#proofreading is for nerds

[c-large-pancake-with-holes]

Random burst of inspiration made me do it so take Ali's character sheet

Name: Alistair

Nicknames: Ali

Age: 30

Gender: Non-binary

Skin Color: Pale

Hair Color: Light Brown

Height: 200 cm

Motivations: Making their husband happy, keeping their nation together, fighting for the underprivileged.

Accomplishments: Becoming the second in power (next to the queen), keeping everyone alive so far.

Self-Confidence: 8/10

Embarrassments: Slipping up while training, saying something that could've been phrased better.

Confidantes: Xyrus, Cereus, Rowan, Zephyr

Likes: Serenity, cleanliness, logic.

Dislikes: Imperfections, injustice, negativity.

[minoritybingowinner]

Working retail is but a daily horror experience that your forced to not show perceived "attitude" to customers because then there's just a chance of losing your job with enough complaints of people saying you're "mean" (Said meanness just being not greeting or smiling to folks). Like, I'm already exerting enough restraint by not calling you a dumbass for not reading the deal tags fully and then blaming me if I'm somehow wizarding the prices differently to fuck you over. It's especially worse when you're a POC in a majority white area because then you just get a nice dose of casual racism in your shifts. The amount of racist comments I've gotten about my race is not surprising where I'm from but still shocking with how nonchalant they are about it. And ya know the normal insults that you get when a bitchy costumer isn't getting their way. I've been called enough things to probably write a short story just using the insults people have said to me. I believe in the idea that any service worker deserves to just smack the shit out of 3 different people each year as a reward for dealing with the publics bullshit.

[insanity6666]

Molten Hearts 1.5

An interlude before we get to the Big Guy himself.

After reaching your quarters to hide and process, a friend comes to your unexpected aid in an unexpected way.

Part 1

(Pardon if the link to the first one doesn't work I am still new to editing posts and the like)

Warnings, if any: There is alcohol, but they only get mildly drunk/buzzed.

You blinked up at the ceiling, as you had for the past hour, clutching your pillow, as you lay sprawled haphazardly upon your bed. You had stopped crying thirty minutes ago, and had gotten over the manic giggle fit around ten minutes back as the ridiculousness of the situation finally hit you.

You were proposed to.

By accident.

By Vulkan.

“Salt and Stars.” You groaned, shoving the pillow in your face to muffle the sound as it devolved into either a sob or hiccup or laugh or… something. You’re not quite sure. But it was dramatic, which you think you’re allowed to be, considering the circumstances.

How did this even happen? How did you end up married, technically, to a Primarch?

‘Oh fuck,’ You sit up, launching your pillow halfway across the room as you did, as you realise, ‘There had been witnesses. His sons had been right there!’ 

“Oh for fucksakes…!” You whined, diving into overdramatic cries as you buried your face in your hands. This was a diplomatic incident waiting to happen! What the hell were you supposed to do? How were you to explain this? To anyone? Vulkan, the bastard, doesn’t even realise the situation he’s put you in. Perfectly oblivious to the incident that’s primed like a bomb ready to go off at the slightest disturbance, and it had rested right upon your head all the way back to your quarters.

Another realisation.

Shit. Shit!

You had walked all the way to your quarters. While wearing the circlet. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Ohdeargodhadanyoneseenyou-

A hiss cut through your thoughts as a figure strutted through the doorway. Mitzi, another remembrancer recruited from your home planet, waltzed in carrying a bag no doubt laden with dubiously-acquired spoils. The shorter woman stopped dead at the sight of you, mid-panic, and announced plainly-

“Glad I got the good stuff.” 

-Before she unceremoniously dumped the contents on the bed, making a show of all she had managed to get. You also spied a bottle of something familiar, and almost cried at the sight. It was the good stuff, too. 

“I’ll get the glasses.” You say, even though you’re tempted to just drink from the bottle. However you just made a new set of drinking glasses and you figured you might as well use them now.

“Why get glasses when its already in glass?” Mitzi teased as she settled on the bed, arranging the pillows and settling in as she began to sort the food and drinks she had brought in. You quickly joined her, jumping on the bed and ruining her work to sort the packages by size and colour.

“I could make an argument for civility, but really if I take that bottle, you aren’t getting it back.” You joke with a sly smile, handing over a glass that had sections tinted so it looked like a salamander beast was weaving around the glass from within. A little on the nose, but it was mostly for practice and they turned out better than you expected. So you kept it as a personal set.

Mitzi blew a raspberry as she took the offered glass, and immediately set about pouring herself an unhealthy amount of alcohol, and handed the bottle to you. You also poured an unseemly amount of alcohol into your cup, and you both tapped the glasses together with a happy ‘cheers!’ before downing half your cups and descending upon the hapless snacks piled between you two.

Thankfully, as you both wiled your time away with good food and drink, your friend didn’t ask about what had put you in such a state when she walked in. Curious, most certainly, by the looks she kept giving you. She would ask, eventually, if you didn’t speak up, but she was kind enough to keep her curiosity in check at least for a while yet.

Something you were thankful for. It allowed you to ignore, and even forget a few times, the box sitting quietly on your desk somehow impossible not to notice, even when turned away from it. 

You giggled into your cup, refilled and emptied twice, and would need a third refill soon. Mitzi was cackling as she recounted her time confusing a young Salamander when she explained darkrooms and why they’re needed to process light sensitive photos and pictures. He had been confused on how she did that, as baselines don’t have night-vision, and trying to explain the special red lights and why she can’t use night vision goggles.

“I’ll be back.” Mitzi muttered between giggles as she slipped off the bed and stumbled to your bathroom, cursing as she tripped over her own feet. You weren’t sure if it was from the alcohol or it was just clumsiness… or her legs were asleep, from the weird way she had been sitting… or lying. She wasn’t sure what position Mitzi had been in, but it didn’t look comfortable.

You closed your eyes as you finished off your drink, pleasantly buzzed and beginning to lean towards being drunk, especially if you kept going. Which you would, most likely. Enjoy this levity before you donned your armour and gear and went out to the battlefield with Mitzi and the others, to record the events and witness the deeds of those who fought to protect humanity and the Imperium.

You dataslate dinged, somewhere beneath the pillows, and it took a while to dig it out but you did. You smiled when you saw it was from Vulkan, and cradled your cheek with your palm as you braced the dataslate against one of the pillows.

Opening the message, you read the ‘The preparations are taking longer than expected. Unfortunately we will have to reschedule our plans. I’m sorry to make you wait.’ he had sent, disappointed but not surprised. You expected this, really, and probably shouldn’t have offered in the first place, but you wanted to give him a moment of reprieve. He worked so hard, and always seemed to be doing something, never resting. Never making time for himself. Granted, you don’t know the truth of that, as you don’t spend all your time with him. But you would like to give him that, to carve out time to let him relax, to not be a Primarch or Warlord. Just Vulkan. A father. A friend. 

You type a quick reply, assuring him that there was no need for apologies and that now you have something to look forward to after the battle. A reminder to rest, and to be safe, you added on impulse that was probably aided by the alcohol running through your veins. 

As you send it before you can think better of it, you hear the door to your bathroom hiss open and close. You’re staring at the screen when you hear Mitzi’s curious coo, and the click of a latch being undone. You realise too late what is happening, and the warmth in your blood and haziness in your head turns to ice-cold clarity with the bolt of panic when you hear:

“What the fuck.” 

Flinging yourself into a sitting position, you see Mitzi -the fucking sticky beak that she is- holding the box contraining the cause of your crisis. She is staring at it with a blank, if bewildered, expression. As though she cannot comprehend what she is looking at. You understand the feeling, but right now you just feel annoyed and panicked as you stand.

Walking over, you quickly snap the lid shut and lift the box from your friends hands, and place it back on the desk.

