#you don't have to 'earn' a right to live you just do

[dragonmasterhiccup]

"I think it was more the circumstances that made it difficult. My father...he actually was pushing for me to begin taking the role as chief not long before he... before he died."

Afterwards, Gobber told him as much, hoping to encourage Hiccup by telling him Stoick believed he was ready. The conversation only made the young chief feel worse, having run off from the opportunities he had to learn from Stoick...and being responsible for the string of events that caused the beloved leader's demise.

Clearing his throat, he gave a slight shake of his head. "Sorry, you uh, you probably don't need to know all the details. In short, he...he was a great man. Fearless, brave...selfless."

And Hiccup missed him so much.

Eyes cast downwards, he nodded. "Kindness will only get you so far," he repeated a little dryly before taking on a softer tone, "but to some, kindness is everything. To others? It's nothing, it's weak. But they're wrong. It's strength."

Brows raised, he replied, "Really?" A small smile started forming on his face, "I know that's a bit of a big deal for you, so...thank you."

Nodding, he said, "Then we'll take another look, apply more of Gothi's salve. If we do it enough, you shouldn't even have a scar. Especially since we were able to address it so quickly."

"I don't blame you. You didn't know me or Astrid yet. You just...you saw a human with a weapon next to your sister. If I were in your shoes, I would have reacted similarly."

Looking back at Kiara, he said, "It looks like you may be getting there as well, though I know it will take time to earn." It had been a good feeling, gaining Lyra's trust. He hoped to do the same with Kiara.

Having the two fae on Berk was a privilege, one he and Astrid would protect and guard so as not to lose it.

Berk was now a sanctuary of sorts for dragons, a place where they could live in peace, free from those that wanted to hurt or hunt them. Maybe someday, it could be the same for fae, or any that were half like Lyra.

With a nod, he answered, "Yes, for a couple months now. Gothi has accumulated a wealth of knowledge when it comes to healing, and she wants to pass that on. She's had a few apprentice candidates before, but turned them away...at least until I introduced her to Lyra."

"Now, Gothi doesn't know Lyra's true heritage, though if she had, I doubt it would make a difference. She sees something special in her, and took a liking to her right away, which if you know Gothi, that is pretty rare."

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

[spiderb00]

Workout The Heart

Hong Eunchae x LSF 6 member!reader 

“every time you suspected there was something wrong with your member, Eunchae. Until the time you found out what it was” 

Genre – Fluff   Warnings – None  (request)

Now playing – Love You Anyway, by The Marias 

"Jihyo's daughter" is what Fearnot has called you since your debut. Your love for the gym and training has earned many inside jokes for the fandom, and many edits as well. You had only recorded a vlog at the gym once, and as soon as it was posted on Le sserafim's Youtube channel, a storm of edits of yours were everywhere. As the second youngest member, you weren't used to edits that weren't just cute stuff, but as soon as you saw your first edit with a provocative song and you looking insanely hot on camera, you knew you could get used to it.   

Unlike you, Eunchae would NEVER get used to it! Every time she saw an edit of yours she simply wanted to pass out, praying to all the gods that she would wake up in your muscular arms. The maknae never liked to work out, in fact she hated everything that involved weight, but with you it was different. Eunchae found herself wanting to accompany you to all your workouts, which was very strange given that not only you, but all of your members knew that the younger girl hated the gym.   

It was a few months ago that you and the girls started noticing Eunchae's strange behavior, you were certainly suspicious, because if Maknae hated working out, what was she doing following you around like a puppy? 

All the girls were in the living room of the dormitory, Yunjin and Kazuha watching some program on TV, Chaewon's eyes glued to the phone and Eunchae was in the kitchen, sitting on the countertop watching Sakura cook. Quickly passing through the room, you grabbed the keys to the door before heading to the fridge to get some of your Gatorade.  

"I'm leaving babies, don't set the house on fire." You said, leaving the kitchen and heading towards the front door.   

"Ahn? Where are you going?" Eunchae asked, turning quickly on the counter, looking intently at you.   

"I have to stick to my training schedule." You said, all the girls' attention now on you and Eunchae.   

 "Yeah, she has to work out to carry all the weight of being a nerd." Yun Jin said, laughing at you and getting a pat on Kazuha's arm.   

"Don't make me carry you to the pool and throw you there again Jennifer... You know I could do that quickly.  

"Hey! It's Unnie for you, nerd." Yun Jin said messing with you, as always.    

"I'll go with you, wait for me to get my things!" Eunchae said suddenly, jumping off the counter and heading towards her room, leaving her members confused.   

You looked at Sakura, who was already looking at you open-mouthed, Yun Jin and Kazuha also stared at each other as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing, and Chaewon was the first to speak.   

"All right, what's going on?" The leader asked, momentarily directed at everyone, only to look at you next.   

"I--I don't know." You said, your surprise was still evident on your face, as well as on all the girls'.  

"She never wants to go to the gym with me." Kazuha spoke, pulling all attention to her.   

"She threw me a pillow once when I asked her why she hated working out so much." Yunjin said, static.   

"Once, she told me that she would rather spend ten hours straight singing and dancing than go to the gym." Sakura said, making you frown.   

"That's weird." You spoke last, looking at the door of Eunchae's room, and at the right moment, the younger girl came out, walking up to you and pulling your arm to the exit.  

"Bye, Unnies!"   

The excitement in the girl's voice and the thud of the door closing was the last thing the older women could hear, after witnessing the younger member pull you out of the dorm.   

The second time you realized there was something wrong with Eunchae, it was on a Friday morning. You had gone for a run, having woken up too early that day and seeing that you had no commitments, you decided that it would be good to clear your mind and get your body ready for the day.   

When you arrived at the dorm, you had decided to make one of your tasty smoothies, mixing fruits you liked, oatmeal and a little honey.  Too busy mixing the ingredients, you didn't notice a small body approaching you until the younger girl hugged your waist.   

"Good morning Machae." You said with excitement. The younger girl letting go of your waist and climbing on the counter, where she definitely liked to stay.  

 "What are you doing?" The younger girl asked, her curious eyes looking into the blender where her smoothie was, now ready.   

"Just a drink after the morning run, nothing much." You said, pouring the mixture into a glass.   

"Oh, you could have woken me up to go with you." The younger girl said, making you almost drop the glass that was in your hand.   

"You... Did you want to go racing with me?" You asked skeptically, being completely sure that something was wrong.   

"Sure, why not?!" The younger girl shrugged, showing off her dimples as she smiled innocently at you.   

"All right then, maybe next time..." You said, still with suspicion present in your voice. 

For the rest of the day, Eunchae stayed close to you, asking questions about your workout and how your diet worked. Also taking the opportunity to call you to see some movies with her later, using the justification that you needed to chill a little.   

You really were struggling, confused by everything that was going on. Eunchae was always close to you, being only a year apart, you were the youngest of the group, always supporting each other and helping when needed. But you had noticed that Eunchae was trying much harder, sometimes you even caught her looking absentmindedly at you, daydreaming. And especially when you were both at the gym, now that Eunchae had insisted that she would go to all the training sessions with you.

You didn't quite understand what was going on, but the answer to all this confusion was closer to being revealed than you imagined.     

Le sserafim was in L.A., finally having a few days to enjoy the city after recording numerous things to fulfill the schedule. Since one of your members was simply the most sociable person in the world, you and the girls were now in the Katseye girls' dorm, eating pizza and talking about various things that were going on.   

YunJin chatted animatedly with Daniela and Manon, while Sakura, Chaewon, and Sophia engaged in a deep conversation about something you hadn't paid attention to. Lara and Yoonchae were chatting animatedly with Eunchae, who was trying her best to focus on the topics of conversation without being distracted by looking at you and Megan laughing together on the couch.   

You and the red-haired girl weren't very close, it seemed like all the members of you seemed to understand each other very well, just with the two of you as two strange losers. Lara had pushed Megan towards you after you arrived, telling the Chinese girl that you wouldn't bite and that you were very nice. Believing her roommate's words, Megan walked up to you, the two of you striking up a friendly conversation only to find that you had a lot in common.  

Only one person had not liked all this approach, Eunchae. The girl looked at you with eagle eyes, following your and Megan's every move, praying to the gods that neither of you would make a wrong move. However, the younger girl can't hold back the cleaning so much, at least not when she saw you and Megan get up from the couch and head towards what Eunchae assumed was the redhead's room.   

Losing focus a bit, Eunchae excused herself, leaving the dorm room and saying that she would be back in a minute. Your members instantly worried about the younger girl, and when you showed up with Megan and noticed that the room was strangely quiet, you were confused.   

Outside, Eunchae sat on a small couch, wiping away the tears that kept falling from her eyes. The younger girl didn't want to cry, she knew she couldn't blame you for anything, after all, she was never brave enough to tell you how she felt.   

