#Conundrums for the Long Week End

[sharky-teeth]

top dean/bottom sam fics that perfectly exemplify why bottom sam is the best (the list got kind of super long because i'm just too passionate about this topic):

take the things you love by hathfrozen: i think everybody and their grandma knows this one but i had to include it, this is our gospel. literally changed my life.

mommy dearest by tradwifesam: if you don't like feminization, read this and see the vision.

Softly, as a morning sunrise by LaughableLament: one of my go-to authors for fun and short PWPs.

Noise Complaint by formalizing: a lesson on how to make a thousand words count!

Coast On Through by philalethia: this actually contains switching, but when i tell you it has some of the best samdean scenes ever...

Feel About the Same Most Every Day: pining that you can feel in your bones.

Like a Machine by ani_coolgirl: camboy!sam perfection.

Untouchable for Life by Sintari: another one for my camboy!sam enthusiasts.

Undertow by Molly: starts out angsty and ends with psychic sex vibes, what's not to love?

Birthday Boy by DickBaggins: sam's ass is dean's birthday present, need i say more?

Keeping it Clean by themegalosaurus: swesson filth <3

this thing, for which we break by orbiting_saturn: intense and intimate, as PWP as it comes.

Sweltering by WhoopsOK: brothers with benefits done right. slutty sam as a treat!

weecest:

With A Bit Of Spit And Luck by elsi: in my top 5 weecest of all time, which is saying something because the competition is crazy.

Bulletproof by road_rhythm: gunplay! incredible characterization, if you have a kink for guilty dean who's unable to stop himself, and pushy sammy, this is the one.

Heart of Worms by Ninni: very moody, and beautifully written.

Petulant by formalizing: another short read that hits all the right spots and leaves you wanting more.

and all is right in Dean's world by ladygizarme: loved dean's characterization here, he left me feeling unsettled.

for those like me who need some jokes with your p*rn:

The Koala Conundrum by De_Nugis: (mentions of switching) to this day, one of the most unique & refreshing stories i've read, an absolute masterpiece.

the one with aphrodisiac: this one managed to be hilarious and hot in equal measure, an amazing feat.

Incidentally, It Was Christmas by ani_coolgirl: one of my favorite fics of the year! ani's humor is impeccable! if you also believe in the sam-sexual dean truth, this is a must read.

Tongue-Tied by ADeedWithoutaName: cursed!dean unable to speak, and sam speaking for both of them, you know where this goes...

Dicks in a Box by fictionallemons: buried alive and how do sam and dean decide to spend their time? it ain't cuddling!

Versatile, Tender and Delicious by themegalosaurus: improper use of a zucchini. read and find out.

for my omega sam lovers:

Five Weeks & its sequel Three Weeks Too Late by rei_c: probably my favorite wincest a/b/o of all time! i could've read 100k of this universe, loved the details put into it.

A Blind Fool's Luck by hellhoundsprey: this is also a favorite! i remember the tension in this fic had me dizzy. this author has an incredible way with descriptions, vivid and unique writing style.

Phantom Pain by hellhoundsprey: weecest! love their dynamic here so much, great blending of a/b/o traits while keeping them in character.

Clover by hellhoundsprey: perfectly done late seasons getting together! with the right amount of schmoop. clearly this author is very dear to me lol

know the feeling by sammyatstanford: this is the longest work in this list, around 40k words, and so worth it! really enjoyed the worldbuilding.

now to my favorite flavor (bottom sam with a side of delicious angst):

Lesser Evils by Dyed_Red: [non-con] not for everyone, but definitely for me. if you love samdean at odds and suffering, this will push all the right buttons. life-changing fic.

Is It Tomorrow (Or Just the End of Time) by elsi: the angst here is so glorious. from beginning to end it's angst, angst, then more angst. there is no resolution to their issues, and i love that.

Collision Course by lovetincture: one of the most believable first time stories i've read, spot on characterization and raw descriptions. didn't shy away from the ugly side of incest.

You can run away with me any time you want by Trojie: sam leaving for stanford fic! oh this one hurts like a motherfucker. there's a line in here that's so beautiful, it lives in my brain.

his skin barely keeping him inside by hathfrozen: another banger by hathfrozen, i have a weak spot for first time in a long time stories.

No such thing as Forgiveness by hellhoundsprey: lawyer!sam getting his life sent off track when big brother comes back to the picture... the unhealthy dynamic here is to die for.

Blood sacrifice sex magic type of thing by Goshen: sam performing ritual sex to cure his demon brother... as he should.

Worship Not These False Idols by killabeez: ruby fucking sam while pretending to be dean. as amazing as it sounds.

Circles of Light by WhoopsOK: there is a "Magical Healing Ass" tag. enough said

end of list! i tried to only include works with less than 10k hits here, so someone might find something they haven't read before. i didn't include warnings, so definitely check out the tags first. all these fics are seriously amazing, i hope more people will read these gems <3

[gghostwriter]

Whispered Truths

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your weekly reading club with boyfriend, Spencer Reid, has never been as sweet and life-changing as this night Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 0.8k a/n: This is actually a request from @bloodredrubyrose and I really liked how this came out. I also used my favorite piece of fiction here as a prop so I hope you like it! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Couples, no matter how new or old, tend to create personalized dates as a way to strengthen the relationship. Some go on hikes together, some go on travels, while some stay in the comfort of their homes—under a blanket with a chosen book on hand.

You and Spencer definitely fall under the latter category. It was quite obvious from the first meeting that literature would be one of the strongest bonding agents between you and him. After all, it was how you were brought together—crashing into one another at the library with books and miscellaneous items scattered on the tiled floor. A few shy glances and bewitching dates later, you found yourself spending your Saturday nights in the presence of your boyfriend of six months, hosting an exclusive reading club with just two members, you and him.

“I never thought of it that way,” your left hand paving an aimless path through Spencer’s curly hair while the other held the book up high.

The pitter patters of the rain outside softly echoed through the walls. You were propped up on the loveseat sofa, his head resting on your lap as he looked upwards in question in regards to your statement.

“Never thought of which?” His voice low and soft, striking a resemblance to how he gazed at you oh so lovingly. As if you were the most riveting piece if art he had ever laid his eyes upon.

“How water played a big symbol throughout the whole book. It was really focused on during the first chapters but I—I just never quite connected the dots,” you clarified, bring the book to a close.

It was your choice for the week, East of Eden by John Steinbeck—a modern classic and had been your favorite work of literature since high school. Spencer had lent his copy to you last week and you vice versa—both turning brown from age, pages about to fall apart from its binding, annotations scribbled on the margins and any lengthy self reflections written on various notebook pages sandwiched in between.

“Your explanation on the empty pages at the end—how water is capable of bringing both life and death. Water being essential for the crops but at the same time, drowned victims. It’s such a poignant note that I think I just fell more in love with Steinbeck’s writing,” you added. “It also made me realize how water in his novel represents the dual capacity of the human soul for good and evil. How we are all filled with conundrums and contradictions and what makes us different from the other species on Earth is our ability to choose whether we are good or evil—” Spencer had sat up and leaned in, interrupting your musings. “—what?” You breathed out as his lips hovered on yours.

The once cozy atmosphere quickly charged with tension and desire that seemed to ooze out of Spencer. There was little space in between and you had no doubt that from the outside looking in, it looked like he was kissing you but he was not, rather a sliver of air was still given space to pass through. So close but so far.

You studied his features up close. How his long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings beating against the wind as his molten, darkened, hazel eyes flickered between your lips and eyes. How his nose lightly caressed yours in an endless Eskimo kiss. How his cheeks stained into a lighter shade of red. And how his pink tongue peeked out to wet his pillowy lips. 

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered as if it was some kind of national secret that he now felt right to expose.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was the first time he had said it. His love for you had been conveyed with every touch, with every action, and with every silence but this was the first time he had put it into words.

His lips caressed yours—the pressure almost non-existent. A ghost of a kiss to gauge your reaction and consent.

“I love you,” he repeated a little louder this time, eyes locking into the very depths of your soul. “You and your mind have enchanted me since the beginning—so beautiful, so captivating.”

The butterflies set free in your stomach caused you to viscerally shiver in reaction.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

A smile graced his face and it was bright and as blinding as the sun, like it had finally decided to stop hiding behind the clouds and show itself in all of its glory.

He leaned in once more. The pressure from his lips now heavier and headier, trying to stamp his everlasting mark on you and in between all these kisses were whispers of his utter devotion and adoration until there was no more space—until you both became one on his loveseat sofa.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[javierpena-inatacvest]

I saw this on Twitter and I just screamed because this is so Osita and Javi code 😭 like when she was having bad morning sickness and couldn't eat anything, but Javi just said her favorite foods and went to buy them 🥹

https://x.com/pascalisswift/status/1847825290875048157?s=46

McFlurry for Two

Summary: You're wide awake, pregnant, and have no idea what you want to eat. Lucky for you, Javi has an idea of what may make you feel better

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: This is all fluff and sweetness 🥺 Mentions of morning sickness and food aversion

A/N: Sweet non, whoever you are, this is the most adorable thing I've ever seen 😭 You know that this man would cross the ends of the earth and back to get you whatever you were craving. Dad to be!Javi is top tier, 10/10, no notes.

It doesn't surprise Javi to find you wandering around the kitchen at 5:30 in the morning anymore. Thank god he's always been an earlier riser- it makes it easier to keep you company as you shuffle through the boxes and containers in the pantry for the 3rd time since you've woken up, trying to will whatever you and the baby have been craving into your kitchen. Even if he wasn't an earlier riser, the sounds of you frantically scavenging through every food item you own like some sort of wild raccoon would be enough to wake even the heaviest of sleepers.

It also doesn't surprise him when he stumbles into your kitchen, half awake and half dressed, he hears the sounds of your sniffles, crying in frustration that you can't figure out what you want to eat at this ungodly hour of the morning.

"Baby's hungry?" He asks, never blaming you for whatever strange, nearly non-edible combinations you're looking for. He made that mistake once early on- He's learned his lesson ever since.

You still can't help but pout, arms crossed over your chest, trying to hold back your tears as Javi sneaks up behind you, the warmth of his bare chest pressed against your back, hands wrapping around to splay across your growing bump.

"Yeah. We have nothing to eat."

It takes everything in Javi not to laugh as the two of you stare into your open pantry, filled to the brim with every snack imaginable from the 6 trips he's made to the grocery store this week alone.

Truth be told, he's just happy you're eating again after 3 hellish months of barely being able to keep anything down besides bananas and diet Coke. He'll take multiple trips to the grocery store instead of watching you hunch over the toilet in misery any day of the week.

"Anything sound good, Osita?" That's a question he's learned is a gamble too- when you already have an answer in mind, you couldn't be happier he's asked. When you don't, he's come to find it's a question that can quickly lead to tears.

Unfortunately for him, this morning, it's the second.

"I-I don't know. I'm so hungry and nothing sounds good. And then I think something sounds good, but then I think about it for too long, and then the thought of it makes me wanna yak. Ugh, I just wanna eat!" For as humorous as the basis of your conundrum is, it still breaks his heart to watch you cry, gently kissing your shoulder and rubbing his hands back and forth across your belly to try and ease at least a little bit of your pain. You're growing his baby, for Christ's sake. If you wanted fresh spaghetti and meatballs, he'd be on the next flight to Italy, if that's what it took.

"Shhhh, I know, honey. It's okay. We'll figure out what Baby wants, I promise. Want me to list things, and then you can tell me if they sound any good?" He knows his one good brain cell is definitely not working full force, considering the sun was still hours away from waking the rest of the world, but he also knows that your poor brain is working overtime and a half. The slim chance he can come up with a solution that gives you any sort of relief is solace enough for him.

"O-okay." You sniffle, gulping down the rest of your tears. Javi knows he's not a mind reader, but Lord knows it would sure help if he could be one right now.

"Pickles and sriracha?"

"Ew, no. Spicy stuff sounds gross and I don't wanna have heartburn later."

"Sour gummy worms?"

"Ehhhh, maybe."

"Garlic bread?"

"Oh god, no. Please don't say that again, or I may legitimately throw up."

"Okay, not that, got it. Uh, shit- What about... French fries? Like, french fries dipped in chocolate ice cream?"

He braces himself for the next 10 seconds of silence as you ponder his suggestion. Thankfully, your silence is golden.

"Oh my god, that's what I wanted! How did you know that's what I wanted?" Even though you're still crying, at least now they're tears of relief, Javi letting out a quiet exhale of satisfaction himself at the fact it only took him a single digit number of guesses to solve your hunger riddle.

"Lucky guess." Javi smiles as he gently wipes the tears from your eyes, kissing your forehead before bending down to kiss your belly. It does a number on his knees, but he'll take all the joint pain he can handle before passing up on a chance to greet his two favorite girls good morning. "Try and go get some more sleep, Osita. I'll be back in a few with food. There anything else you want while I'm out?"

He's not sure what he's said in the past 3 sentences that's made you start crying again- he hasn't been able to figure out a pattern in the past 5 months, and guesses he won't come close in the 54to come.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong? Baby, don't cry, it's okay." He coos, draping his arms around you to pull him against his chest, letting your weepy tears drip against his tanned, warm skin.

"I'm- I'm sorry." Your apology only spurs your tears on further.

"Sorry? What on Earth do you have to be sorry about, Osita?"

"That I'm always hungry and can't stop crying about it."

He can't help but smirk at this one, brushing the sleepy strands of hair away from your face as he carefully cups your cheek, tilting your chin up just enough to place a delicate kiss on your lips.

"Cariño, you don't have to apologize. You're pregnant. No offense mi amor, but I kind of expect crying and being hungry all the time to be a given."

Javi's relieved to finally hear at least a little giggle out of you now, quiet laughter replacing your tears as you remember that somehow, you were lucky enough to be married to a literal saint sent down from the heavens.