Back to reality, then.

Turning to face the music, you are instead faced with your friends scream of “What the fuck is that?” that was hopefully muffled by the walls of your quarters.

“A circlet.” You state, suddenly feeling petulant. Your irritation at your friend's inability to keep her hands to herself makes your tone more snappish than you meant.

“Yeah, no shit.” Mitzi snarled, more incredulous than anything. “Who proposed? When? Why didn’t you say anything?” Her tone turned more to hurt, no doubt thinking you had been keeping secrets about your relationship status.

“Nobody-” You try, stop, and try again, “It’s not- Salt and Stars! It’s not what it looks like.” You grab Mitzi’s hands with your own, squeezing them. “You know that if I was with anyone, you would be the first to know. If you don’t find out first because you’re a terrible snoop, I would tell you before anyone else.” You speak with all the conviction you can muster, which seems to be enough as Mitzi’s hackles lower as she listens.

“Honey, that is a marriage circlet. How is that not a proposal? Or…” she looks down at the box, eyes suddenly suspicious and slightly panicked, “It wasn’t a proposal? Are you married?”

“No.” You say immediately, but you pause as you remember the events. “Maybe…?” You sigh, closing your eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“How?” Mitzi tsk’s before shaking her head slightly, “More importantly. Who?” She presses, eyes focused on you with the same kind of intensity she gets with her craft.

“Vulkan.” You admit easily, knowing that Mitzi would rather face the cold void of space than share a secret between you two. You would do the same.

Mitzi blinked.

And blinked again.

“Vulkan.” Her question is more a statement, but you nod anyway. “Vulkan proposed to you.”

“No. He didn’t.” You say, already exhausted by this conversation.

“He gave you the circlet. You accepted. You’re married.”

“No, Mitzi.” You sigh, releasing her hands to cover your face with your own. “We’re not.”

“How come? Don’t tell me it’s some stupid ‘symbolic’ thing where he’s not committed to you, because if it is I’m going to have to go into hiding after I kill-”

“Mitzi! Don’t even joke about that!” “I’m not.”

Both warmed and concerned by Mitzi’s loyalty, and ease in admitting she would so readily try to kill a nigh-immortal giant, you try to steer the conversation away from treason.

“Regardless. That wasn’t his intent. Nor was marriage.”

“How could that be anything but intent for marriage?”

“He’s Nocturnean, Mitzi.” You try, gently, to lead your friend down the right trail of thought.

“Yes?”

“He’s not from our planet.” You push.

“And?” Mitzi snapped, crossing her arms. You raise your head enough to level her with a look.

“He’s not from our culture.” You try again. Shoving this time. Hoping she gets the point.

“Oh, by the Skies, you care about that?”

…

‘Mitzi you dumbass’, you think as you grab your friend by the shoulders. “Our ways are not his, Mitzi. He doesn’t know what it means.”

The silence that followed was empty and heavy as your friend processed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I know.”

“You’re fucked.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to tell him?” She asked, which was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? You groan as you rub at your temples, eyes lingering on the box that held the exquisite circlet.

“I have to.” You say quietly. “He’s going to find out sooner or later. Better that it comes from me.”

“But…?” Mitzi presses gently, knowing there's more to it.

“I love him.” You admit. “I really, really do. I didn’t expect it, certainly not with a Primarch, and I was happy to just admire him from afar, to be his friend. Then he gives me this, oblivious as you please and he looked so sad when I froze, but then he looked so happy when I accepted and what else could I do? His sons were there and I know I should have spoken up but I panicked and then he put it on my head and I tried not to say the words but they kind of slipped out but they weren’t the exact words, and I know I have to tell him but we're about to enter a warzone and I can’t talk to him about this right now because it could distract him, but more than that what if he gets mad? What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him or that I lied to him? What if he doesn’t want to be friends anymore? What-”

A hand covers your mouth, and you blink at your friend as she stares at you with wide eyes.

“Okay. I see why you were… in a state, before.” Mitzi starts slowly, because admittedly she’s not on this side of the equation. Normally, you are the one acting as the voice of reason in their duo. “From what I know of his character, Vulkan wouldn’t react like that. If anything, he’d probably feel bad for putting you in that situation. You’re assuming the worst possible outcomes, honey, and I feel like that’s unfair to both of you.” She says, lowering her hand and looking at you carefully. Her eyes tell you she’s weighing her next words.

“What if… he doesn’t mind? Sure, maybe embarrassed and apologetic, but not upset. What if, after you explain it, he’s fine with it? What if it’s the opposite of all your fears? You can just return the circlet” You both cringe at the words, uncomfortable, “and after an adjustment period you can go back to being friends like normal. Or… as normal as you two get.”

“As someone who is also my friend, I feel like that says something about you as well.”

“Oh, I know I’m weird. I also know you're deflecting.”

You grumble, annoyed that your friend knows you so well. However, she does have a point. All you have to do is get a moment alone with him, explain everything, and… give back the circlet. 

It shouldn’t hurt that much just thinking about it. It was just a gift. Nothing more. 

It can’t be anything more.

“Come on. Let’s get drunk and eat our way into a food coma. Then in the morning, we’ll help with the preparations. Then, war. And then, you find your moment with him.” The way Mitzi said ‘find your moment with him’, you can’t help but feel like she’s not just talking about explaining the situation.

However, the lure of soothing your pending heartbreak -and your nerves for the upcoming battle- was too strong for you to think more on it. Instead you went straight back to your spot, and decided to forgo your glass and just chug it straight from the bottle like an uncultured heathen.

The future is uncertain, and you will face this trial eventually, but you feel lighter now that you have spoken your troubles, and more prepared with Mitzi’s guidance. Tomorrow will come with duties and dangers, but tonight you enjoy the simple revelry of good food, good drink, and good company.

***

@incrediblethirst, @kit-williams, @beckyninja, @bleedingichorhearts, @jaghatai-khock, @pluvio-tea, @moodymisty, @thethronezone, @iluminatka16 Hope you enjoyed the Interlude! Hope you're ready because I'm not! Up next up is Vulkan's POV, so we'll see how well we do. I make no promises, beyond the fact it will be adorable (probably).

Until next time!

(Also if anyone does or does not want to be tagged pls let me know.)

[gouinisme]

have reached the level of boring fucking bitch where my classmate just sent me his report and asked me to proofread it

[greennoobartist]

What would be a good last name for Shadow to have? Do you have any headcanons for that? (Modern aus are hard)

:)

You're gonna regret this...

no, i definitely did not make a Samsung note for this ask to yap no nonononononononono definitely no nope... ....

....

....

Lemme try to comprehend and connect how tf do I get asks like this which are 1. On a topic I love to experiment with and literally do it on every character in the universe of the online media and think about 24 a day 7 days a week and helped idk how many people with this and 2. On a day when im feeling cheerful on a dangerous level which means that i have issues with controlling how im talking and if it's understandable or not!! (aka the hyperactive demon possessed me so if my talking sounds insane today.... Ah, sorry ig...)

ANYWAYS-!!!

ofc that I have ideas :) they cover multiple fields based on your preferences :)

If Shadow will stay a demon in your AU, then here are some:

Shadow Kurai

Shadow Kage

Shadow Kagami

Shadow Kuro

Shadow Akuma

Shadow Waru

Shadow Obake

Shadow Genso

Shadow Shinanai

Shadow Yoru

Shadow Yonaka

Shadow Fukuro

Preferably avoid Shadow Kagami bcuz Kagami is a Japanese name so im not sure if it's smart to use it as a last name, plus i think that Kagami is a girl's name tho im not sure. I suggested Kagami bcuz Kagami means "Mirror" :3

These ones above are provided by translator so i don't trust them fully, so I searched some irl last names you could use:

Shadow Aikawa

Shadow Hoshino

Shadow Igarashi

Shadow Kazama

Shadow Kuroiwa

Shadow Miyashita

Shadow Mochizuki

Again this is all if Shadow is staying a demon in your AU

If he's being a Hylian (human), here are some alternative ideas: (you could also use the above irl last names, they're still matching)

Shadow Ningen

Shadow Honmono

Shadow Ribingu

Shadow Kowarenai

Shadow Jozuna

Shadow Yoru (yeah it matches for both demon and human)

Shadow Yonaka (again)

Shadow Fukuro (once again XD)

Again, these are by a translator, not fully reliable from my personal opinion, so whether he's a Hylian or demon, irl last names match.