"Machae?" You asked, reaching out to the younger girl to check what was going on. "What happened?" You asked, sitting next to the girl with tears in her eyes.  

"Nothing, it's not your fault." Eunchae said, trying her best to stop the tears from running down her face.   

"Eunchae, you know you can tell me anything..." You said, holding your hand in hers. "We would always help each other, remember?"  

Looking at your hands next to hers, Eunchae took a deep breath, looking into your eyes before letting the words come out of her mouth.   

"I like you." The younger girl said, hoping you understood everything she wanted to say with just three words.  

"I like you too, Machae." You said, squeezing hands with the younger girl. 

"No, Yn. I really like you, I want to be with you, to be able to tell everyone that you're mine and to love you in the right way." Eunchae said, looking away from yours, ashamed of the tears that were streaming down her face.  

Taking your hand out of Eunchae's hand, you took her chin gently, lifting the younger girl's head and wiping away her tears.  

"I know, and I like you too Eunchae." You said, your hand still caressing the delicate face of the girl in front of you. "Don't you think I wouldn't notice that you liked me with you following me to the gym?"   

The bright-eyed girl laughed at your remark, the most beautiful smile you could see.   

"I've always liked you, Machae. I'm just really bad at showing it." you said.  

You and the smiling girl stared at each other, your faces a few inches from each other, and when Eunchae made the first signal to get closer, you followed her, getting closer and closer until you joined your lips with hers. It was just a seal of lips, but your stomach was in celebration, butterflies flying and dancing inside you. Eunchae not much different, the two of you have been waiting for this moment for much longer than you could remember. 

"So now that you've finally gotten what you wanted, will you still join me to the gym?" You asked, after moving away from the kiss a little.  

"Not at all."

Hello guys, a request about LSF, I'm excited!

I hope everyone is well, I continue to see a lot of things about L.A. and I hope people are well and can get back on their feet.

It's a tragedy and very sad, unfortunately I can't do much, but I hope with all my heart that all of you are saved

xoxo, spider.

[worldly-fluster]

Snapdragon

Dragon!Sylus x Non-MC! Reader

Part 1 of ?

*This will be Non-Canon BTW it starts with Dragon!Sylus and goes into normal Sylus*

Warnings: Blood, cussing...I think that's it lol

**non-mc but will be called MC because it's easier to write than (y/n) every time 👍**

-The Start of Something Normal-

-1st person POV- changes throughout**

Have you ever wondered if there was something...more?

Something other than going to a 9-5 and paying rent with all you earned, there must be something else.

At least I had my games right?

-

Today is weird.

Just weird.

Ever since I woke up from a weird dream, that I can't even remember, I've been randomly smelling flowers.

Checked the LADS game, flowers.

Got ready for work, flowers.

Delt with customers, flowers.

But I'm the only one smelling it?

Maybe it's the stress, I'll just have to take melatonin when I get home.

-

As I walked through the front door of my apartment, coming home after a long day at work, I was greeted by dark silence. I hate living alone...

I sighed as I placed my keys on the shelves by my door and threw my heavy jacket on top of them. I limped slightly into my living room/kitchen, my feet hurting from standing all day. When I reached the couch, my nose was assaulted by the smell of flowers once again causing me to groan.

"What the fuck... Bruh." I plopped down on the cheap leather futon with a weeze, reaching for the bottle of melatonin gummies I threw on there the other night.

Popping two into in my mouth, I grabbed the iPad next to the bottle and opened up the Love and Deepspace app.

I smiled when I saw Sylus show up immediately on the screen, my heart doing a badump as I sang quietly along to the intro.

Finally getting onto the game, I went to the daily login that I forgot to get this morning, ignoring Zayne standing there in his Panda onesie.

After completing the normal, I didn't know what to do, so I went to check the memories. Only then did I remember I never actually watched the new Dragon Sylus cards...

From what I heard about them it seemed traumatizing. But I guess if I had nothing else to do?...I'm gonna regret it aren't I.

The smell of flowers hit my nose again, even stronger than before, when I tapped the first one I saw called 'Abyssal Blossom'.

As the memory loads, the iPad glitches and shuts off. Maybe I forgot to charge it and it died? The smell of flowers is almost overwhelming, as if I'm standing in a field full of them.

I started feeling tired, so tired that I could hardly stand up so I decided to just sleep for a while on the futon. I fell asleep quickly.

-

This dream?...felt familiar...and too real.

The scent of the flowers made more sense here, the field looking familiar...oh its almost exactly like the flower field you can see in one of Sylus' Dragon cards.

What was the name of it again? Abyssal something...

Oh whatever, these flowers are nice. The scent kinda comforts me, almost like a mix of vanilla citrus? With a slight hint of herbal lavender I think... I don't know I'm bad with identifying stuff.

This dream is quite detailed though, the flowers, the dirt, the nice cool breeze and warm rays of sun on my skin...wait, what's that? Looks like something flying in the sky? A big bird maybe...it's coming closer? Oh shit, what the fuck-?!

The air was knocked out of my lungs as I was picked up and yoinked through the air.

"Are you here to try to kill me?"

I blinked up at the...man? Are we flying??

"No?"

I wheezed out my answer, it sounding more like a question in my shock as I clung onto him. The man? narrowed his eyes at me.

Are those red eyes? And horns? Why does he look like Sylus?? Wait, Dragon Sylus???

He seemed to search my face for something, his own relaxing a bit as he found what he was looking for.

"Then why are you in my territory?"

"I don't know, I just woke up here..."

"Woke up here? Who, in their right mind, would come into my territory for any reason?"

"I don't know...I just remember falling asleep at home and waking up in this field. It's beautiful by the way."

"Hm..."

"What should I call you? I'm MC."

"...Stayrus*" (Something that sounds similar lol)

"...How about Sylus?"

"Do what you want. It'll be up to me whether I answer or not."

"So...where are you taking me?"

"To my home, where I will be keeping an eye on you."

"Oh okay."

"Don't get any ideas human. I'm bored and I have been waiting for something interesting."

"I mean, I figured. No one just goes out and picks up a random stranger without being a little bored."

He grunts as he continues flying through the sky.

He brought me to a cave opening at the top of a deep canyon, he sat me down and lightly pushed me inside.

"You will be staying here until I say so."

"Alrighty. Any rules?"

"No...you are oddly okay with this."

"Well," I shrug, "it's either this or fend for myself in an unfamiliar place outside."

-

"Sylus?"

"..."

"Um...Stayraytus??"

"That was terrible."

"Sorry..."

"..." He sighs, "What is it?"

"So...I have zero survival skills...can you teach me how to survive here? Please?"

"...child."

"Yes...sorry."

-

It's been about a week since Sylus, yes he started answering to it, let me stay in his 'home'. He started teaching me some survival things, like how to find food, telling me to ask him first if the thing is edible. Other than that, it was...boring.

In my boredom, while Sylus lay on the cool cave floor surrounded by gold, I started stretching.

Touching my toes, bending to the side, balancing on one foot like a flamingo...you name it, I was trying to do it.

I was in the downward dog position when Sylus spoke.

"What are you doing?"

"...yoga?"

"...yugo."

"Pffft-" I couldn't help but laugh a bit, "it's Yo-gah."

"...why are you doing whatever that's called?"

"It's so my body doesn't get stiff."

"...how old are you?"

"23."

"..."

"...Don't you dare say it."

Sylus grunted as he went back to messing with his golden lamp thing.

After a bit of silence he spoke.

"I'm 27."

I looked up at him in a little surprise.

"Really? You look my age honestly."

"hm."

-

We were sitting by the entrance of the cave, watching the sunset, when Sylus broke the silence.

"Your hair..."

"What's wrong with my hair? Is there knots? I swear I got them all out earlier..."

"No, it's just different."

"What do you mean?"

"everyone I've ever seen had lighter hair...yours is darker. It's...pretty."

My face felt hot as I turned away from him.

"Oh, thank you...no one's said that about me before."

"Why not?"

I shrug.

"I'm sure that you get called pretty, beautiful, every time someone sees you, I mean, you're pretty attractive...I'm going to shut up now..."

There was a bit of silence until he spoke, looking over my face.

"No one has ever called me any of those things before..."

"Oh...well I still think you are. Those people are just blind."

"...Thank you."

I smile at him.

"Any time."

A comfortable silence settled over us but I couldn't take my eyes off of him if I tried. His hair looked so soft and fluffy...

"Hey Sylus?"

"Hm?"

"Can I...touch your hair?"

He looked questioningly at me, one of his brows raised.

"Why?"

"It looks so soft, but you don't need to say yes. I was just curious."

Sylus looked to the side, seeming to think for a moment before he looked down with a small smile, giving a small nod before he lay stretched out and placed his head on my lap, careful of his horns.

