#i like characters the best when the stupid one manages to make the smart one bicker over something idiotic

[directdogman]

mingus content... must have more mingus/michelle content... top three best dialtown characters oat...

anyways, how old was mingus when she became mayor of dialtown? this would technically answer how long she's been mayor of dialtown for. additionally, did she used to have ANY friends as a child? would we (possibly) see her (unadmittedly, slowly, and reluctantly) become more open to the idea of forming bonds with others post-chapter three? we do see significant development within her worldviews in chapter three, but forming bonds--and god forbid FRIENDSHIPS--could be uncharted waters. you catch me, home-slice?

seriously though, you did an incredible job with her character. i think she's sincerely one of the best written characters + one of the most enjoyable for me in the entire game (gingi's also pretty up there!)

(p.s: if mingus and/or tango doesnt show up in the olandy dlc.. sleep with one eye open, mandog.)

Once Olandy's out (the script for which is now roughly 1.5x times the length of the Oliver route script, more on that later!), I'm planning to write more of the Mingus origin story! Figured since there's so many chapters planned, it makes more sense to write for a week or two straight, bang out the remaining chapters and then post them daily or something, so people don't get lost with long gaps between each part (as each chapter does form a coherent arc which may be confusing with long pauses between each chapter.) I'm looking forward to writing more of it since it's been in production for so long!

I don't have an exact date for when Mingus became Mayor, only a very rough timeframe in my head (definitely 2010s), but by the time Dialtown takes place, she's well past her first term. She was quite young, then, only being in her 20's. And no, she didn't really have friends growing up.

Part of her upbringing was having a controlling tiger parent who forced her to spend all of her time in generally asocial extra circulars, and most of her social practice revolved more around trying to form business connections/contacts that could be used later down the line. While Mingus is very well-spoken and intelligent, this idea of seeing people's value based on how useful they are to her became deeply embedded in her psyche. She never finished socially developing and outside of her relationship with her grandmother, who didn't live long enough to see her rise to power, she didn't have any truly meaningful connections.

Trapped at home, forced by her father to study many topics from business, foreign languages, theater (Hannibal assumed it would come in handy for forming upper class connections), politics and of course, family history, a young Mingus found herself relating to the story of her grandfather, stuck in his garage, desperately grasping with all his might for the thing that would free himself - and the whole world. The story made her feel less alone. That combined with how Hannibal talked about the dude (despite having no memories of his father before his memory was erased) certainly explains where Mingus' fixation comes from.

Though Mingus grew to truly hate her father, she also learned many wrong lessons from the life he forced her to lead - deciding that it wasn't the life he forced her to live that was the problem, it was HIM. She was the one doing all the work, so what did she need HIM for? She was going places and HE was the failed politician/huckster who wasn't smart or ruthless enough to take what he wanted. She planned to become as powerful as he'd always wanted her to, and to use it to punish him for the kind of man he was. Weak, stupid and without vision. In the end, she got her wish.

Mingus is not beyond saving, but her walls make it very difficult to truly help her. The fact that Tango hasn't managed to chip away at them shows you how durable they are. Glad to hear you really like the character too! She's certainly one of my absolute favourites, alongside Gingi + Crown :)

[nanamiskentos]

WHAT? LIKE IT'S HARD? ✶ choso kamo

abstract ✶ there are six physiological stages of having a crush. you just wish that you didn't have to learn this through first-hand experience. everyone said that choso kamo was a loser in high school, a quiet kid who haunted the campus with no friends. sure, he was brilliantly smart, but he dropped out in senior year. he even managed to break your heart, the glittering prom queen, with the world at your fingertips. imagine your surprise three years later, when you find yourself stuck with him in med school. what's worse? he's actually super hot now!

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

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader genre tags and warnings reader is practically a blair waldorf prototype (filthy rich, a bit bratty, spoiled), bestfriend!gojo, background gojo x geto, mentions of blood and injuries, med school, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst and hurt, fluff, kissing and making out. sukuna and yuuji cameos.

word count. 17.5k! song inspiration. crush culture — conan gray

a/n. shameless med student insert i rlly projected my full heart and soul into the anatomy lab ick. art belongs to all respective artists [will add credit!] crossposted on ao3 💖

dedication. for my dear kashika, first of all happy (belated) birthday @kasukuna 💗 wanted this to coincide with ur day but i'm late, i fear!!! you hype me up so much, send the sweetest asks and you're so damn talented that i'm left begging for an ounce of your creativity and amazing mind! your fics are so witty and well thought out and i like to think that you've spawned an incredible dumbass!bf sukuna renaissance on jjk tumblr 😭 idk if you remember but i sent you an ask on creamflix so long ago like the start of december asking you to choose between characters and au's so i tried lifting this as verbatim as i could from ur answer <3 hope you had the most amazing day ever!!

mp3. ✶ crush culture makes me wanna spill my gut out, i know what you're doing! tryna get me to pursue ya <3

You refuse to speak to Gojo Satoru ever again. Not today, not tomorrow, not in this lifetime nor the next. He’s officially dead to you, figuratively, of course. Unfortunately.

The moment he stops cackling like a deranged hyena in the middle of your bedroom, you’re going to shove him out the door so hard that he’s going to see stars. You’ll block his number, you’ll delete every photo of his smug grin, and you’re going to hire an exorcist to cleanse his essence from your life.

Except right now, your best friend is sprawled across your bed, practically writhing as he gasps for air in between bouts of ridiculous, chipmunk-like squeals. He’s still in his uniform, having crashed at your place after school, with his white shirt untucked, sleeves pushed to his elbows and his tie dangling uselessly around his neck.

“You are such a child,” you grumble, shoving your sticker-laden journal off your lap with a huff, just so you can aim a precise kick at his ribs. Satoru wheezes dramatically, clutching his stomach like he’s just been mortally wounded in battle.

“It’s -” he’s snickering, slapping the fine-thread sheets with the fervour of one trying to summon a higher power, “It’s just too good. I – oh my god, I really can’t breathe! I think I’m going to pass out.”

Satoru’s rolling over dramatically, dark-tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his hawkish nose, leaving him to look like a cherubic bird with a bad attitude.

“If only,” you mutter darkly, arms crossed over your own blazer as you glare daggers at the white-haired boy, “It’s not that funny.”

But Satoru just doesn’t listen, of course. His grin is wide enough to split his face in half, and every breath that he takes is another affront to your polished dignity, and every stupid wheeze is a reminder that you made the colossal mistake of trusting this man with classified information.

“Keep laughing,” you say, your tone low and menacing as you snatch your phone off your nightstand, “And see what happens when I play offence.”

That gets Satoru’s attention, as he freezes mid-snort. Grin faltering just enough to make you feel a small and petty thrill of satisfaction, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you say, already tapping away on your phone, scrolling past the ninety-nine notifications clogging Instagram. A certain raven-haired boy’s name hovers in your mind, one who shares the same initials as Gojo Satoru.

You’re not above sending a risky message.

Hey! Gojo’s been totally obsessed with you, ever since you bashed his head in with a spiral notebook back in seventh grade, and called him a spoilt, rich kid. He draws love hearts around your name every night. Just thought you should know, XOXO.

“Wait!” Satoru bolts upright so fast that his sunglasses fall into his lap, his grin morphing into a scowl as panic flashes in his too-blue eyes, “That’s playing dirty. Totally unfair.”

“You’re the one who laughed like a lunatic,” you say sweetly, tilting the phone towards him as if you’re about to hit send.

“You can’t be serious!” Satoru points a long, accusatory finger at you, his dramatic outrage undercut by the way his lips keep twitching, “I mean -” Another snicker escapes him as he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking again, “Like how? Of all people, you really have a crush on that guy.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s too late to enrol in witness protection. It was clearly your mistake, deciding to tell Satoru critically sensitive information. Revealing the name of the boy that you were crushing on.

And yes, your type has turned out to be greasy Tim Burton reject loners who wander around school in faded Lord of the Rings hoodies.

You’re just totally head-over-heels for Choso Kamo.

“Whatever,” you snap, shoving your phone into the pocket of your school blazer with as much dignity as you can muster under the barrage of Satoru’s relentless cackles, “You wouldn’t understand?”

“Understand?” Satoru shifts himself with all the casual arrogance of someone who, unfortunately, has never been truly humbled in his life, propping himself against one of your enormous plush pillows.

The velvet squishes beneath his weight, gold embroidery bunching, but he’s utterly unbothered. “Enlighten me, we’re talking about the same Kamo right? The guy who sits behind you in class, and doesn’t so much blink in your direction? The one who looks like he’d rather gargle glass than talk to you?”

Another pillow sails across the bed before you even realise that you’ve hurled it. It strikes him square in the face, with a satisfying thwump! Muffling his laugh as he flails, tangled in thick, down stuffing.

“He’s just shy!” You insist, your voice rising as you get up to pace. Your Prada loafers click against the polished floor, before you kick them off. “And he only acts like that when others are around, by the way. He talks to me when it’s just us.”

“Oh, sure,” Satoru sits up, wrestling the pillow aside with a theatrical groan. His snowy hair sticks up at angles, like he’s been electrocuted, “That’s probably because he’s plotting his escape route while you corner him, like a lion closing in on its prey. Poor Kamo’s the gazelle.”

“Just know that I’m blowing you up in my mind.”

Satoru huffs, “So, what is your plan now? Are you going to ask him to prom? Are we going to see a proposal for the ages?”

You pause mid-pace, fighting the hot flush that creeps up your neck. It burns brighter as you glance towards the gilded vanity mirror, for that is exactly what you had wanted. You just needed to hear someone’s validation, “Should I?”

Satoru’s grin falters for a second, replaced with a look of sheer disbelief, “You’re kidding, right? That kid hates social events. You think he’s going to go with you?”

“Why not?” You’re fiddling with the crystal perfume decanters, the bottles of skincare on your vanity, “I’ve been dropping hints, okay? Subtle ones, all that manifesting shit.”

“Subtle?” Satoru snorts, “You mean letting half the football team pile bouquets into your locker? The locker that’s right next to his? Oh, yeah. Super low-key. Very humble.”

“At least I have options,” you snap back, flicking on the lights as the sun begins to sharpen its afternoon glare. Warm golden light spills across the room, catching on the ceiling-length silk drapes, “Meanwhile, I hope you end up alone at prom. Making ugly, kissy faces at Geto Suguru, while he’s with someone else.”

Satoru groans, like you’ve truly pierced his heart, “Cruel. So cruel when provoked,” but he’s propping himself back up on one elbow, “But hey, if you really do like Kamo, you know that makes him my future brother-in-law or something. That’s cool.”

Your gasp is sharp, scandalised, “Excuse me?”

“But think about it,” Satoru continues, ignoring your sputters, “You’re practically confirmed to be Prom Queen. Do you really want to drag that guy up on stage with you?”

“I think you’re being judgemental,” you mutter, tugging the drapes close and blocking out the faint twinkle of the city skyline, “He’d have to be insane not to say yes to me.”

“Someone is going to deflate that big head of yours one day,” Satoru says, and his voice has softened just enough to make you glance back at him, “You do know he cuts class a lot, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m not being a bitch, I swear,” Satoru holds up his palms defensively, “He shows up for only half the month, you might want to check on your boy.”

You flop onto the chaise lounge, throwing an arm over your face tragically, “This isn’t the inspiring pep talk that I need right now.”

Satoru leans lazily against the gilded frame of your canopy bed, “Hey, it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But if you are that into him, then fine! Just ask him to prom and see what happens. And tell you what? If you ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.”

You narrow your eyes, “Wow, this must be serious if you’re out here wheeling and dealing like this. Are you feeling okay?”

Satoru presses a dramatic hand to his chest, his grin morphing into something faux-solemn, “Cross my heart. I’m making a binding vow, like, it’s unbreakable. Life or death.”

“Deal,” you quickly say, ignoring the sudden leap of your pulse, because there’s no way that you’re letting him see how the sudden time-pressure is making your stomach twist into ugly knots. You point towards the door with a flourish, “And as much as I love our time together, I need to get ready. So…out! Chop-chop.”

Satoru groans like you’ve just asked him to drag a boulder uphill with his teeth, slumping off your bed in exaggerated defeat. He sluggishly reaches for his discarded backpack from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder, “I still don’t get why you bother with working. You and I both know that we don’t need it,” he mutters, as if the concept of responsibility personally offends him.

“It’s just babysitting,” you gently correct, shrugging on a cashmere cardigan from the back of your chair, “And anyway, you know I need a well-rounded list of extracurriculars for Pre-Med.”

“I’d rather eat my sunglasses, one lens at a time,” Satoru shoots back, adjusting said sunglasses squarely over his face, “Instead of being stuck babysitting brats all evening. We’re not meant to be saints.”

“It’s just one kid tonight. New family, new house,” you reply, grabbing your bag where it rests by the vanity, “Anyway, I expect a full report on your prom date by tomorrow, Satoru. I’m not forgetting that vow.”

Satoru pauses in the doorway, with the edges of his grin sharpened into something that makes you pity Geto Suguru in advance, “I never disappoint.”

You had finally managed to shove Satoru out of the doorway, his obnoxious laughter echoing faintly down the hall. The quiet that follows is a relief, albeit short-lived. You’re left standing in the stillness of your room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the text with the address of tonight’s gig.

Honestly, Satoru might have a point. You, the only child of one of the country’s most obscenely wealthy families, babysitting? It’s not like you’re chasing pocket money or trying to build character. But medical school applications don’t only care about your bank account, there’s so many extra boxes to tick. Factors like being selfless or dedicated to the community.

The request had been odd from the start. Some child had called you himself, and normally, it’s the frazzled parents who handle that kind of task. His voice had been small, but determined, saying that his brother was out, and he needed a sitter for the evening. Something about the earnestness of it had softened you, though, now you were starting to regret the whole thing — seeing how far out this house was from your own penthouse.

Showing up in the Bentley with tinted windows and your chauffeur had felt a little off brand for this role. So, in the name of relatability, you had popped a piece of cherry gum and a book, taking on the bus. The sticky seats and questionable patrons had almost been enough to make you reconsider, but the suburb itself offered a strange charm.

It was quiet here, too quiet, the kind of place that might have once been picturesque, but it had gone soft around the edges. The homes were older, cozy but tired, with paint peeling in places and lawns that were overrun with weeds. You wrinkle your nose as you step off the bus, weaving through tufts of stubborn greenery and abandoned toys in the yard.

The house that you’re looking for stands a little crooked, but sturdy. It’s faded shutters are barely hanging on, and a basketball hoop leans precariously over the driveway. There’s a small, red toy car that’s entirely faded and scratched, sitting forgotten near the porch steps.

Just as your knuckles hover over the worn wood of the front door, it swings open with such force that you nearly stumble backwards. A blur of motion catches you off guard, and you’re suddenly face-to-face with a tiny, pink-haired whirlwind.

The boy’s grinning up at you, wide and gap-toothed, with big golden eyes. His hair is wild, a fluffy crown of rosy strands over a dark undercut, and his scraped knees are haphazardly patched up with dinosaur bandages.

“Wait here! I’m going to get my brother!” He chirps, his voice bright and slightly whistly, thanks to the missing tooth. Before you can get a word in, he’s gone, sprinting back inside with the energy of an overeager puppy, leaving you stranded on the porch.

You shuffle awkwardly, glancing down at the scratched paint on the doorframe. There was something endearing about the child, and you’re starting to feel less apprehensive. That is, until the door opens again, and time slows.

Your heart stutters, skips, and then plummets. As if someone’s dropped you into an industrial freezer. Standing there, with one hand resting lightly on the kid’s shoulder, and an expression that’s one part confusion and one part disbelief, is Choso Kamo.

It’s as if the universe has conspired against you, playing its most cruel and ridiculous joke yet. Tall and broad, with tired eyes that sweep over you in slow recognition. Dark mark twitching across his face, like a deliberate smudge of ink.

Choso’s blinking, startled to see you here, though his usual stoic expression has yet to crack. Meanwhile, your inner monologue is screaming a symphony of pure panic. You can already heal Satoru’s stupid squeals in your head.

The pink-haired boy tugs on Choso’s arm, “See, I got a babysitter! Isn’t that cool?”

Choso glances down at the kid, then back at you, his lips parting as if to speak.

“Uh, hey,” you manage. The picture of eloquence, the master of the verbose elite.

It strikes you, with almost absurd clarity, that you’ve never seen Choso outside the campus bubble. No dim library corners, no lab tables cluttered with textbooks, or heavy beat-up laptops parked in front of him. Gone are the oversized hoodies thrown over his school uniform, or the baggy jeans he dons when he forgoes the dress code entirely. Instead, he’s here, standing in the soft glow of the broken porch light, wearing a loose black tee and dark track pants.

His chestnut hair is free from the two greasy, spiky knots that he favours on his head, falling softer around his face. Your traitorous heart lurches, feeling a sharp pang of betrayal.

“You’re the babysitter?” Choso’s voice cuts through your spiral. Raspy as always, roughened like rock salt, but there’s something else threaded into the question. A flicker of irritation, and confusion. As if he’s struggling to reconcile you, with the person standing on his doorstep.

“You didn’t know when you booked?” You shoot back, aiming for casual indifference, but landing somewhere closer to petulant. Your eyes flick to the box he’s holding, with contents that glint faintly in the light. Suspiciously metallic, as if he’s cradling surgical tools.

Choso follows your curious gaze, exhaling sharply, and shifting the box to a nearby table, just out of your line of sight.

“I didn’t book,” he grunts, “Told Yuuji to check the ads, and pick one.”

“And I picked the best one!” The delighted chirp comes from behind Choso, as Yuuji reappears, practically bouncing with a sunny grin. His golden eyes are locked on the ribbon-wrapped box in your hands, and his expression is lit up with unabashed glee.

You glance down at the box, containing an array of decadent artisan doughnuts. Saffron glaze, coconut cream, pistachio and chocolate. All from that impossibly chic Swiss patisserie downtown. You ignore the dull ache building between your eyes, smiling as you hand the box over, “These are for you, little man.”

Yuuji’s already snapping his hands for the box, as though you had just delivered a treasure chest of gold doubloons, “Can I have one? Please? Pretty-please?”

Choso glances down at him with a long-suffering look that somehow manages to carry an undertone of fondness, “Just one,” he warns, his voice dry but warm, “For now.”

Yuuji doesn’t need to be told twice, bolting towards the kitchen and clutching the box to his chest like a sacred relic. The faint sound of icing being smacked off fingers echoes from somewhere around the corner.

Choso watches him go, before turning back to you, his posture easing slightly. “That was nice of you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative, “But he’s going to crash hard after that sugar high. Good luck.”

You wave off his scepticism with a breezy smile, “I’m good with kids. I’ll manage.”

For a moment, the boy’s expression shifts. Something fleeting and unreadable flickers across his face, a hint of thoughtfulness or something heavier.

Another thought gnaws at the edges of your mind, a tiny spectre of dread wrapped in Gojo Satoru’s smug grin. Two hours ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, you made a pact.

You ask Kamo, I’ll ask Suguru.

At the time, it had seemed like an impossible bluff. But the thing about Satoru is that he’s infuriatingly reliable when he sets his mind to something. No matter the cost.

Which is why you’re here now, sweating under your cashmere sweater. The fabric is suddenly too soft, too warm, clinging to the nape of your neck. You, with half the school population ready to pen sonnets just for a chance to take you to prom. Jocks, debate captains, the crème de la crème of eligible dates. All overlooked in favour of the quiet boy that no-one seems to notice.

The boy whose locker was assigned right next to yours, empty and cold steel. While yours was glittered with Polaroids, and pastel sticky notes, and the occasional folded love letter. The boy that everyone said had no friends, but he was easily the uncontested valedictorian. The boy that you desperately wanted to ask to prom.

