you."

And when you whisper, "Me too," he finally breaks.

---

Hakari Kinji

"Tch, you’re talking nonsense."

He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake off the ice settling in his veins. His usual cocky smirk falters, his bravado barely holding.

But when you keep looking at him like that—like he’s a memory instead of a man—his breath stutters.

"No. That’s bullshit. I was with you every night since. I—I—"

And then his knees buckle.

He slams his fists into the floor, his shoulders heaving, his teeth clenched so hard it hurts.

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU LET ME PRETEND?!"

He’s angry—angry at you, at himself, at the universe that took him away. His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, his body trembling.

But then, after what feels like an eternity, the fight drains out of him.

"I wanted more time."

And when you reach for him, he leans in, forehead pressing against your shoulder, his tears finally falling.

"I just wanted more time."

---

Higuruma Hiromi

His first reaction is silence.

Then, a low, shaky exhale. He leans back slightly, processing, his lawyer's mind running through every possible explanation, every logical outcome.

None of them make sense.

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. His nails dig into his palms, but he doesn’t feel it.

Then, a whisper makes its way out of him.

"Why didn’t I realize?"

He lets out a dry, bitter laugh, his breath shaking.

"I thought—" His voice cracks.

He swallows, hard. And then he breaks. He never cries. But he looks lost.

"We were finally supposed to be together."

His arms wrap around you, and he clings, desperate—because for the first time in his life, he can’t argue his way out of this one.

---

Inumaki Toge

He doesn’t react.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense.

He just… sits there. Staring at you.

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something. Like he’s trying to process it.

And then, slowly, his hands lift—shaking.

"Don’t."

The single word—so small, so quiet—shatters the room like glass.

"Don’t do this to me."

His fingers clutch at his throat. His cursed speech had always been a burden, a limiter—but now, he thought he could speak.

You both had been talking now without rice ball ingredients.

He wants to scream.

Instead, he just wispers, "Tell me you’re lying. Tell me I’m real. Tell me I’m still here with you."

His shoulders tremble. His head bows.

And when the first tear hits the floor—you swear you hear his heart break.

---

Itadori Yuji

Yuji’s face freezes. Completely.

"No."

There’s no hesitation. No humor. Just raw, unfiltered refusal.

"That’s not—" His voice cracks. His lips tremble. "That’s not funny."

His hands curl into fists at his sides, his breath coming faster, shallower. His body knows before his mind does.

Because suddenly, it feels wrong.

Like he’s not supposed to be here.

The memories come like a gut punch. The battle. The pain. The blood. The darkness.

His stomach drops.

"No, no, no—" He steps back, hands pressing against his chest like he’s trying to feel something, anything.

His breath hitches. His knees go weak.

"I promised—" His voice breaks apart.

And that’s when the sob rips from his throat.

"I promised I'd live."

Tears spill. His whole body shakes.

"I promised I'd be different. That I’d have a long life. That I wouldn’t—"

His fingers dig into his scalp, his chest rising and falling in short, choked gasps.

And suddenly, it’s not about him anymore.

It’s about everyone else.

Gojo, Nanami, Nobara, Megumi—his friends.

"They're gonna be alone."

He chokes, his knees giving out completely.

"I left them all alone."

And when he finally looks up at you—tears streaking his face, lips quivering, hands trembling—you know.

Yuji Itadori never wanted to die.

But he did.

And nothing will ever change that.

---

Kamo Choso

He’s silent. No reaction. No change in expression. He just stares at you, his lips slightly parted, his mind trying to grasp the weight of your words.

Then, slowly, his breathing falters. His fingers twitch, his body stiffens. His usually composed face shatters as his lips tremble, his eyes welling with tears. His voice, so steady before, comes out in a whisper—fragile, broken.

"That’s not true. I’m here. I promised I’d protect you."

When you shake your head, his shoulders shake with the force of his grief. His arms wrap around you—desperate, clinging—as if holding you tightly enough would pull him back into existence. But even as you sob into his chest, he already knows.

And it destroys him.

---

Todo Aoi

"Nah."

Todo grins.

"Nice try, but I’m not that easy to fool."

You don’t smile. You don’t laugh.

His grin fades.

His heart stutters.

"Oi. Quit messing around." His voice wavers, just slightly. Just enough for fear to slither in. "You’re making it sound like I—"

His words die in his throat.

Because you won’t look at him.

And that’s when he knows.

His fists clench. His chest heaves. His jaw locks so tight it hurts.

"Hah… no way."

His breath is ragged now. His shoulders tremble.

His whole life, he’s built himself on strength. On resilience. On always pushing forward.

But right now—right here—

Todo Aoi has nowhere left to go.

He forces a laugh. A weak, broken sound. "So, what? That means I—?"

He can’t finish. He won’t.

Because if he says it, it’s real.

And if it’s real—then he left Yuji behind.

His best friend. His brother.

His chest tightens, his vision blurring.

"I was supposed to be there for him."

His breath stutters. His legs give out.

"I was supposed to—"

His body shakes with silent sobs.

He had promised Yuji he’d never be alone.

And now?

He can’t even keep that.

---

Kamo Noritoshi

Noritoshi barely reacts.

"I see."

His voice is neutral.

Straightens his back. Keeps his composure.

But his fingers tremble.

"I should’ve expected this."

He nods to himself, as if rationalizing it. As if accepting it.

But the tightness in his throat betrays him.

"Then that means my clan—" His words cut off.

Because if he’s dead, then everything was for nothing.

All that suffering. All that fighting. All of it—

And then, for the first time in years, his mask cracks.