I let out an excited hum as I carefully ran my fingers through his hair, my nails slightly scratching his scalp. He grunted, not really used to this type of contact but...he thinks he can get used to this.

Sylus closed his eyes as he felt your hands work their way through his hair, around the base of his horns gently and lightly rubbing behind them in the hard to reach places. His chest felt warm, his heart fluttering as all he could think about were your hands, the warmth of your thighs...

He could definitely get used to this.

-

It seemed winter was fast approaching as the cave seemed to get colder, frost covering the edges of the entrance. I sat snuggled into Sylus' side.

"...What are you doing?"

"It's cold, it's called cuddling for warmth."

"... do as you wish."

His tail gently curled around us, pushing me just a bit closer.

"...it is getting colder out. We'll have to get you something warmer."

"Ah, don't worry about it. You're warm enough so I'll just have to stay right here."

Sylus grunted, his tail wrapping just a bit tighter. Just enough for me to notice.

-

The next day, Sylus was gone for a little while. I had to stay warm by my own makeshift fire, the dry sticks that were just by the edge of the cave entrance being my fuel.

While I waited for Sylus to get back I watched as the smoke went up through a small hole in the ceiling of the cave, wondering, how long have I been here? Where he could have gone? ...how much longer will I be allowed to stay?

After just a few more minutes, I heard the sound of his powerful wings as he landed at the entrance. He was holding a big bundle of... something.

He walked over to me and just, dumped what he was holding onto my head.

"Mph?!"

"This should work."

His tail moved the pile of burning sticks to the side before I could accidentally fall onto it with his gift still suffocating me.

Seeing me still struggling with it, he chuckled and plucked one blanket off my head letting me poke my head out of the pile.

"Guh! Why you do this?"

"English Sweetie."

"What is this?"

"Blankets, for warmth."

"...Thank you Sylus."

"Hm. Now scooch over, I'm cold."

"You're literally a walking furnace?"

"... I'm cold."

"Just say you wanna cuddle."

"...cuddle me."

-

As winter gave way to spring, the flowers started blooming again. The change in temperature seemed to make Sylus stir crazy.

I let out a squeal as his thick tail wrapped around my waist and pulled me along.

"Sylus! No!"

"Sylus yes."

"No!"

"Do you want to see the flowers or not?"

"...fine. But if you drop me, I will haunt you."

-

After a short flight, Sylus landed at the field of flowers he found me in. I looked around, having not had the chance to fully look around before being whisked away, when I saw something that made me gasp.

"Oh! Look, there are Snapdragon's!"

I moved towards them, Sylus staying close to my side.

"What? There aren't any other dragons here."

"No not actual dragons, Sy, they're a type of flower."

I move so he could see it better.

"This is a snapdragon!"

"That looks nothing like a dragon."

"It kinda does, see? This is it's eyes, nose, horns, and this!"

I push the sides of the flower together, making a small opening into the flower.

"Is it's mouth! Cool right?"

"... dragons don't open their mouth just because you touch their cheeks."

"These ones do. Try it! It's fun."

"Fine."

I watched as he moved his claws around the flower, actively trying not to damage it, but failing.

"Sylus you have to be gentle." I giggle as he accidentally crushes the flower between his claws.

"Here, use the pads of your fingers instead."

I hold his hands as I help him gently open the Snapdragon's mouth. His breath seemed to stutter as he let me guide his hands.

"There, you did it!"

"Hmm..."

In a small burst of confidence, I giggle and lift my hands to his face where I gently press on his cheeks.

"Good job!"

His eyes widen slightly and out of reflex, or shock, his mouth slightly opens.

"You know, you're my big Snapdragon."

-

After we made our way back to the cave, I had a thought.

"What if I end up going back some day?"

"Back where?"

"My home, like how I woke up here, will I one day wake up back home?"

Sylus seemed to stiffen a bit as he looked towards me, eyes searching my face.

"...do you want to go back home."

"I don't know, some days I miss home but most days I forget."

"I understand...what if you never go back?"

"Then I hope you'll let me stay?"

"I'll be here."

There is a long comfortable silence as we watch the sunset from the mouth of the cave once again. I took in a big breath of the freshest air I'll ever have and enjoy the moment.

"Sylus? Can you promise me something?"

"What is it?"

"If I do end up leaving somehow, I want you to find things that make you happy, not just surviving but living."

His tail flicks a bit behind us.

"...fine, as long as you promise the same."

-

A few days later we were at the flower field once again.

The sun set and we continued to sit amongst the flowers after a long day of lazing around. The stars slowly came out one by one.

While I watched the stars it reminded me of a song that gets stuck in my head.

"You and I stargazing...intertwining souls..."

I quietly sang, trying not to disturb the quiet night.

While I looked at the stars and the moon that hung beautifully, Sylus looked my way with a slightly raised brow, curious.

"What's that?

He whispered his question, his rough voice surprisingly soft.

I gave a small hum, still looking at the night sky.

"it's a song from my home... sitting here under the stars reminded me of it."

"Hm..."

"You know...the moon is very beautiful tonight."

"...yeah, it is."

He couldn't seem to look away from you, watching the moon and stars that reflected in your eyes.

-

I heard birds chirping as I slowly woke up from a comfortable sleep, feeling warm. I could smell flowers still. I tried to turn but a weight on my side stopped me.

I heard a deep grunt as the weight tightened around me and pulled me closer. A second weight being added onto my legs, seeming to curl around and in between them.

I groggily opened my eyes to be met with a familiar shiny red jewel, just barely grazing my nose. I moved my hands up from their place by my stomach up to the jewel. I leaned my face into the jewel and snuggled closer.

I could feel a soft rumbling coming from the dragon I was cuddled to, having realized it was him from the warmth he gave me.

"It seems we fell asleep..."

His voice was deep from sleep, his clawed hands pulling me closer. The scent of flowers being drowned out by his smell. Scent like a bonfire and leather.

"We're still in the field?"

"Yeah...I didn't want to wake you."

I felt his warm breath on the top of my head, taking in my own scent.

He...he's definitely used to this. He never wants to let you go. You gave him a warmth he thought he would never receive, showed him care and treated him not as the monster everyone screams he is. With you, he's not a Fiend. He's Sylus, your Snapdragon.

-**

It was only a few moments...

That's all it took.

One second, you both were walking through the field towards home when there was a sharp sound. Sylus reacted almost immediately, dodging the claymore that sliced into the dirt where he was just seconds ago.

He barely let out a breathe before the assailant attacked again. He dodged once more before he heard.

"Sylus! Help!"

His head snapped towards the direction of your voice. What he saw made his blood boil. You were being pinned to the ground by a big burly, ugly, man.

"I got you!"

In his moment of distraction, the one attacking him hit him with something like magic. Golden chains wrapped around him, pinning him down. He heard a laugh as a woman walked into his sight, she was a sorceress and she had an overconfident smirk on her face.

"Time to face your fate, Fiend!" She laughed out, "honestly, I thought you were stronger than that. How disappointing."

"Fate?! What fate?!"

Sylus heard you struggling, making him start to struggle as well so he can get you out of here.

"Now now," the sorceress tutted towards him, then turned towards you, "His fate is to die by my claymore. Simple."

"That's his fate?! Bullshit!"

"You can't change fate-"

"Like fuck I will!"

You cut her off, just as you knocked the large man off of you with a quick kick to the groin. When you were free you threw yourself between her and Sylus.

"Just watch me."

You smirked as you watched her eyes widen and she took a step back.

"MC! No!"

Sylus struggled with the golden chains of magic holding him down.

"Don't worry Snapdragon...I got this."

"Stop! This is not-"

"Too late, already did."

-**

I grunt as the claymore goes through my chest, I can feel the intense pain for only a moment before it seems to disappear. The claymore is lodged in my chest, a ringing going through my ears. Sylus' eyes widen as it feels all the air is taken from his lungs when he sees the end of the claymore exit your back.

"MC!"

"Hahaha! Now what are you going to do Fiend?!"

"I'm going to fucking kill you!"

I heard a growl and the sound of something breaking but my mind goes a little fuzzy as a fight rages on, roars of anger and grunts reach my ears along with the sounds of a blade and claws. I could faintly hear the sound of tearing flesh.

All I could do was stare at the claymore still embedded in my chest, my hands too shaky and weak to pull it.

For a moment I thought the last things I would hear was the fight until-

"MC-"

Sylus slides over to me, his bloodied claws gently holding me. His wounds are already healing over as his panicked eyes look me over.

"MC, she's gone, you don't have to worry now. I got you."

"Sy..."

"Shit..." His voice grew hoarse, his eyes and hands shaking slightly as he tried to figure out a way to help. He seemed to find an idea as his brow set in determination.

"We need to resonate, my healing could help you but we need to resonate, now."

