#women? i want your entire stock :3

[lgbtqtext]

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Horror, Unhinged Husbands, Emotional Chaos, Desperation, Chasing the Uncatchable, Cursed Relationships, Polyamory Drama, Sorcery Meets Reality. Major Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of distress (physical and emotional), mentions of stalking behaviors, power imbalances, body horror (pregnancy), intense angst. Other Warnings: Crack moments in otherwise serious situations, manipulative tendencies, morally gray characters.

A/N: My Christmas gift to you ≧◠‿◠≦✌ Let me just say: I’m not sorry for the emotional rollercoaster you’re about to board. The safety harness? It’s Gojo/Nanami brand of dysfunction. Prepare yourselves for sorcery-fueled absurdity, body horror vibes, and enough angst to fill an Infinity Room. Also, if you’ve ever wanted to see Gojo wrestle with drunk Norwegian women or Nanami quietly descend into bread-obsessed madness, you’re in the right place. Buckle up. And yes, you’re allowed to throw virtual tomatoes at me in the comments.

Previous Chapter 3 - Corporate Warfare: Protocol The Circus of Two (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running

But no one could outrun Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento.

Denmark was off the table. Nanami knew you’d never hide in his ancestral grandmaland, so they aimed for Norway instead—specifically, a place you’d once mentioned wanting to visit.

This brilliant deduction led to their current predicament: boarding Gojo’s private jet at 2 a.m. for a 12-hour flight to Oslo.

Gojo had his tousled white hair peeking out from beneath his hood, the fabric of his oversized hoodie hanging loosely over his broad shoulders and accentuating his athletic build. His sweatpants clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath. He wore photochromic, transparent-framed glasses .

Nanami, too, sported an oversized hoodie that draped comfortably over his muscular frame. His normal world green-tinted Cannin glasses rested casually on the bridge of his nose, just visible beneath his hood, while his hair fell softly around his forehead. Both men wore slightly baggy sweats, adding to their relaxed vibe.

The plane, Gojo’s luxurious Bombardier Global 7500 , gleamed with sleek leather seats, gold trim, a full kitchen and a bar so well stocked it could supply a frat house for weeks.

Unfortunately, none of it could save the two men from their current downward spiral as they tried to commit substance abuse to drown their feelings, but instead they were the stars of the most unhinged reality show no one asked for.

Hour 3:25 AM

The cabin was quiet except for the occasional hum of the engines and the steady clinking of utensils. Or it would have been quiet if Gojo wasn’t demolishing an entire cart’s worth of desserts.

“Where do you think she is?” Gojo asked.

Nanami, five glasses of scotch deep, stared at him. “Maybe she’s on a beach. With a book. No loud idiots.”

Gojo gasped. “Are you calling me a loud idiot? I’m your husband, Nanami. Respect the bond, or I’ll bend you right here and add you to the mile-high club.”

Nanami didn’t flinch. “Respect the bond? You mean the one where I tolerate your endless noise? Bend me, and I’ll file for divorce the second we land. Along with a restraining order.”

“Then I’ll levitate you forever and do that thing you like,” Gojo waved his fork. “But I’ll forgive you because I’m a generous fairy like that.”

The plane jolted with turbulence, and Gojo clutched his dessert tray.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now, “she left because we took her for granted.”

Nanami paused, then sighed. “Maybe it’s because you ate her last imported chocolates.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his hoodie. “You swore you’d never bring that up again!”

Nanami drained the rest of his scotch, gesturing to the flight attendant for another. “It was mutiny.”

Gojo teased again. “You know, if we don’t find her, I’m just gonna move into your apartment. I call the big bed.”

Nanami groaned, closing his eyes; Gojo had forced him to sell that apartment ages ago because he was worried Nanami would run away. “Go to sleep, Gojo.”

“You go to sleep,” Gojo retorted, his words slurring as his head lolled from all the sugar.

Hour 4:10 AM

“I’m stress eating,” Gojo declared, stuffing a tiramisu into his mouth. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Nanami glared at him over the rim of his scotch glass; it was his 8th or 18th—who knew anymore. “You’ve eaten everything except the in-flight magazines.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gojo said, mouthful of frosting.

The flight attendant approached cautiously. “Sir, we’ve run out of desserts. Perhaps—”

Gojo's ripped off his glasses. She jumped. His radioactive eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, like a genetically mutant from the Umbrella Corps lab, struggling to comprehend the mundane world beyond the confines of his oversized hood. “What do you mean, run out? There’s a whole Gojo Clan dessert inventory on this flight!”

She blinked. “Sir, that’s… not meant for passengers. That was a gift, as you declared earlier.”

“Guess what?” He said. “They mine now.” Holding his own desserts hostage.

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve left you in Tokyo.”

“You couldn’t have,” Gojo said smugly, shoving mousse in his mouth. “I’m the sugar to your bitter.”

Nanami’s reply was drowned out by turbulence, which sent his scotch splashing onto his lap. He sighed, leaning back into his seat. “I should’ve ordered vodka.”

“Don’t blame the scotch for your crotch crisis,” Gojo quipped, taking a swig of Nanami’s drink before he could stop him.

The turbulence worsened, and the cabin lights flickered. Gojo glanced at Nanami, his grin weak. “Do you think this is a sign?”

“A sign of what?” Nanami deadpanned, swirling his next glass of scotch.

“That we’re bad husbands.”

Nanami froze. “You’re just now realizing that?”

Gojo slumped against his seat. “I mean, yeah, but I’m trying. I even brought dessert for her!”

“You are inhaling all the dessert.”

The turbulence jostled them again, and this time, Nanami spilled a bit of his drink on Gojo’s sleeve.

“You know,” Gojo started, wiping at the stain, “if this plane goes down, at least I’ll die with a tummy full of cake and regret.”

“Good,” Nanami muttered. “Because if we survive this flight, I’m leaving you in Norway.”

“You say that, but then show up like Batman when you think I’m in danger,” Gojo smirked, leaning closer.

Nanami didn’t respond. He’d fallen asleep, the glass still in his hand.

Gojo blinked, nudging him lightly. “ Min min ?”

Nanami stirred, mumbling something unintelligible before straightening abruptly. “What did I miss?”

Gojo grinned. “Just turbulence. And the shocking revelation that beneath that muscle mass, you’re really just a big softie who’d probably cry at a frog video.”

Nanami muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “I married the frog.” Gojo smirked, satisfied.

Hour 5:15 AM

Gojo now sat manspreading with a tower of dessert plates now teetering on the tray in front of him. He bit into a chocolate tart with the energy of a man trying to solve world hunger through sheer caloric intake. “You know if we don’t find her, I’m just gonna eat my feelings forever. This is who I am now. The Dessert Man .”

Nanami was now sitting hunched over a plate piled high with an assortment of bread—baguettes, croissants, ciabatta, even a slice of pumpernickel he was aggressively buttering. “You can’t eat your feelings. It’s not sustainable.”

“Says the man eating enough bread to open a bakery,” Gojo waved a forkful of tiramisu at him.

Nanami tore into a white chocolate-stuffed croissant like it owed him a kidney. “Bread is practical. Dessert is diabetes.”

“Bread is boring,” Gojo said. “You’re boring. This is why she left us.”

Nanami's jaw froze mid-bite, lips glistening with garlic butter, his regular human world glasses sliding. "She bailed because you can't keep your mouth shut for five seconds, and you eat like a raccoon on a trash binge—minus the charm and coordination."

Gojo gasped. “How dare you? I dine with the flair of a royal peacock!”

Nanami grabbed a slice of rye and spread a thick layer of cream cheese on it. “I’m starting to think we deserved this.”

“Excuse me,” Gojo snapped, licking frosting off his fingers. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be the stable, boring one. Why are you spiraling?”

Nanami waved a baguette at him like a baton. “Because I’m married to you. That’s reason enough.”

Gojo squinted at him, then burst out laughing, crumbs flying into Nanami’s face. “You love me, Ken Ken. Just admit it.”

Nanami wiped his face but smeared more butter on it. “I love silence more.”

Nanami shoved a Swiss roll in Gojo’s mouth before he could retort, and they continued their loop of stress eating and drinking, only to spontaneously doze off mid-bites. The silence was punctuated by the occasional jolt of turbulence that sent them both jolting awake, looking like startled deer.

Hour 7:05 AM

Gojo slurred, about to go into a sugar-induced coma. “ Nono.” He tried to get Nanami’s attention by nudging him but used too much force and ended up pushing him into the window. “Do you...” Hiccup . “Do you think… do you think she’s cold? Like, colder than me?”

Nanami sipped his Flamingo Fizz—the same drink he’d mocked Gojo for years ago, now guzzled from a bottle he’d bullied the flight attendant into making. His face was a strange mix of tipsy philosopher and bread-obsessed gremlin. “You’re not cold,” he muttered, voice rasping like a tired kazoo. “You’re… a heat urchin.” Yes, that was definitely the word.

Gojo squinted at him, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

Gojo’s fork clattered to the floor. He leaned down to grab it, only to lose his balance and end up sprawled across the carpet. “HELP. MAN DOWN.”

Nanami continued sipping. “No.”

“Some husband you are,” Gojo grumbled, hauling himself back into his seat. “Do you think she’s laughing at us right now? Like, somewhere out there, she’s probably sitting by a fire, drinking tea, and laughing because we’re a mess.”

Nanami took a contemplative bite of sourdough. “We are a mess,” he said finally. “But we’re her mess.”

Gojo nodded sagely, his head bobbing as his eyes started to droop. “Yeah… her mess…” His voice trailed off as he slumped forward, face landing squarely in a half-eaten pie.

Nanami stared at him, unimpressed, before his own head began to droop. “We’ll… we’ll find her…” he mumbled, falling asleep mid-sentence with a Vienna bread still clutched in his hand.

A flight attendant sighed from the galley, his arms crossed. “Do they ever act normal?”

His coworker, balancing a tray of more desserts, snorted. “Normal? These two? One’s eaten 75% of the dessert inventory, and the other’s chugging alcohol like it’s a juice box. I walked in earlier, and the white-haired one was trying to shotgun a whole party cake.”

“And the bread guy?”

“Won’t stop asking for ‘just one more roll.’ I swear he’s got a bread tower going over there.”

The first attendant peeked out from behind the curtain, eyebrows shooting up at the sight of Nanami’s precariously balanced bread pyramid. “Oh my god. Is he using butter and cheese as glue?”

The plane jolted again, and Gojo startled awake, lifting his head from the pie with frosting smeared across his face. “TURBULENCE. WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

Nanami jerked awake. “Where’s the fire?” he mumbled, blinking blearily.

The attendants sighed.

Gojo leaned over to Nanami, his voice conspiratorial. “Do you think they’re judging us?”

“They’re absolutely judging us,” Nanami replied, grabbing another slice of Pane di Altamura and slathering it with butter.

Gojo sighed, grabbing another pudding. “Whatever. At least we’re rich.”

The two clinked their glass and bottle—Nanami’s now filled with an experimental cocktail of pink flamingo and butter. The plane hit another patch of turbulence, and they both tipped sideways, slurring incoherent nonsense as they fell back asleep mid-toast.

When the plane hit another bump, it was a sight to behold: Gojo was snoring with his face buried in Nanami’s armpit above his hoodie while Nanami was sliding off the seat in his sleep.

Hour—Sometime Closer to Landing

"Do you think we should stop them?" one attendant asked, glancing out to see Nanami trying—and failing—to balance his entire drink tray on his head while simultaneously attempting to perform a kickflip in his seat. Gojo, in his infinite wisdom, had decided the best way to contribute to the moment was to start an impromptu squillo routine, swinging his hands around in wide arcs.

Hour—Sometime even more closer to landing

Gojo, now completely oblivious to the fact that he had frosting lodged in his hair and across his face, had his one leg draped over a dessert tray like a cat who had just been fed his weight in treats. He was stuffing his mouth with the same grace as a baby who needed to be fed by telling it, ‘ Here comes the chu-chu train .’

I still don’t get it,” Gojo muttered between bites. “She just... left. No fight. No warning. Just poof! Abracadabra! Bam! Disappeared like a fart in the wind. Not very demure.” Burp . “Is it because I’m too much? We were good , right? Like, we were normal before, I swear. I mean, I’m the best, right? You'd agree. She just... couldn’t handle the heat, Nanami. It was too hot for her.”

The smell of butter and booze mingled in the air around Nanami like some cursed scent. He squinted at Gojo like he was analyzing the deep mysteries of the universe. "She didn’t leave because we were bad... She left because... because she had to escape the heat . You’re like a…” He paused, trying to understand the magnitude of his own wisdom. “You know... one of those little things that explode if you get too close.”

Gojo blinked, his head tilting back as if he was hearing the meaning of life. “Yeah. I’m explosive and damn hot.”

Nanami sighed. "I'm cold." He tore another chunk of bread. "And. Calculated. I don't break."

Gojo waved his dessert-sticky hands around like a windmill. "Calculated, my ass! You can't even calculate the right amount of butter on your bread! It’s obscene!"

An attendant peeked through the crack in the curtain. “I swear to God, five minutes ago one of them was chugging straight from the chocolate fountain.”