Choso is shuffling papers on the table, avoiding your gaze like it’s a laser beam. His movements are slow, and deliberate, but there’s an edge of tension in the way his fingers linger on a set of silver keys, before he slips them into his pocket.

“What?” His voice breaks the quiet, low and rough like gravel underfoot. It startles you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Nothing,” you blurt out, far too quickly. You’re grasping at straws to keep the conversation going, “Where are you headed?”

Choso hesitates, a slight hitch in his movements, picking that cardboard box again. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore your question, but then he mutters, “Work.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity outweighing your better judgement to never press Choso Kamo for more than two sentences in a conversation.

He shifts uncomfortable, and you catch a glimpse of latex gloves tucked neatly inside before he angles it out of view, “I…clean up things,” he says finally, his tone clipped as though every word is a concession, “Errands. I’m a cleaner.”

The kind of response that’s designed to kill conversation in its track. It’s vague, annoyingly so, but you let it slide, “Oh.”

You’re this close to spontaneously combusting. The pact, the reason that your hands shake when you catch yourself staring at Choso Kamo for just a second too long. It’s either now or never. Rip the band-aid before your central nervous system completely betrays you and implodes.

Objectively speaking, you’re a real catch. Second-best grades in the cohort, from an old business dynasty that rivalled the Youngs from Crazy Rich Asians, two-time prom queen with med-school practically knocking on the door. Yeah, a dream. College applications adored you. Surely, Choso would have had to be running on a clone’s brain stitched into his head to say no.

Yet, somehow, it doesn’t make your heart beat any less erratically. It doesn’t erase the hollow pit that’s clawing at your insides. And now, you’re wishing that you had asked for advice from someone with an ounce of finesse. Like Shoko, or Utahime. Not your best friend who called himself The Honoured One.

You clear your throat, the taste of artificial cherry gum still lingering, “So, are you going to prom?”

Choso snorts, the sound entirely dismissive. But he seems to realise that you’re not joking, flicking you a glance, like he’s deciding to humour you, “What’s it to you? Need me to vote for you to be prom queen?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the flush creeping up your Burberry sweater, “Didn’t I already ask you to do that, like, two months ago?”

His lips twitch, barely, like he’s holding a smile back under layers of indifference, “Yeah. You pestered me three times. And I actually did it.”

You latch onto the softer tone in his voice, “So, are you going to go, then?” You’re watching him, almost desperate for a sign, for anything other than no.

Choso’s shoulders tense, “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” The word slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, incredulous, “What do you mean can’t? Why? You need to study or something?” You’re trying so hard to sound indifferent, like you’ve got a roster of dates lined up. And well, you do. But this is the only one that you want. The panic creeping into your voice betrays you before you even realise it.

“No,” Choso replies, his tone quieter, “I really just can’t go.”

A weight drops in your stomach, heavy and cold. Is this what rejection feels like? The thought hits like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your heart’s flipping in your chest like it’s teetering on the edge of cliff, seconds away from freefalling into nothing.

You inhale sharply, steeling yourself for the words that are about to spill out.

“I want you to be my date for prom.” “I can’t go because I dropped out.”

The words slam into each other, and for a moment, everything freezes. Choso’s mouth has fallen open, the curve of his lips slack with shock. As though as someone’s hit the pause button on him, mid-thought. You blink at him, your brain becoming a skipping CD. Round and round, never quite catching the beat.

“What did you just say?” Your brows knit together in a sharp pinch, like your face can’t decide whether to wince or frown. But Choso just grimace, lips curling into a tight line as his shoulders stiffen.

“You first.”

Your fingers fidget around the cream Van Cleef that rests on your throat, tracing the cool edge of the pendant. It’s one of your mother’s newer gifts, the kind that comes with all the frills and none of the warmth. Her true transactional brand of maternal affection.

“I wanted to ask if you’d go to prom with me, as my date,” It spills out of you in a jumbling mess, like you’re tripping vowels and consonants over each other. Choso’s eyes widen, but you barrel on before he can interrupt, “I mean, I get it if you think it’s lame or boring, or you just don’t want to go. But I promise my friends are actually really nice, and you can sit with us.” The rest of your monologue trails off, crumbling to dust, “I just really wanted to ask you.”

You wish to sink into the floor, like the soft earth will swallow you whole. You can almost picture Satoru’s ridiculous proposal to Geto Suguru, no doubt involving fireworks or an airplane trailing a banner.

The air is so still, you can hear the faint crackling of Yuuji’s incessant doughnut quest from across the small house, his movements clumsy and unintentionally loud as he rips open cellophane for more than one sweet treat.

Choso’s shifting slightly, and there’s a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The pink hue is a stark contrast to his usual sickly pallor. Even his ears are a shade darker, and his jaw tightens like he’s chewing on something bitter and struggling to swallow it down. It’s hard to tell if he’s upset or just lost. Or somewhere in-between.

“You wanted to go with me?” His voice is low, hoarse, like the idea is too outlandish for him to even process. You don’t know whether to laugh or apologise.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage, your throat suddenly dry and tight.

“I dropped out of school two days ago,” Choso mutters, as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s glancing at you, with the ghost of an apology flickering across his expression, but the shock that you can’t seem to mask makes him wince, “Look, it’s not a big deal. And it’s nice that you asked, but…”

“Dropped out? Like, entirely out of school?” Your voice cracks, each word climbing higher like you’re stepping on a broken escalator, “Why? What happened?”

Never let anyone tell you that teenage love is simple, or wholesome. Full of first crushes, and sweet moments. Because this? It feels like someone ripped the floor out from under you, the air yanked from your lungs, leaving you stranded. And it’s not a pleasant feeling, being denied something that you want, for the first time in your life.

Choso shrugs, like he’s been answering this question a thousand times already. Though, you’re sure that this is the first time he’s said it to out loud to anyone, “Family stuff. Just had to.”

You try to piece this together, for this house does smell faintly of stale coffee, and the worn leather of the couch has clearly seen better days. You can tell, on some level, that something is off. That there’s no parental figure in sight for little Yuuji, just the harsh edges of whatever it is that Choso seems to carry on his own.

You can feel the words bubbling up again, stupid and reckless, “But you know you just can’t leave. You’ve got the top marks in the class, Choso. And you know that you were on a scholarship, right? For one of the most elite schools in the country? How are you ever going to get that again?”

The second they leave your mouth; you hear how self-righteous and insensitive you sound. You already regret it, almost reaching up to slap your hands over your face.

Choso’s expression darkens, his face tightens. Like a storm cloud rolling in, as his lips pull into a tight and angry line, “Back off,” he snaps, voice suddenly sharp enough to cut, “You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”

His sneer twists, not with malice, but something deeper. Harder, like he’s being chewed up by all the things he never got to say before, “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure they’ll make a big, shiny tiara for when they name you valedictorian. Maybe, it’ll match your prom dress.”

“Hey!” Your eyes well up, stupid heat of tears prickling behind your eyes, and swelling a thick lump in your throat, “That’s not what I meant.” You cannot believe that you’re tearing up, over this. Over wanting something that you can’t have, and someone who seems to have more to lose than you ever thought possible.

Choso’s lip curls into a half-sneer, but there’s a flicker of something else there. His posture shifts, as if he’s trying to fold in on himself. He lowers his voice, still low and uncomfortable, but careful. Careful, because his little brother is just down the hall.

“I don’t need your pity, okay? Or your help.” His fingers grip the metal of the net door, “I have to go now. Just look after Yuuji.”

The heavy clang of steel on mesh echoes in your ears, sharp and final. The sound lingers like a ringing in your skull as you stand there, utterly paralysed as your mind scrambles to catch up with the wreckage of what just happened. Your five-year crush crashing down in five minutes.

Your feet move, and you find yourself in the bare dining room. Yuuji’s perched at the table, with a doughnut half-eaten in his hand, a mess of pistachio cream smeared across his chin like a brave trooper. There’s an iPad, an old, scratched model, with a silicone tiger case, propped up in front of him. The screen is flashing with something, like blueberries. Bouncing in time with some peppy tune.

“Did Choso leave for work?” Yuuji asks, utterly oblivious to the emotional landmine that his brother left in your hands. His eyes are wide, curious, the innocence of a kid who still thinks the world works in neat, little boxes.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile, “He works a lot, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuji mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, sugar clinging to his lips, “He always gets upset when Uncle Kuna’ calls him in. Even after school.”

Choso has never mentioned an uncle. Or a brother, for that matter. But then again, why would he? You had never even asked for his number, never bothered to learn anything beyond what was right in front of you. You realise, with a strange pang of guilt, that you’ve built your entire image of infatuation with Choso, from incomplete sketches. Filling in the blanks with whatever fits into the tiny box you’ve kept him in.

“Hey, do you have Netflix?” Yuuji’s voice cuts through your thoughts, bright and eager. “I want to watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s favourite movie!”

The names are unfamiliar, but Yuuji’s excitement is infectious. You cannot help but smile at the boy, his messy hair and too-big shirt. It’s hard not to be fond of such a kid. You take the iPad from his sticky hands, logging into the app. All the while, chasing yourself around mentally with a baseball bat for the biggest fumble of the century.

If last night felt like a disaster, this morning was just the encore performance. And you were the unwilling star. Just the effort of peeling yourself out of bed felt like an Olympic event. And facing your reflection of swollen eyes and blotchy skin felt like punishment for sins that were way out of your paygrade.

Reluctantly, you’re tugging on your blazer, and clipping a barrette into your hair. There’s a sparkling, diamond tennis bracelet fastened around your wrist. All little things that you need to don like armour, to face your senior year, the student population and the empty locker that would remain untouched next to yours.

Satoru and Shoko are the first faces that you spot in the crowd, and Satoru’s practically bouncing down the hall, “Oh, yeah, I got it locked in,” he announces, cheeks flushed with an absurdly boyish grin, “I got it in the bag.”

He’s sliding his sunglasses down just enough to peer at you, wordlessly handing you his coffee cup, as is your morning ritual. The overly sweet, creamy warmth does nothing to ease the ache in your chest, and your lip-gloss stains the edge of the paper.

“What about you, eh?” Satoru chirps, but you must look blatantly devasted. Because your best friend’s grin falters, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“Wait, you’re joking right?” His voice is marred with disbelief, and his eyes scan the hall like he’s trying to spot someone’s dark head of hair, “Where is he? Jughead Jones lookin’ ass? Shoko, do you know where Choso Kamo sits? Because I’m going to give him a real piece of my mind and —”

You cut him off, abruptly shoving the coffee back into his warm hands, “It’s fine. He dropped out school, anyway.”

Shoko hums beside you, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a strand of cinnamon-brown hair. The chipped polish on her nails catches the fluorescent light, “Prom queen and valedictorian in one year? Not a bad run for you.”

You glare at her, and Shoko’s doe-eyed expression softens. The breeze from the open window catches her sleek hair, making it sway gently, and she shifts. Voice dropping to something quieter, more thoughtful, “That really does suck, though. Sorry.” She sounds like she means it now, her usual flippancy up in smoke, “I didn’t even know you liked him like that. Not until Gojo told me, like, two hours ago.”

Your eyes snap to Satoru who, for once, has the good sense to shut his mouth.

Shoko’s voice is subdued, “I wonder if it had anything to do with him being called into admin.”

“Wait, when?” Satoru interrupts. He’s taking another long slurp of his sweet mocha, the froth giving him whiskers.

“Three days ago,” Shoko shrugs, “Some big guy rolled up to the office. Demanded to see the principal. No idea who he was, but he was important. And rich. Like you need to be super wealthy to call the shots in a school for the children of the top one percent.”

You must look tragic, because even Shoko pauses mid-chew. Her lollipop moving from one side of her mouth to the other. She looks at you, really looks at you. You can see the careful shift in her demeanour, as though she’s considering the most diplomatic answer that she can offer you to avoid making things worse.

“Well, you don’t have to go to prom with anyone, right?” Satoru says, the words hanging awkwardly in the air like a balloon that’s just lost its helium. His consolation is well-meaning, but a bit clueless. But now, his sunglasses are perched atop his head now, leaving his eyes exposed. Icy blue, framed by lashes so long that they practically flirt with his eyebrows. For once, there’s a flicker of real concern in them, clouds passing over clear skies.

“I know,” you gripe, your voice flat as you find yourself glaring at a group of juniors who are skipping by, with their phones out in unison, clicking away like it’s a competition. Fantastic. You can already see the gossip Instagram stories by lunch, wondering what happened to you. Rumours milling about the reason for your glum expression.

Shoko shifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder, patting your arm. “I’ll see you at lunch. My treat,” she says, turning her heel for the Chemistry building. Leaving you alone with Satoru, as Shoko quickly picks her pace up to catch her Honours class.

“So,” you start, keeping your eyes on him out of the corner of your vision, watching how his fingers twitch around the coffee cup, “How did it go with Geto Suguru?”

Satoru’s shifting, as though he’s trying not gloat, but clearly bursting to tell you, “It was nice,” which is an unusually subdued, sensitive explanation from Satoru. The one who can take five hours to tell a story that you could wrap up in ten minutes. “He was really friendly. More than I thought he would be.”

“That is nice.” You’re forcing some perk back into your voice, but it comes out rather weak, “Like, genuinely.”

Satoru crumples the empty cup in his hand, tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Then, he shoots you a sharper look, “Did you actually talk to Choso, like, in-person? How did that go?”

You exhale, “Turns out I was babysitting his little brother,” and Satoru’s eyes widen slightly, “He was fine. And then he wasn’t. I asked him to be my date, and told me he dropped out. I said something…stupid. And now he’s going to hate me forever.”

Satoru stares at you, his gaze sharp, as though he’s dissecting you. And you swear that he can see right through your skin, right into your bones. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe your best friend has a sixth sense, some secret radar for picking up on these things.

“Wow,” he murmurs, a touch of something in his voice, “It really got you bad, huh?”

You bristle, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment flooding your chest. You’re straightening your shoulders, but it’s all too obvious and so fucking frustrating, “Yeah, well, I don’t even know why it matters so much.” The bite in your voice is more directed at yourself, than him.

Satoru doesn’t flinch, just tilts his head, and he’s quiet. It’s a weird look on him, soft concern, “You genuinely really liked him that much?”

The truth sticks to your throat as your chest tightens, and your eyes blur. It would be nice to tell Satoru that you didn’t really care that much. That it was never fully that serious, but the lie won’t leave your lips. The lump in your throat is palpable, and all you can do is sniffle, “Yeah. I did.”

“Do you want to cry?” Satoru’s voice is gentle enough to catch you off guard.

You open your mouth to retort, something sharp and defensive. But before you know it, tears spill as your chest constricts. It’s sudden, like a storm that breaks on the horizon.

And just like that, your best friend pulls you into him. For once, the wild energy that crackles off him is gone, replaced by something quieter and more unwavering. You can feel his shoulder under your cheek, soft and warm, salt staining the expensive fabric. And if anyone does see you sob into Gojo Satoru’s arms, while the white-haired boy pats your back, no one says a word.

But to borrow a line from Bangtan Sonyeondan, life goes on. The next few months slip by like the kind of indie film that you’d see at film festival. It’s bittersweet, and there’s a melancholy that everyone can taste in the air, especially as you all realise that this last blue spring of youth is slipping through fingers like sand.

In this haze of time, you discover a few things that you didn’t expect. For instance, Geto Suguru is, in fact, far more than the tall and brooding figure that you once shrugged off. He’s the stillness to Satoru’s sharper teeth, the quiet that counters the blue eye of the storm. He’s soft-spoken, with an easy patience that tempers Satoru’s edges. He’s become a bit of a constant presence, as they always bicker and makeup in a sort of perpetual cycle.

Spring arrives like a first kiss. It’s hesitant, not rushing in. Just tiptoes around you, tentative enough as it coaxes you out of winter’s gloom. Before the flurry of sparkly gowns and speeches, there’s Utahime’s birthday to celebrate. It’s supposed to be a relaxed affair, she insists that she has no desire for fuss. But you all show up anyway, surprising her with a giant, pastel cake that takes up nearly half the table.

Her laugh is loud, and carefree, mixing with the salt of the ocean breeze on this beach trip. Her black hair whips around her face, even as she blushes at the attention. She’s protesting, but it’s swallowed by laugher, by the sound of waves breaking against the shores.

The awards and titles are all well and good, prom queen and valedictorian. A shiny, little stamp on your high school resume, a golden ticket to the next chapter of your life. But when anyone brings it up, or someone presses too hard on the subject, you shift uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the edge of your pre-med acceptance letter like it just might tear under the pressure of your grip. No-one talks about how you’ve been visiting your locker less and less.

Satoru, of course, loudly denies crying at graduation, even as salty, shiny tears tack to his cheeks. They’re practically immortalised in every digital snapshot that you take. But for now, he’s too busy wrapping everyone in a bear hug, clutching the group that it’s the last time he’ll ever see them. Nanami’s already peeling him off, shaking his head with a worn sigh.

It's late in the morning after the graduation ceremony, as you all pile into cars, driving to a riverside café. It’s one of those places where people with money go to prove that they have money, to prove that even their breakfasts are above the meals of the common folk. But you all sit there, with the graduation ribbons still pinned to your lapels. There’s the debate over who cried the most during the ceremony (Gojo, easily, though Haibara is a close second) and who’s the one who peaked in high school. Everyone unanimously votes for Geto, who sulks as he tosses his hair out of his face, ever the drama queen.

“Bullshit,” he’s grumbling, “Just you wait. You’ll see what I accomplish in ten years.”

Satoru grins, all teeth and lazy confidence, “Yeah, what? You’re going to start running a pyramid scheme cult?”

Utahime’s voice cuts through the chatter, her white ribbon flouncing as she leans towards you, blinking at the empty space in front of you, “Where’s your food?”

You wave her off with a smile, “It’s fine. You guys can go ahead and start, I’ll just go and check.”

You hear Satoru choke around a mouthful of food, already bulldozing half his way through his plate like a bottomless pit.

There’s a pretty glass display at the front, filled with delicate chiffon cakes that glisten in the soft light. You wonder if you should have just ordered one, perhaps to share with Nanami. You know he likes desserts like this.

“Can I help you?”

Your pulse stutters as you bite your tongue, heart crashing against the rocks. You soothe your tongue over the tang of iron that blooms in your mouth from the stupidly familiar voice.

Choso Kamo.

You’d like to say that he looks good, but the truth is, he doesn’t. The hollows beneath his eyes are far more accentuated than you remember, and his hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head. Even his pale skin has taken on a sicklier pallor than usual.

“Hello?” His voice cuts through the silence, sharper this time, carrying an edge that takes you by surprise.

“Oh, uh, hey. Choso. Just wanted to check on my order,” you say, like it’s a poor prelude to small talk. It sounds far too chipper, almost artificial.

Choso’s expression tightens immediately, in an ill-omen. It’s as if he’s irritated that you even have the nerve to recognise him, to stand there in his space. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his attention flicking back to the screen in front of him with a quickness that almost feels deliberate.

“Hello.” He’s muttering back, more out of obligation than any real interest. Like it’s a formality.

The sharp, hollow feeling in your chest expands, deeper than you’re willing to admit. The last time you saw him, you had been standing at his door, and he had slammed it in your face.

“What are you doing here?” Your question is clumsy, hanging in the air, and far too intrusive for a stranger.

“What?” Choso doesn’t even look up. But then he does, just briefly, his gaze flicking to yours with the same disinterest. He shrugs, as though the query is too trivial for any answer.

“It’s just…it’s been a while, yeah?” You’re not quite sure how to word and I want to know how you’ve been.

“I’m fine,” Choso replies quickly, dismissing your question with a wave of his pale hand, “Just working around here and there.”

It’s offbeat, landing wrong. You don’t think it’s unfair to think that everyone expected more of him. One of the smartest, most brilliant minds in your cohort, who had been a shoo-in for medicine, alongside you.

The bustle of patrons behind you intensifies, but you stubbornly dig your heels into the polished tile, “How’s Yuuji?”