I nod slightly and he grabs my hand gently with one of his as his other gently tries to remove the claymore. I could feel his claws shake a little as he closed his eyes but I didn't want to close my eyes yet. I didn't want it to be the last time I did, so I watched as his power and a power I didn't know I had, connected. When I concentrate I can feel his anger, his fear, and something else I couldn't place. I watched as the claymore fell out of sight, his now free hand coming up to cup my face.

He leaned closer, our foreheads lightly touching.

I could almost feel my flesh mend, but the pain was numb to me as I kept my eyes on his face. I saw his brows furrow, his lips thin in what looks like pain-our shared pain, his eyes stayed closed in concentration.

After a moment more, I felt complete. I let out a sigh as the resonation slowly disappeared, my eyes fluttering closed a moment before I fixed them onto him. I watched as his eyes slowly opened, his nose grazing mine as his eyes locked on mine.

"You aren't going anywhere. Not without me. We live together and we die together. Only you can kill me, and I you."

There is a slight glow to his eyes and the gem in his chest as he stares into my eyes, into my soul.

"Sylus-"

"You're stuck with me. Who else will teach me about your home?"

I shake my head with a giggle.

"What would I do without my Snapdragon?"

"Hm..."

"I'd probably die."

He glared at me for even joking about it, his hand gripping mine a little harder. The hand on my cheek pressed against me, forcing my forehead to press onto his a little more.

"Even if I wasn't here, I would do everything to make sure you stay by me."

"That doesn't even make sense." I laugh.

"You know what I mean." He smiles as you bring a hand to his face, rubbing your thumb of his cheek to get some dirt off. He leaned into your touch, his eyes full of warmth as he continued to stare into your eyes.

After a moment I pull away and stand, Sylus standing as well. I look around at the now destroyed field, a pang of sadness hits my heart...

As both of us take in the aftermath, an oddly familiar scent hits my nose...when suddenly my body starts to glow slightly.

"Wait, Sylus what's happening?"

"I don't know, come here."

This feeling I get from the soft glow feels familiar...my eyes widen when I realize, the smell...

"Sylus!"

"MC?!"

We reach out to each other but the moment his clawed hand touches my hand, a bright light shines and I'm gone.

-**

Nothing is left of her as the light completely disappates

"MC?!"

Sylus turns this way and that, wanting- needing to see just a glimpse of her. His tail whipping around wildly as he floats around in a panic, clawed hands reaching for something, anything.

"MC!...Where..."

Sylus stops for a moment, slowly landing on the cold ground beneath him before collapsing to his knees.

He throws his head back as he lets out the most broken yell that could be heard for miles.

He looked to the side when he ran out of breath, his chest heaving as he let out a whimper. He saw that claymore, laying coldly on the dirt. Your blood still covered it, your scent still on it...

A few tears fell from his eyes as he reached out and gripped the handle. He pulled it towards him, curling around it slightly on the ground.

He lay there for what felt like forever to him, in the very flower field he met you...the flowers mostly crushed by the ambush of the sorceress that was sent to kill him with this very claymore.

When he finally had the energy to move, he went back to your shared cave, claymore in hand. Seeing the entrance made his flight stutter, knowing you won't be there to welcome him home...

He landed at the opening, he stepped heavily inside.

He saw your pile of blankets, the small fire pit you built, the little trinkets you collected from his horde that he let you have...

He stabbed the claymore into his old sleeping place then made his way towards the small stream that runs through the edge of the cave. He used the water from the steam to clean the blood off of him, yours, his, that damned sorceress...

After he was cleaned and dried off with the cloth you used to use, he made his way to your pile of blankets.

Sylus collapsed into them, burying himself in your scent, a wine leaving his throat as he held tightly onto what was left of you.

The dragon is lost without his master...

[pompomchihuahua]

On Sanemi and Giyuu: A Journey of Misunderstandings

Sanemi and Giyuu have possibly one of the most misunderstood dynamics in fandom that I've ever personally seen. And to truly understand their relationship, I want to briefly talk about Giyuu and how his past affects his relationship with the other Hashira.

Let's start with Giyuu.

The Hashira that was never meant to be. Giyuu's life is one built on sacrifice and regret. First with the loss of his sister, Tsutako, after she sacrificed herself to save him. He falls into a depression and feels that he should have been the one to die instead when his sister, who was set to be married in one day, had so much "more" to live for.

Sabito then delivers the infamous slap. The shock and pain of life help to pull him back into the moment when Sabito tells him not to waste his sister's sacrifice, that she knew exactly what she was giving up when she hid him.

And he manages to get through to Giyuu for a while. Until Final Selection, when Sabito tragically gives up his life to save Giyuu and everyone else taking part in Final Selection that year.

From there, Giyuu spirals, forgetting the lesson Sabito taught him on mount Sagiri. He devotes himself to his training and quickly ascends the ranks, but believes himself unworthy of the status of Hashira because of what was sacrificed to get him there.

As a result, he isolates himself from companionship. In the light novel, Ubuyashiki says this about Giyuu: "But Tomioka has deliberately cornered himself. He looks backward because that's what he wants." The guidebook says, "The Water Hashira keeps a distance from the other Hashira and the rest of the corps."

As I mentioned in my post on Sanemi's pack-centric nature, it's not right to even call Giyuu a lone wolf at this point in the story because he does not want companionship.

Giyuu, like many characters, is trapped in the past and self-destructing via isolation.

That's not to say he doesn't subconsciously want it. Humans are social animals who crave contact on our most basic levels; of course there is always going to be some part of Giyuu that wants human contact. This subconscious desire for human contact can be seen in the way he views the other Hashira.

The first thing I notice is that he rates the Hashira based on how much they talk to him. If they don't talk to him, he doesn't speak with them.

I mean, just look at that piddly openness score! Sanemi has twice the level of openness and the light novel outright calls him "unsociable." Muichirou, who is described (and this is a direct quote from page 140 of OWB) as "basically an empty puppet" has an openness score of 40%.

And I'd like to emphasize that it is very much not just Sanemi that has complaints about Giyuu's behavior.

His isolation affects not just his social life but his job as well with Uzui saying in the light novels: "We're finally cutting loose the uncooperative Water Hashira?"

Even Rengoku chips in, saying "we have to stand tall and tell him our complaints," just a few sentences later.

During the Hashira meeting at the beginning of the training arc, Amane asks them on behalf of Ubuyashiki to unlock the marks for the sake of defeating Muzan, but, Giyuu, resigned that he would never earn a mark and does not deserve to stand with the Hashira, leaves the meeting.

It's easy to forget that we, as the viewer, have all the context and that other characters don't. To the other Hashira, this comes across as Giyuu actively shirking his duty as a Hashira.

Sanemi stops Giyuu, stating that he can't leave until they "decide what our respective roles will be!"

To which Giyuu responds "It has nothing to do with me."

Shinobu outright asks Giyuu to explain himself to which he simply says "I'm not like the rest of you."

As the viewer, we know he means that he is not on par with the others, but to characters like Sanemi, who has spent his life in poverty and thus, looked down upon, this sounds all to familiar.

Sanemi even outright says: "I don't like the sound of that. You said the same thing before, didn't you, Tomioka? You're looking down on us?"

Giving him a very clear chance to explain himself.

However, Giyuu just turns his head and walks away, leaving Sanemi with that assumption.

This is without going into, how, during the very same meeting, Giyuu calls Sanemi a "simpleton," completely unprompted.

As much as I love Giyuu, he doesn't make a very good case for himself in the eyes of the other Hashira.

So, what changes? How does Giyuu go from actively avoiding contact to this:

Well...

Simply put... his relationship with Tanjirou.

His brotherly bond with Tanjirou is one of the most beautiful storylines in Demon Slayer and I could make a whole post devoted to them if I had the time. But to put it shortly, Tanjirou helps Giyuu learn to open himself up to companionship again. Suddenly, we see a shift in Giyuu. And the light novels make a very heavy distinction between the way Giyuu was acting before Tanjirou's influence and after: "The way Tomioka was now, Tanjirou was sure he'd be able to be friends with everyone."

Unfortunately for Tomioka... he has a hard time convincing Sanemi that he isn't making fun of him and that he want's to be friends.

His face in the light novel is described as: "his face seemed like he was making fun of anyone who spoke to him."

Aka he's got a major case of RBF and a very flat tone with very little intonation. Which means that when Giyuu tries to reach out to Sanemi through ohagi (a treat typically enjoyed by children!), between his face, voice, and previous history of insulting Sanemi, it seems only logical (to Sanemi, the audience knows different) that Giyuu is making fun of him once again.

I've already discussed in length how Sanemi is a pack-centered person (here) and how it also affects how it sees Giyuu. How his loner archetype is the antithesis of what the mighty wolf stands for.

So how does Sanemi go from thinking that Giyuu is a self-centered asshole to smiling at him like this?

By finally, finally, in the end, proving himself as part of the pack and a team player.

