#yeah the friends in every universe thing but then

[tuesdayiminlove]

happy disaster

rockstar!eddie x fem!waitress!reader (imperfect for you universe)

summary: how you two meet

author's note: an ask about how they met came earlier today and i couldn't help myself lol. not proofread sorry! also this could be read as a standalone! but u can read the og part here! hope u guys enjoy lmk what yall think xoxo

word count: 3.1k

You’ve had your fair share of jobs throughout the last few years, trying to make ends meet while also being a consumer of the various cute things you see when you’re at the mall with your friends. One time (and this may have been one of the more miserable experiences), you worked as a receptionist for an auto shop (get it now?)).

Needless to say, you were at the bottom of the hierarchy at that whole joint. When you weren’t answering calls and taking hyperspecific notes to not confuse the actual mechanics, you were practically shunned from the moment you stepped up from your seat and onto the street to eat your lunch at the bench outside. And whenever your lips did part to make even the simplest of comments, the men either laughed at you or made you feel stupid (“You guys hired me! Clearly I’m not a fucking idiot!” you dreamt of saying, but you were just never one for the dramatics and confrontation of it all).

And, the worst part, on days you couldn’t go into work, none of the other receptionists would switch with you.

(“Sorry, babe, I just can’t,” you remember Joey Warner staying after taking a drag of his cig, coughing mere seconds later from not exhaling immediately. You wanted to take the cigarette between your fingers, toss it down, and squish it with your shoes. You really needed to pick up your brother from school, and no one at the shop is ever up Joey’s ass since he’s a guy.

“Oh. It’s alright.” You curse yourself and your lack of ever wanting conflict, because you’re more than positive that this boy deserves a beating for not taking the reins for an hour just so that your poor baby brother won’t have to wait on the cold sidewalk for your mom, who is forty minutes late.

You walk back into the shop without another word.)

So. yeah, call this mechanic memory useless, but now it's clear that your jobs have been absolute dog shit in the past.

But being a waitress at Carly’s Diner, in comparison, takes the cake in the coworker camaraderie contest.

Like, now, you’re enjoying your break with Carrie, splitting half a cupcake that Jim managed to slip into your guys’ hands when he was pulling the fresh desserts from the oven. You two have turns at it, taking nimble bites from the vanilla confection and wiping rainbow sprinkles off your uniform in the process. Your nose blends in the smell of the cupcake and Carrie’s sweet perfume, leaving a little bubble where you can hardly tell what the boys in the kitchen are whipping up right now.

Judy passes through the doors in a haste, heaving before setting her eyes on you two. The notepad in her hands is crumpled up and her hair looks all over the place, eyes bewildered as she stalks towards you and Carrie, a complan ready to spill from her red lips. 

“This fucking couple on table three is driving me nuts! Nuts!” She slumps her back against the wall and swipes a piece of frosting off the cupcake before sticking it in her mouth, sighing in relief.

“Hey,” Carrie swats Judy’s hand, “watch the cupcake!” She places it behind her back possessively.

Carrie is nearly six months pregnant and craving every sweet treat Jim has to offer in between tables and shifts. It’s a miracle that she let you split the dessert with her just now, “And table three, you said?”

Judy ignores her earlier words and nods. “I swear to God, I don’t understand your goddamn generation and why you heaps are so fucking rude. I can't do this.”

“Don’t group us with those weirdos,” says Carrie. “And I’d like to see them be rude to a pregnant woman. Protect this,” she hands you the cupcake carefully, looking at you in the eyes with intent, “and I mean it.”

Her voice is so determined, you decide that you don’t want your fair share of bites anymore. You nod dutifully.

“I got this, Jude.” She swipes the notepad from the older woman’s hands.

And with that, Carrie is kicking herself off the wall and out of the kitchen, into the main part of the diner. You silently pray for the couple that now has to deal with a moody and pregnant Carrie. 

See? Now, this is what you mean! No mechanic or receptionist at Billy’s Auto Parts will ever be willing to face an alleged-annoying couple for their coworker. Sometimes, waitressing can take the light and happiness out of you once you’re clocked out, but at least you’re surrounded by the half-decent people in your town.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Judy calls out with a wicked laugh. “Gotta love that girl… hey can I have a bite?”

You frown, knowing you’re already unable to say no when Judy is stressed and you know for sure that the confection in your hand is enough to sweeten even the most stressed—Jim just has that magic to him. “Yeah, but don’t make the dent obvious.”

You think you’re gonna spend the rest of your break with Judy, hiding in between the two walls in the corner of the kitchen until Carrie comes back. You lick a small sprinkle off the cupcake, ready to ask the woman if her daughter won the spelling bee that she’s been freaking out over all week, when the office door swings open and Lenny’s head peeks out, eyes going to the first two waitresses that he can spot.

“Hey!” he shouts yours and Judy’s last names to steal the attention. “Can one of you guys go out and get Evan? Her daughter’s principal is on the phone.” He wipes his sweat-stained brow and doesn’t wait for a response. “Thanks,”

You and Judy look back at each other. And immediately you know that you’re not going to make Judy be the one.

“I got it,” you say with a soft smile. “... You’re gonna eat the rest of this are you?”

She laughs and swipes the cupcake. “For you, my love, I wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you.”

You blow her a kiss, already making your way to the double doors of the kitchen, straightening out your ponytail and getting your waitressing voice ready (patient and respectful, garnering the best tips you can try to get). Your eyes give one swipe across the diner, catching Carrie’s eye as she talks to the couple sitting down beneath her, holding her precious bump to make a show of it. She gives you a sly wink and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Afternoon rush makes it hard to spot Evan at first. His smaller stature makes it even harder to spot him in the crowd, but your eyes eventually zone in on him smiling at customer that is blocked by a family getting up to leave. You smile upon finding him and make your way to the table.

As you get closer, you finally notice who Evan is speaking two, and your brows pinch quizzically. The man is hunched, looking over the menu with sunglasses adorning his face despite his table not even facing the sun. His jet black curls curve around the lines of his face, making his features harder to notice. It almost reminds you of the movies you watch late at night when you’re munching on diner leftovers on your couch, the runaway criminal stopping for a bite to eat while trying to flee the state. 

“Evan,” you say softly, not wanting to draw attention to yourself but you know it's already bound to happen since you’re switching places with him. “Lenny’s got your daughter’s school on the phone. They’re asking for you.”

The man’s eyes widen. “Great,” he mutters, “What do you think it is this time?” “I hope she said ‘fuck you’ to that little pipsqueak again,” you joke, seeing the anxiety in Evan’s eyes at not knowing why he’s receiving a call during work. You remember the first time he got called to his daughter’s school from work due to her cursing out an older boy: the entire kitchen was laughing—Evan included—as they all wished him good luck with that meeting. “Can’t be worse than that.”

He sighed, turning back to the customer, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m going to hand you off to her for a bit.” He says your name to further introduce you two. "Thank you for your patience.”

And for the first time up close, you look at the sunglassed man and smile. Perfect teeth flash at you, mildly astonishing you at how cute he looked when he did so. It’s not abnormal for you to find a customer attractive (it’s human, we’re human), but you don’t think a smile has ever made you secretly stop you from breathing for a second. 

Flustered, you’re clumsy as you and Evan switch spots. He pats your shoulder one last time, muttering a thank you as he rushes to the back. You follow his movements and frown for a split second and forget your task at hand. You hope his daughter is okay. You hope the kitchen will be laughing in t-minus three minutes over the fact that little baby-Evan gained a new curse word under her belt.

“Sorry,” you say, looking back at the man. You find him looking directly at you, knowing only because of how his head is positioned. His sunglasses are too tinted to even see a little beneath. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“Oh—uh, yeah,” he stammers, before clearing his throat and offering a crooked smile. “Coffee, please. Milk and two sugars.”

Your handwriting matches the pace as he speaks. You hold a smile on your face to keep up pleasantries. “And have you decided what you would like to eat?”

“Not yet,” he admits, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the menu. “Kind of hard to focus.” There’s a pause before he adds, a little quieter, “The menu’s got a lot of… options.”