The mention of his younger brother softens him, just a little. A small, bashful smile tugs at the corner of Choso’s pink lips, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite know how to let it show, “He’s good. Says you were the ‘bestest’ babysitter that he ever had. Even asks about you sometimes.”

You fight the urge to smile too openly, not wanting to seem too affected by the gentleness that suddenly lingers in the space between you two, “I’m glad. And…are you still working for your uncle?”

It’s as if you’ve thrown a switch, causing all the warmth to evaporate from his features. His jaw tightens, as his brow furrows. Settling a coldness over his expression, “Who the fuck told you that?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden harshness of his words. “Yuuji mentioned it,” you murmur, quieter now, careful. The hesitation in your voice isn’t feigned, and you realise you’ve broken the golden rule of ‘never push Choso Kamo about his personal life.’

Choso doesn’t seem keen on letting you explain, as his glare cuts through you, “If you wanted to snoop into my life, just ask me your stupid questions, okay? Don’t drag my little brother into it.”

The accusation lands like a slap, stinging you more than you expected, “What? I wasn’t snooping,” you insist, defences flaring open, “He told me that himself. I didn’t even ask him anything, and I didn’t ask anything else!”

He just stares at you, eyes burnished and unreadable, but he seems mollified by your answer. Like he knows that your explanation is sincere, but the chasm is nigh impossible to bridge, “Sure. Okay.”

You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth to ask what on earth has made him so unreasonable. To dig the tips of your almond nails into his long sleeves, and demand that he treats you as adoringly as everyone else in your life does. But he interrupts you first, “Your order’s coming.”

Choso’s tone is clipped, colder. As though he’s already moved on, “And I’ve got a lot of other customers to serve. Nice seeing you again, or whatever.”

A dismissal, if there ever was one. The embarrassment rushes up your neck, hot and insistent, but you bite your tongue. You let your heels clack a little more loud than necessary, as you stomp away. You’re swivelling your head to deliver a final, withering stare but his gaze is no longer on you.

Choso’s looking at the table where everyone is sitting. Where your friends are laughing, leaning into one another as they snap their final graduation photos. Where Geto has his lips pressed to Satoru’s cheek in a rare display of affection, arms linked with Shoko and Utahime. Where even Nanami’s smiling, the sunlight leafing through his golden waves of thick hair.

There’s no anger in Choso’s eyes, or even that solitary, brooding stare. He looks almost…sad. Profoundly sorrowful, in a deep and aching way that makes your anger dissipate.

He’s looking at your friends, at their graduation certificates stacked in sleeves on the table, as though he’s lost something that he never had. It aches your chest tightly, a knot pulling at your heart.

Once, he was Choso Kamo — the quiet boy you liked in school. Then, he became Choso from the café. Soon, he'll be someone whose name you won't even remember in a few years, someone who's path you'll probably never cross again.

You find yourself blinking furiously, feeling as though you've just lost something yourself, but you fight back the salt that threatens to blur your vision before your friends see.

THREE YEARS LATER.

Your day had started off deceptively well, like a glass of water poured perfectly. Clear, refreshing, with no chance of spilling. The sun was shining, your skin looked like it was having its best day, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But of course, it didn’t take long for things to spiral, as they tend to do.

It was like playing a real-life Sisyphus game, except instead of a boulder, it was a series of small, dumb annoyances that you couldn’t dodge fast enough.

First, Satoru had texted to cancel lunch. And to be fair, you weren’t that bothered. He had been talking all week about a world-renowned professor dropping in on his fourth-years Honours class, something about nuclear engineering. And you knew that Satoru lived for anything involving theoretical mass and explosions.

Then, your favourite tote bag had decided it was done with you. The strap had snapped off with a surprising, sudden violence. Your beautiful new water bottle had hit the floor with a sickening, metallic thud. Pens rolled across the tiles like little soldiers. You had been kneeling, already late for class, muttering curses under your breath when your phone had rung.

Your mother.

And you already knew that tone well enough, that voice that could cut through steel.

“You missed the charity dinner? You know how embarrassing it is for your father and I to come up with excuses, just to explain your absence —”

Yeah, like you had personally insulted her by choosing to study for your exams, instead of milling around an event hall. You tried to explain, but it was like trying to explain Satoru’s quantum physics to the wall. Totally pointless, and not worth your time and energy. And naturally, her tone escalated, because that’s what she just tended to do. Nevermind that she was calling from some ritzy hotel in Europe, crackling over the phone.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the course coordinator paged you in for a meeting. You were still in your first few weeks of medicine, so you had been scratching your brain for what he could have possibly wanted, snapping gum as you rushed and clacked up stone steps, breezing through campus.

Now, here you were. Standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed, almost petulantly. The room smelled like old coffee, and expired textbooks as the man coughed, leaning back against his desk, littered with academic transcripts and stacked envelopes.

“Look, there’s no denying that you’re one of our most brilliant students. All the tutors and lecturers admire your work ethic,” and the professor stopped, and you grimaced. Ah, here it comes.

“But, you’ve chosen Ieiri Shoko as your partner for the past three years, am I correct in saying this?” His dark eyes are narrowed behind wiry glasses, as you frowned.

“Yes.”

Shoko had practically excelled in Pre-Med alongside you, surviving late night study rants, extreme caffeine dependency, and textbook-induced breakdowns.

“You work together well,” the coordinator adds, looking like he was trying to make this sound like a compliment, “But you need to branch out. Develop your versatility. In a noble field, such as medicine, it’s important to be able to work with others. Not rule and conquer.”

You blink at him, “Branch out? I don’t know how else to say this, but I don’t like anyone else in my class. And Shoko and I are easily the best.”

He ignores your comments, “So, I’ve thought it better to move you to a new stream. Instead of Tuesday’s clinical practice, I’ll have you attend the Thursday session, starting today. There’s a new partner for you, and I assure you, he is just as competent as Ieiri Shoko,”

You doubt it. No-one can handle the sight of infected perineum stitches like Shoko can.

It seems there’s only one card left for you to pull, “My grandfather paid for this entire wing of the building. His name is on the plaque outside.”

The coordinator doesn’t even budge, “That may be true. But you still need to grow. You will never learn if you just continue to stick with what is familiar.”

You leave the office with a sour taste in your mouth, clutching the crisp sheet of paper that’s already being emailed to your student account, no doubt.

“Collaboration,” you’re muttering under your breath, “Building character, my ass.” You’re squinting at the page, trying to decipher the name of your new stream partner, but it’s obscured by a hastily scribbled note with your classroom change.

The faint ache in your neck refuses to budge, and you roll your shoulders with a sigh. Pushing through the double doors to the anatomy facility. Immediately, the frigid air bites at your cheeks, sharp and unwelcome. These buildings always feel like high-tech mausoleums, with tables lined up like gleaming altars. Surfaces cold enough to numb your fingertips if you’re careless.

The faint, cloying scent of formaldehyde hangs in the air, sharp and chemical. It’s supposed to preserve the cadavers, but it has the unfortunate side effect of making your stomach growl at the worst times. Hunger, and embalming fluid. A combination so disgusting that you try not to dwell on it for too long.

Your lab coat is rubbing uncomfortably against your arms, and your Loewe sweater is bunched awkwardly around your elbows. It’s a long-suffering sigh that echoes the hall as you shove the heavy barred doors to the classroom.

The tutor is a stalk-like man, with perpetually knitted brows, glancing up at you as you enter, “Ah, yes. The transfer,” he’s brisk with it, “Got the note about you moving to my Thursday stream. Just sit over there, for now. Yeah, there. Your partner should be along soon. If he’s a no-show, I’ll reassign you to a different table.”

You nod wordlessly, scanning the room as you head to your non-descript, assigned corner. The faces at the other tables blur together, some curious and others indifferent. Most focused on pushing worksheets under steel clipboards.

Great. A room full of strangers with all the warmth of wet cardboard.

Sliding into your plastic seat, you pull your notebook out and flip it open, the pages crinkling and echoing in the too-quiet room. It’s a minute, maybe two of shifting uncomfortably in your chair, feeling the awkward hollowness of sitting alone at a two-person station. But the door swings open with a groaning creak.

“Perfect! Full class today, that’s what I like to see. Just head to your usual spot, and I’ll start passing the models around.”

You glance up, squinting at the figure who’s broad enough to cause a solar eclipse of the fluorescent light.

“Get out,” you blurt.

“This is my class,” Choso Kamo stares at you, equally bewildered. His bronze eyes widen briefly, flickering from your face to the lab tables, to the unaware tutor.

“Don’t care. Get out,” you scowl, speechless for a moment, “No. Don’t sit. This is my assigned stream. Don’t tell me that you’re my —”

“Partner?” Choso finishes for you, deadpan.

“Of all the people in this entire school —”

“I’m starting to feel offended,” Choso cuts in, already pulling out the chair beside you, and slinging his bag down with an air of resignation.

“What are you doing here?”

Choso’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite smile, “I’m getting an education. Obviously.”

Your gaze flickers away from his unfairly handsome face, following the motion of his hand as he shifts. There’s a single black hair tie, looped around his wrist.

But something just does not add up for you. This isn’t just any medical program. It’s the kind of rigorous, cutthroat, soul-consuming degree that requires three years of a top GPA from Pre-Med. It’s designed to weed out the faint hearted before the first semester is even over. Graduates here don’t just get jobs. They get titles, and invitations to Westminster where the British monarch probably bestows them with Dame, or Sir, or some other archaic title.

And Choso Kamo is a high school dropout, with nary a certificate to his name.

“You got into medicine?” It’s as blunt as you can get.

“What? Like it’s hard?”

“Don’t quote Legally Blonde at me,” You snarl, wordlessly taking the tray of silicone gashes from the tutor.

Choso blinks, as though he’s truly stumped by your hostile reaction, “Then don’t ask stupid questions.” He seems…different now. Sharper, and less apologetic. There’s a streak of confidence that’s as unnerving as it is infuriating. Is he taller? He seems taller.

You exhale sharply, a sound between frustration and resignation. It’s not like you can go up to the course coordinator now and say, ‘Oh, sorry! I can’t be in this stream because my new partner is the boy who broke my heart in high school. I cried and threw up on my best friend’s blazer for three days.’

But you’ve definitely given the group chat enough material to fuel their devious amusement for days, even weeks. You’re practically writing the jokes for them.

With a defiant swing of your arm, you hoist your bag onto the desk. The soft leather tanking against the sterile surface, like a gauntlet being thrown. You slide it firmly into position, the strap dangling just enough to make a point. That this is your line in the sand.

“Don’t move one centimetre over your side of the desk.”

Choso just rolls his eyes.

“They…modify bacterial ribosomes.”

“Wrong.”

You sigh and tap the edge of your notebook with the tip of your mechanical pencil. The rhythm is irregular, your thoughts too scrambled to produce anything like a steady beat.

“They inactive carbapenems,” you try again, your tone pitched with the kind of hope that knows it’s already on life support.

“Nope.”

Choso’s shaking his head, the movement loose and lazy, and it sends strands of his chestnut hair tumbling into his face. The harsh fluorescent lights above make his hair shine with an almost metallic lustre, and as he tugs a thick sweater over his broad frame, your gaze drifts.

The fabric of his white top is riding up, revealing a pale stretch of skin. There’s the faintest dusting of dark hair trailing downwards, and your eyes snap back to the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, for the briefest second as your resolve breaks.

“Just tell me the answer.”

Choso exhales, in a soft and patient sound, sliding the textbook your way. He’s tapping the page with his finger, his blunt nail landing on the highlighted sentence.

“Extended-Spectrum Beta-Lactamases hydrolyse a wide range of beta-lactam antibiotics, including third-generation cephalosporins. This contributes to antibiotic resistance.” His voice is smooth, but it carries that faint rasp that always makes it sound like he’s just woken up.

“I was close.”

“Close doesn’t get you any marks,” Choso replies, deadpan.

Your retort dies on your glossy lips, when a sharp shhh cuts through the air. You glance up, spotting a student two tables away, glaring at you over the rim of her stylish tortoiseshell glasses.

Your next sip of coffee is deliberate, making an obnoxious gurgle as you drain the bottom of your cup. Choso’s eyes flick to the order scribbled on the side, Caramel Crunch Latte, Extra Whip. His lips twitch, but what can you say? Satoru’s dropped a habit or two on you over the years.

This has become the routine over the past few weeks. The outright disdain you had initially felt had eroded, once you had realised that you were truly stuck with the man. It had become something closer to a begrudging truce, but ‘truce’ may be too generous a word.

The two of you found yourselves studying together. Regularly. Choso needed to interact more with people, and less with his old, dusty laptop. And you needed a study partner that could match your wits. Unfortunately, Choso seemed entirely oblivious to the reason you nursed an ancient grudge against him, choosing to accept your bad attitude in stride.

It doesn’t help that Choso is, well, hot now.

In high school, he had always been cute in that underdog way. Endearing, if not exactly the type to inspire confidence. He had been the subject of your sweet trope-like fantasy that you would nurture during long, dull classes.

You, the radiant prom queen, standing under a canopy of glittering lights, extending a perfectly manicured hand to him. The shy, awkward loser who’d clearly underestimated how gorgeous his messy hair and tendency to trip over his own words were. Ugh, now you’re not sure who had been the bigger loser.

But three years had passed, and the Choso that sat across from you now bore only a passing resemblance to that daydream. Time, it seemed had been suspiciously kind to him. Unfairly, even. His frame was lean but undeniably defined. His shyness remained, because you knew that he refused to correct the woman at the food trucks whenever she got his name wrong, but it had softened into something less clumsy, and more self-contained. Far less teenage angst.

The dark violet smudges beneath his eyes were still there, giving him that haunted and sleep—deprived look. And his hair was still the same stringy, chestnut mop that you remembered. But it was more of a deliberate statement now, instead of an oversight. It hung just over his shoulders, and you had heard many a passerby giggle and whisper about hot emos on campus. Like, get in line.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

The question comes so abruptly that your head snaps up like a spring-loaded trap.

“Huh?” You blink, the tip of your pencil teetering dangerously close to snapping against the page.

Choso stares back at you, his expression maddeningly neutral, “Like, are you busy?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday on Saturday, we’re going out at night,” you’re narrowing your eyes at him, already feeling your composure fray.

It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Gojo’s gone full-out with a surprise planned at some five-star restaurant. You managed to get your hands on a vintage vinyl turntable for him, courtesy of a Sotheby’s auction.

Choso nods, like he’s filing that away somewhere, “What about Sunday?”

“Sunday?” You repeat, dragging it out, “I’m free, I guess.” Against all reason, you find yourself answering honestly, even as some internal voice is screaming at you to lie and make up an excuse.

“Do you want to study at my place?”

There’s a pause, long enough for the air to grow heavy between you two. You wonder if he remembers the last time that you asked him to go out with you. Your eyebrows shoot up, and your mouth must be twitching in something close to incredulity.

Choso notices, for his ears go pink first. Then his cheeks, like someone’s spattered him with a splotchy watercolour paint. The flush sits pretty, just under the dark mark that crosses the bridge of his nose, “No, I mean, like really study. Just studying. It’s easier than being here…” He twitches, looking anywhere but you, “Yuuji would be happy to see you again, and stuff.”

And stuff. How ridiculous that two words make your heart trip over itself. Your three-year resolve to keep him firmly in the do not touch zone has basically cracked wide open. There’s a traitorous smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you manage to suppress it. Barely. Playing it off with a nonchalant hum.

“Hmm. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

Choso lives in an apartment now. Not a polished high-rise with sleek fixtures and panoramic views, but a tired and unremarkable building with flickering yellow lights that cast long and ominous shadows along the stairwell. You clutch the slip of paper that he scribbled his address on, squinting at the nearly illegible scrawl. It’s barely decipherable, a penmanship perfect for prescriptions and indecipherable notes.

In your other hand, you balance a box of cream rolls from the bakery that Nanami swears by, their golden horns stuffed with airy dairy and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The smell is warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the questionable stairwell.

The ascent feels longer than it should, each step accompanied by the faint swing of those tired lights overhead. But you bite back any judgement, you’ve made that mistake before.

Someone else is already there, a tall figure that knocks on Choso’s door with wide, lazy knuckles. Once. Twice. The man huffs, pocketing his phone and pulling out a key. There’s a practiced ease to the way he clicks the lock open, and for a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you’re witnessing a breaking-and-entering type of situation.

But there’s something familiar about the muted shock of rosy, pink hair that spikes over his head.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, deep, with an edge of irritation that makes you stand a little straighter. He looks over you once, and his eyes fall on the box of pastries in your hands. Disinterest giving way to a little bit of curiosity. It reminds you of Itadori Yuuji.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “Choso invited me.”

The man’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you’re fascinated by the tattoos that curl around his face. Even running along his jawline, and down his neck. There are silver studs littering his ear, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that there are real precious stones scattered among them.

“Didn’t know he had a date.” The man seems gruffly amused, and you stomp your heels, the sound snapping off worn walls.

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.”

“Don’t care. Didn’t really ask.”

With that, he swings the door open, stepping inside before you can. You linger in the doorway, before hesitantly following him, watching as he kicks the door shut with his heel. He seems to be making himself at home like he owns the place, peering through an empty fridge and rifling through cabinets. All before collapsing on the sagging couch like it’s his throne, sprawled out as he starts scrolling through his phone again.

You just perch awkwardly on the edge of a cold chair, as the space suddenly feels oddly claustrophobic. Your fingers toy with the edge of your notebook, as you wonder whether you need to call Choso, to see if this was all a mistake. Instead, your gaze flickers over to the man sitting opposite you.

You’re sure that he comes from money. You’ve spent enough summer holidays backstage at Milan and Paris shows to recognise the season’s latest pieces. And the crimson racing jacket on his shoulders is definitely a Dior piece that costs more than what you assume is the rent of this entire apartment complex. Plus, you had spent enough time flicking through Van Cleef’s catalogue to recognise the whirring, high-jewellery piece that sat on his wrist. A watch with an eye-like mechanism, studded with Burmese rubies. Easily the price of your penthouse.

“So, you friends with Choso?” He asks suddenly, lowering his phone. His eyes are sharp russet, locking with yours.

“We know each other from high school,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. It’s best to leave it at that, it’s safer that way. You’re playing Choso’s game, the one where you don’t share a thing about your personal life.

“Hmph,” The sound is more of a grunt than a response, and it makes you bristle. Why bother asking a question if you’re not interested in the answer?

“Did I leave the door unlocked?”

You hear Choso’s faintly bewildered murmur, almost to himself, before he catches sight of you. It’s cute, how a bashful smile creeps over his face again, almost embarrassed at the sight of you. But it darkens instantly, sharply. His bronze eyes are fixed on the man that loiters on his couch.

“Get out.”

The man is unfazed, “Why? Am I interrupting your date?”

“It’s not a date. We’re studying.” Choso’s mirroring your exact, previous words. His tone is stiff, like you’ve never heard it before. A snarl, with irritation bubbling underneath the surface.

“I don’t know how else I can stress this enough, brat. But I really do not care what you do to get off.” The man drawls, pushing himself off the couch. He’s absurdly tall, easily the height of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of the tattoos trailing up his forearm, dark ink that winds around his wrist. A startling splash of red staining the sleeve of the pristine jacket. It’s dried up now, crusting the edges of the fabric. Sort of like…

Weird. And impossible.

Choso grunts, “Fine. Get up. Go,” and he’s gesturing towards a door leading into another room, his jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck are taut, the apology in his expression at you somehow mixed with a faint flicker of regret, like he wishes you weren’t here to see this.

What happens next is an absolute masterclass on being nosy. You’ve edged closer to the door, shifting on the couch so you’re practically perched on the armrest. You can hear the muffled thrum of Choso and the stranger’s voice through the door, but it’s not enough. Curiosity is clawing her sharp nails at you, and you wonder if you should text Satoru. Or maybe drop a quick message in the group chat.