His breath stutters. His hands curl into fists. His vision blurs.

And suddenly, Noritoshi is not a leader. Not a fighter. Not the heir to a clan.

He’s just a boy who never got to live his own life.

And now, never will.

---

Kashimo Hajime

Kashimo laughs. A cruel, hollow sound that isn’t like him at all.

"Really? I died?" he scoffs, voice biting, eyes sharp. "And you’re just telling me now?"

His jaw clenches, his fingers curling into tight fists. He refuses to believe it. Refuses.

He steps closer, teeth bared. "Then how the hell am I standing here, huh?"

But you don’t answer.

And the silence is louder than anything he’s ever heard.

His breathing stutters, and his shoulders tense as the weight of your words presses down on him like a boulder.

He’s never been afraid of death. Never.

But suddenly, his chest is too tight, and his vision is too blurry, and his body is shaking in a way he doesn’t recognize.

"You’re saying I lost?" he whispers, voice hoarse. "That I just… disappeared?"

His hands tremble as he tries to reach for you, but stops himself.

Because he’s starting to feel it now. The emptiness. The absence.

And for the first time in his life, Kashimo Hajime feels something worse than boredom.

He feels regret.

---

Kiyotaka Ijichi

He goes completely still.

And then, he lets out a choked breath, his eyes widening in pure, unfiltered terror.

"No, no, no, no—"

His hands grip his head, his breaths turning erratic. His entire body shakes as reality comes crashing down.

"That’s not true. That can’t be true. I—I was just—"

His voice cuts off.

He looks at you again, searching, begging. Pleading.

But you don’t deny it.

And something inside him shatters.

He sinks to his knees, his fingers tangling in his hair as sobs wrack through his body.

"I didn’t want to die."

He gasps for air, but it’s not enough.

"I wasn’t ready."

You hold him, because it’s all you can do.

And he clings to you, to whatever is left of you both, because he knows—

You can’t hold a ghost forever.

---

Kokichi Muta (Mechamaru)

Just… a slow, pained inhale.

"I see."

His voice is quiet, too quiet. His eyes drift to the floor, his fingers twitching like he wants to touch something, anything.

"Then… it really happened."

His voice wavers on the last word. His shoulders slump.

"And I still couldn’t be by your side."

You reach for him, but—your hands almost pass right through.

He flinches.

His whole body locks up, his breath catching.

And that’s when he knows.

A broken, strangled sob escapes his throat.

He grips his arms like he’s trying to hold himself together. But it’s useless.

"I just wanted… a normal life with you," he whispers.

Tears spill down his cheeks. His hands shake.

"I never even got to hold you with my own body."

And that’s what breaks him.

---

Okkotsu Yuta

"That’s not funny."

Yuta’s voice is soft. Too soft. Like he’s holding something back. Like he’s begging you to take it back before he even processes what you said.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, your eyes filled with pity.

And Yuta’s stomach drops.

"No." His head shakes, frantic now. His hands lift like he’s trying to stop something from slipping through his fingers. "No, I—I was just with them. I was just—"

His breath hitches. His knees wobble.

He remembers.

The mission. The fight. The impact.

The way everything blurred.

He feels cold. So, so cold.

His chest tightens. His pulse races.

"I was supposed to come back."

It’s a whisper. A plea. A lie.

He clutches his chest, desperate for the familiar weight of his beating heart—but there’s nothing.

His body betrays him.

"Rika."

The name barely escapes his lips before he crumbles.

And for the first time since losing her, Okkotsu Yuta is truly alone.

Your heart breaks when he still calls for her.

---

Ryomen Sukuna

"Tch. What kind of pathetic joke is this?"

He sneers, arms crossed, crimson eyes narrowed. But there’s something off. His voice isn’t as sharp as usual. His grip on control isn’t as tight.

You don’t flinch. You don’t waver.

You just stare at him with so much sadness that it makes something twist in his chest.

"I’m serious," you whisper. "You’re not real. You died a long time ago."

His expression darkens. Fury floods his veins.

"You expect me to believe that? That I—" His teeth grit. His breath comes out ragged. His whole body tenses. "That I lost?"

The word feels foreign in his mouth.

Sukuna, the King of Curses.

Defeated.

Gone.

Forgotten.

No.

He refuses.

"Enough," he growls. His claws dig into his arms. "I won’t listen to this nonsense. You’re lying. You’re confused. I’m right here, standing in front of you, aren’t I?"

His voice wavers.

Because suddenly, something feels wrong.

The weight of his body. The air in his lungs.

It’s hollow.

Like he’s made of nothing.

And you—you won’t stop looking at him like that.

Like you know.

Like you’ve known.

Like you’ve been carrying this truth for far longer than he has.

A breath shudders past his lips.

The denial fractures.

"No…"

It’s small. So, so small.

"I am real."

He says it like a prayer. A curse. A plea.

But your silence kills him.

You move to hold him.

And for the first time in a thousand years—

Ryomen Sukuna has lost everything.

---

Shiu Kong

Shiu laughs.

Short. Dry. Empty.

"So that’s how it is, huh?"

He exhales slowly, rubbing his face. His hands are steady. His voice is calm.

But you see it.

The devastation in his eyes.

He looks away.

"Tch. I should’ve known."

A sigh. A shake of his head. A muttered "Figures."

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Composed. Aloof. Unbothered.

But then, you notice—

He won’t look at you.

Because if he does—if he sees your grief, your tears, your pain—

He will break.

And Shiu Kong never lets himself break.

