#white coat summit

[simonisferal]

BED CHEM! (1)

chapter one: the over-dick-around thing

“i swear another bug just went under my sock.” hu tao grumbles as she bends over and reaches to her legs, pulling up her thin white socks. they were already dirty due to the mud and leaves that had stuck themselves to her while walking on the plain’s trail.

xiangling, although having the same problem, laughs. ”sucks to suck.” she retorts right before tripping on a twig, stumbling and almost knocking the random flowers xiao was picking out with his hands. both you and hu tao clasp your hands over your mouths to stop your guaranteed laughter.

he stops abruptly and frowned, looking back. ”hey, quit it before i start beating you three with a stick.”

your jaw drops. with outreached arms, you yell, ”what did i do?!”

xiao, with a small smile on his face, looks back at his flowers. “you’re an idiot.” he tied them with a small blade of grass and places them in his coat pocket. “you’re also not following the dress code. it’s casual, not the Met Gala.”

both hu tao and xiangling looked at you. you were dressed for an interview—which you had later—rather than a hangout. “i’m not gonna have time to go home and change, dude.”

”not my problem. you’re still an idiot.” he shrugs. he and the other two girls continue trenching through the vines and forest’s path, ignoring your face of disbelief.

you growl and mutter underneath your breath, slowly following them. “end yourself.”

- ☆

the plains were a beautiful color of blue and white; the glaze lilies still had dew from the early morning and shone through the tall blades of orange. the mountains were rigid and the invisible snow above the summit made the noonish atmosphere angelic. the wooden bridge that led you to the plains was a bit… terrifying to say the least.

“‘tao..!” your hands were latched to the bridge’s roped rail and your knees buckled underneath you. “i swear on everything i love, if you don’t stop rocking this bitch back and forth, i will throw you off the bridge like in Squid Game!” xiangling and xiao, alongside zhongli who was waiting for a while, were already on the other side of the bridge.

hu tao had her hands on the railing, rocking the bridge’s deck with her feet in an unsteady momentum. the brown haired girl had a mischievous grin on her face as she taunted. “come and get me then!” she chimed and you groaned.

finally, someone sighed. “stop it, hu tao.”

xiao—your lord and savior!

like a switch being flipped, hu tao stopped her psychological assault on you with her frown present like a sad dog’s ears pressed down. her hands undid themselves on the rope and she pouted, “aw man.” she turned to walk away and you let out a sigh of relief.

‘thank god…’

you took slow steps on the bridge. you made sure to maintain eye contact with the girl, observing her and making sure she wouldn’t suddenly go back on the bridge and start toying with you again. she would’ve if zhongli didn’t have a killer grip on her shoulder; sometimes you forget he’s almost twice your age and somehow retired. weird.

xiangling patted your back when you took a step on the grass rather than the wooden deck. “yo, you didn’t die! glassmaker who?” she joked. you would’ve laughed if your heart wasn’t beating so fast.

zhongli let go of hu tao, a simple smile on his face, before turning around and beginning to walk away—probably to the location of the picnic. hu tao eyed him, still, before following him with a skip every now and then. xiangling soon left after and xiao and you treaded on their heels, silent.

“so,” xiao starts. he was fiddling with his hands in his left pant pocket, a habit he has when he’s thinking of something personal. “are you serious about that job?” he sounded authoritative but in reality, he was probably just concerned.

you hum. “yeah!” continuing to walk by him, away from the others (even though they’re like… three meters away from you) and just surrounded by nature, it felt nice. “i need something in my schedule; it’s sad waking up and just seeing nothing on the paper but birthdays.”

“you could just freeload off of me, you know.” he emphasized the ‘could’, like if you could reject him for decades and he’d still let you with a simple ‘please’. both of his hands sink further into his pockets. xiao had a frown plastered on his lips, a thin line that tilted down. “i can…” he shrugs, looking away and a faint color on his ears, “support the both of us.”

you look at him.

huh?

“i’m trying to pay you back too, you know.” you frown.

you definitely didn’t say what he’d think you would—xiao didn’t even think you’d respond. maybe you said the wrong thing because he deflated a bit.

”…great. thanks.”

- ☆

it was already 4:05p.m. when zhongli called it a day, wanting to relax at home with his bearded dragon; xiangling needed xiao to drive her back to work and hu tao… had ‘hu-tao’ things to do.

you five skipped the bridge going back and away from the plains, concerned that a silly prankster would spark up a new (or reoccurring) trick and make someone late. the path was clear but rocky and someone tripped on a pebble every now and then.

you and xaingling played soccer with a blob-looking rock before something dawned on you.

”hey,” you called out to xiao who was on his phone. “what time is it?”

he looks back at you, then his phone, then back at you. “4:07.”

ah shit. you pause in your tracks, your feet ignoring the pass xaingling gave you with the makeshift soccer-rock. you did the math in your head; ‘the bus comes at 4:10, which means you’d have to be at the stop in less than three minutes—you can make it in 136 seconds if you run…’

”it’s 4:08 now.”

yeah, you’re cooked.

- 𓆟

childe, for a moment, almost wanted to go to work. he had a weird sense of exhilaration thinking about it. maybe keqing finally refilled the cereal bar!

he paused, in the middle of the shreet, his finger on his chin as he continued to think. maybe shenhe had put a curse on him. seems more likely.

actually—now that tartaglia thinks about it, ganyu told him that a new model was coming soon.

huh. weird.

he feels… funny.

You're broke. Like really broke. So what better way to earn money at the only place that accepted you in all of Liyue? The interview can't be that bad, even if you bump into some guy on your way there. A modelling agency shouldn't be too hard with your looks. The pay's good and the other staff are lovely (and attractive)--only one teensy, tiny, little problem. So is your manager, Tartaglia.

taglist: @trulyylee, @wateredfay, @sl-vega, @035814, @certaindreampost, @pwushizz, @wraithisd3adinside, @lulumallow, @keikole, @boxdisappeared, @thegalaxyisunfolding, @bunnychiffon

i was trying to make y/n lowkey…. extra! i think i did it idk

the bridge scene is like the one in shrek 😣 hu tao and y/n play around like children but they’re always cool with each other at the end

the hangout wasn’t that important…. so i skipped over it. uhm.

childe lore coming soon 😍

masterlist / prev / next

[saintgoths]

☾༺♰༻☽ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ☾༺♰༻☽

mdni very 18+ - he makes you dumb with his tongue.

daddy calling + over-stimulation.

simon 'ghost' riley.

Sometimes you’d think that Ghost would be doing it for himself with the way his lips lock around your pearl, he takes in the sweet extract that coated your heat, addictive, is what the both of you would think, you would repeatedly hump his face while his tongue lays flat and strokes your cunt while he feeds himself the ambrosia that would build up.

“D-daddy!” You cried out as you could feel his tongue push inside of you, frequently, you’d forget that he loved to fuck you with his tongue, aggressive and greedy he’d push his muscle up your cunt while you struggled to keep composure.

He’d have his arms locked around your body, trapping you from pulling away from him no matter how over-stimulated you were, you’d still find Ghost licking your cunt, his cold brown eyes staring up at you, dark with fervor as he’d watch you crack and cry disgracefully, face coated with tears as you’d rock your pussy against his face.

His moans vibrating through you commencing flicks of flinches as you could feel another round of climax push through you, but that’d never stop him, but cause him to pull you closer. He’d be so mean with the way he wouldn’t let you go, travelling his tongue back to your clit and petting it with a few roughness ere he returned to take care and clean the rest of your mess.

“That’s it baby doll,” he whispered, “continue cumming on my tongue,” he growled and as you were thrown into a fit with his few words, you had arched your back, eyes white as you could feel his tongue wither back into your cunt, massaging the area of your walls as you wept another climax.

“One more time for me baby doll,” he pleaded, eyes now drunk with appetite---as he whirled the tip of his tongue around your clit, proud of the clutter he had been able to push you in, you were a crying mess and he understood that the neighbours would sign another complaint with the debris of noise that originated from your home.

Your hands gripped into his hair, you had tried to keep yourself in balance, your lips trembling as you could barely remember where you had been not to mention, your own name.

As you had thrusted your hips against his face he had moaned, hard he could feel his cock gently peak with orgasm by the action of his face between his legs and as kickback, he had growled, how pathetic you were, holding onto his hair for dear life as he had eaten you, your sweet nectar layering against his face as he reached one hand into his boxers, gently stroking his thumb against the tip of his dick.

“Daddy,” you whimpered as you could feel another round of orgasm climb to its peak and as your juices had summit into his mouth, you had eventually dropped your arms to your side, a crying mess of over-stimulation. Your body flinching as he left one more peck between your legs fore he stood on his knees.

“Y’did so well baby doll,” he complimented just as he pulled you into his arms leaving a trail of kisses against your neck, calming you down.

POSITION REFERENCE ONE.

POSITION REFERENCE TWO.

why not give two position reference treats today? lol bye :)

when i reach 300 followers there'd be a special post containing more men.

♆

[lilac-5ky]

The Party (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Plot: You decide to surprise your boyfriend on his birthday

Tags: Birthday fluff, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Shibuya incident?What Shibuya incident? (year is 2018), Established Relationship, Gojo Senpai, Satoru being the adorable menace everyone loves, SO. MANY. CHARACTERS. MAKING. APPEARANCES, feels like an actual jjk ep at this point, (fic deteriorates a bit over the latter part as my mental health does, writing until 6 am is exhausting, i know im late but spare me)

Word Count: Slightly under 9k.

A/N: Happy late Birthday, my love 💙💙💙

Masterlist | Requests | AO3

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost there—watch your step!” You warn, only to lose your footing a second later as you smash head first into your boyfriend’s back.

There is no way Satoru doesn’t know where the two of you are headed. Even with his technique supposedly turned off and your shaky hands concealing his curious eyes, all the things that make Jujutsu Tech into the place that raised generations of sorcerers (yours, included) continue to exist, bearing witness to his intentionally dumb guesses.

“Is it the beach? Are you taking me to see the ocean?” Satoru excites. “Aw, baby! You should have told me so; I would have brought my swimming trunks with! Although, I hafta say swimming in December is probably a bad idea, my nipples will freeze and fall right off. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

A sigh evades your lips, expelled as a little white cloud of frustration. On second thought, his mouth was what needed to be covered. Preferably stitched.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we aren’t going to the beach”—aw, shoot—“and your nipples get to live another day.” Your teeth chatter. Tiptoeing behind him with upstretched arms is already hard on its own. Doing so in the cold is purely exhausting.

You lose count of how many torii gates you cross, the joint click of your shoes switching to an uncoordinated thump as you go from traversing cobblestone paths to climbing an endless uphill of stairs, your stroll, again, feeling like part of a survival show. Curse Master Tengen. They might have only been responsible for the barriers, though in your scare, that doesn’t stop you from holding them accountable.

We are going to die.

Or more like you are going to die, considering Satoru’s already secured himself a life net in the form of your poor broken-to-be bones, and that’s the best case scenario you can hope for, the worst being having to repeat your ascension from the bottom step up.

“Then, are we visiting Himeji Castle?” Satoru continues, the frigid temperature not enough to crack his spirit. “Because I know the single best place for Tama Tsubaki. So fragrant, so elegant, so deliciously sweet! You haven’t been to Himeji before, have you? It’s also known for its excellent leather craftsmanship. Last time I went there, they had these insanely pretty wallets with—”

“N-no!” You yelp, voice as strained as if you’re walking on a tightrope. Shivering, “Wouldn’t you have noticed if I took you on a 4-hour road trip?”

“But time always moves so fast when I’m with you.” He coos in response, his tone serious when he asks, “Wanna take a break? Promise to keep my eyes closed till we reach the top. And after that too, if you want.”

Silky lashes map out the inside of your palms as they flutter against them, sweet little butterfly kisses that convince you to withdraw your hands. After all, you’d hate for his birthday to be stained with blood.

Not yours, at least.

“If you dare open them, I’ll kill you.”