Nanami suddenly snapped to attention from his dozing off. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”

Gojo paused. “Better than you?” He was so full of smugness it could rival his domain. "Please. Wanna fight?”

At that precise moment, Gojo’s fingers twitched—almost involuntarily—as if something had triggered an electric shock in his brain. “Too late!” He snapped his fingers, and a flurry of tiramisu and macarons levitated into the air. He started to fall back asleep mid-fight.

“Don’t do it, Gojo," Nanami grumbled, his cursed energy shifting as his technique began to hum to life. The very air around him seemed to shimmer.

Gojo suddenly woke up with a snort. “Wait! Nanami, don’t—DON’T use that technique!”

But it was too late. Nanami, with the precision of a drunk surgeon, unleashed his Domain Expansion. The golden grid of perfect symmetry expanded around them, snapping with the weight of its own force. Gojo’s whiskey glass rattled against the table, the precise balance of the universe shifting under Nanami’s power.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled in drunken delight. “Nice try, buddy,” he slurred, twisting his fingers. “But I’m Infinity-ing your fractured space.”

Reality itself seemed to bend as Gojo’s domain erupted. Nanami’s grid of perfect balance twisted like a rubber band as the two domains collided—whiskey, pastries, and bread flying through the entire cabin.

The flight attendants sighed, having worked for the Gojo clan; they were used to it.

It was a miracle the two men were only unleashing their domains in low volume because one had decided it would ‘ scorch the bread.’

The jet hit another bump, sending the two sorcerers toppling sideways. Nanami slid off his seat, clutching his bottle of Flamingo Fizz, his last connection to sanity.

Gojo, however, had less dignity—he landed face-first in Nanami’s ass. That was the moment Gojo decided to blow raspberries in the curve.

Nanami crawled away in disgust, scowling.

Hidden behind the curtain, one flight attendant whispered, “This is why I drink.”

“I’m switching careers,” the other deadpanned, ducking as a baguette flew past.

“Take me with you,” the other replied, watching Gojo snore, holding Nanami’s leg like a dog that won’t leave you alone.

The other rolled her eyes. “I don’t even care anymore. Let them wreck the plane. It’s probably still safer than their relationship.”

Hour—God knows when, time had lost all meaning.

The plane jolted, sending a plate of half-eaten sweet bread skittering across the tray table. Gojo snatched it mid-slide with the reflexes of a man who valued carbs more than common sense.

“She used to help us get along nicely. You know,” he said, “now I think food is the only thing holding our marriage together.”

Nanami didn’t even look up. “Yes, you are insufferable.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his hoodie. “How dare you? I’m the heart of this marriage!” He stood. “Without me, it’s just... silence.”

“Which is exactly what I want,” Nanami muttered, tearing into a Bâtard.

The plane jolted, sending Gojo sprawling onto Nanami’s bread tower. “Help me, Husbando!” Gojo yelled, his face buried in baguettes.

Nanami stared at him, unimpressed. “Get off my bread.”

“Never,” Gojo mumbled, making himself comfortable.

Nanami grabbed a croissant and lobbed it at Gojo’s head. Gojo’s Infinity shimmered faintly, stopping the pastry midair. He plucked it out of the air, looking scandalized. “Did you just throw bread at me?”

“You deserved it,” Nanami took a slow sip.

Gojo looked genuinely offended. “This is assault. I’m calling an adult.”

“You are an adult,” Nanami deadpanned.

“Exactly!” Gojo threw the croissant back, but it was cut down by Nanami’s ratio blades without him even moving a finger.

Meanwhile, in the galley, the flight attendants huddled near the coffee machine, whispering.

“Fifty bucks says the blond one passes out first,” one said.

“No way. The white-haired one’s been on a sugar binge since he got on. He’s going down any minute,” another replied, scribbling names on a napkin.

“What if they both pass out at the same time?”

“Then we split the pot.”

Their quiet betting was interrupted by Gojo’s yelling from the cabin. “I’ve secured the snacks. Nanami, don’t touch them unless you want to face my void!”

“After I gave you my cinnamon roll?” Nanami looked heartbroken, making Gojo immediately hold him close.

The flight attendants stared, slack-jawed, as a tray of éclairs hovered ominously above the men’s heads.

“I quit,” one of them muttered, turning toward the coffee machine.

“Is it too late to call in sick?” one whispered, watching Gojo suddenly serenade Nanami.

The other shrugged. “After this flight, I’m switching to cargo planes. No snacks, no drama.”

Soon both men were passed out—Gojo with his face sideways in another bowl of mochi ice cream, Nanami clutching a half-eaten yakisoba pan like a teddy bear, half his face covered with his hoodie—two special-grade sorcerers, completely obliterated by their own no-thoughts-smooth-brain-moment , battling the forces of reality itself over petty arguments and a missing wife.

Hour—Landing

The private jet rolled to a smooth stop on the Oslo runway. Both men were in deep sleep, but their cursed techniques were very much awake—and making life difficult for everyone else.

“Why are we even trying?” one of the male flight attendants muttered, eyeing the flickering crackle of Gojo’s Infinity with trepidation. The other gestured at Nanami, whose Ratio Blades hovered ominously near his hands, ready to slice anything that got too close.

The pilot shook his head. “I’m not touching that. Send the women.”

“What?!” the female flight attendants chorused, glaring at their male colleagues, who were now firmly rooted behind the safety of the galley door.

“Just... poke them gently,” one of the men offered.

“Poke them? With what? A ten-foot pole?”

Eventually, after a heated debate, one brave flight attendant inched toward the slumbering sorcerers with a dessert fork in hand. She extended it toward Gojo like a knight wielding a sword. “Sir?” she ventured cautiously, tapping his shoulder.

Gojo’s Infinity flared, sending a startling ripple of energy through the air. “Not the desserts!” he stirred, still asleep, drooling over Nanami’s stomach.

The attendant stumbled back, glancing desperately at her colleagues. He was plain untouchable—so unwakeable by default.

Nanami's hand clutched Gojo’s head closer like it was his phantom pregnant belly. “Ahh, bread,” he muttered with a sleepy smile.

The attendant then aimed her fork towards him with misplaced courage and dared to tap his arm.

The fork never made it.

Ten centimeters from his skin, it disintegrated into metallic confetti as Ratio Blades snapped into existence, their glowing edges then stretched further, humming ominously like murder was their sole purpose in life. The attendant squeaked, leaping back as if she’d narrowly escaped being diced into human sashimi.

“Forget it,” she hissed. “We’re calling ground security.”

Before anyone could escalate, one attendant clapped her hands loudly. “Gentlemen, we’ve landed, and there’s fresh bread waiting outside!”

Nanami’s eyes snapped open immediately. “Bread?”

Gojo stirred, wiping drool from his mouth. “Is it sweet bread?”

The attendants exchanged relieved looks as the men groaned, stretched, and finally shuffled off the plane.

-

The drive to Nanami’s grandmother’s house was quiet, save for Gojo humming and fiddling with the car’s radio. Nanami stared out the window, mentally bracing himself.

Nanami didn’t want to do this. Not because he was afraid of his grandmother’s cousin—a retired army woman with an intimidating poker face and a propensity for offering unsolicited life advice—but because he knew bringing Gojo anywhere was like handing a toddler a live grenade.

They arrived at a modest but sturdy home surrounded by a well-kept garden. Before Nanami could knock, the door swung open.

“Kento?” The woman standing in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered, her silver hair tied back into a no-nonsense bun. She looked them over, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. “And who is this... tall man?”

Gojo offered a hand, leaning into her personal space like a golden retriever. “I’m Gojo Satoru! The better-looking husband.”

She ignored the hand, crossing her arms. “Husband?” Her gaze shifted to Nanami. “And you didn’t think to warn me about this?”

Gojo grinned wider. “Oh, didn’t Kento tell you? He’s married to me and someone else. Polyamory is very in right now.”

The woman stared at Nanami like he’d just announced he was defecting to Mars. “I didn’t even know you were married, let alone to two people.”

Nanami sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, stepping aside to let them in.

The interior of the house was as orderly as the woman herself. Gojo immediately flopped onto the couch, his long legs sprawled out.

“Shoes off,” she barked.

Gojo froze, then scrambled to comply, grinning sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nanami stood stiffly by the door, unsure where to begin. “We’re here to look for our wife.”

“Your wife?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nanami nodded, ignoring Gojo’s delighted “Yes.”

The older woman’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something—amusement? Annoyance? “You can stay here.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “Thanks, Grandma! You’re the best.”

“I’m not your grandmother,” she replied curtly, already walking toward the kitchen.

Gojo leaned toward Nanami, whispering loudly, “She likes me. I can tell.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please behave.”

“Define ‘behave,’” Gojo said, kicking off his socks and reclining on the couch.

From the kitchen, her voice rang out. “If he puts his feet on my furniture, I’ll break them.”

Gojo immediately sat up. “Point taken.”

Once she was pouring tea for them, Gojo asked. “So, when Kento was little, did he always have that stick-up-his-butt attitude, or was it a recent development?”

Nanami’s grip on his teacup tightened dangerously. “Satoru!” For the first time he was less worried about Gojo and more worried about what his grandmother would say.

“Oh, he used to be sunshine,” the woman said, her voice dry. “Good in studies and arts. Not many friends, but was still cheerful. Developed discipline when he became a teenager.” She said the last part eyeing Gojo.

“Called it,” Gojo said smugly.

“Though I didn’t expect him to marry someone so… loud.”

Nanami sighed heavily. “We’re not here for this. We’re here to look for our wife.”

“You’ve mentioned misplacing your other spouse,” the woman said, her tone sharp.

Nanami sighed. “She’s not misplaced. We’re searching for her.”

Gojo perked up, leaning forward. “She’s smart, kind, gorgeous—like me.”

The woman looked at Gojo, her expression unreadable. “Good for her, but if she’s avoiding you, I can’t say I blame her.”

Later that night, Nanami stood outside, the cold Norwegian air biting at his skin. He stared out at the dark forest beyond the house, his jaw tight.

Gojo had followed Nanami, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You think she’s okay?”

Nanami’s chest ached with guilt and heavy regret. “I don’t know. But we’ll find her.”

Gojo’s voice was bittersweet. “Yeah. We will.”

Then, because Gojo couldn’t leave a moment untouched, he added, “And when we do, she’s going to yell at you first. You know that, right?”

Nanami sighed, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll take it.”

-

You had thanked Higuruma for showing up when he did; he had always been a great mentor to you during your time at university. You lost contact with him after he completed his master's and left to go back to Japan while you were just starting your second year. It wasn’t until you moved to Japan and added him to your company’s retainer that you reconnected. It was an added bonus that he was now a jujutsu sorcerer, which had come in handy for you at the perfect moment. Haibara had held them off nicely. He was ex-MI6 and had been introduced to you by Megumi’s father a long time ago.

But the second time, it was worse.

You spotted him first—Nanami, tall, composed, his eyes scanning the crowd like he was searching for something he knew he had lost. Your heart stopped; a cold shiver ran down your spine.

You ducked into an alley, clutching your coat tightly around your stomach. The pain was an immediate, sharp throb that made your breath hitch. The twins were active now. The feeling of their movements inside you, sharp, like claws raking at your insides, as if they were fighting to escape.

You pressed your hand into the wall of the alley, trying to steady your breath. Your other fingers dug into your coat, but it didn’t help. The air felt suffocating. You couldn’t stop shaking. You couldn’t stop thinking about them, about him.

You slipped past the alley into side streets, desperately trying to lose him. The pain inside you was unbearable—each movement, each step, felt like it might tear you apart. But you couldn’t stop. You had to get away.

You could feel him getting closer. He was a shadow that clung to your every move, like he was always just a breath away from finding you. And the worst part was, you knew he would. Eventually, they would find you.

Too bad you couldn’t get the same security team you had hired for your company because they did not specialize in the world's literal strongest sorcerers, or so you had always thought. You had only been able to dominate that fight because they were not using their cursed techniques; if they had, no one would have stood a chance against the both of them.

Besides, the security detail would draw too much attention in this country, and you were living without any form of bare minimum luxury just to keep your head low.

Then the third time, you weren’t so lucky.

It was an evening when the sense of unease crept up on you. You were walking to the pharmacy  because your pregnancy pain made you run out of medicines fast. You were trying to blend into the crowd of Tromsø, Norway, hoping that today would be different. Maybe you could make it through without feeling like you were being hunted.

But the air shifted, like a subtle warning. Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, feeling the familiar pressure of the twins inside you, their presence both comforting and terrifying.

You looked around. Nothing. The street was crowded, the world moving too fast for anyone to notice you. Yet, something wasn’t right.

And then you saw him.

Gojo.

He was lounging at a café near the entrance of the store, looking completely at ease, as if he hadn’t been searching for you for months. His long legs stretched out under the table, his sunglasses glinting in the aurora borealis high in the sky. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular—until his gaze locked onto you.

You froze.

It wasn’t a simple glance. He saw you even though you were covered in an absurdly oversized coat, beanie and mask. His eyes were trained on you. You could feel the weight of his gaze like a sniper locking in.

“Sweetheart,” he mouthed from the distance, his features smooth, taunting, and way too familiar.