Not in front of anyone.

Not even you.

Even as his hands tremble.

Even as he grips his arms too tightly.

Even as his chest aches with the weight of everything he will never get back.

Because it’s already too late.

And there’s nothing left to save.

---

Takuma Ino

He blinks once. Twice. Then he laughs—light, breathy, confused.

"Okay, haha. That’s a messed-up joke."

But when you don’t laugh with him, when you don’t say "I’m just messing with you," his stomach drops.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His body sways slightly, his fingers twitching at his sides. The reality of your words seeps into his bones like poison, and suddenly, the air feels too thick, too heavy.

"But… I still have so much to do," he whispers.

He turns, as if expecting to see his friends with their cameras at him, proof that he’s still alive.

But there’s nothing.

Just you.

Just your shaking hands, just your grief-stricken eyes.

And then it really, truly sinks in.

Ino is not the type to cry. He likes to act tough, likes to joke through his pain.

"I don’t want to be dead."

His voice cracks. He clenches his fists so hard his nails break skin, his shoulders trembling, his head shaking like he can deny it enough to make it untrue.

"I had plans, I—" he chokes. "I wasn’t done."

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, but it doesn’t stop the tears.

Nothing will.

And all he can think is: I never got the chance to live the life I wanted.

---

Yoshino Junpei

"Huh?"

Junpei blinks, confused. He tilts his head, his lips parting as if he misheard you.

Because he must have.

There’s no other explanation.

"What do you mean?" he asks, a nervous laugh slipping past his lips. It’s shaky. Unstable. But you don’t smile. You don’t joke. You just look at him with that same pitying stare.

And suddenly, he can’t breathe.

"No… no, that doesn’t—" He shakes his head, his hands curling into fists. "That doesn’t make sense. I—I killed them. I came home. I—"

The words die on his tongue.

Because the memories—they don’t fit.

They blur at the edges.

They break apart.

He remembers—

Mahito.

His mom.

The pain.

The cold.

The moment it all went black.

All his life he wanted to die but not after meeting you.

Leaving you alone like his mom.

"No…" His voice cracks. His fingers clutch at his hoodie, nails digging into his skin.

You take a step forward. He takes one back.

"You’re lying," he whispers, his breath shuddering.

You shake your head.

And that’s what destroys him.

The dam bursts. A choked sob tears from his throat as he crumples to his knees, his whole body shaking. His hands grasp at his hair, tugging—desperate to hold onto something real.

"I don’t want to go."

He sounds so small. So broken.

"I don’t want to be alone again."

Because that’s all he’s ever been.

And now, not even you can reach him.

---

Nanami Kento

He doesn’t let anything show at first.

He simply… stares in the distance.

Away from you, trying to get his thoughts together.

His brows furrow slightly, his head tilting just a fraction—like he’s processing your words, like they don’t make sense.

"What?"

He turns to you. His voice is steady. Calm. Too calm.

You repeat yourself. Slower this time.

"You’re dead."

And suddenly, the room feels too small.

His breath catches in his throat, his shoulders going rigid, his jaw tightening as he swallows. Once. Twice.

"No."

It’s soft, barely above a whisper.

"No, I promised you. I—"

His voice breaks.

His fists clench so hard his nails dig into his palms.

"I was supposed to come back to you."

His eyes burn, his chest aches. But he doesn’t cry. He refuses.

But then—he sees your face.

Sees the devastation. The grief.

And suddenly, he remembers.

The pain. The exhaustion. The moment everything went black.

And just like that, his entire world shatters.

"No."

It’s desperate now. He grabs you, pulls you against him, breathing you in like he can keep himself here just by holding on tightly enough.

"I can’t be dead. I can’t—I still—" his breath hitches, his arms tightening around you, shaking. "I still love you."

And then, finally, Nanami Kento breaks.

The first sob rips from his throat like it’s being torn out of him.

"I just wanted to grow old with you."

He presses his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body trembling. "I just wanted more time."

And the worst part?

You can’t comfort him.

Because he’s not real.

Because you’re all alone.

And because no matter how many times he whispers your name—

Nanami Kento is never coming home.

A/N: Oh, you thought that was bad? You thought there’d be even the tiniest bit of relief? LMAOOOO. You fool. You absolute clown. 🤡 This isn’t just pain. This is "why is my chest physically aching?" This is "I just stared at a wall for ten minutes." This is "I need to go yell at a cloud." I wrote this for Nanami at first, but then I was like, "Why should I cry alone?"

Comment below with your pick. Or just… cry in the comments. Bonus points if you can put in what unhinged silly stuff your manz did next in the comments because I personally think now Gojo will stress eat all the sweets and Nanami bread. That’s okay too. 😈💔

All Works Masterlist

Header by @sharmanswife. Here.

[pianokantzart]

How long after the original mario movie do you want the second movie to be set? Eg 5 years and heaps of things had changed, 1 year and nothing has changed at all??? What are your thoughts/hopes for the time difference?

My hope is that it's set three to six months after the first movie, and the main cast are in the thick of a transition period where a lot of things are changing at once.

Mario and Luigi's plumbing business is booming. They have their own house in The Mushroom Kingdom where they're trying to get used to a new lifestyle, a new social culture, and an entire new ecosystem, all while balancing having a job and a family in Brooklyn.

Meanwhile, Princess Peach is getting used to having actual friends she can share her burdens with rather than a large, vulnerable family she needs to protect all on her own. She's probably also doing a small amount of soul searching now that she has access to a world filled entirely with humans like herself.