"I know, I just- You're so good to me. You're so good to both of us. Way too good to us."

"You're literally growing our baby inside you. French fries and ice cream is about the least I can do."

"I love you, Jav."

"I love you too, Osita. Try and go back to sleep for a little while I'm gone, okay? You and Baby Girl gotta rest up for this McDonald's."

As much as you'd love to protest, it doesn't take much for Javi to get you to curl up on the couch, wrapping you up in your favorite blanket with the TV on low. He laughs to himself as he reappears from your bedroom, putting on enough clothes to go through the drive-through, only to find you passed out cold, mouth half-agape and snoring like a train.

At this point, the McDonald's staff practically knows him by his first name, considering Javi's the only one who's ordering french fries and a chocolate McFlurry before the sun has yet to rise. He knows he has some at home, but it's more often than not that a large, black coffee has now become a part of his order, too, and none of the employees can blame him for that.

The sky has slowly begun to shift from shades of black and blue to warm pinks and oranges as he pulls into the driveway, a sign he's more than likely not making into work on time- his co-workers have learned that a pregnant wife pretty much trumps everything else, short of a life or death emergency.

You're still sound asleep as he tiptoes through the rest of his morning routine, scribbling a quick note under the bag of fries he's left for you on the end table next to the couch, sneaking one last kiss before he leaves for work and begins the countdown of coming back home to you.

It doesn't surprise him to hear his phone ring not long after he's made it into the office- He is almost sure it's you- he's got a 6th sense for it at this point.

"Peña."

"Your note made me cry this morning."

He doesn't mean to beam with an ear to ear grin as he listens to talk about how you're crying, but there's few things in this world he'd rather hear than the sweet sound of your voice.

"You crying at the note, or the fact there's two McFlurries in the freezer instead of one?"

"....Both. How'd you know I would change my mind and say I wanted vanilla instead?"

The concrete evidence is in the pile of crinkled drive-through receipts in his center console, but now's not a time for "I told you so's".

"Just had a feeling. You and Baby Girl enjoy your breakfast."

"This is the most embarrassing version of a breakfast I've had in a very long time, but I guess it's an upgrade from bagels and hot sauce. God, she's gonna have the weirdest taste in food when she grows up, isn't she?"

"If she grows up to be anything like you, I'll be the happiest man alive, hot sauce and all."

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[dolliels]

I’VE BECOME THE FIANCÉ OF THE VILLAIN?! epilogue

synopsis: you made it home.

author’s note: LAST PART!!! WOOO!!!! thanks 2 everyone who read all this way and gave this fic a chance!!

[one] [two] [three] [four] [epilogue]

the dream was hazy, and you couldn’t seem to grasp exactly what happened. you just knew that you weren’t ‘home’ (whatever that means) and that you were in love. you kind of longed for that feeling of love, actually. it was sweet and lovely.

the morning you woke up, you opened your phone to see a novel you were reading. except it was deleted. you don’t even remember what it was even about so you just shrugged and closed the app.

while you were getting ready for the day, you felt a heavy pang in your chest. i probably didn’t sleep very well you thought as you placed your hand over your heart. you oddly felt… sad? you wondered why.

this feeling stuck with you the entire day as you ate, as you talked with friends, as you did your chores. just how bad was your sleep?!

you felt all bothered and upset until the evening, when you decided that was enough and you stomped out for a convenience store run— you needed some snack and a good novel. this was about time you fully relaxed.

as you entered the convenience store, you felt a slight wave of relief. yeah, you definitely needed a sweet treat.

browsing the shelves you saw a bag of your favorite chips sitting patiently, waiting for you to pick it up. it was the last one on the shelf, how lucky!

you reached to grab for it when another hand reached for it as well, swiping the bag first.

you turned to see a guy with long brown hair, two braids gently sitting atop of his shoulders.

“watch it.” he sneered, his green eyes glaring at you.

he walked away with the bag of chips.

what the hell dude?!

in a fit of rage, you took whatever bag of chips was nearby and checked out. that sad, tangy feeling inside of you completely cleared in a blind fury. that guy just had to ruin an already bad day!

as you stepped outside, you had to pause for a second. out of all days, it decided to rain today?!

the past few weeks your neighbourhood was in a major heatwave, the sun shining brightly and the weather hot as day. the rain was pouring especially heavy to make up for the strong heat.

you groaned as you watched a few splashes of rain droplets land on your shoes.

suddenly, you felt a cover over your head. you looked up to see an umbrella. the person that was holding the umbrella over you was the guy who literally stole the bag of chips you wanted earlier.

your anger suddenly seemed to dissolve.

“this is for the bag of chips.” he said nonchalantly, shoving the handle into your hands. then he walked out with his own umbrella.

he dropped a receipt behind him as he left. you picked it up and read the contents; he bought the bag of chips and two umbrellas.

you saw his name at the very top of the paper.

leona kingscholar.

the end…?

a.n: thank u for reading all the way to the end (especially those who kept up with the fic from day 1 lmfaooo) and i hope everyone solves their transmigration conundrums!!

[mononijikayu]

no more sad songs for my broken heart — gojo satoru.

Swallowing back the bitter taste rising in your throat, you steadied yourself and turned your gaze to Satoru, watching him sleep peacefully. The room was hushed, filled only with the soft rustling of fabric and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"You're the most important to me, Satoru." you whispered, your voice a fragile whisper in the quiet night. The words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a love that defied death itself. "And you always will be."

Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Warning/s: Romance, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, An Pining, Emotional Hurt, Depression, Ghost, Trauma, PTSD, Depiction of Funeral, Depiction of Trauma, Mentions of Alcohol, Depiction of Alcoholism, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Ghost, Depiction of PTSD illusions, Gojo Satoru deserves a Hug™

masterlist

song: no more sad song for my broken heart by k.will

note: the fact that we waited years and years for a sequel to please dont mv and k.will decided to give us a heartbreak on PRIDE MONTH??? but i shouldnt be speaking because i saw that mv and thought holy shit, satoru definitely went through it and held my breath for a whole week until i could write it on my free time. anyway, ill be disappearing again cause exams !!! but i will be back soon ~ i love you all <3

HE NEVER EXPECTED THIS TO END THIS WAY. Gojo Satoru stood silently in front of the floral arrangement, the vibrant colors contrasting starkly with the somberness of the ihai before him. He lowered himself gracefully, bowing deeply in a gesture of respect and remembrance. Carefully, he lit three incense sticks, their thin spirals of smoke curling upwards, filling the air with a calming fragrance. 

The silence, the lonesomeness of the room — he’d never expected it before. If he was being honest, Satoru never liked the quiet. It was hard to be alone in the realm of thoughts that burden him. But there’s nothing he could do about it. No one was here other than the funerary staff. And even then, they were all scattered around this dingy property. 

As he stood up, his gaze fell momentarily on his watch, the cracked glass dial. He doesn’t think he’d ever have it fixed. He wanted to let it be, let it rest at that moment. It was better, a reminder for him about a time that had long been frozen in time. The hands were stuck at 19:42 pm, a constant reminder of a past event he couldn't change. His cerulean blues was intense against the broken clock from the darkness of those round rim frames. 

Everyone else had already come, he supposed. But it was perhaps most poignant that he was going to be the last person here. He was away on missions, as he always has. Yaga–sensei was going to go as early as he could, Shoko would get it done and over with. Nanami was here, judging from the fact that the bread rolls from that corner store all those years ago were here. He sighed, trying to think if Suguru had come here at all. If he had the audacity to bring condolences and grief in hand. But Satoru thinks that all the incense had erased the scent of all his cursed energy. And perhaps that was for the best. 

He looked at the black armband on his arm. Ever since he arrived yesterday, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave. Not even to sleep or to eat. The moment he arrived, he was told that he was the chief mourner. He never expected that to be someone’s final request, not ever. But he supposed that it was just how fate is, with someone like him. A conundrum of irony, one that could not ever be prevented. One that could never truly stop. 

Satoru left the room quietly, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty hallways. You watched him from your hiding spot, leaning against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't want to face him, not now, not here. But as fate would have it, Gojo Satoru could not help but notice you as he grabbed his energy drink from the vending machine. You recognized the drink from all those years ago. It was the one you hated — because it was too overly sweet. But you drank it anyway, when Satoru got it for you. 

"Hey!" he called out, his voice filled with a blend of surprise and familiarity. He rushed to your side, his tall frame towering over you, but his presence was somehow comforting.

You tried to compose yourself, managing a weak smile. "Satoru..."

He grinned at you, his usual playful demeanor tinged with genuine warmth. "I haven't seen you in a while. How about we grab a bite to eat?"

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm not hungry."

His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, indulge me. It's not every day I get to catch up with an old friend."

You hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the comfort of his company. But something in his eyes, a blend of understanding and insistence, made you relent.

"Okay," you sighed, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "But just this once."

Gojo's grin softened into a genuine smile, and he gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Let's go then."

In no time, you and Satoru sat across from each other in the small cafeteria, the ambient chatter echoes between the two of you in the silence of the empty cafeteria. He was intently looking at you as he started making conversation and you listened, nodding along with what he was saying as you ate. He was like this too when you were younger in Jujutsu High and nearly ten years later, he somehow hasn’t changed. You could only smile at that. 

Satoru starts stuffing his face with the already cold tonkatsu. You could only sigh fondly at him, watching him put the rice bowl down and take the miso soup’s bowl in hand and drink the  cold broth. You picked up your chopsticks and, absentmindedly, stuck them upright into your rice meal. Satoru's cerulean eyes widened slightly, and he leaned forward, his tone playful yet chiding.

"Hey, you know you're not supposed to do that, right? It's bad luck. Reminds me of funeral rites."

You snorted, rolling your eyes at his scolding. "Oh, please, Satoru. Don’t tell me what to do." 

“It’s still bad luck, use them properly!”

You smirked, pulling the chopsticks out and resuming your meal properly. "Besides, it's not like the spirits are going to come after me just for this."

Satoru laughed, shaking his head. "You always were stubborn. Some things never change."

You smiled, a hint of nostalgia in your eyes. "You know, Sugu-chan and Nana-chan were always sticklers for the rules. But you? I can’t believe you’re lecturing me about rules.”

He pouts at you. “I can follow rules too! You’re so mean to me, y’know?”

“It’s very rare to see you follow rules, Sato-chan.”

“But you admit that I follow rules?” The glint in his bright eyes was shining at you like a star in the cloudless sky. So clearly. “You do, don’t you?”

You grinned at him mischievously. “Well, at least the ones that suited you."

“Oh don’t patronize me!”

“Well, you asked!”

The two of you continued eating, the conversation flowing easily. You talked about the current state of affairs, your work, and shared memories from your past. The atmosphere was light, filled with genuine warmth. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Not since you left Jujutsu behind and had gotten married abroad. But from what Satoru heard, you returned recently. 

And he wasn’t sure what happened in all that time. But it was good for him, to see you smiling at him again. It was as if time hadn’t moved at all between the two of you. It was as if it was still like yesterday. He could feel his heart tender as you put your matcha mochi on his plate. You smiled at him, even wider than before as you told him to take it and eat it for you. He looked at you, but you just kept nodding. You watched him eat the mochi and make a satisfied groan as he ate it. You laughed, seeing that he hasn’t changed much. 

Satoru leaned back in his chair, a contented look on his face. "You know, it's really good to see you. I missed this. Just talking and being ourselves."

You nodded, feeling a similar sense of contentment. "Yeah, me too. It's nice to just... be, without any of the usual chaos."

Satoru's eyes softened as he looked at you, a rare moment of vulnerability. "You've been through a lot, I imagine. It’s been….a while.”

You shrugged, trying to downplay the weight of his words. "We all have our battles, Satoru. Some just leave more scars than others."

He reached across the table, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, if you ever need someone in your corner, you know where to find me."

You smiled, squeezing his hand back. "Thanks, Satoru. That means a lot."

The conversation tapered off, and a comfortable silence settled between you and Satoru. Both of you watched the birds outside the window, one bird leaving the other behind, fluttering away into the open sky. The scene was tranquil, a stark contrast to the turbulent lives you both led.

Breaking the silence, you reached for your phone. The chair squeaked softly as you shifted, pulling out an outdated flip phone from your pocket. You handed it to Satoru, causing his eyebrows to rise in curiosity.

"Can you put your number in?" you asked.

Satoru took the flip phone, chuckling softly. "You still have this old thing? Why not upgrade to something more modern?"

You shrugged, a faint smile on your lips. "The new ones overstimulate me. I prefer something simple."

Nodding in understanding, Satoru quickly input his number into your flip phone and handed it back to you. Then, he pulled out his sleek, modern smartphone, offering it to you.

"Alright, fair is fair. Put your number in mine too," he said with a grin.

You took his phone, marveling for a moment at the advanced technology before carefully entering your number. As you handed it back, your fingers brushed lightly against his, a brief but comforting connection.

"Thanks," Satoru said, pocketing his phone. "Now I have no excuse not to stay in touch."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Exactly. No excuses."

Another comfortable silence fell between you as you both returned to watching the birds outside, feeling a sense of calm and connection. Despite everything, moments like these reminded you that some bonds were unbreakable, no matter the distance or time that passed. Satoru took a sip of his drink once more and looked at your contentment. He hadn’t expected to have met you today, not at a funeral. He wished it was a better time. But he knew, it was better than not having met you again at all.

“Are you good on Thursday?” Satoru asks, breaking the comfortable silence and causing you to turn your gaze back to him.

“For what?” you reply, raising a curious eyebrow.

“To hang out...like the old days?” he says, a hopeful grin spreading across his face.

You ponder for a moment, the idea of reconnecting with him sounding appealing. "What did you have in mind?"

Satoru leans back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I was thinking we could visit that ramen place we used to love. You know, the one with the best miso ramen in town. And maybe after that, we could catch a movie or just walk around the old neighborhood."