His grin was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes, even behind the tinted lenses, felt like they were cutting through you, dissecting you. It was the same grin he used to give you when he thought he had you cornered, when he was in control. And now, he was. He knew it, and he wanted to enjoy it.

The cold, calculating way he said it—like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he had all the time in the world—it made your stomach turn. You could feel the weight of the moment, the slow burn of realization creeping over you. He had found you.

You had been momentarily frozen, but you didn’t wait. You didn’t hesitate. The second he stood up, you turned and ran.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as your feet pounded the pavement, but no matter how fast you moved, the fear gnawed at you, making your limbs feel like lead. The city blurred around you, a dizzying whirl of colors and sounds, but you could still feel his presence—close, like a shadow following you, getting nearer with every step.

“Sweetheart!” His voice rang out again, a command, not a plea.

You could hear the faintest trace of amusement in his tone, but underneath it, there was something darker. It was as if he was enjoying this chase, enjoying the fear he was instilling in you.

You ran faster, but the air around you felt suffocating. It was like the world was shrinking, like every step you took was pulling you closer to him, not further away. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you could feel the twins inside you, their frantic movements mirroring your panic. It was almost like they could sense the danger too.

You pushed yourself harder, but it was no use. You knew it.

Gojo wasn’t just a man; he was a god, something you couldn’t outrun.

His laughter reached you, soft but dangerous, and you could almost hear the smugness in his voice. He wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t struggling.

You were.

“I told you,” he yelled, his voice smooth like velvet but laced with something more sinister. “You can’t hide from me.”

And you realized then—he was toying with you. He knew you couldn’t escape. He knew that you were trapped in this game, and no matter how fast you ran, he would always be one step behind, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. But deep down, you knew the truth.

He would catch you.

Just then, salvation appeared in the most unexpected form.

A group of loud, drunk college girls stumbled onto the road from a bar, their laughter echoing like a wall of sound. They moved in a chaotic huddle, arms slung around each other, bottles in hand, their energy radiating like static electricity.

You squeezed yourself between them, moving further into their huddle, trying to hide your face more so that no one would recognize you. Little did you know the girls had noticed you already and made a decision.

Gojo, in his desperation to catch up, didn’t notice them until it was too late.

“Move,” he snapped, his usual charm stripped away by the urgency in his voice. He sidestepped the first girl, but then another turned, and before he could react, the entire group swarmed him like a pack of wolves. A few of them, oddly enough, taller than Gojo.

“Hva gjør du?” One of them slurred, narrowing her eyes at him. (“What are you doing?”)

“Er han etter noen?” another asked, her tone suspicious. (“Is he after someone?”)

Gojo blinked, caught off guard by the unfamiliar language. “What?” he barked, his gaze darting over their heads, desperately trying to catch sight of you.

The tallest girl leaned closer, her face flushed from alcohol, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Hvem jager du, hæ?” (“Who are you chasing, huh?”)

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” Gojo snapped, frustration lacing his tone. “I don’t speak—whatever that is!”

They giggled, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking, deliberately dragging out the moment, their chatter growing louder, each word a dagger aimed at his composure. They knew he wasn’t local when they had known English; they just wanted to piss him off.

“Han ser ut som en stalker!” (“He looks like a stalker!”)

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. He knew what the word stalker meant, a bitter accusation that stung more than he cared to admit. He was not a stalker; he was a protector, and he would do whatever it took to find you.

He glanced over their heads again, scanning for you, but you were gone. His heart raced, a mixture of panic and anger bubbling under his skin. “Move,” he growled, his easygoing demeanor cracking under the weight of his mounting frustration.

“Hva om vi ikke vil?” One of them said, crossing her muscular arms defiantly. (“What if we don’t want to?”) The challenge in her voice only fueled his irritation.

“You think this is a game?” His voice low and dangerous. “I’m not here to play nice. I’m looking for someone, and you’re in my way.”

The girls exchanged glances, their laughter fading slightly, but the defiance remained. Gojo could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged, as he fought to keep his composure.

Meanwhile, you had ducked into an alley; you needed to catch your breath. The twins restless movements inside you a reminder of why you couldn’t afford to stop.

“Here,” a voice said, startling you.

You turned to see one of the girls from the group—her hair a mess of blonde waves, her cheeks rosy from the cold and alcohol. She held out a large overcoat and a knitted muffler, her expression soft and kind.

“You need to go,” she said, her English heavily accented but clear enough. “Take this.”

You hesitated, your lips parting to protest, but she shook her head firmly and draped the coat over your shoulders. The weight of it was grounding, the warmth immediate.

“Thank you,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you wrapped the muffler around your neck.

She smiled, her hand briefly brushing your arm. “Gå nå,” she urged, her voice gentle but insistent. (“Go now.”)

You nodded and slipped into the shadows, blending into the cityscape. You had never been more grateful for a stranger in your entire life.

//

“Let me go!” Gojo snapped, his voice cutting through the drunken laughter. His white hair messy, and his cool demeanor shattered. The girls only tightened their circle around him, their grins turning feral.

“Why are you chasing her?” One of them asked, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“I’m not—” Gojo started, surprised by their sudden English, but another cut him off, stepping forward. She was taller than him by at least a few inches even in her flip-flops, her gaze unflinching.

“She looked scared of you,” she spat, jabbing a finger in his face. “What kind of man chases a woman through the streets?”

“She’s my wife!” Gojo exclaimed, his hands raised in exasperation.

“Your wife?” another girl sneered, her eyebrows shooting up. “Sure, buddy. And I’m the queen of Norway.”

“Look, I’m serious!” He barked, trying to step around them, but one of the girls—easily as tall as him and broad-shouldered—blocked his path. “I need to find her.”

“Yeah, so you can terrify her more?” One of them yelled.

“She’s gravid, you creep!” another girl chimed in, her tone venomous. (“Pregnant”)

The tallest girl, clearly their ringleader, crossed her arms and smirked. “You know what? I think you’re a stalker. And I think someone needs to teach you a lesson.”

Before Gojo could register anything they were saying in their heavy accent, she lunged at him, throwing a sloppy but surprisingly powerful punch. He ducked, but another girl was already swinging a kick at him.

“What the hell?!” Gojo yelped, sidestepping her attack.

//

Nanami had been searching the area, his tie loose under his heavy overcoat and his patience wearing thin, when he heard the commotion. Turning a corner, he froze at the sight of Gojo fucking Satoru fending off a mob of angry, drunk women.

“I left him alone for five minutes.” He muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. He moved closer, trying to make sense.

One of the girls, towering over even Nanami, had Gojo in a headlock while another was shouting, “Call the cops! He’s clearly unhinged!”

Gojo was really trying not to use his infinity and crush them, but that would draw too much attention, and they had already messed up big time with the fiasco at their wife’s company.

“Excuse me,” Nanami said, his voice calm but firm.

The ringleader turned to him, sizing him up with a skeptical look. “And who are you? Another stalker?”

“I’m his… umm… husband,” Nanami replied, adjusting his glasses. “We’re looking for someone important to us.”

“Oh, so it’s we now?” another girl sneered, stepping closer.

“She’s our wife,” Gojo groaned, his voice muffled as he struggled to free himself from the headlock.

The girls laughed, a mix of disbelief and derision.

“Both your wife?” One of them repeated, clutching her stomach. “What kind of messed-up polygamy cult is this?”

“She’s gravid!” another girl shouted, her face twisted with fury. “You’re chasing a gravid woman?” (“Pregnant”)

With Nanami’s Norwegian being rusty, neither of the men understood why you were being referred to by a man’s name.

“She ran away from us!” Gojo snapped, finally breaking free.

“Gee, I wonder why.” One of the taller girls quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

//

From your house's window, a few blocks away, you watched the scene unfold. The muffler around your neck felt like a lifeline as you saw the two men you once loved now completely at the mercy of a group of MMA-trained sorority girls.

And for the first time in weeks, you smiled—a small, vindictive smile.

//

“Enough!” Gojo shouted. “She’s our wife. We’re not trying to hurt her; we’re trying to bring her back!”

The ringleader narrowed her eyes. “And you thought chasing her through the streets was the way to do it?”

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” Gojo admitted, his voice breaking with frustration.

Nanami stepped forward, his expression weary but sincere. “She’s not safe on her own. We’re trying to protect her.”

“Yeah, sure,” One of the girls muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I’m calling the cops,” the tallest one announced, pulling out her phone.

“What? No, don’t—” Gojo started, but it was too late.

A few hours later, Gojo and Nanami sat in a cramped holding cell, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Gojo’s sunglasses were gone, his hair a mess, and his shirt torn at the collar. Nanami looked equally disheveled, his tie missing, his shirt wrinkled.

“This is your fault,” Nanami muttered, glaring at Gojo.

“My fault?” Gojo shot back. “You didn’t exactly help!”

Outside the cell, the girls were giving their statements to the police, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

“Polygamy,” one of them snorted. “Can you believe that? At least come up with a smarter lie.”

Gojo buried his face in his hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Nanami sighed, leaning back against the cold wall. “No, this is what we deserve.”

Around 45 mins later, the clanging of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Both men looked up as the officer unlocked the door, and in stepped Nanami’s grandmother, her sharp gaze cutting through.

She said nothing at first, her presence alone making both men sit up straighter.

“Out,” she ordered, her voice low and cold.

Gojo stood, his grin faltering under her glare. “Hi, Grandma. Long time no see���”

“Not. A. Word,” she snapped, and Gojo immediately closed his mouth, hands raised in surrender.

Nanami followed silently, the weight of impending doom heavier than any cursed spirit he’d ever faced.

The walk from the station to Nanami’s grandmother’s house was silent, save for the faint crunch of gravel beneath their feet. Gojo glanced sideways at Nanami, but his husband’s face was unreadable, a stoic mask that gave nothing away.

“Inside,” she said, opening the door. No pleasantries.

Gojo hesitated for half a second, then followed Nanami inside, his grin faltering under the weight of her gaze.

The house smelled of wood polish and faintly of coffee. The warmth of it didn’t extend to her tone as she turned sharply. “You,” she barked, pointing at Gojo. “Stay here.”

Gojo blinked, glancing at Nanami like a scolded puppy. “But—”

“Stay.” Her voice left no room for argument.

Nanami gave Gojo a small nod, his expression unreadable, before following her into the kitchen.

//

“Kento,” she started, her voice cutting through like a whip, “what were you thinking?”

Nanami stood straight. “Grandmother—”

“Marrying him?” She interrupted, her tone scathing. “You, used to say it yourself that man has no discipline. No restraint. He dragged you into jail, Kento. Jail. And that’s not even the worst of it.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering. “Do you know how humiliating this is? For you? For me? For your wife?”

Nanami stiffened, his gaze flickering.

“Yes,” she said, catching the subtle shift. “The one you abandoned for him.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, her voice harsh. “You ignored her for months, Kento. Both of you. And now she’s gone, and you’re chasing her like fools, destroying her reputation along the way. That mess in Tokyo? Her company? You think the internet hasn’t noticed?”

Nanami flinched as though her words had struck him physically.

“You didn’t tell me a thing,” she continued, her tone unrelenting. “About the chaos you and that man-child caused. Do you know what they’re calling her online? A failure. A joke. Because of you both.”

Nanami’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “That’s enough.”

She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. “No, it’s not. That woman deserves better. Better than him. Better than this.”

Outside the kitchen, Gojo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Her words filtered through the door, each one landing like a punch to the gut. His eyes hollow.

“I will not tolerate you defending him,” she continued, her voice sharp and unyielding. “He is reckless, selfish, and the reason you’re in this mess. Divorce him, Kento. Fix this. Settle with her. At least she might forgive you.”

Nanami’s voice was low, but firm. “You don’t know her. And you don’t know him.”

Her gaze hardened. “I know enough.”

Nanami stepped out of the kitchen, his movements stiff. He didn’t look at Gojo, didn’t say a word, just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the door. He knew Gojo would have been hovering.

“Wait, Kento—” Gojo started, but Nanami’s grip tightened.

She followed them to the doorway, her expression a mask of cold disapproval. “You’ll regret this,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of certainty.

Gojo looked at her, his usual bravado flickering back to life, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for the pep talk, Grandma.”

Her glare was icy. “Don’t call me that.”

“Noted,” he replied, forcing a smirk as he leaned closer to Nanami.

Nanami’s hand tightened around Gojo’s wrist, his steps brisk as he led them out into the cold night.

Gojo finally broke the silence. “She hates me.”

Nanami didn’t stop walking. “She doesn’t know you.”

Gojo chuckled, but it was bitter, lacking his usual warmth. “Maybe she’s right.”

Nanami slowed, his grip loosening slightly. “About what?”

Gojo hesitated, then shrugged. “About me being the reason for... everything.”

Nanami stopped, turning to face him. “It’s not just you. I’m too.”

Gojo searched his face, but Nanami’s expression was unreadable.

“Both of us messed up,” Nanami repeated, his voice quieter this time.

Gojo walked in silence after that, the distance between them feeling heavier than ever.

-

You couldn’t stay here anymore; you had to leave Norway if your kids were ever going to have a chance at life. Which led you to where you were right now.