Toad is pretty much the only one not reeling from some sort of major change– he's got cool new friends and slightly higher social status amongst his fellow toads, but otherwise it's life as normal, just with a bit more adventuring.

And right when everyone's finally getting their feet underneath them and establishing some sort of rhythm, that's when Bowser gets busted out of prison and everything goes haywire again.

[voidangxls]

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Heart Shaped Sweets ʚ♡ɞ

╰┈➤ a part of my valentines special!

pairings(s)- Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary- You and your best friend Rafe were both single for Valentines. You also had the very tasty hobby of baking.

category- fluff

warnings- suggestive content, non psycho rafe, soft rafe, one use of y/n, bestfriends with tension, kissing, not proofread

word count: 1317

masterlist; valentines special; outer banks masterlist

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

Ever since you could remember you’ve loved baking. If you had the chance to bake for any event or any pastime you would do so.

So when you didn’t have a Valentines and you found out neither did you best friend Rafe Cameron the both of you agreed to spend it together, as just friends. As soon as your plans with Rafe had been set in stone you started figuring out recipes to make for Valentine’s day.

The two of you agrees to spend the day together at the Camerons house, having a movie night and maybe some games like the two of you do a lot already.

The day of Valentines Rafe insisted he would pick you up so now that you were waiting on him to show up you were packaging your sweet treats into cute pink boxes. You then hear a horn come from the outside of your house so you let out an excited squeal, grabbed your purse, gathered the boxes of sweets into a large tote bag and walked out of the house.

Rafe was dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a black shirt while you were dressed in a a matching pajama set that had a pattern of hearts covering it.

When you walked out you looked Rafe up and down, he was dressed comfy and causal. You saw him in this element a lot, but that would never stop you from absolutely drooling on the inside.

“look at you, and what do you got there” Rafe calls out, leaning off of the car and walking over to you to give you a hug.

“a surprise” you mumble into his shoulder. When the two of you pull away you guys walk to the passenger side and he opens the door for you, but not before trying to peak into the bag. You pull an offended expression and smack the back of his head gently “no peaking!” you say

“ow woman! Fine, fine no peaking!” he exclaims, dramatically taking his hand to the back of his head and rubbing where you hit him. You wrong your eyes at his dramatics while he walks back over to the drivers side and gets in. “you look cute” Rage tells you, starting the car back up and pulling out of your driveway.

You look over at him with a bright smile “thank you!” you reply happily.

One your way to the Camerons, Rafe had stopped and gotten you guys some food to eat for dinner and then headed back to the house.

Time had passed and the two of you have already ate dinner and watched a movie, now the two of you were moving on to playing games. “so are you ever going to tell me what you brought?” Rafe groans, flopping his head down onto your lap.

You smile down at him and tap his face, signaling for him to get up. “come on” you tell him, your voice filled with excitement as you get up. Without the even noticing Rafe laced his hand with yours as the two of you walk towards the kitchen. You grab your tote bag and take out the boxes of sweets, setting them onto the counter in front of you guys.

“I made us dessert, but they’re all heart shaped because it’s Valentine’s day.” you tell him happy, looking up at him to find her was already looking at you.

He knew you loved baking and you had baked for him plenty of times before but for some reason this time felt different, even though it wasn’t all just for him. “Wanna explain the desserts to me, sweetheart?” he asks, giving you a smile

you nod and look back down at the sweets you made, unable to contain your smile. You point to the first box “these are strawberry cinnamon rolls” you point to the second box “these are brownies” and lastly you point to the third box “and these are churros, I know they’re your favorite.” you tell him, looking up at him with a proud smile, secretly hoping he would like it.

His hand reaches out and gently grasps the box “you remembered my favorite?” he asks softly, looking down at the box of sweets.

You furrow you eyebrows and tilt your head “course I did” you respond. “now come on, lets eat!” you say happily, going towards the cabinets and grabbing plates and cups. You give yourself and Rafe one of each snack on your plates as well as filling your respected cups with milk to wash down the sweetness. You also made Rafe rate each dessert out of ten.

“Rafe, you cant give everything a 10/10, gotta be honest” you complain, taking a bite of your brownie

“I am being honest sweetheart” he insist

“fine” you give up

Rafe then lifts his arm and feeds you a bite of his strawberry cinnamon roll you made. Your smile gets bigger when you notice the action and you lean forward so he could feed it to you easier.

“you know.. you’re the best person in my life, y/n”

You look over at him in surprise. You knew that Rafe didn’t have many people in his corner, he had you, Barry, and sometimes Wheezie but hearing those words come out of his mouth caused a spark to circuit through your heart. It made your heart race and your temperature rise. “really?” you ask quietly, looking over at him with a smile and hopeful eyes.

The boy lets out a scoff of a laugh as he looks at you “of course. You’re the best thing thats ever happened to me, don’t know what I’d do without you, probably go insane” he admits to you

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way. And I am absolutely certain I would go insane without you” you admittedly respond.

The two of you stare at one another for a moment. There were beautiful happy smiles on each of your faces and the room was silent, there was a sparkle in your eyes that was only seen when you would talk to each other, a sparkling that everyone but you guys saw.

The silence amongst the two of you is cut off when you suddenly feel lips on yours. Rafe had kissed you.

When you don’t respond immediately Rafe pulls back, his expression guarded and hurt “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that” he tells you but you couldn’t process a word of what he said

“why did you do it?” you ask in a whisper, emphasizing the ‘did’ as you look up at him with soft twinkling eyes.