Finally, on the battlefield, they are equals and Sanemi sees Giyuu for his true self; willing to sacrifice everything for the good of humanity and for his family.

As for Sanemi's huge shift in attitude in general at the end, well, that's a different post.

Regardless, Sanemi and Giyuu's relationship is one fraught with misunderstanding and is a prime example of how someone's mental state can clash with someone else's. You never know what someone else is going through. For Sanemi, he fundamentally doesn't understand that it is Giyuu's guilt and desire to not see anyone else lose their life in his name that drives him to isolate while Giyuu can't see that his isolation comes across as arrogance to someone who has spent their whole life in a position of being considered "lower."

All in all, they have an incredibly interesting dynamic that I think is taken for granted.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 15: It Runs In The Blood

Logan's brother, Victor, has to stay at the apartment for a few days. Things go downhill from here.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, dark background, mentions of abuse.

A/N: hello? anyone here? doesn't seem like anyone's in the mood right now with everything going on💀 I'm definitely not going to talk about Hugh as enough people already do on this app (and because of the rumors and I don't know Hugh personally to judge obviously) so I'll just continue posting my fics about Logan as I only care about this specific fictional character of "his" (well, debatable cause what you're about to read kinda show the opposite...oops). So if you're still here! Enjoy!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The knock at the door was sharp and impatient, echoing through the apartment and drawing Logan’s attention away from the pan he was scrubbing. He stiffened, his grip tightening on the sponge for a fraction of a second before he turned off the faucet.

“He’s here,” Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade and Y/N, who were seated in the living room.

Wade, sprawled comfortably on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Let the circus begin,” he quipped, earning a glare from Logan.

Y/N glanced at Logan, noticing the way his jaw clenched as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. He moved to the door with deliberate steps, and she found herself exchanging a look with Wade, who gave her a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

When Logan opened the door, the man on the other side radiated trouble. Victor’s smirk was sharp and mocking, a warning in itself, and his presence seemed to fill the space with an unspoken tension. There was something about him—the way his cold eyes lingered and his confidence bordered on chaos—that immediately set anyone on edge.

“Logan,” Victor drawled, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. “Long time no see, little brother.”

“Victor,” Logan replied evenly, his tone devoid of emotion. He didn’t step aside until Victor had no choice but to pause, forcing his smirk to falter for a second. Logan’s silent assertion of control didn’t go unnoticed.

Victor’s eyes scanned the room, landing on Wade first. “Well, if it isn’t the comedian,” he remarked with mock amusement. “Still serving beers?”

Wade didn’t miss a beat, leaning back on the couch with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still making everyone regret inviting you anywhere? Guess we both have our talents.”

Victor chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “Always a smartass.”

Then his gaze shifted to Y/N, and his smile widened. The shift in his expression made her instinctively straighten in her seat.

“And you must be Y/N,” Victor said, his tone warmer but not necessarily kinder. “Logan mentioned you in passing, but he didn’t do you justice.”

Logan stepped in, his voice firm. “Victor.”

Victor held up his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just saying hello.”

Y/N stood, forcing a polite smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand.

Victor took it, holding it just a moment too long. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, his voice low.

Logan’s glare was sharp enough to cut glass. “Come on. Let’s get this done with.”

Victor finally let go of Y/N’s hand, following Logan down the hall to the spare room. Wade leaned toward Y/N, his voice low.

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” Wade muttered.

Y/N nodded, exhaling the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I can see that.”

In the hallway, Logan pushed open the door to the spare room and gestured for Victor to enter.

“Here. This is where you’ll stay,” Logan said curtly.

Victor glanced around, unimpressed. “Cozy,” he remarked, tossing his duffel bag onto the bed. He turned back to Logan, his smirk returning. “So, how’ve you been, little brother? Still trying to play the good guy?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not doing this.”

Victor’s laugh was sharp. “Oh, come on. You can’t avoid it forever. You invited me here, remember?”

“Because you needed a place to crash,” Logan shot back. “That’s it. Don’t read into it.”

Victor stepped closer, his smirk fading into something harder, more pointed. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same stoic, uptight kid who thought he could fix everything. Newsflash, Logan—you can’t.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Victor standing in the doorway of the spare room.

When Logan returned to the living room, his face was a mask of calm, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders.

“He settled in?” Wade asked, his tone deliberately light.

Logan gave a terse nod. “Yeah.”

“Great,” Wade said with mock enthusiasm. “This is going to be fun.”

Y/N glanced at Logan, whose eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. She wanted to say something, to ask if he was okay, but the set of his jaw made her hesitate.

Victor reappeared moments later, his smirk firmly back in place. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, his tone far too casual.

Logan didn’t answer, heading back to the kitchen instead. Victor’s gaze lingered on Y/N as he sauntered into the living room.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped onto the couch beside Wade, who leaned as far away as possible.

Victor’s presence was suffocating, his aura of dominance and sarcasm filling every corner of the apartment. Y/N felt her unease growing with each passing second, but she refused to let it show.

Wade, as always, tried to break the tension. “So, Victor, what do you do when you’re not being a professional pain in the ass?”

Victor chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Wade grinned. “Not really, but it seemed like the polite thing to ask.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound felt out of place in the thick tension. Logan, still in the kitchen, glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her laugh. His eyes softened briefly before he returned to his task, the storm inside him momentarily quelled.

Victor leaned back against the couch, casually tossing an arm over the backrest. “So, Y/N, tell me everything. What do you do? You seem far too composed to be hanging around these two frauds.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but Wade jumped in before she could answer.

“She’s a teacher,” Wade said with exaggerated pride, as if he were announcing a Nobel laureate. “High school, no less. Molding young minds, breaking hearts.”

Victor’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “A teacher? That explains the composure.” His gaze lingered on her, and Y/N felt an uncomfortable heat creep up her neck. “What do you teach?”

“English,” Y/N replied, keeping her tone polite but clipped.

“Ah, literature,” Victor mused, his smirk widening. “All those love stories and tragedies. Let me guess—you’re the kind of teacher who inspires her students to dream big and follow their hearts?”

Logan reappeared from the kitchen, holding a tray of plates. “Victor,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Victor glanced at him, clearly amused by the interruption. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Logan said, ignoring his brother’s smirk as he set the plates on the table.

The group moved to the dining table, Wade sliding into his chair with a theatrical sigh. “Finally, I’m starving. You know, Victor, you’re lucky Logan’s cooking. If it were up to me, we’d be eating microwave burritos.”

Victor chuckled, sitting down across from Y/N. “Sounds about right. Always relying on Logan to take care of things, huh?”

Wade grinned, unbothered. “Absolutely. Why mess with a winning system?”

Logan’s eyes flicked to Y/N, who was carefully avoiding Victor’s gaze as she picked up her fork. He could see the tension in her posture, the way she sat just a little too straight. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to sit and start eating, hoping to steer the evening back on track.

For a while, the table was filled with the clink of silverware and the hum of casual conversation. Wade, ever the entertainer, kept the mood light with anecdotes about his gigs and his latest failed attempts at stand-up routines. Y/N found herself smiling despite the unease lingering at the edge of her thoughts.

But Victor, as expected, couldn’t resist.

“You know, Logan,” Victor began, his tone deceptively casual, “this reminds me of that time in…where was it…Kabul?”

Logan froze mid-bite, his knuckles whitening around his fork.

Victor leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. “You remember, don’t you? That look you had back then, the one that could scare the life out of anyone. I bet Y/N’s never seen that side of you.”

The table fell silent.

“Victor,” Logan said, his voice low and warning.

Victor ignored him, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he turned to Y/N. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. There was this family, okay? And we were supposed to capture the father, we knew where they were, etc, etc, and when we found them, Logan—”

“Victor.” Logan repeated, this time getting his brother’s attention who just rolled his eyes in response.

“Oh, come on, it’s story time! Anyway, Y/N…the things Logan’s done... the things he’s capable of. Honestly, you’d be terrified.”

“Enough,” Logan snapped, his voice like a whip crack.

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up.”

Wade cleared his throat, clearly sensing the rising tension. “So…Y/N, what’s the funniest thing one of your students has ever done? Bet you’ve got some good stories.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Logan, who was staring daggers at Victor. She forced a smile, grateful for Wade’s attempt to change the subject. “Oh, there are plenty. Teenagers can be... creative.”

The conversation moved forward haltingly, with Victor retreating into a brooding silence for a while. But the unease lingered, like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.

“…and then,” Wade said, gesturing dramatically, “I told the guy, ‘You’ve got two choices: laugh at my joke or leave the bar.’ And he actually left! Can you believe that?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine anyone walking out on your set. They’ll regret it in the future.”

Victor chuckled darkly, cutting into the conversation. “You know, Wade’s humor is just not for everyone. One wrong joke and you can just make someone flip a table, or something. Or worse!”