Also, you probably realized, these are all on Japanese (both irl and ones by a translator). Since the manga is well, manga lol, id use Japanese last names. If you're tired of Japanese or don't want to use it, here are some alternatives on different languages:

Shadow Noir (French)

Shadow Ombre (French)

Shadow Hibou (French)

Shadow Habile (French)

Shadow Noche (Spanish)

Shadow Oscuro (Spanish)

Shadow Gufo (Italian)

Shadow Diavolo (Italian)

Shadow Agma (Korean)

Shadow Eodum (Korean)

Shadow Yewan (Chinese)

These above on different languages are also by a translator, so im not sure how reliable they are. Speaking of translator, it says there is simplified and traditional Chinese so that one above is by simplified.

If you want me to do research on the alternatives of different languages, lemme know :) It would take me a while but I could do it if you want :D I definitely have many many more you could use, but these were some examples. It depends on who and what Shadow will be in your AU. Irl Japanese last names from my research are probably the most reliable and make the most sense, but these from a translator are kinda fitting too ig :3

This is probably too much lol, so here are my top choices for Japanese ones:

Demon (translator):

Shadow Kurai

Shadow Akuma

Human (translator):

Shadow Jozuna

Shadow Ningen

Irl from my research (can be both demon and human):

Shadow Mochizuki

Shadow Hoshino

Also, ik you didn't ask for it lol but wanted to share it if you need help for Vio (he's my husband gotta mention him lol)

Good choices for him from the translator would be:

Vio Murasakiiro

Vio Toshokan

Vio Chikyu

Hehe uhhh, imma stop here cuz I KNOW ill find too many for him that would only make sense in my head hahahaha, plus if I do research we're all SCREWED XDD But Vio Murasakiiro would be the best option :)

Ik you didn't ask for Vio, but if you need help for him or anyone else feel free to ask. I can either go from the translator or better do research, but for research takes time haha XD

ANYYYYWAAAYYYSSS-

Everything depends on who and what Shadow is, but I was able to cover multiple fields here. If you need help for him or anyone else, feel free to ask, i love giving characters last names if they don't canonically have those. It often takes time cuz I either go by translator or research, tho i prefer research which takes more time but I prefer it cuz it makes the characters more realistic and makes them sound like they are in fact from modern world. If you want explanation for this, ehhh... You'd have to wait for me to write an asf long essay which would take me like forever XDD

All in all, hope this helps :D 💚💜

[vynegar]

always a fun time when i'm translating ToT

[meracydia-miqo]

FFXIVWrite 2024 - Day 21: Shade

post-dawntrail; contains major spoilers for dawntrail and prior expansions

———

The sun was already well on its way to setting by the time Ahki woke up. After their return from Living Memory, as often happened with Ahki, it didn’t take long until she found herself waking later and later in the day. G’raha had long since gotten up and started his own day—she had woken up briefly when he got up that morning, wishing him well, before going back to sleep.

The sun was shining into the room, and she squinted as she rolled out of bed to look out at the sky. It was a few bells from sunset, by her judgement, meaning G’raha was likely still up and about. Or enjoying another late afternoon nap, she thought.

She yawned, and gave a long stretch to wake herself up, tail flicking. If she was quick, she might be able to go locate G’raha before Y’shtola inevitably pulled him away for more questions relating to inter-reflection travel. She’d come to visit herself and G’raha the previous day asking if she could borrow the ancient artefact Ahki had been entrusted for research, and Ahki knew that it would be lucky if the woman had got any sleep since then.

After carefully combing out the long fur of her tail, Ahki tied up her hair to get it out of the way, and set out.

When Ahki found G’raha not long later, he was leaning peacefully against a wall in the shade of some trees. Wildflowers were blooming up in the garden behind him in a dozen different colours, and with his red hair, and tail curled up around his knees, he looked like he was almost part of the landscape. His arm dangled beside him, a half-open tome lying discarded by his hand.

So you were asleep.

Ahki smiled, sitting down beside him quietly, putting his book aside being careful to make sure he didn’t lose his place. It was peaceful on this side of the city, with so much of the bustle happening further down the path in the marketplace. While much of the city was fairly built up, she appreciated the small patches of nature.

“Ahki..?” G’raha’s voice sounded beside her, groggy with sleep, and she turned to him.

“Morning, Raha,” she grinned, finding his hand still resting on the ground and intertwining her fingers with his.

He blinked, confused, looking up for a moment. “It’s late afternoon.”

She giggled. “What if I was speaking from Doma? It must be morning over there.”

“I’d certainly hope not, I can see you right here.” He smiled, squeezing her hand with his own and reaching around to hold her shoulder with his other, nudging against her gently as if to prove it.

She returned it, eyes sliding shut as they pressed their foreheads together.

A few moments passed in relative silence, listening to the breeze sweeping through the trees, and the waves as they lapped at the shore, before she blinked twice, distancing herself again. She shifted her attention to the book, picking it up and opening it to the page he seemed to have been open to. “What were you reading?”

“A tome Y’shtola borrowed from some people up in Everkeep. It seems to be detailing some history of the place; we were hoping it may provide us more clues about the exact circumstances under which the realities were merged.”

“About the use of the key, you mean?” Ahki asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.

“Indeed. While we still do not know how it functions, and locating scripture is unlikely to provide many answers, given the lack of knowledge even Preservation held of it, by the word of Krile’s parents, we hypothesised that perhaps if we cross-reference it with our own knowledge and experience, we may just be able to glean something that others could not.”

Ahki nodded along as she listened. She may not be as experienced of a scholar as either of the other miqo’te, she had enough interest and firsthand experience in the topic that she could, at the very least, understand most of what they were talking about.

“I could’ve sworn that, when Sphene activated it before we fought, that it lit up with Azem’s symbol too.” Ahki reached to dig out her soul crystal, with no intent to use it, simply staring at its smooth amber surface, engraven with that same symbol that the key seemed to have, if her own vision and memory was to be trusted. “I’m still curious about that also.”

G’raha looked over at it also, carefully tracing his finger along the curved markings on the surface of the crystal, resting in her palm. It felt intimate, in a strange way, to allow another to touch such a thing, connected in a way to her very soul, but Ahki didn’t mind. Not with Raha. “‘Tis strange,” he said. “Azem’s abilities were primarily focused around calling allies to their side, are they not? Yet the interdimensional fusion the Alexandrians attempted using the device is much more akin to the rejoinings the Ascians strived for.”

“Strange enough for me to doubt my vision, at the very least.”

G’raha turned to lean over closer to her, voice quiet and soft as he spoke close to her ear. “You’re a hunter at heart. I trust in your eyesight.”

Ahki didn’t respond, simply smiling softly as she tucked away the crystal again for safekeeping. She knew what he was referring to, what he knew, and the simple fact of having somebody who did forever felt like a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders.

“I have to wonder if any Alexandrians have tales of mysterious masked mages telling them of all this to drive them to destruction; the lack of mention of Ascians has almost been driving me crazy,” Ahki said, diverting back to the topic at hand.

G’raha nodded. “Each of the reflections should have had someone assigned to it, much like Loghrif and Mitron on the First, though without knowing which one it is, we wouldn’t know who.”