“How scary!” Satoru captures your frozen hand and slips it in his coat’s pocket with far too great precision for someone with impaired vision. You don’t complain. Not even when he makes you bump into every single step on your way up, giggling to himself, until, as promised, you reach the summit and he lets go for you to assume your previous positions.

“I don’t”—pant—“miss”—pant—“walking this w-walk.” You muster in between labored breaths, palms on your knees as you crouch forward like an elderly lady with chronic back pain. “Wh-what are you smiling for?”

“Nooooooothing!” Satoru chirps, soft dimples carving hard into his milky complexion. “Just takes me back to the time when you still called me Gojo Senpai is all.”

Your youth comes playing in your head like an old cassette forced to rewind, bittersweet recollections sending you on a sudden trip down memory lane.

You met Satoru at the peak of spring and fell in love with him over the course of fall—a swirl of autumn leaves coloring the currently naked maple trees red. Muddy soles and uniforms soggy from the rain. Chasing after an umbrella you agreed to share and hopscotching across shallow puddles. Laughing louder than the pending storm.

But before that, bickering. So much bickering that continuously tested the patience of those around you, arguments over video games escorting you to morning assembly, and plans to catch new movie releases sealing your goodbyes.

The bitterness of Shoko’s cigarettes and the promise to never smoke again. Arcades and electronics in Akihabara. Karaoke and conveyor belt sushi in Shibuya. Getting a stranger to buy you your first beer and puking your guts outside a convenience store in Shinjuku. The promise to never drink again.

Moon-viewing festival. The unforgettable sight of him in a yukata, your heart multiplying itself into your eyes. Stolen glances and not-so-accidental nudges. Your first kiss tasting of melon soda, your second burning faster than the wick of his sparkler. Another kind of promise.

The giddiness of first love filters the film pink. Five-minute dates behind the old gym in flash forward. Late-night expeditions to each other’s dorms. Your loss of innocence overshadowed by the sudden loss of Haibara. Tears that threaten to spill out of the sequence. Suguru’s betrayal. The strength to move forward.

You’ve come a long way since the days you cheekily called him Gojo Senpai without a care in the world, and even though tragedy managed to forever sully them, standing here with him now makes it worth the pain. Given the chance, you’d do it all over again.

Rolling the cricks around your neck and shoulders, you walk up to Satoru, a tug at the lowest hanging tuft of hair signaling for him to meet your height. Knees bent. Eyes still closed. Lips still curled. Features so undeniably beautiful at 29 as they were at 17.

“Don’t move.” You mumble, smiling softly as you watch him pucker his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, you fish out a pair of rectangular shades from inside your pocket and place them over the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go before we get scolded for being late again.” Your hand steals his this time around, ushering him forward. A speckle of heat shooting from your fingers to your cheeks. “I trust you not to spoil your own surprise, Gojo Senpai.”

You are less than thirty steps away from your destination when, without a warning, the man behind you stops moving, forcing you to halt with him.

“What is it?” You ask, your body reeled closer to his from the bind of your fingers. “If you’re gonna ask whether I’m taking you to Laputa, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m still figuring out the coordinates.”

“That’s not it.” He huffs a chuckle against your knuckles, tenderly brushing them against his cheek. “But drop a pin when you do. Always wanted to take a nap in that fluffy flower bed. I’m sure it tastes fluffy too, just like whipped cream.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You return, a yawn coaxed at the mention of napping. “So, what is it? Why did we stop?”

“I’m cold.”

“Well, so am I, but we really are close this time. If you just—”

“You should kiss me.” Satoru announces with solemnity better befitting a declaration of war. He realizes that himself, bringing his free hand to ruffle the hair on the back of his skull. Awkwardly. Ears tinged red. Cutely. “That would warm me up.”

“Is that your excuse?” You ask, chapped lips rubbing together. Your heartbeat felt in your throat. You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not when you’ve known each other for the better part of your lives. It’s not normal. You don’t think you are.

“Nope.” He balances things out with a boyish smile that doesn’t make things any better for the lovesick teenage girl residing in your heart. She doesn’t know any better but to fawn over it. “My excuse is that we haven’t kissed here before. We’ve kissed there,” you follow his pointer, first to a bench made of stone and then to a blind spot behind some shrubs, “and there—many times there, heh, but not here. So we should kiss.” He reasons with a simplistic, nearly childish mindset. One you can’t quite argue against.

Until his spell breaks on you rather unceremoniously.

“I thought your eyes were closed!”

“Well, they were, but then I—hah, stop pullin’ like that—started missing your pretty face too much. Can’t deny me the simple joys in life, sweet cheeks.” He grins. “C’mon, just one kiss. Then we can meet with Yuji and the others. Promise I’ll act extra surprised!”

“Y-you knew?” Your eyes widen.

“I’ve known for about a week now? Heard you two talking on the phone, plus the kids asked to be put on cleaning duty when they usually leave everything to Megumi. Then a ton of chairs started to go missing, and—”

You barely bother listening to the rest, too caught up in your thoughts for Satoru’s detailed explanation of where it all went wrong to matter. Every year without exception—from your 16th birthday party-for-two in that tiny storage room you were accidentally locked in together to last year’s all-out murder mystery dinner party—he’s managed to sweep you off your feet, and yet you can’t throw him one party without it being spoiled.

You aren’t a planner. You know that. You know, but somehow you hoped this year would be different. That, twelve years after his insistence to spend his birthday in your company alone took root, (“Why would I want to spend this day with anyone other than you, angel? We have tons of fun together, don’t we? Just me and my special girl. Speaking of, any special requests for your birthday? I have some ideas myself, hehe~”) and one year after he stopped waiting for an apparition to show up and celebrate with him, he’d allow himself to bask in the appreciation of the living.

“Are you mad?”

The buzz of his voice quiets down, the paleness of a winter morning dawning beneath snowy lashes as he peers at you from above the rim of his sunglasses. Snowflakes of wonder stirring in his irises that contain them like two perfect snow globes, trapped in them, an ageless moment of the past.

“I’m relieved.” Satoru whispers, so faintly you almost miss it.

“Re…lieved?”

“You brought everyone here, right?” You nod. “Without blackmailing anyone?”

“Just Nanami.” You admit. “And Ijichi—Shoko promised to take him out for drinks if he came.”

“That’s good.” His lips pull into a smile warm enough to thaw your worries. “Honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of my own birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” you interrupt. “You aren’t the only one perceptive here, Mister Six-Eyes.”

He gives you a funny look, creases forming over his brow as an imaginary zipper is drawn across the corners of his lips.

You unzip it. “Please continue, Great Gojo Senpai.”

His eyes light up. Satoru isn’t one for honorifics, yet hearing you address him as such makes the lovesick teenage boy in his heart shudder with excitement.

“You know what birthday I got the biggest haul for?” A shake of your head prompts him to continue. “Seventh.” Figures, you add. He nods. “Wanna know what they got me? A Hokusai painting. You know. One of those wavy ones.” Only he would ever refer to a Japanese classic that way. “But seven-year-old kids don’t care about dead people’s paintings or Shinto shrine visits. They want adventure, balloons, and luscious Gâteau au Chocolat. The new Street Fighter game, maybe.” His fingers snap together. “They want Laputa.”

You forget your hand is still in his until it’s given a light squeeze, Satoru nervously fiddling with your fingers while he mulls over what to say next.

“Bottom line is, birthdays with the clan suuuuuucked. And then, as I got older, I grew tall enough to outrun those stupid goons watching over me. So I’d run straight to Suguru’s house, drag him to the station, and from there, we’d go to that one pastry shop in Shinjuku and buy every cake on display. We’d eat till we both got sick—hah, you wouldn’t think his stomach was this sensitive with all those curses he gobbled up, right?—and then a few years later we met Shoko, and she’d put out her cigarette on my share.” He hisses like a distressed cat. “Then we met you”—another squeeze—“and those were the best birthdays of my life. Back when we were all together.”

“Satoru—”

“I didn’t think I could have that again.” He cuts you off. “But you said you got everyone together, and while some of us are no longer here, a lot are. This is good. You did well. I’m relieved, really. I’m happy.”

By the time Satoru finishes talking, you find yourself at a loss for words, blankly staring at his unaffected expression. It’s easy to forget how vulnerable he can be in those rare outbursts of sincerity; easy to forget that the one branded as the strongest is a person who cries and breaks too, and even easier to let yourself be deceived by that happy-go-lucky attitude. But as a smile begins to take shape upon your features, you can see where he’s coming from.

You are relieved.

“What are you smiling for?” Satoru asks in the same manner you did earlier.

“Nooooooothing!” You shamelessly steal his line. “Just thinking about the sorry look on your face when you realize there’s no chocolate cake.”

“You evil witch!” He proclaims, mouth hanging slack and forefinger pointing in accusation. “Next you’re gonna tell me you didn’t buy candles either!”

“Actually…”

You take hold of his finger before he can protest any further. Not that he wants to when both his hands are enveloped in the warmth of your smaller ones, childishly swinging by your sides. Back and forth. Up and down. Round and round. Arms overlapping as you both step closer, chuckling at a joke only your eyes seem to know.

“About that kiss.” You begin, laughing again at the small, exasperated mhm your boyfriend lets out, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the high neck of his sweater. “Are you still feeling cold?”

“So cold.” Satoru wiggles his shoulders as if he’s truly shivering. “Warm me up before the cold hand of death takes me away. Pleaseeeee.”

You aren’t one to deny him. Tiptoeing forward, you crane your neck so you can reach higher, while he bends his knees to shorten himself, meeting you halfway. Heavy breaths are shared as your noses brush together. The subtle notes of bergamot on his clothes blending with the wintry crisp in the atmosphere. Eagerness tugging at his bottom lip.

You might not be one to deny him, but you definitely are the type to tease him.

“Why don’t you do it? Why should I be the one to kiss you?”

“Wha—because I asked you!” Satoru quips.

“And?”

“And I have Senpai rights. Plus you didn’t pay boyfriend tax this morning, and come think of it, you didn’t wish me a Happy Birthday either!” He gasps like he only realized that just now. He builds his entire case around it. “Birthday Boy demands it. You have no choice but to give in or you’ll be cursed for your next seven birthdays!”

“But I thought you didn’t like your own birthday.”

“Baby!” Satoru finally breaks, his voice reduced to a high-pitched whine. “Even so, you can’t be mean to me on my own birthd—”

His lips are warmer than yours when you nullify the distance, conveying the softness and fruitiness of your stolen chapstick. A smirk is written on them, bitten away as you drag his hands closer to your body, foreheads bumping together and sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. He giggles into your mouth, whispering how hot he finds it when you take the lead—moaning at the way your tongue presses against his, and disregarding the three sets of footsteps that enter the scene.

“Sensei!” A somewhat recognizable, albeit squeaky, voice calls out. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Way to ruin the surprise, Itadori!” Another, angrier, squeaky voice scolds.

“Idiot, you just said there was a surprise. And I told you both to go easy on the hellion.” The last of their group tries to deadpan, somehow sounding more ridiculous than his peers.

“Pft—F-Fushiguro!” Nobara and Yuji laugh in sync, too preoccupied with poking fun at their classmate to notice your form erasing itself from existence behind Satoru’s back as he turns around to face them.

“Yuji! Nobara! Megumiiiii!” His tone is colored with a falsetto when he addresses his favorite (target) student, prompting the duo to keep harassing him with countless pokes at his confetti-laced spikes.

Your plan to use poor Megumi’s torture as a decoy to flee the premises goes to waste as your hand is held out in the open, with Satoru showing you off to them like the big prize at the end of a wrestling match.

“Oh, future Mrs. Gojo Sensei!” Yuji is the first to acknowledge your presence; the effects of the gas are all but worn off as he timidly waves at you. “I didn’t know you were here! What brings you to school today?”

“That’s quite the title, Yuji. Told you to just—ugh!—call me by my first name.” You struggle to pull your wrist out of Satoru’s grasp. You lose. “Also, no need to keep playing charades. He knows.”

“You told him? Then what was all of this for?” Nobara comes forth, a pink balloon dramatically deflating in her hands.