The outside airport entrance, a cacophony of announcements, rolling suitcases, and hurried footsteps. You moved through it like a ghost, your oversized coat and scarf hiding the strain on your body. Every step felt like wading through water, your legs trembling under the unfamiliar weight of your own frame.

The twins shifted inside you, their restless movements like something alive and alien, pushing against your ribs, twisting your insides. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your skin stretched too tightly, in the way your breath came shallow and ragged.

You pressed a hand to your belly, trying to steady yourself, but it only made the unease worse.

“Just a little further,” you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible over the din of the airport.

But then you saw him. One of the only few people who used to come to drop your husbands off after missions.

Ijichi stood near the security checkpoint, his nervous energy unmistakable even from a distance. He wasn’t alone. Men in crisp suits hovered around the airport, their sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

Your heart sank.

You turned sharply, pulling your hood tighter, ducked your head and walked faster, weaving through the crowd. The pressure in your abdomen tightened, the twins reacting to your rising panic.

By the time you reached the cab stop, you were gasping for air, your body rebelling against the strain. The cold Norwegian air hit your face like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up your spine.

They were everywhere. The Gojo Clan had blanketed the airports—and probably train stations and highways too—like a net, waiting to trap you the moment you made a wrong move.

You didn’t have a chance.

You sighed and got into a cab to head back to your apartment. You’d just stay inside and never go out, getting everything ordered.

Your legs ached, your swollen feet screaming. The twins kicked and twisted, their movements erratic and relentless, like they were fighting each other for space.

Your scarf slipped, and you tugged it back up, the fabric rough against your flushed skin. Every breath felt heavier, your chest tight, your throat dry.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were shaking. You fumbled with the keys, your fingers numb, and stumbled inside. The door closed behind you with a hollow thud.

You dropped your bag and leaned against the wall, sliding down with the support of the shoe rack, until you were sitting on the floor. Your hands pressed against your belly, trying to soothe the inside, but it was futile.

The twins kicked harder, the sharp jabs making you wince. Your stomach felt too full, too stretched, the weight of them pressing down on everything. You could barely breathe, barely think.

You tilted your head back against the wall, tears slipping down your cheeks as the hopelessness settled in. You couldn’t leave. You couldn’t stay. You were trapped, caught between them and the growing horror of your own body.

The scarf around your neck felt suffocating, and you yanked it off, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your damp skin, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You closed your eyes, one hand gripping the edge of your coat, the other clutching your belly as if you could somehow hold yourself together.

But the weight of it all—the twins, the chase, the impossible love you’d tried to escape—was crushing.

And there was no way out.

You slept on the floor that night, surrounded by nothing but loneliness.

-

You thought you had outrun them, that you had hidden well enough. But as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were getting closer. Each moment, each shadow in the corner of your eye, sent a spike of panic through your chest. Every time you thought you were alone, you wondered if they had found you. You kept your head down, kept yourself locked inside, but there was no escaping them.

One afternoon, it started with the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your apartment. Quick, sharp taps against the floor—too measured, too familiar. You froze, clutching the edge of the counter, trying to steady yourself. The babies shifted violently inside you, as if they could sense the danger. Your stomach tightened, and you gasped, forcing yourself to remain still as you clutched your belly beneath your nightgown, one of the few garments that still fit you these days. You held your breath, praying that they wouldn’t notice you.

The doorbell rang. Once. Twice.

You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You couldn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” came a voice, rough and low, almost like a growl. You felt your pulse quicken.

Nanami.

Your neighbor had changed the locks, you’d moved the furniture around, and kept yourself out of sight as much as possible. But there he was, on the other side of the door. You could hear the quiet crack of his knuckles, the tension in the air as he stood there, waiting. He was here.

“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay,” he called out, the words heavy with guilt but laced with something darker. You could almost hear the frustration in his voice, the desperation. He wasn’t going to give up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the pain in your stomach flared. You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching your stomach as the babies twisted and churned, their movements becoming erratic, like they were responding to the stress, the pressure.

You had to leave. Now.

But before you could even think about making a move, you heard it—the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. The window.

Gojo.

You cursed under your breath. The bastard was here too.

A faint laugh echoed from outside the window—a sick, mocking sound that sent a chill racing down your spine. “You can’t hide forever, sweetheart.”

He laughed as if everything you had endured was nothing, as if you were merely pretending to fight with him and your act was over because he said so. It was as if your feelings and experiences were nothing more than a ploy for attention. The absurdity of it gave you whiplash, igniting a fury that boiled within you.

The window creaked as he slid it open. Your stomach lurched, and you felt the overwhelming urge to curl into yourself, to disappear. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not again.

“Shh, they won’t hurt you,” you whispered to the babies, trying to soothe them, but your voice trembled with the fear you couldn’t contain. “Just stay calm. Mama will protect you.”

You gripped the edge of the open kitchen counter, the marble biting into your skin, as you forced yourself to breathe through the pain. The babies pushing at the walls of your body like they were trying to escape, trying to break free. The pressure was too much.

Gojo’s voice was too close now. He was inside the apartment. You could hear his footsteps, feel the air shift as he moved around the space, searching for you.

You scrambled back, desperately searching for a place to hide, but there was nowhere left. The apartment felt too small, too suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you. You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible, your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing the fear coursing through your veins. 

With no other option, you forced yourself into the empty cabinet beneath the counter. Crouching down was a nightmare in your current state, your body heavy with the weight of the twins growing inside you. The pressure on your abdomen intensified, and you could feel the babies shifting restlessly; they sensed the danger surrounding you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising panic, but it was difficult. 

You shoved the scarf you were wearing into your mouth to muffle any sounds, knowing that you had to stay quiet. The fabric felt suffocating against your ragged breaths, but it was a small price to pay for their safety. You could feel the tightness in your stomach, a reminder of the distress both you and the babies were experiencing. Every movement sent a jolt of anxiety through you, and you fought to keep your breathing steady, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

You whispered soft reassurances to the twins, hoping they could feel your determination. “I’m here, and I’m fighting for you,” you murmured, even as your heart raced with fear. You could feel their little bodies moving, responding to your voice, and it gave you a flicker of strength. You were scared, yes, but you were also their protector, and you would do everything in your power to keep them safe. 

As you crouched in the cramped space and closed the door, the world outside felt distant. You were surrounded by sheer darkness now. The fear was suffocating, but so was the fierce love you felt for them. You would fight through this, no matter what it took.

The front door’s lock was crushed in someone’s hand, and then the door flung open.

You held your breath. They were in the apartment now. Both of them.

“We know you’re here,” Gojo’s voice echoed through your bedroom, the smugness thick in his tone. “You can’t keep running from us forever.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, praying for the strength to stay hidden, to stay quiet. The babies moved again, harder this time, a sharp pain lancing through your body as they kicked and squirmed. You could feel the weight of them inside you, their frantic movements making it impossible to ignore the danger that was closing in.

They were too close.

Your small cabinet’s door swung open, and a testing hand reached out from the darkness, brushing against your arm.

Nanami.

You gasped, muffled by the scarf in your mouth, jerking away, but his reflexes were faster. The instant your skin accidentally grazed his, his hand turned, gripping your arm with an impossible hold.

“Don’t run from me,” he said, his voice low, rough with something dark, something broken. The intensity in his words sent a shiver through you, his turmoil bleeding into the air between you.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. A promise.

To you, it was a threat.

Your chest tightened. You wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight inside you—of the babies, the fear, the exhaustion—pinned you in place. Your breaths came shallow, your limbs trembling as desperation took over.

Before you could process, Gojo’s voice chimed through the suffocating tension.

“Got you.”

You didn’t even have time to react before his hand snaked around your leg. The two of them dragged you out of your hiding spot, your thrashing limbs no match for their combined strength.

They had found you.

“Running away doesn’t suit you,” Gojo said, his tone quieter than usual, dangerous.

A/N: And there you have it. My beloved, you are cornered, carrying the literal weight of emotional trauma and the twins of a whole new level of special grade. I hope you enjoyed the small glimpses of humanity (and insanity) from the men chasing her. I have decided to do two endings for this fic—one will be what I had originally written, which will be dead dove, and the other will be not-dead dove (sorry, I don't wanna spoil it, but I promise you will be safe in both, well, mostly). ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ) Let me know your unfiltered thoughts. Bonus points if you can defend Gojo eating the entirety of the in-flight dessert inventory. 👀

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto

[alewritesfics]

Bridging realities

ℑℑℑ.- 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤....𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter

Summary: in which Y/N's slight actions start to- or you'll see on your own.... His POV

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

The night air was cool against Anthony’s skin as he stepped onto the garden, a welcome reprieve from the stifling confines of the ballroom. The distant hum of laughter and music filtered through the open doors, but out here, the world was quiet. Peaceful.

He leaned against the balustrade, running a hand through his hair and exhaling sharply. The evening had been relentless—a parade of bright-eyed ladies and their overly enthusiastic mothers, each vying for his attention, each more determined than the last.

And then there was her.

Anthony’s brow furrowed as his thoughts returned to Miss Featherington. She was unlike the others—sharp, playful, and entirely unpredictable. Most women he encountered were eager to flatter, eager to please, but she… She teased him. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, it both infuriated and intrigued him.

He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, the way her gaze had met his so boldly, so unflinchingly. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that—not as a title, not as a prize to be won, but as a man.

Anthony shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not when his responsibilities weighed so heavily on him. His family’s future depended on his choices, and his choices had to be logical and calculated. There was no room for impulsive emotions, no room for the kind of connection Miss Featherington seemed to inspire.

And yet…

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the cool breeze brush against his face. He’d always prided himself on his control, on his ability to compartmentalize his feelings and focus on what truly mattered. But tonight, something about her had unsettled him.

“Bridgerton!” his eyes opened as he was called, he turned his name to see a gentleman he was acquainted with (Honestly I forgot the names of them and am too lazy to search so they’ll be man 1,2 and 3)

He sighed, annoyed his alone time was interrupted but walked towards them nonetheless. “I owe you a drink” man 1 said

“Whatever for?” Anthony asked, looking between the three of them

“With you as the prize catch of the season, the rest of us shall receive a respite from the marriage minded mamas this season indeed” man 1 smirked

“Enjoy your freedom while it lasts” Anthony responded “You, too, will soon submit to this ridiculous rigmarole of courtship,” The doors opened a few feet away, a young beautiful lady walking out without their knowledge. “Squiring every eligible miss around town until you’re barely able to see straight”

“Is one lady unlike any other?” man 2 asks “Simply pick the least objectionable and get her wed, bed and bred. Then you can turn to more pleasurable pursuits”

“And more pleasurable partners” The lady walked down the stairs, quietly walking behind a big bush to listen more closely “You may be cavalier, but if I must leg shackle myself in marriage, the lady in question should have more to recommend her”

“Do not tell us you are hoping for a love match?” Man 1 jokes

“Love is the last thing I desire,” Anthony denied “But if my children are to be of good stock, then their mother must be of impeccable quality. A pleasing face, an acceptable wit, genteel manners enough to credit a viscountess” Anthony was surprised as the words left his mouth, remembering a questionably intriguing redhead said that was what he was looking for. His lips twitched slightly but he composed himself “It should not be hard to find, and yet, the debutantes of London fall short at every turn”

“You want the best. Perhaps the queen will finally name a diamond. Save you some trouble, at least of choosing her, wooing the piece is a different story indeed” Man 2 stated

“I should have no problem there” Anthony crossed his arms smugly, making the men laugh

Man 1 patted himself, “Smoking room, gentlemen?”

“I Shall be there anon” Anthony told them before the three men left, leaving him alone.

Anthony was about to leave when the sound of someone bumping into something stopped him “Is someone there?” he asked, looking back. He walked down the stairs, curious to see what it is “I can hear y-“

“You” He said with a smile as he stared at the mysterious woman he encountered days ago

“Pardon me, my lord” The woman sighed without emotion

“I never got your name” Anthony approached her “I was wondering if we might meet again” he crossed his arms behind his back, giving the woman a glance over

“So you might discern if my wit is acceptable? My manners genteel?” she said with annoyance

Anthony’s smile faded “You were eavesdropping?”

“It was hardly an effort, seeing as you were proclaiming your many requirements for a wife loud enough for the entire party to hear-“

“You take issue with my requirements?”

“I take issue with any man who views women merely as chattels and breeding stock” The lady said angrily

“None of that was meant for-“

“Viscount Bridgerton, yes?” the woman interrupted him, taking a step closer towards him “When you manage to find this paragon of virtue, whatever makes you think she will accept your suit? Are the young ladies of London truly so easily won by a pleasing smile and absolutely nothing more?”

Anthony was about to respond when he stopped, taking in her words before chuckling, remembering the same words said by a blue eyed, red headed beauty, some minutes ago, completely ignoring the young lady before him, finding humor in the coincidence.

“You are laughing?” the woman said offended

“no, no,no” Anthony apologized “my apologies, it is just someone told me the same thing before” his mind went once again towards the redhead. Seems like there is more women that share her particular ideals. If they are friends, then he can see why Y/n gets along with Eloise, both a pair of strong opiniated women.