Ahki let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall to stare up at the sky. It was clear, a deep blue expanse above them, currently free of both clouds and stars. “We have so many questions I’ve had half a mind to try and drag Emet-Selch back over here from the Aetherial Sea to get some answers out of him,” she said. “I doubt he’d take too kindly to me interrupting his sleep again, though.”

“A shame. Is that not your job as Azem’s shard?” G’raha mused, and Ahki laughed.

“What, waking others from their sleep?”

“You will always be more than welcome to wake me up for anything, my love. I will treasure the moment every time.”

Ahki let out a laugh, grinning as she leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “That hardly seems relevant right now, but I thank you again. I know, and I appreciate it.”

G’raha leaned to rest his head against hers, and her ears twitched slightly, their hands still interlocked. Neither of them moved for a time, simply appreciating the fresh air and the quiet, trusted company. Though few people ever passed by the secluded corners, anywhere else Ahki might have been slightly less likely to be so closely affectionate in a public space, unwilling to draw attention to herself. But in Tural, it felt more like they could simply be. Nobody knew who they were, even those who recognised her as an associate of the newly-appointed Vow of Resolve, so they could simply be just another happy pair of Hhetsarro.

It was Ahki who spoke up first, breaking the silence some time later, prompting Raha to sit up before he could drift off again. Ahki jumped back to her feet. “Anyway, want to get something to eat? I do know of a place nearby with some delicious tacos you might like,” she teased.

G’raha immediately jumped to his feet, and she couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention, tail flicking from side to side.

“I would love to.”

[whats-another-song-contest]

Guys, gals, and nb pals, behold with great astonishment, as I hereby present:

My Mello Grand Final Top 12 🎈💃🎉

12. Awful Liar - Lisa Ajax Unfortunately this is a song I've heard a thousand times before, and I didn't particularly enjoy it then either. Nowhere near Torn from 2019, which I think is by far her best entry. Still love that song.

11. It's Not Easy to Write a Love Song - Dotter Same as with number 12, heard it before and wasn't a fan. Dotter has had very interesting entries in the past, and by contrast this feels like filler.

10. Dragon - LIAMOO Promising start, builds really nicely into the pre-chorus, but when the break hits and it kills the whole vibe. It just feels hollow. This should have been the demo, and then they could have let it stew a little bit until they figured out what they wanted this song to actually be.

9. Happy that you found me - Danny Saucedo There's nothing wrong with this as such, it just lacks a certain oumph. I have nothing against it, but then I don't have anything for it either. It's here, and I'm fine with that. This, along with Lisa, Dotter, and Smash, feel like entries whose main purpose is to include their artists' starpower in the running. Speaking of which...

10. Heroes Are Calling - Smash Into Pieces I like rock, which is why mello rock disappoints me. I listened to some of the band's other music, and both their entries so far have sounded like actual songs of theirs, only that have been very neatly combed and buttoned up. There's no rock-ish tooth to them. I want to hear the wolf, not the Irish wolfhound.

7. Que sera - Medina Now we're getting somewhere. I'm into happy, gut-punchy music at the moment, so in theory this should fit like a glove. I like it, but again: a bit too tame. It is a very competent song and performance, but the ebbs and flow of it are not creative enough to captivate me.

6. Give My Heart A Break - Cazzi Opeia From hereon out I really like every song. This is just a lot of fun. I find the staccato is a little annoying, but otherwise I have nothing against this. 3 minutes of escaping reality for a child's imagination. Count me in!

5. Light - Annika Wickihalder What. A. Voice! And it blends so masterfully with the arrangement of the song too. This is just a little slice of perfection. The only reason it isn't higher is that it is a little too mello-mainstream ala the bottom of this ranking, but this is mello done well enough to warrant a 5th place!

4. When I'm gone - Maria Sur The staccato in this is so much more pleasing to my ears than the one in no. 6. I love the drama, I love the build, and I love how confident Maria is performing it on stage. I wouldn't be disappointed if it won (thought I know it won't).

3. Back To My Roots - Jay Smith I said it last week and I'll say it again: I'm an unashamed Smith & Thell fan, and this is right up my street. This feels, for lack of a better expression, like a Song. I love the way the performance makes it feel like the music is done live as well. There is a complete musicality here that I am completely in love with.

2. Unforgettable - Marcus & Martinus Take the drama of no. 4 and turn it up a little more, and you get this. Masterfully executed song, and very stylish performance. This feels like a complete package that knows how to play to the performers' strengths. The only downside is the abrupt ending that promises yet another lift, but that it never delivers on. (And it will be very funny when two Norwegians win mello in the year that esc is hosted in Malmö.)

1. Effortless - Jacqline The other songs are good, but this is my favourite. Not because I think it's necessarily the best in an "objective" sense, but because it speaks particularly to something that I really like. The strong beat, and the way the sound production dances around her pitch perfect vocal (especially at the start of the chorus) really gets me. The cocky attitude, particularly in the entrance and exit, also help elevate (hehe) this entry to another level. It's effortless! I don't expect it to win, but it has my vote none the less.

[zorilleerrant]

Beth follows Artemis between the buildings, drawing her cloak tight around her and trying to keep to the shadows. (It’s really hard. She doesn’t know how so many superheroes manage to actually do it consistently.) Also, somewhat, because it’s cold out, and a windy night, but mostly because it’s making her nervous that Artemis is brazenly walking down the street, not even where a normal person would walk, but right down the middle of the road sometimes. Also she keeps doing handless backflips and shouting in excitement.

See, the thing is, Beth agreed to accompany Artemis, because she trusts Artemis (sort of), and she knows what it’s like when people don’t believe her, even when she’s presenting them with entire slideshows of evidence. And she likes the evidence that Artemis showed her, even before she put on the goggles, which very much think Artemis is right.

Now Beth doesn’t want Artemis to be right, because what Artemis has shown her is a face eating serial killer working his way through small towns across America, and that’s, you know, awful, and also she’s maybe a little bit frightened of the cannibal part from a few too many late night movie marathons when she couldn’t sleep, even also, of course, she’s definitely completely rationally afraid of being murdered by a serial killer. Or anyone! Beth doesn’t want to be murdered by anyone, and she’s pretty sure Artemis doesn’t either, not that you would know it from how she’s like. Doing backflips. And kicking the air for no reason.

But Beth feels like she owes Artemis a certain amount of solidarity on account of Courtney basically being in charge, and also being a certain… way about it, and Courtney’s dad being so sure he can never be wrong about things just because he has a few more years of experience than the rest of them, and also, well. She’s spent her whole life with people not believing her when she tells them even the most basic of facts. Sometimes even when she repeats back the facts they just told her. It’s why Beth likes books more than people, really. At least books don’t change their minds on fact just because you agreed with them.

And she can tell it was the right decision, too, what with the slow smiling breaking out across Artemis’s face when Beth takes the time to pore over all the research she’s collected, to analyze it by herself, and then have her goggles double-check it all. It’s hard to be quite as certain about it, in the wind and chill of a mostly cloudless night, stars blinking at them almost judgmentally for being out so late. But Beth can still remember the tentative way that Artemis handed the papers over, so at odds with her usual brash demeanor, the way she practically yanked back her hand every time she pointed to a quote or a number, like she was nervous to even admit to Beth she was trying to say something.

And it’s not like that expression isn’t stuck in Beth’s mind, even still, the one where Artemis grinned at her in surprise, so relieved that Beth wasn’t turning her down outright that her eyes actually shown. Actually sparkled.

Beth knows that magic is real. And Beth knows that Artemis isn’t magic, obviously. Beth knows that it’s just the way the pupil bulges that makes someone’s eyes catch light reflecting of the wet and sticky surface of the eyeball, like it would of any water, and that it also kind of takes the magic out of it when you say it that way, not that it actually is magic. Depending on one’s definition of magic, and if you want to count the way it can make someone’s heart flutter when someone they care about thinks they’re right about something.