“Actually, I figured it out myself! Aren’t you proud to have such a smart teach—”

“No!” Two out of three shout in unison. You almost do so yourself.

After their back and forth escalates into a full-blown debate on who’s more intelligent, Satoru or Megumi’s shikigami (the results to be announced on a future episode of Are You Smarter than a Toad?) and happy birthdays are wished, Yuji asks the one question you feared answering the most.

“Sensei? Miss Y/N? What were you doing out there in the cold?”

Their own curiosity beats Megumi and Nobara to the classroom as they stall their entrance, with Satoru being the first to hit the buzzer.

“You see, Yuji, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they—ahahouch! Love really does hurt! It hurts so badly!” He yelps as you stomp on his foot hard enough to cripple an average man.

“Don’t you dare use me as a test subject for the talk, Satoru!”

“What talk, darlin’?” He smiles coyly, not losing the chance to brag. “Oh, you mean the talk about how you fell victim to my charms and couldn’t wait till we were alone to kiss me? Guess I still got it, despite the extra candle on the cake.”

“Aww!”

“Eww!”

“Gross!”

The reactions vary.

“You’ll get another candle lit up in your memory if you keep spewing shit like this!” Your attempt to step on his shoe is countered by his technique.

“Hey, no cursing in front of my precious students!” Satoru chides. “We’re supposed to set an example for them, not taint their innocent souls!”

“Satoru!” With a tremendous roar, the door flies open, startling the three students to jump behind their teacher and you to follow suit.

Principle Yaga stands by the frame, his authoritative tone coursing through your body as it recalls every punishment he ever subjected you to. The soreness in your calves from running laps around school for being late. The dryness in your eyes after surviving one of his excruciating educational VHS tape sessions for being “cheeky” and the ache in your fingers from scrubbing the gym floors squeaky clean—courtesy of being caught sneaking back into the dorm with tousled hair in the dead of night.

You almost feel sorry for Satoru acting as the wavebreaker for the incoming tsunami, but then you remember how the majority of your crimes were incidentally committed in his name and wish him good luck. He deserves whatever earful he gets, possibly something along the lines of “Sixteen minutes late? Are you trying to break a world record?”

“You think Gojo Sensei will die?” Yuji whispers. “He’s at that age when a lot of celebrities die, right?”

“He’d better not! I didn’t bring any funeral wear with me.” Nobara answers back.

“Can’t you read the room?” Megumi rasps. “Plus, that’s the 27 Club you’re talking about. Gojo Sensei has outlived that.”

“Didn’t take you for a clubgoer, Fushiguro.” The two of them snicker, prompting Megumi to sigh as he again points out their idiocy.

“Principal Yaga!” Satoru bravely puts himself forward, your line of defense falling apart like a house of cards you’re made to support on your own. “Are you here to wish me a happy birthday? How thoughtful! Guess it’s true what they say: People mellow down with age.”

“Sixteen minutes late—”

The man’s mouth twitches furiously as an invisible countdown starts in all your heads, none of you expecting the situation to simmer down before it boils over.

“But I’ll let it slide this once. Happy birthday, Satoru. I’ve stopped hoping that the years bring you wisdom and fix your bad habits. It’s pointless; every year you turn more impudent than the year before,”—is that supposed to be a birthday wish or you getting kicks from throwing shade at me?—“but I wish they bring you happiness. I made this with you in mind. Hope it’s to your liking.”

You watch as Principal Yaga reveals a felt doll from behind his back, handing it to a repulsed Satoru, who makes no effort to conceal his personal feelings, let alone express gratitude.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to be?” He asks, shaking the doll so quickly you only catch a glimpse of its fluffy white tail and stitched black sunglasses—a cat?

“It’s you.” Its maker replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he has a name. Satoru, say hello to Catoru.”

Four of you share a look among yourselves, too stunned to say a thing until Satoru and his doll counterpart face you, the latter being held up by the scruff of his neck. Just like an actual cat.

“Do I look like this?” Satoru asks, and you all go quiet, with three hands simultaneously nudging you to represent them. Traitors!

“I mean, there are times when you do act like a cat—kinda?” Your voice is pinched up, hands moving frantically to dispute your words as your boyfriend’s face turns sourer than umeboshi. “But you look ten times—no, a hundred times more handsome! I promise! If anything, you resemble a—uh, Turkish Angora? Those are super beautiful!”

“You’d better get along.” Yaga warns. “I designed Catoru with a sweet tooth like you.”

“I don’t want a little mochi thief in my house!”

Yaga marches back into class without waiting to hear Satoru’s concerns about the impending depletion of his secret mochi stash. The kids tail after him, leaving you to comfort Satoru with a gentle pat on his back. “Let’s go inside, mm?”

The atmosphere inside the classroom is significantly more promising than what Yuji showed you on FaceTime this morning. All desks are pulled to the side in a rough T formation, with the spread of food you spent two nights making carefully put in order, from platters full of golden-crusted corn dogs and crispy chicken fingers to dainty cupcakes decorated with Konpeito candy and colorful mochi of every filling you could think of. Inumaki serves bar, and you’re pleased to see people returning for seconds, with Yuji waving his hands while praising your popping candy cake poppers to his taciturn upperclassman.

Balloons hang near the ceiling—a flag garland dangling from one end of the blackboard to the other. A gigantic birthday message spans across the surface, with smaller wishes sprinkled in abundance, some consisting of mere congratulations and others expressed with heartfelt emotion. You can easily guess who wrote what based on handwriting alone; Megumi’s by far the tidiest.

You knew leaving the decorations to Nobara was a smart choice. She knows it too. She doesn’t waste the chance to boast to Maki about it, the older girl twirling a bouquet made of lollipops between her fingers while gazing at the drifting clouds outside the window.

Satoru was right. This is good. You have every reason to be proud, too.

In the far back of the room, the adults have struck up a conversation with Panda, who snaps a picture of your entrance. The two party poopers—Ijichi and Nanami—look up from their quiet exchange.

“Satoru! You came!” Principal Yaga’s pride and joy steps forward with open arms, a party hat pulled taut between his round ears. “Congratulations on your birthday,” says Panda, planting two identical party hats on your heads. “Let me take a picture of the two of you. Couldn’t get an angle from back there.”

Your shoulders get squeezed as Satoru smooshes your faces together, the pointy tip of his hat nearly taking your eye out when he tries to steal a kiss from your cheek. You squint—and snap!

“Hey, can you take another? I think I wasn’t looking straight.”

“No do-overs!” Satoru interferes before Panda can even open his mouth. “Don’t worry! Getting a bad picture of you is impossible when you look perfect at any given time. Right, Panda?”

His former student glances down at the camera, letting out the exact same sound your computer makes when a Windows program crashes, and then rushing to mask it with a hearty chortle.

“Of course, Satoru! You got very lucky; Y/N is as beautiful as she is kind-hearted.” He shows you a grin that’s mostly teeth. “You know, she worked really hard for this party. We barely did anything ourselves.”

Not true; you all did your part…

Your eye is endangered once more, with his lips finding their target this time around. “That’s my vanilla caramel drizzle cupcake muffin baumkuchen pie to ya!”

That’s half your macchiato and half your bakery order, you argue silently.

“Shame Yuta couldn’t make it.” Panda continues. “Heard he’s down with a cold, though he did send you his gift via Maki.” A fuzzy thumb points at the closet-turned-gift-depository, where various bags and packages are stacked into a pyramid. “Anyway. I’ll let the two of you mingle. Come over if ya want more pictures of you taken. Got lots of props too.”

Your eyes follow as he returns to his post, spotting Shoko experimenting with a pair of groucho glasses. Nanami shakes his head disapprovingly, leaning back into his chair while Ijichi’s stutter is visible from where you and Satoru stand.

You glance up at him, a default smile plastered on his lips. Unreadable to others, but painfully obvious to you. The face he’s searching for is not among those present.

“Everyone seems to be having fun.” Satoru points out.

“Y-yeah.” You croak.

“Can’t believe you got everything down. Class looks like it did back then. Even the wobbly pom-pom on the party hats.” He squeezes the one on your head. “That caught me off guard.”

“Well, it would’ve been a greater surprise if you didn’t eavesdrop on my private phone calls.”

“That ain’t on me, sweets.” He whisks your hand into his and drags you onward. “Not my fault I was born with heightened senses. Better get used to it; our kids will probably take after me in that aspect.”

You shrug his comment off, watching as Satoru stows the cat away in the closet and dramatically dusts his hands off. “Another great addition to the world’s creepiest collection.” He grumbles.

“But Catoru is the cutest so far!” You object.

He is about to answer when a sound akin to that of someone choking has you both turning toward the makeshift buffet where Ijichi is downing water straight from the jug, his sunken cheeks a scarlet shade of red.

“Shit! He must’ve discovered the jalapeno poppers.” You bite your lips into a straight line, feeling somewhat responsible.

“Nice job!”

“It wasn’t my intention!”

Your plea of innocence doesn’t resonate with Satoru, who gives you a thumbs up before forming a cone around his mouth and shouting at Ijichi—chuckling at the hurried way the man searches for an escape between chairs and people.

“Ijichi! Oi, Ijichi! I-ji-chi! Over here! Come wish me a happy birthday!” He waves his arms around like Tom Hanks in Cast Away, declaring—unlike Tom Hanks—that he’s coming to him instead.

“Don’t go around terrorizing people, ‘Toru.” Your voice has him stopping his march to peck your lips.

“Promise I’ll be a good boy. You’re free to punish me if I’m not.” He smirks, finger-gunning you all the while stepping backwards in slow motion.

“You never are!”

“Hmm, that’s only because I’m the best. And you’d better prepare a handsome reward for when we get home, ‘cause the best always wins.” A flirtatious wink makes you question how many people listened in on your exchange, praying that the answer is none.

You take advantage of Satoru’s absence to pay a visit to your old friends, mentally counting the days since the last time you all gathered up. It’s been way too long—the beer you’d promised to catch up over turned into a distant fantasy.

“Gonna get yourself nauseous if you keep staring at that whirlpool, Shoko Senpai.” You plop down on the closest vacant chair, the bored brunette humming without lifting her eyes from the lemonade swirling inside her cup.

“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.” She states, managing to sound both mesmerized and disinterested at the same time.

“And? Seen anything yet?” You lean closer.

She retires with a sigh, dark circles looming below her hazelnut eyes. “Nothing yet.”

“How about now?”

Pulling your trump card—aka one of those miniature vodka bottles you specifically brought with her in mind—from your pocket, you pour a generous amount into her drink, reminiscing about the time she accidentally spiked Satoru’s soda and had him swimming on the floor.

It takes one sip for Shoko to liven up, a sudden jolt of energy coursing through her veins as she reaches out for the bottle.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You chuckle. “Big praise coming from someone who actually saves lives.”

“Big words coming from people who openly drink in front of underage students.” The man to your left observes, absentmindedly picking at the tentacles of the octopus sausage on his plate.

“Kento! You made it!” You tip from one side of your chair to the other, arms dangling empty as he dodges your hug. “Having fun?”

“Please stop acting like him. I know the years in his company have caused your twisted personalities to merge, but the world is already wretched enough with one Gojo Satoru around.” He munches on the “good part” of the dissected octopus, discarding the tentacles inside a carefully folded napkin.

“But to answer your question, whether I’d rather spend my Friday afternoon explaining to everyone I know that the man in the picture dancing inappropriately with half-naked models in Ibiza isn’t me but a look-alike or sitting here, chaperoning a bunch of kids and making sure no one kills themselves, then yes. It’s not as horrible as I expected. And you’re as good of a cook as I remembered.” He wipes his mouth. “But I’m still clocking out at 7 sharp.”

“Come on! I did what I had to do to get you here!” You giggle, experiencing a little of the same rush Satoru feels when he’s poking fun at Ijichi. Oh no. “I am glad you’re enjoying the food, at least!”