“I just- I love you, like I’m in love with you but its fine if you don’ts feel the same I get it and I know I shouldn’t have kissed-

Rafe rambles but is cut off when you lean forward and attach your lips with his. He stills for a split second but quickly catches himself, he kisses you back intensely. He kisses you like he would never get the chance again, his lips weren’t necessarily soft but they weren’t chapped and he tasted like sugar and cinnamon.

When you kissed him Rafe thought he was going to have a heart attack, your lips were soft and sweet. Your kisses were passionate and loving, you held the side of his face like you cared because you did which is something he wasn’t use to. Now that he had your lips on his he knew he could never go back.

The two of you pull away and lean your foreheads together, his hands on your waist and yours on his face. The both of you looking at each other with raw emotion of love “Im in love with you too, yknow” you whisper and he couldn’t help but bring you into another breathless kiss.

a/n: idk how I feel about this but i’m still sick

[userseventeen]

✨ WELCOME TO the 2025 caratblr revival!

let’s bring some life back to caratblr! this year's carat revival is a six week event— with prompts for each week— where we'll be celebrating seventeen in all their chaotic glory. all creators are welcome to participate in this event: gifmakers, gfx artists, writers, and anyone with a creative streak <3

ℹ️ INFORMATION

this event begins saturday, february 8th at 12:00 AM EST, with prompt one. the posting period for each subsequent prompt will fall exactly one week later, on the next saturday.

you are free to interpret the theme for each week as you please! you can also create as many posts per each prompt as you would like.

all posts must be entirely sfw.

caption your post or posts with '2025 carat revival: (prompt)' and tag them with #caratrevival2025 so we can keep track of your creations!

reblog this post so the word can reach other carats <3

you do not have to post a prompt for every week. you can also go back and complete other weeks if you get a late start!

if you have any questions, you can send an ask either to this blog or to @96z !

🪄 PROMPTS

week one: bias week (feb 8-14) this week is all about your biases. you can highlight their best moments, dive into what makes them special, or just express how much you love them.

week two: dynamics week (feb 15-21) seventeen is built on their relationships with each other, so here is your time to showcase their dynamics! this can be anything from duos and trios to the group's overall relationship.

week three: seventeen as… week (feb 22-28) this week is all about concepts. interpret "seventeen as…" however you like. this can be as movie tropes, music genres, memes, colors or aesthetics, tv shows, bands... literally anything.

week four: evolution/growth week (mar 1-7) this week is to appreciate how far seventeen has come, whether as a group or individually. you showcase a member’s growth over the years, compare early seventeen to present seventeen, however you prefer to showcase their growth.

week five: carat culture week (mar 8-14) this week, it’s all about us carats and the unique fandom culture we’ve built. celebrate this week by highlighting the little things that make being a carat so enjoyable; this can be by compiling some of the inside jokes/memes, or iconic moments... whatever speaks to you!

week six: seventeen hours of seventeen (mar 15-22) to wrap things up, let’s take a trip down memory lane. you can: make something inspired by the exact moment you became a carat, show your favorite moments, reflect on why seventeen has had an impact on you, etc.

i hope to see you all on the dash soon! happy posting 💎

[rainbowsky]

Anonymous asked: Hi I'm not sure if this is the right place to ask. I guess that you are from Canada or usa based on ur posts. I am planning to go see LOCH in canada. I'm neither chinese nor east asían. I'm Lil nervous since this would my first time a chinese movie in theatre. Like is it OK? Will people look at like I'm out of place or something? Im not sure about the usual crowds . Please ignore if it's not a suitable place to ask this question.

I am in Canada. Definitely not the US. 😑

I understand that for some people it can be scary to go to neighbourhoods and businesses that are outside our normal daily routine and that are primarily populated by people from different cultures and backgrounds. If you feel any of that, that is a sure sign you need to get out there and explore those areas and broaden your cultural horizons.

I can't speak for other countries or what their norms might be, but here in Canada it's something everyone should try to explore. You will meet new people and have new experiences, and in the end you will find that we all have much more in common than any differences we might have.

In my experience, as long as you are being polite, respectful and non-obnoxious, people will welcome you and be grateful for your business and appreciate your interest in their culture. Depending on the demographic makeup of the area you are going to and how often they see people like you, you might get a few curious looks at most. In the vast majority of cases you're just going to be one of the crowd, and no one will make any special notice of you at all. Especially in any major city in Canada, where there is such a mixture of people from all backgrounds.

When you are in an unfamiliar area don't be afraid to strike up conversations or ask questions, but make sure you are doing so respectfully and that your questions aren't based from an assumption. For example, "Where are you from?" can be offensive because it implies the person is a foreigner when they might be a 3rd generation Canadian. It is also more personal than is appropriate for a stranger to ask.

Better questions are more open-ended, and are rooted in your own ignorance rather than in their perceived 'difference'. For example, "I haven't seen anything like this before - may I ask what it is used for?"

Always, always be respectful and remember that you are a guest in their [business, neighbourhood, etc.].

When it comes to seeing a movie from GG and DD, most of the people in the theatres are likely to be fans of theirs, and they will be very excited to see you there. They want GG and DD to be supported by as many people as possible. It can be especially exciting to see GG and DD's broad appeal across cultures and geography.

When I went to see Born to Fly, some Chinese XFX actually came up to me after the movie and asked me how I knew about Yibo and if I enjoyed the film. Of course I dare not tell them I was a turtle, but they were very sweet and friendly, and very happy to fill me in on everything about the movie and about DD (which I already knew but politely smiled and nodded at 😅).