A nostalgic smile creeps onto your face as you remember the countless times you’d both gone to that ramen place, laughing and talking for hours. "That sounds nice. I could use a break from everything."

"Great!" he exclaims, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "It's a date, then."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "It's not a date, Satoru."

"Sure, sure," he says, waving his hand dismissively but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Just two old friends hanging out."

"Exactly," you agree, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of spending time with him. 

“Exactly.” He repeated, with that grin on his face. 

You shake your head. “You always have to have the last word, huh?”

He laughs. “Of course!”

For a moment, Gojo Satoru didn’t feel sad anymore.

In this moment, hearing you laugh, he escapes it all.

He escapes the misery of the world in your warmth.

WHEN YOU LEFT, SATORU WAS SHATTERED. He still remembered the details of that moment, when you told him you were leaving. The unruly pile of clothes lying around the room, the ripped pieces of paper scattered across the floor, and the bedsheet that hadn’t been replaced in days—all of it seemed like a chaotic reflection of his inner turmoil. You stood by the door, suitcase in hand, your expression a mix of sadness and determination.

"I can't stay here anymore, Satoru." you had said, your voice trembling yet resolute. "I need to find my own path, away from all of this….I’m tired.”

Satoru's heart had shattered in that instant. The room had felt colder, emptier, as if the very air was being sucked out of it. The dorm already lost its life. Everything about it was just silent. Nanami’s moved out even before graduation, Shoko’s gone off and taken to medical school. It was only him that’s left. Him and you. He clung to you, for all this time. He would push you to join him on his food trips during missions, even if you weren’t here. 

You and him stayed up watching movies together when he had those rare days off. The emptiness Suguru left behind would never go away, but you filled some tenderness in his life. A tenderness that he had enjoyed.  A tenderness he could not live without. And now you planned to leave him too. Now that he couldn't comprehend a world where you weren't a part of his daily life. The thought of you walking out that door and never coming back was too painful to bear. And he hated how it hurt, it hated how it made him return to that time, when Suguru turned his back to him forever.

Thinking of it now that you both were older, Satoru realizes that all of it must have been hard on you too. You were a year below them, in a team with Haibara and Nanami. You were close to Suguru and Shoko too. And now you lost them too, you were all alone too, left with echoes that Satoru did not know. You were left with ghosts and grief and lonesomeness. 

And he didn’t see that, he didn’t want to. You were close to breaking and he didn’t see it. And choosing your peace, it hurt him. It hurt him beyond words could express. It was a horrible thought for certain. But Satoru thought at the time, that if two miserable people were together, maybe the happiness that could come would be enough to overcome that misery. But he was wrong. He was all too wrong. Misery will never keep people together.

"Please," he had pleaded, his voice breaking. "Don't go. We can figure this out together."

But you had only shaken your head, tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry, Sato-chan…I know it's going to hurt you. But….I can’t stay here.  I need to do this for myself."

The memory of you closing the door behind you haunted him for days, weeks, even months. He couldn’t stop crying for days after Suguru left. He had tried to fill the void with anything he could—training, missions, even attempting to drown his sorrows in alcohol—but nothing worked. The pain of losing both of you was too much to bear. The apartment became a constant reminder of the life he once had, now reduced to a hollow shell.

Every time he looked at the bed, he remembered the late-night conversations, the laughter, and the warmth of your presence. The ripped pieces of paper were drafts of letters he had tried to write to you, words that never seemed adequate to express the depth of his feelings. The clothes strewn about were remnants of happier times, now just silent witnesses to his grief. Even now, years later, the memory was as vivid as ever, a wound that never truly healed.

As Satoru sat across from you, his mind drifted back to the years following your departure. At first, he didn't want to hear anything about you. The pain was too raw, too immediate. Every mention of your name felt like a knife twisting in his chest. It hurt to know that, just like everyone else, you moved on with your life without him.

He remembered the first time he heard you'd left the country. It was Shoko who told him, her voice gentle as she broke the news. You had found a new passion, something that took you far away from the world you both had known. It was supposed to be a casual conversation, but it left him reeling. The idea of you building a new life, so distant from the memories you had shared, was almost unbearable.

Then came the news that you had married. He remembered the hollow feeling in his chest when he heard. It was as if a part of him had died all over again. Shoko had shown him a picture of you and your spouse, smiling and happy. In a fit of rage and heartbreak, he ripped the picture apart, unable to bear the sight of you with someone else.

Each memory hurt him badly. Nights were the worst, filled with imagined scenarios where you were still with him, where he could reach out and feel your warmth next to him. He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what could have been if you had stayed.

Despite his attempts to move on, the memories lingered. Every accomplishment, every smile, every moment of happiness he found was tinged with the bittersweet reminder of what he had lost. The thought of you, happy and loved by someone else, was a constant ache.

Yet, as he looked at you now, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. The pain was still there, but so was the undeniable bond you shared. It was as if no time had passed, and in this small café, surrounded by the remnants of your shared past, he found a small measure of peace. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to rebuild what had been lost.

You and Satoru began meeting up more often than ever. Each encounter breathed new life into the corners of his world that had long been shadowed by loneliness and regret. For the first time in a long while, besides the joy he found in teaching his students, Satoru felt a genuine happiness blooming within him, one that he had almost forgotten could exist.

Your meet-ups started simply, with visits to quaint cafés where you’d talk over coffee and pastries, reminiscing about old times and sharing stories about your current lives. At times, he brought you along with him when he would see Megumi and Tsumiki. They seemed fond enough of you, and it was a privilege for Satoru to see how tender you are with them. 

You became his daily routine, everything he said revolved around your daily vernacular. Your home cooked meals became his sustenance. He realized too that he smiled more. That he was always in a good mood when you texted him something about your day. He didn’t want this to stop and he knew that you also didn’t want to leave him. Satoru realized that you found solace in each other's presence. The more you met, the more the walls of time and distance crumbled away, leaving only the essence of your bond, untouched and untainted.

At times, Gojo Satoru would come over to your place, bringing groceries or a bottle of sake. These evenings were filled with laughter, shared meals, and a sense of comfort that was rare in his life. It was one of those days to be together again. As you both sat on the porch, the sky painted in hues of twilight, you revealed something you had been holding back. Satoru already knew you were married, but you didn’t know that. But he just listened, when you talked all about it. He just let you lift the weight of your chest. He just let you give yourself to him little by little.

“I’m divorced.” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the horizon. “It happened a while ago.”

Satoru’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to you, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrugged, a bittersweet smile playing on your lips. “I didn’t know how. It’s not something I talk about easily. But I thought you should know.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry you went through that. But thank you for telling me.”

As the weeks turned into months, Satoru realized something profound. He loved you. It was a love that had never truly faded, only hidden beneath layers of time and circumstance. Each moment spent with you reaffirmed this truth. And each moment, he was even more terrified. Terrified of telling you the truth. Terrified of letting you see the pits of him that he doesn’t like. 

The monster that lingers in the strongest, he does not want you to see that. The danger that comes with the world that he dwells in, the world you’d long abandoned. You laughed together, drank together, and enjoyed each other's company in a way that felt both new and comfortingly familiar. The nights, like tonight, continued to be joyous evenings filled with stories and laughter. 

You looked at him, your eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lamp. “I’m glad we’re doing this,” you said softly.

“Me too, y’know?” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’ve missed you. More than I can say.”

Your fingers brushed against his, “I always thought about you, all those years.”

His cerulean blue tenderly met your own orbs. “I always thought about you too."

“Do you mean it?” You responded in a whisper.

“Why would I lie to you, after all this time?”

After a delightful meal shared on your porch, you found yourselves enjoying dessert. You had bought some sweets to bring over. You didn’t like sweets all that much, but you always thought about enjoying them with Satoru. Because it made him happy. And when he was happy, you were too. You could feel the night air breezing in consistent cool kisses, and the distant sound of cicadas filled the silence between your laughter and conversation. You picked up a piece of the dessert, holding it out to Satoru with a playful grin. You supposed you had drunk much already.

“Here, try this. It’s delicious, Sato-chan.” you said, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He leaned forward, his eyes locked on yours as he took the bite. “Mmm, you’re right. It’s amazing.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he took a piece and held it out to you. “Your turn.”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden rush of warmth to your cheeks. “Satoru, I can feed myself, you know?” you laughed nervously.

“Come on, indulge me, sweets!” he teased, his tone light but his eyes serious.

You opened your mouth, letting him feed you. The intimacy of the gesture made your heart race, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your flustered expression. Satoru chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

As the evening wore on, Satoru, a notorious lightweight when it came to drinking, began to feel the effects of the sake you’d shared. He leaned back, his eyelids drooping. “I think I’m going to pass out, sweets.” he mumbled, a sleepy smile on his face.

“Then go and sleep.”

“Hm….night.”

‘.....G’d night.”

You watched as his eyes closed, his breathing evening out. For a long moment, you stared at him, your heart aching with unspoken feelings. You had always been in love with him, but you knew deep down that you could never compete with Suguru. That bond, that history, was something you could never touch.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was not entirely asleep. He was keenly aware of his feelings for you, feelings that had grown stronger with each passing day. But rather than confront them, he chose to feign sleep, his mind whirling with thoughts he wasn’t ready to address. Not just yet. Not when it was too hard to face the truth.

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Satoru's forehead. Your touch was tender, filled with a longing that transcended the boundaries between this world and the next.

"I... I... I lov..." you began, your voice faltering as if caught between the weight of your emotions and the limits of your spectral form. Frustration and exhaustion etched across your ethereal features, and you brought your hands to your face, overcome by the inability to express what lay heavy on your heart.

Swallowing back the bitter taste rising in your throat, you steadied yourself and turned your gaze to Satoru, watching him sleep peacefully. The room was hushed, filled only with the soft rustling of fabric and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"You're the most important to me, Satoru," you whispered, your voice a fragile whisper in the quiet night. The words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a love that defied death itself. "And you always will be."

He heard your words, each one piercing through his heart, but he remained still, his breathing steady. He wasn’t ready to face the complexities of your relationship, the unresolved emotions that lay between you.

As you sat there, watching over him, you wondered if there would ever be a time when you could be honest with each other. For now, you were content to cherish these moments, fleeting as they might be, and hope that someday, the barriers between you would fall away, leaving only the love that had always been there.

A few moments later, you realized Satoru groggily opened his eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep. He watched you with a mix of concern and amusement as you clumsily attempted to put your shoes on, fumbling with the laces and nearly losing your balance. The room was dim, and the aftereffects of the night’s drinks were evident in your unsteady movements.

“What are you doing?” Satoru asked, his voice laced with confusion and sleepiness.

“I need to go home,” you whispered to him, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of desperation. You hiccuped, the sound breaking the silence of the room. “My dog needs me.”

Satoru sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to make sense of your words. He reached out to steady you, his touch gentle yet firm. “You’re not going anywhere in this state, sweets.” he said, concern etched across his face. “Let’s get you some water and figure this out.”

But you shook your head, your thoughts already miles away. “No, I have to go. She’s waiting for me. Please, I need to get home.” The urgency in your voice was palpable, and despite his better judgment, Satoru knew there was no stopping you. 

“Alright….Let me take you home.”

“You don’t need to.” You tell him, shaking your head. “You…don’t you have a mission tomorrow?”

“It’s fine.” Satoru insisted to you. “Don’t worry.”

Walking through the train tunnel, the air was thick with the musty scent of concrete and dampness, punctuated by the distant echo of footsteps reverberating off the tunnel walls. The dim, flickering lights cast long, eerie shadows that danced around you and Satoru as you stumbled forward, your movements unsteady and guided more by instinct than clarity.

You were particularly drunk, your senses dulled and your thoughts muddled. Every step felt like a small victory as you navigated the uneven ground and avoided stumbling over the occasional debris littering the tunnel floor. Beside you, Satoru walked with a surprising steadiness, his normally calm demeanor now tinged with a quiet concern. His eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that contrasted sharply with your intoxicated haze.

The tunnel seemed to stretch on endlessly, the occasional flickering light offering brief glimpses of the graffiti-covered walls and rusted tracks that lay beyond. The sound of your footsteps echoed loudly in the confined space, creating an unsettling symphony with the distant sounds of passing trains and the occasional drip of water from above.

“Be careful now.” he cautioned, glancing at you as you stumbled slightly. His tone was light, but the concern in his eyes was evident.

You turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Satoru,” you began, your voice wavering. “There’s something I’ve never been able to tell you.”

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. “What is it?” he asked, his expression curious and a little concerned.

You looked at him, your eyes almost broken, the weight of unspoken emotions heavy on your shoulders. “Can I… can I hug you? Just once?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can you turn off Infinity around me? Just for a moment?”

Satoru’s eyes softened, and he took a step closer. “My Infinity is always down with you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a gentle sincerity.

Without another word, you stepped forward and embraced him, wrapping your arms around his waist. The warmth of his body against yours was both comforting and overwhelming. Satoru stood still, his arms at his sides, too shocked to respond immediately.

For a moment, you held him tightly, your face buried in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’ve always loved you, Satoru.” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I wished….I wished I told you, before I left. Maybe……maybe it would have saved me a decade of pain. Of heartbreak.”

His body tensed slightly, and you could feel his breath hitch. Slowly, as if coming out of a trance, his arms began to lift. Tentatively, he placed them around you, his embrace becoming firmer as the reality of your confession sank in.

You stood there in the train tunnel, holding onto each other as if the world around you had ceased to exist. The distant echoes and the cold air were forgotten, replaced by the warmth of the moment and the raw, unfiltered emotions that had finally been laid bare.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His eyes were filled with a mix of shock, confusion, and something else—something deeper. “Why now?” he asked, his voice barely audible, as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment.

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because I couldn’t hold it in any longer,” you replied, your voice trembling. “Because I need you to know, even if it changes nothing.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze searching your face. Then, slowly, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “For telling me.”

“I know we can’t be together.” You ramble to him, tears falling all over your face. “I wish we could have had more time. I wish….”