A sound viler than any curse’s wail pierces through your ears as a TV cart is dragged into the room. You recognize it as Yaga’s old torture device—those five-hour black and white tapes gleaming menacingly on the lower shelves, with an unknown machine piled atop the cassette player. You aren’t sure what its purpose is until Yuji connects a microphone to it.

“Everyone—ah, ah, ah! Can you hear me?” The boy dabs a palm against the microphone, sounding loud and clear across the room. “Fushiguro, can you hear me? Fushiguro—ah, ah, ah!” The last of his ah’s interrupted by Megumi’s calling him out in front of their live audience.

“Everyone, thank you for coming to Gojo Sensei’s birthday party! I’m Itadori Yuji, and I’m happy to have co-hosted this event with Miss Y/N.”

A couple of heads turn in your direction, Satoru’s among them. It’s easy to make out his silhouette when he dwarfs everyone around him—Principle Yaga on his side and an antsy Ijichi lurking behind them.

“I enrolled in this school a little over a semester ago by accident.” Yuji continues undeterred. “Back then, I didn’t know any more about curses than the next person. Not that I do now.” He scratches through his hair. “Honestly, it was a lot to stomach, especially the part where I get to share my body with another. I was told I’d be better off dead, and I did die once. I was supposed to be dead, but then Gojo sensei gave me a choice, and I’m here because of that choice. More than a helping hand, he’s been a guiding light to me, and on behalf of all of us, thank you, and Happy Birthday!”He bows. “I hope you have a good one!”

Yuji holds out the microphone for Satoru, the two of them sharing a high five with an affectionate pat seeing the boy off.

“Thank you, Yuji, for this wonderful speech!” Satoru grins, evidently moved by his student’s words. “Everyoooooooooooone! Give it up for the man of the hour, the one and only, the most incredibly handsome and magnificently strong sorcerer known as Gooooooooooojo Saaaaatoruuuu!” His body twists in a pirouette, peace signs and heart signs flying everywhere as he lands with a finger pointing at where the imaginary camera would be.

Unsurprisingly, no one is impressed. Cricket sounds almost audible.

“Wow, okay. Tough crowd, I guess.” His lips comically jerk to one side of his face, his tone turning nasal before switching back. “I won’t bore you with individual thanks and other useless formality crap.”

He smirks at the way your mouth rounds a silent gasp. Nanami notices too, posing a question you shrug off.

“To cut it short: first-years! You’ve all proved yourselves as worthy sorcerers and worthier humans. As a reward, I’m proud to announce your reward in the form of a—c’mon guys, drum your desks a little!—luxurious, one of a kind, ten outta ten, uniquely planned field trip by moi!”

“Is it Paris? Are you taking us to Paris?” Nobara dreams out loud.

“Sensei! How about Universal Studio? I saw them post their newest churrito flavor on their webpage.”

“Can I sit this one out?” A gloomy murmur begs.

“Great thinking, Yuji! Unfortunately, Nobara, we won’t be going overseas this time, but, Megumi, you’ll definitely want to reconsider once you hear our destination, which iiiiiis—excitement is free, everyone!—Parque Espana!” Satoru claps for his suggestion.

Three dejected faces say pass in unison, with only Megumi daring to complain about Satoru taking him and Tsumiki to the theme park every second Sunday when the two were younger. You remember that. Some times you’d tag along, and you’d all grab ice cream while staring at that humongous roller coaster the kids were too short to ride.

Undefeated, Satoru directs his attention to the second-year students, the three of them loitering by the chip bowl. His tone turning grave, “Second years, I’m honestly very disappointed in all of you. In our two years of knowing each other, you never thought to throw your favorite teacher a party for his birthday. You’re lucky I don’t have the authority to drop you a grade, but still. You fail!”

“Fish Flakes!” Inumaki expresses his supposed disagreement.

“Huh? You never even told us when your birthday was because you didn’t want us knowing your real age, you blindfolded idiot!”

“Maki, not now!” Panda anxiously gets in her way. “Cool it!”

“You should have figured it out yourselves.” Satoru toots. “Moving forward! I’d like to give my special thanks to the moon of my life, my sun, and my stars.”—you knew watching Game of Thrones with him was a very bad idea—“Y/N! Come here, sweetie. Don’t be shy; everyone knows how much we love each other.

It almost feels like you have the limelight shining on you, with every person eagerly awaiting your response. You gulp hard, whispering so that only Nanami can hear. “You were right. Please save me.”

“What is it, Buttercup? You already have my heart, but if there’s anything you’d like for me to do, then now is the moment to say it.” Satoru smiles sweetly, his voice dripping with honey.

“Actually, there is. Can you put me down?” You kick your legs around while he hoists you up in bridal style, your unjust abduction having occurred in the blink of an eye.

“Anything and everything for you!” He kisses the top of your head, holding you close to him even after letting your feet touch the ground. “Alright, that’d be all! I hope everyone gets to have the time of their lives. Now, let’s get this party started!” He throws the microphone up in the air.

Nothing happens.

“I said, let’s get this party star—whatever.” Satoru gives up half-way through raising his arm again. “Yuji, play something fun!”

“On it!” Yuji salutes him, and the two of you walk away from the blackboard.

A faint sigh echoes behind you, its relief cut short as Satoru grabs the microphone once more. “Ah, right. Ijichi, I’ll see you in my office on Monday. I’d wear a headband if I were you.”

“I’ve c-committed a mortal sin, G-Gojo!” Ijichi struggles to say, uncertain of the crime he’s being accused of, yet hopeful for Satoru’s forgiveness.

“You are such a menace!” You throw a playful punch to his chest once he sits you on his lap, away from the eyes of people gathering around the karaoke machine, and close to Nanami, who departs with a disgusted scoff.

“You love me for it.” Satoru’s lips press softly against yours, incapable of hiding his smile when you pull his face in for another kiss, the tight squish of his arms making sure you’re going nowhere.

“I do.” You affirm, rubbing your nose on his. “I love you.”

“How much?” His eyes crinkle fondly.

“Hmm, like, a lot?” You giggle, your fingers absently brushing through the trimmed hair on the back of his skull. “Enough to spend half a lifetime by your side and still find you the most incredible person in all of creation.”

“Wanna spend the other half too?” His breath on your cheek colors your skin red, your eyes momentarily lost between shades of blue.

“Come back with a ring, Shit-toru.”

“That’s not the way you talk to your future husband!”

“He’s here? With us? Right now?” You gasp, frantically looking around, until Satoru forces you to face him with a thumb on your chin, his other hand squeezing an innocent touch around your thigh.

“Satoru!”

“Scared your future husband will see us?” He throws his head back, laughing at your panicked state. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight him for you. And win. After all, I am the strongest.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, he did it! He said the line with only—”you glance at your phone—“six hours left before the day ends, what an amazing record!”

A shrill screech fired from the other side of the room interrupts your banter, the microphone turning into a lethal weapon in Panda’s massive palms. The students appear to have divided themselves into couples, fighting over who gets to go first until Inumaki takes the initiative with a rap song—or, more accurately, sings over a rap song, as the only words in his roster revolve around onigiri ingredients that are mentioned nowhere in the lyrics.

“Stop hogging the mic!” Maki attempts to steal it, backing away as the boy teases to unzip his collar. She knows better than to push her limits while unarmed.

Panda still gets in the middle. For precaution, you assume.

“Reminds you of something?” Satoru comments on your riveted attention. “They’re just like us. How we once were. Young and full of dreams.”

“Nah. You were always a horny bastard.” You slap the inappropriately placed hand away before you get up and sit where Nanami was previously stationed. Poking your tongue at his devastated expression.

Conversation between the two of you is kept to a minimum after a different tune begins blasting from the speakers—Yuji and Megumi take over the stage with Takada-Chan’s most recent success, one of them performing the vocals to perfection while the other merely mumbles yeah’s whenever the song calls for it. Next are Nobara and Maki, the two girls belting out to an anthem of empowerment that has the boys in the room gulping uncomfortably among themselves.

The mood shifts completely when Yaga pours his soul into an 80’s power ballad, his raspy voice transforming into the smoothest velvet, complemented by Panda’s harmonies. Even Satoru praises his old teacher, cheering him on from the bleachers with a makeshift napkin-banner.

You don’t realize your boyfriend’s gone until you see him with the microphone in hand, bending the cable as he makes quick gestures for the floor to empty, performing what is possibly the cheesiest, most romantic love song ever written, and ushering you to join him once he drops to his knees—quite literally at your feet.

You ruffle his hair and shove his goofy expression away. No matter how charming his singing voice may be, he’ll never get you to sing in public. Similar to how he’ll never catch you admitting how loudly your heart beats in your chest, despite the fact that it’s written all over your face.

God, you hate this man. So much that part of you wishes you’d spent his birthday like you did every other year—tangled in his sheets and kissing till you cannot breathe.

As soon as the karaoke session ends, Megumi and Yuji exit the room to bring in the cake, with Satoru jumping them for a thorough inspection. The dessert is inspired by one of his favorite confections. Handmade mochi bites are spread evenly between three layers of fluffy strawberry cake, the entire enterprise covered in fine red bean paste and topped with vanilla buttercream, strawberry cutouts, and, of course, more mochi in a light pink shade to recreate the world’s largest daifuku.

You lost count of how many failed attempts it took to create your own recipe from scratch, but the look on Satoru’s face is better than any payment you could possibly ask. He struggles to find a word that describes his feelings—phenomenal being the one he ends up using. Definitely better than chocolate cake. Perhaps even on par with the legendary Laputa.

Everyone gathers anew for the birthday boy to blow out his candles, awkwardness sweeping through the crowd as, one by one, you come to the conclusion that there is no available lighter.

you search through your pockets for a lighter, finding none. Shoko’s unhealthy (and supposedly cut) habit comes in clutch, with the brunette handing Yuji the keys to her office. The boy sprints outside at full speed, idle chatter put on pause as the TV starts playing on its own, the song selection window traded for a relic of the past.

“Is this even working?” A young Shoko taps the camera, tilting her body at a curious angle. Short skirt rolling up.

“Probably not. That shit’s ancient, but feel free to test it! Maybe try showing it something funnier, like your pant—”

Horny bastard. Right on the money.

“Cut it off, Satoru.” A voice makes both you and present-day Satoru shudder, its owner taking the camera from their friend’s hand to shoot footage around the gym. “Yaga Sensei told us to use this to document the Goodwill Event, not film amateur gravure.” The frame shakes once more. “Looks good to me.”

“Pft, what’s the point?” Satoru flicks a pebble at the camera. “So he can make a quick buck out of me destroying those brats? The outcome’s already decided. Now turn this thing off. I wanna lay under the sun without some junk in my face.”

The camera zooms in on him splaying his limbs on the grass, possibly near the track field, based on the slight hint of red inside the green.

“The only junk in your face is your face itself.” Shoko deadpans, making him chase after her while Suguru continues filming them until they turn into a pair of flickering dots.

“These two.”

The world is turned upside down as a close-up of his bang takes over the screen. Realizing that himself, he pulls the camera further away, cat-like irises shining like pure amber under the sunny sky. You’ve missed their warmth.

“Preparation for the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event, Day 1.” He declares, and the screen goes black in an instant, white noise reigning over the space.

Your hand seeks Satoru’s on its own, the faint sound of his name dangling from your parted lips, both your breaths catching in your throats. He’s left gawking at the screen, reciprocating your touch with shaky fingers that try to anchor him to you. It’s safe to say this was not part of your plan.

“Weird. Thought it’d be one of those old workout tapes.” Nobara reveals herself as the culprit behind the incident, ejecting the tape back into its box and later standing with her hands pinned to her waist. “Gojo Sensei, I recognize you and Ieri, but who was that third person in the video? Bangs Guy.”

Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one to have absolutely no information on Suguru. Aside from the adults, the second-years were all present during last year’s attack, and Megumi knows whatever has slipped from Satoru during his stay at the Gojo clan’s compound.

Nobody rushes to respond; all of you tuned in on Satoru even though only Shoko, Yaga, and you are directly gazing at him, his face contorted with a pained grimace he tries hard to disguise.