So there’s this certain amount of trust, or, at least, Beth trusts Artemis to be basically a decent person and want to catch a serial killer, because, like, who wouldn’t want that, and also to have done her research and be right about this, because as far as Beth can know that sort of thing, she was already there for that part. Not that Artemis can’t be wrong – but Beth’s instincts, and Artemis’s instincts, and the research, and a supersmart computer program that does nothing but analyze data all day probably aren’t all wrong the same way at the same time – and if they’re wrong they’ll regroup and figure it out later. Maybe with the others, even though that will mean admitting that they were right about all of this, and Beth doesn’t know who Artemis asked first, but obviously if she’s sneaking through Beth’s window in the middle of the night whispering about secrets then it’s not something she’s gotten a lot of support on so far.

So Beth is doing her best to be supportive, because it’s what she would want in Artemis’s shoes. Not that she would wear Artemis’s shoes because Beth needs special insets for arch support which don’t fit in a lot of sneakers, especially the wide ones she needs for her feet to be comfortable when running, even though she can tolerate shoes that pinch a little most of the rest of the time. Also because Artemis’s style is… unique. And fits her personality. Not Beth’s.

Also Beth is second guessing herself a little bit and thinking maybe she should’ve left a note or told someone where she was going instead of trying to fight a pop star assassin all by herself, even if her goggles are getting really good at combat mode. Because that’s, like, still a world famous assassin – okay, how famous is up for debate, because Beth definitely never heard of him before, but maybe she would have if she, like, studied assassins and serial killers as a hobby instead of just bugs and stars and dinosaurs – and he could definitely stab Beth or whatever he’s going to do if she’s not fast enough. She has a lot of faith that Artemis will be fine. Artemis is scary good at fighting things she probably shouldn’t be able to fight, considering she’s a normal human, and the most technology she has is high grade sports equipment, and also her shoes, which are cool enough to possibly be experimental.

Artemis scrambles up the side of a building freehand, just digging her fingernails into the bricks, and Beth stares as she disappears over the side of a roof. Of her own volition, of course, it’s just that she scales the wall in seconds, and Beth doesn’t know how to do that! She can rock climb if she has the proper safety equipment and also a little bit of warning, but she definitely can’t just claw her way up the side of the wall. Not in this cloak, anyway, which is warm, but kind of unwieldy. And heavy, if she’s going to have to drag it behind her.

Artemis pokes her head over the side of the roof, and does that questioning little tilt she did when she asked whether Beth believed her, and Beth doesn’t want her to think she’s losing confidence now, so she smiles back. (It’s a little strained and awkward.) “Well? Are you coming up?” At least Artemis doesn’t sound mad at her.

It’s about that time, looking around, that Beth sees the stairs she noted down three minutes ago when the building came into view and then dismissed because why would she think they were going to climb up a building? Especially this building? It isn’t anything, it’s an off season restaurant that’s closed right now.

Except when Beth makes her way up the stairs, it doesn’t look closed at all. There are glittering lights strung up around the whole place, both strings of little white bulb and larger lanterns hanging from posts, and music she couldn’t hear from the ground is softly playing. The tables have been pushed to the sides, all except one, a shiny cream tablecloth fluttering in the breeze, and all the cutlery carefully laid out next to plates and cups and, important, covered dishes that have to, by the smell of it, contain food.

And Artemis is standing by the ornately brocaded chair, holding it out for her.

“Um,” Beth says, frowning slightly at Artemis.

“Oh, crap, are you not hungry?” Artemis asks, her face falling, as she glances back and forth between the table and Beth like she’s wondering what she should do about all this. Beth is also wondering what she should do about all this.

“Aren’t we,” Beth says carefully, because maybe she’s confused and this was only a reconnaissance mission? But that still doesn’t explain the food, “on a stakeout?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Artemis says, relaxing again, and waving Beth into the chair, which she accidentally sits in, with a thump that briefly interrupts the music and her train of thought, “but I figured, while we’re waiting, why not have a picnic?”

“This,” Beth says, staring at the still covered dishes, “is not a picnic.” She’s not entirely sure of that, because she’s definitely had picnics this elaborate where she had to pack entire meals piece by piece into special cases so they would arrive in delicious condition, but they were still at the beach or on a lawn somewhere normal to have a picnic, not on the roof of a closed restaurant. Also, crucially, on a picnic blanket or at a picnic table, and not with a fancy table that now Beth is wondering where Artemis even got, not that she’s trying to accuse Artemis of breaking into restaurants and stealing things. Maybe she has a key. Although Beth has no idea where she would’ve gotten a key.

“Oh, yeah, well, duh, I didn’t know if you were really a picnic kind of girl so I went with something a little more classic, I hope you don’t mind,” Artemis says, and then straight up lights all three candles in the centerpiece that Beth happens to be staring at. Not that the candles don’t add a delightful ambience. But it’s the principle of the thing.

“Okay, at this point, I have to ask, please don’t take this as judgement,” Beth says, and then questions whether she should’ve said that, because if it turns out to be true she’s going to be judging kind of a lot, “but is this Flamingo guy made up, or is he real?”

“Oh, no, yeah, he’s for sure real,” Artemis says, and pours a goblet of water for Beth, who may take a few nervous gulps of it to try to stop herself from getting hiccups, “yeah, he’s super gross, right? I do not like him at all. That’s why we should stop him and everything.”

“Right,” Beth says, taking another sip of her water. “Right. Is he actually here, or is that purely hypothetical? Because I don’t know if I should be out this late if we’re not, you know, actually doing something. Sorry.” Again with the apologizing. It’s reflexive. She has no idea why she’s doing it. Because if they are on a stakeout, and this is just Artemis’s idea of snacks, that’s, uh, thoughtful? Maybe? But not very, well, not well thought through. So maybe not very thoughtful. But if this was a trick Beth’s getting ready to be big mad, she just might need a minute to collect the piece of her mind she’s about to give. In which case she shouldn’t apologize, even if Artemis is making big sparkly eyes at her again, like a Disney princess.

“Oh, he’s for sure here,” Artemis says, with a low chuckle that makes Beth’s tummy rumble a little bit, even if she can’t decide whether she’s scared of the serial killer assassin or hungry after all, “yeah, he’s been holed up here for days, I totally found him the other day. Ridiculous, right? So I thought you might want to kick his ass with me. Once he gets back. He’s not due to get back for hours, so I thought we could enjoy dinner first. Bon appetit!”

Beth isn’t sure what outcome she expected, or what response she wanted to hear, but it definitely wasn’t that one. They’re going to have dinner in a serial killer’s hideout? That doesn’t sound safe or like a good idea at all. Even if dinner does smell really good. And even if Artemis is blushing a little, which so doesn’t count, because she tricked Beth here! Except if they really are waiting for a serial killer it wasn’t really a trick, except that, um, Beth just remembered they’re in a serial killer’s hideout again and her appetite went away. “Where is he, right now?” she squeaks, thinking maybe they should’ve called for backup already.

“Oh, he’s getting groceries or something, I had to make this out of what he had left over, which, let me tell you, was not super a lot,” Artemis says. Beth is surprised, although she doesn’t know why she should be, that Artemis went to the trouble of cooking for her. She didn’t know Artemis could cook, but she also doesn’t know Artemis well enough to say if that makes sense or not. She didn’t even know Artemis well enough to expect a surprise date or chasing after a serial killer together.

Still.

It can’t hurt to try the food, can it? When Artemis has gone to so much trouble to make it for her? And is looking expectant again, wetting her lips slightly as she watches Beth’s expression, unveiling the food she so lovingly prepared – in the abandoned restaurant?? That she broke into probably??? Beth is very conflicted about how to proceed.