“Then, seems like that person is someone you should listen to” The woman said

Anthony breathed out a chuckle, something indescribable in his eyes “yes…. yes, perhaps I should” he shook his head before looking at the lady again “If you excuse me…. I shall bid you goodnight” he bowed his head before walking away from the young lady

He’s starting to think balls were his thing (hehe balls). Or maybe balls where you were present that is. Although he will never admit that. Or the fact that as he was currently stepping down the stairs behind his mother and sister, and his brother talking beside him, all his eyes did was search around the ballroom, in hopes of seeing a particular lady.

“Anyone here you’ve not yet rejected?” Benedict spoke beside him

Anthony turned to look at his brother, clearing his thoughts “You’re the artist,” His eyes went to the crowd once again “Do you see anyone remotely inspiring?” He cannot help the small smirk that showed on his face as his eyes caught sight of you next to Penelope “We shall have a diamond tonight and I’ll shall choose my wife”

He followed his mother as she brought Eloise in front of the queen, tuning out their conversation as his face unconsciously turned slightly to keep the redhead in sight. He turned back towards the queen, bowing in tune with his family before they left.

“If the queen, in fact, names Eloise the diamond, who will you marry then, brother?” Benedict asked

Anthony turned to look at him “Hush you” He left before benedict could respond as he saw a certain lady leave Penelope’s side and head towards the refreshments table.

Anthony approached the refreshment table with an easy stride, his gaze lingering on you as you delicately poured yourself a glass of lemonade. The crowd around him faded into a dull hum as he drew closer, his curiosity piqued by the way you seemed so at ease, yet entirely detached from the chaos of the ballroom.

“Miss Featherington,” he said smoothly as he stopped beside you, reaching for a glass himself. “I see you’ve discovered the most sought-after corner of the evening.”

You glanced up shocked before a flicker of amusement showed in your eyes. “Lord Bridgerton,” you greeted, your tone polite but teasing. “I wasn’t aware the refreshment table was the highlight of the night.”

Anthony chuckled, swirling the champagne in his glass. “It’s simply a strategic choice. Much safer here than braving the dance floor—or the relentless matchmaking.”

“Ah,” you said with mock seriousness, turning your body to face him “The infamous Bridgerton charm, evading mamas and their daughters alike. I imagine you ae a master at that by now.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. “I might say the same about you. I don’t see you dancing with any suitors of your own”

You tilted your head slightly “Sorry to disappoint you but I do not have any suitors” You state

Anthony frowned “How can that be? You’re beautiful” He blurted unconsciously. Your eyes widened at his words, a blush filling your cheeks

His eyes widened as well as he processed what he said “I-I-I mean.” He cleared his throat “I meant that you- you have a charm to you that men cannot deny that you are pretty”

You smiled “Thank you, my lord” you said, hiding your glee at his compliment “Oh, I- I’m sure you have matters to tent to. I wouldn’t dream of monopolizing your time. Surely, there’s a line of young ladies waiting for their turn with the Viscount.”

Anthony shrugged, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Oddly enough, the only company I find myself seeking at the moment is yours.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice, though you quickly recovered. “You clearly know how to flatter a lady, Lord Bridgerton. Is this how you court a lady?”

“Flattery?” He placed his glass down with an easy smile. “Not at all. I simply speak the truth.”

“Well, then,” you said, your tone light but edged with curiosity. “If this is the truth, then I wouldn’t dare to say otherwise”

Your gaze held his for a beat too long before you broke the moment with a small laugh. “Well, I hope tonight proves memorable for you, my lord.”

“Oh, it already has,” he said, his voice low and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

Before you could respond, the trumpets sounded as the queen stepped down to make an announcement.

“Your presence is noted, and your queen most appreciative,” the queen started to say “Allow it to now be my honor to present to you the season’s diamond” she looked around at all the guests

“Miss Edwina Sharma”

You let out a small smile before turning towards Anthony “There you have your new wife” you teased

He turned to look at you “What?” he looked confused

“Was it not the lady that the queen chose the one that is going to be your wife?” You asked

“Where on earth did you hear that?” Anthony said confused

“I have my ways” You shrugged “But anyway, go introduce yourself”

Anthony frowned “I- “

“Go” You urged him “I’ll see you later” Anthony gave you one last look before heading towards the new diamond

“She is a lovely diamond, dearest” Anthony’s mother approached him after the dance with Miss Edwina.

Anthony would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little worried after finding out that the woman he made such a bad impression on was Miss Edwina’s sister, making things just a bit difficult. Miss Edwina was nice, answering all of his questions with sincerity, awareness and intelligence. She is exactly what he wanted if he was going to marry out of duty.

But surprisingly, he cannot help but think back on the featherington girl. You were…different, you challenged him and you weren’t in awe of him like every other lady in London (If only he knew)

“Anthony?” His mother called out when he didn’t respond

He turned to look at his mother, shaking away every thought of you. No matter how much he enjoyed talking to you, how refreshing he found you to be.

You incited things in him he didn’t dare to pursuit more or acknowledge, things that went against everything he said he would never do, surprising considering you’ve spoken, truly spoken, not small greetings like the ones you gave each other whenever he came across the featherington family or when you accompanied Penelope to her meetings with Eloise, but full conversations for a total of like two times.

It unnerved him.

“She is nice” Anthony agreed with his mother, looking down.

He had to put duty above everything else.

“She is…who I shall marry” Anthony stated, his eyes catching a flicker of red hair from the corner of his eyes, he gave his mother one last glance before walking away

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

*those in white are blogs which don't have their mentions on and thus I couldn't tag them*

Taglist:

@heyyitsreign

@imafangirlofeverything

@stopeatread

@smartiepants217

@magical-spit

@ifilwtmfc

@kitkat27

@zestygingergirl

@electronicexpertshark

@annareidprofiler

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I interpreted the "adaptation from the manga" thing to imply that they'll animate the 3 Yuus (like you said) but my partner proposed smth to me that raised my concerns... what if they only animate Yuuka? or like- default to a female Yuu? I could see that bc it would be probably easier for them to have only one protagonist.

don't get me wrong I like Yuuka and I know a lot of TWST fans are women but since the studio involved is apparently known for shojos I'm scared they'll make it seem like the story is romantic/the game is an otome... Which I mean- we do have SOME fanservice stuff but it's definitely not a romance story. That's why I'm scared 😭 if they do go that path... I much rather prefer the disconnection (?) of having 3 different Yuus than the possibility of this...

Also I'm just 🥲 I'm scared ppl will see that and say ahhh So Yuu has always been a woman!! Because as a trans guy, one thing that rlly made me feel valid in a way was seeing that in the game Yuu has no gender at all... I don't go by they/them but I'd much rather be referred as that than to be misgendered. It's a small thing but it's such an important detail for me (the fact that Yuu is gender neutral/can be whatever u want them to be) that it being erased in the anime would make me pretty sad... even more if ppl take the anime as "confirmation" of Yuu's gender, which it wouldn't be regardless if they end up giving us a girl OR guy Yuu- it would just be another Yuu interpretation different from the game.

But yeah, personal stuff aside, I'm more scared by the possibility of them making it seem like it's a romance story 😭 or ppl calling TWST an otome... which I mean... some people already have that misconception, even some fans...

[Referencing this post and this news!]

I definitely think they're probably leaning towards a new Yuu every season; otherwise, there would be a very uneven distribution of screen time for one Yuu over the others, and that leads into the problem of one Yuu being "more" canon than the rest. Yes, it will probably be easier logistically speaking to keep the same Yuu for the entire anime--but I also said the same thing when we only had the Episode of Heartslabyul manga, and look what happened with that. We ended up getting Yuuka and Yuuta following Yuuken, regardless of the logistical inconvenience of it all. I think if the anime intended to have a singular Yuu to follow for the main story, they would have chosen to adapt the light novel (which has Yuuya across multiple volumes) instead of the manga. The conscious decision to adapt the manga (with changing Yuus) says something to me. So really, I don't think we have to worry about one "kind" of Yuu dominating the anime. I took a look at the portfolios of the two studios collaborating for the Twst anime and didn't see a ton of shoujo myself. There was definitely a handful of them, but overall there was a spread of genres. I think Yumeta Company (one of the studios) has Tokyo Mew Mew New under its belt, which is probably one of its better-known works and maybe that's where the "they're known for doing shoujo" allegations are coming from? Don't quote me on that, though. I'm not someone who closely follows anime studios.

I would, however, like to point out that we shouldn't put all our stock into the studios behind the anime. Yes, they are obviously animating the project and thus have an influence on how the final product is. However, there are tons of other people involved (like the script writer) that will dictate how the anime looks and feels. (In fact, the script writer for the Twst anime, Kato Yoichi, is not known for writing shoujo.) I highly doubt all the staff involved at every possible level of production are conspiring to make Twst a genre it's not. (Related: I blame socialization for this, but it's a little sad that most of us by default think one woman + a bunch of men in a cast must be romantic.)

Now, to your main point. I understand the initial fear of people misunderstanding Twst as a dating sim/otome from how it is presented. Really, I do. I also understand the frustration that comes with people claiming Yuu's identity or gender or what have you is "confirmed". But to that, I ask you: so what? And I don't mean that in a "your feelings aren't valid" way (because your feelings are very valid!) I mean in like... Do these misconceptions others have truly impact your own enjoyment? Do the people believing in these falsehoods erase what you know is the truth? I would wager it doesn't. There has been and always will be those who see Twst or interpret Yuu as something they are not. Lots of us (myself included) thought Twst was an otome game when they first heard of its concept. People claimed Yuuken was the definitive Yuu when the first chapter of the manga dropped. That's fandom, especially the larger they get. If we fixate on those sore spots, it will ultimately make us unhappy because there will never be an end to misunderstandings. I would advise that you try and detach from those worries and just focus on having your own fun in the fandom rather than worrying about how others are consuming or reacting to Twst. Yes, we want Twst, a franchise we've seriously been invested in and love, to be seen a certain way--but I don't think that should come at the cost of your enjoyment. Fandom is meant to be fun, and we don't want to make ourselves miserable by stressing over the "what ifs", you know? Please focus on yourself!!

[flythesail]

Everything about the Acolyte cancelation just feels so off. I want to be hopeful when seeing the strength of the renewal campaign or even the number of big news sources writing about it, that something like a wrap up movie could be possible, yet nothing about this situation says "normal."

There were reports from so many places (with no evidence) that Acolyte merch was intentionally taken offline. (For the record, nothing came up when you searched "Andor" either.) Then soon after, the merch is back. (Presumably because it was out of stock.) What I find surprising is that the news spread like wildfire. Why? When for most of its existence, the Acolyte has been thrown under the bus - from review bombing to racist attacks from so called "fans" - why was everyone suddenly jumping on the cancelation news when doing little to defend or support the show from the start? Merch seems like such a minor thing within the grand picture.

Many, okay most, shows are canceled after one season nowadays. But this is a first just by default of falling under an IP as large as Star Wars. Shows that are not renewed go "quietly." Kenobi was written as a single season. Tbobf might have been up for a second, but after the way it was used as a bridge for Mando seasons 2 and 3, a lack of renewal is not a shock.

There's so much proof the Acolyte was on course to be renewed and the cancelation was not planned. As recently as last month they were looking for directors for season 2. I believe there were reports of a writers room in February.

Lee Jung-jae says in an interview he's surprised about the cancelation, and right after there's "coincidentally" news that Keanu Reeves would have been Master Sol if not for scheduling conflicts. Lesley Headland has ALWAYS said JJ was her first choice. Which says what? That Lucasfilm wanted to punish JJ for showing support for the show that they canceled. This is on top of doing absolutely nothing to protect Amandla from all the disgusting racists on Instagram. This is on top of them announcing Manny for SW Celebration, which isn't until NEXT year. Wtf is he going to talk about?? Thanks for canceling my show last year! I sure would have loved to continue it! The cancelation news was even publicized on his birthday. This comes after recent news for tie-in novels, an art book, and a visual guide.

My best guess would be that plans for season 2 were underway, and a higher up got scared. Of what? Taking creative risks. Or maybe scared of the people who claim to be "fans" and have done nothing but trash the show from the start with no basis.

I'll play advocate, what if it was just for viewership and budgetary reasons? It does cost a lot to make. But then why not adjust the budget? Why not adjust the marketing strategy for season 2? The success of something like Star Wars cannot even be entirely measured by viewership or Disney+ subscriptions, less so a month after the finale. What about merchandise sales or growth over time, as the Acolyte perfectly slots into a space in canon that quite frankly, is unexplored but adds so much to the overall narrative longterm!

Even if the show is expensive, you will never convince me Disney of all companies doesn't have the money for it. Something happened and it happened fast. Whatever did happen, to cancel the Acolyte is a cowardly move. I want to hope it can come back and that this "scrambling" to change the narrative in the media is a sign of regret, yet it's most likely a poor attempt to control the narrative in their favor and push the blame to everyone who actually cares about the show.

At the very least, I hope the response is a wake up call. That Star Wars fans will not stick around no matter what. That you cannot treat your creators, actors, and fans, primarily women and poc, as lesser time and time again and expect them to continue to support your product. This decision is telling in more ways than one. It's unfair and if nothing changes, Star Wars will only get worse from here. Which is disappointing, because I love it and have been a fan on and off since I was 11 years old. But I cannot deny that everything about the way the cancelation is happening feels like a betrayal.