“Geto Suguru was—”

“My best friend.” Satoru grins at Principal Yaga’s attempt to help him, grasping your hand more confidently as he confronts the girl. “Geto Suguru is my best friend.”

“Huh. Guess there’s hope for everyone.” No one’s left with any courage to laugh at Nobara’s poor attempt at a joke. “Where is he now—”

“Senseiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” A voice gains volume as the door bursts open, Yuji pouring into the classroom with the lighter held over his head like it’s the Olympic flame. “I g-got th-the—” He tries to breathe, ending up only saying, “Fire. Wish. What. Miss?”

“Yuji!” Satoru makes you follow him to the door. “You’re right on time! And no, you didn’t miss anything. Just stories of the past.”

“Stories?” Yuji wipes the sweat off his forehead. Still very much exasperated. “But I…like stories.”

“I know you do.” Satoru’s eyes settle on yours, the clamor in his eyes hushing for the first time in years. “But birthday wishes are meant for a future that’s yet to be written.”

“Thank you!”

Appreciation falls from your lips as a long-drawn yawn, every second you spend huddled under the kotatsu’s warmth begging to lull you to sleep. Today was a long day. So long, it feels as if it spanned an entire lifetime.

Satoru plops down beside you, the neckline of his sweatshirt diving low over his collarbones as he chugs his share of hot cocoa. Yours remains untouched while you switch between the same two movie options, incapable of picking one over the other.

“What do you have for me?” He asks, running his fingers over the ceramic rim. A melodic string instrument-like sound is induced.

“Okay so. Got the cult classic Sixteen Candles, which we’ve probably watched more times than Molly Ringwald had to practice her lines for the role, and I also have La Boum, in case you’re feeling more adventurous, and I don’t know. Frenchy, maybe.”

“Hmm, I mean. When you phrase it like that…”He acts as if he’s seriously contemplating his choice, only to snatch the remote from your hand and choose La Boum. He smiles slyly, curling near your chest. “It’s what you obviously wanted to watch. And I always choose, so.”

“Forfeiting your birthday boy rights?” You hum, tenderly combing through his freshly washed white strands. He smells just like his cake, you think. “Be careful. There are still nine minutes left before your birthday’s over, and you’re robbed of your rights for an entire year. Think you can make it?”

“Will you be with me during those horrid days?” His voice turns muffled.

“Always. Now, before the movie starts and you ruin the fun with your excessive blabbing, how about you reach under the kotatsu for your gift?” You suggest, chuckling as his head lifts up, cerulean eyes shining with unfeigned surprise.

“Angel! You shouldn’t have!” Satoru beams whole as he drags the heavy box out, shaking it in an attempt to feel out its contents.

“You know that doesn’t work with me. C’mon. I’ll pause for you.”

He wastes no time to untie the light silver bow that ties the box together, taking, however, his sweet time to review each and every object placed within. Carefully, he lays everything out on the table, small gasps evading him at a constant and maturing into a full-on shriek as he spots that one rare Digimon trading card you bust your gut trying to purchase via private online auctions.

“I—um. I know it doesn’t sound too good ‘cause I’m your girlfriend and I’m supposed to know everything about you and what you want, but I really had no idea what to get for your birthday. So I decided to get you a bit of everything from your favorite things. You can blame me for weaponizing nostalgia later.”

You clear your throat with a quick sip of cocoa. Licking your lips, “Anyway. It’s really no biggie as you can see. I just bought off some trading cards, ported a few of your old favorite games to a current generation console—yes, Street Fighter included—and made you this silly beaded charm with our initials for your phone, since they are back in fashion.

“I know it’s not much, and you could buy those things at any given time, but—time is something you cannot buy, right? Your childhood, your youth. The so-called best years of your life. I wanted you to have that back, even if just for a day.”

It’s been minutes, and Satoru remains quizzically silent, to the point where the array of kisses aimed at your neck comes as a true ambush. You’re knocked to the floor, giggling and flailing while he shows you his affection in every way possible, kissing you, praising you, hugging you—loving you.

“H-Happy Birthday, Toru.” You repel his face enough to say. “Y-you know, a thank you would be nice to hear!”

“As if you don’t know what I’m about to say.” Satoru grins, holding your palms to his mouth. Kissing them one by one, repeatedly, and slowly. Multiple times each. “You are my childhood. And my youth. And the best years of my life—they are all you. Everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ll live together.”

“How’s that for a thank you?” He chuckles, quickly breaking the tension with a final kiss on your nose. Perhaps the only part of you that’s not tinged red. “That being said…”

“You want to go for a quickie?” You sniffle against your will.

“See? You do know everything about me.” He reaches for the deck of cards with the swirly brown backside. “It’s time to duel!”

A/N: sorry for hastily written ending. had no time, oopsie!

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 02: Horizon

alisaie blue screens of death after tesleen kisses her. alisaie x tesleen, shadowbringers spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: general. 2298 words. due to my wol's extended timeline, alisaie is a little older than her canonical age here. ao3 link

“Oh, Twelve damn it.”

The curse—and several others—slip easily from Alisaie’s mouth. It has been less than a quarter of a bell since she started her climb and already her body is aching. Her palms are scuffed by grit and a dull throb pulses in her ankle. No doubt she has twisted it—an embarrassment, to be sure. With her luck she might just lose her grip and fall off the stupid hill before she even reaches the summit. Alphinaud will never forgive her.

But she has already begun and there is no turning back now. Gritting her teeth, she closes her mind to the pain and continues her slow ascent. It’s not comfortable work. The wind is ferocious from this direction, chafing her cheeks raw and blowing sand into her eyes. Every breath she takes fills her lungs with dust, coating her tongue and mouth. Sweat drips down her spine, sticking her clothes to her back. Worst of all, the Light beats down upon her with its unnatural, unrelenting glare. She has had her fair share of Thanalan sun and Ala Mhigan haze, but this? Nothing compares to this.  

At least her hair is out of her face. It hangs limply down her back in its customary tail, the knot at the end already crusted with dust. It will need a good comb when she’s done here. Funny that she thought only this morning how nice it would be to let it down the way Tesleen wears hers. Pretty, but practical. Alisaie has always been practical. She hasn’t given much thought to pretty before.

“Oh, seven hells—”

She bites back a gasp even as she slips and an avalanche of pebbles slides out from beneath her feet. She clings to the side of the rocks, cursing her choices, her father’s disapproving voice in her ear, and hoists herself up one more ledge. And another. And another. Panting and with sweat plastered to her brow, she finally reaches her destination.

The curved rock that encloses the Inn at Journey’s End has no business having visitors on its summit. But she did—and the view is well worth the effort.

Humming quietly to herself, Alisaie sits precariously on a ledge and dangles her feet off the edge. Ahm Araeng stretches out before and behind her, its amber sands undulating in the scarlet haze. A great wave of white and grey obscures the horizon, the remnants of the Flood of Light towering higher than any peak. What must it have been like a hundred years ago, to see such a wave come surging across the desert, consuming all in its wake? When she was in Hingashi, she heard more than one terrifying tale of tsunamis roaring through the archipelago. She envisions it to have been somewhat like that, even though the tsunami in her mind itself is imagined.

She sighs, still breathless from her climb, and reaches for her water flask. With a quick twist, she releases the cap and tilts her head back, letting the cool water flow over her lips. The Flood of Light… Who knew so much harm could come from Light itself? Then again, just like water, a good thing in excess can be as dangerous as having it in scarcity. As with most things in life, balance is the key.

This world is out of balance. Stagnant. Corrupted. Stifled. Though its people have learned to move on, the earth itself is scarred and scorched and cannot heal. If only there was some enemy towards whom she could point her blade, then the heavens could turn and everything would be all right…

If only it were so easy.

“I would ask what you are doing all the way up here, but if truth be told, I’m a little afraid of the answer.”

Alisaie blinks, choking on her water as she is jolted out of her reverie. Coughing, she twists around to find Tesleen standing several fulms behind her, bright-eyed and smiling, her profile illuminated by the sky. “I…” She coughs against and lowers the flask. “I came up here to get some fresh air and to see the sights. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Of course not.” Tesleen smooths down her grey frock and joins her on the ledge. Somehow, she is free of dust and sand. “Do you think there is something wrong with that?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, I suppose not.”

“You know, if you wanted to come up here, all you had to do was ask. The summit is easily reached by amaro or skyslipper.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “I know. But a challenge is good for me.”

Tesleen laughs, the graceful little trill cutting through the wind. She threads her fingers through her hair, winding and unwinding the long blonde strands, and looks out to the Flood of Light. “It’s worse from up here, isn’t it?” she says quietly. “From below, it’s so big it becomes part of the scenery. But from above, it’s…”

“It’s everything. Everywhere.”

“Aye.” She lets go of her hair, the strands now twisted into a little wavy curl pressing softly against her cheek. “There has been news from the Crystarium. Would you like to hear?”

Alisaie’s throat is raw. Stalling for time, she ducks her head and takes another sip of water.

If the news is from the Crystarium, then the news must be from the Exarch. And if the news is from the Exarch, then either something has happened to Alphinaud or one of the others or… or he has finally succeeded in his mission to bring Aureia to this world.

Her stomach drops, a flush of shame creeping across her cheeks. If it is true that he has succeeded, then she should be happy that a reunion is imminent. And yet the thought only fills her with dread. When last she saw Aureia, they were barely on speaking terms, their friendship hanging by a thread. Was it her fault, or Aureia’s? They had been so close, closer than friends, more like sisters, depending on each other and trusting one another unconditionally throughout their adventures in Othard and Ala Mhigo. And yet Aureia lied. She lied to all of them. She masked her origins for so long she could not live without the lie, even among those she loved.

The Warrior of Light, a former Garlean operative… It was not a truth easily acknowledged. It left the Alliance scrambling to save face, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn searching for answers. Urianger and Y’shtola seemed shaken. Lyse was furious. Alphinaud was absent and thus had no response. And Thancred, of course, accepted it without batting an eye and refused to do anything but stand by her side. But as for Alisaie…  

She felt something more than fury. Hatred? Disappointment? Betrayal? She doesn’t know. She said many things she wished she hadn’t that day. And in the year she has had to reflect on it, she is certain that she would have continued hating her friend—her best friend—had the Exarch not interfered and thrown them all into chaos by stealing Thancred away. She is not proud of it. She is not proud of the way the sting still lingers.

But it was only a matter of time before Aureia found her way here. Even if the Exarch stole the souls of the whole Alliance and every Scion to ever live to make it happen, she will be here, one way or another.

“Alisaie…?” Tesleen nudges her gently with her elbow. “There is no need to speak of this now, if you would rather not.”

Alisaie stuffs the flask away. “No, no. Please. Tell me.”

He dangling foot brushes Tesleen’s.

“The Crystal Exarch is sending someone to us. A new visitor, one he called a friend. She will be arriving anon, once she settles some matter in Kholusia.”

Settling matters… Kholusia… Alphinaud!

Alisaie smiles. So, it is Aureia, it has to be. She must have been informed of the whereabouts of Alphinaud and the others, and decided on who to seek out. Urianger is inaccessible on a good day thanks to Il Mheg’s peculiarities, Y’shtola vanished into the swamp and gods know where she is now, and Thancred is… about. And not easily tracked. Which leaves Alphinaud and herself. If she were Aureia, she would seek out Alphinaud first. Ensure he isn’t getting up to trouble before coming to see her.

She grins and makes a mental note to ask about him. Her twin is well—she would know if he wasn’t—but she won’t waste the opportunity.

“Oho! Is that a smile I see?” Tesleen asks, leaning in. She smells of the duskblooms she places in vases for her patients, and the stew she prepares at midday.     

Alisaie catches her eye and quickly rearranges her expression. “Of course not,” she says. “I never smile. I’m the image of indifference.”

“Ah. So that’s your stoic face.”

She grimaces. “It is not.”

“It is.”

She blows out a puff of air and crosses her arms over her chest. “By the Twelve, you don’t have to put it like that.”