“We will have more time.” He tells you in a mumble. “We have all the time in the world.”

“We don’t.” You whispered to him, looking into his eyes with your own tear stained face. “We don’t.”

In that moment, he could see it in your eyes.

You were telling him the truth, the whole of it.

As the sound of the train echoed through the tunnel,

You burst into tears as those words echoed in his head.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” You whispered. “I’m going to hurt you.”

YOU CHOSE THE PICTURE YOURSELF.  You looked at him, a sad smile playing on your lips, a bittersweet expression that conveyed both regret and acceptance. Your gaze was gentle yet haunting, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the photograph he held in his trembling hands — a portrait of you, captured in a moment of serene beauty that seemed to transcend the confines of the photograph itself.

As he stared at your image, framed by the soft glow of candlelight, he felt a pang of disbelief and sorrow grip his heart. How could someone so vibrant, so full of life, now be reduced to this still, silent image before him? The photograph seemed to capture not just your physical likeness, but also the essence of your spirit — a spirit that had once danced with such vitality and now lingered only in memories.

He remembered that day in the tunnel, your words echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. You had warned him, confessed your impending departure with a sorrow that mirrored his own. In that moment, he had felt a deep ache, a foreboding sense of loss that now seemed inevitable and crushing.

Now, holding your funeral photo, he felt as if he were suspended in that tunnel once more, caught between the reality of your absence and the vividness of your memory. You had prepared for this moment, for your departure from his life, long before fate had delivered its cruel blow. The photo captured a version of you that he knew was only a fraction of the person he had loved — a mere reflection of the complexities and contradictions that made you who you were.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the illusion of your ghostly presence that seemed to linger in the room. This spectral image, so painfully beautiful, could never truly encapsulate the vibrant soul he had cherished. Everything that defined you now rested in the small urn before him, the echoes of the fleeting nature of life itself. He had promised to protect you, to hold you close, but now all he could do was hold onto your memory, etched into his heart with a sorrow that would never fade.

Gojo Satoru sat in silence, the photo trembling in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to look away from your serene face, captured forever in that moment of calm. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows around the room, creating an atmosphere that felt both intimate and surreal.

"You told me……" Satoru finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "that you were going to hurt me. But I never thought it would end like this."

Your ghostly presence seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, a wistful echo of the person he had loved so deeply. Your eyes, even in the photo, held a depth of sadness that mirrored his own

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice carrying a weight of regret that pierced through the silence. "I never wanted this for us."

He looked up at you, tears welling in his eyes. "I should have done everything." he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "I should have done something."

You shook your head gently, a gesture that seemed to encompass both forgiveness and understanding. "It wasn't your fault," you reassured him softly. "We couldn't change what was meant to be."

"But I miss you, my love." Satoru confessed, his voice choking with grief. "Every day feels like a struggle without you."

Your ghostly form seemed to draw closer, as if reaching out to comfort him. "I know, I know…." you murmured, your presence a fleeting warmth in the cold emptiness of the room. "I miss you too."

He reached out a trembling hand towards where your image lay, desperate for some tangible connection to the love that had defined his world. "Why did you have to leave me?" he asked, his voice filled with anguish. “Why now when we had everything?”

You looked at him with infinite sadness, your ethereal presence flickering faintly. "I didn't want to," you replied, your voice barely audible. "But my time was up. Some things... we can't control it."

He closed his cerulean eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. The ache in his chest felt unbearable, a gaping void that no amount of time could ever heal. "I wish I could have saved you, my love." he whispered, his words a desperate plea to the universe. “I wished I….”

In the silence that followed, your ghostly form seemed to fade gradually, leaving behind only the faint echo of your presence. "You gave me everything I ever wanted." you whispered softly, your voice drifting like a gentle breeze. "And I will always be with you, in every memory, in every heartbeat."

He closed his cerulean eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks like silent rivers of grief. The ache in his chest felt unbearable, a gaping void that no amount of time could ever hope to heal. "I don't want anything else, my love," he whispered brokenly, his words a desperate plea to the universe. "I just want you. I need you."

His voice faltered, choked by sorrow too deep for words. In the deafening silence that followed, your ghostly form seemed to fade gradually, leaving behind only the faint echo of your presence. The room feels emptier without you, devoid of the warmth and light that had once filled his life.

"I know." You choked as you tried not to falter. Not when he needed your smile more than your tears. "I know."

"I wished we had more time.....so I could have....." You shook your head at him.

"You gave me everything I ever wanted," your voice echoed softly, ethereal and distant like a whisper carried in the wind. "And I have no regrets. Neither should you, Satoru. Hm?"

He clutched the photograph to his chest, feeling the weight of your absence press against him like a physical force. The candle flickered, casting fleeting shadows on the walls as if dancing to the rhythm of his heartache. Memories flooded his mind — moments shared, laughter exchanged, dreams woven together — now a tapestry of what-ifs and regrets.

"I don't know how to go on without you, my love." he admitted quietly, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "Everything reminds me of you. What is life without who makes life have sense?"

"You are stronger than you know, you always were." your voice whispered gently, a soothing melody in the midst of his storm. He could feel you touch his cheek. He leans against the ghostly weight, wishing he could feel your warmth in his. "You'll always get by, Satoru. You always will. You're the best I know, after all."

"Because I'm the strongest?"

You smiled, softly shaking your head again. "Because you love too well."

He opened his pale blue eyes, searching for a glimpse of you in the shadows, in the flickering candlelight. Though your physical presence had slipped away, he could still feel your love wrapping around him like a fragile cocoon. It was a love that had weathered storms, endured trials, and now lingered as fragile hope in his shattered heart.

"I love you, my love." he whispered into the stillness, his words a solemn vow to carry your memory forward. "Always."

As he sat there, cradling the photograph that held your smile frozen in time, he knew that while he had lost you in body, your spirit would forever remain intertwined with his own. And in the quiet moments of solitude, he would find solace in the memories of a love that had transcended mortality itself. 

He knew that time would be the bridge between now and when he would see you again. Even in his deepest despair, the thought of reuniting with you brought a bittersweet comfort. Yet, he also knew that to join you prematurely would betray the promise he had made to you in those final moments — to live a life worthy of your love, to carry on and make a difference.

The scent of incense filled the room, a solemn reminder of the rituals and prayers offered for your departed soul. Satoru let out a long exhale, his lips pursed into a determined line. He would fulfill his promises, no matter how difficult or daunting the path ahead seemed.

"I'll change the Jujutsu society," he vowed quietly to himself, the words carrying a weight of determination. "I'll guide the next generation, help them grow strong and wise."

As a sad melody filled the air, a song that once brought joy and laughter to both of you, he closed his eyes and allowed the memories to wash over him. You had loved to dance to this song, your laughter echoing in his ears as you twirled around the room together. It was a memory etched in his heart, a fragment of a life he cherished and longed to live again.

"I'll do everything you believed I could," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with both sadness and resolve. "And then, I'll find you again."

In the solitude of that moment, amidst the flickering candlelight and the haunting melody, he made a silent promise to himself and to you. He would continue to carry your love in his heart, through every trial and triumph, knowing that one day, their souls would reunite in a dance again.

And so Gojo Satoru waits as he lay on that cold operating table.

Those sad sing along songs repeated in his head over and over.

But as he lay there, all that he could think to do was smile at pain.

He was going to meet you soon, he thinks to himself in such peace.

Then, there would be no more sad songs for his broken heart to hear.

some facts about the fic

in the first part, satoru is struggling through his grief for you to the point that he is suffering traumatic illusions that you were there, eating with him. in that whole scene, satoru was actually alone and he's repressing that for the vision of being together, eating.

when you were eating, the chopsticks  were stuck upright. this should not be the case especially rice. chopsticks are only stuck upright into rice in the bowl on the altar at a funeral or when paying respects to the deceased. this is called hotokebashi.

in the funerary flower arrangement, there's something called an ihai. an ihai is a placard that people used to designate the seat of a deity or past ancestor as well as to enclose it. the name of the deity or the past ancestor is usually inscribed onto the tablet.

an ihai is usually used in the funerary rights and then afterwards, put in a butsudan which is often an ornate platform or simply a wooden cabinet sometimes crafted with doors that enclose it. families often put their ihai into their butsudan at home.

since i thought that in this story, you don't have parents - i like to think that satoru put your ihai in the butsudan in his house, so that you could be there with him always.

your ashes in the story are with satoru. but i like to believe he already had a spot reserved for him as clan leader in the future - so he buried you beside his future spot so he just made sure both of you are together in the afterlife too.

the watch belonged to haibara and his parents gave you and nanami something of his to keep. you kept the watch he wore during the mission and kept using it all your life. it stopped working when you died.

the time in the story was 19:42. in japanese superstition,

in the first part, satoru is struggling through his grief for you to the point that he is suffering traumatic illusions that you were there, eating with him. in that whole scene, satoru was actually alone and he's repressing that for the vision of being together, eating.

when you were eating, the chopsticks  were stuck upright. this should not be the case especially rice. chopsticks are only stuck upright into rice in the bowl on the altar at a funeral or when paying respects to the deceased. this is called hotokebashi.

in the funerary flower arrangement, there's something called an ihai. an ihai is a placard that people used to designate the seat of a deity or past ancestor as well as to enclose it. the name of the deity or the past ancestor is usually inscribed onto the tablet.

an ihai is usually used in the funerary rights and then afterwards, put in a butsudan which is often an ornate platform or simply a wooden cabinet sometimes crafted with doors that enclose it. families often put their ihai into their butsudan at home.

since i thought that in this story, you don't have parents - i like to think that satoru put your ihai in the butsudan in his house, so that you could be there with him always.

your ashes in the story are with satoru. but i like to believe he already had a spot reserved for him as clan leader in the future - so he buried you beside his future spot so he just made sure both of you are together in the afterlife too.

the watch belonged to haibara and his parents gave you and nanami something of his to keep. you kept the watch he wore during the mission and kept using it all your life. it stopped working when you died.

the time in the story was 19:42. in japanese superstition, you have to switch it to have meaning. 42-19, together sounds like shini iku (死に行く – to go and die).

your story ex-spouse and you divorced because they found out that you were a jujutsu sorcerer - after you saved them from a cursed spirit that was about to kill them.

you found out that you were very ill a month after you met satoru again and were given a year or two to live, with medication. its a rare disease, so there was only maintenance medication.

originally, i thought to write that you die from a mission after returning to jujutsu to be with satoru. but i realized that it's just not gonna hit as hard. so i changed my mind and got to this ending.

i also thought that you dying in this story because of cursed spirits was going to rile satoru up against the higher ups. but i felt like the fact that you left him because you were traumatized too, and needed a room enough to breathe was enough for him to be angry. if you hadn't left, you and satoru would have had a life together and you wouldn't have been ripped away from him by fate so quickly.

[comicaurora]

In the latest trope talk you used Odo as part of your examples. I think You've talked about Star Trek: The Next Generation before but not Deep Space Nine and I just had some questions about what you thought about the show.

What did you most/least enjoy about the series?

What did you think of DS9's syndicated episodes compared to contemporary trek's (TNG, VOY) episodic nature?

How do you feel about the Dominion storyline as a whole? Did you feel like it went against Star Trek's utopian future?

Which characters stood out to you the most/had the most engaging development?

What do you think gagh tastes like?

Any other thoughts about the series?

Oh man, DS9.

I have this very consistent pattern of thinking that the star trek I have most recently watched is the best star trek. When I watched TNG it was the best because of its standout episodes that let Patrick Stewart and Brent Spiner show off. Then when I watched Voyager it was the best because Janeway was incredible and 7 of 9's arc was a beautiful iteration on the "inhuman character explores humanity" star trek trope. Then when I got to DS9 I was like "Oh, so this is what actually good Star Trek looks like." I do think I'm actually right this time, though.

I think they really took advantage of how different the core premise of the show was from previous Star Treks. Because the setting was very consistent, the episodic variations on the formula weren't dedicated to seeking out Weird New Shit, but to focusing on the characters and their dynamics with one another. Correspondingly I think the best thing in the show is the character writing and how everyone's arcs are built up. This was something I think they were building towards with the previous series; TNG would occasionally have character-focused episodes, but for the most part everybody on the ship operated like a well-oiled machine, inputting the Weird Thing Of The Week and outputting a solution. Voyager destabilized the formula by yeeting the heroes halfway across the galaxy and well outside the safe confines of federation space, so you got a lot more opportunities for drama caused by limited supplies or existential despair, and a lot more character-driven conundrums without clean or flawless solutions. DS9 is kind of the apotheosis of this shift away from "seek out new life and new civilizations, boldly go etc etc" because instead of our heroes briefly interacting with Bajor and then fucking off into the end credits, they're sitting right on top of a planet undergoing tumultuous social restructuring after the end of a long and horrible military occupation, and they're there for 7 seasons. Because they aren't following an adventure-of-the-week formula, absolutely everything they do has consequences they have to deal with later down the line, and that lends itself very well to longform character arcs.

I liked the Dominion storyline well enough, and I think the existence of an evil space empire to fight doesn't preclude the Federation being a utopia. Utopias are internally perfect systems, not worlds that have absolutely no conflict. I think the part of DS9 that does undercut the utopia is the whole thing with Section 31, but I think that's part of a very intentional move on the writers' part to highlight that Section 31 is not as necessary as they think they are, and that doing all this stuff unethically is a moral concession and a shortcut that demeans the principles of the Federation. That's part of why I like that they serve as a nemesis to Doctor Bashir, who has very personal reasons to despise the idea of taking the easy way out.