You end up leaning in closer, ignoring the way that you’re teetering on the very edge.

The conversation is low, like the rumble of thunder in the distance, but the voices are gradually building until —

“What? You did not just fuckin’ throw something at me!” The man’s voice booms so loud that you almost jump out of your skin, “What is wrong with you? Can’t even have an honest conversation these days?”

Choso’s response is tight, simmering with frustration that you don’t understand, “Nothing you do is honest. And don’t break into my place then!”

“Your place?” The man’s scoff is almost a sneer, like he’s amused at the mere thought, “Brat, let’s not forget all the favours I’ve done you.” There’s a crash, something hitting the floor with a thud, and the man’s voice bellows again, “Oi! Put that down right now. Don’t you dare throw something else at me. Fuck, you’ve got good aim, I’ll give ya’ that.”

You can hear Choso shuffle, spit something sharp in response.

“You’ve done all these things for me before, eh? Why the hesitation now? Got tired of cleaning it all up?”

Choso’s response is firm through the thin walls, “I’m done with doing your dirty work all the time.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, punctuated with a low and disbelieving laugh.

“You said that last time. But you came crawling back when you couldn’t handle looking after the kid all on your lonesome.”

“Leave Yuuji out of this!”

There’s another muffled scuffle, a loud thud that makes your heart race as the stranger growls, “Can’t believe you bit me.”

The door swings open with a suddenness that almost knocks you off your seat. Choso’s practically putting his entire back into shoving the man out with a sharp grunt, like he’s had enough.

The stranger turns, giving you a lazy, bored wave. Like he knows that it will simply irk Choso off even more. And he’s right. Choso, not having it for a second, snaps at him, “Get out. And don’t come back.”

The man rolls his eyes, but not before pulling out a pricey Italian wallet, slapping a wad of thick bills down on the kitchen counter, “That’s for this month. I’ll send a cheque next month for the little brat’s birthday.”

Then he’s gone, muttering something about bitchy, little bastard children, born on the wrong side of the sheets, with sharp teeth.

Choso’s whirling around to you, his expression unreadable and blank. Like the surface of still water that refuses to betray even a ripple of emotion. You school your features, meeting his gaze with a look of equal, quiet disinterest.

“Friend of yours?” You ask, your voice cool. But there’s questions dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you can taste them in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s flicking through the thick stack of bills that the stranger left on the counter. The sound of cash shifting in his hands is oddly loud, and you whistle low, almost involuntarily. It makes Choso look up, catching your appreciative gaze. His fingers tighten around the stack, his jaw clenching, as if to keep in whatever thoughts or words are threatening to spill out.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice is a low mutter, hard.

“I didn’t.”

Choso looks at you again, his hazel eyes softening just enough that you catch the flicker of something unsure. He lets out a low sigh, “But you want to ask.”

“Will you let me ask?” You’re pushing, your voice a little softer and coaxing than you intended. You can already see the signs, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his gaze flickers to the door as if he’s considering an exit. Choso’s like a clam, snapping shut, as if there is a pearl that he’s not ready to share.

“What do you want to know?” He’s saying this like it’s a chore, as if it is the last thing he wants to do.

You make your way to the kitchen counter, “What will you tell me?”

If Choso is irritated by the vague, passive nature of your questions, he doesn’t show it. He simply tugs his purple sweater down, sharply. “Yuuji will be sad if his uncle didn’t send him money for his birthday. He turns ten next month.”

“So that was…Uncle Kuna,” you ask, murmuring more to yourself than to him. But Choso’s sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint confirmation in the nod that follows.

“Mhm.”

And just like that, something clicks in your brain. A conversation that you had overheard once, perhaps a year or two ago. A rare moment that both your parents had been home, still too distracted to realise that you were listening. The realisation hits you hard, like a small shot of adrenaline, “That’s not Sukuna, is it? Ryomen Sukuna?”

Choso’s amber look is like fragile glass now, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”

In a world such as yours and Satoru’s, it’s quite hard to avoid gossip, and whispers that float around in the backrooms of business meetings, or in the too-quiet halls of private clubs. For all the older business-clans, Sukuna is quite the upstart. A man who clawed his way to the top, not just content with money, but power and influence as well. Apparently, he made quite the name for himself, building an empire with wealth beyond measure.

And all at the low price of being wanted in more than thirty-five countries and territories. A businessman, a crook and a criminal. Your father said that Ryomen Sukuna’s ledgers were written in red ink, fresh blood for both personal and financial debts that were owed to him.

“Why did he say that you came crawling back to him?”

Choso’s eyes flutter shut, and you can see that he’s calculating whether it’s worth the effort to respond.

“He’s the reason I dropped out of school,” Choso mutters, the words low enough that almost don’t catch them. They land with a soft thud, the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You stare at him, with the kind of look that people give when a ticking time bomb has just been dropped in their lab.

Choso scoffs, eyes darting away, “Yeah. He’s always been sending money for Yuuji. And I was stuck doing his…favours.”

Suddenly, you’re back in high school. On Choso’s doorstep, watching him try to hide a cardboard box of surgical tools. There’s a little corkboard map in your head connected with red strings, as you pin other things on there. The latex gloves in the box, Choso’s general lack of squeamish misery when it comes to the stickier parts of medicine, and the bloodstain on Ryomen Sukuna’s Dior jacket.

It’s almost odd, in a morbid way, that a crime boss chooses the latest Vogue streetwear, instead of a dark Godfather suit and a cigar.

Your expression must betray the pieces that you’ve put together, because Choso’s eyes widen, like he can see the cogs turning in your brain. “Look,” he stammers, voice rougher now, with a nervous edge, “I didn’t do anything wrong. Never saw what he did. Not really. Just —”

You shush him gently, a hand reaching out to land on his, a little too quickly and a little too hot. The instant your skin brushes against his, there’s a sharp feeling. Like you’ve touched something that burns beneath the surface. His face flashes a faint pink, muscles stiffening as though your touch seared him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Go on,” you hope that your tone is reassuring.

Choso swallows, his throat bobbing as his fingers suddenly curl around yours, “Anyway, I got tired of doing his dirty work, you know? Thought that if I dropped out, I could get a job. Work enough to support myself and Yuuji, without taking a single dollar from him.”

“But he’s your uncle?” Your question is tentative, like you’re testing the waters of a deeper pool, “Wouldn’t he support you, too?”

Choso’s sigh is deep and weary as he gently corrects you, “He’s Yuuji’s uncle. Yuuji’s my half-brother.”

Suddenly, Sukuna’s comment about ‘biting bastard children’ snaps into place with clarity. Oh.

You’re not sure what to say now, what words could possibly fill the emptiness that lingers between the two of you. What a misery it would have been. Being a teenager with such potential, forced to close off your own future for the sake of family, and those that you love.

You remember Choso’s face that day, after graduation, with his hollow expression as he watched your friends celebrate their youth. There’s a bitter lump in your throat, but for once, you keep it down. This really isn’t about you.

You frown, the thought sneaking up on you and settling in your chest like a splinter you can’t ignore. “He said you owed him favours.”

Choso exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing for something unpleasant. His voice is low, bitter. “You think high school dropouts pay their own way into med school without a benefactor?”

Right.

“So?” Choso’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, and you blink at him, startled.

“So, what?”

Choso shifts, unease seeping into his posture. His calloused fingers are still curled tightly around yours, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull away and slip past him.

“Are you angry?”

You’re not sure whether to laugh, or sigh, “Why would I be angry?”

He’s hesitating, dark hair falling loose around his face, “I was a jerk to you.” The words come quietly, like they’ve been gnawing at him, biting at the edges of his thoughts, “At the time, I don’t know, I guess I was just angry. Everything felt unfair, and I didn’t want anyone else to be involved.”

You frown, not fully understanding what to say, “You were still a teenager,” you say slowly, like you’re trying to convince both him and you. You hesitate, unsure whether you’re underplaying things, so the worlds come out a little jagged, not quite as comforting as you wished. “I guess…” It feels weak as your words suddenly stagger off.

Choso’s eyes flicker to yours, searching, like he’s trying to figure if there’s something else, you’re not saying, “What?”

You can practically hear Satoru’s voice in your heard, groaning and whining about screwing the long game. But you puff a breath through your cheeks, worried you’ll lose the nerve, “You know, I really liked you, right, Choso?”

Choso’s mouth drops open, as his face flickers with disbelief. The same way it had three years ago, “Like, really?”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips without even thinking, “Yeah. And you know, everyone else thought I was being, like, silly. But I really liked you. I just never knew what to say to you.” It feels so stupid, and obvious now. But back then, it had been a great chunk of your world. You force yourself to hold his bashful gaze.

Choso’s quiet for a moment, before he admits, “I couldn’t believe it when you asked me to be your date. I thought it was just a game you were playing, or there was no-one left to ask.”

And then, after a beat, “Who did you go with?”

You snicker, a little too bitter and honest, “No-one.”

Choso’s quiet, relieved ‘damn’ makes you laugh even more, threading your fingers with his.

“I just can’t believe he’s in your classes. What are the odds?” Satoru mutters, abandoning his sunglasses for the evening, his bright eyes flashing like sunlight refracted on water. He claims that his eyes are less sensitive today, but you’re certain it’s an excuse for him to freely rifle through your kitchen without obstruction. In the living room, the rest of your friends hover like a pack of starved hyenas, waiting for the snacks that Satoru is currently monopolising.

“I’m telling you, when I first saw him, my heart dropped straight to my ass,” you say, tearing open a bag of sour cream crisps with more force than necessary. The chips tumble into the earthenware bowl in a noisy cascade.

Satoru snickers, expertly arranging small platters on a big, oaken serving board, “I pity the lack of cushioning it got.”

You flick a stray crisp at him, the chip bouncing off his shoulder with a gratifying crunch. For a moment, his grin is steady, but it quickly turns rueful. That slight furrow in his brows, the way the corner of his mouth twitches downwards. There’s something else simmering under that veneer of carelessness.

“You’re not happy, Satoru?”

His expression hardens slightly, plucking a cluster of wine-red grapes, twisting them off their stems with methodical precision.

“Well, yeah,” Satoru admits after a beat, his tone uncharacteristically sober, “I’m glad that he’s, like, nice now or whatever. But he basically broke your heart, didn’t he?”

You glance away, your fingers tighten on the corner of another snack bag, “He had his reasons.” Your flat reply avoids his curious gaze, perceptive and knowing. You hadn’t filled him on the Sukuna-lore. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s bad blood between the Gojos and Sukuna, and you’re not keen to exacerbate it.

Oh, hey, Satoru! So, Choso is like Sukuna’s adopted nephew. And I think Sukuna forced him to like clean up people’s chopped fingers and arms, or whatever. But I have a big crush on him, yep. Right after I said that I wouldn’t catch feelings again.

Satoru scoffs, wagging a long finger at you. A glistening droplet of grape juice clings to his thumb like a ruby bead, “Don’t make excuses for someone hurting your feelings. You know better than that.” His tone carries the same theatrical lilt as always, but it’s underpinned with something firmer, genuine.

Before you can fire back, a new voice meanders into the kitchen, soft and unhurried, “Who hurt your feelings?”

It’s Suguru, propped lazily against the doorway, choppy layers freshly framing his sharp features. The dim kitchen light catches on the faint sheen of his silver rings as he crosses his arms.

Satoru grabs a bag of pretzels, lobbing it towards him, “Choso Kamo. Remember that emo guy I told you about?”

Suguru catches the bag with practised ease, without looking, his mauve gaze flicking to you. You silently curse Gojo Satoru for broadcasting your love life, or lack thereof, to what feels like half the city.

“What’s he look like again?”

You narrow your eyes at the tall man, “He was literally in our grade.”

Suguru shrugs, his palms raised in mock innocence, “I never saw him, okay? He was quiet as hell, never had classes with him.”

“He wasn’t that quiet,” you protest, but your words are drowned out by Satoru’s triumphant declaration.

“Hold up! I got visual aid.”

He’s whipped out his phone, unlocking it with a brief glance of his face, before shoving the dimmed screen inches from Suguru’s puzzled face. The photo, a grainy yearbook photo of Choso in junior year, gleams under the kitchen lights. You wonder if you’re going to need to fight for your life on the frontlines again.

For a moment, Suguru’s expression remains neutral. Unimpressed even. Then, as if someone’s flipped a switch, his eyes widen with dawning recognition, “This is Kamo? His girlfriend’s my neighbour.”

Half a grape travels down Satoru’s windpipe, “The villain!”

Your best friend’s exclamation ricochets off the kitchen walls, loud enough to silence whatever protest was forming on your lips. Not that you had much ground to stand on. How would you even know? Choso had talked to you about his family, not his love life. You saw him a few times a week, and then the two of you would drift away, back to your own orbits. And he was a grown man with a life that had surely moved past you.

You had told him that you had liked him, and he hadn’t said a word back that hinted at any mutual connection. How had you missed that?”

Satoru is still recovering from his near demise at the hands of fruit, “What girlfriend? You’re sure, Suguru?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, looking like he regrets ever opening his mouth, “Hey. Don’t pin this on me. But he comes by, with a little pink-haired kid. His brother? And she’s like talkative,” and he gestures vaguely above his head, “Like, really tall. Blonde.”

Your eyes had drifted to the unopened case of vodka sitting on the counter.

Satoru clocks you immediately, “Don’t even think about it. We’re going to handle this like mature adults.”

“We?”

Satoru nods solemnly, looping his arm through Suguru’s leather jacket, “Yes. Your Choso loss is my Choso loss,” and he pulls Suguru closer, “Our Choso loss.”

Suguru sighs, not shaking him off as he looks at you sympathetically, “Why am I a part of this? No offense. You could skip all this misery, and I don’t know because I’m just spit balling here, ask him?”

The dark-haired man continues, “Or, and I know this is radical for two divas like you, you could just let it go and spare yourself the drama. If you’re going to be working in the same field, wouldn’t professionalism be better?”

Satoru scoffs, “Or! We do some reconnaissance. I mean, you’re the girlfriend’s neighbour, Suguru. Go snoop around.”

“Why is it always me?” Suguru’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Because it is always you. You’ve got the best sneaky liar face I know,” Satoru replies breezily, ignoring how Suguru mutters about the love he feels in this kitchen, “And you need to do this for the greater good. All that noble shit.”

Suguru shoots you a half-hearted glare, as if this is somehow your fault, and not Satoru pulling every string. You’re one more inconvenience away from slumping onto the counter, head in hands, a shot glass by your side.

Your mind flickers to the hair tie that Choso always wears on his wrist. It could be innocuous, sure, but the green-eyed monster claws itself up in your chest. You imagine this faceless girlfriend passing it to him, like an intimate, inside joke.

“What am I supposed to do? Corner him in the break room on placements, and interrogate him? Should I pull out the clan funds, and pay him to date me?”

“It’s what I did with Suguru,” Satoru quips, not missing a beat.

“Now who’s the liar,” Suguru murmurs.

The hospital’s looming ahead. A hulking mass of glass and steel that outline the bleak sky. It’s a bitter Monday morning, the kind that bites at your cheeks and sinks into your bones, no matter how tightly you bundle up. The drive has been long and so utterly tedious, the pale sunlight doing little to brighten the cityscape as you crawl along congested streets.

Now, on the far edge of the suburbs, you’re left squinting and fuming as you circle the parking lot for the third time. The situation is grim, spots are scarce, and every turn feels like an ill-fated gamble that only ends in someone else’s bumper.

You mutter curses under your breath, the heater in your car doing little to thaw your mood.

Choso’s already there, not a massive surprise, for his apartment is far closer than your waterfront residence, smack-bang in the city’s central district. His dark hair is loosely tied back, and he’s thrown an old hoodie over his scrubs. There’s a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a coffee cup in the other.

He extends the cup towards you without preamble, “Want it?”

You blink, catching on the incongruity of the gesture. But Suguru’s intel still echoes in your mind, he has a girlfriend.

You furrow your brow, the cup hovering between you, “Where’s yours?”

Choso shrugs, “I don’t drink coffee. Makes me jittery.”

This answer irritates you for no logical reason. Who doesn’t drink coffee? It feels like some fundamental character flaw, and you snatch the cup from his hand. Doing your very best not to unfairly glare at him, for the sole crime of having a life outside of you.

It’s hard to focus when he’s nailed your exact order. You lower the cup, the warmth seeping through the cardboard sleeve and into your fingers, doing little to melt the icy knot that sits in your chest.

Choso seems almost unnervingly chipper this morning, a far cry from his usual brooding demeanour. There’s no scowl etched on his handsome face, no trace of his typical stoicism. Instead, he wears the faintest trace of a smile, a subtle and almost tentative thing that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he glances over a nearly printed itinerary.

The sight throws you further off-kilter. It’s rare to see him like this, easy and unguarded, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening to escape before you smother it.

“We’re starting in the ER for two hours,” he reads aloud, voice steady, “then, the paediatric unit.” He pauses to flip the page, his expression shifting to mild exasperation, “And then, paperwork in the break room.”

“Figures,” you grumble, tucking your hands into your coat pockets, “Free labour from the students, yeah?”

Choso glances at you, from the corner of his eye, an unimpressed but faintly amused look on his face, “Thought that you would start the day with a more upbeat attitude.”

You grunt in response, which only earns a shake of his head as he folds the itinerary back into his clipboard.

A beat of silence stretches between you, only punctured by the sound of light metal snapping as you clip a badge to your pocket, but he’s speaking again.

“You good?”

His bronze eyes flick to yours, clearly searching, and your pulse stutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”

Choso takes a deep breath, his chest rising and gearing up for something monumental. The way his fingers fidget against the clipboard betrays him, they tap out a staccato rhythm. There’s a flush creeping on the back of his neck, subtle but unmistakeable.

“Want to get dinner tonight?” He blurts, the words tumbling out so fast that they barely sound like a sentence.

You blink at him, confused, “Bless you.” Your automatic response, because he spoke so quickly that it sounded as though he had sneezed.

Choso’s scowl is immediate, “No.” He says it firmly, drawing out each word in exasperation, “I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight. After this.”

Oh. Oh.

The realisation hits you like a jolt, and for a second, all you can do is gape at him. He’s looking at you now, an almost defiant sort of expectation in his gaze, as though he’s worried that you’re going to laugh at him. But before you piece together a coherent response, there’s a sharp rap-rap-rap of knuckles on the doorframe.

The ward manager is here, her expression brisk and no-nonsense, gesturing for the two of you to begin your shift placement.

Your head snaps back at him, mouth moving before your brain diplomatically catches up, “I don’t think that’s fair to your girlfriend, do you?”

Choso’s brows knit together, his expression shifting to something startled and indignant. Irritated, even, as you push past him.

He’s trying to speak to you. It’s painfully obvious, as he’s got that mildly dazed look. All that awkward, earnest attention is squarely focused on you.

You’re having none of it.

He steps to your side as you shuffle through patient charts, his broad frame taking up more than his fair share of narrow space, shadowing your elbow as you scribble furious notes. His mouth opens, probably to say something that you don’t want to hear, but you’re faster.

“Hey, Choso, what’s her blood pressure?” You interrupt, not bothering to look up from the faintly lined paper.

There’s a second of hesitation before he answers, “120 over 50. Just write that down. Got it? Okay, yeah, can you stop moving for a second and —”

You squint at the chart, cutting him off again, “Hmm, don’t you think that the diastolic is a little low?”

His shoulders slump, “Yes, but the doctors already know that. She has hypothyroidism, you told me that when you interrupted me like half an hour ago. Can’t you just —” Choso stops mid-sentence again, muttering a resigned oh my god, when you pivot away and head to the next room without so much a glance back.

It sets the tone for the rest of the shift. You make a sport of avoiding him, weaving through the emergency department like a fish slipping upstream, leaving Choso stranded in your wake. He follows, persistent in his mild-mannered way, but you’re relentless.