Tesleen’s foot bumps hers again and they sit in silence, watching the sands sparkle in the Light. Thankfully the sky is clear and there have been no sin eater sightings of late. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend that this is an ordinary day, under an ordinary sun, just the two of them enjoying themselves and their time together. If they had brought a picnic, it would almost be perfect.

Almost.

“You say such strange things sometimes, Alisaie,” Tesleen says quietly. She has shifted closer in the passing minutes, her shoulder brushing against hers as she threads her fingers together in her lap.

“Like what?”

“The gods you swear by… I have never heard of them.”

Alisaie pauses. “How do you know they are gods?”

Tesleen shoots her a look. “I think anything that follows ‘by the’ may as well be a god, no?”

Alisaie scrunches her face and sticks out her leg, pointing her foot. “By my great shiny shoe, I don’t believe it!”

Tesleen’s lips twitch. “By the ant under this rock!’

“By the stone formation five fulms that way!”

“By the angry armadillos—”

“Ugh,” Alisaie says, wrinkling her nose. “I hate those things.”

Tesleen raises an eyebrow. “Armadillos?”

“Yes. Nasty, horrible creatures.”

“What has an armadillo ever done to you?”

“Nothing! Yet. I… simply do not like them.”

Tesleen pauses. Hesitantly, she raises a hand and brushes a lock of hair off Alisaie’s forehead. “Has anyone told you that you’re a peculiar girl?” she asks.

“Not recently. Or in memory. But I’m certain someone would say as much if you asked the right person. My brother Alphinaud is the un-peculiar one of the family. Me? I’m not so sure, but I—”

Tesleen presses a kiss to her lips.

Short and sweet, barely a hint of pressure, and yet somehow her stomach is in knots and her heart is fluttering. Heat flushes her cheeks and her head spins, as if she has shot up into the Light-corrupted air and is soaring through the sky. She wants to be anywhere but here, and nowhere but here. What will the others say? What will Alphinaud think of her wasting time on herself like this when she should be helping others?

She knows what he would say. He would be insufferably happy for her. She shouldn’t try so hard and take time for herself, find a hobby. Like he does. He’s an artist, for Twelve’s sake. Art is his hobby. Just as hers can, apparently, be kissing Tesleen—

Gods, her mind has stopped completely, hasn’t it?

Tesleen draws away. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “If I… if I was too forward, I do apologize. You are my dearest friend, and I would hate for a misunderstanding on my part to come between us—”

Alisaie blinks. “No!” she shouts. “Oh—ah—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I meant… Please don’t apologize. Don’t apologize…” She sucks her lower lip and catches Tesleen’s eye. Her hair glistens in the Light, fanning around her shoulders like strands of gold. Carefully, tentatively, she reaches out and presses a hand to her cheek. “What I mean to say is that I would hear no apologies from you. Not for something like that.”

Tesleen’s brown eyes widen. “Then…?” She lets out a long, shaky breath. “I admit, I have been thinking of you as… well, not just my dearest friend, but a little more than my dearest friend. Is that all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. Fear, perhaps, of losing something before it began. We all deserve happiness wherever we can find it, with whatever time we have left.”

Alisaie trembles, the sensation strange to her. Though her mind is still dazed and trying to make sense of the turn this conversation has taken, something about it feels right. Regardless of how little sense the world sometimes makes, she has always trusted her gut. Her instincts have rarely led her astray.

And so, despite the corrupted Light above, despite the Flood frozen on the horizon beyond, she twines her fingers with Tesleen’s and kisses her again. “We are going to have all the time in the world,” she says fiercely, her heart hammering joyfully in her chest. “I promise you that.”

She has made many promises before. Promises to her grandfather, to her parents, to her brother, to her friends. To the Scions, to the Alliance. She has sworn on them, staked her life on them, risked everything to keep them.

Of all the promises she has made, she has never been more certain in one than this one.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Mount Fuji Bare Again After Fleeting Snow

As the calendar turned to November 2024, Japan’s iconic volcano and highest peak, Mount Fuji, still awaited the first snowfall of the season. When white did appear on its flanks on November 6, it was the latest in the year for the mountain’s first seasonal snowfall since records began 130 years ago. That beats the previous record of October 26, which occurred in both 1955 and 2016.

Ground and aerial photos from November 6 showed Mount Fuji with a fresh coating of snow on its peak. A local office of the Japan Meteorological Agency (JMA) officially confirmed the presence of snow on November 7, according to news reports; clouds had obstructed their view of the mountain the previous day.

By the time the OLI (Operational Land Imager) on the Landsat 8 satellite acquired this image (top) on November 9, the new snow appears to have melted. For comparison, an image from October 30, 2023 (lower), acquired by the OLI-2 on Landsat 9, shows the mountain clad in white. That year, the first snow on Mount Fuji came on October 5, a more typical time for this annual milestone.

The snow’s late arrival follows periods of exceptional warmth in Japan. The average summer temperature, from June to August 2024, was 1.76 degrees Celsius (3.17 degrees Fahrenheit) higher than the 1991–2020 average, according to JMA weather station observations. Those temperatures tied summer 2023 as the country’s hottest summer since comparable records began in 1898.

Above-average heat continued into the fall. Across Japan, over 120 million people experienced “unusual heat” in the first week of October 2024, reported Climate Central, when more than 70 Japanese cities recorded temperatures of 30°C (86°F) or higher. Warmth was also felt at Mount Fuji’s summit, which, according to news reports, prevented early-season precipitation from falling as snow.

NASA Earth Observatory images by Wanmei Liang, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Story by Lindsey Doermann.

[plutobutartsy]

alexis is well dressed not for the summit, but for the special occassion that is watching her cringefail brother try to survive this mess :3

(click for quality)

ID in alt and below cut!! <3

[ID:

A digital drawing of my version of Alexis Solaire shown from the thighs up.

She is drawn as a thin, tall black woman. Her ears are pointed and her wide nose has multiple bumps, almost as though it had been broken multiple times. She has patchy eyebrows and red eyes with long lashes, one of which is being held shut by a deep jagged scar that reaches from her forehead, down through her left eyebrow, and to her cheek. Her dark red lips are pulled into a wide smile, exposing her fangs and her face is slightly flushed.

Her black hair is straight and she is wearing it in a sort of half-up, half-down hairstyle: it is partly in a beehive like bun with the rest falling freely down her back and fanning out in small spikes on either side of her. Her bangs are cut in a v-shape.

Alexis is wearing a dark purple, tight fitting gown with a leg slit on the right side. It is sleeveless with the fabric comming all the way up to her neck, attatched to a silver choker. Additionally she is wearing a thick white fur coat that is slipping off her left shoulder. As far as accessories go, she is wearing an array of silver rings on her fingers and some purple gem earrings. Her black nails are long and sharp.

On her head, Alexis is wearing a silver crown with three peaks that end in purple gems. It extends into silver bat wings on either side of her head with purple gems and black pearls dangleing from them. Inserted into the crown and wings are multiple purple stained glass panels.

Alexis is leaning against a table on her right side with one hand supporting her weight. In her left hand she is holding a wine glass filled with red liquid (this could be blood or wine). Her head is tilted to the side with her gaze thrown over her right shoulder.

There are white lines surrounding her outlines, indicating a light source behind her.

The background is a blurry image of a beige ball room with big arched windows in the back.

End ID.]

taglist: @nothingsweeter @febreze-bottle-without-febreze @teaseat @swanconcerto @beemybella @soup-scope @shawslut @celestecreateschaos @puffin-smoke @xanyiaz @6-atlas-6 @deviantaj (let me know if you want be added or removed <3)

[umbralaether]

Kiss prompts: In the rain/snow 💜

Living in Coerthas was not unlike living in a snow-globe.

She awoke to a new dusting of snow every morning, and as someone who had spent most of her life in warm climates, it was more than an adjustment. She wasn’t sure how the people of Ishgard survived in such a world— endless snow and cold, nothing but grey and white covering every surface. It had been days since she’d seen a blue sky, and weeks since she’d seen the sun and felt it’s warmth.

Needless to say, the snow was beginning to freeze even her spirit.

Haurchefant, the only true sun in this unbearable climate, was not slow to notice her distaste for snow. He made sure the fire in her room was always blazing, had fitted her bed with the warmest of blankets, and made sure warm meals always found their way to her if he was unable to bring them himself.

So when he had told her he wanted to take her on a hike before dawn, she had almost spit out her drink.

“I assure you, my sweet Eisha, it will be worth the trip.” He said, taking her hand in his to kiss it gently.

In the end, she agreed. After all he had done for her, romantic intentions aside, she could give him this small thing. When he woke her an hour or so before the break of dawn, she crawled her way out of the cozy bed and dressed as warmly as she could.

The trek was not to be very far, he had assured her. Noir, his chocobo, did most of the work as he carried both of them up the summit. She was grateful to cling to Haurchefant’s body heat as they went, sleep still hovering around her mind.

“I know the snow has not been your favorite part of Ishgard, or Coerthas for that matter. I hope this can show you there is beauty to be found in even the most dismal of climates.”

They dismount Noir, the bird chirruping happily as Haurchefant feeds her a palmful of Gysahl greens. Eisha takes a moment to look around. He’s taken her to a mountaintop overlooking Ishgard, freshly fallen snow piled high and moments away from falling off the branches of the pine trees nearby. The sky is already a bruising purple as the sun begins it’s ascent.

“So what is it you wanted me to see?”

Haurchefant comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her body, “The sunrise, my sweet.”

It only takes a few minutes for the sun to peek over the horizon, a dazzling show of sparkles as the light hits the freshly fallen snow. Eisha cant help but find it breathtaking— most of the time Ishgard was just grey and white and bland.

This was something entirely new.

“This… I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Haurchefant chuckles, “It’s rare we have clear skies, especially this late in the season. I’m glad I get to be the first to witness you seeing it.”

Eisha turns towards him, and just as she does the wind blows glittering snowflakes all around them. They dance briefly before landing in their hair, on their coats, and she grins before leaning up to kiss him. He meets her with the same softness, a gentle thing, and she swears she could kiss him all day if it weren’t for the cold.

“Thank you, for showing me this,” she leans her head against his chest, “I won’t ever forget it.”

“Anything for you, my sweetest love.”

[monawasredacted]

Sweetheart Headcanons

These are purely related to my interpretation of Sweetheart and the vision of them that I subscribe to! So happy and excited to hear other people’s interpretations and see their Sweethearts (I’ll probably do this for all of my redacted OC’s)

•As their powers manifestested, the pigmentation in Sweetheart’s body started to react to the chemical makeup of their powers, and their hair, eyes and skin all drained of colour. Their skin, already pale, took on a more neutral tone. Their eyes, previously a darker and deeper blue, faded to a light grey. Their hair, a dirty blonde/light brown, grew into more of a white/blonde. This isn’t common, but is known to happen to stealths, as the magic that makes them seemingly transparent also messes with their body.

•They, at first, hated this. Their friends thought it was cool, but they couldn’t think it further from the truth. The features they’d loved the most, gifted from their parents, had been stolen by their powers. While they did not curse the gift of magic, they felt robbed of the things they were proud of, like the Tenerife blue of their mother’s eyes, or the signature tussled brown that had been donned by their father’s lineage for generations.

•Their powers were strong, but they didn’t know what to do with them. In fact, in their stealth classes, they took a little longer than their classmates to get a true handle on things. This is apparent and resurges when they’re in the midst of a highly tense emotional episode, such as panic attacks. They find it hard to decloak even if they want to.

•Sweetheart prefers to wear pants wherever they go, in case they need to cloak for any reason and they need to go unheard. Their magic also affects their clothes, but not always their physical mass; they can be heard and felt while cloaked if they don't exert the extra effort to conceal them, so pants are quieter and easier to move around in.

•In this same vein, they don’t wear jewellery very often either - clattering and clanging can sometimes be hard to mask and keep stealthed. The only exception to this rule is a ring gifted by Milo’s mother, that they wear every day, stealthing or not.