You raise an eyebrow, tucking your notepad in the small pocket of your apron. You turn your head to see if anyone else is making coffee right now. You see Carrie there, and silently celebrate when she’s already staring at you. “All good. I’ll get your coffee ready and be right back–”

“—Wait.”

Your brows pinch, confused. “Yes?” His hand rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “I was just, um… wondering if you had a favorite on the menu? Like… if there’s something you always recommend. Or—” He hesitates again, “Or like your favorite?”

You don’t know why he's so flustered. You don’t know why it makes you flustered. For a beat, you just look at him. Is he… trying to flirt with me? The thought isn’t unwelcome, but you certainly weren’t expecting it, or really believing it just yet. You tilt your head, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

“Well,” you say eventually, “We have an all day breakfast, and that’s my favorite part of the menu, and I get it a lot. It’s on the next page.”

You wait for him to turn the menu, but he continues to stare back up at you, mouth agape.

“... Is that something you’re interested in?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he replies immediately. And then, more composed, “Yeah, I can be in the mood for breakfast.” He finally flips the page, and his head tilts up to yours fleetingly.

“Great! Our cook, Jim, makes the best strawberry and white chocolate pancakes, so that’s what I would recommend from the breakfast menu.”

His lips tug into a small, bashful smile. “Sounds perfect. I’ll take that.”

“Perfect!” you grin, scribbling his order onto your notepad. “I’ll take this to the kitchen, and have your coffee ready soon!” You flash him one more look before retreating back towards the kitchen. You finally get to look back at Carrie, who is still looking at you, this time arms crossed.

“How was the couple?” you ask when you’re about to pass her.

“Annoyed them enough to leave.” She grabs your wrist, and you just dodge the yelp that wants to escape your lips. “Do you know who you were just talking to?”

You freeze. Her grip is firm, her expression serious enough to make you hesitate. Your gaze darts briefly toward the dining area, but you stop yourself from looking back at him. The last thing you want to do is risk being caught gawking.

“I... no?” you whisper, unsure of how to answer. But even as you say it, you feel a subtle heat creeping up your neck. The weight of eyes on your back makes your skin prickle, as if the mystery man somehow knows he’s the topic of conversation.

“Why don’t you go check the newspaper in the locker room and get back to me, yeah?” she finally lets her grip go, smirking like she knows something you don’t.

Carrie's words linger repeatedly in your brain as you hesitantly allow yourself to drop off the man’s order, and then to go see whether or not you’re serving a serial killer. 

You slip the stripped paper from your notepad to Colin’s hands. “Table thirteen,” you say in passing as you make the rest of the way to the locker room, not even Judy’s cheerful wave as she smiles with a cupcake still in her hand can stop you from the mission you have decided to go on.

Upon entering the locker room, you gaze zeroes in newspaper lying flat on the bench, its closed pages teasing you with potential revelations about your current customer. You hesitantly flip it over as you come face-to-face with the front headline 

HIT AND DIP: ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON LEAVES IN HASTE AFTER CHICAGO SHOW 

Your eyes widen as they lock onto the grainy photo accompanying the article. There’s no mistaking it. The guy at table thirteen. Eddie Munson. Rockstar. Your customer. 

For the first time, you finally see his eyes. But instead of him taking his sunglasses off to reveal his brown hues, you see them straight on in the form of a camera flashing and printing onto the paper right in front of you. He looks borderline pissed as he’s gripping his guitar and shooing the paparazzi in the background away, the picture managing to catch the split-second that his eyes meet with the camera.

“He’s hot.”

You jump, clutching the newspaper to your chest as you turn to meet eyes with Judy casually leaning over your shoulder with a grin.

“Judy!” you hiss, sighing in relief. 

“What?” she says plainly, “He is.”

“He is also currently Evan’s customer on table thirteen that I now have to serve.”

Judy’s pupil’s dilate. “Oh shit.”

You want to make a joking comment, calling Judy a cougar, but you’re interrupted by Carrie peeking her head in through the door. She looks down at the newspaper in your hands, and then back to your eyes. “Told you,” she says, her smirk from earlier still on her face.

Before you can respond annoyingly, Jim’s voice blares through the back. “Order up!” he shouts. “Waffles for thirteen!”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of its sockets.

“Jesus, do you ever slow down?” Carrie yells out the door.

They hear Jim’s “No!” and fan out back into the kitchen.

“Good luck, my love,” sings Judy.

“Can you ask for an autograph?” asks Carrie. She motions to her belly and gives it a soft pat. “She’ll think I’m real cool!” 

“Ha, ha,” you roll your eyes, already holding the order as you kick the double doors open, passing back into the diner. You try your best to calm your heart as you pour coffee into the kettle, taking sugar from the side of the counter and putting two teaspoons into the mug. You feel eyes on you the entire time, and you don’t need to look up to know whose covered eyes they belong to. 

It’s not every day that you get to serve a goddamn celebrity, so she thinks that everyone should give her a break (she’s specifically talking to her heart—it needs to stop beating so rapidly, making her brain think something is wrong).

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you hold the plate on one hand, and the mug on the other. “Just a customer,” you whisper under your breath, beginning to walk. “Just a ridiculously famous, incredibly good-looking customer who better leave a stunning tip.”

As you approach table thirteen, you notice that Eddie shifts slightly in his seat. One of his legs bounces under the table, and he drums his fingers lightly against the edge of the booth.

You \ set the plate and coffee down in front of him, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Waffles and coffee,” you announce, sliding the plate and mug onto the table with practiced ease. You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake—too much, anyway.

Eddie leans back, grinning up at you. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Your heart stops. You couldn’t help but think his eyes hold a knowing look, like he knew exactly what went down and now knows that you know exactly who he is.

“Enjoy,” you grin back. 

Behind you, you hear him mutter something under his breath, followed by a quiet groan, and you can’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest that he enjoyed what you recommended to him. 

The rest of the rockstar’s stay goes smoothly. You don’t intend on saying anything to give away what you know, despite it probably already being known, and you're grateful by this normalcy. You refill his coffee, make light conversation (the weather is particularly sunny and pretty today, shining through the windows and letting pretty glow spread through the diner), and take his plate when he’s wiped it clean.

You don’t even think much of his stay, mind already going back to it being a regular customer that deserves no more or less attention than anyone else is supposed to.

(Sure, his smile lingers in your mind a little longer than you’d like to admit—so what if his smile is better than any that you’ve seen, anyway?)

It isn’t until Eddie’s up and left and you trail back to the table to wipe it off, a damp rag in hand, do you notice the wad of cash left in his wake that is definitely worth more than his bill.

Your jaw drops down, staring at it and contemplating what to do with that much of an amount of money in front of you.

Next to it, a folded napkin sits.

Your mind immediately goes to an autograph; that he’s one of those celebrities, and he just couldn’t resist leaving a little something to prove of his appearance.

You’re taken back when you unfold it to see his number scribbled messily onto the fabric. Your fingers shake as you move your thumb to fully read the note that he added at the bottom,

Call me. Please. :)

[izsheum]

Hello!!!

Can i listen to you yap about rodimus and swerve for hours please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

WHEN I TOLD YOU I JUMPED FOR JOY!!!

ugh these guys have been in my brain for a bit now…i swear

“it’d be cool if i took my favs and made them kiss haha that’d be so silly” and then Boom. I kept thinking.

have some art of them i am in the trenches methinks

when i tell you they are PEAK yapper + louder yapper…

like i genuinely believe that’s how it can start. two losers who love to hear themselves talk? it should be a recipe for disaster.

However.

it’s not like swerve doesn’t know when it’s not his turn to talk. he’s got a big mouth, and criminal levels of audacity, but he has manners. and that means that whenever rodimus goes on and on about whatever bullshit he had to deal with during the day, he listens.

and, good lord, rodimus can definitely talk.

he does so with swerve probably after having a few because i mean…that’s how this starts, surely. a bottle of top-shelf and a purely functional arrangement.