In the extremely unlikely event that someone is awful to you, it is critical that you understand it is because they are an asshole, not because they are from a particular cultural background. There are assholes everywhere, in every shape, size and ethnicity. One Chinese person's behavior is in no way indicative of any other Chinese person's beliefs, attitudes or behavior.

I hope you enjoy the movie, and encourage you to find other excuses to explore your city and find new neighbourhoods and cultures to appreciate.

[emotionallychargedtowel]

Hey, Rose. I think we're in agreement here, or at least mostly so. I'm thinking about this a bit differently, but I think the difference might be mostly semantic.

I would say that sex was the problem—in a way. But it was only the problem insofar as it was a specific way of expressing and deepening intimacy that Nakarai and Hagiwara both felt a need for and weren't able to experience in their respective relationships. And although they both complained, and talked as though their frustrations were normal and reasonable, a part of each of them thought that they might be weird or disgusting for wanting sex, or wanting it enough for it to be a big issue for them. It may have been more personalized, too. They may have thought it was weird or disgusting or unreasonable for them to want or expect sex, that there was something wrong with them or lacking in them that made this the case. So when they came together in this intimate way, they wanted sex, but what they really needed was to be seen by another person in an authentic way and still be accepted.

That said, I think it was still crucial for it to happen in a sexual setting, because that's where all of that shame had built up. The reason the emotional intimacy they experienced was so impactful was because they were able to be themselves, including being sexually expressive, while being accepted. Not just accepted—embraced, in the metaphorical sense as well as the literal sense.

I think the sex scene was handled pretty much perfectly. I don't think a scene that prioritized being arousing would have served this story well at this point. Among other things, this version of the scene felt really realistic to me.

Not that more titillating sex scenes necessarily aren't realistic. I think the feeling that a scene like that gets across is really reminiscent of a feeling one can experience in a real sexual context, not because life is like a perfectly lit and edited piece of media but because when the circumstances are right, sex can (temporarily) make you feel like everything is as perfect as it looks in a TV show, or it can sweep you along so that time feels like it's passing as quickly as it does in a montage, or it can make you feel things so strongly that there might as well be dramatic music playing all around you.

But it isn't always like that. Sometimes time feels like it's moving more slowly instead of faster, sometimes the timing of everything feels a little off, sometimes you're so painfully self-aware that it's like the soundtrack of the movie of your life got abruptly silenced. The one time in my life when I cheated on someone, the experience was a lot more like the latter, a lot more like what happened with Nakarai and Hagiwara, than it was like the usual kind of sex scene. And not because it was some kind of terrible event. I was falling in love, or thought I was. I was conflicted, and guilt-ridden, but I was elated at the same time. But that didn't stop everything from feeling strange.

There's nothing wrong with the kind of sex scene we're used to as QL viewers. But I think in this specific instance, that kind of scene wouldn't have made sense and would have taken the viewer further away from the things the makers of the show wanted to foreground. The intense vulnerability of the scene accomplished a few different things. It showed us a realistic path for Nakarai and Hagiwara from mysterious email correspondents and coworkers to lovers, because the emotional intimacy in that scene was so strong and so central that one can imagine how it would mark a huge shift in their feelings. It helped the viewer maintain some sense of affiliation and sympathy with the leads even as they engaged in infidelity, something most people have a visceral negative reaction to. And it brought the story back to its center, back to the themes that have been the most vital part of the narrative from the beginning.

I hope this makes sense, because I'm writing it when I'm very sleepy. If not, I'll try clarifying in the morning!

I love that, for two guys who were apparently desperate to get laid, in the end, them sleeping together was about anything but that. It's almost as if sex was never really the problem.

[marzzthehuman]

Okay so for my ii gijinkas i have a really smart thought and texi said i should tell the world because i am just that smart (/silly)

Oh also ii17-18 spoilers

So. in ii17 when everyone died and COULD NOT be revived (this is important) i think that they would have all ‘reset.’ 

Keep in mind that normal revival would not do this. As the contestants progress through the show, they change their appearance. (like clothes, hair, etc.) and since mephone is going through the show with them and seeing them as they compete he knows what their styles are and how they present themselves, so when he revives them they come back the way that they were right when they died. (with some altercations, for example if someone was injured when they are revived they wouldn't be injured) 

But, in ii17-18 when mephone could NOT revive them, mephonex/cobs did something (like some kind of hacking) so that mephone could not revive them, basically causing a ‘factory reset’ for all the contestants. This means that however they looked before they died, they did not save. Meaning that they look exactly like mephone wanted them to. Their default. (aka what they looked like at the start of the show/when they joined)

What I mean is that they would look like what mephone imagined them to be (as we see in the scene where he is drawing the contestants.) their hair, clothes, makeup, whatever would be what mephone came up with when he came up with the show. 

Obviously, it wasn't a total factory reset, because as we see all the contestants still retain character development and also the big thing, still exists. 

Let me use my taco gijinka as an example. 

At the start of the show, we see her with long sleeves (displaying she is armless) and messy hair. When she reveals her arms, she pulls her hands out from her sleeves to display that yes, she actually has arms. (long sleeves playing on the retractable arm thing). 

In season 2, we see her appear more ‘villain’ like, and more businesslike and professional. We see her wearing nicer, more businesslike clothes. Her hair is very neat, and we see her roots have grown out. She also has heavy eyeshadow (showing she is a badass villain). When she gets the bowtie, it stays on her person until we see her die in ii17/her in mephone with everyone else in ii18. 