•Milo’s mother has an intense respect for Sweetheart (returned tenfold), and they get along really well. She was the first person Sweetheart went to when concerned about learning healing magic, agonising over not knowing it well and neglecting it when studying. When Sweetheart messaged, and then called Marie, torn to bits about their inability to heal effectively, Marie knew that Sweetheart was a good person, heart and soul. And Marie can always tell deep down whether a person is good or not.

•Colm attempts to converse with Sweetheart often, usually about investigating, and it takes a while for Sweetheart to open up and speak more freely- they, at first, felt as if the tension in the relationship between Milo and Colm was to be tread very carefully. It wasn’t until Milo ensured ‘I won’t be mad at you for entertainin’ his nosy personality, as is the nature of an investigator.’ (When Sweetheart refused this idea, Milo then followed up with ‘No, you’re definitely not nosy, just have a penchant for sneakin’ into unknowing victim's apartments to accost them with interroga-.’ He couldn’t finish the sentence, with a pillow to his face.)

•Sweetheart does, in fact, dress like an old timey P.I: long coats, dark tones, well fit slacks and boots, the works.

And they make it look good?

•Milo usually helps them pick out their clothes, as he’s really actually quite exceptional at doing such. He did not, however, help with their Summit outfit. That was all Sweetheart’s doing (and Milo’s undoing).

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 8: Healing

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 922

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: none

Special thanks to @aussiegurl1234 for her input.

A/N: So, we finally come to the final chapter of this “one-shot” lol. I hope it meets expectations.

My other stuff: Master List.

“Today is the one-year anniversary of the Madrid Peace Summit Massacre,” the news anchor addressed the camera.

“It was a dark day for all our countries,” His co-host replied nodding her head sympathetically, “Isabella Hasapis was forced to take the Auverness throne when both her parents were killed, making her the youngest monarch in their history, ascending the throne at only sixteen. In Monterisso, the late queen’s sister was appointed as regent until crown princess Amalas is old enough to rule.”

Constantine turned the volume of the TV up as his mind ran back in time to the worst day of his life.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the white-coated doctor stood with his hands in his pockets as he delivered the news, “We did everything we could. Heroic measures were employed but the injuries from the gunshot wounds were too grievous, and we were unable to save him.”

Constantine’s body shook with sobs. He let himself be led to a chair. He sank into it and dropped his head into his hands. He gathered his emotions as best he could and lifted his head, “And her?”

“I’m sorry, sir, again, the extent of the injuries-“

“So I’ve lost them both?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Would you like to see your wife now?”

“Connie, why are you watching this?” Eleanor took the remote from his hand and clicked the TV off just as the footage of his remarks from the south lawn of the palace earlier in the day began to play.

He turned to her with tears in his eyes, “It was the day I lost both my parents. The day I almost lost you. I don’t know how Leo and Liam would have-“

“Hey, we don’t have to worry about that. I’m here. I made it and so did you.”

“Thanks to Jack.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Thanks to Jack. Speaking of him…don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and jumped to his feet, “Shit! Yes! I have to go!”

“It’s fine, go!” She shooed him out of their private living room, one hand at the small of her back and the other resting on her burgeoning stomach as she felt the baby kick. “Settle down, Lena. You have a month left in there.”

She missed her in-laws, but she was grateful that both she and her husband had been spared. The bullet had hit her in the side. There had been a lot of blood, but no major organs had been damaged.

She would have joined the king, but she was on partial bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy. She had told Constantine to give her love to the Walker family. She would be forever grateful for the sacrifices made that day.

Constantine stepped out of the limo and approached the group gathered around the gravesite. He made his way to Bianca and swept her into a hug before doing the same with Drake and Savannah in turn.

He stepped forward and touched the cold marble of the marker, his fingers tracing the etching. His throat constricted as he croaked out, “He died a hero.”

“That he did. He stepped right in front of that bullet.”

Constantine turned toward the voice with a solemn expression, “So did you.”

“Damned straight I did! And I’d do it again!”

The king pulled the other man into a tight embrace as he fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, “Don’t joke about that, Jack, I almost lost you that day!”

It had been touch and go for two weeks. Constantine had never left his side.

“I’m not joking,” Jackson hugged him back.

Constantine had tried to get him to transfer to a less dangerous position, but Jackson had refused. There was no one else he trusted to safeguard the man he loved.

“Eleanor sends her love to all of you,” Constantine pushed out of Jackson’s arms and turned back to the monument, “We know how much Bastien meant to you.”

“He was like family,” Bianca agreed.

“He didn’t hesitate to take that bullet for her,” Jackson removed a flask of whiskey from his jacket pocket and held it up to the monument in salute, “Here’s to the best junior officer I ever had the privilege of training.”

“To Bastien!” the little group chorused.

When the gathering was over, Constantine and Jackson walked back to the limo together, hand in hand.

The perpetrators of the attack had all been brought to justice and The Liberation Core dismantled. There was some amount of closure in that.

Eleanor had taken the news of his relationship with Jackson in stride.

“I suspected, Connie. But it doesn’t change anything for me. I love you, and I love our boys.”

The only thing she had asked him for was another child. A chance for a girl and he’d given it to her.

In return, she’d given him complete acceptance of his relationship with Jackson.

He was as happy as he could be while still grieving his parents. He would always miss them, but he had a baby on the way, a queen who understood him, and the love of his life by his side.

Next year for his birthday, Jackson was getting that white water rafting trip. Constantine had already booked it. Just the two of them…give or take a few dozen guardsmen.

He glanced at the man next to him with happiness in his heart. He was healing, Cordonia was healing, and the future looked bright.  

~fin

[rabbitcruiser]

Racing River, BC (No. 2)

The Stone's sheep (Ovis dalli stonei) or stone sheep is the more southern subspecies of thinhorn sheep, Ovis dalli.

The global population of Stone's sheep is primarily found in Northern British Columbia and can often be seen licking minerals along the side of the Alaska Highway in areas such as Summit Lake, Stone Mountain Provincial Park, and Muncho Lake Provincial Park.

Pelage colour variations range widely, from slate grey-brown with a white rump patch, dark tail and white on the inside of the hind legs, to an almost completely white/grey-white coat with a dark or black dorsal surface on the tail. Horns are curved in form and vary in colour from a yellowish-brown to dark brown horns.

Source: Wikipedia

[autumnleaffay]

A mountain for my heart

This will be a small NorFin AU based on a lovely petition by Norwegians to gift Finland the summit of mountain Halti for the 100th anniversary of Finnish independence 🇧🇻🇫🇮

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a warm summer day in 2017. Finland was not surprised when Norway wanted to go for a hike. The location, tho, was an interesting choice.

"We could have taken the easier route from my land, but knowing you, I decided we take the longer way from Kilpisjärvi."

Oh yes, they where hiking up to the highest point in his entire country, the mountain Halti.

They have been taking the hike at a slow and relaxed pace. Of course, they could have done the 50km hike in a day or two. But they decided to have more time off and enjoy nature.

Today was the 4th day, and the last 10km of the hike.

The two have been hiking in a joint silence, just enjoying each other's presence.

Finland's mind began to wander. He reminisces about the past, the adventures, and the misfortunes of the past. What have the two of them experienced.

Two nations with different backgrounds, but still so similar.

Both used and controlled by their conquers. Both have experience with famines and hard ships.

Both scared by the scorched earth retreat of nazi Germany.

But still, there was a difference.

Norway got his independence peaceful. Every norwegian was in favour of the common goal.

Finland? He had to fight. Fight against the russification. Against losing himself. Having no one to rely on except himself.

And then, when independence was gained, his own people fought.

White against red.

Pain and suffering.

His heart ripping apart-

"Hei, earth to Finland. Are you there?" Norway's soft voice pulled him out of his spiralling memories.

"I-I.... I just remembered our, my, past."

Norway face showed that he understood. After the second world war the two have been growing closer. Eventually, they finally opened up about each other's feelings.

The norwegian extended his hand towards his finnish beloved: "Come, we are close. I have something for you."

Finland became curious, as he took Norways hand and followed him. Norway was right. The finnish-norwegian border soon came into their view.

A stone pillar symbolising the highest point of his country.

The two men stopped as Finland reached for the pillar with his free hand. He took a deep breath.

This was him at his tallest, but it was not the summit. The summit belonged to Norway, just on the other side of the border.

Was this a symbol? Did this mean that he could never reach the summit quite like Norway can? Will he forever be second?

A soft kiss was placed on his cheek.

Silently, he let himself be guided the 200m to the true summit. To Norway's land.

Finland took a shaking breath. He wanted to ask something, but the words stuck in this throat.

On top of the summit was a Finnish flag, his coat of arms, salmiakki, and a pack of Kvikk Lunsj.

"Nor-"

"Elskede, Rakas, my beloved! Thought the constitution written by my people about my land don't officially allow a change of our border, I want to gift you the summit of Halti. I the personification of the kingdom of Norway here by give the mountain Halti to the personification of the Republic of Finland, to my dearest, to my heart."

Only the wind was a witness to the tears shed on that mountain. Only the wind keeps the memories of the two northern nations.

Only the wind will hear the whisper.