(hundreds of words of sleep-deprivation-induced writing under the cut. i am so sorry. completely sfw btw just barely on the edge of suggestive.)

predictably, swerve’s constant chatter is bearable after rodimus gets in a few drinks. and in the beginning of Whatever The Hell They Got Going On starts with the two of them building a routine.

swerve supplies the shots of liquid stress relief and a listening ear (audio processor? cybertronian anatomy is lost on me), and rodimus provides what can only be described as a semi-coherent stream of complaints and whines about his day. and he has a lot to gripe about—he’s suffering from an acute case of ‘doomed by the narrative’, primus help him.

and swerve, for the most part, is quite a good active listener. not that rodimus would ever admit that out loud (for now) because swerve wouldn’t be able to keep that kinda praise to himself. i mean, the guy raved for months after getting his own rodimus star…yeah, no, not happening. rodimus’ appreciation will remain unspoken, thank you very much.

he gets his sentiment of ‘thank you for listening to my bullshit, you’re such a good friend’ out there by continuing to show up. same time, every day, like clockwork. he’s there in the bar, long laundry list of things he’s going to cry like a baby about, and swerve is at the ready with the fainting couch. their little ‘whine and cheese hour’ (as swerve calls it. rodimus will adamantly deny that he likes the name. it’s not clever. it’s not! it’s apparently a human thing, anyways. little thief.) is probably the only thing he’s ever on-time for at this rate.

having someone listen politely to your woes is. nice! having someone gently try and guide you into solutions to said problems is…manageable, i suppose.

having someone who gasps dramatically and exclaims “i can’t believe you had to deal with that—you’re so much stronger than me for putting up with such scrap” is euphoric.

because since getting the weight of the universe thrust on his shoulders again and again. since he had it ground into him every single day that he needs to be this mature, wise, thoughtful leader who doesn’t react to problems with complaints, but rather calm understanding followed by benevolent resolution…rodimus has completely, truly missed just being able to talk shit.

and, oh, does swerve just love that song and dance.

this isn’t therapy, and neither of them are going to pretend it is, though the constant flow of drinks does manage to feel like something akin to self-medication after a while. their lives are messy, god damn it, and they’re going to cope with it messily!

and cope they do. and they talk. a lot. and—for some reason—it helps. turns out, when you get to vent all your frustrations towards someone who knows how to match your energy exactly, you feel seen. not as this esteemed figure who needs to watch what he says and make sure he keeps up the display of picture-perfect-motivational-cat-poster-leader twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five…but as just. a guy. a guy with a lot on his shoulders and a lot more on his mind. turns out, talking with swerve ends up helping rodimus feel normal.

go figure.

and somewhere between the start of their little unofficial gossip sessions and the end of another bottle of the good engex, something bubbles up that wasn’t there before. and it isn’t the carbonation in the cocktail.

feelings. affectionate ones. rodimus goes to recharge afterwards all giddy, like some newly forged spark still buzzing with boundless energy, and honestly? he feels like he might be going crazy. might need some actual fucking therapy, because ho-ly shit he is not about to entertain this. not at all.

because, let’s be real here, it’s swerve we’re talking about. swerve. s-w-e-r-v-e. the ‘shut your damn mouth’ guy? he used to annoy the living hell out of rodimus when he first came aboard, and nowadays rodimus finds himself excited at the thought of going to talk to him again.

war changes people…and, okay, the war is. over, technically. but still. maybe he hit his head a little too hard during a mission. yeah! yeah, that’s it. little concussion knocked a couple things loose in his processor. that’s why he’s suddenly wanting to share more than just his woes with the little ‘bot. that’s why he starts asking swerve about himself, why he starts listening back. chimes in every so often with “huh, i never knew that” or “you should show that to me some time” when swerve goes on his little tirades about foreign media.

why rodimus can’t help but wonder how that big mouth would feel against—

phew! yeah, definitely brain damage. because the alternative is that rodimus has started feeling terrible, awful, affectionate things for swerve. and that just won’t do. nope!

but ohhhhhh god, does that do nothing to stop his imagination. because really. how would swerve fare if he used that mouth for something else—

thankfully for rodimus, swerve is an avid fan of imagining things that he can never have. dreaming like the hopeless mech he is about a future that only someone as deeply delusional and para-social as himself could think up.

in his swerve-y fantasy, the talks start to mean something. rodimus goes from coworker to situational friend to…something. something that he can’t place his finger on. but it’s something that he doesn’t believe he can have. because while rodimus laughs at his jokes…he’s also laughing drunk. and swerve is desperate to let people close, sure. he likes people, he wants friends, he loves connection. but he’s not stupid. a bit air-headed? sure. but not dumb. not by a long shot. he has a mental list of things that he can try to have (friendship, a successful business, endless adventures with said friends that he plans to get more of, he swears), and things that are off-limits.

you can guess which box rodimus starts to fall into.

doesn’t mean he can’t…y’know. think about him. a lot. find excuses to comm him about this or that, subtly hint that he misses him…uh, he meant their talks! offer him free drinks just to see the way his face lights up. deny the suspicion of special treatment by reminding rodimus that he’s the captain! c’mon! of course he deserves a little leeway!

and ignore the fact that the reassurance is more for himself.

swerve is so good at believing that this something he imagines with rodimus is so, so far out of reach that he thinks it’s a joke when rodimus propositions him for the first time.

and, c’mon, he’s gotta be having auditory hallucinations. because there’s no fucking way in the world—in the galaxy, or in the whole universes that he’s visited, for that matter—that (co-) captain fucking rodimus prime-not-prime-status-still-pending-thanks-a-lot-matrix-of-lameship asked to borrow him for the evening. he nearly drops the glass in his hand.

because that’s the only way rodimus can bring himself to phrase it when he finally fucking gets through all five-billion stages of grief over this stupid crush. god. he was so pathetic. the worst part was that he didn’t even care anymore.

“yo! are you working tonight? can i borrow you for the rest of it? we can watch that movie you were talking about earlier this week, or whatever.”

or whatever. rodimus would’ve just tossed himself out the nearest airlock if he wasn’t glued to his recharged slab (not literally, this time) rocking back and forth like an asylum patient. he could hear the cries now—nurse! nurse! he’s out again!

successful attempts at being casual: zero. days since last urge to ram his head into the wall: also zero.

swerve’s response comes in quickly just before rodimus contemplates jumping ship and taking a page outta megatron’s book and starting a new life in another universe. and if rodimus wasn’t busy having a fucking panic attack, he’d’ve noticed the undercurrent of excitement in swerve’s voice when he strains out those six little words.

“sure thing! your place or mine?”

it ends up being at rodimus’. more space meant more wall for the projection of ‘Alien���.

not that they ended up paying much attention to the movie by the time the fledgling xenomorph got loose.

and liiiisten. listen. they didn’t plan on it going that way, alright? major props to ridley scott—the two of them were intensely invested in the film for a good long while. but, as per usual, swerve brought drinks to help ease the tension that threatened to smother them as soon as he entered rodimus’ quarters.

he would’ve pat himself on the back, too, if he wasn’t so consumed by the way the light of the projection reflected off of rodimus’ frame. and rodimus would’ve thanked him (and i mean, like, actually thank him, no reluctance left in him whatsoever) if he wasn’t so focused on the warmth of swerve next to him.

the elephant in the room was slaughtered and left for dead in the same way as the crew of the nostromo as soon as they locked eyes.

and rodimus ended up being right.

swerve’s mouth could do a lot more than just talk.

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous | next PSA: this series deals with a lot of mental health struggles, but in this chapter, we delve deeper into more darker, sensitive topics. If you are in any way sensitive to subjects relating to: addiction, drugs/alc use/abuse, manipulation, infidelity, or feel in any way uncomfortable please do yourself a favor and skip over this for your own sake. ily all! take care of yourselves <3 ₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 19. 𝓣𝓗𝓔 𝓐𝓦𝓐𝓚𝓔𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 4.8k

Of all the things Ino regretted in his life, the one that stood above the rest - the one that clawed at him in quiet moments and loomed over every misstep - was befriending Naoya Zen’in.