This, of course, is when a disgruntled bright pink assassin leaps out at them, gets punched promptly in the face, and then, when he doesn’t go down, gets punched four more times in quick succession before Beth can even get combat mode to load.

“Sorry,” Artemis says, actually sounding sorry, but not sounding surprised, which Beth thinks would be the emotion that made more sense in the moment, but she’s not the one who planned a romantic dinner during a stakeout, “he’s early. But hey! That means we can eat dinner without him interrupting again! Bonus! Can you tie the knots? I suck at knots.”

Beth can tie the knots. Beth did an entire certification in knots one time, when she was bored and the library offered it, and she can definitely tie up a knocked out supervillain, it’s just that she doesn’t exactly know how romantic it’s going to be trying to eat dinner while he’s trussed up in the corner, waiting for Courtney or someone to come drag him away.

Still. Artemis raises one eyebrow and inclines her chin ever so slightly at Beth, a smile quirking up the corner of her mouth where she admires the rope, both because Beth came prepared, and because the loops of it are so neat around the supervillain’s wrists, keeping him, hopefully, completely secure. She nudges Beth a little too hard with her elbow, not quite bowling them both over, but making Beth stumble, just a little bit, catching herself soon enough to hear Artemis’s awkward half laugh. She’s looking hopefully back at the table.

Beth sits down, unfolds the napkin over her lap, and smiles. And Artemis beams back the kind of grin that only football has been able to surprise out of her, until now. Her eyes crinkle up and her ears wiggle just the tiniest little bit, rustling her earrings, and Beth realizes that, even though they’re in costume, Artemis still took the time to dress up. Just for her.

[elany]

Let's do this then =D First a disclaimer and a bit about my methodology because while the math here is very barebones I want to at least explain what I was doing. Essentially I picked a few ships in different fandoms, calculated the percentage of E and M rated works in the tag, then compared that to the percentage if at least one person in the main pairing is trans, using the "Trans Character A" OR "Trans Character B" filter. I didn't look at non character specific tags such as Trans (Male) Character because I didn't want too many false positives. Since this was part of what I was initially interested in, I then also compared the percentage of mpreg works within those featuring a trans character to the percentage in the ship tag overall. Another note, I'm using the word 'mpreg' because that's inherently what we're talking about, but I found out that only around 20% of works tend to be tagged with 'Mpreg' as opposed to 'Pregnancy', and since that is also the parent tag it's what I had been filtering for. Then, because that's what the OG post was about, I also looked into how often Character A is headcanoned as trans vs Character B.

As for the disclaimer - I redid all of it yesterday, in part because the last time I did this the intention was only to drop the results in a gc and it shows lol, in part because I was curious if anything's changed, but mostly because I'm boo boo the fool who never wrote down which fandom some of this data is even for.

Now for the actual numbers!

I started with two Genshin Impact ships because I figured that's a good baseline for current fandom trends. One that's slightly more recent and another that includes a character I've seen thrown around in the tags a bunch. So;

Alhaitham/Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

All works: 14,589 | E/M: 38% Works where either is tagged as trans: 461 or 3% of all works | E/M: 70% Of those 40 or 9% are mpreg, compared to 2% in the ship tag overall. Meaning those make up for 13% of all mpreg works in the ship tag. Trans Kaveh was tagged 316 times, trans Alhaitham 188 times, 43 works were t4t So right off the bat we get some stats that, spoiler alert, will become a pattern. Works centring trans characters are nearly twice as likely to be rated E or M than the ship average (and most of those are Explicit, like, it's not even close for most ships). Second, works featuring trans characters comprise a disproportionally large amount of all mpreg fics, compared to the overall percentage they make up - in this case 13% vs 3% - altho this particular stat varies greatly from fandom to fandom. It's going to be lower with some. But it's also going to be much, much higher with some others.

Diluc/Kaeya (Genshin Impact)

All works: 8152 | E/M: 55% Works where either is tagged as trans: 186 or 2% of all works | E/M: 89% 22 or 12% of those mpreg, compared to 4% in the entire ship tag. They make up for 7% of all mpreg. 128 trans Kaeya fics, 74 trans Diluc fics, 16 t4t This is by far the horniest tag I looked at lol. 55% is a staggering number and while it's literally impossible for it to meet the 2:1 e/m ratio of most other fandoms, by gods, a solid attempt was made. 89% huh. Nobody here's interested in writing anything but smut. This one also continues the pattern of works centring trans characters being 3-4 times more likely to be mpreg than the average, and one person being portrayed as trans far more often.

Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Critical Role)

This is one of the ships I originally looked into. Nothing's really changed since. All works: 4076 | E/M: 33% Works where either is tagged as trans: 224 or 5% of all works | E/M: 74% 11 or 5% are mpreg, compared to 0,6% in the ship tag overall. Meaning that works centring trans characters make up for, deep breath, 42% of all mpreg fic in the tag. 5% of all fic is trans. 42% of all mpreg is trans. 63 trans Caleb works, 194 trans Essek works, 33 t4t Yeah idk what to say other than there's a reason I was already looking into this one 4 years ago.

Kabru/Laios (Dungeon Meshi)

All works: 628 | E/M: 48% Works where either is tagged as trans: 64 or 10% of all works | E/M: 89% 6 or 9% of those mpreg, compared to 5% in the entire ship tag. They make up for 20% of all mpreg. 62 trans Kabru works, 7 trans Laios, but 5 of those are transfem Laios. 5 t4t Smaller sample size means that the numbers are a bit more all over the place, but congrats to that one person in the tags that fully predicted the 9:1 split.

Now for a fandom that I thought might shake things up a little, because it's the first one on this list where the top/bottom dynamic is heavily implied by the source material and where the supposed bottom is canonically a bit baby crazy.

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (The Untamed/MDZS)

All works: 45,505 | E/M: 38% Works where either is tagged as trans: 444 or just under 1% of all works | E/M: 64% 70 or 16% of those mpreg, compared to 4% of all fics in the ship tag. They make up for 4% of all mpreg. 208 works tagged trans LWJ, 290 works tagged trans WWX, 54 t4t The fact that fics centring trans characters make up a relatively small percentage of all mpreg fic is not entirely surprising in a fandom this big on (magical) baby acquisition. So the most interesting part about this one ended up being the relatively equal number of trans fics for both characters, which I wasn't entirely expecting from a fandom where the source material already comes with certain BL tropes.

And now for the crown jewel of this entire thing. Going in I already knew approximately what results I'm likely to get, so I was a bit blase about everybody in the the tags saying jayvik. I figured, surely it's not any worse than the rest of them. I was wrong. I would like to formally apologise to jayvik shippers, y'all really are fighting for your lives in the trenches.

Jayce/Viktor (Arcane)

All works: 9616 | E/M: 47% Works where either is tagged as trans: 1262 or 13% of all works | E/M: 80% 53 or 4% of those mpreg, compared to 1% of all fics in the ship tag. They make up for 36% of all mpreg. 205 trans Jayce fic, 1199 trans Viktor fic, 142 t4t 1199 trans Viktor fics and basically all of them just porn. Whew. 36% of all mpreg. Whew. I mean it's not reaching the heights of labru and shadowgast in their respective departments, but it's the combination that's the real kicker.

And you might be looking at this thinking, well, it's not really that bad. These are all pretty small numbers, 9% is hardly an epidemic of people writing trans men as baby making machines. And yeah, when you're looking at all the thousands of works available it doesn't seem that bad.

But when you're browsing a 'Trans [Character]' tag and every 7th fic involves them getting pregnant? When half of the entire 'Pregnancy' tag is trans men? When the rest is just extremely heteronormative PIV smut? And the only characters portrayed as trans men are short and skinny and have long eyelashes and their more traditionally masculine counterparts are being headcanoned as transfem??