Character-wise, I have very predictable favs. Jadzia Dax is fascinating to me, and I love the way they play with her past lives and centuries of experience to create this very layered character packed with plothooks. Also I have very simple tastes, and "woman fills narrative Man Role trope and nobody is weird about it" is an itch I so rarely get scratched despite how not complicated it is. Jadzia gets to be a swashbuckling romantic hero with a tragic starcrossed lover; she gets to be a wise yet cheerful mentor to Captain Sisko; she gets to be a noble warrior honoring debts from a lifetime ago. And I adore how her dynamic with Sisko plays out over the seasons - another completely uncomplicated trope I so rarely get to enjoy, male and female leads who are profoundly ride-or-die for one another and have absolutely no interest in making out. I am still so mad about how Jadzia gets iced, but that doesn't mean I don't like Ezri, and there is something very beautiful about how when she gets Dax'd and her existence becomes an absolute mess of confusion and conflicting memories and she doesn't even know who she is anymore, her single point of stability is Sisko.

That said, Garak is probably my overall fav. The man is an absolute drama hound and since he's not technically main cast it's a rare treat to get him focused on. He is so much fun on a rewatch when you can see exactly when and how he's lying and when he's telling the truth in a way that everyone thinks is lying, and what I think is most interesting about him is how absolutely everybody else on the station has him figured out. There's this "I know he knows I know they know" loop underlying almost every interaction. Everyone knows he's a spy, he knows everyone knows, and they're all just vibing anyway. It's like his entire character is built on telling the truth in a way that sounds like a lie, to the point where it always manages to surprise people when he does something absolutely ruthless. He's been saying he's a bad guy the whole time! People seem to keep forgetting!

Also, fun fact, the very first chunk of DS9 I caught was the back half of the episode "The Wire", and when I was mentioning this to my dad, I was like "yeah I don't remember their names but these two guys seemed extremely married-" and he immediately went "oh, Garak and the doctor?" so that's very telling I think

[zepskies]

The Boys S4: Is it just me or...

Okay, anyone who knows me knows I love this show. And I don't mean to be overly critical, but...there's something missing for me in season 4. 🤔

Episode 4 brought me back in a bit more this week, but I have thoughts and just wanted to get them out. Which of course you don't have to agree with, if you so choose to dive below the cut. 😂

So here we go! Highlights and lowlights (and **spoilers**): ⤵️

Sorry in advance for my slightly stream of conscious-style thought process.

Lowlights (so far):

Kimiko x Frenchie: Violently pushing down something you built up for 2.75 seasons? Because "being more than that/family" can also be romantic? Why do you hate the fans, Kripke? 😂

The political "satire" is getting a bit old for me. A lot of the same jokes over and over. However, the problem of taking out Victoria Neuman is a very intriguing conundrum (and Bob Singer sweating over it while trying to keep supes out of the military/law enforcement is keeping me hooked).

THAT Rob scene: lmfao come on now. This was for gross shock value and nothing else. Even the exploding dick and Love Sausage in S3 served a narrative purpose. (But I enjoyed the footnote commentary while watching it on Prime: Rob B. apparently wants to remind everyone that he's a Shakespearean-trained actor. 🤣) I’m actually more disappointed that he didn’t have a more meaningful role in the show, because he really is a fantastic actor and I was looking forward to seeing what his character would bring. (Not that lmao.)

Overall, the season just feels...emptier than seasons 1-3? Maybe that has to do with the lack of Soldier Boy's gravitas as a new antagonist, and connecting the entire narrative and various conflicts of the season -- all while shedding light on the grisly past of Payback, Grace Mallory, and Stan Edgar. Stormfront also brought that ante up in season 2 in a similar way, all while shedding light on Vought's sordid history with the creation of Compound V.

We're missing the layers here in season 4. Now, this could just be because we haven't seen the full season yet as well, but that's what I see so far.

I think it also has to do with the odd dynamic the boys side is in right now. With Butcher on the fringe of the group, and the others splintered off on their own side plots, it feels like the supes' side of things are more...for lack of a better term, "unified" in the narrative.

Which I realize is probably to reverse parallel the state of each side in season 3. But it just feels "off" to me somehow, since we're supposed to be just as invested in the boys side lol.

Highlights:

Butcher and Ryan: Butcher's doing his best there now, and it soothes my heart.

Ryan's slowly seeing the consequences of his choice to join Homelander. In fact, I'm wondering where Ryan is in episode 4. Hiding in his room?

The Khan Worm that appears to be inside Butcher is both frightening and intriguing. I wonder if this is the key to saving his life? Or just another lovely side effect of taking V24 long term. 🐛

JDM (Joe) and Butcher: All their scenes were golden. And that subtle John Winchester reference? Being willing to train up his son to be a killer? Being able to grieve at his son's funeral, knowing he "saved the world?" *Chef's kiss* 🤌🏽

(And if Butcher or Joe end up being the one to break Soldier Boy out of his cryo coffin, my fangirl heart will freak TF out. 🤣)

The way that Homelander is noticing his age is fucking hilarious. Bet you wish you had that life longevity from your father/sperm donor, dont'cha? 😂

But also the way Homelander "confronted" his past in E4 had some truly WTF/Holy Shit™️ moments, in a good way. As in, I'm once again afraid of this unhinged psychopath--kind of way. 😅

A-Train continuing to struggle internally with the place he's fought so hard to keep in the Seven, versus recognizing the evil around him, his own complicity, wanting forgiveness from Hughie, and wanting a true connection with others (namely his family).

It's interesting that Hughie's mom is being brought back in at this time. And even MORE interesting that she seems to be the one who gave her ex-husband Compound V. Her story of why she left her family seemed so normal that I actually got a little suspicious of her. But now, even more so. 🤨

M.M. doing his fucking best. (Except for the way he suddenly had a change of heart about Butcher in E4. Not sure about that one.)

Tilda effing Swinton voicing Ambrosius. PLEASE. My Queen. 😭🤣🤣

I actually had more lowlights before I watched episode 4. There were some really interesting moments that literally had me gasping in shock (this time in a good way), more so than in the first 3 episodes. However, I still think seasons 1-3 were stronger from the get-go.

But even with my lingering reservations, now I'm actually more so looking forward to getting into the meat of the season in this second-half coming up. 👏🏽

[dilys-min]

Kalopsia

Pairing: Yandere!Blade × Reader

Warnings: Yandere, Unhealthy relationship, Imprisionment, etc.

Word counts: ~ 800 words

You’ve always loved Blade’s swordsmanship.

Whenever he wields the sword, each strike and swing is done in ways which could only be sharpened by years if not centuries of experience, as though the art of combat is deeply engraved in the essence of his soul. Watching him fight has never failed to leave you in awe. Glints of gold and red from the cracked sword would fly disorientedly, painting a granter picture of the dark haired man, captivating those who come across it. You struggle to hold a sword upright, let alone trying to swing it, while Blade, being more evidently effortless to do it, is patient enough to be your mentor (after a lot of consistent begging on your part and blunt rejections from his side, of course). However, your apprenticeship ended when you somehow managed to injure yourself under his supervision. It felt surreal to watch him fight, facile but meticulous nonetheless. 

You have always loved Blade’s swordsmanship, just until you see yourself at the receiving end of it.

For someone who has such a sharp sense in fighting, Blade can be surprisingly dense in other matters, especially when it comes to technology or romance. How could a person fully aware of the sharpness of his sword while remaining painfully oblivious to how lethal his love can get? This remains as a conundrum to you as you find yourself becoming the focus of Blade’s orbit. And like a star, his presence never leaves your eyesight, and yet, he never makes an attempt to draw close to you. 

“Bladie might seem crude but he is actually far softer than he would like to admit. Don’t worry, dear. Everything will be in fate’s favor”

Kafka had said that with a tone nonchalant enough to make you doubt the genuity of which.

Now, looking back at it, you cannot help but wonder if she had foreseen this turn of event. Being a devoted follower of Yaoshi, like many others, you had prayed and was granted the ability to heal others, to relieve their pain. Still, how could you fix someone who have already been disintegrated and rebuilded far too many times? Blade is someone who has got used to being broken down and he knows that when you are broken into pieces, you would never recover fully, some small parts of you will be forever lost to the raging mara insides, for better or worse. Therefore, he latches onto you, hoping that some pieces of you would suffice for what he lost. Maybe that is what Kafka has seen. And yet, you convince yourself to believe otherwise but for whose sake, you wonder.

 You cannot fathom how much you have come to hate Blade’s swordsmanship.

.

.

Captivity could do so much to one’s mind and you could already feel its claws at the back of your mind. Days after days spent cooped up in the four walls of your room, staring through the glass panel that separated you from the universe. How long had you been on this ship? Weeks… or months? Which star out of thousands if not endless of star systems out there is your home? The past few hours had been you screaming and crying with Blade standing at the doorway. 

“Why can’t you just let me go, Blade? What quality do I have that make you deem it fair to pluck me out of my life?”

“I cannot guarantee that my answer will satisfy you.” His expression changed for a moment, fleeting but not go unnoticed

“In my wrenching existence, you are the one that makes everything more worthwhile. This is what I could do in order to prevent you from getting hurt.”. Both of you know that was a lie. Everything has always been more to his whims than yours, though he refused to believe it. Had it not been for his self restraint, his mara might have devoured you whole.

“So you think it is better to let me rot in the dark than to lead a normal life?”. Your voice was filled with bitterness; tears were rolling down your cheeks and your eyes were puffy. You couldn’t even imagine what you must have looked like anymore. 

“I can give you anything else but what you truly desire… I cannot give”. 

As you looked into the eyes that you once did with such loving intent, there was only sorrow, but never regret for what he had done. You would claw those scarlet irises out of his socket if it meant that he would feel a modicum of your affliction. Nevertheless, knowing Blade, he would gladly let you do just that.

At that, you could only sob in response.

.

.

After everything, you have realized Blade’s swordsmanship was never glamorous nor scrupulous as you elucidate it to be, you have just been at his mercy from the start, spared from the sharp end of his sword; and that was truly the cruelest atrocity Blade is capable of.

[vonev]

Zombie apocalypse with Simon Riley

Sum: You finally meet your hot neighbor; albeit all it took was an apocalyptic disaster.

Oh my God, what the fuck?

“—reports states that an infectious zombie-like virus has begun to spread amongst multiple areas in the city—”

“—Please seek the nearest hazard shelter in your local area—”

A fucking zombie virus breakout is happening, in front of your lunch.

You'd never thought the national emergency alarms would ever blare during your lifespan, but you're here, a spoon full of egg drop soup in hand sitting across your TV and your mouth hung open as all your devices deafens the entire living room.

The telenovela you were watching was just getting so good too.

Immediately shooting your hand out to fetch your phone, scrambling for the national notification, horror dawns on you.

The fucking breakout is in my city.

Isn't it so lovely? On a random Tuesday afternoon in the middle of an approaching autumn.

What is it that they do in those zombie shows again...? Oh yeah, run.

Wait—no, no. Pack your shit then run.

So you did. Your feet working the fastest they've ever been scattering toward your bedroom to dig out the ancient duffel bag you've not touched in eons. Shoving essentials in there: tampons, pads, your Kindle (because God forbid an apocalypse stops you from finishing a book) and a couple of other things you think you'd need...a thong is one of them, right?

The loud alarms never stops, it only adds to your increasing anxiety threatening to bubble over and spill all over the floor; you didn't think they'd go on for so long, but they do, and honestly they sound fucking terrifying.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think—

Wallet, passport (in case you wanted to fly over to Milan, you know.), all the money you had was stored inside the bank; speaking of, you wonder if anyone had started robbing stores yet after the alarms sounded.

Nope, can't think about that right now, because the more time you waste, the higher of a chance you'd end up having your face bitten off by some freaks—zombie or not. So you scramble once again, head full of doubts and worry; good thing you kept refraining yourself from ever getting a pet because holy shit having to sprint with a massive fluff ball in your arm would be the last thing you'd want to do.

Just then, screams started filling your ears; an indication that you spent too much time dwindling.

Looking down you scoff at your casual wear: a tank top that exposed too much and sweatpants. Making your way out along your bedroom you snatched a jacket you promised yourself you'd wash last week.

Good thing you didn't, I guess.

Stepping foot into the living room once more, your eyes dart around in a hurry, practically running into the kitchenette to grab canned foods and your leftovers from yesterday. It's just a sandwich, but it'll hopefully last until whenever you can finally eat again. You repeated the same conundrum with your bathroom, frantically pushing things aside with more things to make space for other things.

Alright, you think, that should be everything...

You even got that first-aid kit you bought from Amazon months ago, thinking that someday you'll need it.

Always trust your instincts.

With that, you waste no time scurrying to the front door, fitting yourself into a comfortable pair of shoes then fetching your keys from the bowl above the accent table you probably spent too much money on (they looked really cute) and inserting it into the lock, cursing yourself when you kept missing the keyhole. Eventually, you got it, and with too much brute force, you threw the door open and stepped out into the hall.

You wince from the loud banging sound of the door you pushed; to your right, your neighbor's door opens as you walk out.

Tilting your head, you see the neighbor casually fixing his shoes with absolutely no care regarding the current situation, a bag slung over his broad shoulder in contrast to you desperately holding onto your heavy duffel bag.

What the fuck is his deal? How is he so...calm?

You didn't realize it 'till now, but said neighbor turns his head toward you, and it's as if a lightbulb flare up in your head.

Oh.

He stares at you, unmoving with his hand still on the doorknob.

It's the hot neighbor.

What was his name again? Sam...Samuel...no, Semen...wait, definitely not.

Whatever. You'll call him Semen in your head, because you can't be bothered standing there to recall his name. Not while he's staring at you so intently, either—like you owed him something.

God, is he a sight to look at; full brows with lips looking so kissable with a cute pout, blonde strands covers his front as though he'd just woken up from the best nap of his life, the faint yet noticeable scars littered across his face so perfectly. Tall, mysterious and muscles that threatened the seams of the too-tight shirt he wore. Is he even aware? 

And his eyes.