If he could go back in time and make it never happen, he would in a heartbeat. Becoming friends with Naoya was his ultimate mistake, a blunder with consequences he feared he could never fully escape from.

When Ino was five, he and his mother moved into a run-down condo in a dingy corner of suburban Tokyo. It was a fresh start for his mother, freshly divorced and struggling to make ends meet. The condo was small, the walls thin enough to hear every argument and every sob from the neighbors. The plumbing was unreliable, and the residents fell into two distinct camps: those who pried too much into others' lives or those who preferred to keep to themselves in a manner that screamed... sketchy. It was perfect for the two of them.

When Ino was five, he moved into a run-down condo in suburban Tokyo with his mother, freshly divorced and trying to make ends meet. The walls were thin, the plumbing was unreliable, and the neighbors were either too nosy or entirely sketchy.

At the edge of their modest neighborhood stood an anomaly: a pristine Zen’in grandiose family mansion, with high gates and sprawling grounds. Its polished exterior seemed designed to mock the surrounding houses, towering over the other homes.

Inside that mansion was Naoya Zen’in, a boy born with a sharp tongue, an even sharper attitude, and a bank account that rivaled small nations. Even as a child, Naoya wielded his family’s wealth and status like a weapon. He was the kind of kid who had the newest toys, wore the best clothes, and flaunted his superiority with a confidence so unshakable it made the other kids resent him yet also crave his approval.

Ino was, admittedly, no exception.

At first, when Ino's mom began getting coffee on the regular with Naoya's mom, the Zen'in boy ignored Ino entirely. Ino was too quiet, too unpolished, and too beneath him. Ino was awkward, skinny, and wore his cousin's hand-me-down sneakers. He was nice, yeah, but he had nothing much to him, and he was not up to the standards Naoya held for his friends (though, to be fair, such standards were so high, he had no friends). Naoya barely even bothered glancing in Ino's direction.

One summer afternoon, the day after Ino's eighth birthday, things forever shifted. Ino accidentally kicked a soccer ball over their fenced lawn and into Naoya's pool. Panicked, Ino scrambled over the fence and snuck into their backyard, only to freeze when Naoya appeared, lounging on a deck chair like a king on his throne, sipping an overly sweet lemonade.

Naoya's smirk widened as he picked up the ball, holding it just out of the reach of the intruder. "You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today," Naoya hollered, a sly grin plastered across his face. "Try not to be such a klutz next time. I get second-hand embarrassment from you."

Ino, desperate for acceptance in a neighborhood where he already felt like an outsider, laughed along. His face was hot with embarrassment as he stammered an apology, but Naoya waved him off. "Relax," he rolled his eyes. "I guess you're not the worst person children can manage and get away with.

From that moment on, Naoya decided Ino was his new project - a loyal sidekick; a shadow to his bright, obnoxious spotlight.

Years passed and their dynamic remained largely the same. Ino played his part well. He laughed at Naoya's jokes, even the ones that made his stomach churn. He followed along when Naoya decided they were too good for the other neighborhood kids. He turned a blind eye in middle school, when Naoya began to wield his family's wealth and influence like a weapon, Ino found himself caught in the crossfire, complicit in ways he didn’t like to think about.

High school was where the cracks began to really show. One core reason for this was that Ino met you: someone who saw past his facade he wore around everywhere and made him feel like he could be more than just Naoya’s shadow.

Ino really thought he could take control of his own life when he began dating you. Month by month, however, he slowly lost his grip, slipping back into the behavior he knew best and blindly following Naoya's lead.

Naoya didn’t take kindly to this... distraction. So, he made every effort to be rid of it. He guilted Ino when he made plans with you, claiming he was choosing a random girl over his lifelong best friend. He would argue that Ino could do so much better and have someone so much more compliant, since you weren't wife material, too opinionated and outspoken. Naoya would complain whenever you were around, and when you weren't, he would somehow find ways to complain about you. He poisoned the air with snide comments until Ino began to doubt even his own feelings.

And though Ino tried to stand his ground - more so at the beginning of your relationship - he always caved in the end, too scared of losing the only friend he’d ever had, even if that friendship was toxic and led him to losing others. He felt he owed it to Naoya, who took him under his wing and shaped him to be well-liked from the awkward boy he once was. For that, in Ino's mind, whatever Naoya wanted from him never seemed too unreasonable. Naoya only exploited this weakness of Ino's, wielding their shared history like a leash.

Which meant hurting you.

It all became too much to handle, really. He loved you. He loved you so much. But Naoya had too much hold over his life and person, he was more of a puppet than a human being. It led him down a path he swore he would never go down, especially after what how his father treated his mother. Ino found himself partying nightly: different girls all over him, different substances effecting him, different places and DJs, yet all the feelings within him numbed to practically nothing. By becoming the one thing he swore he wouldn't, Ino finally found peace in his terrorizing mind.

Some may call the way Ino acted a self-fulfilling prophecy. Others may call it the effects of his father's actions. But nowadays, Ino likes to call it how it is: his own fault.

He knew what he was doing when he shit talked you, another girl on top of him. He knew these were the things Naoya loved to use against him, which was exactly what he did. When he felt Ino drifting apart, he would reel him back in the only way he knew how - leading to him sending you the video of the scene, and leading to six months of hell for both you and Ino.

But Ino knows he's responsible for all of that. He was always able to say no, even though it really felt like he couldn't. He was the one who let the girl all over him, he was the one who reciprocated her touchiness. He was the one who, knowing Naoya was recording, said whatever he wanted him to. He dug his own grave.

After that, for some unknown reason you stayed. Maybe you knew he was struggling and you wanted to try and help, or maybe you just had zero self-respect. All he knew was that he did not deserve you, but he was happy and ready to make a change. He was ready to become better for you.

Something about you was off, though. You were untrusting and hesitant, and the relationship was rocky with tension. You were quick to accuse him of cheating, you wanted nothing to do with Naoya, and you were, frankly, not doing the best mentally. He saw that, and he knew he was the cause.

Yet, for some reason, instead of changing for the better, he decided to dig himself a deeper hole. He delved further into his cycle of partying, girls, alcohol, drugs, Naoya, and then apologizing to you a couple times a week, promising he will be better.

You both knew he was lying, every time. For some reason, you still stayed.

The reality check for Ino came when Naoya hosted the prom afterparty junior year. It was supposed to be a celebration, but it turned into a disaster. Ino went to prom with you, and everything was great, and it was nice to have a night with just you, regardless of the unspoken tension, of course, but then the party happened.

Somewhere between the music and the drinks, Naoya handed Ino a pill, smirking. “Lighten up,” he said. "You need it."

What followed was a haze of colors and sensations, blurred edges and muffled sound. When the bathroom door slammed open and your face appeared - shock and heartbreak etched into every feature - Ino blinked down at himself, at the girl draped over him, and felt his world tilt.

The image of you standing there, eyes brimming with tears from the sting of betrayal, burned itself into his memory. No amount of Naoya’s empty laughter or substances could drown it out.

Now, years later, Ino couldn’t erase the mistakes he made under Naoya’s influence. The permanent shadow Naoya casted on his life was overwhelming and inescapable. But he also couldn’t escape them. Naoya’s shadow loomed large over his life, a constant reminder of every decision he wished he could undo. Naoya's intimidation, manipulation, and overall power had such a hold on Ino, he feared he would lose everything if he cut Naoya off.

But he already lost you.

He wasn't exactly sure when it clicked in his mind that he had control over his life. Maybe it was the existentialism unit in philosophy class senior year of high school, or maybe it was his frontal lobe finally developing further. It doesn't matter, though, because at some point, Ino knew he had to cut Naoya off, and he had every right to. He came to the realization that his life was in his control, not anyone else's, and especially not Naoya's.

Slowly, but surely, Ino stopped responding to Naoya's texts and answering his calls. At first, Naoya hadn't noticed, but after Ino ignored him for two entire days, the Zen'in came knocking at his door, yelling about how disrespectful he was being. Ino was about to give in again, but remembered he had to hold firm, or his life was never going to change from the miserable state it was in. He was graduated and attending college. He was an adult.