That says something.

I know this is only a handful of fandoms and you're welcome to add more! Please do! But personally I don't have the spoons to keep looking into this right now and getting hit over the head with the same pattern over and over again. 80% porn. 4 times more likely to involve pregnancy. That 9:1 split. jesus h christ

It's really fucking annoying shipping an mlm ship and everyone in the goddamn universe is like "the bigger stronger one is a dominant cis man who tops and the smaller weaker one is a submissive trans man who bottoms :)"

[abitboldshop]

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[c4toru]

getting insane backshots from satoru sign me up!

“oh.. o-oh fuckkk toru!” you mewl, your face is shoved into his navy blue bedsheets while your ass is up, back arched intensely.

satoru had gotten a new haircut just in time for valentine’s day. the moment he stepped through the creaking wooden door to your shared home, you practically pounced on him! “yeah? feels soo good huh.. h-heh” he giggles softly, his rough hands gripping onto the plump of your ass. his rotund tip was reaching deep inside your sobbing cunt, pressing directly on your sweet spot causing you to belt out.

“nngh fuckkk p-please toru, harder ah!” you’re reaching your arms back, subliminally begging him to grab you. he latches onto your hands, using them as momentum while he pounds himself into you. “h-harder? mmngh- this isn’t enough for you pretty girl..?” he smiles, the melody of your ass slapping against his hips grows louder.

he releases your arms before pressing his coarse hands into the dimples of your back. he’s angling his hips to hit you deep in that spot you love. “more! m-more fuckkk- just like that..!” you whine, drooling with your lips slightly parted in awe. you can barely keep your eyes open with how good he’s fucking into your sweet cunt.

“c’mon pretty, fuck me y-yeah?” he slaps your ass, motioning for you to bounce yourself back onto him. you twist your body, left hand gripping your ass cheek while turn back slightly to look him in the eyes as you slide your wet pussy onto him. you feel his hefty balls slap onto your puffy clit deliciously while he’s gripping your ankles trying to spread your legs further apart. “g-give it to me toru.. wan’ it please,” you’re pouting, now you’ve really done it.

he pushes your head back into the sheets, fingers wrapping around the back of your neck. “such a f-fucking slut- shiiit.. m’gonna cum, where do ya want it- hah..” you got him whining now, he was done for. “i-inside! don’t miss- nngh..please m’cumming!” your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head, pussy tightening around his lengthy cock, gushing all over him as you chase your high. he’s rutting his hips into you as long white spurts shoot into your womb causing you to mewl.

“f-feel so full toru..” you whimper as you caressing his arm, his chest coming down flushed right to your back. he’s giving you sloppy kisses to your lips that are gleaming with spit, moaning deeply into your mouth. “yeah? sweet girl.. h-heh..” he moans, still periodically grinding his hips up into you. “one more?” he suggests, you grip his chin, planting a wet kiss onto his lips before tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. “mhm..” you nod.

a/n : not proofread ; currently working on a nerd!suguru fic so i just wanted to post a little drabble in the mean time | likes & reblogs are appreciated!!

[scarlettaagni]

problem of writing a very very long fic: wanting to release it in chapters but you keep finding yourself needing to adjust earlier sections as you write later ones. so you basically need the whole thing done before even thinking of releasing chapter one otherwise you'll kick yourself for neglecting the edits

[kthologue]

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

[piedoesnotequalpi]

🤹‍♂️!!!

Make my work on my WIPs!

Hello anon! I hope you enjoy this!

--

Katherine: Thanks again, by the way Jack: for the petition, or for shutting you and sarah in the locker room? ;) Katherine: Mostly the petition Katherine: We would’ve figured it out eventually

Jack wasn’t sure if he agreed with Katherine’s assessment, but he clicked away from the Facebook tab in favor of looking at the Blackboard page for his web design class. Now that they’d gone through the basics of HTML, CSS, and JavaScript, the professor was starting to talk about search engine optimization, and Jack was starting to feel a little out of his depth.

“Well, I guess we know how we’ll host the petition if admin tries to shut it down,” David said.

Jack snorted. “I just know how to make things look nice,” he said. “I’ll leave the server shit to Albert.” The floor Albert and Charlie lived on had their own computer lab, complete with a server that they used to host some student organization websites.

[singmyaubade]

Good Luck Babe

poly!marauders x nerd!female!reader

summary: after being a wallflower throughout your first five years at hogwarts, you always thought that you could be invisible. but when you hear the marauders talking cruelly about you and proceeding to ask for your forgiveness after, well good luck babe.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, reader wants to kill the marauders , swearing, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), jealousy

a/n: oh hey... this is kinda based on those cliche 2000's movies where the girl is ugly but not really and she has that glow up or whatever. this was written so quick and not proofread, don't kill me. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

STARTING off your sixth year at Hogwarts being an entirely new person wasn't something that you had planned or expected.

On the inside, you felt exactly the same, the same girl who was bold and could ferociously win a fight when it came to her character.

The same girl who was witty and sarcastic, surprising half of the people around you when you made a joke once in a lifetime.

But on the outside, you didn't have an awkward mis-shaped bob and you no longer wore baggy jackets that didn't do a thing for your figure.

And you didn't hide your face anymore, trying your best to be invisible.

It wasn't that you were shy or that you felt like a loser but you thought social hierarchy was bullshit and the only thing you wanted to focus on was your studies.

You may have been a brave Gryffindor on the inside but on the outside, you had to play the part of a shy mouse as corny as that sounds.

Unfortunately for you, invisibility only tends to last for so long until one moment, you are a nobody and then all eyes are upon you.

And maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't heard the Marauders discussing you the previous year, you would have stayed the same.

You had passed by the boys dormitory to give Remus his textbooks back as you always did when you let you borrow when you heard them speaking of the very person behind the door,

"I still have yet to understand why Lily and the rest of them act like she's some charity case," James huffed, "I mean, she's not some sick patient, they only feel the need to pity her because of how she looks."

You always knew that James had a foul mouth but to be speaking about someone like this, it was cruel.

Remus hissed, "That's not nice Prongs,"

"I'm not even saying it to be a dick!" James groaned, "I just mean, I pity her more for the fact that they don't even invite her to anything outside of breakfast and dinner," He explained, causing Remus to go silent.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "That's absolutely horrid."

James reclined on his bed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’m just saying, if I were Y/N, I’d be mortified."

Your eyes widened as they began to water, they were speaking about you.

Remus leaned against the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Maybe she just doesn’t want to hang out with Lily and the others."

"Moony, seriously," James shot back, sitting up. "Where is Y/N right now, and where are the other girls?" His eyebrow cocked, trying to make his point as Remus silenced.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Why don’t we investigate for ourselves?" He unfolded the Marauder's Map with a flourish. "Alright, we’ve got Lily, Dorcas, Mary, and Marlene all at Hogsmeade, but Y/N is..." His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing.

James leaned closer, annoyance creeping into his tone as he grabbed the map, "She's-" He stopped, the color fading from his face.

"Fucking spit it out!" Remus said next as he snatched the map finally and saw that the map had shown that you were right outside their door.

"Shit!" You heard Remus say as he started making his way to the door.

Hearing his footsteps approaching, you quickly moved away from the door, bolting for your room.

Once you made it back to your dorm, you had sinked the floor. You put your hand on your mouth, muffling yourself as you cried silently.

You honestly hated to even say it but you did consider Lily and the rest of them your friends. You had never really thought about how they didn't invite you to places.

And if you were being truthful, they had never asked you to have breakfast or dinner with them.

You had always just assumed that you could join but they never told you to leave or swooshed you off. Another part of you hated how stupid you were, trying to intrude on their private time.