You can't even begin to mention the amount of times you'd shamefully indulged yourself with those eyes of his in your mind—sometimes, you dream of them too. Who could blame you though? Yeah, you definitely feel normal about him. You barely interacted with him, only ever seeing him the rare times he'd come home. You assumed he's ex-military or a military personnel on leave since he's been back home more than usual in the recent months. You wouldn't know, though, considering the most words you said to him was "hi" when he moved into his flat a year ago. That, and you're generally kinda afraid of strangers.

"D'ya have a staring problem?"

Right. You can't just stare at someone and not say anything, that's creepy.

"No," you shuffle on your feet a little. "Do you?"

He scoffs with a small shake of his head and closes the door behind him before walking away to the lift. Your brows furrowed, lips pursed, slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and chased after him. You both stood in front of the lift for a good (incredibly awkward) minute before the familiar ding sounded. Once inside the lift, you can't help but feel the unspoken tension rise as the two of you stood close to each other.

You swear he had his eyes on you for a moment, but you don't dare to call him out.

"...you come ‘round often?"

He snaps his gaze to you instantly.

Great. Your mouth has no filter whatsoever. Mentally slapping yourself, you open your mouth to whisper an apology; he beats you to it, though, a soft chuckle from him and it strikes into your heart like a stake.

"I live—lived here," crossing his arms, his eyes softened a little. "Just got discharged from the military a couple of months ago."

Bingo.

Silently patting your back in your head as you nod at his response and humming. "That's cool, what did you do for the military?" it may have been too much to pry, but it doesn't hurt; plus, it's pretty much the end of the world as you speak.

He stood there, completely rigid from top to bottom. The silence was deafening this time around, so much so that when the lift sounded once more with a loud ding, it made you flinch.

"What didn't I do for the military?"

That's...

"...is that rhetorical?" None of you walked out of the lift, just standing there in each other’s company. Oddly, you don’t mind it.

He shrugs, getting out of the tiny space—and you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in your breath when you finally exhaled through your teeth.

I guess I have my answer.

It doesn’t take long for you to catch up, nor for the two of you to realize what an utter mess the outside world had become when he opens the door.

People roamed about, running ‘round and tripping over each other and on top of each other, cooperating on wreaking absolute havoc on the streets. Lots of screaming, too much of it, in fact. Jogging down the stairs, someone almost bumps into your side, but not before he pulls them back with a frown on his face that had the poor guy screeching and scrambling away from his grip.

Oh, now come to think of it—

—“Hey what’s your n—“

A hoard of groans catches your attention, cutting your words short; you turn toward the source, squinting at the scene from afar. A group of people started dashing toward your way, their faces an evident blur of confusion, surprise and horror. It would make sense, because as they slowly get closer and closer, a giant figure gradually appears in your vision—and it looks fucking disfigured—like the textbook embodiment of an eldritch creature. Sure enough, it breaks out into a sprint, chasing down its next victim; pulling the back of an unfortunate businessman’s suit and it flung the man over its head. You can hear the poor man’s scream echo in your mind as you watch his body fall right into the creature’s mouth; next thing you know, his head snaps off in its jaw.

Your blood runs cold, the shock from seeing such a sight sends an unnerving terror through every nerve; your breathing gets heavier, beads of sweat breaking out from your skin—yet you can’t take your eyes off of it. Ever watched a car crash? Yeah, exactly that.

“Uh oh.”

You don’t know what to do; years and years of medical training in school hadn’t exactly prepared you for this situation, even if some of the things you’ve seen are horror beyond comprehension. Your body doesn’t cooperate with your commands no matter how hard you try; they’re stuck to the ground like glue, and as the horrid looking creature slowly bolts toward your way, the way you’ve become a mere spectator to your body should concern you, but your eyes are transfixed on that thing—

—it wasn’t until someone roughly tug your forearm that you realized you almost fucking killed yourself by standing still too long.

“Fuck, come on, let’s go.”

You should’ve probably questioned why he’s remained so calm despite the calamity surrounding him. It’s an admirable trait, really, a part of you wants to thank him profusely for not leaving you behind; in the span of time you spaced out, he could’ve easily gotten away in a fleet—like a gust of the wind, and you wouldn’t have noticed nor would you have blamed him. So much for being medically trained. 

He ran, and you trailed right behind him. Even during such a dire moment of your life, you have to try your hardest to not get distracted with the way his muscles contract as he swiftly moves along with the breeze. No time for thirsting, you stare at his arms, how they effortlessly flex with each step, Okay, maybe a little bit of thirsting.

You’ve no idea how long you both ran; doing your best to dodge every obstacle lunged into your face, but with the soreness slowly creeping up your soles, you wonder if you could keep up—Semen, on the other hand, is doing just fine. Just keep pushing, after all, how hard is it to run forever? Super fucking hard apparently; unfortunate for you, the conveniently placed fallen pipe on the ground became your nemesis as you missed a jump and fall on your fucking face. Your duffel bag cushioning only your left arm, body absorbing all the impact from the fall.

Ouch! wouldn’t even describe the pain you were feeling. You might have a broken nose because it sure fucking feels like it. 

Semen immediately halts, his head snaps back as if his gut instinct told him you stumbled and fell. He’d be correct; attempting to get on your elbows can only get you so far, your adrenaline runs out too quickly—and suddenly it feels as though your body has been lit on fire. Well, you’re being dramatic, but your ankle sure doesn’t feel fine like it did a minute ago. You try to stand up, and Semen crouches down in front of you with his hands extending out to help you up; but the harder he pulls the worse you cry out. When you try to move your right ankle it just fucking hurts like a bitch. 

This is it, you think; your breath coming out haggard and harsh, I’m gonna fucking die. 

“Just—go, just go, I think I sprained my ankle,” holding back furious tears, you sniffle. “Leave me and run, it’s okay.” God, was it ever this hard to let someone go? Even if the selfish part of you wants him to stay. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, people and vehicles running by your bodies and their cries fill the void in your head—not their fault they prioritize their lives over yours—but it still stings your eyes to think about. People really do show their true colors in the most desperate times.

He reaches over, and you almost swatted his arms away—his stern gaze told you to stop, and you did.

Flipping you over in an instant, his arms hook under your back and knees, hoisting you into his arms as though you weighed nothing. In a feat of panic, you push against his chest; you can’t stress how much you’d rather not be the reason he’s held back and be killed for it. He sends you a final warning look; a stare so chilling it had you reeling back your arms into your chest and obediently lay against his.  

Impressively, he maneuvers around everyone else with ease, dodging and zig-zagging, only bumping a few shoulders here and there. Worry clouds your head; what if he trips? Or better yet, what if he realized you’re not much of use and dumped you on the streets? It’s absurd you’d even have the luxury to overthink while he’s busting his ass to save both of your lifes—how the fuck are you supposed to make up to that? You can’t bake him your infamous croissants (you’ve mastered the craft), you doubt appliances are as convenient in the wild as it is in homes—you hope he’ll find a place to hide soon; he can’t run infinitely. 

Maybe you should stop thinking too much useless shit and start strategizing instead.

Okay, it should be easy; your eyes frantically search the surrounding area: the alleyway? No, way too risky. Run into one of the homes? Still risky, and those nasty creatures were breaking into them from what you saw last. Fuck, you wish you’d bought that expensive ass car few weeks ago when it was on sale, then again, who knew you would require it so soon? Wait, did he have a car? You don’t think so, his designated parking slot has been empty since forever.

As he kept sprinting on, you noticed more and more of those zombies started pouring in from multiple angles—it would be harder and harder to avoid their attacks; you try not to dwell on the gruesome sights of people being mauled down the streets. Out of nowhere, a mangled arm lunged at you, though he swerved just in time to avoid; you didn’t even have time to register what occurred until you blinked again. 

“Was that—holy fuck,” your body involuntarily shivers at how close you were to dying right then; all his efforts would’ve gone to waste. It served as a reminder that death is now only a mere hand reach; one wrong breath and say bye-bye to your life. 

Mortality is such a fragile thing.

At least you don’t have a family making you worry to death about, just good ol’ you—always been you.

Does he? Eyes drifting over to his face, you trace the scars on his neck with an invisible hand. You’d have to play 21 questions with him later, if there’s a later. Seeing how things are moving, you’re slowly coming to terms with the concept of death; for some odd reason, you just know he’d keep you alive as long as he can—you will too, with him. God, you grunt, this feels so sappy. You have to constantly remind yourself that you’ve known your neighbor properly for less than an hour; don’t get too attached. It only ever comes back to bite your ass.

In your peripheral you notice a sluggish zombie digging into the driver’s side of a sizable car through the broken window—blood splatters the inside of the car’s windshield as the zombie dives further in. The car is alive, tugging at his shirt, you hastily gesture toward the spot with a shaky finger. Peering up, you don’t miss the way his brows knit together and how his lips are pulled into a thin line—he understood soon afterward; and switched his path to match the direction of the vehicle. 

He’d have to fight with the obscene thing for it, but it’s worth a try, even with you in his arms.

Approaching it, he doesn’t hesitate to kick a leg up to hook it under the weighted zombie and throw him down to the biting asphalt; just as it was about to spring up—he stomps a leg over its head without a hitch. Oh my fucking God, excuse your blasphemy, that’s the brain matter. You would know how a human’s brain looked; with countless hours spent plastering your head onto your textbook about How To Surgically Remove a Brain for Dummies the image practically tattooed itself on your mind. It’s never a good view, the textbooks can’t accurately reinvent the feeling of disgusting sliminess into their pages after all. 

Your knight in shining armor doesn’t prolong his luck; throwing the driver’s door open, he ducked his head into the driver’s seat (not before chucking the dead body laid in the seat out), sliding you into the passenger side; you have to awkwardly make fit for yourself in the seat as he rushed into his side and pressed down on the brake, slamming his door closed. There was no time to relax, though, upon seeing him toy with the car, people started piling over the trunk, clawing at the metal slate with their bloodied nails as more zombies lurked closer—few unlucky numbers were dragged away from the car, leaving a myriad of gory handprints behind on the trunk. 

He grits his teeth, he holds an arm out in front of you; confused, you turned to him as he slammed down on the acceleration. 

“Oof—” That’ll knock the wind out of you.

It’s proven to be challenging for him to drive down a road filled with civilians; but soon enough, people started parting ways for him and a few other vehicles to pass through, afraid of being hit by a car. 

“Buckle up, love.”

Huh? Love? 

On the outside, you’re as calm and cool as you can be: you know, in a zombie apocalypse with your handsome neighbor driving you to (hopefully) safety; the inside…it feels as though your heart soared into the sky—you know it wasn’t meant to be flirtatious, but damn it, a girl can dream. Scrambling your hands to reach for the seatbelt, you grimaced at the sight of gooey matter dotting its material, you buckled up anyway; better safe than sorry. And because he asked so nicely, your heart flutters once more.

He drove on for quite a while, managing to duck and swerve others on the road (albeit with a lot of trouble) and eventually reaching the highways—not that it was far, but you’ve never exactly drove, or been outside your little area. Why would you need to? Everything you’d ever need was there: a delicious shawarma shop across from your flat, embroidery store…in case you needed some embroidering done, a family-owned Indian restaurant that served the best naan and dal—point is, you’ve pretty much got everything covered in your small area.

But why do you feel like you’re missing something…

…your fucking duffel bag. 

Everything was in there—your ID’s, necessities, your fucking family photo back when you were a baby; it all holds importance to you one way or another—

—and they’re gone.

Slumped against your seat, you hadn’t even realized your shoulders started convulsing until teardrops fell on your curled fists in your lap. How could you be so fucking careless? Tilting your head down, your hands fly up to rub away stray tears that can’t seem to stop falling from your eyes regardless of your effort; you hope he hasn’t noticed (he did, eyes squinting in worry and unsure) because you seem pretty fucking pathetic right now. 

(He doesn’t mind, he’s more worried your tears will drown the both of you before getting to the motel)

“We’re,” for some reason, words get caught in his throat—congealed, like an immovable lump—watching you silently sob to yourself from the side. "We're going to a motel."

He shouldn’t care; he doesn’t know why he does, especially since you’re still a stranger (that he saved, again, he’s not sure why) he coincidentally shared a hallway with for about a year; he barely knew you, either, only knowing you by name because he had seen it stamped on a few mails that fell from your mailbox. He also knows that you bake, a lot, often times the smell would traverse through the small cracks underneath his door and reach his senses—he’d debate knocking on your door each time, he wouldn’t know what to say though: “I smelled your baking, they smell amazing, can I take the whole thing?” or “‘Aye you’re actually kinda fuckin’ cute.” 

Yeah, he’s not too good at conversing with strangers either, especially a cute one like you.

And now that you’re sitting right next to him, shoulders no longer heaving as he keeps driving down the vast highway, he’s not so sure what the next move should be. A couple of quick glances let him know that somewhere along the way, you had fallen asleep, head lolled against the window, your chest rising and falling with a silent rhythm. The sun is setting, the warm glow casts down on your figure—you look like an angel.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, of course—but deep down, he knows he’ll keep that image of you and engrave it into the back of his head.

And he knows just the place to take you to.

[fraterribilis]

Clockwerk's Ruminations

Art by @slightly-gay-pogohammer

He had awoken on a strange beach, in a strange body. When he opened his eyes, it was as if he was looking at his own corpse. It had been harrowing to watch as his priceless cybernetic body eroded in a matter of seconds. The metallic frame had withstood being submerged in lava, but in an ironic twist of fate, looked as if it was corroding in the tranquil waters of the Seine. That his own mind hadn't perished as well following the destruction of the Hate Chip, proved that there were still mysteries to that fusion of technology and sorcery that not even he fully comprehended. It had now been weeks since the transfer of minds. He had managed by scavenging his way through the Parisian underground, and eventually found an abandoned and decrepit hostel in the 19th district that he had made his abode. It had been difficult (not to mention demeaning) to adjust to eating and drinking again; He hadn't been metaphorical when he had told his sworn enemies that he had survived for hundreds of years on a diet of jealousy and hate. One thing that had come easy to him was killing over said food and drink. The claws of his new body were not too dissimilar to the talons of his old one, and made for adequate weapons. This very evening he had to fight a homeless canine for a piece of fast-food, and though his condition made the struggle harder than it should have been, he had triumphed nonetheless. While the hunger for revenge still growled within, his physical hunger had been satiated, and he returned to the hostel to rest and reflect upon his situation. The rags he had been wearing were worn by weather, blood and other bodily substances, and in dire need of replacement. For now he was willing to forgo clothing entirely.