Naoya leaned against the doorframe of Ino’s house, his arms crossed and his signature smirk plastered on his face. “You’ve been real quiet lately,” he sneered. “What, too good for me now that we're out of high school?”

Ino hesitated, his resolve once again wavering for a moment. Once he thought of all the nights he’d spent hating himself for letting Naoya control him, for hurting the people he cared about, he took a deep breath and stood straight up. If he feigned confidence, maybe he could feel confident.

“I’m done, Naoya,” he said, his voice firmer than he thought it would be. “Done with all of it. I’m not your sidekick anymore.”

Naoya’s smirk twitched, and for the first time, Ino saw a flicker of something resembling disbelief in his eyes. “Excuse me?” he said, his tone dangerously low.

“You heard me,” Ino said, stepping closer, growing bolder. “I’m not your servant. I’ve got my own life to live, and all you've done recently is fuck with it.”

Naoya’s face twisted into a sneer. “You think you can just walk away from me? After everything I’ve done for you? What, you think you're better than me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Ino said simply. “Because everything you’ve done for me came with a price. I'm not paying that shit anymore. Find a new minion.”

Naoya’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say another word. He turned on his heel and stormed off, slamming the wooden door behind him.

For the first time since he met his now ex-best(?) friend, Ino felt like he could breathe.

Until last night, standing in the backyard of the Sigma Pi frat party sipping on a lukewarm beer, Ino thought he could finally put that part of his life behind him. He was at a new school - college, Jujutsu University - with new people. It was the fresh start he needed. He was finally free from the chains of his childhood. He ended things with the girl he was halfheartedly dating since (and during) when he was with you, leaving the last crumbs of Naoya's influence behind. Things were looking up - he finally was in control again.

That was until Sukuna cornered him.

The air around the frat house was thick with the scent of spilled beer, cigarette smoke, and damp grass. Laughter, conversation, and music invaded the air, but it all seemed muted as Sukuna stepped into the dim glow of the backyard's string lights. His presence was suffocating. The man was an enigma, intimidating and unflinching, and utterly unapproachable. Ino's mind raced with what he could possibly say to him.

“You’ve got some nerve hanging around Zen’in, Beanie” Sukuna said, his voice a low growl.

Ah, there it is.

Ino froze. The nickname stung more than he cared to admit. “I’m not hanging around him,” he replied after a pause. He took a gulp of his drink, tightening his grip on the neck of the bottle. “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” Sukuna echoed, a ghost of a smirk curling his lips. He creeped a step closer and Ino instinctively shrank, the dark shadows on Sukuna's face making him look scary, almost inhuman. Sharp, red eyes bore into him. “You used to, though. Long enough to know how that shitty snake operates.”

“I made mistakes, okay,” Ino admitted, his voice quiet. His palms feel sweaty, as if they're losing their grip on his beer. Sukuna's unblinking stare makes it that much harder to talk. “But I’m not hanging around him. I'm not that person anymore.”

Sukuna chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling in his chest like distant thunder. "Mistakes," he echoed again, almost amused at the words spewing from the boy's mouth. "That’s a cute way of putting it. But the thing about mistakes, Beanie, is that they don’t just disappear because you’ve decided to grow a conscience."

Ino’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his fingernails clawing at the skin of his sweaty palms. He wanted to argue, or to tell Sukuna that he wasn’t the same weak, spineless kid who let Naoya control his life. But the truth was, he didn’t know how much of that was true. He was still figuring out who he was without Naoya’s shadow hovering over him and scrutinizing his every little move.

Sukuna leaned in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Do y'know why I’m even wastin' my time talkin' to you right now?”

Ino shook his head, unable to form words under the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze. The movement is hurried, nerves making his movements jittery.

“Because Zen’in," he spits, "still thinks you’re his little bitch. He’s been sniffing around places he shouldn’t, thinking he’s untouchable. And you?” Sukuna jabbed a finger into Ino’s chest, the pressure just shy of painful. “You’re just a pawn in the cruel games he plays with other people's lives. I mean, why else would you be standing alone, outside, at a party like mine?”

Ino’s stomach dropped. He thought cutting Naoya off meant he was free, but Sukuna’s words planted a seed of doubt. Could Naoya still be using him somehow, even now?

“I’m not in his life anymore,” Ino said, his voice barely above a whisper, throat straining. His pulse quickened as his face settled on an expression somewhere between angry and ashamed. “I swear.”

Sukuna’s smirk returned, but it was colder this time. “You better not be. Because if I even think you’re involved in one of his schemes, I won’t bother warning you again.” His hand gripped Ino’s shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to make his point clear. “And believe me, you don’t want me as an enemy.”

Ino nodded quickly, his throat dry. “I understand.”

"You ever hear what he did to my brother?” Sukuna’s voice cut through Ino’s spiraling thoughts like a freshly honed blade. The shift in his tone was subtle but lethal.

Sukuna’s grip tightened slightly, and his eyes narrowed, as if daring Ino to answer incorrectly. Ino shook his head again, his voice trembling as he managed to whisper, “No, I haven’t.”

The pink-haired man let out a dark chuckle, releasing Ino’s shoulder with a rough shove that sent him stumbling back a step. “Figures,” Sukuna said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Zen’in’s good at keeping his little secrets. Let me clue you in on something, Beanie. My brother? He doesn’t get involved in petty games, and he sure as hell doesn’t cross paths with people like Naoya. After a dumbass martial arts competition where Yuuji carried their team to regionals and won the whole thing, Naoya was pissed. You know what happened?”

Ino’s silence must have been enough of an answer because Sukuna continued, his voice low and icy. “He hurt him. Not physically - Naoya doesn’t get his hands dirty like that. But he went after my brother’s name, his reputation, his livelihood. Claimed he was possessed, a freak. Naoya turned people against him, twisted words, and when he couldn’t win outright, he lied until he could.”

Ino’s stomach churned. This wasn’t a side of Naoya he had seen firsthand, but it was one he could believe all too easily. He had seen the way Naoya manipulated people, the way he used his charm and his name like weapons. But Sukuna’s brother? What could Naoya possibly have gained from targeting him?

“Why?” Ino croaked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Sukuna’s expression hardened, and for a moment, Ino thought he might regret asking. But Sukuna answered, his voice a low growl. “Because he could. Because my brother bested him, and for some reason, Naoya saw even his soft ass as a threat. And because Naoya’s the kind of bastard who doesn’t just want power - he wants submission.”

Yuuji, despite his unassuming nature, carried himself with a quiet confidence that didn’t fit Naoya’s worldview. He wasn’t deferential to Naoya like so many others were, and that alone was enough to draw the Zen’in heir’s ire.

Ino felt sick. He had known Naoya was ruthless, but hearing this painted a much darker picture than he had ever let himself imagine. He had been so overwhelmed by the idea of Naoya controlling him, he never stopped to think too deeply about how Naoya controlled others as well.

Sukuna stepped closer again, his towering presence suffocating. “So here’s how this is going to work. You’re done with him - fully done. You don’t talk to him, you don’t even breathe the same air as him if you can help it. Because if I catch you even looking like you’re on his side, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Ino swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “I'm telling you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m not with him. I’m not.”

Sukuna stared him down for a long moment before stepping back. “Good,” he said simply. “Then we won’t have a problem.”

Naoya might have thought he won with Yuuji, but he didn’t account for one thing: Sukuna never forgets. And Sukuna never forgives.

Sukuna hovers for a moment before continuing, “You think Naoya’s done pulling his shit? Think again. He’s got his sights set on someone else now.”

Ino’s stomach dropped in knowing. “Who?”

Sukuna’s gaze was ice-cold. “You know exactly who. And if you’ve got any shred of decency left, you’ll make sure he doesn’t get the chance to ruin her again like he ruined so many others. Including you.”