“Can you hand me that chart?” He’s trying again, as you’re elbow deep in filing.

“Oh, this one?” You sweetly ask, holding it just out of his reach, before conveniently remembering that you need to double-check something on it. He just huffs at you.

By hour three, it’s clear that Choso’s patience is wearing thin, and fighting a war against his professionalism. He corners you near the supply cart while you rummage for gloves.

“There you are.”

“Oh, are we low on size medium?” You cut in, loud enough to catch the attention of a passing manager, “Should we restock?”

Choso inhales through his nose, “We’re not low on gloves. We’re fine on gloves. Can you stop talking about gloves for one second?”

You flash him a smile that’s all teeth, “Gloves are important, Choso. Hygiene is crucial.”

This time, you see him run an exasperated hand over his face, before realising that now he’s just contaminated his own pair of gloves. Snarling at you as he rips the blue latex off and reaching for the size large box.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, once and then twice. Then thrice, as if whoever’s contacting you as something urgent to say. You ignore it, you’ll check it after placements.

The hours tick by, and your strategy remains the same. Stay busy, stay distant, and stay unreachable. Don’t make it seem like you’re irrationally bothered by Choso having a life of his own and having a girlfriend. Or that you actually had hope that this time round, his feelings for you were requited.

By the time you both stumble into the break room, Choso looks as if he’s experienced the full emotional spectrum, like he’s been knocked through the five stages of grief and landed somewhere in the resigned space of acceptance. He looks as if he’s clearly preparing to lecture you, to tirade you on professional conduct and —

Without warning, his phone buzzes.

You don’t even look up from cracking open your water bottle, the sound of plastic barely crinkles louder than the dull thud of your own heartbeat. Choso glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, a flash of alarm crossing his face, before he draws his attention back to the screen of his phone.

You hear the faintest scoff from his direction, and he’s shaking his head as you watch in mild interest.

“What?”

Choso doesn’t answer immediately, still scrolling through his phone.

“I’m not dating Tsukumo Yuki.”

Your mouth goes dry. You blink rapidly, wide-eyed as if he’s just spoken in an ancient, dead language.

“What?” You manage weakly, “Who? What? —”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you fear the cause of this slow and curling chest is a meddling duo of two men, one with dark hair and the other with snowy-white.

Choso doesn’t even glance up at you, his voice tinged with something incredulous now, “Why is Gojo Satoru texting me? He says that you’re not replying to his or Geto Suguru’s messages. And apparently, this is super urgent, and he feels like he must do his divine duty by interfering before you do something stupid.

Choso pauses, finally looking at you as if he’s truly baffled, “And you all thought that I was dating Tsukumo.”

You’re crafting a list in your head. Twenty creative ways to kill Gojo Satoru and not land in prison afterwards.

Maybe you should ask Choso for Ryomen Sukuna’s contact.

“That’s crazy,” you say, the words tasting thin and hollow in a bitter, embarrassed lie.

Choso shakes his head at you, some dark strands of hair falling across his eyes, “She looks after Yuuji sometimes. I take him over to her place because Yuki’s adopted a kid, Todo. The two of them are friends.”

“Uh.”

Choso turns back to his phone screen, scrolling through whatever nonsense Satoru is feeding him, “Have you being icing me out all day, because you thought I had a girlfriend?”

“Will you hate me if I say yes?” You’re looking anywhere but him, focusing on the chipped, lilac paint on the break-room door. Or the slightly off-centre light bulb flickering above. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re adding Geto Suguru to your kill list.

Choso’s voice is softer when he answers, almost too quiet, “Hey. You know I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” But there’s a strange mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice, a bemused chuckle that lingers in the air, “Wow. Just wow.”

You grimace, fingers toying with the edge of the water bottle as you wrangle your thoughts into words, “Are you mad? I mean, look. I told you I liked you. And then you held my hands, so I thought you liked me back. And you got me coffee. But Suguru said you had a girlfriend, and you can’t blame me for being — Oh my god, I’m going to stop talking, you’re looking at me like I’ve gone crazy.”

Choso’s expression shifts, just staring at you. You don’t more than a split-second to process his strangely intense look. There’s no time to recover before he leans down, his hands surprisingly warm and gentle as they cradle the side of your face.

Your breath hitches, but before you can form another thought, his lips are on yours. They’re warm, deliberate and surprisingly firm. The scent of crisp green apples falls over you, as his hair envelops your face.

He pulls back just enough to study you, “Was that okay?” he asks, his fingers still lingering at the curve of your jaw, like he can’t believe he just kissed you. You can feel the sharp blush sting your face, as your heart practically goes into cardiac arrest, nodding quickly.

“Uh, I’m not really an expert in this field,” Choso murmurs, “But I can’t believe that I waited this long to do that.”

“You can do that again,” you say. Wondering if you should buy Satoru and Suguru a bouquet of flowers instead.

Choso, predictably, blushes deep enough that it nearly looks like he might combust. His eyes flicker away, avoiding your gaze in that way he does when he’s trying to sort through his emotions. But it’s hard to miss the warm flush that’s firmly planted on his neck.

“Can I do it over that dinner?” Choso murmurs, his voice dipping lower, before he quickly rephrases, “I obviously do want to kiss you now, again, that is, but if they catch us in the break room —”

You suddenly beam up at him, patting him on the cheek, “You can kiss me as much as you like over dinner.”

Choso looks as though he’s been struck with a metaphorical thunderbolt, as if he didn’t expect you to agree so straightforwardly. And then, as if he can’t help himself, he presses a quick and soft kiss to your forehead. For the briefest second, it feels as if you’re a teenager again, caught in the whirlwind of something simple and so sweet.

“Okay. So, is that a yes?” He asks, a little breathless, as if he’s not sure what kind of confirmation he’s just gotten but needing it to hear it anyway.

“If it’s a proper date, it’s a yes.”

Choso mutters under his breath, “You know Geto Suguru texted me with a five-paragraph apology, something about sneaking around my apartment. Stalking me this morning,” and here, he looks at you, utterly exasperated but fond, “Something about checking to see if I had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t even know the guy. We never talked in school.”

You loop your arm with his, pulling him in slightly, “See, I always did say my friends were super nice. They’re going to be super nice, and normal. Trust me.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

“And to my brother-in-law, my brother-in-arms, my brother in the Constantinople Crusades of 1204,” Satoru hiccups, his words slurring together in a rambled mess, as he sways over the edge of Suguru’s arms, and for a split second, you’re worried the white-haired man is going to tip over entirely, “My new brother, Choso. We always knew it was going to happen, eh?”

Choso’s cheeks turn a faint shade of crimson in the sudden spotlight as everyone cheers, and he shifts awkwardly. Suguru’s shooting him an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth twitching as he props Satoru up, “He’s a lightweight. And we watched a historical movie last night.”

“I can tell,” Choso grumbles, his face flushed now as Satoru’s monologue drifts like an aimless plastic bag in the wind, his words growing nonsensical as you reach over to pinch at his cheeks. He yelps but continues to babble on about how he and Choso are going to be best friends now, and they’re going to go shopping together, and ice-skating, and fruit-picking. All nonsense burbles being strung together by the tequila shots that Satoru swore he could handle an hour ago.

You glance over at Choso, faintly embarrassed, but he just laughs, a sound that’s unexpectedly light and unguarded. His fingers slide into yours once more, and the motion is gentle and natural, as though this, you, are exactly where he’s meant to be. And he drapes the wide expanse of his aviator jacket over your shoulders.

Meanwhile, Suguru is wrestling with Satoru, pushing him back down from his impromptu toast to your boyfriend, before the bartender can usher you all towards the exit. The burly man is already giving Satoru’s drunken proclamations a nasty look.

Shoko, of course, is grinning at you, a tankard of beer glimmering in front of her. Her eyes gleam with the sharpness of someone who’s won a decent amount of money in a bet. And Utahime is standing back with a faintly judgemental expression that only veils her gossipy curiosity, and a glum look as she passes wads of cash into Shoko’s waiting hands.

“They really do like me,” Choso murmurs, his voice low and almost carrying the undertone of vulnerability, alongside some quiet self-awareness.

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning in to press a quick peck to the dark mark that streaks over his face, “They all have no choice. You’re my boyfriend now.”

The words slip out effortlessly, and for a moment, they hang between you like something solid and unspoken, as though saying it aloud has made it feel real in a way it never quite did before. Choso’s eyes flick to yours, and something shifts in his expression — just a slight softening around the edges.

Then, without warning, you lean in, closing the distance between you, and kiss him. It’s slow, deliberate, with none of the frantic energy of your first kiss but instead the quiet certainty of something just beginning to bloom. You feel the faintest sigh from Nanami in the background, the sound of Geto groaning as Gojo whoops with drunken delight.

The noise from the bar fades into nothing as you focus entirely on the warmth of Choso’s shy lips against yours, the gentle pressure as he presses more into you, the soft thud of his heartbeat where your hand rests over his chest. For that moment, it’s just you and him, and everything else is an afterthought.

“Okay! I’ve had enough of the lot of you snogging and yelling in my bar! And take stupid Jack Frost out with ya’!”

[itsagoodluckkiss]

Hi, I wanted to make a request about Luffy x female reader. The reader is feminine but clumsy, emotionally-reserved, unexperienced and kind-hearted. Smart and funny, with a soft spot for Luffy. . As for the plot, "she fell first, but he fell harder", slice of life with a little angst would be perfect. I'm desperate for fanfiction about first experience in everything kinda stuff. I'm not a minor, so it would be very good to see some sensual and awkward smut. I would be glad to read anything you'll write about Luffy x female!reader and I hope that you liked my request (^o^)/ sorry for bad english

It's Okay ~ Luffy x F!Reader

First of all, thank you for being my first request, you made me really happy and I'm really sorry for the really long wait, we had a really rough couple of months. Also, it's the first smut I've ever written so read this with patience. English is not my first language either and I'm sorry for any mistakes. Anyways, I had fun writing this, I hope you'll like it, lots of love!

Words: +3k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, op spoilers, ptsd, mentions of character death, comfort sex, smut with plot, oral (f!receiving), virginity loss (both), unprotected sex, cockwarming, fluffy ending kinda?, no use of Y/N

MDNI

Quiet days on The Thousand Sunny were as rare as mythical zoans. Not only because of dangerous encounters but also because of how calm the whole crew was today. Even your walking ray of sunshine captain was not as wild as usual. But you couldn’t really complain as you could focus on your task in silence.

The tailor of the crew, responsible of sewing, stitching and mending every piece of fabric on the ship. And that included the sails. Strong winds the night before managed a large tear and the next island was a couple of days away. So you had a job to do. Standing on a rope ladder, you effortlessly worked through the sails with elegance. Every piece of fabric in your home deserved care, as you’d always say when you mended the torn up clothes of your crew mates.

You were proud you could provide your family with loved and cared clothes and everything else they needed, top priority along with the dream of becoming the best tailor the seas had ever seen. Your mind wandered away to the smile of your captain every time you placed the fixed straw hat you came to love so much on his head, while you automatically repaired the sail. But your gracefulness started and ended at the needle in your hand.

Looking away into the sea for one second resulted in you prickling your finger. The sudden feeling caused you to lose your step and balance and you yelped as you fell from the ladder, expecting a hard fall and a trip to Chopper’s infirmary. But the land never came, arms wrapping around your frame, drawing you to somebody’s embrace. In fear, you wrapped yourself around your savior’s waist like a koala, your flower patterned dress coming up slightly. Your face went to the crook of his neck for one second, immediately recognizing who it was, and you raised your head to look at him in embarrassment.

“Hi there!”

“Luffy, thank you, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright. Was on my way to check if you needed help. Guess I was right.” he said laughing.

You smiled and hugged him tightly as he put you down on the deck. You were embarrassed, part of it because of your own clumsiness, another part because of the way Luffy’s hands lingered on your waist before letting you go.

“Are you almost done? Picked up a new card game from the last island and I want to play with you.”

“Oh, ah, I, I still have some, some work to do...?”

You didn’t. You also didn’t know why you said that. You said a lot of stupid stuff lately. You loved spending time with your captain, especially when you knew there wouldn’t be a crazy fight following you in a few hours. Falling in love with his brown eyes, his goofy and brave personality and his loyalty to his friends was the reason you said yes to joining the Straw Hats after you helped them save Robin in Ennies Lobby.

But ever since you returned to Sabaody, it’s gotten harder to contain the feelings for your first love. The other night while you two were keeping watch and talking about things you loved, an “I love you” escaped your lips without thinking, proceeding to an inept attempt to cover it by saying how you loved he is such a loyal friend. You felt the blush rushing to your cheeks as you looked again on his face and noticed something you were seeing more and more these days. His trademark smile was reduced to a small upward line and in his eyes there was a gleam of sadness. You couldn’t have that.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you around later I guess-”

“On another note, I can always finish it later. Let’s go play, Captain!”

And you grabbed his arm, running like a child playing chase across the deck toward Nami’s tangerine trees, laughing as you tripped on your two left feet, Luffy holding you upwards and laughing in the process, always there to catch you.

~

The ship was in motion, light rain falling from the night sky as Luffy found himself walking aimlessly on the empty deck. His black hair tousled, his straw hat dangling from the string around his neck, his posture slumped, trying to find some sort of relief in the breeze that hit his face. His trembling hands grip the railing, his gaze lost towards the vast ocean, unable to back focus on anything but his most recent nightmare. Memories of Ace's death spreading, like poison in his veins, once again. He tried to steady his breathing but failed as hot tears run down his cheeks, silent sobs leaving his body, trying not to wake up his crew. He hadn’t talked to anyone about Marineford. There was no reason for his friends to see him in that weakened state. He could tell that everyone felt guilty because they weren’t there for him, he didn’t want to feed that ugly feeling inside them.

You felt restless, worry prickling your skin like a hundred needles at once. Sleep wouldn’t do you a favor so you hoped off bed to get some fresh air on the deck and some moments of peace to think. Luffy’s sad eyes lingered in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but think about how much he had changed since you first met. You remembered the scrawny, eager, brave boy he was. Now his hair was longer and spikier, and he looked stronger than ever before, he was almost a man. Despite his carefree looks, a lot had changed about him. Yes, he was still as eager and resilient and determinated as ever, yet more mature, as much as maturity applied to him. And that big scar across his chest was the only testament of the fight he gave alone two years ago, as he hadn't talked to any of you about it. Not that he had to. You all knew you would wholeheartedly give him the support in any form he’d need. You’d do what you knew best. Take care of the people you loved. And from the moment you joined the crew, you knew your heart belonged to the straw hat captain.

You spotted Luffy in the front of the ship. It was unusual for him to be up and alone this late at night. Your eyes filled with concern, you walked closer to him as you noticed the trembling in his form, worry rising in your chest. Your hand caressing his shoulder slightly, you didn’t want to scare him or make him feel worse.

"Luffy?" you asked softly, voice barely audible over the wind.

Luffy wiped his tear streaked face quickly and tried to control his heavy breathing, wanting to be like his usual self, even if he knew it was too late for acting.

“I…”

He took a deep breath trying to hold it all in. He was the one that was supposed to help people through their crying and problems, to protect them. He couldn’t protect his friends in Sabaody, he couldn’t save his brother. He swore he’d never let anything like those things happen again. He didn’t want to be seen as weak. Not again. Not in front of his crew. Not in front of you.

“It’s okay, Luffy.”

His eyes met yours, a warm and safe gaze, always inviting and full of love, ready to be a place of comfort and joy to anyone that needed it. You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and back, taking him in a comforting embrace. His arms went immediately around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as silent sobs left him once again. He hugged you tightly, hyperventilating as he let every last feeling of grief and pain out. You felt your eyes well too, the pain your favorite person carried alone enough to make you want to scream.

“It’s okay… you’re okay… it wasn’t your fault…”

“I couldn’t… I thought you… were all dead… and… I was right there… I couldn’t save him… he left… in my arms… it should have been me!”

Your heart ached listening to Luffy's sobs, tears running down your face as well. You pulled back slightly, cupping his face in your hands, and looked into his red, puffy eyes.

“Listen to me! Don’t say that again, ever! We all know you’d never let us down. You did everything you could, Luffy, you always do, and it’s enough for us." You said, voice shaking, carrying all the sincerity in the world. "And you always were there for him. You gave everything you had! He loved you so much and you saved him because you showed him how loved and cherished he was! You're still doing everything you can to keep his memory alive. That's what he would want! Don’t do this to yourself, please.”

You wiped the tears off his face and squeezed his cheeks like you usually did when you shared food and laughs together, managing to drag out a small smile from the boy.

“How about we go grab some tea and biscuits from the kitchen before Sanji comes down from his watch and go to my room?” you suggested, knowing Luffy would never say no to food.

“It’s on!”

Stealth wasn’t your strongest suit as you somehow always managed to hit on something. And with Luffy beside you, havoc was almost always certain. Getting out of the kitchen as fast as you could, before Sanji’s yells could reach you, you run into the ship, down to your handicraft’s room. The warmth of the cabin enveloped Luffy, feeling a little more like his usual self now, as he took in the room. That’s were all your great works laid, with needles, threads and sewing machines all over the place. From clothes and blankets to large embroideries hanging from the walls. You laid a soft, fluffy blanket on the ground to sit on. You sipped your scolding tea as Luffy munched on a cookie, taking in your works.

“I don’t know how you can make beautiful things like these.”

“I’ve practiced it a lot. And I love it. I’m glad you like it, Captain.”

You smiled widely, gaining a toothy grin from him.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always being here.”

You were thinking your next words for a moment before moving the cups and plate from the blanket, taking his shoulders gently as you both laid on the ground, your eyes looking at each other, taking his hand into yours.

“It's alright to not be fine, you know… I'll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“It’s… I’m not thinking about it most of the time… I just have nightmares… it’s hard sometimes.”

“And that’s completely logical, Luffy, you’ve been through hell! I collapsed when I heard the news and couldn’t be with you. I would have run to you if I could. I love you so much and I’m sorry I wasn’t there and…”

You were the one tearing up now, cheeks red from embarrassment as the words slipped through your mouth without thinking. You knew Luffy would be shattered when you heard about Ace. The only thing you wanted was to hug him until you pulled all his pieces back together. He met your gaze. Luffy was never interested in romance. He didn’t thought he needed it. Until he met you and for the first time, he wanted someone to join his crew not only because he wanted them as a friend and they’d be a great addition, but because he felt something different, something he couldn’t quite understand. The only thing he knew was that he loved you a little differently than the rest of his friends. It was his turn to brush the tears off your face now and you melted from his touch. You tried to speak but before you could, his hand, warm and slightly trembling, cup your cheek. His lips pressed into yours, just for a moment, before drawing back only inches from your face.

“I think I love you too.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, heart pounding against your ribs. Never had you thought you’d hear those words from Luffy. Of course, you knew he loved everyone in the crew, but this felt different. You felt like you would burst into flames as you blushed even more.

“You, you do?!”

“Yeah… you’re sweet and strong… always by my side… you’re very important to me…”

You let out a gasp of surprise as you hugged him tightly and crushed your lips into his clumsily, both of you laughing at your enthusiasm. Small, sweet kisses evolved into longer, more passionately ones and soon you were underneath him, his hands caressing your thigh beneath your dress, your hands slowly pushing his vest off of him.

“Are you okay?”

“I am, you?”

“Me too.”

Soon, your clothes landed somewhere else in the room as you felt him caressing your skin everywhere and you gasped into the kiss, him taking advantage of your parted lips to push his tongue into your mouth, tangling it messily with yours. His lips travelled down your neck and lower, soon to be between your legs. A feeling of self-consciousness crept over you as you closed your legs and he smiled up at you as he caressed your thigh.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can stop if you want.”

“No, I want this, I’ve just… never do this before…”

“Neither do I. We’ll find it together. But I want you to be comfortable. You can stop me if you don’t feel okay.”