Logan’s shoulders tensed. His fork hovered over his plate, unmoving. Wade’s easy grin faltered, and Y/N’s curiosity sparked at Victor’s sudden shift in tone.

“Oh, come on, Victor,” Wade said, trying to steer the conversation back. “I mean, yeah, yeah we know that. It’s not like I’m offensive to anyone in my jokes, I mostly talk about myself—”

Victor ignored him, leaning forward. “For example, I, personally, love dark humor,” he started, smirking, “It’s my thing. Doesn’t mean I think that the jokes are true. I don’t fucking care. Logan and I got enough baggage to survive a few dark jokes, let me tell ya.”

Logan’s chair scraped back as he stood abruptly. “Enough, Victor.” His voice was a low growl, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Victor’s lips curled into a smirk. “What? I’m just saying. The life that we had? Fucking hell.”

“I said enough.” Logan’s tone brooked no argument, but Victor, ever the provocateur, leaned back and shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Alright, alright,” Victor said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t get your claws out.”

The tension at the table was palpable. Y/N’s eyes flicked to Logan, her brows knitting in concern. Wade cleared his throat, desperate to defuse the situation.

“So, Y/N, you were saying about your students…” Wade prompted.

Y/N hesitated but picked up the thread, trying to bring some semblance of normalcy back to the evening. For a while, Victor stayed quiet, sipping his drink with a detached amusement that only made Logan’s jaw tighten further. But then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Victor struck again.

“You know,” Victor began, his tone deceptively casual, “it’s funny, talking about childhoods. Logan and I had a real piece of work for a father. Mean bastard. Used to take a swing at anything that moved, but Logan here…oh, he was the favorite target.”

Logan’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his fork. “Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Victor ignored him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “There was this one time,” he continued, “Dad came home drunk, yelling about something or other. Logan, being the hero he always thought he was, tried to step in. Didn’t end well for him.”

“Shut up,” Logan growled, but Victor plowed on.

“I remember the sound of it,” Victor said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “The way Logan hit the floor. Didn’t cry, though. Not my brother. Just sat there, staring up at him like he wanted to rip his throat out.”

The air in the room grew heavy. Y/N’s stomach twisted, and she glanced at Logan, who looked like he was barely holding himself together. Wade’s hand gripped his glass so tightly it seemed it might shatter.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Logan snapped, his voice like thunder.

Victor’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Hey, no need to get all worked up. Just reminiscing.”

Logan pushed back his chair and stood, towering over the table. “I’m done.”

Victor leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. I need a smoke anyway.” He pushed his chair back and strolled toward the balcony, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

As Victor strolled out to the balcony, Wade and Y/N remained seated, both unsure of what to say. Logan’s hands were trembling, and his chest heaved with barely-contained fury. Y/N tentatively reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched away, muttering something under his breath.

Victor’s laugh drifted in from the balcony, a cruel, echoing sound that lingered like a bad memory. Y/N and Wade exchanged a worried glance but said nothing, the silence speaking volumes about the storm that had just passed—and the one that was still brewing.

Logan, jaw tight and fists clenched, remained standing by the table, pacing silently across the room. His movements were measured, like he was trying to keep something contained. Wade’s gaze followed Logan, his usual humor absent, replaced by a rare seriousness.

Y/N watched Logan too, her chest aching at the sight of him. She’d never seen him like this—so raw, so visibly on edge. He looked as though he was carrying the weight of the world, every step weighed down by something unspeakable.

Finally, Logan stopped, shaking his head before walking toward the balcony door. He paused for a second, almost as if he were reconsidering, but then pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.

Wade turned to Y/N, his voice low and soft for once. “You okay?”

She blinked, startled by the question, and let out a shaky laugh that held no humor. “You’re asking if I’m okay?” Her voice cracked slightly as she glanced toward the balcony. Logan was out there with Victor now, his posture tense even from this distance. “I’m worried about him, Wade. He doesn’t deserve this... any of it. Why does Victor treat him like this? Why does he let him?”

Wade sighed, his usual smirk replaced by a somber expression. “Victor’s always been like that. Ever since Logan left the army, he’s made it his personal mission to remind him of all the crap he’s trying to forget. It’s... messed up, yeah. But that’s Victor for you. He gets off on digging into wounds, making them bleed again.”

“That’s horrible,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes burned, and she blinked rapidly to hold back tears. “Logan doesn’t deserve that. He’s... he’s a good person. Why does he let Victor treat him like this? It’s like—” She paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s like he thinks he deserves it.”

Wade’s expression softened as he reached out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, listen to me. Victor’s poison, but Logan? He’s strong. He’s been dealing with this crap for years. He’s gotten through worse. And trust me, he’ll get through this too.”

“But it’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “It’s not fair for him to carry this alone.”

“I know.” Wade nodded, his own voice quieter now. “But with Victor? Best thing to do is not give him an opening. You saw how he is—if you engage, he’ll just twist the knife deeper. Logan knows that, which is why he’s out there instead of... well, doing what I’m sure he wants to do.”

Y/N glanced back toward the balcony, where Logan stood stiffly, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim city lights. Her heart clenched at the sight. “He’s out there alone with him. Should we—”

“No,” Wade interrupted, shaking his head firmly. “Let him handle it. We’ll talk to him later, when things are calmer. Right now, it’s best if we stay cool. For his sake.”

Y/N nodded reluctantly, though her hands tightened into fists beneath the table.

———

Victor leaned casually against the railing, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He looked utterly relaxed, as if the chaos he left inside didn’t exist. Logan stepped onto the balcony, the chill of the night air doing nothing to cool the fire in his veins.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Logan’s voice was low, a dangerous edge cutting through the quiet.

Victor glanced at him, feigning surprise. “Help myself with what? Sharing a few memories? Come on, little brother, lighten up. They’re just stories.”

Logan took a step closer, his hands gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white. “They’re not just stories, Victor. They’re my life. My past. And you have no right to bring it up—especially not like that.”

Victor chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke. “You’re so sensitive these days, Logan. What happened to you? You used to be... tougher.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping even lower. “ I’ve spent every day trying to make peace with what I’ve done. What they made me do. You? You haven’t changed a damn bit.”

Victor smirked, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Why would I change? The world’s a jungle, Logan. Always has been. Only the strongest survive. You know that better than anyone.”

Logan’s hands tightened around the railing, his entire body coiled with barely restrained anger. “Is that why you’re here? To remind me of that? Or is there another reason?”

Victor shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Maybe I missed my baby brother. Or maybe I just wanted to see what kind of life you’ve built for yourself.” His gaze flicked toward the apartment window, where Y/N and Wade were still visible inside. “Speaking of which... she’s cute. The girl. Y/N, right?”

Logan froze, his blood running cold. “Don’t.”

Victor’s smirk widened. “Don’t what? Ask if she’s single? Wonder if you’re keeping her to yourself? Come on, Logan, don’t be selfish. She seems like the kind of girl who deserves to have a little fun.”

Logan’s rage boiled over, and he stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I swear—”

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Relax, brother. I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he considered throwing Victor off the balcony. Instead, he took a step back, his voice trembling with barely controlled fury. “Get out of my life, Victor. I’m done with you.”

Victor flicked his cigarette away, the embers glowing briefly before disappearing into the night. “You’ve been saying that for years. But here we are.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Good talk, little brother.”

Logan stood there, staring out at the city, his chest heaving as he fought to calm the storm raging inside him.

———

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes as Y/N and Wade worked together to clear the remnants of dinner. Victor lingered nearby, leaning against the doorway with the same insufferable air of casual dominance that had hung over him all evening.

“So, Y/N,” Victor began, his tone light but probing, “what’s your story? How’d you end up living with these two?”

Y/N shot Wade a glance, silently asking for backup, but he was focused on drying a plate. She forced a polite smile. “It’s not much of a story, really. I needed a place to stay, and they were kind enough to let me move in.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering. “Bet it’s interesting with those two.”

“It is,” Y/N replied curtly, turning back to the sink. Her tone made it clear she wasn’t interested in elaborating.

Wade finally broke the tension, setting the plate down with a loud clatter. “Hey, Victor, since you’re so interested, how about you grab a towel and help us out?”

Victor chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to ruin your rhythm. You two seem to have it under control.”

“Shocking,” Wade muttered, rolling his eyes as he handed Y/N another dish to dry.

By the time the kitchen was spotless, the air between them felt lighter, though Victor’s presence lingered like a bad smell. Logan returned to the living room after a few minutes, his expression still tense but more composed than before. He made a point of ignoring Victor entirely as he crossed the room, his focus shifting to Y/N and Wade.

“You two should get some sleep. It’s late,” he said, his tone firm but lacking its usual warmth.

Victor smirked. “Ah, the silent treatment. Classic. Always knew you’d be a master of communication, little brother.”