Suomi, Finland in my heart. Forever.

~~~~~~~

Hi! Welcome to the new year!

I loved the petition from some norwegian citizens to gift the summit to Finland back in 2016. Unfortunately, it was decided against that due to the norwegian constitution.

(Other mentioned history was the scorch earth policy, where the Nazis destroyed as much land as possible when they lost at the end of ww2)

And yes, the last line is from Alexander Rybak's song, Suomi, with a slight change in lyrics based on me having misheard them for the first couple of listenings.

Link: https://youtu.be/zn1U4movCxY?si=aSNGv4yI1nGEheHu

[aurathian]

To the Moon and Back: 3. and even the stars.

AO3 | Written for @zelinktines24 #7: stars. Reblogs appreciated if you enjoy!!

Fandom: Breath of the Wild

Rating: G

Ships: Link/Zelda

Description: Under the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars, Zelda and Link travel to the Spring of Wisdom so the princess can perform one last prayer.

Read the full fic below or read it on AO3.

It was very, very dark, like her doubts and fears had at last consumed her and she was trapped in them for centuries. That darkness that lingered over her had finally won, she supposed. But in the distance, she heard crackling. Something hot, enveloping her in warmth, something firm around her. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

“You’re awake,” came a voice, relieved. The firm grip on her tightened and pulled her in.

“Link,” was all she could say, curling into him.

He added a piece of wood to the fire and it crackled back at him. The blanket on her shifted to cover her head, aided by Link’s free hand, the other one still holding onto her.

“I was worried.”

Zelda had nothing to say. She wasn’t sure what happened, but knew she said her piece in the waters that rippled just off to her side. Those cold, cold waters. The world around her swam as though she was still submerged there, but Link’s hold kept her grounded in reality.

“I’m fine,” she replied at last. The flames danced in front of her, a warm home in the midst of an icy mountain, inviting and searing. “Are you not cold?”

Her knight wore no blanket and bore no coat, though he had layers underneath his ceremonial tunic. His hair lay across his back and shoulders, free from its usual band so that it could keep his ears warm.

“I’m fine, too.”

Even though her mind was racing, the world outside her thoughts was peaceful. A breeze swept through the Spring and the water reflected the glimmering stars. The icy spires that made up the summit reflected white moonlight. There was not a sound except that crackling fire and whispering wind.

“What do you think will happen now?” Zelda said aloud, mostly to herself. “I could not awaken my powers at any of the springs or statues. That was my one mission given to me. What am I supposed to do now? I’ve done everything, tried everything.”

“What if the Calamity were to awaken right now, Link? What would we do?” He watched the sky intently, which Zelda did not seem to notice as she continued to ramble, voice becoming increasingly shaky with each word and breath.

“Do you think that the sun will rise tomorrow, or the day after? And if it does, then what? I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She sniffled. “But I know that whatever comes to pass, it will be my fault.”

“I will become nothing but a forgotten memory. Should I live or die, they will forget me because I failed along the way.” Pulling the blanket up to her face, she stared out at the statue across the water. Her eyes dragged across the pristine spring to Link, where he still wordlessly looked to the sky.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asked before she could think. The Princess, given every right to order her knight around, had not meant to order her knight to respond. They were unfair questions that nobody in the kingdom could answer, and perhaps not even the Goddess Hylia. But she wanted someone to tell her it would be okay. That no matter what would happen, it would turn out alright in the end.

The breeze blew, carrying mists of snow with it. She followed Link’s gaze up to the sky, where hundreds of stars danced and twinkled. Carefree, millions of miles away, untouched by calamities or destinies or prayers.

“I’m naming all those stars after you.” He turned to her and they locked eyes, her heart skipping a beat. “So that nobody will forget.” His hand touched her face ever so gently, fingertips grazing her cheeks, and he leaned in.

They cuddled under the veil of stars that night, slumbering by the fire before leaving down the mountain in the morning. Zelda knew what awaited her there–the Champions, of course, but also the uncertain future that no sun, moon, or stars could illuminate.

[chronicbeans]

The Frostbiter (Original Story)

Oof not a Welcome Home story but this wouldn't leave my head. OwO I hope y'all enjoy anyways.

TW: Descriptions of Severe Frostbite, Mentions of Death

Looking around, I see nothing but snow coating the mountain. I hold my daughter close, her violent shaking telling me just how cold she feels. "It'll be alright, Amanda. We'll find the way down. Don't worry. Daddy will keep you safe. Just hang on." Her dark eyes look up to me, her voice but a soft, whispery quiver "Daddy, your nose is turning black... Dad...?" "Yes, Amanda?" "Are we gonna die?"

I don't want to lie, but I want to keep up hope. The most heartbreaking thought in my mind is seeing my sweet Amanda lose hope. I want to see her smile until the end. "We'll make it down, Amanda. There has to be some way back down the mountain. We hiked up here, after all. The snow has just covered the path. We'll make it down, one way or another." That won't be a lie, right? We can hike down if we figure out which way to go, and even if we don't, someone will come up to retrieve our bodies after this blizzard is over. We aren't too far up for them to do that, right? Amanda weakly nods, her eyes eyes looking around the area "It all looks white... Like a blanket. A cold, cold blanket. I miss my blanket."

I hold her closer, moving on. I can't figure out if I am walking further up the mountain, or if I am going down. I can only pray that it is down. The snow is so heavy, that I cannot see two feet in front of me. As it piles up, it becomes harder to move my legs through it to walk. The weather forecast must've lied. They said there would be sunny skies today. This was supposed to be a fun birthday for my baby girl. She always wanted to hike up the same mountain her mother did ten years ago and do what she couldn't: make it to the summit. Now look at her, bundled up, her skin turning white with frostbite... Just like her mother.

I keep hearing something up ahead that sounds like footsteps. I try to walk faster, shouting "Help! We need help! We can team up to find our way down!" Only for the other person to not respond. I walk faster, shouting louder "Please, I have a child with me! You have to help!"

I struggle onwards, hearing those footsteps. The crunch of the snow with each step I take seems like it is mocking me. It's all around me and my daughter, sucking the life out of us. I'm so cold, even with my multiple layers of coats, scarves, and pants. We both really bundled up for this trip. It all seems like it is in vain.

I can't feel my hands, or my feet, or my lower legs. The sensation ends just underneath my knees and after my wrists. I can't bend my fingers, either. I look down at Amanda, seeing her pale face looking up at me. A few strands of hair poke our from beneath her wool hat, her body curled against me for warmth. "It'll be okay, sweetie. Remember what I told you, okay? Don't take off anything that is meant to keep you warm. Especially if you suddenly feel warm. Let me know if that happens." She nods in responds "Okay dad."

After seemingly hours of agonizing trudging, I can't take it. I am exhausted, the stranger isn't listening, and I feel hopeless. The snow doesn't seem to end. It isn't stopping. It's so cold. I can't go on. I drop into the snow, making sure to turn so I land on my back, with Amanda on top of me. "Amanda... Dad needs a break. You can walk, right?" She gets up, her eyes contrasting the white snow around us, causing me to see every bit of fear in them. "Dad...? Dad, get up!" "I just need a break. Go see if you can get the guy up ahead to talk to you. Please... They can help." She grows, quiet, before looking around, then running after the stranger.

"Help! My daddy needs help! Please, help-!" My eyes, which almost closed from weakness, suddenly shoot open as I hear her scream. I use all of my energy to force myself up. I can't feel anything. I fear to look underneath my mittens, worrying that my fingers might be dead, alongside my feet. That doesn't matter, right now. I need to help my little angel. I trudge further, seeing two silhouettes in the distance.

My little Amanda is backing away from the stranger. They, seemingly, have no winter clothing on; just a white lab coat, dress pants, and what looks to be a watch. I can't see their face, but their hair is short and blonde. The stranger's fingers... they are completely black, before their still living tissue resumes, only to be white from frostbite. They sway slightly, before reaching their hand out to Amanda.

"Get away from her!" They turn their head over to me, causing me to flinch at the horrid sight of their face. Their nose, ears, lips... Even their cheeks by their cheekbones have turned black. The entirety of the skin on their face has turned as pale as the snow around us, as well as the frost that has accumulated on their eyebrows and in their hair. They open their mouth, which seems to have ice growing inside of it, around their teeth. "You are the one the little one was crying about? You look so warm..."

They move, their legs so stiff that their steps are more of a shuffle, towards me. Their voice, smooth and masculine, continues "I am Dr. Pierre Glasgow. I have been up here for years... I am so cold... My bones feel frozen to the marrow. You have to help me..." I back up, feeling uneasy. As much as I know this man's appearance isn't something he can control and that I might look very similar, myself, I can't bring myself to be near him. "What happened to you? My daughter, Amanda, and I were hiking. You look completely unprepared."

Dr. Glasgow reaches out to me, his hands frozen still, as he cries out "My team abandoned me! They told me it would be warm! I am so cold! I am so cold! Get close so you can help me! Close! Help!" I flinch, gently grabbing his wrist to avoid rubbing his dead tissue off, asking "I can help, just tell me what I-" He suddenly lunges, grabbing ahold of my neck with his teeth. The ice inside pierces my skin, causing my daughter to cry out in shock and horror.

Everything suddenly grows colder. Colder than I ever thought possible. I point my hand into the distance, choking out "Amanda, run!" "Dad, I'm so cold! I can't move my legs!" "You have to try!" She shuffles off, just as the man drops me. I watch as he suddenly moves his arms and legs, even his dead fingers, as if he were perfectly fine.

"So warm... warm joints... warm blood in me. Thank you. I guess I should take you someplace safe from the snow. There is a little cabin up ahead. I can keep you there, so you can keep me warm until you grow cold, like me."

I am too weak to do anything as Dr. Glasgow drags me through the snow. I have no words for what this "man" is... it is like a vampire, mixed with snow, or a zombie. I can only describe it as a frostbiter.

[yourfave-eats-sand]

or the chapter of the same name and epithet, see Chapter 155.

"Desert King" Sir Crocodile[3][13] is the former president of the mysterious crime syndicate Baroque Works,[14] formerly operating under the codename "Mr. 0", with Nico Robin, formerly known as "Miss All Sunday", operating as his Vice-President and partner. He is the main antagonist of the Arabasta Arc and the Arabasta Saga overall, and a supporting character in the Impel Down Arc and the Marineford Arc.

He is one of the longest running and most noteworthy primary adversaries of the series, as he was the first enemy to hand Luffy a complete and utter defeat. He was originally introduced as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea,[7] but he was later stripped of his title after a failed attempt to take control of Arabasta Kingdom[4] and was imprisoned the legendary prison Impel Down; being placed in Level 6.[15]

Crocodile was freed by Luffy from Impel Down in exchange for aiding in the rescue of his brother[16] and went to Marineford to participate in the Summit War on the side of Luffy and the Whitebeard Pirates.[17] After the war, he and his subordinate Daz Bonez decided to head out to the New World,[18] where Crocodile would establish the Cross Guild alongside his former Warlord colleague Dracule Mihawk, with another former Warlord and current member of the Four Emperors, Buggy, acting as the organization's figurehead.[2][19]

Vegapunk later cloned Crocodile as one of the Seraphim to replace the Warlords.[20]

Appearance

Crocodile is a tall man with a wide chest, broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, and a thick neck. He has pale skin and nape-length black hair, which is kept neatly slicked back, though strands tend to fall in front of his face during battles. Crocodile has various battle wounds, most notably a long-stitched scar at the bridge of his nose that stretches across his face and a large hook made from a tough gold alloy in place of his left hand. His eyes are deep-set and heavy-lidded, and his thin eyebrows are characteristically drawn upward in the middle.[21][7] This gives his usual facial expression a feeling of condescension and distrust. Crocodile speaks with a deep, relaxed voice, and he is usually seen smoking a thick cigar produced by his company. In the anime, his skin is somewhat of a grayish color.

His theme of dress is meant to convey the image of an Italian mafia boss. In his original appearance, Crocodile wore a bright orange, black-striped button up vest over a long-sleeve peach shirt (white in the manga and One Piece: Pirate Warriors series), along with a blue scarf, dark brown suit pants, and polished black shoes with gold buckles. He also wore a long, thick, dark pelted fur coat (full

[nanoland]

HEY SO who wants a sneak peek at the first page of my new book?

(coming out 10 November, preorder here to help an indie author out <3)

VOILA, MY GOOD BITCHES:

Chapter 1

He’d spotted seven snow-coated corpses on his way to the summit thus far and had paused only to spit on them for discouraging him.

“Daisyhearts!” he rasped as he dragged his aching body over another infernal rocky ledge, his fingers throbbing inside the thick, expensive gloves he’d stolen along with the rest of his climbing gear. “Custardspines! May your widows laugh when they think of you! May your – nngh, ow, ow – may your bones roll downhill and land in a cowpat!”

To give his mind something with which to occupy itself besides the biting cold, he wondered as to their identities.

His research had revealed that seventy-two men and women were known for a fact to have died on the way to Evil Veronica’s icy pinnacle, and over two thousand according to legend and rumour.

Most of the known casualties were idiots; highborn second sons with a chip on the shoulder, more money than sense, and everything to prove. They usually died before reaching the halfway mark, which he’d passed eighteen hours ago.

“Could have gone to university, you rich twit,” he chided one reddish-grey lump that might have been a boulder as easily as a person with a click of his tongue. “Could have become a renowned scholar or… or one of those wanky artists who paints meadows. Made something of yourself. What a waste.”

Which wasn’t entirely fair, he knew, given that many of the corpses had, in fact, been men of learning who’d made the climb in search of new plants, a better view of the stars, or, in one notable case that people were still chuckling over, to find out if angels could be charmed from the Heavens if you just got high enough and sang the right hymns.

Over there, for example.

Unless he was very much mistaken, that was the great bronze telescope of Lord Fabian, renowned astrologer and absolute loon, poking up from the pile of murderous white powder that had killed its erstwhile owner ten years ago.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he crooned at it. “I’ll tell you what, eh, if I could get you down the slope and back to civilisation, you’d probably earn me enough to buy a nice little observatory of my own. And drugs! Oh, I’d buy so many drugs. Enough to bury a horse in.”

Gods alive, he was cold.

EVIL MEN: 10 NOVEMBER 2023

[getoutofthisplace]

Dear Gus & Magnus,

I drove to Rogers and back today for a Summit rehearsal, but I didn't take a photo, so here's one from five years ago. Yiayia came with us to some church that hosted Mom's nursing school white coat ceremony. Her first degree is in cultural anthropology, so she had to take a full year of pre-requisites to even get into nursing school. And of course, she eventually graduated and now she's a nurse.

I was/am very proud of her for doing something she always wanted to do.

After we watched Mom walk across the stage, I took Gus out into the lobby and he ran all over that building.

Dad.

Little Rock, Arkansas. 10.12.2018 - 5.35pm.

SIDENOTE: Here's another shot from that day. And another.