You smile down at him and relaxed a bit, allowing him to spread your legs and start kissing the inside of your thighs. It felt so good to share another experience with him, and his touch was gentler than you thought it would be. He positioned your thighs on his shoulders and before you could react, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking a stripe before latching onto your clit. Your head fell back immediately as a choked out moan slipped through your mouth, one hand flying to his hair, pulling on his locks gently as the other grasped the blanket beneath you. His eyes were on you, his look was magnetic and focused on the task of making you feel good. A finger circling your tight hole, it pushed inside you slowly as he sucked on your clit, making you whimper from the pleasurable feeling. The stretching inside you new and welcomed, a combination of his mouth and a second finger breaching in has your orgasm approaching faster than you expected. He curled his fingers upwards, hitting repeatedly a spot you had never reached before on your own and it pushed you over the edge unexpectedly. He smiles against you as small moans left your mouth, your whole body shaking, your head spinning.

Coming down from your high, he crawls back on top of you and kisses you passionately, your tongues intertwining. You can taste yourself through the kiss, and it makes you long for more. He breaks the kiss and smiles down at you.

“How was that?”

“Luffy, it was… amazing. How did you know-”

“Didn’t. Just did what felt right. Are you okay to continue?”

You nodded eagerly and he grinned at you, his lips back on yours again. Your hand sneaks between your bodies to grab his dick, gently pumping him up and down, bringing him close to your folds. He moans into the kiss and swats your hand away, gliding himself between your now soaked pussy, his tip touching your clit every time, sending small jolts of pleasure down your spine. He breaks the kiss, his face only inches apart from yours, staring into your eyes.

“You’re sure?”, he whispered.

“Yes captain, please…”

A shiver run through his body as he hears your plead, and he moves his tip against your entrance, pushing in. A small gasp escape you and a sharp hiss leaves his mouth as he slowly slides into you, his movements awkward but gentle, the feeling of your warmth around him making him slightly tremble as he bottoms out. It felt slightly uncomfortable for you at first but the pain you expected to feel was nowhere to be found. His lips were on your neck, nibbling and sucking gently while his arms roamed your body, trying to make you relax as he stayed still, waiting for you to adjust to him. A few moments passed and your hand cupped his chin, bringing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

“Feels better now?”

“Yes, Luffy… please, move…”

He smiled down at you and placed another soft kiss on your lips as he began to move, taking it slow and tender, setting a rhythm that made you gasp, the pleasure spreading over you. One of his hands on yours, intertwining your fingers as the other grabbed your thigh to keep you against him, his forehead on yours, eyes closed as you both relished the feeling of your bodies pressed together. His speed picked up slightly as he finds a steady rhythm and you moan his name, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. He smiles widely and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth, your fingers running through his hair, gently tugging at his dark locks.

One hand gripped your thigh rougher now, pushing it upwards, the shift in position allowing him to go deeper, the other sneaking between your bodies to rub at your clit. Your face buries in the crook of his neck, trying to choke down your moans, the knot in your stomach tightening as his thrusts grow faster and sloppier, you feel that he’s close too.

Your lips connect again in a messy kiss and your back arches as you come undone, crying out through the kiss, your nails dragging down his back. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck, his hands grab your hips to drag you to him as he fucks you through your high, his hips stuttering, feeling your walls squeezing him tight, pushing him over the edge with you.

You stay like this for a while, hands wrapped around each other, his face buried in the crook of your neck, savoring the moment. He places a tender kiss on your cheek and turns to face you, his head on your shoulder.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel… wonderful…” you say with a sigh as you smile up at him. His hand caressing you cheek, he placed another sweet kiss before stretching his hand to grab another blanket nearby, covering the both of you. He then lies flat on top of you again, his arms wrapping around you, and closes his eyes, still inside you.

“Luff, we…”

“Can’t move, I feel snuggly right now.”

You laugh softly as you hug him back, feeling his breath slow down as he slowly falls asleep, your eyelids getting heavy as well, a content smile playing on your lips.

“Goodnight dummy…”

[signedkoko]

Heyo! I return!!!!

Could I get a mammon, blitzø and alastor (separate) with a wife reader who’s really oblivious and ditzy? Sorta like a bimbo?

🦷 anon! <33333

Alastor | Blitzo | Mammon [Romantic]

In which their partner is extremely oblivious and ditzy.

Well, that's what he was here for, isn't it?

To make it look like you know what you're doing, to be the reason or you little 'show'

According to the public eye, if you're his partner then theres no way it's not a character, Alastor would NEVER date a clutz, let alone have the patience for one

Alastor found these little whispers amusing

Everyone thought they had some idea of what he was, but they were always throwing darts at the wrong board

All the better for him, he gets the joy of you making every day new and exciting as well as the strange rumours people came up with about the two of you

Everyone else was just so boring, so pitiful to the overlord

Either kneeling to his every wish, or putting on a face until he left them alone, or the rare run away screaming

But when you bumped into him on the street, you asked him if he was that 'one guy who tortured people and put it online' before you even apologized

Then you asked if he would kill you, and when he said yes, you asked if he could not

Oh yes, that made him laugh alright, you were such a cracking star

Anytime you might ask something stupid, he turns it into a joke and explain it to you later behind closed doors

Falling? tripping over yourself? He catches you and makes it look like a romantic dip, or a small dance

To him, you're cluelessness has its charm, because you've always been so honest and forward about everything that he doesn't ever feel like he has to pull secrets from you

You also amuse his every little quirk, which everyone else just finds weird, so that's a major plus

Oh my god he is so stupid

But you make him look so smart it's insane, just add you to the room and suddenly he's a genius

At first, it was just by comparison, but now in order to compensate for you he is always trying his best to be the smartest he can be

Especially in his line of work, Blitzo doesn't like the idea of making a mistake that could cost your life

So instead he trains to make sure he can save you when you need it

You guys are very damsel in distress/knight in shining armour

Except this kind of backfires because him being so serious starts to get him caught a lot...and you always manage to get him out (usually by mistake)

Like that one time you busted into a room full of 20 armed demons and dropped your gun when they came at you, but it went off and landed in a crate of explosives

I mean both of you were very injured but you both got out soooo

" You really are the dumbest slut I know, my sweetie-pie. "

He gets really defensive about you, though

Sure, he’s your husband so he can make fun of you

But if anyone else calls you anything along the lines of stupid or useless he blows up on them

Sure, you're a bit oblivious, but they don't know your talents, and all the things you teach him behind closed doors

He won't let anyone get away with being cruel to you

A little bit of a roger rabbit and jessica rabbit duo

Honestly exactly his type

Extremely wealthy husband and his bimbo wife?

The newspaper headlines go crazy for you guys and your strange duo, and a lot of photos of the two of you together are popular

Sort of funny looking tree man and his dolled up wifey

He's not really the brightest either, not when it comes to simple things that don't have to do with money or his status

So you are both very oblivious to things that aren't entirely straightforward and always have to whisper back and forth about a topic until you can figure it out

Two idiots in love

Nevertheless, he loves your dependance on him

He likes that you are always by his side in case you need help, so you are safe and sound

He's just as clingy as you are, he always has one arm around your waist

Calls you all sorts of sort of derogatory pet names but in a loving way

Dolly, sweetheart, gorgeous, legs, etc etc

Honestly though you are also probably explaining as much to him as he is you, just in different topics

But he has the confidence to go with his lack of knowledge and obliviousness

And confidence gets you far

" Yeah, like, the moon is full once a week or some shit "

" Isn't it once a month? "

" No doll, that's how often a blue moon occurs. "

" Ohh! Like once in a blue moon? "

Anyone overhearing this shit is fucking rolling in their grave 

Author's Note - Hiii welcome back tooth anon!!! Sorry this took a hot min, for some reaosn this prompt was so hard for me but I REFUSED to give up (Never sleep never what!?!?!) Thank you for requesting, and I hope you enjoy!

[voxofthevoid]

I think what most people usually get wrong about Yuuji is that he isn't dumb, just inexperienced. I think he's pretty smart to catch onto some hellish situations very quickly.

How would you say his emotional intelligence measures up? Compared to someone like Gojou or Megumi? Nanami? Kenjaku?

I could write three different essays on what the bulk of this fandom gets wrong about Yuuji and still have material for more essays, and yes, the "lol he's so dumb" characterization is one of them.

In terms of normal academics, he seems to be unremarkable—struggles with certain things (he's failing molecular biology, if I'm remembering Gege's comments right) but puts in decent effort and keeps his head above water. But a lack of book smarts doesn't indicate a lack of intelligence, and time and time again in canon, Yuuji proves himself to be perceptive, adaptable, and generally capable of grasping and applying key concepts in sorcery. For the most part, he seems to learn best by seeing and then doing—Divergent Fist manifests and is refined during spars and then actual fights, while he manages (and matches Nanami's record in) Black Flash while in a highly dangerous combat situation. But it's only a few months later that he reads, understands, and utilizes Yuki's personal notes on souls and cursed energy—and I sincerely doubt she wrote those with easy comprehension in mind. Those are the research notes of a special grade sorcerer on a highly complex topic, and Yuuji, with just a month to prepare, got good use out of them.

Calling Yuuji dumb isn't a matter of interpretation—it's just plain wrong. There are absolutely characters in canon who are smarter than Yuuji, including among his peers, but that doesn't make Yuuji stupid, even in comparison.

As for emotional intelligence, I'd rank Yuuji above Gojou and Megumi, on par with Nanami by the end of canon, and below Kenjaku. Kenny's over a million years old, and while other people's emotions are mostly chess pieces to them, they're clearly skilled in perceiving their own and others' feelings. Who knows, maybe Yuuji inherited that from them. Can't see it being Jin or Wasuke. Given Yuuji's age, the way he handles emotions is particularly impressive—there's much food for thought when it comes to how that aspect of him will evolve as he ages and matures.

[reinerismwrld]

But Daddy I Love Him

PAIRING: TASM!Harry Osborn x Stark!Reader

SUMMARY: You are dating Harry Osborn, the guy your dad forbade you from interacting or relating to in any form or way, but after hearing a conversation of Peter, he knew you’ve been lying to him.

GENRE: Fluff

WARNINGS: Swearing. A little bit suggestive (if you really squint). All characters (Peter, Harry, and Y/n) are 24 years old.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k words

NOTE: Just ignore the fact these characters are from 2 different universes. Enjoy!

Harry Osborn managed to steal your heart. You don’t really know when or how, but you couldn’t help but fall in love with the Osborn heir. He was smart, a gentleman, sweet (with you, of course), and he was also such a good friend to Peter, who’s basically your brother after your father took him under his wing all those years ago. 

You could say your life was great, more than perfect if you ignore the fact that your father despises everything involved with Norman Osborn, which, of course, includes his son.

He was pretty vocal when he found out you and Peter went to the same college as Harry and basically forbade you to get near him, knowing damn well - thanks to Peter- that Harry had a thing for you. But would you really be your father’s daughter if you followed his rules? Or any rules? You’re a Stark, after all.

The plan was simple: hide from your father that you and Harry started dating at college, and once you lived on your own, make a name for yourself, and stop living with your parents, tell him about your relationship. But with Tony Stark as your dad, things don’t usually go your way, but his.

Peter, of course, knew. He was not only your best friend but Harry’s, and you literally spent all your college years with him, so hiding this from him felt wrong. The night he found out, he promised he wouldn’t say anything to your father, as he was able to tell that you really meant something to Harry. The way he looked at you was the same way he looked at Gwen, and the way you always spoke about Harry was enough for Peter to understand that you two weren’t fooling around. He was happy that you finally met someone who loved you (romantically) for what you were and not for being Tony Stark’s daughter.

You always made sure to be careful. Never sneaking out to see Harry when you were home, making sure nobody was home if you wanted to talk to him via phone. At first, it was easy. With you being at college, your father basically had little contact or knowledge about your personal life, normally more interested in your academic life. But after you graduated and returned home, it became harder to hide and/or lie to your father. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were hiding something, but he couldn’t really come up with what you were hiding.

Until one night, when he, by mistake, heard a little conversation Peter was having.

“Dude, I promise I will tell her you want to see her, but not now, not until Mr. Stark leaves.” Tony didn’t know who Peter was talking to, but knew he was talking about you. So that’s what you were hiding, a boy? Why didn't you tell him? You’ve always been so open to him that this kinda hurts.

“Yes, Harry, god, you can be a pain in the ass, you know. And by the way, why are you asking me to see her instead of, I don’t know, sending your girlfriend a message?” And that’s when he understood. You were hiding it from him because you were dating Harry fucking Osborn. He didn’t know what hurt him the most, you not trusting enough in him to tell him you already had a partner or the fact that you were dating an Osborn.

“Of course she did. Fine, I will let you know once Mr. Stark leaves so you can come and see her. Just be careful.” Peter hung up and sighed. He didn’t really like to hide and lie to your father, but you’ve been so happy with Harry for years now that he couldn’t help but do it for your happiness.

Tony made sure Peter left the compound’s main area to come out of the shadows. He couldn’t believe his own blood; his sweet girl had been lying to him.

As the hours passed, he knew he had to make you tell him the truth. But how?

“Kiddo, I’m leaving. Are you sure you don’t wanna come? Morgan would love to see you and have you for a weekend.” 

“I’m sure, Dad, I still have some stuff to do here, but I will go on Sunday, I miss Morgan and Pepper too.” you smiled. God, you were really good at lying or, well, hiding stuff from him.

“Fine, don’t overwork yourself. Love you.”

“Love you, Dad.” He kissed your temple and made his way to the compound’s main entrance. After your dad left, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You really wanted to tell your father you were dating someone. He was like your best friend. Yes, he was your dad, but he always made sure that you knew you could always count on him and trust him since you were little. It hurts to hide him the other most important part of your life.

“How’s my beautiful girl?” you heard Harry say as he made his way to the couch. He embraced you in a hug, and you swear you could die just there. His hugs always made you feel safe.

“I'm good.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I’m just thinking.”

“About..?” Harry made himself comfortable laying next to you, and you rested your head on his chest.

“I hate lying to my dad.” Harry started playing with your hair. He knew what you meant. You didn’t even wait for him to answer when you spoke again. “By the way, how did you know my dad was gone?”

“Well, Peter is such a good wingman.” you laughed. “Here’s your phone. You left it in my car this morning.” Harry took your phone from his jean’s left pocket and handed it to you. 

“God, thanks. I thought I lost it. What would I do without you?” you kissed his neck since it was the closest part of him. You felt his breathing hitch.

“If this is going to be my reward every time you lose something, I’m going to start hiding things from you and act like you lost them.” 

“Shut up, Osborn.” he chuckled. You continued kissing him, slowly making your way to his mouth.

“God, I’m so in love with you,” you whispered, and Harry smiled. Harry was going to answer you, but something, more like someone, interrupted him.

“Well, look what we got here.” Fuck. Please be Peter, please be Peter.

Of course, it wasn’t Peter, but a girl can dream.

You quickly sat down, trying to look as less guilty as possible, and so did Harry.

“Dad. I… I thought you were going home. What are you doing here?” you cleared your throat.

“I have a better one. What is he doing here?” he pointed at Harry. Fuck this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

“Uhm… Dad, this is-”

“I know who he is. I don’t understand why he is here with you.” You could see your dad started to turn into a tomato, which under other circumstances was funny, but right now, you just wish this wasn’t happening. If the universe loved you, you would just disappear.

“Harry Osborn, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Harry gave his hand out to your dad, but he ignored the gesture.

“He, well, this is such a funny story.” you had nothing. Not a single excuse. You facepalmed yourself mentally. You normally were careful whenever Harry came to the compound, always making sure to have F.R.I.D.A.Y warn you if your dad was close. In the end, being in charge of the compound’s security had its advantages. But this time, you just forgot.

“You’re grounded for the rest of your life. Oh, and you’re leaving him,” you scoffed. 

“I’m not a child anymore. I’m not doing what you say, Dad.”

“Well, you’re still under my roof, which means you have to follow my rules.”

“Technically, this isn’t your roof,” you said, and Tony was in disbelief. You still had the guts to answer him.

“What did you just say? I’m sorry I think I just heard you answer back to me.”

“Then you heard right. You’re out of your mind if you think you're grounding me, and even more, if you think I'm going to leave Harry.”

“You…” 

“Hey, Mr Stark is coming… Oh.” Seeing Peter somehow relieved you. Tony sighed.

“For how long?”

“What?”

“For how long have you been dating him?” This was going to hurt.

“Three….. Years.” you whispered the last part, trying your best not to tell your dad that you’d been hiding this from him for so long.

“YEARS? I thought this was something new. How could you-”

“Dad, let me explain.” You interrupted him. “I know this is such a huge and kinda insane thing. But you have to understand me. I was scared, ok?” you felt a lump form in your throat. “He… I… I know you were straightforward when you told me about having any type of relationship with Harry. But can you blame me? He was the first guy who actually liked me for being me and not for being a Stark.” You could feel tears prickle your eyes. Harry’s hand grabbed yours, and you smiled through the tears.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love being your daughter. We have the brains, the looks, the status… But do you know how it feels, how I’ve felt for years whenever someone wants to be my friend just because I’m your daughter? Because THE Iron Man is my father?” You could see your father slowly starting to relax his whole body.

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” He understood. After all, his father, your grandfather, also made a name before Tony even existed.

“When you recruited Peter, I was so happy to finally have a genuine friend, and when I met Harry, he was just… perfect. He didn’t care that I was your daughter. He knew you really didn’t like anything relating to his dad. Well, everyone on this planet knows that, but because he’s also an Osborn, he understood me, and he knew I wouldn’t use him either just because of that.” You let go of Harry’s hand and approached your dad.

“So, can you please forget he’s Norman Osborn’s son and just think of him as a normal person?”

“If it helps Mr. Stark, he’s good when it comes to her. Always takes care of her.”

“Pete…” Tony hated seeing you cry. When you came to this world, he vowed to give you everything he could and whatever his little girl wanted. He didn’t want to be the reason you cried.

“I guess I can try.” you squeaked in excitement and hugged him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“But just don’t ever hide this type of information from me. I don’t want you to think you cannot trust me.” Harry’s and Peter’s hearts melted at the sweet scene that was unfolding in front of them.

In the end, your dad will always make sure you are happy, and if Harry Osborn made you happy, he could try and put his hatred aside for your sake.

“Tony Stark. I’m your girlfriend’s dad, who’s also Iron Man, so be careful.” you hit your dad’s arm playfully.

“Harry Osborn. And please be sure I won’t let anything happen to her. She’s the love of my life, sir. I would do anything for her.”

“Good.”

Peter and you smiled. Well, this was just the beginning, and you were relieved the two men you loved the most finally met each other. Of course, this wasn’t how you wanted to tell your dad, but at least you would stop sneaking around. 

Maybe being reckless and forgetful wasn’t that bad after all.

A/N: And the saga of me using Taylor Swift’s songs as titles continues.

n a v i g a t i o n

m a r v e l  m a s t e r l i s t 

[gonetoforks]

Introducing; Yuichi Usagi-Cuddles!

There’s a slight typo in his basic character bio, (first, grey image) other than “yuich,” his family in America lives in the part of the hidden city under Jersey. He lives in Jersey. He’s a Jersian. So in terms of leosagi, it’s gonna be an enemies-to-lovers comedy-of-errors muahahahaha!!

More (a LOT more) info about him as his own guy under the cutoff :D ⬇️

Basically; He’s a silly guy! I feel like his kinda buffoonish, embarrassing personality in canon is simultaneously PERFECT for Rise’s writing style & grievously underrated in fanon depictions. So he’s this clownish type of character, haha.

Okay, time to go hyperfixation mode.

Adhd & his stubborn attitude;

He has ADHD! Executive function issues makes it hard for him to start tasks & manage himself, so he relies on his teams (the Mad Dogs when he’s training & the Rise equivalent to his canon friend group on his own time) to not only instruct him, but also hold him accountable & keep him on task. He’s body-doubling without even realizing it.