The Acolyte dared to be inventive. It dared to be diverse. Whether that be the cast or those behind the camera, this story was made by and made for people Star Wars has continually neglected, and it still felt like true Star Wars that anyone could enjoy. It was a step in the right direction. If given a chance, it would have only become bigger. When is the last time a Star Wars project brought in new fans like this? You can only retell the same stories so many times before they lose what made them special in the first place. As a true fan, Lesley brought fresh perspective. From Amandla's performance as Mae and Osha, to JJ's performance as Master Sol, which he learned English for. Or Manny as the Stranger, a mystery turned sith turned lead love interest. The Acolyte explored the grey era between good and evil, the decisions that define us, what it means to feel, and the power of that. The Acolyte dared to exist and a cancelation can't erase the fact that it matters.

If you're still reading, please do sign and share the petition. It might not bring the show back, but it is a show of support for the cast, crew, and fans it stood for.

[lezzballer]

Diana Taurasi sleepover headcanons

(Completely SFW!! I just wanted to use that picture to get your attention 😇)

(That picture is from 2010 so these headcanons are from that era too)

∞ Diana's place is cute enough to be on HGTV. But there's more clutter than you expected

∞ There's art and family pictures on her walls. She has a nice glass case full of old momentos. But she doesn't have any trophies anywhere

∞ Her living room has a DVD shelf and some old game consoles. The coffee table is piled high with lifestyle and sports magazines

∞ She chats with her mom on the phone in Spanish for a few minutes while you thumb through her magazines

∞ Her kitchen cupboards are stocked with unopened bottles of fancy liquor that she doesn't really drink anymore. Her fridge is stocked with hard seltzer and regular seltzer. And her recycling bin is full of empty bottles of fancy wine. She can't cook anything besides cereal, toast, sandwiches, sliced fruit, and coffee. She offers to make all five of those things for you

∞ Her room looks clean but only because she hastily tidied it up while making you wait outside. On her bedside table is a biography of Julius Caesar. There's an old stuffed animal sitting on the bench at the foot of her bed

∞ Her huge walk-in closet resembles a department store with the men's section and women's section all mixed together. There's a glass box displaying watches sitting on top of a locked safe containing even more watches. The shoe situation is reasonable because she stores most of her shoes elsewhere. In the back of the closet is the door to her bathroom. That bathroom contains a lifetime supply of hairspray. By the sink, there's a colorful glass bong she forgot to put away

∞ At dusk, she goes around and checks to make sure all the doors and windows are locked

∞ She'll cuddle up with anyone whether you're just a friend or something more. During the day, she's always on the move and she's larger than life. But as she's sitting by your side at night, you notice she's suddenly very small

∞ If you spend the night at her place, she does not shut up the entire time. She will just keep talking and talking unless you bluntly tell her to be quiet so you can sleep. You need to be assertive about making her be quiet or else she'll keep thinking of things to say

∞ She's an insomniac. She does not sleep all through the night. She just lies there with her eyes closed replaying basketball games in her head. But once she finds the right person to sleep next to, she'll sleep more soundly

∞ She wakes up at 5am and makes coffee every morning. You don't hear her alarm because she wakes up 3 minutes before it goes off and silences it

∞ She makes her bed every morning and neurotically changes her sheets more than necessary. But she can't make her bed this morning because you're sleeping in it

∞ By the time you wake up, she's already showered, dressed, and bunned. And the coffee is cold. She won't reheat your coffee because reheating coffee goes against her values. She insists on taking you to a cafe on the way to the gym

∞ She drives to the cafe and finishes the story she was telling last night right before you fell asleep. You don't remember the first half of the story very well but the conclusion is entertaining

[irenenoirr]

―୨୧⋆ office succubus ft. Cecil

Cecil Ashmore was named one of the most successful business women of 2023, and it took me almost 3 months for this interview to happen, since she's... just always busy. enough of that, let's get to the interview part, shall we?

Q: hi Cecil, it's an honor to have you here with Simfashion today, can you tell the readers a little bit about your company? A: thank you for welcoming me, Irene. and about our company... Éclat Couture is currently the fastest-going luxury fashion brand in the entire noir-simsverse, and we are going to expand the business to other fields soon *laugh* but we will talk about that another time. Q: oh? i'm excited already just by hearing that. and coming to our studio today, what kind of outfits do you want to show everyone? A: let's see... since i'm a business woman, my wardrobe is so full of office-related outfits, we can do a lookbook on that, can't we? Q: obviously! i bet everyone is dying to see what you'll show us today. before we get to the photoshoot, one last question: are you looking for a romantic partner right now? A: that's a good question. *laugh* but sorry, i'm already married to this job.

from left to right:

❥ 1: top | bottom | coat | bag* | stockings | heels ❥ 2: outfit | coat | bag* | heels ❥ 3: top | bottom* | coat | bag | heels ❥ 4: outfit | necktie | coat | stockings | heels

misc:

❥ hair / @okruee ❥ glasses / @gigglecoffin ❥ pose / @helgatisha

note: (*) = early access and/or paywall.

i devote my love to all cc creators: @sentate @gorillax3-cc @seoulsoul-sims @mermaladesims @bluerose-sims @backtrack-cc @joancampbell-jcb @plazasims @cheng-chih and more.

more lookbooks here.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

VALENTINE'S DAY FICS (Updated Feb 2024)

Well, I never got an ask for an updated list and I WAS going to reblog my own V-Day Fic list from a few years ago, but it's pitifully small compared to all the other lists I have come across. Instead, I decided to update it with all the fics I have on my MFL list as well, so I hope you guys enjoy this brand new list for Fic Rec Wednesday! Please add your own V-Day fics if you have them! Enjoy!!

See also these Other Peoples' Lists:

Valentine’s Day (Alexx)

Clean Valentine’s List (Alexx)

Mystrade Valentine’s (Various)

Cupidford’s Valentine’s Fics

Valentine’s Day + Update 2022 (SwissMiss)

Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection (AO3 Collection List)

Atrium by kali_asleep (T, 3,460 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and One, Valentine’s Day, Fluff & Schmoop, First Kiss) – Five times Sherlock gave John his heart, and the one time Sherlock got a heart in return (literally).

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It's Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo's for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women's underwear under his clothes. There's no dessert at Angelo's because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn't Know He's Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine's Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He's also pretty sure that John doesn't know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine's Day.

MARKED FOR LATER

Hope is sweet by Lock_John_Silver (T, 2,977 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Parentlock with Rosie, Valentine’s Day, Developing Relationship, Pet Names, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Classical Music, Idiots in Love, Endearments, POV Sherlock) - Sherlock wants to be more than John’s best friend. Has wanted it for ages, truth be told. So, when Molly comes up with an idea, that to some extent involves three year old Rosie, Sherlock doesn’t hesitate.

Worth Its Weight by philalethia (E, 2,986 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || PWP, Daddy Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Service Domination, Gift Giving, Unsafe Sex, Sex Toys) – “Remember,” John said, “when we talked about you not buying me extravagant things?” Basically: a little bit of Valentine's Day daddy kink. Part 2 of All the Rest 'Verse

The Importance of February 14th by cypress_tree (T, 3,156 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Valentine’s Day) – Sherlock was born on Valentine's Day. John doesn't know this and invites him out on a date. Sherlock assumes it's a birthday celebration and believes so right up until the moment John kisses him.

Dinner and a Murder by vintagelilacs (T, 4,210 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Valentine’s Day, Online Dating, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Getting Together, POV John, Oblivious John) – Reluctant to spend Valentine’s Day alone, John joins a dating app only to realize he’s already living with the closest thing to a soulmate he’s ever going to get.

The Best Idea by SatanDrankMyCoffee (T, 7,252 w.,  5 Ch. || Valentine's Day, Bubble Bath, Hair Washing, People-Watching, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff/Bliss, Texting) – Gift giving is something Sherlock is usually quite good at but when the parameters change, he becomes unsure of himself. Which gift idea is the best idea? Part 3 of A Year in Occasions

Daddy's Darling by distantstarlight (E, 7,747 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Daddy Kink, Valentine’s Day, Smut, First Time) – Disguises are part of the package when you work as detectives, there was nothing new about that but one day Sherlock goes undercover with his best friend and they discover more than the answer to the crime.

Valentine’s Night Out by CarmillaCarmine (E, 10,120 w., 5 Ch. || ASiB Canon Divergence, Valentine’s Day, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Breath Play, Butt Plugs, Deep Throating, Humour, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Anal Sex) – John and Sherlock have been invited to join their friends at a pub for Valentine's Day. Sherlock has plans to spice the evening up a bit. Part 4 of the The Johnlock Holidays and Celebrations Series

The Heart of the Matter by prettysailorsoldier (T, 13,427 w., 1 Ch. || Teenager AU || Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Texting, Valentine’s Day, Fluff) – It's the annual Valentine's Week fundraiser, carnations, conversation hearts, and singing telegrams (oh my!) making their way around the school corridors, and Sherlock Holmes has quite happily never received any of them. So, when he gets a box of conversation hearts containing a message from a secret admirer, his first instinct is that it's an elaborate practical joke, but, as he and his mystery suitor begin texting, he starts to wonder if there might be something to this Valentine's Day lark after all. There is, however, the entirely unrelated problem of one John Watson to contend with before he can be sure. Part 3 of 221B Mine

Not this year by Imjohnlocked87 (E, 16,293 w., 4 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting ||  Friends to Lovers, Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Smut, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Sex, Wall Sex, Angst with Happy Ending) – One month after leaving the rehabilitation centre, when Donovan asks Sherlock if he will be alone on Valentine's Day this year too, he replies he will be spending it with someone special.The only problem is that this someone doesn't exist.Because who would want to have Valentine's date with Sherlock Holmes? 

Quo Fata Vocant by prettysailorsoldier (E, 18,115 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock / Teenlock ||  Librarians, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Time, Tattoos, Valentine’s Day, Secret Admirer, Matchmaker) – Sherlock is enamored with one of the employees at the university library, wiling away hours of his days just to catch a glimpse of the dynamic John Watson: captain of the rugby team, event manager for the LGBT society, and third-year medical student. Of course, being only a first-year, it's unlikely John will ever notice him. At least, until fate (and a little well-intentioned meddling) intervenes.

[laundryandtaxes]

Hi- I love your style and your fashion sense! I’m looking to buy my first suit, do you have any tips? I’m rather tall and heavy so I’ve been too nervous to try any on but I’d really love to get a suit 🥲

My only major tip is to only purchase from a retailer that allows you to buy the jacket and trousers separately. For instance, when I purchase an OTR suit I first make sure that the trouser and jacket sizes I want are both in stock (easy to do via email) and then leave my trouser size swap as a note in the order. The reason for this is that, otherwise, a 46 suit jacket, for instance, will come with 40 waist trousers- a 6 inch "drop" is standard sizing, but that works for almost no women and likely a minority of men as well.

Otherwise, I'd say any old guide to suit fit from a classic menswear perspective will do you well. The fit at the shoulders is non negotiable because it is difficult and expensive to alter shoulders, so it needs to be just right- the shoulder lean test where you lean a shoulder into a wall to ensure that the jacket doesn't land too far before your shoulder is a fairly reliable fit indicator. If your shirt sleeve is not visible with your arms at your sides naturally, then the suit sleeves are too long- whether you want to show half an inch of shirt cuff or a quarter of an inch of cuff is up to you, but some should be visible. I personally don't ever like slim cut jackets or trousers, I personally don't ever like no break trousers for suits, but that's because those things are not my style. Shoulder fit it one of the only things that is genuinely non negotiable in a jacket. When buttoning, follow the Sometimes, Always, Never rule. If a jacket has 3 buttons, you can sometimes button the top, will always button the second, and should never button the third. If a jacket has 2 buttons (as most contemporary jackets do) you skip the sometimes. I wouldn't purchase a suit that was anything other than entirely natural material- whether linen, cotton, wool, silk, blends of those, whatever- but that's also a personal choice and there's nothing inherently wrong with some stretch if you like it.

I think it is technically true that a jacket does not fit if you can't close it, but I also recognize that we all need to accept the bodies we actually have when it comes to OTR tailoring, to decide going in which parts of the fit are most important to us and make our altering and purchasing decisions with those in mind. What alterations are "standard" for a suit, then, is personal, but you should never wear a suit with absolutely no alteration because the odds that it actually fits well are very low because the suit wasn't made for you. For me, standard alterations mean adding a 1.5" cuff, getting the sleeves shortened which nearly everyone needs to do, and having the waist of the jacket let out to eliminate tugging I can otherwise get at the second button.

The more boring a suit is, the more likely you are to still have and wear it in 5 years. When choosing between a more fashionable decision and a more conservative decision, I always make the more conservative tailoring decision but again, that's a personal choice.

[eviesaurusrex]

Hey! I read your Mrs. Strange fic (which was amazing) and was wondering if you could write one for Tony? Where the reader and Tony are getting married and hes absolutely obsessed with y/n. Love your writing!

Hey, love! First of all, thank you so much for reading and enjoying my silly writing! <3 And of course I can write something for Tony. He is actually pretty front and center on my list of characters :3

***

"ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴜɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ." | ᴛ. ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ

GIF not mine!