Ino’s mind was all over the place, memories flooding back of Naoya’s snide comments and veiled threats about you. He thought he’d escaped Naoya’s shadow, but now it was clear that shadow still loomed over him. And if Sukuna was right, you were standing right in its path.

For the first time in a long time, Ino felt a surge of resolve. He couldn’t change the past, but maybe, just maybe, he could stop Naoya from hurting you—or anyone else—again.

Ino nodded slowly, trying to process Sukuna’s words. His mind wandered, unbidden, back to high school. He remembered a conversation he’d had with Naoya during their junior year, late one night after too many beers. Naoya had been ranting about some kid who "didn’t know his place," someone Naoya had "put in his place for good."

Could he have been talking about Yuuji?

“I… I think I remember him mentioning your brother once,” he admitted cautiously. “He said something about teaching someone a lesson.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did he now?”

Ino swallowed hard, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “It was years ago. He didn’t say much, just… that he did something to get back at your brother. Something big.”

Sukuna took a slow, deliberate step closer, and Ino felt his pulse quicken. “And you didn’t think to do anything about it?”

“I didn’t know what he meant!” Ino stammered as he tried to defend his past actions, an old habit he was having trouble getting over. “I swear, I didn’t know it was your brother. I didn’t know anything. Naoya's cryptic and won't let others in on his plans, only parts of them. I only heard because I had come over to his house and he didn't know.”

Sukuna’s gaze bore into him for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply and turned away. “Typical. The brat's always been good at keeping his hands clean while everyone else does his dirty work.”

Ino hesitated, his mind racing. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to think long and hard about the kind of people you keep around,” Sukuna said coldly. “And because if Naoya’s pulling the same shit now, I need to know.”

Ino’s stomach churned as he thought back to the way Naoya had treated you, the way he’d manipulated and belittled everyone around him. If Sukuna’s brother had barely survived Naoya’s games, what did that mean for the people Naoya was targeting now?

And then it hit him - a memory from high school. Naoya had once mentioned wanting to make you "pay" for something, though he hadn’t elaborated. At the time, Ino had brushed it off as idle talk, but now, in light of Sukuna’s words, it felt more sinister.

Ino’s voice was shaky when he finally spoke. “I… I think Naoya might still be at it. I don’t know what, but he’s planning something.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened further, his jaw tightening. “Then you’d better hope you figure it out fast. Because if he so much as breathes wrong in her direction, there’s not a force on Earth that’ll save him from me.”

“If you see him messing with someone important to me - anyone - I expect you to act. Understand?”

The implication was clear. Sukuna wasn’t warning Ino for Ino’s sake. He was issuing an order, one that came with unspoken consequences if ignored.

“Yeah,” Ino mumbled. “I get it.”

With that, Sukuna turned and walked away, leaving Ino standing there, shaken and alone. He let out a shaky breath, his mind racing. Sukuna’s warning wasn’t just about Naoya—it was about everything Ino had let himself become under Naoya’s influence. And if he was going to change, truly change, he couldn’t just cut Naoya off. He had to figure out who he was without him, and he had to start now.

Sukuna’s words rattled around in Ino’s head, a constant echo that refused to fade. For the first time, he found himself questioning everything - his friendship with Naoya, his choices, and most importantly, his role in the mess that had hurt you so deeply.

The guilt lingered like a shadow, heavy and inescapable, until it finally drove him to pick up his phone after the party. He stared at your contact for a long time, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, knowing the likelihood of getting blocked by you was high. And when you did, and it stung although he wasn't surprised, he didn’t stop there. He sent a message to the one person he thought might actually listen to him: Satoru Gojo.

As much as he tried not to, Ino was a lurker. He couldn’t help it. Late at night, when the weight of everything felt unbearable, he’d find himself scrolling through your Instagram, looking at the fragments of your life that he was no longer a part of. It was self-inflicted torture, but he couldn’t stop.

So when you began hanging out with Satoru, he was curious.

It wasn’t a surprise that you had met someone new, but it still stung. He had lost his right to expect forgiveness a long time ago. From the photos, it seemed like you were happy now. There were pictures of you laughing with friends, trying out new cafes, and exploring places he’d never been with you, and never will. It gave him a strange, bittersweet sense of comfort.

At least you were doing okay.

At least you’d moved on.

Even if it hurt to watch from afar.

It gave Ino a tinge of hope. Yeah, he screwed over all of the chances you gave him, but at least you're happy now, even if he can only watch from afar.

That was why, when you started hanging out with Satoru, Ino’s curiosity got the better of him. At first, he told himself it was nothing - just a passing friendship or a coincidence. There were subtle, fleeting comments, and casual mentions from mutual acquaintances. Ino was sure that you had a lot of new friends, and Satoru was simply another one of those.

Yet the more he saw, the more his unease grew.

At some point, Satoru wasn’t just in the background of your stories; he was an entire presence. He was an character in your life with an active role. Satoru was in the comments, cracking jokes and bantering with you in ways that felt too natural, too intimate. He was the one taking candid photos of you laughing in the kind of way that felt too personal to be platonic. There was a new energy in your posts, a lightness in you that Ino hadn’t seen since before you were together, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was responsible.

What Ino was feeling wasn’t jealousy, exactly. He knew had forfeited his place in your life, and he knew it. But seeing you with someone like Satoru - a guy who had everything he didn't - left a bitter taste in his mouth. Whether it was shame or regret or whatever, he didn't know. He just knew he hated it.

Satoru was everything Ino wasn’t: confident, charismatic, unapologetically himself. He didn’t shrink under the weight of anyone’s expectations, least of all Naoya’s. And you? You looked free with him. Happy in a way that wasn’t curated for the camera. Genuine smiles, the corner of your eyes wrinkling in the kind of way that radiates joy. You were glowing, your smiles wide and unguarded, the kind that used to make his heart skip a beat. It gave him a bittersweet sense of comfort.

Ino told himself it didn’t matter. He was just curious. Just watching from the sidelines. But as the days turned into weeks, the guilt gnawed at him with increasing intensity. It made him think of all the times he’d laughed along with Naoya instead of standing up for you, and of all the ways he’d let you down because he was too afraid to push back.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He was just curious, just observing from the sidelines.

But the truth was that somewhere in the back of his mind, he craved a sense of closure he feared he may never find.

The least he could do was try and help, right?

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

TAGLIST (currently open!):

@kentozwife @inthedarkshadows000 @yoimiya-m @makeshiftproject @frogfishie

@therealanxiety @kaged-kitty @pellucid-constellations @fuckisthatahotghost

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@sorenflyinn @raquel12 @ermbehindyou @bxnfire @muli-wam @emlient

@diearama

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

getting to know a bit more of Ino's perspective <3 i wasnt going to make this this long but i kept typing and here we are... hope you enjoyed!

[therandompagesblog]

Her Soul for His Soul: Chapter 1 🌞Y/n🌞

Trigger Warnings: Fear, anxiety, paranormal activity, swearing, light manipulation

I used to be scared of many things in life, horror films, violence, weeping angels, you name it, I was afraid. As I went to university things changed. I became less afraid. That was mainly due to the fact that my university was in Mystshell. A place that was rich in witchcraft. A place where the supernatural lived. That wasn't why I chose it. I chose it because I had an interest in history, the arts, the culture, the religion, the literature. Everything fascinated me about Mystshell. Its name was obvious, it was a village by the sea and a river ran through it separating each other. Mystshell was over a thousand years old and rumoured to be the home to witches and werewolves but there was never any proof. It was an attractive village, small and quaint that attracted occultist people.       I came from a large village, south of the country. A big city, that was vibrant but it had a high crime rate, but so did Mystshell. That wasn't what drew me Mystshell anyway, but I was here to study for three years before going off to be a teacher. That was my plan. If I had my way I would be sucked into SKZ Mate's books and become Straykids' mate but that was never going to happen, because shit like that doesn't exist. Stray kids don't exist; they are fictional men trapped in a book. Still, the possibility of ghosts and spirits were far more likely to exist than witches along with werewolves anyway. But tonight my friends and I were going to find out.       It was Lisa and Winter's stupid idea to buy an Ouija board from Amazon to try and connect to any spirit. Good or bad. They wanted to try. They wanted to try before Halloween because Halloween was coming up and if spirits were real, we didn't want it disrupting our night. So, we were going to do it tonight after lectures in my dorm. Why? They wanted to break my fear of the unknown. I had a fear of things going bump in the night. I hated the idea of spirits being around my room. I don't like going into graveyards at night. I definitely didn't like horror films but my friends trained me to watch them at night in their rooms every night which helped a little.       We had prepared for it. We went to the shops and bought candles and salt. Why we needed salt, I had yet to learn. Winter said it was about trapping a spirit inside. Like we would ever need to trap a spirit inside. Anyway, we had alcohol, salt, an Ouija board, and candles. Oh, yeah candles were not allowed in the dorms, because it would set the fire alarms off. It didn't though because Winter smokes in her room, so that was a lie, but sure it was a fire hazard.