In ii18/movie her design has changed from her s2. It is similar to her s1, but there are differences. Instead of a long sleeve shirt under her tacocat shirt, we see a tank top. Her hair is neater than we see it in s1, but still a bit messy. 

You may be asking, “but Marzz, that's not what her s1 design looks like, and you said that everyone went back to their default!” Well that's just it! Since taco put on a front at the start of the show, she changed her appearance so she would fit the character she was playing. The reason her s1 outfit stayed was because that's how mephone saw her, his most recent memory of her was her wearing that outfit. That's why it was saved. 

What mephonex/cobs did was basically a memory wipe or, as i said, factory reset. Everyone was reverted back to their true defaults. So, if, for example, salt and pepper were wearing late 2000s/early 2010s fashion at the start of the show (because that is when the show started), their fashion may have changed a bit as time went on, but when they are reset in ii18, they go back to their s1 hair and outfits. Contestants who changed their appearance to be more complicated (more accessories, more intricate hairstyles) would be reverted back to their more simple outfits from when they joined the show. 

Okay i hope that made sense lol. Just wanted to get my thoughts out there haha

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 58

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Scar's pov*

You don't even have to wait that long for Altostratus and Ocean Queen to arrive, It's a bit impressive to be honest... You hope they didn't violate the speed limit to get here or something, you really don't want anyone to get in trouble for you if you can avoid it.

The black windowed car stops in front of the building, It's definitely property of the association...not fair, you weren't given a car... You don't know how to drive one but still, unfair.

The front door opens, It's Altostratus at the wheel with Ocean Queen sitting next to him, she waves at you. He lowers his sunglasses (Who even wears sunglasses during a storm???) and looks at you.

"Get in losers we're going shopping"

... Eh?

"But we are going to see Cuteguy"

"I know, jeeze, just wanted to say the quote"

"Oh!"

Yeah that makes sense! You would do the same for Star Wars quotes. You nod and make your way onto the backseat, Cub follows quietly behind you.

You expected the car ride to be silent but almost immediatly Ocean Queen turns towards you and Cub to ask about Cuteguy.

"Oh Sheriff is so mean, he won't tell me anything about the guy! Can you believe it?"

"I mean, I doubt he's allowed to" Responds Cub while sipping on sone kind of juice...where did he even get that!?

"Well, as his sister I feel like I'm owed at least the bare minimum! So! Hotguy, Cub, what is Cuteguy like?" She fully turns her head around, you can hear Altostratus protest at the sudden movement.

"Well, I've met the guy few times, seems like a nice guy and all even if sarcastic. Can't tell you much more then that though, Hotguy is the exper here."

Two sets of eyes turn to you, you didn't expect this to become an interview. "Cuteguy... he's great actually! He...well, I'm not going to say too much without him agreeing to it but he's really kind. And brave, he put himself in front of a bullet for me."

The conversation continues from them and when you tell them all you think you can tell them the conversation somehow turns to movies and from there to cartoons to you ranting about the decline in quality of Disney films.

Cub ends up shutting down 5 minutes in and Altostratus almost slams his head into the steering wheel at one point, Ocean Queen seems pretty interested though... It's at this point you remember the one question you had.

"So...uh, are the two working are working a case together? Oh! Is it a big super secret thing?"

Cub focused back. "If it was a 'super secret thing' I doubt the would be telling you".

Ocean Queen turns to Altostratus. "Should we tell him?"

In response he straightens up in his seat."What? Why?"

You are... Very confused... and suspicious. Especially suspicious. Are they hiding something from you? Why?

Ocean Queen just pouts in response. "He's our coworker, he should at least get know that much... Plus he did tell us about Cuteguy, It's the least we could do."

"... I ...I guess??? Just-" he sighs. "It's not something you can take back."

She turns her body so that's she's now somewhat looking at you again...

"So uh...me and J- Altostratus are actually married. So uh ... Surprise?"

Wait, is she serious? That's awesome! Really, you don't get why they didn't say so earlier.

"Congratulations-"

You are interrupted by the car coming to a stop.

Altostratus shuts off the car and steps out. "We're here lads, try not to let too much rain into my car when you get out, It's just been cleaned. If you do I will know and I won't be happy about it."

[holyblanchett]

Marvel was all over feminism and girl power when it made money and good press in the 2010. But now that we evolved from muse cheering about just having a woman on screen at all to wanting them to be treated with the same care and respect as the male counter parts, it’s getting really awkward.

Because they’re risking to offend their safest target audience (cis straight men) by making Agatha a lesbian and introducing Death as WLW.

Right now, we have Marvel driving the safe route (guys look Wiccan and Visionquest yay!) and Schaefer trying to appease the uproar from the way smaller, sapphic community (they were like soooo married guys they have a child together too :D) that she attracted with the story she wrote (and is somehow surprised by but that’s another story lol).

They’re just milking both sides separately to not risk losing the approval/view/indefinitely the money of either.

Whether Agathario being married was actually on the story board or not doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. In canon, that is not clear and that’s why it’s so frustrating, and, sorry guys I’m gonna say it, lackluster representation. Same with Rio being the father, the cottage life backstory bla bla.

If I told my friends’ bf who has watched AAA too that ACTUALLY Rio is Nicky’s father and they were married and lived in a cottage together he’d be like LOL no they weren’t they didn’t show any of that. Deniable representation is not the revolutionary wonderful story they’re trying to convince us they DEFINITELY wrote. It’s also very backwards in this time tbh.