Tony Stark x Navy Pilot!Reader

summary: It's Tony's and YN's wedding day, and Tony can't stop himself from showing everyone that he had been right all along.

word count: 2k

warnings: nothing really, this is just pure and wholesome fluff, some loving bickering, mentioning of pregnancy because I can't help myself, this man deserves anything and everything, not entirely proofread

author's note: This will be a short one, I hope no one is mad about this. I just want to get back into writing, and I think that's the best way to achieve it :3 I still hope you like what I came up with even though I'm not too pleased with it :x Btw: We are ignoring the Coulson-thing. I wanted to have him here, so we have Coulson here. Deal with it.

***

Smiling, YN watched the guests as they enjoyed themselves in the lavishly decorated venue and took a deep inhale of the flower-scented air wafting around her and everyone else. Tony had been adamant in his endeavors of turning every single fantasy and image fragment floating through her head into reality, so everywhere they had gone today, she had been surrounded by the prettiest of flowers and plants—from their apartment in the compound where she had gotten ready with her bridesmaids and hired stylists, to the grand venue they had held their wedding ceremony in and now celebrated the day. A church wasn't even a fleeting thought because neither YN nor Tony believed in a higher being, despite the many impossible situations they had faced and overcome in the past many years. She actually didn't want to think about the many near-death experiences they both had walked past, nor felt YN the need to think about the expenses made for today's arrangement.

They had enough money, yes, but that had never meant for her to spend it as heavily and indulgently as Tony loved to do.

The thought of her newly turned husband dancing through her mind made the commander smile as brightly as the sun outside. With the same smile resting unmoving on her lips, YN started to thank each and every one she saw for coming and wished them a pleasant afternoon while simultaneously heading toward the perfectly stocked bar. Ever since the beautiful ceremony, which had not only moved her to tears but also a certain man who was still in his denying phase, the woman had felt the dryness in her mouth increasing every passing moment, urging her to tend to her needs which had gotten worse rather quickly over the last few weeks.

She would be lying if she said it didn't scare the living daylights out of her.

"Anything non-alcoholic and a glass of water, Frankie, please," YN asked one of the many bartenders Tony had personally handpicked through hours of going through every single resume the wedding planner had to send straight to him. Both women still didn't understand the meaning of it all, but YN soon had stopped questioning her husband's strange behavior towards everything related to the wedding. Softly shaking her head, the bride mumbled a small Thanks and grabbed for the water to at least inhale half of it before she dried out on the spot. It was strange what her body was willing to do and which changes it went through in order to create a welcoming environment for something she had never considered possible for herself.

"Mrs. Stark! Mrs Stark!"

The all too well-known excited voice of non-other than Peter Parker ripped her mind from its spiraling nature when it came to that topic and back into reality where the brunet young man arrived at her spot at the bar, a bright grin on his handsome features and shining eyes—just as usual. Other than Tony, YN never had hesitated to show him affection in any way possible, considering Peter as something close to a son, and she believed he was thankful for that, even though the woman knew that his aunt was perfectly capable of handling those things herself. But gladly, May and she agreed a long time ago that Peter could use more of that loving environment, so YN had made it her duty to do exactly that.

Smiling, the bride softly brushed over his shoulders in order to straighten the black suit he wore—handpicked by Tony, of course—and straightened the tie around his neck. "Is everything alright?" Being part of the superhero business for longer than YN would like to admit, one could never know, especially not when one married Iron Man himself. But Peter only grinned and nodded too fast for her eyes and dizzy head. "Yeah, totally! Mr. Stark sent me here to remind you to drink and stay hydrated, but you obviously already did that, so here are some snacks I brought from the buffet and which are really, really good, oh, and I also found some chocolate at the dessert table, and—..." Softly laughing, YN stopped the flood of words escaping his mouth by taking the plate filled with an assortment of deliciously looking canapés from his hands and gently patting his cheek. "Thank you, Peter. That's incredibly kind and attentive, but you should go and look for MJ. I think I saw her at one of the balconies."

And with that, YN pushed the shy-turning boy in the right direction and nudged him forward. She was nothing but a matchmaker—at least, she tried her best.

But the moment of quietness didn't stay long because suddenly, someone came up to her and cleared their throat to earn her attention. With a canapé in hand, YN turned and smiled widely at the familiar sight of Phil Coulson, but without his accompanying ID dangling at his suit jacket. "Phil! I'm so glad you could make it." Indeed, she was because, during all her time working with SHIELD and even during the aftermath of what had happened in D.C., Phil Coulson had become a somewhat friend to her, which Tony always had disliked, of course. The agent smiled at her and clumsily patted her lace-covered shoulder. "I couldn't miss this, Commander Stark."

A grin tucked at the corner of her mouth at the sound of her title combined with her newly acquired last name, and maybe YN had to admit that it sounded much better than she ever could've imagined. And as if he knew her thoughts, the man of the hour walked over to them and let his arm slowly sneak around her waist to pull her into his warm, inviting side. A loving, lingering kiss to her cheek followed before Tony shook hands with Coulson. "What do you think, Phil?"—YN couldn't help it and rolled her eyes—"The name fits her perfectly, doesn't it?" One of her hands immediately rose to hit Tony against his chest while her husband only laughed, and Coulson slowly shook his head with an amused expression on his face. "I will leave you two to discuss the matter. Tony, Commander. Congratulations."

As soon as her favorite agent had left them to themselves, YN started to chew on the snacks and cocked a brow at Tony. He, on the other hand, only was able to stare down at her, that one particular smile specially reserved for her very person spreading over his handsome features. His arm tightened its hold around her waist while his other hand started to brush over her arm upward, reaching her shoulder and continuing to her neck, so his thumb could caress her cheek. "But, tell me, wife." The man paused for a moment to grin at YN's chuckle. "Do you still think the change of names was such a disaster?" Cocking her head from one side to the other, YN observed Tony's face before shrugging. "I mean, I don't know yet. Barely anyone has called me by it so far. Maybe you should give it a try, and maybe I could be convinced to start thinking it's not too bad after all," she teased him and giggled at the feeling of his lips pressing kisses to hers. He only stopped to whisper soft versions of "Mrs. Stark" against them, grinning victoriously at the sound of her pleased humming and into the kiss she gave him in return. "Watch out, or you might have to call me Mrs. Stark for the rest of our lives."

Now it was Tony's turn to grin his cheeky, teasing grin and nudged YN's chin up, so he could look her directly into her eyes. "I told you it would suit you, Mrs. Stark. And think of the non-existing trouble we'll have when we start thinking about names. We won't have to find one that suits them both." Almost immediately, she could feel the tears—happy ones—welling up in her eyes, and taking a deep breath, YN leaned her cheek into the warm, comforting palm of his hand. She still couldn't believe how her life had turned for the better, and now, they would have everything they ever wanted, everything they had ever talked about when lying in their dark bedroom, watching the slow sunrise through the grand windows when sleep just wouldn't take hold of them. "And," Tony continued with a soft smile as soon as he saw the tears trying to spill out of his wife's eyes, "She needs the Stark name. We can't have her inherit every single penny without wearing the name that's printed on everything she'll own. Imagine the troubles and unnecessary stress she would have to face in that case because she would need to change every single goddamn letterhead. I don't want that for her."

YN still sniffled a bit, blinking rapidly to suppress the tears from falling, and instead concentrated on the growing question mark in her mind. "She?" The woman asked in a hushed whisper, not daring to take a breath, not wanting to risk scaring Tony off. But he only nodded, barely visible, and let his hand wander to her lower abdomen, where a tiny bump had already made its presence known and which would soon be all over the press. "It's not some weird fatherly feeling, I promise. There's only that one image in my head I can't forget. It's stuck like a damned idea, keeping me up all night."

He removed his hand from the position he had learned to love ever since YN had told him her suspicion to wrap his wife in a tight embrace. "So, you want a girl?" Her question pushed him to kiss her again. "I'm sure I wouldn't mess her up too badly." Her hands on his face and neck let him take a deep breath and ground himself. "You won't mess them up, Tony. I know you won't let that happen because you are who you are. You are the best man I ever had the pleasure to meet—well, not from the beginning..." His grumbling only made her laugh. "That's the way to ruin a compliment, love," the Stark returned but let her continue. "No one is born perfect, husband. We both had to develop and grow on this path we decided to walk together, but we did, and now I can proudly say that I married the best man on earth and that he will be such a wonderful father. Because you will be a wonderful father, Tony. They won't miss a thing in their life because you'd be there to fulfill their every wish and hope, even if it meant for you burning parts of the world down."

He could feel his hands shaking as he cupped his wife's face tenderly, seeing the ring she put there only hours ago almost gleaming in the corner of his vision, and knew he finally arrived at the spot he always was meant to be. Here, with this angel of a woman, making him the happiest and proudest man on earth, and letting him feel things he never had dared to hope for. "You will kick my ass if you ever think I mess her up." YN nodded at that and Tony bent down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "And that's why I'm the luckiest man on earth." Because with her, he wouldn't repeat the mistakes his father made all those years ago.

***

Oh gosh, I'm so sorry for this horrible dump of words. The idea in my head was so much better T.T The next Tony piece will hopefully be better. As usual: Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated!

Taglist: @hopefulinlove @seasonofthenerd @onecrazydirectioner @meeksmusic83 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lastwandastan

[aanabear2803]

hi i've seen your posts about body weight and I as a fat girl, was wondering if you are open to talk about it or give advice about it

I have been struggling real bad with it lately, I thought I was ok and had been for a few years, turns out I hate my body so much and you seem so confident, you got any advice? would you be open to talk about it in dm's?

feel free to ignore this if it's uncomfortable tho

Hi :3 um... so. I struggle with my own body weight a lot. I wont really talk about the bad thoughts that lurk about.

Ive been overweight since I was a wee lad. It especially hurts when my meds make me constantly hungry. Like I am always fucking hungry. So I just snacked the day away without any thoughts of consequences. I still eat these meds to this day. I am still as hungry as ever.

Id say I wont have very awesome advice? Because what I would normally do when those bad thoughts do happen is... post nudes on my kinky tumblr? Which, you know I dont expect others to do. Im sure there are healthier ways to express yourself than to go on tumblr and do shit like being half naked. However there are tons of gorgous women who dress in lingerie and post on tumblr all the time. You kinda just need to know where to look.

Ive also been trying to loose weight. But its more for a health thing since Im close to being diabetic and Im super duper not down for that myself. Im already tired of the meds Ive eaten I dont want to have to subject myself to stabs of insulin.

Im not on a fad diet of any kind. Im just eating 1200kcal a day watching as my weight slowly goes down~ I calculate all of this stuff too.

There's also the difference in how being fat and being unhealthy are wildly different. There's also that thing on how genetics have a say in the weight a person can be. But that is not my expertize at all! But you can be more than welcomed to go search and read up on those.

Ive been more open to exposing my skin a little at a time? Like wearing a bikini while in the pool when Im exercising. Ive been very recently trying to get corsets to work out too! Altho whether you like it or not there will be stares from people. But I would say start from the clothes, buy stuff you think would make you strut a runway. Dont just buy tshirts and pants and call it a day. Find a top in your size and fucking go for it. (Altho I understand many curvy people will not be able to find it cheap and Im just saying if you are desperate for the cash.... you can try Shein. Which I understand many Americans are banning and all the problems with fast fashion into overproduction but they do have many plus size clothes that most store dont normally have for people like us so you know its entirely up to you! But I was close to tears when I bought something and it just.... fits you know? Just dont go all out and buy their entire stock. I buy 5XL on there and dont worry about the number being so high, its probably based around the chinese style with their insane standards)

But hey look, people are going to judge no matter what ok? They always will. They will always find a way to trash talk. Its hard to ignore them, I get it. But theyre not you. They dont know if youre trying to loose weight or whether the food youre eating is a reward for having done a week of gym. Id honestly just say the fries are delicious and they should try it and we move on with our day. Its like online haters, you dont waste an hour of your life justifying things to them, so you have no reason to need to justify things to irl people.

I do hope this helps a little? I dont mind dms if you have any other questions of course :3

[lgbtqtext]

[jvstheworld]

The Buffy Re-watch: S2E6 (part 2)

Halloween

Buffy looks good in her costume, as does Willow.

Correct reaction Xander on both counts.

Cordy is confusing, Oz thinks so too.

Who gives toothbrushes to kids on Halloween? And how many did they buy to be able to give out to kids? Like did they buy a few shop's stock of them? Are they dentists so they are able to get them in bulk, if that's a thing? Just get candy, it would be easier and cheaper.

What was the point of Ethan's plan? Just complete chaos with no actual goal? Just doing it for shits and giggles. Not judging, just curious.

Willow is a ghosty, Xander is an army man, and Buffy is an 18th century noble woman. This is going to be fun.

To someone from the 18th century a car would seem like a demon. Sort of reminds me of the Star Trek: TNG episode where Picard had to convince a group of proto Vulcans that he wasn't a god. Specifically, the conversation he has with one of the villagers about how technology has advanced and how it might appear to others from the past. To an 18th century woman, a car could be seen as something horrible and evil because she can not comprehend the technology, just like in Star trek where Picard was believed to be a god because his crew saved someone's life. Does that make sense? Because it does to me, but I know that not everyone might follow what I'm saying.