HERE WE WERE STUCK INSIDE OUR LECTURE. We were supposed to be watching a clip about the history of demons but our professor had spent the last forty-five minutes trying to get the audio to work since the back row could not read the subtitles. Me and Lisa had our heads on the table, bored out of our minds while Winter was planning the night. "Is there a problem with the back table? Did we not get enough sleep." Professor Whimsical called out. "Yeah, because Winter here wants to summon a bloody spirit," Lisa called out groggily, making me laugh. "Maybe you should pay attention to this. This is very informative." "Nah, professor we want spirits, not demons," Winter answered back making me roll my eyes. She was far too determined to do this. "Demons and spirits are very similar..." Professor Whimsical continued to drone on and on about the notion of demons which we should have been listening to but to us, they were far too supernatural that we did not believe in them. Well, Winter and Lisa didn't believe in them but I would if we summoned the bloody things.       Winter was more of a ghost hunter. She chased the unknown and loved the dark. She would go to haunted houses to find things or go to séances with her grandmother to connect to a deceased family member. All of her family were spirit chasers. They were also incredibly superstitious.       Lisa on the other hand was someone who was curious. Lisa was easily led astray, like me. We would get asked to do something and then all of a sudden we were doing it. "How long have we got to go until this lecture is over?" Lisa asked me. "Um, another hour and a half. It's a three-hour lecture today!" I sighed. "Do you think we'll get a break today?" "No, I doubt it. He's on a tangent." I said shaking my head. Professor Whimsical always went off on a tangent whenever he got excited. He would always talk about his mother-in-law who was living with them. We all knew more about his unhappy life than we probably should of.       During this dull lecture, I decided to research what the salt was and how effective it was going to be using an ouija board. According to Spar.net salt is used to purify the ouija board before use to connect to the right spirit, but we didn't do that. We had only got the board, yesterday so why did we need salt? At this point, I had no idea but went with it.       Deep down I didn't believe in it, despite what Winter's grandmother had said, I didn't believe in it. Winter herself never experienced anything supernatural only in dreams, but they were dreams. Her grandmother believed she could see things, like spirits, images, figures, and objects. Her grandmother believed things moved around her house. Winter's mother and her family believed she was schizophrenic but Winter believed in her grandmother. She truly did. I think today was going to be the closure Winter needed and we would be there to support her when it happened.

AS SOON AS OUR LECTURE FINISHED WE WERE READY! By we I meant Winter and and Lisa. They were determined. They even had set up the Ouija board in my room, while I made dinner. They decorated the bedroom with candles lit ready to summon whatever was out there. The salt was drawn around it in a circle where a star presented itself in the middle. The Ouija board laid nicely on top. "Guys dinner is ready," I called out with my pasta bowl, staring down at the floor. I was feeling nervous or nauseous about this. This seemed wrong to play with the dead. They should be left alone and now we're summoning one. "You're fucking crazy," I said with a mouthful of food. I headed back to the kitchen and made myself a strawberry gin and lemonade, chugging it down. Not enough for me to hallucinate but enough to feel giddy and stable enough to go through with this. "Drink something stronger," Winter suggested but I sighed. It would be her that would hallucinate. "Let's play some Marilyn Manson. Get in the mood." "He scares me enough as it is." I laughed nervously as I looked at Lisa who shrugged her shoulders.       All that was now playing in the kitchen was 'let's get evil, feeling sacrilegious.' It was fitting as what we were about to do was technically evading a sacred space.       Winter wolfed down the food and drank a load of whisky as she could do we could hurry up and summon a spirit, whereas Lisa was getting slower and slower. She was not ready to involve herself in this. "Rules. There are a few rules. The salt is to trap the spirit so we can talk to it, but the most important thing is to say thank you and goodbye. We should always be polite." Winter slurred. This was fan-fucking-tastic. Winter is gonna fall asleep before we can all say goodbye. "We ready girls?" Winter asked. "Yeah let's do it," I said and followed Winter into my room. Sitting next to Winter on her left I watched Lisa sit on the right side of her. Winter took my hand and I took Lisa's hand, waiting to see what was going to happen in the dark room. "We call upon the spirit world and welcome any kind of spirits to walk with us." I don't welcome any spirits. Just good ones. "Spirits we call to you. Please come and talk with us." Winter moved the planchette in a circle three times, repeating the words again. "Put your hand on it. Both of you." Winter whispered. I nervously placed my two fingers on the wooden planchette feeling the cold air run through my veins as we circled the board three times. "Is there anyone there?" Wonder asked and the planchette moved to yes. I raised my eyebrow at Winter and she shook her head, telling me it wasn't her. It wouldn't be Lisa as she was stone-cold petrified. She was frozen on the spot. "Are you a good spirit?" The planchette moved back to yes before we pushed it towards the middle. It can lie. "Are you telling the truth?" Winter asked bravely. It moved to no. As soon as Winter asked for a name the candles blew out and Winter let go of the board with a scream. She was petrified as if she saw something behind me. "Put your hand on the fucking board. We have to say goodbye." Lisa panicked. She was crying and I was feeling sick. "Goodbye." Lisa and Winter said before fleeing to their room leaving me stuck to the board. "Thought we were supposed to be polite," I muttered. "Thank you spirits and goodbye."       I circled once and thanked the spirit, making sure I was polite before bidding them a goodnight. I packed up the board and put it back into the box before going into the bathroom. I pulled the bathroom light switch and nothing came on so I used my phone, clicking on data to see the group chat say something about the power going out in block D so security is coming over to fix it. I cursed Winter for this because this was an eerie coincidence. Using my flashlight I shined the light towards the mirror to see my face when I saw a black foggy figure touching my head and then everything went black.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @reallychaoticwoo @leezanetheofficial @linocz @hyunmikim @eastjonowhere @skzdreamer13 @mavischerry @kiaralynn3838 @jellyleggz @mihoonz @hanniesbubuwife

[lewdcaxycatalogue]

I get that different sexualities mean you'll find some people and things attractive and some not.

But don't use your sexuality as an excuse to be an asshole.

I'm a trans woman. I attend a virtual reality club night in vrchat every other week.

This club night I attend is NSFW. Explicitly so. Nude avatars with various genitalia.

I use a female avatar, with all the bells and whistles that come with that.

Things I have seen at this club during these NSFW nights (ALL anthro btw, unless otherwise specified, it's a Furry club):

A 3ft tall lion with balls bigger than his head and a sheath the size of his pinky, that grows into a cock bigger than he is

A wolf standing at 9ft tall, with a dick half that length, and balls the size of beach balls, with muscles to make Broly jealous.

An anime e-boy in full latex except for his dick which is out and VERY proud

A dog giving head to a coyote in thigh highs on the dance floor

Two rexouiums talking about irl clubs they've gone to, while fucking both ends of a dragon in one of the dance cages above the DJ booth

A truth or dare game that devolved into a massive orgy between four rexouiums, two hobkins, a pair of twins in dog avatars, and a taidum

Do you know what else I've seen at these club nights?