Although, he resents the things he does to accommodate his disability. He doesn’t notice that doing the things he does genuinely helps or why so he thinks he’s using them as a crutch because of incompetence. Every time he gets stubborn and ignores the things he needs to do, he crashes and burns. When he was new in town with no teacher & no friends who liked martial arts, he became a huge sad sack until the kraang invasion.

His character arc is about being able to rely on other people & accommodations. That relying on a bit more help than other people doesn’t make you incompetent, choosing to seek out the support you need so you can do your best is the true mature thing to do. I was inspired by canon Yuichi’s struggles with paying attention and Rise’s themes of cooperation. (& also my own experience with adhd and learning with executive function issues & junk)

Relationships w/ the turtles;

The Mad Dogs agree to let him like, intern with them? So he can see what it’s like to be a vigilante, they offer him advice and they occasionally go on low to mid-tier missions with his help. They take him on cause they think more heroes and allies out there, the less work they have to do haha. Also, one of the writers mentioned a season 3 would have them adjusting to being ~official heroes,~ I think this would be them trying to be “real.”

He’s closest friends with Mikey out of the whole group! (Adhd solidarity) Then it goes Donnie -> Raph -> and finally Leo (for now muahaha)

I tried to give Leosagi an interesting dynamic with constructing his character like this; They have similar insecurities from drawing self-worth from technical capabilities that they can develop past together, but Leo is clever and calculating about it vs Yuichi being rash and impulsive. So like smart x stupid but they’re the same actually.

His Family in Jersey;

He speaks english fluently because he’s visited his American family frequently his whole life, they’re very close. He has an accent though since he mainly speaks Japanese.

I haven’t fleshed out this concept enough, but I think members of his jersey/Cuddles half of the family would be spoofs of characters from the original yojimbo comics, implied to be reincarnations? Except Miyamoto ofc. (i’ll explain later..)

Reusing the ninja orphans plotline from the original show, his family utilizes their cute appearances to run an orphanage too. They wonder why this Chizu lady is constantly showing up with unhoused children, but they’re just grateful they’re safe now.

Everyone in his family HATES Mrs. Cuddles, they all think she’s in prison and are happy about it. She might’ve given him that scratch on his face.

Additional;

He is gay.

Thank you for your time.

[rikomoriyama01]

while we're talking about noras writing. I think parts of the way riko is written in the original is bad too. I think she makes him dumb when it's needed for the story. killing seth to me made no sense. if riko has the power to kill members of the foxes... kill Andrew!! riko is obviously very talented, surely he could have also analysed that seth was messing up the team, and killing him (ironically) only helps the foxes.

so. kill Andrew. Kevin comes running back. not only have the foxes lost one of their best strikers and their best goalkeeper. they can't even play anymore!! they've lost one too many players to meet the requirement. it's over. done.

and ik some Andrew stan is gonna say he couldn't be killed but bfr. Andrew is strong and a good fighter, yes, but riko could easily hire a well seasoned hit man or even a damn team of them if needed. make it look like a suicide, an accident, or even a murder! doesn't matter. the press thinks Andrew is insane and he's hated. Kevin comes running back and the ravens spin it as Kevin needing support in his grief from his team & family blah blah blah.

obviously riko doesn't do this cuz then the plot is fucked. but then don't establish that he can kill members of the foxes. have him do something else idk.

Apreciate that you managed to come up with something i had not heard so far in the fandom, tho i see the sentiment a bit differently. i think assuming that riko could deduce this much about foxes bond is bit of stretch, on top of it riko specifically wanted to kill a striker to put more pressure on kevin and neil with kevins damaged hand. so this leaves seth and matt and seth is clearly much lower profile death case considering matt has rich surgeon dad you could think that killing andrew would be too hot to pull off for that reason too considering andrew was somewhat involwed with the policeman investigatign his case in the past (excuse me i rember almost nothing of that plot by now the guy he called piggy or whatever) We also can``t assume that Riko could get just ... everything. he is second fmaily branch and tetsujis lil pet project i think if anythign i'm bothered by how inconsistent his range of power and infulence is That said Riko i smart and poses danger, he ha sskills and is not stupid. But its very easy to forget that if you spend too mcuh time readign tumblr tags or fanfics because the fandom makes sure to present him as biggest clown ever simply because nboody likes him . I gues good character writing is not smh ppl bother with when they hate someone lol Riko is good villian with a lot of flavs and his ego getting in his way, i think in very fitting way riko biggest enemy is riko himself and the way tetsujis upbirnging shaped him The fact that our mc is nobody but neil fuckgin josten and his side is damned andrew minyard do not help rikos case. you have 2 people who went throguh hell facign off again one motherfucker still stuck in it. if our mc's were different people riko would seem like different kind of threat . as it is he is just nuisance. but this is not fault of authors writtign this is issue of reader simplifying his role in the story and ignoring it simply because .. he's the villian ? and forced need to put all spotlight on other characters. people forget those books would not be as good if riko was the pathetic loser they write him as in fan content

[ouijathicc]

I think it’s important to recognize that while Burning Spice Cookie definitely ISNT stupid he does do stupid things.

See he’s not actually an idiot in the sense of being dumb as rocks and not understanding anything. What he actually is is impulsive and emotional.

Spice doesn’t exactly think everything through because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to have fun which for him includes a lot of things that most people would recognize as. Well… not always the most beneficial to him personally. He has a building dropped on his head and laughs because getting a building dropped on his head was the most fun he’s had in years.

He’s not stupid. Why would he be. There’s so much evidence against that I mean he literally ran civilization for a long ass time and things weren’t going too badly it seems. He speaks eloquently. He definitely understands most things, though I personally believe he doesn’t actually understand his own emotions or the people around him that’s not an issue of being “dumb” or “uneducated” it’s more of a case of Spice, like all of the beasts, being pushed into a god role seemingly from birth and being treated more as a tool than a person, thus why he describes his feelings which seem more akin to a disillusionment with life as “boredom”.

It seems like the reason people see Spice as dumb is because of some surface level ideas. He’s muscular and likes to fight. And doesn’t particularly care about anything else. It feels to a degree like the fandom tries to push him into a “himbo” role which. I mean even if he is dumb he’s not exactly nice y’all one of the main events of the Shadow Of The Destroyer plotline was him dismembering a woman. Himbo requires buff, dumb AND nice. And he’s only buff. So he’s just a hunk. Spice isn’t dumb. He’s a thousand year old deity who clearly knows at the very least how to manage things.

Now again. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t do stupid shit. These things are not mutually exclusive. I see a lot of fans of the character say he’d actually be a major intellectual but there’s one fatal flaw in that idea. Spice doesn’t seem to care about anything but destruction. At all.

Spice may be smart, at least as much as most of the other beasts are, but all that IQ will ever go towards is combat and nothing else. See. As he seems to imply if not DIRECTLY STATE. Destroying is the only thing that makes him feel alive.

Could he theoretically be good at chess? Absofuckinglutely (especially when you consider the fact early forms of Chess originate in India so he’s probably played it before). Would he actually play? Debatable. Would he be good at it in practice? Also debatable. See. Unless you have a way to motivate him to do something that isn’t violence (idk like maybe you are GCC or something he seems like he’d like beefing with her in any form), he’s probably going to get angry and break the board. And also. Spice has anger issues and doesn’t always seem to play ahead so while he could be great at a strategy game if he bothered to… would he bother to?

See Spice is the kinda stubborn little brat of a giant ass cookie to not want to ever do anything he doesn’t enjoy. He’s a one man mental health crisis who turned into a one man natural disaster. He likes fighting and hunting nothing else really brings him any sort of enjoyment so he doesn’t care about anything else. We see him in his own chapter FULLY get the other half of his power back and he doesn’t give a shit. When GCC escapes he’s EXITED. Someone who actually cares about anything but fighting would recognize this as a bad thing. But to Spice. Her getting out is the best thing that could have happened to him even with how much it can and will fuck up his plans because he doesn’t actually care about his plans.

In the non canon ranking video SMC complains that he goes off script too much. He doesn’t care about the beasts plans AT ALL. He doesn’t care about his own well-being (even if we ignore all the BLARING SIGNS THAT HES ACTIVELY SUICIDAL. BECAUSE THERES A LOT OF THOSE). He will do dumb things if they seem like the more entertaining option or if he’s just too angry to think clearly.

Spice isn’t stupid but he is a bull in a china shop who likes the sound of plates breaking.

He will do stupid shit. Not because he’s unintelligent. But because if he gets more enjoyment from the stupid shit it’s worth it to him to do rather than sitting through the boredom of the safer option.

The tldr of this is yes. The fandom interpretation of spice as a bumbling dumb as bricks idiot jock is stupid and not true. Because he’s not actually doing the dumb stuff because he doesn’t realize it’s dumb, he’s doing it because he wants to and there’s a difference.

This isn’t to say he’s the smarted in all scenerios, though it’s not because he can’t figure out a better way it’s because the better way again, seems like less fun. He generally seems to prefer solving problems with violence and that will always be his first choice. He won’t even consider other choices much of the time. Because he is intentionally not thinking of anything that won’t be entertaining.

Essentially. Spice isn’t incapable of being VERY smart. He’s unwilling to be. He’s not a dumb jock. But he is a violent maniac.

[taska-rokanh]

Befriending Spock Headcanons

My first Star Trek content! Spock is my favorite character by far and I feel like he needs some love. A lot of my Star Trek content will be romantic, but I feel like especially with Spock, it's necessary to explore the first steps of just becoming friends, because it's harder to break down his walls and he's not one to just act on attraction at first sight.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.1 k

- People have very different, often very polarizing opinions on Commander Spock. You'd heard more than enough stories about how cold, calculating, unforgiving, and inhuman he was. 

- But when you met him, all you could think was that he was so cool.

- He was incredibly intelligent, capable of making smart and informed decisions regarding basically any situation that affected the ship in minutes, and always acted with absolute certainty. Despite that, he did not want a command of his own and readily accepted his own mistakes, readjusting accordingly. What was there not to admire?

- You tried your best to be friendly, but you knew it was a long shot. Not only was he a Vulcan, he was your commanding officer. You weren't sure how he regarded any sort of personal relationship, really.

- Still, you found yourself engaging him in light conversation in the halls, the mess hall, or the lift. You broke it off quickly if it didn't seem like he wanted to talk, which surprisingly was very infrequent. If you got him talking about science, or the history and philosophy of Vulcan, it was quite easy to get him to talk.

- Spock is... I'm not sure how he would describe it, but I suppose, pleasantly surprised to find someone that not only tolerates his discussion of such topics, but actively pursues them.

- Whether you know it or not, you've chosen the most effective method of breaking the ice.

- Spock encourages this by consulting you on data that is outside of the normal scope of your duties as often as possible. He enjoys being challenged, and surmises that you must, as well. You have a natural curiosity and a scientific mind, one that with proper training could even attain his level of authority in time. These discussions don't feel like replacement training sessions so much as informal academic chatter, though.

- Spock starts to show that he considers you a friend through verbal encouragement first. It's often very dry and hard to detect, but it's there.

- He once corrected you regarding a postulation you'd made when analyzing some data that was adjacent to your field. You said, "Oh, right, that makes more sense. Sorry, I'm a little stupid sometimes," out of habit, something that you knew you should probably grow out of.

- He looked at you, perplexed. "Ensign, you should not insult yourself for being unaware of a highly specialized piece of information that allowed me to see the facts in this particular light. Every scientist, no matter how intelligent, has their blind spots."

- You smiled at his encouragement before raising your eyebrow in doubt. "Even you?"

- Spock hesitated for a moment before considering his ineptitude in handling his friendship with his captain and now, it appeared, you as well. "Of course."

- You didn't believe him, but thought it was sweet of him to say so. "Thanks, Commander."

- "You may call me Mr. Spock, or Spock, if you prefer."

- "Sure thing, Mr. Spock."

- The Mr. gets dropped shortly after.

- Every smile you manage to get out of him is an absolute treasure, as it is very rare. Something tells me that the first smile he gives you would be in a situation in which you are distressed and he is trying to reassure you, perhaps he sustained a nasty injury and you are very concerned. The smile is fleeting and feels a little unnatural, but the effort he put into it was enough to convince you that he would recover. little did you know there was little effort expended--seeing your care for him, it was almost irresistible.

- Every smile you give him is treasured by him, though they are so much more frequent. It is true that humans smile with so little provocation, but it's still nice to know sometimes that he's the reason and not the butt of some joke (looking at you, Kirk and Bones)

- There are two facts about Vulcans that are very relevant to this situation: 1) Vulcans are touch telepaths, meaning that touch is very, incredibly personal and reserved for special situations (except for Sarek and Amanda cuz they're whores), and 2) Vulcans are, in fact, very emotional people.

- Keeping these facts in mind, there must be some way for Spock to express his feelings of appreciation and camaraderie for you, and it cannot be in the average human manner (handshakes, pats on the back, high fives)

- So instead, he takes a more vested interest in your wellbeing, asking if you've eaten, drank water, slept, etc. especially when you've come back from an away mission and are busy analyzing new data.

- You often seem to find each other following each of the Enterprise's adventures. These are often time-sensitive and life-threatening, and as a low-ranking science officer, often your only orders are to stay put and protect yourself. 

- The first time or two after you've become friends, you try to hide how shaken you are--you know you're fine, really. You just can't help that your reaction to coming down off the adrenaline high is to literally shake and sometimes cry a bit.

- However, Spock sees through what you're trying to do and reassures you that you are safe. "I know."

- "I intended to convey that you are safe to express any emotions you may currently be experiencing."

- Oh.

- You usually end up sitting with Spock somewhere, your quarters, your lab, the mess hall, the holodeck, shaking and crying before recovering after a bit. The emotional expression always makes Spock a bit uncomfortable--not because he's disgusted by it, but because he doesn't have/doesn't feel comfortable expressing the skills or the emotional intelligence needed to interact with them. 

- His simply being there is enough. You recover in 15 minutes or so and can carry on as before.

- "Have you considered consulting Dr. McCoy regarding the management of your anxiety surrounding these events? They seem to cause you a high degree of stress."

- You shrugged. "It's just my body's response, it doesn't bother me," you reassured him. "Besides, I've got you."

- The feeling of being needed in a way not associated with his intelligence or his duty was unexpectedly welcome.

- In time, he comes to take a more active role, bringing you food and water while you're working or offering to make a bit of progress on your work while you take a short rest--Vulcans don't require as much sleep as humans, after all.

- After a while of this, you mention to him that you feel that you could be a more proactive friend, when he takes so much time and effort to look out for you, and ask him what you could do.

- He looks at you, perplexed. "Your presence in my life is quite sufficient," he assures you. "Your companionship proves to be a gratifying part of my daily routine in any measure."

- He has no idea how sweet he can be.

[kozachenko]

Remember when I asked what Zanmu meant by Suika not acting enough like an oni? While this may be a mistranslation, ZUN's comment in the fortune telling book for Suika implies all of the oni have their own idea of what "being oni-like" is, and so Zanmu is basically saying Suika isn't acting enough like her.

I kinda love this actually, with how Zanmu acts in Touhou 19, this (to me at least) kinda implies that Zanmu is just a weee bit on the narcissistic side (understatement of the century). I mean, the whole reason she trusts Reimu and calls her the "Ruler of Gensokyo" is literally because she reminds her of herself. Zanmu thinks that her way of being an Oni is the best and only way of being an Oni.

Also, this once again makes me wonder how other Oni in Hell act and if Zanmu has kinda encouraged the idea that she is the pinnacle of what being an Oni should be. Suika's whole bit about Zanmu being "a true oni among oni" can also be recontextualized through this lens, as it's less of her complementing Zanmu, and more of her almost mocking her.

This also makes the fanfic part of my brain go nuts because in a previous post I mentioned how Zanmu's overconfidence and tendency to bluff her way out of a situation could just be a facet of the facade she's put up for herself to survive in Hell. Narcissistic tendencies tend to be rooted from deep seeded insecurities after all.

One last, kinda unrelated, thing I want to mention is that this book kinda shows the difference between Zanmu and Yukari. Even though they're both puppet masters, Yukari doesn't really go out of her way to say that she's better than everyone else. I could be missing a few examples, but Yukari never really tries to posture herself as this "super smart amazing mastermind" to anyone else. However, in Touhou 19, Zanmu always makes a great show on how she will "be the one to bring peace to the surface" or "I have already solved the incident on the surface world" and even outright insults some of the other characters by calling them "stupid" or "selfish" or just straight up saying that they have a poor judge of character or weren't smart enough to pick up on what she's doing. Hell, in Marisa's scenario, Zanmu chastizes Marisa for falling for her trap, only to follow it up with "well it is one my traps though" like she's congratulating herself for managing to fool someone with such a shabby little trinket.

Yukari knows that she's powerful, so she doesn't feel the need to try and show off. Yet, even though Zanmu claims to be untouchable, and to most people she seems to be, Zanmu still talks a big game about how she's "already won" and that any attempt to fight her is "pointless." Even though it felt impossible for any character to win against her, how much of that did her ability to "return things to nothing" play in that? How much of that was really just her ability talk her way out of a situation? Just something small to think about, as well as being kinda sort unrelated to the question. I will take any excuse to psychoanalyze Zanmu lol

[ana-the-light-fury]

I was originally just going to do this with Mint and Spector, but then idea got too big so I did all of them lol. Here are the relationships Leena has with the main Sonic characters, along with a few OCs:

(sorry in advance for my lack of practice drawing Knuckles and Amy lol)

First up, Sonic the Hedgehog! When they first met, Leena thought Sonic was just an immature, leap-before-you-look kind of person. And while that wasn't exactly wrong, they’ve grown close in a way that only rival siblings could. Their similarities cause them to fight and pick on each other a lot, but when they ever team up, they can do anything.

Silver the Hedgehog is Leena’s best friend—and has been since they met in the broken future Silver managed to change. Silver brought Leena with him when he went back, and she decided to stay because she met so many wonderful people. These two are the type of friends who rarely fight and can tell how the other feels, even if they’re trying to hide it.

Amy Rose and Leena are chill. Not exactly besties, but nowhere near enemies. They don’t do too well when left alone, mostly because Amy’s extreme personality makes Leena uncomfortable.

Knuckles the Enchidna and Leena are also chill. They have a mutual respect for each other but never seek out each other’s company.

Mina the Cat (another one of my OCs, although she’s also partly @maplesyrup3501 ‘s) is basically Leena’s mother/mentor. Mina more or less raised Leena, teaching her everything she knows. Leena looks up to Mina and trusts her completely—even if she sometimes gets a little too enthusiastic about things lol.

Leena sees Mint the Possum (@chickenwaffles17 ‘s OC) almost as an elder sister, even though Leena is actually older than her. Mint had such a strong personality (in a different way than Amy), that Leena was drawn to it. Mint is someone that Leena trusts and is glad to be part of Team Sapphire with her, along with Spector.

Spector (@gotta-go-fast ‘s OC) is so precious and pure to Leena. It’s almost like a Katniss-and-Rue kind of relationship, where Leena often forgets that Spector can actually take care of herself. Leena constantly underestimates her, but she’s been trying to keep in mind that Spector is stronger than she looks.

Leena’s relationship with Shadow the Hedgehog is an awkward one. Leena, for the longest time, liked Shadow. But she’s been trying to blow the feelings off for a few reasons—the two biggest being 1. The fact that Shadow is dating Mint and 2. She knows Shadow wouldn’t ever return the feelings. Leena tries to avoid talking with him because of how embarrassed she still is about her feelings.

Leena and Rouge the Bat get along okay, since Mint is their mutual friend. But like with Knuckles, Rouge isn’t someone Leena seeks out—unless she needed very specific help or information—but they have a similar kind of mutual respect.