And after only a few seconds of 18th century Buffy, Willow is already done with her shit.

'Who died and made her the boss?' Well, Willow technically died and since she was the only one who remembered her own name when she got turned into a ghosty, she got to be the boss.

Spike loves the chaos.

Has Giles been oblivious to the chaos this whole time?

Cordelia is good at recaps, Very succinct. Hey maybe she should do the intro recaps.

How and when did someone get in to the Summer's house basement? That made no sense to me. They just hide in there until someone happened to be around for them to come out and kill them? I know it's a fantasy, horror show, but come on. Because there's no way Angel would have left the door open when he walked in and he would never have let anyone follow him in. And before Angel got there, they locked the place down. So, someone give me a realistic answer to this, please. I'm struggling for one.

Giles is curious as to how Willow's costume makes her a ghosty. It's a fair question since he probably never saw her before the trick or treating started.

Giles goes quite at the name Ethan. He has good reasons to.

Spike rounding up mini demons to hunt Buffy.

Larry the Pirate from earlier is now an actual gross pirate.

Janus- the Roman God with 2 faces. In season 1 episode 3 of Sherlock, this particular god was used as the name of the hire car company that Sherlock and John investigate.

'Hello Ripper.' Damn, Giles has a dark past we don't know about. We'll find out in 2 episodes time.

Xander gets revenge on Larry the Pirate. Okay, but still needs to work on his issue of feeling inadequate.

Cordy still doesn't believe hat Angel is a vampire?

Angel just picks up Buffy, sweet.

Giles has been hiding a lot of himself from Buffy and friends.

Spike, if you're going to kill someone do it quickly, because at any second the tables could turn and you will get your ass handed to you.

'Hi honey, I'm home.' See, I get that you want to savour the moment but if your goal is to kill someone, don't talk, just do. Think of all the heroes who would have died if the villains didn't monologue. But also slight parallel here as Spike will being saying this to Buffy in season 7 episode 21.

Ethan disappears and Spike knows when to get the hell out of Dodge. Self preservation skills.

I like that after this entire night Willow feels confident to wear her outfit without the ghosty costume. It's a great look for her and Oz likes it too. It's the second time he notices her.

Angel hated women from his time. We could have saved so much trouble if we knew this earlier. The scene between Angel and Buffy is cute, I won't deny that. And Buffy is just as pretty in a tank top and sweatpants as she was in her costume.

Ethan is gone for now, but the look on Giles' face, damn that's dark. He really doesn't want people finding out about his past. I mean, you really wouldn't want anyone to find out if your secret was as bad as his is. Which we will find out about in 2 episodes time. I seriously thought that gap between these was bigger for some reason.

Okay, that's it for this episode. Tomorrow, Buffy has an unexpected visitor with some shady shit going on.

[makangerous]

Ayumu Rank 3 (Fortune Confidant)

You receive a text message from Ayumu.

My prediction came true, right? I know how we can test the cards even further. There's a group of people whose power I want to match. Can you come see me?

You go over to his place.

Emi, you've heard of the Phantom Thieves, correct? Those people who can change hearts and make their targets confess their own crimes?

>I'm a huge fan!

Oh really? You'll get a kick out of my idea, then.

I personally knew someone whose heart was changed by the Phantom Thieves. The news was quiet about it. That man's change of heart is the reason I'm living here. …You seem alarmed. His change of heart was necessary, so it's better this way. In fact, I'd been trying to put an end to his crimes, but I didn't have the right tools. Maybe now that I can channel my wishes through these cards, I can change hearts.

I have the perfect target in mind: the landlord of this building. He owns this entire block, makes millions leasing out properties, but that's not enough for him. He's trying to kick me out of this place no one's been in for years because “maybe tomorrow somebody will want it”. Next time I see him, he'll be groveling at my feet!

>It doesn't work like that.

How can you say that unless we try? No one's been able to determine the Phantom Thieves' methods, so how do we know this isn't it?

His last name is Fukui. And his tarot card? It has to be the Devil! The Devil, Fukui… All the stocks he invested in tanked spectacularly, leaving him with no choice but to sell all his properties. In his despair, a profound idea came to him: why not try being good for once? He devoted himself to helping the homeless, and even sold one empty store to Ayumu for one yen--

[bang bang]

Oh, did it already take effect? That was fast.

A man in a suit opens the door and stomps in.

Fukui: The hell is this? Not only have you not left, but you've brought a girl here to live with you?!

She's only visiting. Would you be willing to let me stay here if I buy the place?

Fukui: How much you offering?

Uh… One yen?

Fukui: Don't joke around! If that girl wasn't here, I'd throw you out this instant! But I don't like making women cry. Tell you what, I'll give you some time to put together a serious offer. If you can't show me any cash next time I stop by, you're out. Got it?

Fukui leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Ugh, that was a resounding failure. Guess I should've realized it wouldn't be that easy. Sorry, Emi. I need some alone time to plan how to deal with this bastard…

Your phone rings in front of Leblanc.

Hi Emi. Maybe I'll feel less depressed if I talk to you. I have no idea what to do about Fukui. Perhaps I should try to predict his next visit and invite you over then. You would cry if he threw me out onto the pavement, wouldn't you?

>I would cry for days.

Aw, you're sweet. Don't actually cry that much if it happens, though. I'll feel real bad.

Hopefully it doesn't come to that. Even if my power can't change hearts, it might do something else useful. I can't give up! I'm going to go try some new things with the deck. See you soon!

[citronavalkiro]

1. Autism, ADHD, OCD, Bipolar, Dysgraphia, and Lymphedema. Lymphedema is physical but everything else is neurological.

2. Since I was born, I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD when I was 5 and dysgraphia and OCD shortly after. I developed bipolar around when I was 18 but it wasn’t confirmed until I started to hallucinate at 23. I developed lymphedema last year at 30 and took me a few months before I got diagnosed.

3. I use compression garments. Mostly wear stockings though I do have leggings on really bad days they work so well that I constantly have to pee as the fluid drains from me.

4. My cousin has autism and schizophrenia and another aunt has ADHD like me. I had a great professor who was a wheelchair user as well. My entire otome game server I am on is neurodivergent in some form too.

5. Yeah in some ways. I tend to cycle through interests because I have ADHD and also tend to engage in them more when I am manic.

6. I have gotten to speak at a few local events as an autism person and I get lots of money from research studies and helping with that

7. Lymphedema can’t go away from losing weight! Also it isn’t because of poor lifestyle choices. I literally got it due to some meds and even since going off of them it won’t go back.

8. Hmmmm I am not sure though I have a hard time relating to other women my age

9. I do like spoons and also forks for stress!

10. I have my own weird system of organizing things that looks messy to others but it is perfect for me

11. It depends on the season I am high support needs in the spring but I am moderate to low the rest of the time

12. Probably the fact that not all hallucinations are bad persay or need to be fixed. Not everything can be medicated away either.

13. “You are an adult you can do what you want!” Not if your mom is your conservator!

14. I have a friend with schizoaffective I used to talk to a lot and it was fun talking about our hallucinations.

15. I guess feeling like your body and mind is valid and being able to interact with people who are also disabled to form a community

16. I have nothing to say

disability pride ask game

I'm so sleepy but I have persisted anyway bc i am so brave

feel free to reblog, try and send an ask to the person you're reblogging from so the game doesn't die, and absolutely never be pressured to answer anything that feels too personal--this is about/inspiration for what you Want to share about disability and experiences being disabled, not what you feel like you have to! (also: this ask game is PRO SELF DX.)

what disability/ies do you have? (and are they mental, physical, or both?)

how long have you known you're disabled? does that match up with diagnosis?

what, if any, disability aids do you use? (mobility aids, sensory aids, braces, communicative devices, IVs, etc. meds also count here). do you customize them/their containers/outsides?

do you know any disabled people irl? what about online?

if you have multiple disabilities: do they affect each other? how?

what's something good that's come out of being disabled?

what's a struggle you wish more people talked about?

does your disability affect how you experience other parts of your identity? (gender, queerness, culture, even hobbies/life goals you're very passionate about)

how do you measure your energy? (spoons, battery, something else?)

whats something youve come up with or integrated into your life that makes disability easier, besides typical aids?

how would you label your support needs?

what's something (a struggle, a symptom, a weird phenomenon, or even a funny experience) people don't realize about your disability?

whats the most Abled Person Thing someone has said to you?

has there ever been a time where you felt solidarity/community with another disabled person in a situation with you?

what does disability pride mean to you?

free space to talk about whatever disability issue or experience you want !

[petalsmooth]

Haven't really posted about the other spoiler because the mag it came from clearly tried to make it into seeming like a whole storyline for his season which was clearly full of it. Not entirely sure to what extent they show with so little to go on. I do know in principle could do without sex with 3 people, not sure why the show fetishes that. but I also don't think would be out of character for his book counterpart, who they are merging with the show version this year.

However, in general my issue is with a certain subgroup who fetish Colin's questionable virginity from an earlier season and treat it the way men would treat women being virgins in the 19th century. It's not a good look when women hold men to same standard of tainted, anymore than when men did to women and honestly...I don't feel bad for them the fetish wasn't indulged. I have no problem with characters being virgins but when the idea of them not being so is cause to want another character with a nondescript stock character who hasn't done half of what Colin has for her over the years? Problem is not Colin, it's you.

Anthony throwing out some line season 1 of Colin being "green" because rushed into an engagement with a woman he didn't really know could mean he was a virgin, but it could also mean next to his and Benedict's sexual experiences he didn't have as much to draw from which is how I took it because Colin was way too experienced flirting all over that ballroom to be completely innocent. Could also be interpreted naive to the machinations of matchmaking families...which he was. But this is regency England and a Shonda Rhimes show. That personalized fanfic of yours was never going to happen and if you are disappointed in that, you alone set yourself up for that.

I fanfic scenes/stories I'd like to see all the time, I don't assume I'll get my way and subsequently throw a fit.

Hell, Book Colin is a rake. You all said you wanted Book Colin. Well book Colin cannot co-exist with virgin Colin. There is a certain delivery required to make that character live that would not be possible to act out if he had no experience. That mirror scene you want isn't happening with two virgins. They'd fumble the hell out of it as they would the carriage scene.

So yeah, while I have NO interest in seeing it anymore than I did with Benedict's random hookups/threesome, or Anthony with his montage in season 2 I can't say I'm surprised nor do I think out of character for this merger of show/book Colin. A bit sensationalistic but this show opened season 1 with Anthony exposed against a tree with Siena so it is what it is and supposedly contained to 2 brief scenes.

I also agree with op there are people who care a damn site more about Penelope having a hot boy trophy/virgin sacrificed at her alter than a real two way relationship with fully developed characters because you were a damn sight more concerned he be an untainted virgin for her to parade on her arm than if he was going to be a writer this season. Which was FAR more essential to the plot, his character and THEIR story. Even on THIS I didn't make assumptions I'd get it, but we ARE getting it and I'm relieved.

I'd also point out to these people that Lord Veggie is unlikely a virgin either, and since he's clearly older probably been with more women. And I highly doubt, no matter how "different" or "nice" he is that he would have noticed Penelope prior to this season the way Colin did. They have made a point of saying he notices her as a woman, which is fine and all and something Penelope may need to grow her confidence but Colin noticed HER first. May not have caught up to understanding the romanticism/attraction side of their bond but he saw who she was before any transformation and liked her. Even the side of her that is Whistledown, he saw and liked even if he will be initially mad when discovers it.

If follows the book, part of the reason he's mad btw is because he's terrified of what will happen to her if discovered. Another because he thinks she may believe him a fool or empty headed charmer based on what was written, secretly laughing at him. Show Colin will probably also be a bit mad about Marina/Eloise until explained to him but the point is...that barb scene between them was there for a reason in season 1. He likes that side of her and knows that side of her. Just as she knows the real him.

Plus the same people mad enough about two small scenes acting this way are the ones who want to waste the season having her engaged to the wrong man and Colin crashing the wedding a la the story of the younger brother Gregory. Because they have no problem with Pen dangling two men because their sole interest in the story seems to be in having men pant over Pen because she's a "goddess" that they can vicariously live through. And punishing Colin for being initially oblivious, apparently not realizing Colin is not real and the person you are punishing is yourself by limiting time the characters are together onscreen

That isn't the story I want.

I don't want multi episode arcs of groveling. I don't really want hookups but I also didn't want suitors or triangles. I just want as many scenes with Nic and Luke as we can get because you get one season before moving on and I find the rest a waste of time that could have been spent on the characters I actually want together. I'm only tolerating Debling because I think he's relatively insignificant in screentime and I can see the plot device might be needed to ease the transition of friends to lovers so not jarring when switch pulled. The part with Colin is reportedly a few minutes. So FW and move on.

Personally much as I have no desire to see it, it isn't what is ultimately the problematic storyline. That will be Eloise's bratty regression. If you want to talk about disappointments, this is NOT how I envisioned that storyline going this year. And I'm having a hard time trying to not let it affect my love of the character. Because if you want to talk about a character being tainted, Eloise hooking up with fellow pen hater to be mean girls together is what leaves me sick. Sincerely hope this story comes off better than it sounds because this is the one making me ill.