A cishet female being told "No thanks, vag is gross" by a dragon, who then turned around and went to a private room to have sex with the DJ who just got done playing...who is openly afab (enby, no operation desired, according to the chats I've had with them)

A transfem in a group of six people being ignored during a big group cuddle session (nothing lewd, literally just honest cuddles). Watched them try to get in on it several times (after being INVITED to come chill with the group) and each time, the others would adjust so that they weren't touching them.

I myself, a transfem, rarely get attention from folks at these events (partly my fault, I don't reach out), but on the rare event that I did once, a male avatar walked up to me (I discovered later from the club owner, a friend of theirs, that he was transmasc) and asked me if I wanted to go to a private room. I said I would think about it, and as soon as he heard my voice he said "Oh, nevermind, I thought you were a girl."

And those are just the most egregious cases of it. The club is mostly attended by amabs, who treat afabs like they're gross, and back off as soon as they learn you're transfem, if you are amab.

And even the transmascs get hesitant or turn you down if you're not cisgender.

It's not a universal experience, if it was then I wouldn't go to the club anymore.

But it fucking HURTS to hit it off with someone, ask if they want to have a little fun, and then be rejected because "Oh, no thanks, you're trans, I don't fuck trans", or see someone else be turned down because "ew vagina gross"

I don't CARE what your sexuality is; be fucking respectful about it, and if someone isn't what you expected, but they made ZERO EFFORT to hide it from you, and in fact PUT IN EFFORT to make it known, and you got upset because you were too busy thinking "oh yeah gonna fuck my type" and they aren't?

And then you say something as rude as "Oh, I thought you were a girl" to someone in a female avatar, with a transgender pride pin on her shirt, and a literal badge that says "she/her" on it, just because she's amab and has a masculine voice? Or look an afab in the eyes and say "Oh I don't fuck vag, vag is gross" and then GO AND FUCK VAG IMMEDIATELY after saying that?

Burn. In. Hell.

You can turn someone down and adhere to your sexuality without being a piece of shit about it.

[allthedrugsforcreativity]

☆*:.｡. Do you think we’re rivials in every universe ? .｡.:*☆

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[mispatchedgreens]

drift compatible bitches bc like knows like

[swagging-back-to]

worst trope is found family separating as soon as the antagonist is dealt with.

[son1c]

What would Sonic have done if Shadow stayed catatonic for a while ?

"for awhile" could mean anything. 5 minutes? 5 hours? 5 days??? regardless of how long it was, sonic wouldn't have just left him there on that tiny island all alone

[suffarustuffaru]

What If Julius and Subaru both met when Julius was a commoner and Subaru got transported Sooner

fun stuff im sure !! but haah okay given julius was a kid when he was a commoner - yeah theyre both kids here!! not sure how old but definitely somewhere before the age of ten. and i think theyd be up to some shenanigans together im sure!! theyre both very mischevious kids (or from what little we know of little kid julius, given iirc tappei hasnt specified just How Much of a "delinquent" little kid julius is okay. but hes definitely the type to sneak out past curfew or something. stay up late reading too, probably. that sort of thing). and also subarus a kid and no way he ISNT missing home poor guy T^TT getting ripped away from home like that is bad enough at seventeen, getting ripped away from home when you are like. no more than eight or something is Bad. but luckily!! im assuming subaru gets found by the juukuliuses (julius's parents probably?) and thats how julius and subaru form their friendship / long-term yearning for each other (if you so desire that) (okay but no way subaru ISNT gonna form long-term yearning for julius flajsdlf). but yes i think julius and subaru would be silly happy kids together and julius's parents would be like oh no this other kid is so lost where is he from :(( but hes so loved by julius already too... well we got another kid under our roof now.

except. julius's parents die in a flood. so i mean. Hypothetically.... either julisuba survive this one first try or subaru dies for the first time. which. ohh god. oh god. oh g -

[bueris]

okay maybe I should seriously reconsider my path in life and sell my soul to marketing or journalism instead

[morningmask27]

I do sometimes find it really annoying that most of the things I do right now are At Least tangentially related to a trauma I lived through.

I am living in a university dorm right now, it's a very typical thing to do, but most people return to their family home during the weekends and only really stay in the dorms because they have classes in the week and having to go from their home to the classes, especially the 9 am classes, can be heavy if they live somewhat further away. I stay in my dorm the entire week. For Reasons I don't want to go back to my old home for longer than half a day to drop my laundry and leave with clean clothes, some food and a chat with my mother. I wouldn't feel good doing so anymore, but mentioning that is weird because most people (except internationals because going to a full on other country just for the weekend, every weekend, would be a bit dumb) return to their home (My dorm feels more like home to me right now than my old house did btw).

When I say I stay in my dorm people are somewhat confused, as it on its own already implies that something must not be that good at the familial home for me to not go there for the weekends. By the simple fact I don't go back it's already implied there is something wrong, and it's true, there Is something wrong, but I can't just start explaining the whole thing, it's not really appropriate for most conversations, and I simply don't want to open up about this part of my traumas. So I just have to quickly and very blatantly brush off that fact and the unpleasant implications to continue the conversation without making it awkward and it's so annoying.

Most of my weird trauma responses at least have the added thing that if I don't verbalize them nobody will really notice. I am good at hiding them, I kinda had to, but this dorm situation is such a blatant sign of something Weird (and not the good kind) that I cannot hide since my actions on their own imply a situation already.

I am somewhat good at dealing with all of these issues, brushing off The Problems is a typical part of normal conversations, but it does get frustrating sometimes when I get severely affected by something traumatic, and it's The Only reason that my problem happened, but I cannot talk about it in casual conversations because of how heavy and intense it is. I have to vaguely mention The Horrors (They Are Complex) and move on before I make my conversation partner uncomfortable. It happened when I had to miss a class because of a severe relapse in my mental health, it happens every time I mention I stay in my dorm the weekends, it happens whenever I get too jittery and weird because of stress (I don't even always know Why I am stressed) and I just cannot explain anything about the cause because it's too heavy for most people to hear. (I do understand that fact, it makes sense you're not going to tell classmates casually about the horrific stuff you went through in your personal life, but it fucking gets annoying when it is fully related to a situation and I have to Shut The Fuck Up anyway.)

It's just frustrating to me that I have to deal with all these Weird Things because of trauma, and everyone sees them, but I cannot explain where they come from truthfully because of how much they are. It's in this weird middle state where people See I am weird hurt, but they don't Know why. I do things differently for reasons they can assume are unpleasant, but I cannot ever truly explain everything to them.

[theconfusedartist]

maybe this is weird (and I do promise I’m dropping the rest of the lore in a hour or so) but

in the rewrite, i always write Altaïr as seeing Desmond as:

Altaïr: this is my little brother, my son, my best friend, and annoying twin that makes all the reckless mistakes i already learned from. i love my boy, but damn if he doesn’t be doing some wild shit

wereas Desmond is like

Desmond: i love Altaïr! he’s my brother, my best friend, one of the few people who I’d happily consider my father, my face twin, and (did I already mention?) best friend! he makes a lot of mistakes, and we disagree about lots of stuff, but i’m so happy he’s in my life

Altaïr in permutation 17: this sucks. Des isn’t even here right now (hist time) and he can’t even hear me when I’m trying to talk to him (in modern time)

Desmond in permutation 17: this sucks. Altaïr isn’t even here right now (modern time) and I’m so fucking lonely !! !! !! now I’ve gotta die to turn on the eye and then what?! no one is coming back for me!! I don’t even know where Alex is, I’m just praying that I’ll survive after dying to get Elijah and keep him safe, but this shit sucks!

[thefleshyougoveggie]

cishets (and some queer ppl too…) think it’s an insult to say “you seem like you had a steven universe phase” and it’s like??? yes i did???

and i honestly don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

oh i’m so sorry for liking a cartoon with queer characters and positive messages

🙄🙄🙄

[shoechoe]

i don't really care much about all the character polls going on but it is very funny that DIO is losing on round 1* to Marceline on the bi/pan monarch tournament. he deserves it make him lose

EDIT: i checked again it is actually round 2. i can't read apparently. still though he should lose