Logan didn’t even glance his way, his jaw tightening as he waited for Y/N and Wade to respond.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Logan. He looked exhausted, not just physically but emotionally, the events of the evening weighing heavily on him. Still, she nodded. “Goodnight, Logan.”

“Yeah,” Wade added, clapping Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Try not to kill him in his sleep.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

———

Y/N tossed and turned in her bed, the events of the evening replaying in her mind. Victor’s cutting remarks, Logan’s barely concealed anger, the heaviness in his eyes—it all left a bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Logan needed someone, someone who could shoulder even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she slipped out of bed. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. As she made her way toward Logan’s door, her heart pounded in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just inches from the wood. What if he didn’t want to talk? What if he just wanted to be left alone? 

Summoning her courage, she knocked softly.

The door opened a moment later, Logan standing there in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly disheveled. 

“You couldn’t sleep either,” she guessed softly.

Logan shook his head, a wry, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That obvious?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Logan froze for a moment, caught off guard. Then, slowly, his arms came up, encircling her in a warm, protective embrace. He held her tightly, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. Neither of them spoke, the silence between them saying more than words ever could.

Minutes passed—maybe more, maybe less. Time seemed to stretch and blur as they stood there, holding onto each other like lifelines in the dark.

Eventually, Y/N pulled back, looking up at him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan exhaled, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding releasing all at once. “I’m better now,” he admitted, his voice hoarse.

A small, comforting smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “Good. Try to get some sleep, okay? And... if you need anything, you can knock on my door. Anytime.”

Logan nodded, a rare flicker of something warm and genuine crossing his features. “Thanks, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” she replied, giving him one last smile—one of those radiant, unguarded smiles that secretly made his heart ache in the best way.

As she turned and disappeared down the hallway, Logan closed the door quietly behind her, leaning against it for a moment. For the first time that night, he felt a small measure of peace.

In her room, Y/N climbed back into bed, her worry for Logan still lingering but softened by the memory of their embrace. She drifted off to sleep with the faint hope that, somehow, things would get better.

———

The next morning, the apartment was quiet as Y/N stepped out of her room, fully dressed for work. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and made her way to the kitchen, expecting to find Logan already awake and brooding over his coffee like usual. Instead, she found Victor—alone.

Her steps faltered, but she quickly forced herself to move forward, unwilling to show any hesitation. Victor, seated at the kitchen table with a mug in hand, looked up and smiled—a slow, predatory curve of his lips that sent a chill down her spine.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice smooth, almost mocking.

“Morning,” she replied curtly, keeping her tone neutral. She busied herself at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee and grabbing a piece of toast, hoping to make her breakfast quickly and escape the room.

“You’re up early,” Victor commented, his gaze sweeping over her. “I guess being a teacher means no sleeping in, huh?”

Y/N gave a noncommittal hum, biting into her toast.

Victor’s eyes lingered as she turned slightly to grab a napkin. “You look good,” he said casually, his tone laced with something that made her skin crawl. “Really good. That dress suits you.”

“Thanks,” Y/N muttered, not looking at him.

He didn’t take the hint. Instead, he stood, closing the distance between them. “I mean it,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned against the counter beside her. “You’re stunning. Logan’s lucky to have you around.”

Her pulse quickened. She sidestepped slightly, but he followed, his movements uncomfortably close.

“Victor,” she said, her voice firm, “I need to get ready for work.”

“You’ve got time,” he replied smoothly, stepping behind her. Before she could react, he caged her against the counter, his hands bracing on either side of her.

Panic surged through her. She tried to step back, but his body was too close, his presence suffocating.

“Victor, let me go,” she demanded, her voice sharp.

But he didn’t. His hands slid along her sides, his touch invasive and unwelcome. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’m just admiring you.”

“Get off me!” she snapped, her voice rising as she tried to push him away.

Before she could say anything else, a thunderous roar echoed through the apartment.

“VICTOR!”

The sheer power in Logan’s voice made the walls vibrate.

Victor barely had time to look up before Logan stormed into the kitchen, his fury palpable. He grabbed Victor by the collar and yanked him away from Y/N, sending him stumbling backward.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Victor smirked, straightening his shirt. “Relax, little brother. I was just—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan cut him off, his voice trembling with rage. He pushed Victor again, forcing him into the living room. Victor tripped over the coffee table, landing hard against the sofa.

“Take your stuff and get out,” Logan barked, his chest heaving. “You’re done here. Don’t call, don’t text, don’t even think about me. If I ever see you again, I swear to God, I’ll ruin you so thoroughly you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk still firmly in place. “Always so dramatic, Logan. No wonder you’re such a mess.”

“Get. Out.” Logan’s voice was a growl, his fists clenched at his sides.

Victor shrugged, grabbing his jacket from the couch. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave. You’ve always been so sensitive.”

As he walked toward the door, he glanced back at Y/N, who was still frozen in the kitchen. “See you around, sweetheart.”

That was the last straw.

Before Victor could take another step, Logan closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the doorframe. Victor’s smirk faltered for the first time, his cocky confidence slipping as Logan’s fist hovered threateningly close to his face.

For a moment, Logan saw it—fear. Real, unguarded fear in Victor’s eyes.

The sight made Victor swallow hard, and without another word, he tore himself free from Logan’s grip, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he stumbled out the door. He didn’t look back.

The slam of the door reverberated through the apartment, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Logan stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his fists still trembling with restrained anger.

When he finally turned around, his expression shifted entirely. Gone was the storm of rage—replaced by something softer, more concerned. His gaze immediately sought out Y/N. He crossed the room in a few long strides, his hands hovering as if unsure where to start.

“Did he hurt you?” Logan asked, his voice low and trembling. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, but Logan didn’t seem convinced. His eyes roamed over her, checking for any sign of harm. He muttered something under his breath, too quiet for her to catch.

“Logan,” she said softly, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. The contact stilled him, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m okay. Thank you for what you did.”

Their eyes met, the intensity of the moment making it impossible to look away.

Before either could say anything more, Wade’s voice broke the silence.

“Did you finally kick that asshole to the curb?” Wade drawled, shuffling into the room in his pajamas, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “What was his problem anyway? Did he wake up this morning and decide to be a human dumpster fire?”

Logan and Y/N quickly stepped away from each other. Logan cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Good,” Wade muttered, grabbing a coffee mug. “He was really ruining my morning vibe. Honestly, if dumpster diving was a personality, it’d be Victor. Trash and all.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in the room easing slightly. Logan shot her a small, grateful smile before turning away, the weight of what had just happened still hanging heavy in the air.

XXX

[randomnameless]

Thinking about muhritocracy again or as our Supreme Leader puts it, "rising and falling by your own merit" -

Isn't Cyril basically the poster child of this ideal sucking?

Both in Almyra and during his spiritual retreat in House Goneril, Cyril mentions that he had to "work hard", it's implied he had to work hard to earn whatever keep he could have (food, but even then that was not common).

Cyril embracing muhritocracy also wants to work "real hard" to repay Rhea, otherwise he feels like he cannot remain in Garreg Mach.

We know the Nabs would never kick him out for this reason (hell Hilda was enrolled and Manu is still a teacher) and both Seteth and Rhea (the latter only did so off-screen and it's basically mentionned in his S support with Billy bcs Rhea can't have screentime I guess) tell him that while repaying a debt is admirable, he needs to start on living now.

Aka, Cyril is allowed to "exist" and "live" even without overworking himself to the bone to have the "right to exist".

Now, FE Fodlan being what it is, the angle of GM being a safehaven/place where old people, children and basically people who cannot "rise due to their own merits" live is completely ignored bar that off-handed comment in Cyril's support with Claude that Rhea basically wants to make a place for people without status/who are vulnerable.

And that place is Garreg Mach.

CS introduces the Abyss that is basically GM+Asylum for people seeking it, even if Aelfric paints it with a Rhea BaD veneer, it's here to offer a shelter to those who are "persecuted" on the "surface" like Dagdans and Almyrans, the poor, the sick, etc etc - basically a "place for those who have nowhere to go".

Constance's family was demoted to nothing by Ionius because they failed to defend Adrestia against Dagda? Her house "fell" by its own "lack of muhrit"... so GM offers her a place to be, even if she (her house, but Adrestia always deals with Houses and not with people!) failed once.

Tldr : GM is the place that completely pissed on Muhritocracy, and where people who have no "muhrit"/status are supported/receive help by the Church.

Cyril works very hard to "earn" the right to remain in GM, but he has yet to understand (only with his supports with the Nabateans!) that he doesn't need to "earn" any right to be and live in Garreg Mach, it's just that kind of place.