As he began to undress himself, he turned to a nearby mirror. He took a moment to examine his new body. Had he been any other base being of carnal desires, he might've considered her attractive. There was a sinewy strength to these slender limbs. Lithe athletic muscles hidden under violet fur. Whoever this Neyla-person had been, she had possessed an acrobatic physique that would've rivaled many of the Coopers that he had faced. If the police-reports were to be believed, she was also a skilled manipulator. She had been able to play the Cooper-gang, Interpol, and her fellow Klaww-gang members against each other, all for her own personal benefit. An admirable intellect indeed. And yet, despite all her guile she had dared trespass within his exalted frame. Foolish tigress! No being may inhabit Clockwerk’s immortal body but himself. Were it not for her meddling, he might have regained control of his old body, and he wouldn't find himself in this unfortunate conundrum right now! The fur was soft to the touch. It wasn't quite like the plumage of chestnut feathers he had possessed in his youth, yet it still conjured an almost nostalgic feeling in him. There was a comforting warmth radiating from a body of flesh and blood. One not found in a frame of cold ageless metal. How long had it been since the last time he had inhabited an organic body? How many centuries? This body was still young, in it's prime. Truth be told, he wouldn't mind spending a few more weeks in it. A few more years even... No. He could not allow himself to be carried away by that temptation. Exquisite as it might be, this body would eventually grow old and die like any other. His last brush with death had been dangerously close. He hadn't lived for this long to simply allow himself to end like some lesser mortal. He had survived for centuries, millenia! He had witnessed as environments change and adapt to the times. He had seen entire species go extinct only for new ones to take their place. He had seen empires rise and fall, but he had outlived all of them! He had outlived the Pharaohs, the Shoguns, the Czars! He would outlive the Coopers as well! He would outlive the universe itself if he had to! He would create a new frame, and a new Hate Chip. One more resilient than his last one. He had done it before, he could do it again. The jaws of Ammit would not catch up with him this time! Not now! Not ever! Clockwerk is eternal! Clockwerk is superior!

______________________________________________________________

For a few years now, I've made several attempts at writing a Sly-fanfiction, that was meant to serve as a proper sequel to Honor among Thieves. However, I decided to abandon the project, when it became obvious I was never going to finish it. There was however ONE chapter in particular that I was actually quite proud of, and thought it could stand on it's own. This is that chapter (with a few adjustments)

If it wasn't obvious, the premise here is that during the climax of Sly 2 Clockwerk's persona overtook Neyla's mind, and her body was ejected from the frame. So what we're dealing with here is essentially a reverse Clock-la; Clockwerk's mind trapped in Neyla's body (a Neyl-werk if you will)

My original implementation of this plot point in the fanfic was even more convoluted, but standing on its own I think it really holds up.

Clockwerk returning is a common feature of Sly-fanfics, and a pretty contentious one. On one hand, it sort of undermines the entire plot of Sly 2, which was all about destroying Clockwerk for good. On the other hand, Clockwerk is a really cool villain, and I want to see more of him. Trapping him in Neyla's body was a satisfying compromise I thought, as it allowed me to explore his mentality and worldview, while still honoring the events of Sly 2, along with putting him in an interesting disadvantaged situation.

I hope you enjoyed it!

Once again, big thanks to @slightly-gay-pogohammer for the accompanying artwork.

[whatifitoldyousomethingcrazy]

Lemon Zest

Azris Week 2025 (Day 2: Slice of Life)

Word Count: 1,056

Summary: It's Eris' birthday, and Azriel decides he's gonna bake a batch of Eris' favorite cookies. There's one problem though. Azriel is terrible at baking.

Notes: Hey yall, so ik this is a little different from other fics topic-wise but I've had this idea on my mind for so long. Since i dont have a ao3 account and this is a one-shot, I will be posting the whole thing on here. Sryyy!!! What to expect is cheesy endings, platonic elriel friendship, and it's completely in Azriel's pov.

Enjoy!!! @azrisweek

Azriel stood in the center of his kitchen, surrounded by a battlefield of sticky bowls, flour, and sugar. Behind him, smoke billowed from his oven. He'd set the temperature too high. Again.

The Night Court's ruthless spymaster, torturer and shadowsinger. And he couldn't even work an oven right.

His shadows sifted through his hair and near his ears, bringing whispers of concerned residents who lived on the same apartment floor. They'd smelled the smoke. Azriel heaved a sigh, and then coughed, the cloying burnt scent in his lungs. He got to cleaning up. Just when he was putting away the last pot, his shadows reported to him of footsteps outside. Light and feminine, yet carrying surety. Elain. Her footsteps neared his door.

“Alright, alright, I hear you…” He responded.

Once he heard the knock, he opened the door to find her carrying a paper bag, the smell of bacon and spices wafting from it. His mouth watered. On closer inspection, it seemed that this time she had forgone her usual gauzy dresses for a powder blue sun dress.

“Elain,” He said by way of greeting. Azriel stepped aside to let her in, giving her a warm smile. “What brings you here?”

“Well,” She acknowledged, her doe-brown eyes scanning the hall. “I was coming to give you dinner, but then I happened to find that the whole floor smelled like the aftermath of one of Lucien's moods after a particularly heated debate with Tamlin. Will you indulge me on why, Azriel?” Though her complexion was one of composure, her slightly upturned mouth and singular raised eyebrow betrayed her true emotion.

Elain and Lucien Vanserra had been mated for months now. Despite their rocky past, Azriel couldn't help but be happy for the pair. Both now radiated a new kind of glow, different from their usual, and they seemed happy too.

Lately, Elain and Azriel had even pushed past the awkward phase left behind by the unsaid confessions and discreet, uncomfortable glances. The two of them warmed up to each other enough that one might even consider them friends.

Especially since Azriel and Eris had announced their own status as lovers to his family. The Inner Circle had been...accepting. Well, as accepting one could get of their worst enemy. That being Eris Vanserra.

Shit. Eris.

He'd almost forgotten his baking conundrum, why he was doing it in the first place. It was Eris’ birthday today, and Azriel would be meeting his lover in his secret cabin in the Autumn forest. He'd been trying to bake lemon- flavored cookies for him as a gift, they were Eris’ favorite after all.

“You see, Elain,” He sighed. “I was trying to bake cookies for Eris.” But even though I strike fear into the hearts of most enemies, the only one who doesn't cower is my gods-forsaken oven.

He let that part go unfinished, hanging in the air between them.

Elain nodded, as if reading his mind and took a seat at his counter. If she noticed the charred crumbs peppering the countertop, she didn't say.

A thought occurred to him, swift as his daggers.

“I was wondering if…I mean you're really good at baking from what I've heard, and…” He suggested sheepishly.

“You want me to help you.” She finished.

He only nodded in affirmation. Gods, this was so embarrassing. She thought for a while, presumably weighing in her own schedule, and Azriel's pathetic state.

“Sure!” She said at last. Elain clapped her hands together resolutely, a beam that only seemed to brighten her perpetual radiance on her face. “But let's eat first.” She added pointedly.

******

An hour and a half later, both of them stood over their finished products. One batch of 12 lemon zest cookies, and just in time, for the stars had begun winking over the horizon.

Elain looked up at him, a small smile gracing her features. Her cheeks had taken on a rosy shade during their work. Azriel felt his own lips curve in response.

He beheld the little box in front of them. In it, lay the pale white sweets, a thin layer of soft yellow frosting glazing them. For that added zest. Tentatively, as if afraid to ruin them, he took the box into his arms. He tried to thank Elain profusely for her help.

Instead, she'd only smiled knowingly, and encouraged him towards his balcony so he could take flight. Waving to him when he tucked in his wings in preparation.

As he dropped from his floor, which was the highest, Azriel snapped out his wings, sending a thunderous boom into the night air. A declaration to Velaris. Its city lights twinkled below him as he rose rapidly. The city at night mirrored the stars that no doubt shone above him, stark against hues of inky black and midnight blue. Like a reflection on water. It was times like these where he would've taken the time to really appreciate his City of Starlight.

Yet, he had only one destination tonight. One goal. One purpose. As he neared the ancient wards that layered the protected city, he prepared to let his shadows bridge the gap between Velaris and the Forest House.

Between him and Eris.

His blood was warm and erratic in its pace at the prospect of getting to see the Autumn Prince. One wingbeat. Two. The shadows enveloped him, spitting him out moments later to the view of ruby and topaz canopy. The leaves were like jewels illuminated by the moon. Amber like Eris’ eyes.

He careened toward a clearing a safe distance from the House, from the party being held in his lover's honor. The party Eris’ had no doubt escaped from, risking discovery by Beron to meet him.

All for Azriel.

The thought filled him with a strange feeling, warm and bubbly. It excited him. Sent his heart awry and made his mind giddy. Made him think of open, melodious laughter. Of crimson hair against midnight black. Of opalescent skin against his own scarred, brutish hands. Of shared past. Of possibly shared future.

That's what it was. Hope. Something Azriel hadn't dared do for so so long. Hope that maybe, just maybe, he could have this. For as long as he wanted. Till the end of time. He would fight for that, hope, future, and whatever else meant that his Eris would be involved.

And so, Azriel, flew toward the clearing. Toward the flash of crimson hair under a willow. Toward Eris.

Toward hope.

Guys, guess what song inspired this

ffgghhiomngsajggjsktstisylulcjlvkblpjulykstislhchlfylclyditdhcjlgip chat we're working on different time zones time here.... 💔💔💔

[noblelightfighter]

A Minstrels Tale

how Tore and Nara ended up at Goth GAR Night

I will probably update this later with better drawings

It was at times like these when Nara questioned her friendship with Tore. She had instinctively wrapped her arms around him when they collided while he held her head against him to protect her from whiplash and caught them both with his other hand so that he didn't completely fall on top of her. “Soooooooo, I have some news!” He gently sang over her with a big smile on his face.

Nara groaned into his cape. “Lovely.” It honestly wasn't uncommon for Tore to make surprise jumps on his friend Nara from time to time, but she noticed at some point that when he did do this particular tackle he was especially excited about something. And today was no exception.

Why couldn't he be normal?

Because normal is boring!

“Whad’ya do this time?” She asked, her voice muffled against his chest. At least when he did tackle her, he made sure that she never hit her head.

Tore quickly pushed them both back up to standing on their feet before he started his excited ramble. “Okay! So there was this kid walkin around Coruscant-” Nara made a face of disgust, “-a different Coruscant I promise-” her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “-anyway this kid was in the pits of despair because a band they had hired bailed on them last minute and they really needed one for this theme night tonight-”

“You did not-” Nara cut him off, looking shocked. She knew what he had done now.

Tore wiggled his eyebrows knowingly. “I DID! So we need Goth costumes and music for a gig at 79’s tonight!” Tore immediately started hoping off to the music room of their ship-

I should mention that we're on a ship of sorts-

Leaving behind an exasperated Nara in his wake. “Tore! Get back here!” Nara chased after him. “It'll take at least a week and a half to get ready for that! What were your plans for fixing that conundrum?!”

Tore spun back with more excitement in his eyes. “So this is the crazy part! In this universe, there's a back room with portals from the other alternate universes and they're all convergin in that bar! Just for a theme night!” Tore was practically vibrating from excitement. “We can use a time portal to get there with plenty of time to prepare! IT'S FANTASTIC!” He jumped wildly into the air and nearly crashed into a few guitars and lutes, earning a head shake from Nara.

She was smiling though as it meant that they could take all the time they needed to make outfits and create a song list for the evening without so much rush. But something about this seemed a little off. Tore was way too excited about the fact that they were going to use a time portal. “A time portal would be nice, but what are you really excited about?”

He turned menacingly back towards her while cackling like an evil scientist.

Oh great.

“Anythin could come through those portals! Monsters, bounties, a rare and mystical artifact! The possibilities are endless!!”

Nara looked at him deadpanned. “You're bored aren't you?”

He hung his head and arms dramatically. “I. Am. SO BORED! I'M GONNA TO TEAR DOWN THAT HOUSE JUST SO I CAN REBUILD IT!” He pointed outside to where, if there was a window, you could see a lovely two story house that they had just finished renovating. And knowing Tore, he would do just that.

Nara only nodded. It had been some time since they both had come to this nice island where it was peaceful and full of friendly people. It was a good project that lasted about five months as a way for them to relax, but Tore was a man on the move. That was just how he grew up as his parents were travelers and didn't settle in one place too long. So it was only natural that he would become antsy, looking for a new project or a new adventure or battle. But music was the only thing that could keep him grounded in a place for a long time as long as there was a need for musicians. She placed a hand on her hip and gave him a knowing smile. “So you're taking care of the music?” As much as she questioned Tore, she knew what he needed in order to stay in one spot, and music was his greatest passion. Plus, it didn't hurt to have some mischievous fun. Right?

Tore nodded his head as he saw that his friend had jumped on board with the idea. “And you'll handle the outfits?” He used to think that theme attire wasn't needed until he stayed at her family's estate for five years-

(the longest he ever stayed put, I might add)

-and saw how the many different costumes and clothing could affect the music experience. Then when he tried to make his own, it was mediocre at best. But Nara made some dazzling outfits for him and he was enthralled.

Nara nodded in response. “Just so you know, I know nothing about Goth. So I'll have to do some research.”

Tore snickered. “Me neither!”

.

.

.