Although she has never admitted this to anyone—and most certainly never plans too—Leena does not like Miles “Tails” Prower. She thinks he is annoyingly smart and he makes her feel stupid since he is so much younger than her but could build a robot out of her toaster if he so desired. She hates listening his advice, especially when he’s right—but sometimes she stubbornly refuses to take it. She tries her best to be nice to him, since he is Sonic’s best friend and everyone else loves him—but she doesn’t even have his phone number, not even for an emergency. It, uh, just never came up.

[badgalsasuke]

Men hate Raimi's Mary Jane? Why?

Honestly? Because men, especially men in geek spaces cannot stand fleshed out female characters. They only like them when they're attractive and are just props that breathe, exist and live for the male main character, TASM Gwen Stacy or Hinata Hyuga lol.

Raimi wrote his Mary Jane as a complex layered woman that has her own identity, her own dreams and her own struggles beyond Peter Parker and this pisses men A LOT.

They call Mary Jane a whore and a slut for dating sooooo maaaaany men instead of keeping herself pure and virginal over an indecisive Peter Parker that won't tell her that he loves her, she's simply supposed to know that by reading his mind or something lmao. They also ignore how the minute she finds out he truly loves her but can't be with her because it would put her life at risk, she drops everything she had worked for just so she can be with the man she loves.

No, but in all seriousness men ignore that Mary Jane comes from an abusive household where her father was always emotionally and verbally abusing her causing her to always seek validation from other men that don't actually like her let alone love her, they simply see her as a doll to parade around but she believes this is the most she can achieve, the type of love she deserves. We see this in her relationship with Flash and John Jameson (the astronaut) but especially in her relationship with Harry, he only wants to impress his father, feel less enmasculated after years of school bullying and hurt his best friend Peter who "stole" his father's love from him, so he starts dating MJ. Also, funny how the minute she stands up for herself after Harry's father calls her a slut Harry insults her as well and tells her to shut her mouth, he never loved her.

Men don't care about this, they're simply mad there were other men in her life before Peter Parker. They also think she was such a bitch to Harry; she was dating Harry when the upside down kiss with Spider-man happened, so you can imagine all the things men say about MJ for cheating on Harry, but like why should MJ give a fuck about Harry when he's such a shitty boyfriend that's using her when she was just saved by this other man (mind you, she was on her way to a date with Harry bc the prick wouldn't pick her up from her job like a real man would've!) who had already saved her life before and was being flirtatious with her??? I'd have made out with Spider-man too lmao. Oh, and btw no one ever says Peter Parker is an asshole to Harry for kissing his girlfriend, he knew MJ was dating Harry at the time and still made out with her but only MJ is trashed.

She also comes from poverty and manages to get out of it all by herself with her talent and hardwork and even becomes a star in Broadway (this is also why she dates the men she does, she wants stability). But men still make memes about how TASM Gwen Stacy and MCU MJ are soooooo smart because they got into MIT meanwhile Raimi's Mary Jane is just a stupid bitch who doesn't deserve Peter.

Additionally, lot of men say that Mary Jane only loves Spider-man but not Peter (unlike virginal Gwen Stacy who loves Peter) but that's not true we see the final scene in the first movie where she declares her love to Peter and *HE REJECTS HER*, keep in mind she had no idea he was Spider-Man yet. Like the point of MJ's attraction to Spider-Man before she finds out that's Peter underneath the mask is that she loves all sides of Peter Parker even when she's not aware that's still him, but men act like Spider-man is a whole different man MJ is cheating on Peter with, a bunch of morons truly.

Men (and bunch of pick-me girls I've spotted on social media that self insert onto TASM Gwen Stacy) simply don't get Raimi's trilogy and Mary Jane like I do.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Askgame,,,,, soft kawarama PLEASE

From this ask game

OHH OK THIS IS A FUN ONE— so like. This is half vague character thoughts and half even more vague character study fic idea. I think I wrote it around when I was super into the magical girl izuna au? When I realized I'd have to start thinking of Kawarama as an actual character and not just "dead senju brother numero three"

I drew him for that one magical girl izuna thing ab Itama seeing spirits and he was just so cute ,,, I started thinking about him even more after that

But like, from notesapp:

"Soft things" Kawarama Senju is born soft. Kawarama looks really sharp and sort of wolfish, the scar on his face especially makes him look intimidating He has the same resting bitch face as Tobirama He's so soft tho and it's going to get him killed one day. His brothers all worry for him. Itama looks the softest of them all Hashirama acted the softest of them all— though in part it may have been his natural silliness. But it was Kawarama, who among them was not built for war. He had gentle, long fingered hands. An artists mind and a musicians hands, a mind often spent lost in thought. He's legit kind of stupid but has this really sharp, handsome, sort of intellectual face to him that makes him seem all smart and rugged He is neither of these things.

Like I said, very messy notes but. U get the picture

Itama tends to be the senju brother chosen to get to live when it comes to "don't worry not all the brothers are dead this time" aus (possibly I think due to his eyecatching design, which makes people wanna think ab him a bit more than the plainer looking Kawarama) or, even if they all live, Itama will be the one to get more lines.

Which I am also guilty of bc I love Itama dearly but like. Mmm. Kawarama.

I am thinking ab his potential and what personality might be fun for him to have, especially when standing among his brothers (and especially considering the "soft but deadly" vibes I have running for Itama)

Uhhh "soft but deadly" Itama vs "deadly but soft" Kawarama, pass it on

I like to run with the headcanon that Hashirama was the eldest, then Kawarama was the spare, then the twins Itama and Tobirama were the babies of the group (read: spares to the spare)

So, as kids, Kawa and Hashi got most of their fathers attention— giving Itama and Tobirama some space to fuck around and find out (see that time they managed to poison the entire senju compound)

Then Kawarama dies and suddenly Tobirama and Itama are now the spares. Still given a bit of breathing space, if only because there are two of them.

Then Itama dies and, well, you know the rest.

But like. Spare heir Kawarama who's good at fighting but just not built for it, personality wise. And his brothers who know this and fear for both his safety and his mental well being

He would have supported Hashirama's dream, if he'd grown old enough to truly learn of it. If for no other reason than because he hates to fight

(Also I think Tobirama originally being the baby of the family adds a fun sort of layer to his older self. He had just a bit of time to be a child before it was all taken away and he was fast tracked into being an adult as the new spare, rip)

Hmmm. On the other hand though, as I type this out, I am thinking. Eldest child Kawarama. What if he's the original clan heir, with Hashirama as the spare

This'd give even more irony to him being the softest of them all, actually. He's not built for the life and he's supposed to be in charge, double rip

This also gives Hashirama a bit of room to breathe as just the spare, which allows him some time to be silly and dream of peace and all that, while his elder brother does his best to protect his dreams and shoulder the burden of being heir

Kawarama coming back from his first day out on the battlefield, exuasted and traumatized. And Hashirama covering him in blankets as he tries to distract his brother with meaningless rambles— anything to get the horrible, blank look out of his eye. And Hashirama is just spitting out everything he can think of, just talking to talk, and he finds himself blurting that he just wishes they didn't have to fight, that the whole stupid war could just be over!

And Kawarama finally speaks for the first time since coming home, reaching out to place his hand on his little brothers head to say, "that's a good wish to have."

And Hashirama tucking this quiet moment of positive reinforcement into his heart, just more reason to fuel his dream

Then Kawarama dies and suddenly Hashirama is expected to be the new heir, and oh fuck now his mokuton has appeared and there's so much expected of him and no big brother to shield him anymore— and now he's the big brother who has to protect Tobirama and Itama from the crushing reality of being a heir and—

ANYWAYS YEAHHH KAWARAMA <3 I should draw him, he's cute

Thank you for participating in the ask game Ohai!

[bbyg4rl]

hiii! what are your thoughts on obx characters and their hogwarts houses? i feel like that could be such a fun AU

hi !!! i rmbr seeing this right before i went on break and i was so excited to answer this lol, i love merging different universes tgt!!

1, john b -> gryffindor

he’s obviously the leader of the group, right? i feel like he’s such a brave person! season one really shaped how i see him. he had no adult supervision, his dad was gone, dcs was on his ass, and then a hurricane basically uprooted everything. that’s genuinely such a shitty position to be in. and even then, he stayed standing and did his absolute best to get answers. i really admire how determined and brave he is—like, if i were in his position, i know i’d probably have given up and let them put me in foster care. he’s so brave and determined that people almost see him as stubborn. he’s constantly pushing himself, physically and mentally, to get through impossible situations. he keeps going when most people would’ve burned out. that’s why i feel like he’s a gryffindor!

2, pope -> hufflepuff/ravenclaw (?)

i’m literally stuck between hufflepuff and ravenclaw for pope. he’s obviously smart right? maybe the smartest out of the whole group. hes always thinking things thru, managing everything including their finances in s4. hes way more grounded than everyone else, i feel like hes very realistic and actually uses his head. thats what makes me think hes a ravenclaw.

but then again, pope is so hardworking and loyal. he literally gave up his future and education for the pogues. he risked everything he’d worked for just to help them and protect them. its one of the biggest reasons he’s my favourite character. that’s the kind of loyalty that makes me feel like he’s a hufflepuff.

3, sarah -> gryffindor

sarah’s a very tricky one tbh. i feel like her character has a lot of layers. on the surface, i’d say gryffindor because she’s bold and not rly afraid to take risks like, she stands up to ward multiple times, she runs off with john b, and she throws herself into danger for him so many times right? and shes also very strong in some decisions she makes, like in s3 when she decides to leave john b back and go to kildare. i think she knows and can make hard decisions like that which makes me think shes a gryffindor. i was gonna say hufflepuff initially but hufflepuffs r rly loyal right? (atleast from what ik) and i think most of her character was figuring herself out while kinda bouncing around w the kooks & the pogues, the constant going back to topper kinds ruined the hufflepuff thing for me lol

4, kie -> hufflepuff

kie to me is definitely a hufflepuff. i think i see her as a very loyal character. shes always talking ab pogue loyalty and being a pogue and keeping the group together and all (?) i think that definitely makes her a hufflepuff. i do think a lot of that loyalty and outspokenness about her being a pogue comes from an insecure place, u can rly see how she finds it maybe shameful to be recognised as a kook in s3, when jj calls her a kook? like he definitely knew that would be what would sting. I feel like that insecurity of not being "pogue enough" might be a big reason for how loyal she seems to be to the group.

5, jj -> slytherin/hufflepuff

i know those houses seem like opposite ends of the spectrum, but hear me out!! jj is SUCH a resourceful person, he’s always scheming (even if its stupid), he knows how to survive, he’s super street smart, he’s so self preservative with how fast he can whip up a lie and he’s got that "im gonna get out of this literally impossible situation" thing about him.

i know hes 90% of the time a huge himbo but u cannot deny 100% of the time hes the only guy persistent enough to actually do smth to help his friends.

THIS is also why i think hes a hufflepuff! he’s so so loyal. he’s the only character (imo) who has sacrificed so much for every character. he went to jail for pope, stole a boat from his DAD for john b, broke kie out of kitty hawk, saved sarah from a literal storm in the ocean ??? hes so babygirl in how loyal he is.

i could go on and on esp for jj but im gonna leave this here 😭

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hi, a couple of mouths ago I asked for Noah x reader with his siblings. I just want to apologize, I just didn't realize that this in fact faw more character x character thing, also asking you to make 8 brand new character was insane idk what I was thinking😭

Could I make a simpler ask for Noah? Maybe some comfort. Basically his s/o is stressing over an exam to the point of crying becouse they can't understand the material. Also they didn't want to ask him for help cuz they ware affraid he would make fun of them (once again, he's a dick).

Again im really sorry, and thanks for understanding that means a lot. Hope you'll have a great day♥️♥️♥️

Ohh hello my lovely!!! It is so nice to see you again, and don’t worry about the nature of the other request, you are a sweetheart for understanding! Of course you can ask, thank you so much for this request and I hope you have a great day yourself!💛🌸

All the best to everyone who currently have exams or have exams coming up. Remember that regardless of the results you get, they will never truly be able to emulate your abilities and your best is enough! Take care of yourselves and enjoy!❤️

NOAH X READER ONE SHOT

The clock above your head read 21:34, though you’ve been too hunched over your table to see. Your hands were sore and your back hurts, yet studying was more important as you frantically flipped the pages and poorly wrote new notes. You didn’t care how fast your heart was beating. If it means you’ll do good in the exam, so be it.

The second you were too panicked to do one method of studying, you would move onto the next. Whether that was resuming the summary video you had in the background or rereading the textbook, you didn’t care if it wasn’t efficient, you were getting desperate and you needed to have some information memorised. If it means you’ll do good in the exam, so be it.

Eventually, you really couldn’t take it anymore.

This was hopeless.

You banged your elbows on top of your table and pulled onto your face with irritated hands. This was no use. Nothing was working. You weren’t getting any work done.

“What am I doing?” you sobbed,“This is hopeless... I’m not smart enough for this. I can’t do this, I was so stupid for thinking I could.”

Why did you choose this godforsaken subject? Why? All your other subjects were fine, but this one, horrible. The worst part was, this one was the most relevant to what you wanted to do when you left school.

“It’s not my fault that this woman can’t teach!” you were still sobbing, but your tone was pissed, directed at your teacher,“Stupid woman, if she actually did her job, I wouldn’t be so tempted to bang my damn head against the wall.”

Thank goodness before you could do that, Noah came.

You gasped and tried wiping your tears away and grabbing your pen to simulate a normal night of studying. You couldn’t let him see how stressed you were. Your hand was so numb, but the physical pain wasn’t important at the moment.

Needless to say, he saw right through it,”You are not okay. Don’t lie.”

“Okay, fine. No, I’m not doing okay. In fact, I feel like ending it all.” you barked, your eyes stinging from stress,“I’ve been here, trying to understand this utter garbage that isn’t even supposed to be that important but apparently it is, since if I don’t, my life would be screwed, since morning!” you gestured to your disorganised desk,“And I feel like I’m still on square one, and have made no progress today!”

“Woah, let’s calm it.” he insisted, his usual cynicism melting into sympathy as he rubbed your shoulder. Such words would be a mockery in another context,“You’re gonna get nowhere by shouting.”

You hissed,“I want to die, Noah. If I’m dead, I won’t need to worry about school ever again.”

Noah’s mouth sunk to his neck in shock at your dangerous words, though he managed to compose himself,“Okay, that’s your first mistake. Don’t say stuff you don’t actually mean. Breathe in and out.”

He won’t leave you alone until you did, would he?

So you do, first reluctantly then embracing it,“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.” you apologised, your voice a lot more gentle,“I just... Why do exams exist? Why do they have to be so hard?”

“I know, they’re dreadful.” Noah agreed,“That’s the second thing. You can’t expect to understand anything if you force yourself to this desk all day. It’s like, the self inflicted Cinderella.”

“No, what’s the point? I’ve tried everything. Nothing is going through, and the exam is in two days. I may as well not show up.” you hopelessly claimed, throwing your pen to the side.

“Don’t say that. You just need to change your strategy, since this, is not working at all, hon.” Noah explained, picking it up and offering it back.

You take it, but it didn’t stop your confusion,“I don’t understand...” you sniffled, still recovering from the mental breakdown. All those movies had people work all day and that’s how they got As!,“I thought if I just worked and kept my head down, I would understand all I needed to by now.”

“For at least fifteen hours straight?” Noah asked like you were mad, though there was a sense of affection glimmering in his eyes,“Did you even get something to eat?”

“Uh...” you hadn’t realised that you’ve neglected eating,“I guess I kept putting it off, but I was going to!”

“Figures.” he scoffed, grabbing your arm,“Come on, I’m taking you out to put some food and common sense back in your system. That’s the third thing.”

When you stood up, a lot of areas of your body began cracking in unison, your tale of literally spending the entire day at the desk proving more true to Noah as disturbance scribbled his face.

The time was 22:04 by the time you and Noah arrived at a fast food restaurant. Your darling admitted that fast food wasn’t the best to rely on during exam season, but for your atrocious approach and the tears it brought you, he made it an exception.

“Thank you, Noah...” you didn’t feel bad since there were other people dining in too.

“You needed this.” he replied, keeping his attention strictly on you,“So, here’s the deal. I’m going to pay for whatever you want, and you have to promise to not do any more work today or do it first thing after you wake up tomorrow.”

You looked at him like he was mad,“But Noah, by that time, I’ll have less than twenty four hours before I’m in the exam hall! You can’t expect me to not be pulling on my hair!”

“Tough luck, honey, if you’re stressed, you won’t be getting anything you want done.” he bluntly remarked, fiddling with the standardised napkin provided,“I always knew you were clumsy when it came to studying, but I never would have guessed that you would have left everything until last minute to cram.”

“It’s not my fault, Noah!” you exclaimed, your earlier frustration clogging your next words,“I had a whole other bunch of things going on! I have clubs, hobbies, other assignments and homework to do! I hate when teachers assume you’ll dedicate your entire life to their subject. It’s like they choose to ignore the fact that I have other stuff going on and then get mad when I don’t read like fifty books related to their thing in the span of two months.”

“Education isn’t designed to take anyone’s well-being into account. How else would it weed out the ones perfect for exploitation in the future?” he was no foreigner to sarcasm or keeping a straight face, this boyfriend of yours.

You murmured, anxiety swimming in your thoughts,“I can’t wait for it all to be over... I really, really can’t wait. The second I’m done, I’m going to throw every last thing I have of school into a bonfire.”

The idea crafted an approving smirk on his face though it morphed into puzzlement when he spoke again,“You know this stuff is my expertise. Why didn’t you just ask me if you were stuck?”

A scoff escapes your dry throat,“No offence Noah, but, you’re not exactly the easiest person to ask help from.” you folded your arms,“Even as my boyfriend, you just, you never sugarcoat what you say, do you?”

Noah rolls his eyes as he responded sans amusement,“Oh come on, you can’t be serious. Every smart person thinks the same. I’m just the only one who’ll admit it. But look, if I really didn’t care, you think I would be doing all this?”

“I know...” you sigh,“I just...I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I want to do well.”

“I want you to do well too, and I don’t want you to just be okay with your results- I want you to be so happy that you could convince me to wear a leotard and tights.” you chuckled at that bizarre hyperbole,“So here’s what I’m thinking. Until I come over tomorrow afternoon to help you study, do anything else. If you really are adamant on doing something, just make a list on all your weak areas so we’ll know what to prioritise. It’s not important when you get it done, so no pressure.”

Pinpointing the weak areas... Yeah, that sounds good. Your strengths and weaknesses were all jumbled together. It’s a good starting point. He always knew what to say.

You ended up enjoying a great late night meal with fries and lemonade. This was greater than you expected it to be. You thought that going out this late would be a horrible choice, but no. Giving yourself space to breathe beyond your black and white papers seemed just what you needed to lower your blood pressure and brighten your perception on the world again.

Noah was always right. He walked you home, permitting you to hug him goodnight; during it, the word “Remember” conspicuously fell into your ear.

“Yes I know... No studying until I see you tomorrow.” you yawned, smiling,”Goodnight Noah, get home safely.”

You entered your bedroom and switched your lamp on. The sight of your messy desk in the dark, with your textbooks opened, stationary everywhere and notes displaced, was a crime scene to your studious eyes. You were so tempted to fall into the trap laid by your anxiety that the only way you could redeem this was by continuing. And continue you would, had the experience of relaxing not refreshed you.

You would take a quick warm shower and change into your sleepwear. You have time. You laid down in your bed, turning over to turn the lamp off, simultaneously catching note of the time on your alarm: 00:01. It was now the next day.

Were you worried? A part of you still was. A part of you still so badly just wanted to leave the bed to study.

However, a new part was assuring you otherwise. Sleep wasn’t an enemy and if you listened to your body, you’ll feel much better and much more ready to study.

You’ll catch up, you still have time. For now, you were going to enjoy rest.