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[girlivealwaysbean]

spending my whole life trying and trying and trying and trying to be good enough for people who don't give a fuck about me

[mcalhenwrites]

I'm not going to pretend it doesn't make me angry that I spend months and years trying to peddle my work to make ends meet, that I spend so much time mentioning my books and comms and everything, and people ignore that consisently... But the moment I finally break under the hopelessness - when it's obvious that it's fucking futile, that almost no one deems my work good enough to share with anyone else - suddenly they're concerned and scolding me. I'm working several jobs, bathing, generally keeping things clean, and I do this with several health problems including chronic pain. I found out that one of my cysts is growing and I may need to have it surgically removed. Which means potentially missing work to recover. Which means more money I lose. I spend so much time crawling out of the hole and it goes ignored, but the moment I just give up bc I don't have any strength left, suddenly that's my fault and I'm mentally sick. And that kind of makes me wish my entire situation upon people, and when they whine that it's hard, well fuck you, you thought I could ace it so surely you can, babe! I hate being angry about this, but it's just so exhausting to tell people who accuse me of not trying that I HAVE I HAVE SO FUCKING HARD AND YOU DID NOT PAY ATTENTION THEN Or you know you're attempting to gaslight me by claiming I didn't try despite that I obviously have worked my ass off trying, and that's so much fucking worse

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[fox-bright]

hi any life advice for 21yo

Don't date thirty-year-olds until you are at least 25.

Having a glass of water for every glass of alcohol will give you a 50% reduction in hangover viciousness.

Bad people will use your willingness to be quiet as a weapon against you. If someone's being awful to you and trusting you'll be quiet to keep from making waves, surprise them.

There is no physical object in the world that is worth as much as your honor.

Honor is not the same as dignity. Retaining one sometimes means leaving the other aside.

Don't have any sex you don't want to have; have as much as you want of the sex that you do, whether that's a lot, a little, or none at all. Nothing you can do to your own body is immoral, unless you're doing it as an act of self-punishment.

Food is morally neutral. You do not have to earn the right to eat calories. Fat and sugar keep your brain from eating itself.

Learning to sit still and breathe--in, in, in, hold, hold, hold, out, out, out, out, out, out--can give you five feet of clear space around yourself in a maelstrom.

Find out how to make three good meals: A comfort meal you can make for just yourself relatively easily, a fancy meal you can use to wow a date, and a meal you can feed a bunch of people. All the other cooking can come later, but you can build a community on those three meals.

If you ever get to the point that things are so bleak you can see no other way forward but to die, make any other choice. If that means leaving everything you own and being a beach bum, or quitting your career, or taking up or leaving a religion, or deciding to bicycle across the country, so be it; living means more chances, dying means everything stops and you don't get to see any more interesting things. As you have not yet seen all the things that can interest you, it is better to live.

[norikuna]

SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni

PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)

word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa

a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!

dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!

gojo in this fic:

ACT I. don't puck around and find out!

"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."

"gojo satoru?"

"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."

you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.

"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."

"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"so?" you press on.

"so, what?"

"what did gojo say?"

"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."

"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"

not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.

it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.

"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."

right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.

"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.

choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.

this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"

choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"

"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.

choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"

"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."

choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."

"we are friends. and i don't get weird."

"you get so weird. even yuki said so."

"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"

the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.

"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.

"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.

"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.

choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"

"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.

"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"

"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"

your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.

ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine

you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.

your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.

gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.

but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.

"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.

"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.

"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.

but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.

"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.

"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"

you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."

gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."

you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."

"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."

"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.

"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."

his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.

besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.

and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.

"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"

as in why are you really here? please ask me out.

gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."

the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.

you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."

"why wouldn't i be?"

"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"

absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.

"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.

"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.

but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."

gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."

you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.

but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.

ACT III. between the covers

the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.

you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.

you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —

thud!

your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.

"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.

"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.

gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.

he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.

"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."

you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."

gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?

"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.

"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."

you blink, "you're actually studying?"

gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"

you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."

he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.

but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'

it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.

and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.

but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.

"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."

you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."

gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."

you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.

"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"

ah, now that's a curveball.

because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.

and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.

"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."

gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"

"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.

"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.

you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."

"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."

you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"

gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."

"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"

gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."

"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."

"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.

as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.

ACT IV. blush confidential

there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.

"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.

"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."

you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."

shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"

"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.

"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"

you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."

your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"

"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.

you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."

shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.

"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."

"and the other half?"

"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."

"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."

yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.

"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"

you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."

"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.

"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"

shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"

"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.

"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"

utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."

"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."

yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."

you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."

"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.

"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.

ACT V. stereo love

normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.

but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.

so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.

"you good?"

suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.

gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."

suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."

"you think too little of me."

"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"

gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"

suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."

this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.

truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.

but now the joke was so clearly on him.

because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.

suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.

but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.

"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.

"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."

"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.

"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."

gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."

suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."

"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"

"and are you?"

gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"

"a loser."

"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"

"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."

gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."

"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."

"excuse me?"

"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."

"did you pick up a self help book?"

suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."

"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.

suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."

"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?

but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.

suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."

oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?

gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.

if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.

gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.

ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.

"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."

gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.

you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.

"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —

let's rewind.

five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.

his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.

still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.

from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.

"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."

for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.

"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."

naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."

and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.

"hey!"

you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.

but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...

you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.

"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.

your brow furrows, "what?"

"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."

you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.

and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.

"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."

"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"

the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"

"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.

"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."

he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."

you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"

gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.

"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."

"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."

gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."

he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."

you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.

"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."

gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"

"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."

gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."

"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.

gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."

"with your future oscar nomination?"

the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."

"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"

"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"

you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.

gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.

you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.

when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.

gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."

shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"

utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"

suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."

ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!

gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.

right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.

"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.

"s-satoru!"

"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.

no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."

his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.

it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.

the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.

and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.

"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.

it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.

his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.

but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.

that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.

gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.

his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.

"satoru, c-can't you...?"

he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"

and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.

"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"

he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.

he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.

grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.

gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.

making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.

"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.

"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.

what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.

and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.

you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.

only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.

"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"

you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.

"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"

geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.

geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."

"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.

you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.

choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."

choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."

your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"

yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."

sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."

"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."

yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."

"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.

and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."

your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.

satoru 🪐

good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂‍↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]

"ugh, gross."

sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."

"get a life, holy fuck."

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[narcissistcookbook]

i've been seeing a lot of americans saying - understandably - that they intend to pack up and move abroad. france, the uk, ireland, etc following the election results

i'm surprised by how many people don't understand that moving to another country is practically impossible unless you have a heritage claim (generally parents or grandparents who were born there)

you want to move to the UK? okay, well first you need a UK employer to sponsor you, and it needs to be a job that pays ~£40k/$50k a year at the very least. how you find that employer without first moving here to work in the UK is up to you, but you can't work or look for work while on a tourist visa which is how you will probably be entering the country without a working visa. you can come here to study, but when your study visa expires you'll have to leave. you could marry someone from here, but they'd need to be earning around ~£30k/$40k and you need to have been living together for two years which you also can't do without a visa

the same, with some differences, is true for literally everywhere else on the planet. you can't just move to another country.

my point is this: not only are our societies built around a system where your rights can be taken away if enough people vote against your interests, you also aren't allowed to leave.

unless, of course, you're rich. you can effectively buy a visa for $500k. so rich people can come and go as they please. but you can't.

[discoreptile]

Shellycoat

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting upset when my mom insists on clipping my nails?

I (adult male) still live with my mother because of finances/personal situations that make me unable to earn my own living. For the most part, this is fine. However, there's one thing that bugs me: she insists on trimming my nails for me.

I know it sounds weird, and it is. She's been trimming my nails since I was little, and I've always hated it. But now I'm an adult, and I don't need her to trim my nails for me, but every two weeks or so, she insists on doing it anyway. I'll admit that I have coordination issues that make things like that difficult for me to accomplish on my own, and hygiene isn't my strong suit either. But I don't need (or want) her to keep trimming my nails for me. How do I tell her to stop?

I've tried to explain it to her, but it's like I'm speaking another language or something. I've tried more direct methods, like pulling my hand away when she tries to bring out the clippers, but then she just says I'm being childish and it'll be over faster if I just let her do it, and that her dogs (she has two, they both hate me) are more well-behaved than I am. And then she trims my nails anyway, no matter how many times I tell her I hate it!

So yesterday, I finally got fed up. And right as she grabbed my hand and tried to come in with the clippers, I pulled my hand away and jabbed her with my quills! And then I curled up in a ball, so she couldn't get to my paws at all. She tried to reach for my paws, but I just poked her again.

My mom got annoyed, and said we'll have to try again tomorrow since clearly I'm in a bad mood. She seemed upset, and I feel a little bad for poking her so much since usually we have a good relationship. So tumblr, am I the asshole?

Pic of me so you can see that I'm a grown man that doesn't need his nails trimmed!

What are these acronyms?