After several late nights of creativity and research, they scrambled together a doable song list and outfits. “I think Goth is goin on my ‘don’t do this again’ list.” Tore commented as he flopped down on his bed with a headache.

“Agreed.” Nara spoke from under her pillow. They both found out that the style and the genre was one that they didn't particularly enjoy, but they were committed at this point and were determined to make it a great show! Plus, the excitement of portals was overriding the distaste. “Now I want a monster to come through and we have an epic battle.” She giggled.

Tore laughed. “I wonder how many times you'll be flirted with.”

“How many girls will hit on you?”

“Will there be a bar fight?”

“Underage kids sneaking in?”

Tore turned his head to look at his partner in crime. “Bingo cards?”

Nara turned her head to him and smiled mischievously. “Bingo cards.”

.

.

.

These two love watching drama and will often make cards to entertain themselves with(working on it)

Yet the set up adventure is still on it's way!

Yoinking the Grand Theft Taglist: @ghostymarni @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech @fiveminutetrash @eobe @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @feral-ferrule @ladylucksrogue @nika6q @skellymom @vimse @gargothnightzine @sunshinesdaydream @returnofthepineapple @freesia-writes @covert1ntrovert @vikushat @nocturius8015ficore @mamuzzy @risavulpes @niobiumao3 @sazzujazzu @blackseafoam @thora-sniper @foxwithadarkside @gars-weaponeer @vodika-vibes

[echotoyou]

Euphoria: Jungkook

Part of the I miss you Collection

pairing: boyfriend!jeon jungkook x gn!reader

what's inside: the cuddliest cuddle session of them ALL with your boyfriend (who is also your favorite weighted blanket)

warnings: kisses, allusions to smut but no actual smut, reader redirects when jungkook makes a move, all are happy and comfortable with the new direction

word count: 993

a/n: iiiii couldn't wait to get this one out haha this little drabble was definitely inspired by the line in seven "I kiss your waist and ease your mind" bc that IMAGE lol okay enjoy part two of the I miss you collection! I have ones planned for each member + an ot7 one -- any requests for who's next?

posted august 2024 (also on ao3)

It was finally Friday night. Work had finished for the week a few hours ago and you had a few fun plans already scheduled for the coming weekend days. You always enjoyed a good mix of planned and spontaneous activities and event and luckily your boyfriend wholeheartedly agreed with you.

You and Jungkook had just made it official a few months ago, falling into each other’s life like pieces in a puzzle. It always felt easy to be around him and he clearly enjoyed being around you too. 

With the Merry-Go-Round of Life and the end credits of Howl's Moving Castle softly tinkling in the background, you glanced down at where Jungkook had nestled into your side. You had somehow stayed awake during the film, likely because you were still sitting relatively upright, but Jungkook didn’t seem to fare as well – he had started the film sitting next to you, one hand in yours with the other holding your waist.

As Sophie argued her way into the Castle life and befriended Calcifer, Jungkook had pulled his legs up onto the sofa, becoming nearly horizontal and maneuvering himself so his head rested on your lap. Your hand had moved to soothe his shoulder, eventually reaching to rest on his waist. You’re not positive he started snoring, but it was definitely a possibility as the soft colors of the Ghibli film danced in your living room and you felt his breath even out. The night had been the perfect way to wind down from a tough week, held in the embrace of the man you adore. 

It’s perfect. And then it's not.

You're actually dying of thirst and for some unknown reason you left your water bottle just out of reach. You war with yourself for a moment, hesitant to disturb your incredibly comfortable partner when he starts to stir and stretch. You’re nearly certain he can read minds when he mumbles, “Mmm that’s such a good movie. I’m gonna get some water, do you want some?” 

Your “yes please” in reply is so quick, and his half-asleep-dark-fluffy-hair-gray-sweatshirt-wearing grin and nod make you feel like you’re falling in love all over again. Your eyes follow him into the kitchen, and you turn to sit with your knees against your chest facing the kitchen.

As he makes his way back with a glass of water in each hand, mischief glints in his eyes. He sets the glasses down on your coffee table and suddenly pulls your legs to rest on the long part of the sofa. Your small “oof” from the movement causes both of you to chuckle. He settles in the space between your legs and resumes his position from earlier, laying his head on your lap, this time with his eyes blinking up at you, a devious little smirk on his face. 

At your nod, he lifts the edge of your shirt, sliding a cool hand to settle on your hip, and kisses your waist, lips easily finding a spot that makes you sigh. 

You sigh into his touch and close your eyes, your work due dates and family conundrums floating out of your mind as you focus on where soft fingers are dancing along your skin. His hands gently grasp your waist, your hips, back to your waist, your left thigh, then your right, as he peppers kisses along your stomach. 

You feel a hand dance at your belt buckle and open your eyes, meeting his brown doe ones. His seem to have a hint of mischief today as he stares up at you. It’s been a long week though, and you’d rather not start something that’ll keep you both up late. You gently cover the tattooed hand directly on the buckle and give him the biggest pout you can muster, while whispering loud enough so he can hear, “I’m not feeling up to it tonight. Uh. Can we just…” your words die down as a bit of anxiety touches your thoughts at his potential response, “… cuddle?” 

You feel the chuckle rumble up his stomach before you hear it as he replies, “just cuddle? Baby, you know I love cuddling with you, especially if it’s what you want to do tonight. Anything else I can grab you before we commence operation: cuddle time?” His voice turns slightly terminator-y at the end of his sentence, making you laugh as you shake your head no. 

You reach over for the glass of water and take a quick sip as you feel him settle between your legs and lean his head on your stomach. His arms reach around your waist and interlock behind your back and he settles into you like a warm weighted blanket onto your body. His sigh matches yours as you gently begin to breathe in sync.

Your hand moves to stroke his soft, so incredibly soft, how the fuck does he get it so S O F T hair, pushing it rhythmically out of his eyes. It’s your favorite length right now, with little curls and a set of long bangs that you’re going to beg him to keep. With every stroke of your hand, his eyes start to flutter shut before quickly reopening. After a few minutes, his eyes slowly close completely and do not reopen. You continue for a little longer before you feel him squeeze your waist and wonder if he’s going to suggest you both move to your bed for some proper cuddling. Instead, you begin to hear soft snores as his hands relax. 

A small smile crosses your face as you take in your sleeping boyfriend. The tension drains from his face as he sinks deeper. You love that as simply as he can ease your mind, it feels like you can do the same for him. 

Your eyes also start to drift shut, the weight of his body on top of yours providing a comforting pressure similar to your beloved weighted blanket. Warm, soft, and cozy.

dividers by the amazing @strangergraphics!!!

[quicksilverlightning]

So I binged Centaurworld and have spent the last week processing and need to get it out of my system because I havent seen anyone else with this take -

I find it weird that the crimes of the General and Elk are laid at the feet of the Elktaur. After the split, the Elktaur no longer existed; the Elk and General may have each encompassed a half of who he was, but became separate entities by splitting.

The Elk and General were of the Elktaur, but weren't themselves the Elktaur. It's entirely possible I'm digging too deep into what was meant to be a Y7 kids show, but it really bugged me because intention, potential, and action aren't the same things. The Elktaur may have always had the potential to become what the Elk and General did, but he didn't commit any of the actions. Because he no longer existed. We can argue about intentions all day long without getting anywhere; partly because the show never really got into that aspect, but mostly because, in the end, what matters is action. You can intend to cause hurt without ever actually doing so - intention and potential do not make one evil/ a criminal/ etc.

Like, if I clone myself and that clone goes on to become an interdimensional war criminal, am I supposed to be punished as well? Of course not - the copy was me, until it wasn't.

This is a classic Mind-Body Problem and fits the scenario around the Elktaur - can his two component parts really be considered to be a single entity? But if they actually were a single entity, none of this would be happening at all. If we brought a whole version of the Elktaur to stand before his components, would he also be considered part of that conglomerate?

Is one not the sum of their experiences? How then, can two beings with very different experiences be said to be the same? Isn't that why, post-unification, the Elktaur has two voices?

Just to be clear, I'm totally on board with the actual events of the ending - I think killing the guy was a mercy, but that's a different discussion - but I find the reasoning to be questionable. I blame Netflix and thier pattern of canceling shows too early for the writing team not being able to delve further into some really interesting philosophical conundrums surrounding the plot. I did enjoy the show overall, but the Elktaur and his pieces were by far the most interesting thing going on. I totally understand that the juxtaposition of wacky and serious was 100% the point, but that plot thread was simply too good - it made everything else feel like a distraction 😂

[evilrhubarbandkohlarabi]

Terra's Wildlife Refuge part two

The staff fine put who is sneaking in.

Part two

It took a week of checking the cameras nightly when they saw the first clue of what had happened.  What they jad first thought was a shadow was actually another Primarch the green and black camouflage failing when he sprang over the fence to land in the blue Primarchs enclosure.   Carefully the stranger padded up and stopped right outside of Roboute’s enclosure.  There he sat and gently tapped against the enclosure, shortly there after they could make out Roboute sticking his head out and then exchanging quiet and affectionate breaths.  After two hours the stranger returned over the fence back into the woods that surrounded the shelter. 

This left everyone with a conundrum, part of the reason that the fences were the height that they were was because they had been certain that the Primarchs could not jump the fences, but that had been proven wrong. 

An investigation began into who this stranger was.  The refuge was directly in the environment that the Primarchs could normally be expected to inhabit and as a result there were some ferals who had their territory around the refuge.  The one called Jaghatai was easy to rule out as the coloration was wrong along with the behavior,  he preferred the flat meadows and being a menace to both farmers and poachers alike, it wasn’t the Ghost who had been reported in two different locations, the Dragon kept to the high peaks which left the one that they called Lion.  They called him that because he had a tendency to pop-up on rocks overlooking hiking trails after stalking hikers as if to say, I could have killed you if wanted to.  He was often spotted photobombing unwary travelers who passed through his forest, only noticed long after the trip.  

He must have been secretly visiting the refuge for a while in order to mate with Roboute.  While Primarchs hardly mated for life, they did tend to form strong pair bonds after a courtship period.  Fulgrim and Ferrus were a good example, neither of them were healthy enough to breed but they improved their quality of life and showed anxiety when split up for even the most minor of veterinarian visits.  In contrast Roboute barely showed any concern or anxiety about missing a mate, keeping the same schedule he always had, even when Lion didn’t return for weeks his schedule never faltered, even though Lion was sometimes on the receiving end of a smack for presumably being late.  While watching the videos were cute, Ms.  Euten would be coming to visit Roboute soon and they needed to have an explanation and a plan ready. 

[luxheroica]

snippet saturday

I haven't done one of these in a minute, but in honor of cracking a plot conundrum that's been haunting me for weeks, another snippet of the Mary x Matthew marriage of convenience AU.

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Anna woke to the watery light of early morning, somewhat disoriented to have slept so long. Lady Mary had sent her to bed early, anticipating staying up until the wee hours of the morning with the ball expected to run for so long. Anna had lain down expecting to catnap for a few hours before either Mrs. Reynolds– Grantham House’s housekeeper– or one of the maids woke her at Lady Mary’s ring. 

Had Lady Mary decided to stay up all night? Anna supposed it wasn’t unusual, especially if it was only just past dawn. From the quality of the light outside she would guess it was around five in the morning. She got up and dressed quickly and dashed down to the servant’s hall, anticipating that a bedraggled and yawning Lady Mary would ring for her at any second. 

Anna found Carson bleary-eyed but awake after having been up all night. 

“Good morning, Miss Smith,” he greeted her in his sonorous voice. “You look bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning.” 

“Are they still going then, Mr. Carson?” 

“I believe all of the guests have been seen off or gone to bed,” Carson informed her. “There’s only a few things left to be done.” 

Anna frowned, puzzled. “Did Lady Mary not ring for me? She sent me to bed, said she’d be up late, but I expected Mrs. Reynolds or someone to wake me. Did someone else attend her?” Anna hoped desperately that it wasn’t O’Brien– she would hear no end of the complaining that Anna slept while O’Brien did her job.  

Carson shook his head, looking troubled that apparently Lady Mary had not been attended to last night. “I don’t believe she rang, no.”

“That’s odd,” Anna mused. “I’ll just go up and check on her– she’s probably asleep.” 

Carson nodded, looking faintly troubled. “See that you do.” 

Anna crept her way up to Lady Mary’s room and eased open the door with all of the silence years as a housemaid had instilled in her. She peeked in and immediately discerned the reason Lady Mary had not deigned to ring for her last night. Her mistress was curled up in the sheets with Mr. Crawley’s arm cradled around her. The evidence of last night's pursuits was hung somewhat haphazardly on the back of a chair. 

Anna smiled to herself and busied herself with picking up Mary’s things– fortunately the velvet of the evening gown hadn’t been crushed, and just needed a good brushing down before it could be hung again. The rest would just need to go through the normal laundering. These she gathered up over her arm, ensuring they weren’t dragging on the floor. Then she quit the room as quietly as she had come. 

Once she had dealt with the laundry properly, Anna retreated back to the servants hall. Carson was still there, going over some of the serving dishes. He looked up when she entered. 

“Ah, Miss Smith,” he said, with an anxiousness to his bearing that she was not used to seeing from Carson. “I trust Lady Mary is well?” 

Anna smiled enigmatically. She was certain Carson would consider any allusion to what she found upstairs to be scurrilous gossip about the family– and he would be right. Still, to Anna’s eyes it was about time that things between Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley began to move in a positive direction. 

“She's quite well,” Anna said only. “I doubt she or Mr. Crawley will be awake anytime soon.” 

“Oh good,” Carson said. 

“Now Mr. Carson,” Anna said. “None of the family is likely to be up for some hours yet–why don't you tell me what needs doing down here and get forty winks yourself, before you pitch over?” 

“I've done it before and I'm sure I'll do it again,” Carson grumbled. “Though I suppose a little sleep wouldn't hurt.”