You didn't want to let it get to you what a bunch of seventeen year old boys were saying but it did sting horribly.

But in a way, it also motivated you to be who you were on the inside. You already had the top marks in your entire year and your plan to work in the Ministry after Hogwarts had already been set.

And now your chance to be something at Hogwarts was right in front of you, an opportunity that you couldn't miss.

You had to do it for yourself.

The Marauders had no idea who you truly were or even cared to know. And although Remus was kind to you, you could always see that he never made any effort to be your friend.

Not that you expected him to but it only taught you that they truly thought you were some hopeless case.

And an assignment to make the Marauders bite their tongues was one that you couldn't bare to fail.

After hearing that, you decided to avoid the Marauders for the next month, especially with summer break approaching. To your surprise, you barely saw them outside of classes, never giving them a chance to reach out—even Remus.

And then that summer, everything changed. You let your hair grow past your shoulders, embracing your natural curls instead of straightening them. You started wearing clothes that were trendy and form-fitting, a huge contrast to your old style.

You discovered a newfound love for self-care, enjoying the process far more than you expected. Each day felt like a transformation, and by the end of summer, your mother couldn’t help but notice. “Finally listening to me about your style, huh?” she teased.

You only laughed as you embraced her,

If only she knew what had caused it in the first place.

As you said goodbye to your family, anticipation mingled with dread. You knew the train ride would be the least of your worries, but the welcome dinner and the ceremony ahead felt like they might just be hell reincarnate.

As you entered Hogwarts, you admired it as much as you did when you were a first year. The castle was something you considered a second home and everything about it was magical, there was no doubting that.

A crowd of students, including yourself, moved toward the Great Hall, and you settled into your usual seat at the Gryffindor table.

You spotted the Marauders and the usual group of girls approaching, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They took their usual spots in front of you, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. James sat beside you, and Lily was directly in front of him.

You never quite understood why they arranged themselves like that, but it hardly mattered in the moment.

They were busy in conversation before James had noticed someone next to him, his eyes widening. You couldn't quite read his face but it seemed like a mix of confusion and flustered.

You stared at him back but he still had yet to mutter a word. You cleared your throat, "Uh hello," You practically whispered.

He snapped back into reality, "Oh sorry, hi," He muttered back.

Silence took over you both as James couldn't find the words of what to say to you.

On one hand, he wanted to call you beautiful, to tell you that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. On the other, he just wanted to stare at you for a few more minutes like a creep.

Lily noticed his gaze and leaned in, smirking. "Excuse my friend; we’re still trying to figure out if he has a brain."

"I thought we solved that decades ago," Marlene chimed in, stifling a laugh.

Lily turned to you with a curious smile. "I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?"

Are you actually fucking kidding me?

You scoffed, "I'm Y/N,"

The entire group looked at you in awe, even the ones who weren't chimed in on the conversation.

"Y/N L/N?" Sirius asked, mouth gaping.

"Yep, that one," You snorted.

They all looked like they had seen a ghost, "You look different," Marlene said as Mary shoved her.

"She means in a good way!" Mary added.

"Uh thanks," You said, awkwardly.

They all continued to stare at you like you were an exhibit in a museum, their eyes scanning you up and down.

"Do you all mind not staring at me?" you asked, trying to break the tension. They all looked away, feigning innocence as they muttered apologies.

"How have you been?" Lily asked, clearly trying to ease the awkwardness.

"Fine," you replied, your tone clipped.

You caught the pained expressions on the Marauders' faces, realizing they were the reason for your dismissive attitude.

"That's great," Lily said, forcing a smile.

You felt a wave of frustration at the awkwardness surrouding you and decided it was time to escape. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you announced, heading toward the exit before they could respond.

As you walked away, you could already here the mutters and whispers emerging from the table, the fascinating topic being you.

You paced as you heard footsteps trailing behind you, but you ignored them, letting your gaze wander around the castle.

"Y/N!" someone called out, startling you.

You turned to see Sirius, James, and Remus hurrying after you. You only let out a snort before continuing your same way.

A hand suddenly reached around your forearm as you turned to see Remus. You quickly snatched your hand away, finally stopping to look at the group of boys who you despised.

Crossing your arms, you shot them a hostile look. "What?"

"We just wanna—"

"We're so—"

"Listen, we just—"

They all spoke at once, but you scoffed and turned back toward the bathroom, starting to walk away.

You were hoping that they would realize you wanted nothing to do with them but instead, it only made them want to chase you more.

They quickened their pace, and you spun around sharply. "For fuck's sake, what do you want?" you snapped.

James took a breath, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry for what I said. I've been thinking about it since you left. I was an awful twat, and you didn't deserve a thing of what I said."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Are you serious?" You asked as your expression changed to furious, "You basically called me a loser and said that Lily and the rest of them were only hanging out with me out of pity,"

James hissed as your statement, feeling the razor in your voice.

"-And now you all want to act as if I should just forgive you since I don't look the same anymore," You got closer to James's face, "Fuck off."

You turned your heel again and this time, the boys didn't follow you.

You finally entered the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you struggled to read the expression on your face. You were furious at the Marauders, and the idea of forgiving them felt impossible.

Yet, there was a flicker of gratitude that you felt for the change you’d undergone. You’d gained a new confidence that felt good, but the sting of their cruel words still lingered in your mind.

And you knew that you couldn't let it get to you but knowing they thought that of you, even Remus. It still did things to you that you would never admit out loud.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized it was almost time to head to the dormitory.

The rest of the night had flown by, with first years being introduced to their new home for the next six years while everyone else relaxed in the common room. Despite curfews, fifth years and above knew they could hang out longer—the curfew was mostly for the first years anyway.

"Caput Draconis," you muttered, and the Fat Lady nodded, granting you entrance.

Stepping into the common room, your heart sank as you spotted the last group you wanted to see. They noticed you just as quickly, encouraging you to pick up your pace toward the dorm.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dorcas called out, making you wince as you turned to see her waving.

The Marauders looked down, shame etched on their faces, avoiding your gaze as if you were Medusa.

You approached them slowly, dread settling in your stomach as they eyed you like a science project.

"We were just about to play a fun little game," Dorcas said enticingly, while Marlene snorted beside her.

"I don’t know if Spin the Bottle is a great idea for the first night back," Marlene added, taking a sip of her beer.

"A little peck never hurt anyone," Lily chimed in, clapping her hands together.

Of all people, you’d never expect Lily Evans to approve such a thing. This was the same girl who nearly fainted when she heard about Marlene and Dorcas kissing the previous year.

"I don’t know if this is the game for me," you replied, eyeing the group warily.

"Of course it is!" Lily insisted, but you raised an eyebrow. "Oh my gosh! Not like that, I just mean it's a fun game for us all to play," she quickly added, looking flustered.

Part of you wanted to say no and retreat to your bed, but that was the old you, and you knew it wouldn’t help. This was a new year, and you were determined to embrace new experiences.

Besides, you’d never participated in any scandalous games for all of the years you've been at Hogwarts—it felt like a crime in itself.

So, after a moment’s hesitation, you said, "Okay, sure." The girls erupted in cheers, while the Marauders exchanged worried glances.

What if you had to kiss one of them? Would you refuse and create a scene? Would you want to strangle them for even suggesting it?

The possibilities raced through their mind, but there was no turning back as everyone began to form a circle.

As you sat in the circle, a shiver of nervousness enveloped you. You had never kissed anyone before and the whole thought made you nervous within itself.

Don't get it wrong, you've had chances but they never seemed right and you certainly weren't kissing Matthew Trunchbull underneath the bleachers of the Quidditch field.

So when you got offered a shot of firewhiskey to cool your nerves by Marlene, you took it happily as it burned down your throat.

You brushed off all the negative thoughts entering your mind,

What really is the worst thing that could happen?