Slightly off topic but still in the same jargon, but in my humble opinion the funniest thing Plaza could do now is when she will eventually get presented a Deadpool movie script (and I am quite sure they are at least brainstorming the idea over at Marvel HQ) where she makes an appearance as Lady Death (whether that be romantic or not or even just a cameo) to be like Fuck No I don’t wanna do that shit I’m out. It’d be hilarious.

- 🐇

OH YOU WENT THERE!! SPITTING STRAIGHT FACTS.

This is honestly the best take I've read in a long time. I agree 1000% it is very backwards. I feel like if it wasn't Kathryn hahn and Aubrey Plaza portraying Agatha/Death there would be alot more outrage from the Sapphics about the lackluster representation.

Im hoping if they do introduce death in the larger mcu space that it isn't Aubrey... Marvel is currently in their multiverse era so it shouldn't be that hard.

[grishamanimationstudios102]

My thoughts on the 2025 Smurfs movie trailer

After watching the 2025 Smurfs movie trailer, I’m feeling a mix of emotions—some excitement, but mostly disappointment. On the positive side, the animation itself looks decent. It has a vibrant, polished look that stays true to the Smurfs' classic design while taking advantage of modern technology. The blend of 2D-inspired textures with 3D animation is well done, and I appreciate that the characters still resemble Peyo’s original designs rather than the overly glossy look from the Smurfs live-action hybrids.

That said, the creative choices in this film already seem questionable. Bringing the Smurfs back to the human world again feels like a step backward. One of the biggest strengths of The Lost Village was that it kept the Smurfs in their medieval fantasy setting, allowing for a story that felt more in tune with the comics and original cartoon. But now, once again, the Smurfs are being dragged into modern society—probably for easy pop culture jokes and to cater to mainstream audiences who apparently can’t enjoy a fantasy film without a real-world connection. It just feels uninspired.

And then there’s the attempt to make the film overly trendy. The part with DJ Papa Smurf is downright cringeworthy. Who thought it was a good idea to turn the wise, fatherly leader of the Smurfs into some kind of hip-hop DJ? It just screams “trying too hard.” This is exactly the kind of thing that ruined other beloved franchises—shoehorning in modern slang, flashy neon aesthetics, and dance sequences that feel more like they belong in Trolls than in The Smurfs. It’s like they’re copying DreamWorks’ formula rather than embracing what makes the Smurfs unique.

And speaking of forced modern elements—Rihanna. Look, I respect Rihanna as a musician, and I’m sure she’ll do fine as Smurfette, but her presence already makes it feel like the studio is prioritizing star power over authenticity. And hearing her sing a pop cover of Heaven Is a Place on Earth in the trailer? That just doesn’t fit the Smurfs at all. In the Hanna-Barbera series, the Smurfs danced to classical music, folk tunes, or cheerful, whimsical melodies. Not radio pop hits. It makes me worried that the soundtrack is going to be full of chart-topping songs instead of anything that actually matches the Smurfs' traditional charm.

The introduction of Influencer Smurf is another point of contention. Many fans of The Lost Village have expressed their displeasure with this addition, and I have to agree with them. It feels like a contrived attempt at modernizing the timeless and classic Smurfs. Also, whoever heard of the internet in the Middle Ages? It didn't even exist yet. The Smurfs are supposed to be timeless, not the 2020s.

Furthermore, the Smurfs' unique language, where they replace various words with "smurf," has always been a charming aspect of their identity. However, in the 2025 trailer, this quirk seems overdone, especially when used to censor curse words. In the Hanna-Barbera series, this language was used sparingly, adding to its charm. But hearing "smurf" in nearly every sentence becomes tiring and feels like a forced attempt at humor.

According to fans of The Lost Village, the 2025 movie is nothing more than nostalgia bait. It seems the studio is banking on the Smurfs' legacy to draw audiences, without offering anything genuinely new or respectful to the original material.

I was hoping for a new Smurfs movie that embraced the heart of Peyo’s creation, not one that feels like it was designed by a marketing team trying to make the Smurfs “hip” again. Based on what I’ve seen in the trailer, I don’t think I’ll be watching this movie anytime soon.

And no offense to those who are hyped. I’m not bashing anyone who likes Smurfs 2025; it’s just my personal opinion. If others are excited for it, that’s totally fine! It’s just not what I was hoping for.

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 2/07: Fanfiction!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the somewhat regular series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin, there might be a few things I need to bring up first, so here goes: one, I made the recent decision to open recs up to the public, so this week there will be community picks as well as those stories I usually pick on my own time.

Second, with all of the Star Wars-related announcements coming out...what update(s) are you most excited for? Drop a blurb or two about it in the comment box, and maybe I'll be able to post/reply as well when I'm not busy at work.

And now, before I get too distracted...here are all of our picks of the week!

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @littlemissmanga:

The Clone Wars Fanfiction, recommended by @a-canadian-wolf:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @cc-cobalt-1043:

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @tech-o-mania:

STAR WARS REBELS

Star Wars Rebels Fanfiction--By @where-dreamers-go:

ANDOR

Andor Fanfiction, recommended by @laneboyheathens:

Andor Fanfiction--By @badlandspaces:

CROSSING THE FANDOM STREAMS

Star Wars/G.O.T.G. Fanfiction--By @mysticaltora8276:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and highlight those writers who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

If anybody likes what they see here AND would enjoy seeing more posts like this; please drop the rock star emoji (👩‍🎤) into the comments or reblogs, and I’ll be sure to tag you when the next update comes.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you to my friends, thank you to this fandom, and above all else, please stay safe out there.

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @the-osborn-way @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenathegreengirl @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve @snoowply @apocalyp-tech-a and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanfiction.