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borathae · 6 months ago

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Kiss the Cook

“Yoongi loves to cook for you. You love to watch him as he does and soon you can’t take it anymore. You have to kiss him or you will implode.��

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, domestic Fluff

Warnings: cutie!Yoongi, Yoongi being a sexy cook, i said what i said, he blushes!, she feeds him some tangerines <3, as she sits on the kitchen counter, making out on said counter, Yoongi in a woolen jumper, idk but this is so hot to me and therefore needs a warning, they’re grossly in love!!!, i want what they have #bigsad

Wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i love him, i love them, i love her, i love this :( enjoy besties, oy!Yoongi is going to be the fucking death of me fjdjasf he is such a cutie ❤ ps: does a story sometimes make you feel so single or discontent with your current love life that you want to claw your own eyes out? yeah. this is that story for me. i want what they have fuxkxk they feel so mature and settled and :( grrr spreading negativity all around me grrrr

You invited Yoongi over for dinner and wine. Which means that he comes over to your place to cook while you watch him and sip on wine. Now, this isn’t because you are lazy or you are forcing him to cook. On the contrary, it was Yoongi’s idea. He loves cooking for you, so you learned, and these little dinner dates have become a regular thing in your relationship.

And it is perfect. You get to see him and talk to him. He gets to do something he loves whilst talking to you. And at the end of it, you can share the yummiest dinner ever and experience a giddy tingle in your stomachs.

You invited him over tonight for exactly such a dinner date. You dressed up in a thick jumper and some woolen socks and even did your hair.

It has been snowing rather vividly all day, turning the roads into one powdery white plane with the rest of the world. The weeping willow in front of your sunroom is bending under the weight of the snow and the frozen stream is covered under a heavy layer of it as well. It is such a beautiful view, making you happy to be inside where it is warm and cozy.

Levi, your cute little cat, hasn’t left his spot by the fireplace all day. He spends most of his winter days napping where it is warm or watching the very few winter birds eat from your bird feeder. He will not leave for outside, however, that much is sure. It is way too much work to soil his good fur with sticky, wet snow.

You check the time again. Ten past eight. Yoongi should have been here by eight. You pace in front the sunroom windows, looking at the faint lights where his house might be. He decorated the outside with lots of Christmas lights and on the nights where you miss him, you like to stand in the sunroom and look up at the lights. Whenever you do, it feels as if he was right there with you.

Tonight however, the view makes you uneasy. Where is Yoongi and why isn’t he here yet? Did he slip and hit his head? Did a huge chunk of snow fall on him and he is now buried alive somewhere? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he forget?

Nervously biting your own nails, you hurry to the front door to take another peek outside.

“Oh, shit!” Yoongi exclaims, stumbling back and almost dropping the grocery bags he is carrying under his arms.

You flinch back too, not having expected him to literally stand right in front of the door in the midst of ringing your bell.

“Sorry, you scared me”, he apologises for his cursing. He is bundled into the thickest winter coat ever, wearing a beanie, scarf and gloves with it. His snow pants are covered in snow up to his thighs, his winter boots are basically white from all the snow. The last few inches of his coat are opened. Holly, wearing a little beanie as well, is peeking out from it. Yoongi must have bundled him up in it to keep him warm. The view is adorable.

“You scared me too. I wanted to check if I could spot you. Come in”, you say, stepping out of the doorway.

“Yeah, sorry for being late. I underestimated the height of the snow. I had to fight my way down here without falling on my butt. I waddled like I was ninety.”

“No worries, I’m just so happy that you’re here now and that you’re safe. I already pictured the worst scenarios ever.”

Yoongi chuckles, “I survived. Barely, but I survived.”

You laugh. He is so funny, making you laugh again when he struggles with undressing.

“Wait. Let me take the bags so you have your hands free.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, I’ll carry them to the kitchen if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be with you soon.”

You are in the midst of unpacking the groceries when Yoongi and Holly join you in the kitchen. Holly greets you first, jumping up your leg and barking excitedly.

You coo, picking him up to let him lick your face.

“I missed you too, you little stinker. Aw big kissies, yes big kissies.”

“He really missed you”, Yoongi says, walking to you.

“Yeah, I missed him too.” You hand him Holly. “And I missed his dad even more. Hey there, handsome”, you say, stealing a kiss.

Yoongi smiles into it, rubbing your waist as the kiss breaks.

“Hey there, beautiful. I missed you too.” He says and then takes a step back to set down Holly. The little toy poodle instantly sets off to explore your home and look for Levi.

Yoongi studies your get-up, “I love what you did with your hair. It suits you.”

“Thank you, heh. I tried something new.”

“It’s nice, really beautiful.”

“Thankies. Uhm, wine?” You offer. “I might have already started without you because I was picturing you dying somewhere.”

He laughs, “what a relaxing thing to do. I won’t say no to some wine, thank you.”

You prepare him a glass, then cheer with him. He enjoys it with a hum. Afterwards he touches your hip and kisses your cheek. You lean into it, smiling from ear to ear. He is always so gentle with you. You love it so much.

“I hope that you’re hungry. I’m making risotto tonight”, Yoongi says.

“Yes risotto! I love risotto. I haven’t eaten since twelve because I wanted to be really hungry tonight.”

Yoongi smiles and begins. He puts on the apron you made for him and rolls up his sleeves. Well, at least he tries to because you stop him before he can.

“Wait, let me.”

He gazes at your face as you work, cheeks slightly flushed and heart racing.

“Thanks”, he whispers, trying oh so hard not to expose how giddy he actually feels. Spoiler alert, he feels very giddy. You are always so tender with him. He loves it so much.

Yoongi is wearing a brown jumper made out of the softest wool. It is warm and sits on his body in the most perfect of ways. His chest and back are defined in it, but he still looks snuggly. You feel so attracted to him that it is difficult not to bite him. In an adoring way of course.

It also isn’t helping that he is wearing your favourite cologne and a watch which really fits his wrist. Once his sleeves are rolled up, you can’t help but feel up his arms just once. You trace his veins, squeeze him and play with his fingers.

Yoongi chuckles lazily, closing his hands around yours.

“Is this still part of the service?”

“No, this was for me. You look really sexy in this jumper.”

He smiles and pulls you close to steal a kiss. You give it to him with a fluttering heart, gazing deep into his eyes once it breaks. He has the most beautiful eyes.

“I put it on for you. Because you once said that you like me in a jumper.”

“I do. I could bite you, I’m serious.”

“Please don’t”, he laughs and pecks your cheek, “I’ll be quick with dinner, promise. No biting needs to happen.”

“Maybe a little bit of biting.”

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“If I knew that I would be dating a biter, I might have reconsidered”, he jokes, busy with setting up some pans.

“You like it. Don’t lie”, you say and sit down on the kitchen counter.

“Maybe I do.”

You snicker, picking up a tangerine to peel it as he cooks.

And so it begins. One of the coziest and most beloved date activity as a couple. He cooks while you watch him. There are only a few things better than this.

You have the radio playing. Christmas songs because it is almost time for the holidays. The tangerine fills the air with a cozy scent and the wine tastes especially good. Whenever you and he aren’t lost in conversation, you can listen to Yoongi hum to the songs on the radio. He has a very nice singing voice. Deep and warm. You could listen to it for hours. Just as you could listen to him talk for hours.

“How are your legs by the way? Did the snow soak through your snow pants?” you ask him, staring at his butt.

It isn’t your fault, he is wiggling it to the music. It is his fault that you have to take a sneaky look.

“Mhm? No, my legs are fine. The snow didn’t soak through.”

“That’s good to hear. How was your day?”

“It was good. I fixed some things in the upstairs bathroom and started with the chaulking.”

Yoongi is still renovating his house. It is a very big project and he isn’t stressing himself, so it’s been taking some time already. You don’t mind. It just means that he will have to stay over more often whenever the building site is too dirty. Quite frankly, a part of you secretly wishes for the renovations to take forever just so he will keep coming over to sleep in your bed. You really love having him sleep in your bed. Not only because he is a total cuddlebug (don’t spread these news to anyone, he is very shy about it) or because he always smells so good, but also because you feel safer with him close.

“Chaulking? Wow, this sounds like process”, you say.

“Yeah, it’s been going really well lately.” He turns for a moment. “And you? Did you have a good day?”

“I had a really good day. I made some progress on the scarf and then did some yoga. Tangerine?”

Yoongi closes the distance, snacking on the slice you’re offering.

“This sounds like a good day. You have to be finished soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it's almost finished, which is very exciting if you asked me.”

You are currently knitting a scarf and have been regularly sending updates to Yoongi via text messages. His reactions to the messages vary from “good job!” all the way to the very rare and precious thumbs up emoji. He is honestly such a cutie.

“I can imagine. Do you have a new project in mind after you finish the scarf?” Yoongi takes one more slice of tangerine before he returns to the stove.

While you begin telling him about all the knitting project ideas you have. You don’t leave out any details. The material of the yarn, the design, the colours, even what kind of stitches you plan on using. And Yoongi listens gladly, he asks questions and reacts with his very endearing version of enthusiasm. It means so much to you. Being loved by him is so fulfilling. You feel so important, as if your existence has purpose. There is not one thing about you which isn’t important to him or which you feel like you have to hide from him.

It might sound strange, but being loved by him is so freeing. You feel so whole and so happy and you love him so much in return.

Yoongi steals one more slice of tangerine, staying close to you afterwards as he slices some mushrooms for the risotto.

“And what about you? Any new music projects you are working on?” you ask him, switching your adoring gaze between his face and his hands. He has such sexy hands.

“Yes, so many”, he says, nodding his head.

“Tell me everything.”

You listen to everything he has to tell you, gazing at him with the biggest heart eyes. He is so interesting and exciting. His hobbies are so wonderful to listen to. As much as you love talking to him, you love listening just as much.

Yoongi feels content with you. He feels utterly and completely happy. There is nothing missing with you. When he is with you, he feels whole and like himself. There is not even the littlest thing about him he feels like he has to hide from you and whenever he comes out of one of his accidental monologues about his interests, he isn’t met with boredom but enthusiasm and questions. Truly, his nerdy little heart swells thrice its size when he is with you.

A moment of silence follows after you and he exchanged interests. Happy and jazzy Christmas music fills it. Yoongi picks up the cutting board, carrying it to the pan so he can sauté the mushrooms in some butter. He adds the rice afterwards, seasoning it before he pours white wine into the pan. He pours some of the wine in his glass afterwards, closing the distance to clink glasses with you.

“To this evening”, he says, smiling one of his pretty, soft smiles he always does.

“To this evening and to you, the best boyfriend ever.”

“Be quiet”, he mumbles and drinks from his glass, looking to the side shyly. He blushes.

“Never. You need to know”, you say and lean in to munch on his cheek.

“Hey. No biting”, he laughs as he complains, moving back.

“Mhm, then how about I kiss the cook instead?” you say, setting the wine aside to pull him closer.

He lets you tug him between your legs, smiling at you and setting the wine aside. His eyes fall to your lips, his hands dance along a path which consists of your waist, hips and the side of your thighs.

“You’ve got a minute before I have to get back to the risotto”, he says.

“Then let me make the best of it”, you say, pulling him into a kiss.

How you make the best of this one minute. You kiss him as if you missed him for a million years, as if you needed him for survival, as if his lips are all you ever wished for. It might only be a minute, but Yoongi comes out of this kiss with slightly wobbly knees and a racing heart. His cheeks are flushed, his lower lip tingles as you end the kiss by biting on it gently.

“What was that for?” his voice is raspy, his eyes foggy as they gaze at your lips.

“Just felt like it”, you whisper, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Should we like, I don’t know, should I remove the pan from the stove for a moment?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose. You know what he is insinuating, stomach tingling at the aspect of it.

“And why should you do that?” you tease him, tinting his cheeks an even deeper pink. He curses under his breath, giving your hips a gentle squeeze.

“You drive me crazy, you know. First kissing me like this and then acting innocent.”

“Shouldn’t you check on the rice?”

Yoongi lets out a whine of discontent, but breaks away from you to stir the rice. He glances at you. You retort the glances, heart racing like crazy. His hair is a little messy because you played with it as you kissed him. His lips are slightly puffy and flushed pink. Quite frankly, he has never looked more attractive than he does right now in your little kitchen wearing the black apron you made for him as he cooks you dinner and seems just a little ruffled from your kiss.

You lift the glass of wine to your equally as puffy lips, giving him an eye smile as you sip the sweet alcohol. Yoongi blushes, shifting his gaze to dinner. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth mindlessly while his hands are busy with pouring chicken stock over the rice.

You and he both feel the electric sparkles in the air. The feeling is addicting, just as it is addicting to spend time with each other. You just work so well together, you are so right.

“You know”, you begin.

“Yes, baby?” he answers you, voice warm and caring.

“I love having you over.”

He glances again. His eyes sparkle, his teeth show in the shiest of smiles.

“I can look at you, I get to listen to you and talk to you. I love it.”

“Yeah, I love it too.”

“And I get to kiss you. It’s pretty awesome.”

He looks at your lips, raising your pulse with it.

“You know. I, theoretically, have one minute again”, he says, giving you puppy eyes.

You laugh because you love when he flirts. You set the wine aside, making grabby hands at him.

“Then come here and make it count.”

Yoongi sets the spoon aside, closing the distance. How he is going to make it count.

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 1 year ago

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Jay Halstead: Whatever It Takes

You felt your stomach twist in knots. Jay’s blue eyes had a faraway look. His mind was somewhere else trapped battling with his demons. You had been dating him long enough to know when his PTSD had its claws in him. You had become an expert at picking up the signals, usually before even Jay knew a cycle was coming. The nightmares that plagued him and the distant coolness that came with them.

This time it was different. This time you had been the one to pull the trigger on the monsters living inside his head. You had been the one to feed them and give them strength to haunt the man you loved. Tears rolled down your cheeks silently. He was sitting on the couch staring off blankly at the wall. Stuck in a stalemate with his thoughts. “I’m so sorry,” It comes out as a full-blown sob. “I never should have asked that of you.”

His hands cup your cheeks, rough calloused thumbs wiping away your hot tears. His blue eyes are clearer as they bore into you. His expression is calm and stoic. “No, don’t apologize.” Your tears fall faster as your breath catches harshly on a sob. Your eyes fall to your lap unable to meet his gaze. You don’t deserve the comfort. “Hey, listen, listen to me, baby. Look at me.” He tilts his head down trying to catch your gaze.

It's only when you submit to him that he continues, “This isn’t on you. You hear me?” His fingers flex griping tighter for a second to make sure he has your attention. “That little girl is your family. That makes her mine too. There isn’t a thing in this world that I wouldn’t have done to bring her home safely. Not a damn fucking thing, you hear me?” His thumbs catch more of your tears, “You didn’t have to ask. You never have to ask. It was done the moment that bastard took her.” His eyes searched yours to make sure that you were hearing his words. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” You repeat but not because you believe him but for his own benefit. You know he won’t let you go until you do.

“I love you,” His words are forceful and filled with devotion. You nod trying to hold back the sobs. His words set off a reaction. The emotion that you had been tamping down exploded through your body. “C’mere baby,” He pulls you onto his lap so you are straddling him. His strong arms wrap tightly around you. You are pressed into his firm body, wrapped in his scent. There is a lingering smell of smoke and gasoline from the fire that had been set to the building he had been checking while looking for your niece. You had begged him, asking him to do whatever it took to bring her back. A heavy unfair burden to place on him. Your niece was home safe with her parents and Jay was in front of you fighting with his demons and that burden had been felt twice fold in your gut. It was sharp cutting you with guilt from the inside out.

You sobbed your apologies and I love you’s into his neck. He can’t understand the words, but he can feel the emotions pouring out of you as he strokes your hair and whispers soothing words. Jay had never minded a firefight. They gave him a burst of adrenaline and sharpened his already heightened senses. It was the time after that always got him. The time when you came down from them. The time when emotions started swirling dangerously towards the surface.

He could deal with others' emotions. He hated to see you upset, but he knew how to be there for you. Take care of you, and be what you need. It was harder, if not impossible, for him to dig into his own emotions and deal with them. You, even now in your spiraling state, were like a balm to his emotional wounds. The two of you sat in the darkened living room wrapped in each other. Your emotions exploded out of you while Jay’s imploded inside of him.

The only comfort is each other.

My first attempt at a Jay Halstead story. It turned out more angsty than I meant for it too. I’ve been in one of those moods lately though. Hope you all enjoyed xoxo <3

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #chicago pd

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nanamineedstherapy · 3 months ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Snippet -Gojo grinned. "Nanami? Working. Someone’s gotta fund couples’ therapy." He leaned back, laugh-rich. "Kidding! He’s suspended like me—so these days he reads about pregnancy, cooks nutritionally balanced meals, day trades and lets our wife cheat in video games. Very sexy, very domestic." WormTakeTheWeel: GOJO, BLINK TWICE IF NANAMI HAS A GUN. As if summoned by his sins, you appeared in the doorway. Gojo lit up like a kid handed a lifetime supply of sweets. "Wifey! Hi!" Unaware of what he was sharing in the stream, heavily pregnant in Nanami’s sweater, you balanced a tray of snacks. “Here,” you murmured—strawberry slices, chocolate-covered crackers, strawberry Pocky milk. The kind of effortless care that came from loving someone past the point of sanity. Gojo melted, feeding you a grape. You hummed, patted his head like a misbehaving puppy, and waddled out. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he crooned. The chat imploded. MechamarusLeftKnee: WAIT, THAT’S HER?? SHE'S SO CUTE??? SuguruForgotCondoms: HOW DID U TWO LAND HER? SHE’S LIKE ‘RICH’ RICH. NonConsensualForeheadStitches: BRO, SAY SORRY AGAIN, WTF? DO NOT FUMBLE A BADDIE, BRO!

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Chapter Summary: Gojo Satoru has two settings: ‘Unhinged God’ and ‘Emotionally Constipated Golden Retriever.’ Nanami Kento is a spreadsheet with a pulse. Their wife? A heavily pregnant, introverted CEO who’s one Sims murder spree away from filing divorce papers in triplicate. Featuring: Parisian apologies, cursed twins rewriting reality, and a group chat that’s 47% memes, 53% war crimes. Love is stored in the passive-aggressive barista. Some smut. A/N: Sorry for the delay, besties—I was spiritually kidnapped by capitalism and the brainrot gods, but this chapter wouldn’t exist without WhatDidIJustRead on AO3/ @blackrimmedrose on Tumblr (who slid into my DMs like a reverse curse technique to beta this mess). I was out here lost in the void, vibing with my last two brain cells, when she showed up like an exorcist asking, "Hey, wanna be normal?" And I said, "Absolutely not." She beta-read, supporting my Sukuna x Nanami delusions, and told me to go full K-Drama Kaisen (which, btw, may or may not foreshadow a tragic villain(not human or living thing) in the story ahead. Who's to say? 👀). For this chapter: read the usernames (yes, they mean something, no, I won’t elaborate), tell me your favorite scene (because I know it’s long but I believe in your attention span—barely), and get ready because we’re in the endgame. Three more chapters and then we either crash and burn in angst or soft-launch a happy ending. Choose wisely. Also, special-grade Nanamin incoming (read that in Yuki’s voice), and CHRO should be read as another reader. Can you guess their backstory? I can bet, it's more unhinged than you think. Also I was kinda thinking what if in this fic the husbands look like the header. This chp is only happening the way it is bcs I may or may not be ovulating rn :P Had to break this chapter in two posts bcs Tumblr won't let me post it. Link to the next part at the bottom.

Previous Chapter 19 (alt ending 2.10) - The Anatomical Weight of Neglect in Infinite Drops - Part 4 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 20 (alt ending 2.11) - The Fault Lines: The Honored One’s Guide to Fumbling the Bag (And Other Love Languages) - Part 1

Discovery #1: Gojo Has Been Emotionally Waterboarding Himself for Fun—and Maya Is Into It (Professionally)

Maya swirled the questionable contents of her chipped coffee mug—definitely not coffee—and leveled Gojo with a look that could curdle milk. "You know what's hilarious? I actually thought you'd take this therapy seriously. My mistake."

Gojo, sprawled across the couch like a discarded prom dress, grinned. "Maya, darling, when have I ever taken anything seriously?"

"Point taken." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the predatory interest of a scientist observing a particularly fascinating train wreck. "Now explain why you spent last night watching old home videos of your wife and pausing on frames where she looked happiest."

Gojo blinked. "Is that... not normal?"

Maya's smile was razor-thin. "Oh, sweet winter child. That's not nostalgia—that's psychological self-flagellation. You're emotionally waterboarding yourself. For fun." She took a sip of her mystery drink, which smelled like industrial solvent. "Were you trying to break yourself like a CIA intern?"

Gojo adjusted his sunglasses. "Not intentionally."

Maya's clipboard hit the floor with a clatter. "YOU ZOOMED IN ON HER HANDS AND STARED AT THEM FOR TWO HOURS, GOJO."

"They are so small. I was appreciating them!"

"YOU'RE SIX-FOOT-THREE. EVERYONE'S HANDS LOOK SMALLER COMPARED TO YOU. EVEN KASHIMO'S. AND I CHECKED."

Gojo's brows furrowed. "Wait, why were you—"

"FOCUS." Maya's cheeks flushed—vodka or Kashimo-related trauma, unclear. "Then you fell asleep listening to an AI voice read her old emails."

Gojo perked up. "Wait, you can do that?"

Maya exhaled through her nose. "Do you understand how normal people process guilt?"

Gojo beamed. "Not even a little."

Maya lit a cigarette directly under the NO SMOKING sign.

Discovery #2: Nanami Has Been Micromanaging the Apocalypse—Maya Approves (Almost)

"I want it on record that I don’t want to be here," Nanami said, posture stiffer than a starched collar.

You rolled your eyes while Gojo was busy sniffing your new shampoo.

“Freud would eat you alive.” She leveled Nanami with a smirk.

Nanami adjusted his cuffs (and your ovaries did the thing). "Freud was a hack."

"So are most of my methods," Maya said cheerfully. "Now explain why you’ve been running a full intelligence operation on your wife."

Nanami didn’t blink. "It’s meal planning."

Maya slid a photo across the table. "You sent me a risk assessment on her caffeine intake."

"She exceeds the safe limit."

"You hired a private nutritionist. He’s disguised as a barista."

Nanami’s expression didn’t flicker. "Efficiency."

Maya’s eye twitched. "You tagged him 'P.N.' in her contacts like a Cold War spy. The man was in her Uber eats app."

Nanami sipped his tea. "It was a suggestion, not a command."

Maya stared.

Nanami stared back, deadpan.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Maya looked impressed. "And the sleep journal?"

"Observational research."

"You logged her REM cycles and fetal heartbeat counts without telling her."

Nanami’s lips thinned. "She was fidgeting in her sleep."

"You are insufferable." Maya cackled like a woman who’d just lost a bet. "You’re also scarily good at this. Ever consider corporate espionage?"

Nanami blinked. "I’m not sure you should be suggesting that."

Maya shrugged. "Neither does my license but here we are."

Nanami’s eye twitched as Maya continued, "Nanami. You’ve been tracking how many times she turns over in bed."

"Sleep quality is important."

"YOU GAVE HER A WEARABLE MONITOR WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE."

You and Gojo turned very, very slowly to look at him.

Nanami didn’t meet your eyes. "I didn’t want to wake her."

"THAT’S NOT THE PROBLEM."

Nanami narrowed his eyes, the human equivalent of a spreadsheet glaring back. "Would you rather I didn’t care?"

Maya massaged her temples. "No. But I’d like you to behave like a human man and not a passive-aggressive government drone."

You bit your cheek to keep from laughing. Gojo was already on the floor, wheezing.

Discovery #3: Wife Is Weaponizing Spite Like a Professional—Maya Finds It Charming

Maya turned to you with the weariness of someone who’d seen too much and drunk too much about it. "Now you."

You blinked. "What?"

Maya grinned, all teeth. "Explain the sabotage."

You sipped your water. "Is that bad?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Maya crooned, "it’s art. You’ve been unplugging Nanami’s alarm by exactly three minutes every night."

You shrugged. "Interesting."

"And Gojo’s autocorrect? Changing ‘baby’ to ‘bankruptcy’? Inspiring."

Gojo gasped from the couch. "Wait, is that why my texts sound financially threatening?"

Maya cackled. "And The Sims?" Her eyes sparkled with something unhinged. "You made their Sims, made them cheat on you, then made them suffer."

"That’s just called gaming."

"YOU LOCKED GOJO’S SIM IN A BASEMENT AND MADE NANAMI’S SIM WATCH THROUGH A WINDOW."

You smiled. "Sounds like a Tuesday."

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW UNHINGED THAT IS?"

"Maya," you said patiently, "have you ever played The Sims?"

"THAT’S NOT THE POINT."

"Then what is?"

Maya sighed. "You’re deliberately making yourself angrier instead of addressing your pain."

You shrugged. "It works."

"No, it’s therapy-adjacent." Maya winked. "Illegal in couples therapy, but therapy-adjacent." She narrowed her eyes at Nanami's PPT. "Wait. Why do you own ten pairs of noise-canceling headphones?"

You hesitated.

Maya pounced.

"YOU STOCKPILE THEM BECAUSE YOU THINK PEOPLE WILL LEAVE, AND YOU NEED TO DROWN OUT THE SILENCE."

You stiffened.

Maya leaned in, voice softening. "That’s not a normal purchase pattern, sweetheart."

---

The Verdict

Maya slumped at her desk like a woman who’d seen the abyss and found it lacking. "After careful consideration," she announced, "I’ve reached a conclusion."

Nanami rolled his eyes. "Which is?"

"That the three of you should never have been left unsupervised."

Gojo beamed. "Thanks!"

Maya turned to you. "And you—do you ever process emotions like a normal person, or is it all silent suffering and revenge Sims scenarios?"

You sipped your water. "That feels like a loaded question."

"YOU MADE A POWERPOINT TITLED ‘THINGS I WILL BRING UP IN A FIGHT IN FIVE YEARS.’"

Nanami side-eyed you, hard.

You coughed. "I have hobbies."

"NO, YOU HAVE A VENDETTA."

Gojo clapped.

Maya threw a pen at him. "AND YOU—" She whirled on Nanami. "Mr. ‘I Will Prove I Love Her Through Spreadsheets and Covert Ops.’"

Nanami frowned. "That’s reductive."

"No, it’s accurate. You’re micromanaging her entire existence instead of facing your guilt. How many meals have you prepped this week?"

"Forty-one."

Gojo blinked. "Bro."

"She’s pregnant," Nanami said flatly.

"SHE’S NOT SEVEN PEOPLE, NANAMI."

"SHE’S CARRYING TWINS, MAYA."

Gojo whistled. "Ouch."

"Satoru, shut the fuck up."

Maya took a deep breath. "New plan. We’re fixing this."

Solution 1: Gojo—Sit in the Void Like the Man You Are

Maya gestured with her cigarette. "Your diagnosis is ‘terminal avoidance with god-tier deflection.’"

Gojo grinned. "Sounds serious."

"You’ll survive." She snuffed the cigarette out on her desk. "You’re going to sit with your feelings. No jokes. No memes. Write them down."

Gojo blinked. "I don’t like that."

"I don’t care."

"But it’s bad in there, Maya."

"Then fix it. You’re the strongest, right? Fight your demons."

"Maya, be fr, my demons do MMA."

"Or I’ll have Kashimo babysit you."

Gojo paled. "No, no, not the gremlin."

"Then behave."

Solution 2: NANAMI—Stop Being a Passive-Aggressive NSA Agent

"Nanami," Maya said, flipping a page, "controlling her life isn’t an apology."

Nanami frowned. "Your suggestion?"

"Cold turkey. No trackers. No secret baristas."

"Impossible."

Maya shrugged. "Then prepare to be waterboarded by me. Emotionally ofcourse. Or worse—Kashimo."

Nanami sighed. "Fine. What else?"

"Tell her one genuine thing you love about her. Every day."

Nanami stared. "That’s manipulative."

"You’re manipulative. This is called emotional availability."

Gojo snorted. "Nanami, buddy, you’re fucked."

"Satoru, I will kill you."

Solution 3: YOU—YES, YOU—Quit Playing The Sims In Real Life

Maya leaned in. "You. You’re the worst."

You raised a brow.

"You avoid intimacy like it owes you money. You set people up to fail so you can say ‘I knew it.’"

You scowled. "I don’t do that."

"No? You casually bring up old betrayals at dinner?"

"Maybe."

"You pick fights right before things get vulnerable?"

"Potentially."

"YOU PRETEND TO BE FINE THE SECOND SOMEONE TRIES TO APOLOGIZE?"

You smiled. "That one’s a cultural reset."

Maya sighed. "You self-sabotage like a trained assassin. You’ve convinced yourself you don’t want to be loved."

You blinked. "Thank you. It works."

Maya smirked. "Until it doesn’t. You’re going to stop. No more preemptive strikes. No more exit strategies. Let these disasters love you."

Nanami and Gojo nodded in unison. "Agreed."

Maya groaned. "You all deserve each other." She waved a hand. "Now get out. I have a date with poor judgment and worse liquor."

---

Mr. Gojo “My Wife & My Husband” Satoru

After discreetly evacuating the women flirting with your husbands—and Megumi had handled your mother and Nanami’s Tokyo-sized crater—the internet’s first lesson about Gojo Satoru was clear: Never let him near social media.

The second? His wife was far too good for him.

Gojo wasn’t a streamer. He wasn’t even a social media guy, unless you counted hacking Jujutsu High’s alumni page to memeify Geto’s Oily Hair Era (RIP) with a pixelated shrine emoji.

But after the incident—after he and Nanami stormed a corporate office like rom-com leads gone feral (hospitalizing security, yeeting a man into a cactus, and letting Nanami fold a salaryman like a lawn chair)—the world had questions:

Why attack a gaming office?

Why panic like a golden retriever at the vet?

WHO IS THIS WOMAN???

It was his wife. The mortal who’d reduced the Honored One to a knees-bent, apology-babbling mess. The one whose existence made Gojo Satoru—arrogant, untouchable, walking calamity—drop like a marionette with cut strings the moment she turned her back.

He wasn’t famous, not in the way of streamers, influencers or athletes.

He was known, but in the way natural disasters were known—whispered about in legal documents, feared by politicians, mentioned only in hushed tones.

A quiet, bureaucratic, private nightmare.

But the corporate world had cameras, and those cameras had gone viral.

So now, here he was—perched in front of your gaming setup, Nanami’s reading glasses upside-down on his nose (purely for spite), streaming PUBG to 3,000 baffled strangers who had not signed up for this level of intimacy.

The stream title, “🔥LIVE NOW: DILF Gaming 🚀 PUBG Duos w/ Nanamin! (HELP WIFE STILL MAD AT ME!)🔥”—was a war crime. It lured normies, lost souls, chaos enthusiasts, and three vengeful ex-sorcerers—including Utahime, halfway through a wine bottle and seething.

PandaIsMyTherapist: IS THIS A CRYPTID???

NanamisTieStrap: WHERE’S THE BLONDE DILF??

CurseTheseNuts: Sir, this is a Wendy’s.

SixEyesNoBrain: Wife’s a QUEEN dump his ass. 💅

Gojo was a man of many talents: strongest sorcerer, Six Eyes wielder, government-toppler before breakfast.

And yet—

67 minutes into this dumpster fire, the chat raged with “Who’s Nanamin??” and “Is your wife single??”

And more.

RatioKingKenthoe: Bro, who even are u?

IWasNanamisTrueAwakening: IS THIS THE GUY FROM THE VIRAL OFFICE VIDEO???

"Okay, okay, listen," Gojo drawled, tilting his headset. "I know what you’re thinking—Gojo, why are you like this?—and the answer is: Love." His in-game avatar promptly ate a sniper round. "See that? Forty-seventh death today. This is love, okay?!"

NanamisSecondBiggestRegret: How’s your wife?

Gojo exhaled, smile bittersweet. "Radiant. Brilliant. Currently incubating two gremlins who already hate me. Also? Merciless. Actively Googling how to jail husbands internationally."

He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed.

TojisLeftSandals: So she still hasn’t forgiven you for the whole… office rampage thing?

"Uh, no?" His laugh frayed at the edges. "Formal apologies to: the eighteen guys Nanami hospitalized, the dude I yeeted into a cactus, and the intern who saw Nanami fold a man like origami. Special shoutout to the guy I threw into a marble wall and the soul who watched me kick down a boardroom door like a divorced dad on Christmas. In my defense? Panic. As for Nanami?" He shrugged. "Zero defense. He was just pissed."

LegallyNotaKaori: THIS IS WHY MEN SHOULD BE LOCKED UP.

TojisUnwashedBoobies: Apologize properly????

"Fine—shoutout to Kenjiro Tsuda from Voice-whatever-department! Sorry about the cactus! And, uh… sorry Nanami turned Dave into abstract art!"

InumakisVoiceCrackASMR: His name was Dan.

Gojo waved a hand. "WHATEVER. Therapy’s expensive, folks! Donate to the Wife Forgive Me fund! But not really because I’m VERY rich."

SukunasToenailClippings: Is your wife single now?

Gojo clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “MODS. BANISH THIS HERETIC.”

SixEyesNoBrain: Why’d you even attack her company??

“Because she left.” His face went eerily still; then he groaned, slumping over the desk. “She just… vanished. And I know my wife. If she’s avoiding us, she’s drafting divorce papers in three languages.”

GetosMissingPantaloons: So are you guys still living together?

Gojo stretched, smug. “Technically. She’s on maternity leave, so we’ve… reintegrated ourselves into her life like stray cats she can’t evict. She’s mildly tolerating it.”

MahitosLeftTesticularTorsion: WHERE’S THE BLONDE ONE?

Gojo grinned. "Nanami? Working. Someone’s gotta fund couples’ therapy." He leaned back, laugh-rich. "Kidding! He’s suspended like me—so these days he reads about pregnancy, cooks nutritionally balanced meals, day trades and lets our wife cheat in video games. Very sexy, very domestic."

WormTakeTheWeel: GOJO, BLINK TWICE IF NANAMI HAS A GUN.

As if summoned by his sins, you appeared in the doorway.

Gojo lit up like a kid handed a lifetime supply of sweets. "Wifey! Hi!"

Unaware of what he was sharing in the stream, heavily pregnant in Nanami’s sweater, you balanced a tray of snacks. “Here,” you murmured—strawberry slices, chocolate-covered crackers, strawberry Pocky milk. The kind of effortless care that came from loving someone past the point of sanity.

Gojo melted, feeding you a grape. You hummed, patted his head like a misbehaving puppy, and waddled out.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he crooned.

The chat imploded.

MechamarusLeftKnee: WAIT, THAT’S HER?? SHE'S SO CUTE???

SuguruForgotCondoms: HOW DID U TWO LAND HER? SHE’S LIKE ‘RICH’ RICH.

NonConsensualForeheadStitches: BRO, SAY SORRY AGAIN, WTF? DO NOT FUMBLE A BADDIE, BRO!

SwallowedByKenjaku: THE WAY SHE JUST… BROUGHT SNACKS. I’M WEAK.

MommyYukis_YearOldMilk: SAY SORRY AGAIN OR I SWEAR—

MonkeyWithDaddyIssues: TELL HER YOU LOVE HER RIGHT NOW.

JogosFinalFumes: GOJO, APOLOGIZE ON YOUR KNEES OR I WILL.

JunpeisType_YourMom: THIS IS ENOUGH TO MAKE A GROWN HUMAN WEEP.

LawAndOrderTheseTittiesHiromi: I’d let her step on me.

“Aww, look at her. So into me.” He turned to the camera, eyes starry. “Bringing me snacks. I love her so much. She’s sweet even when plotting my demise. Nanami, though?” He snorted. “I brought him coffee this morning, and he said, ‘I don’t accept offerings from traitors.’”

MeiMeisCrows: Why’s she still letting you live there if she’s so mad?

His grin faltered. For a heartbeat, vulnerability flickered.

“…Because she still loves us.” His voice softened, raw. “She’s just… hurt.”

TojisChildSupportNotice: Do you think she will ever forgive you two?

Gojo hesitated. The silence stretched.

“…I hope."

Then, his fingers drummed on the desk. “Anyway, therapy’s great. Nanami takes notes. I make jokes. Wifey fantasizes about our double homicide.”

His hands flew across the controller—reckless, frantic. He kept dying for it.

“I CAN DO THIS.” Gojo gritted his teeth, strangling the controller like it owed him rent. “I AM THE HONORED ONE. I DO NOT LOSE.”

You’d seen this before. The thing about Satoru? He mastered anything he focused on.

This could not stand.

Meanwhile, across the penthouse building in Megumi’s penthouse, Haibara grinned at his screen. "Ohhh, this is too good."

In your penthouse suite, just in a different room, you logged into your gaming account and cracked your knuckles. “Let’s wreck him.”

Haibara whooped. "Operation: Divorce Speedrun is a go!"

Back on stream, Gojo’s character respawned. “Alright, this time, I’m gonna—”

An enemy player materialized and obliterated him.

Gojo blinked. “…Huh.”

Then it happened again.

And again.

“I AM LOSING MY MIND,” Gojo howled as his pixelated corpse hit dirt. “WHO ARE THESE DEMONS?”

“The second he figures out the mechanics, it’s over,” you muttered to Haibara on discord. “If we don’t stop him, he’ll come back tomorrow on ultra-hard mode. I refuse to live in a world where Gojo beats me at my own stuff.”

Haibara cackled. "Damn, you’re a great wife."

"I know."

Gojo had no idea.

[TittyFucker69 set fire to HeadshotHubby’s hideout and stole their resources.]

[HaibaraWasHere sniped HeadshotHubby from a cliff.]

“WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?!” Gojo wailed. “I’M JUST TRYING TO LIVE. THEY WON'T EVEN LET ME GET A GUN.”

TakahashiTheRaccoon: THEY GOT HIS ASS. 😂😂😂

Then he squinted at his killer’s username: TittyFucker69.

"... Wifey."

GojosRestrainingOrder: LMFAOOOO HIS WIFE’S DOING THIS?

JogosFinalSmokeInhaler: Bro’s getting cyberbullied by his own wife.

And then—

A notification appeared.

[QuietlyCalculating has entered the server.]

You froze.

From the trees—a shadow moved. Silent. Precise.

[QuietlyCalculating has sniped HaibaraWasHere.]

[QuietlyCalculating has dropped rare loot near HeadshotHubby.]

"No." You narrowed your eyes. "It can’t be."

Gojo’s voice crackled through the chat: "OH MY GOD, WHO IS HELPING ME?!"

And then—

Nanami’s voice, dry as aged whiskey, filtered through the mic, no video. “You’re embarrassing us, Satoru.”

“Nanamin!!!!”

HeavenlyRestrictedManMilkers: WHY IS HIS TEAMMATE HOT??

SingleAndReadyToJujutsu: WAIT, HE’S GOT THE SEXY ACCOUNTANT VOICE.

Menace_Flakes: No, because WHO tf is playing against them? Why are they so good??

GetosWorstNightmare: His name is Nanamin?? How does a man named Nanamin sound this fine?

Then the kill feed lit up.

[TittyFucker69 killed HeadshotHubby.]

Gojo’s screen went black.

"NOOOOOOO."

Nanami sighed. “You should’ve used cover.”

Gojo, mumbling passive-aggressively, started a new game.

The Discord VC hummed with quiet menace as Haibara, you, and now Megumi coordinated your next assault through stream snippets.

"Place your bets," Haibara's grin was audible. "How many more humiliations before he rage quits?"

"He's Gojo," you muttered, lining up your shot. "He doesn't quit. He stays suffering."

Megumi adjusted his scope with deadly precision. "Then we'll make it memorable."

[TittyFucker69 threw a Molotov cocktail at HeadshotHubby.]

[Player_Unknown shot HeadshotHubby in the kneecaps.]

[EldritchHorror69 ran HeadshotHubby over with a jeep.]

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! KENTO, HELP!" Gojo's voice cracked mid-scream.

CorporateSorcererOfMyPanties: LMAOOOOO IS HIS WIFE SICKING HER DEV TEAM ON HIM?!!

SugurusLeftEarring: HE JUST CALLED HIS TEAMMATE KENTO??? IS THIS ILLEGAL??

Gojo spun wildly in-game, spraying bullets at phantom enemies. "SHOW YOURSELVES, COWARDS!"

Your smirk was weaponized. "With pleasure."

[TittyFucker69 knocked HeadshotHubby out with a frying pan.]

"I AM GOING TO SCREAM."

Nanami's sigh crackled through comms. "Stay down. I'll revive you."

"Took you long enough," Gojo pouted.

Nanami ignored him, focus unbroken.

The chat collectively short-circuited.

SixEyesNoThoughts: NOT THE DEEP-VOICED TEAMMATE SAVING HIM.

InfinityAndBeyondDumb: omg he’s so patient; he’s gotta be his husband and used to it.

NanamisTrauma2TheElectricBoogaloo: Is this real life???

CertifiedFeralBitchSukuna: HIS VOICE IS SO FINE, HELP. (NO HOMO THO.)

"Kento," Gojo whined as Nanami healed him, "I'm being cyberbullied by our wife."

"You deserve it," Nanami deadpanned.

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE."

"I am. That's why I'm ensuring you suffer productively."

SealedLikeaTupperware: lmfao, look at his Face. You cryin Gojo? 😏

SukunasTaxReturns: Sucks to suck. 🤡

Haibara's cackle echoed through Discord. "Alright Fushiguro. Wanna deliver the coup de grâce?"

Megumi exhaled through his nose. "Fine."

[Player_Unknown headshotted HeadshotHubby.]

[Player_Unknown killed QuietlyCalculating.]

NanaminHater69: NOT NANAMI BEING OBLITERATED. 😭

HeianEraFuckboy: WAIT, WHO TF IS THIS NEW ASSASSIN??

Megumi’s low voice came through on the live stream: “You both should quit now.”

MeiMeisCrowFood: Megumi?? AS IN FUSHIGURO??

YutasSimpArmy: Isn’t that the CEO guy??? WTF IS GOING ON?

TodousType_Dead: His wife is playing against him. His teammate is a DILF. His enemy is a CEO?? Is he living in an Indian daily soap???

Gojo slumped back, controller dangling. "This is my 13th reason."

Nanami typed a private message: [You're on your own.] Then vanished from the server.

As if scripted by cosmic comedy:

A new donation popped up in Gojo’s chat.

[BodySnatcherSupreme_MilfSuguruWhoDLC donated $5]: GG loser. Get better. Your wife outclasses you.

MegumisAbandonmentArc: Peak content.

SukunasIRSProblems: PLS MAKE THIS A REGULAR SERIES.

DeadbeatWithBenefits: NO BC WTF DID I JUST WITNESS?

SukunasToeJamCollector: ARE THEY IN A POLYCULE OR A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION? I CAN’T TELL.

Final death count: 72. The internet had crowned its newest disaster polycule.

The next morning, your PR team ambushed you via Slack. "We weren't supposed to do this but—just look."

The screen displayed Gojo's smirking face: "Nanami's the responsible one, our wife's scary, and I'm the hot one. That's balance."

“They love you guys,” the PR rep emphasized, scrolling through comments. “Your marriage is trending. People are calling your relationship ‘the most insane but oddly wholesome thing they’ve ever seen.’ ‘Protect this weird fam,’ ‘Wholesome insanity.’ Japan wants… merch.”

"...I'm defecting to Antarctica."

"Too late." The junior rep winced. “Marketing made hoodies. ‘DILF Grade’ with Mr. Gojo’s face.”

Gojo’s voice carried from the hall, “make mine a crop top!”

---

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅 Horny, Helpless, & Heavily Pregnant

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Postmortem Baddie: How’s it going?

Perpetually Horny: Terrible. He made me sit through a movie marathon.

Postmortem Baddie: What’s the issue?

Perpetually Horny: All three Shrek movies.

Postmortem Baddie: Ah.

Perpetually Horny: He acted out the dialogue. Every single line. He knows them all by heart.

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: Hahaha

Postmortem Baddie: I… I’m sorry.

Perpetually Horny: At one point, he turned to me and whispered, "You know… I’m like Shrek."

Postmortem Baddie: And you said?

Perpetually Horny: "Because you’re big and scary?"

Postmortem Baddie: 😭😭😭

Perpetually Horny: No. "Because I have layers."

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: In my professional opinion, both your husbands combined bring the IQ of an onion to your marriage.

Perpetually Horny: I know. 😔

---

Nanami noticed it first.

A flicker at the edge of his vision—a hairline fracture in the air. The world stuttered, reality peeling back like burnt film.

One moment: morning light gilded your cheek as you sat across from him, fingers curled around a mug with Gojo’s face. The next—

Your hometown café. Coffee-stained walls. Burnt espresso and cloying vanilla.

This wasn’t real.

But there you were—older, weary, pregnant—standing where you’d stood years ago, demanding to pay for your first date. Your hand pressed to your temple, veins stark as the twins’ cursed energy warped the air like a heat mirage.

Nanami tried to speak.

Does it hurt?

Do you remember?

Can you hear me?

His throat sealed. Iron bands cinched his ribs. The twins’ power folded time into origami cranes with razor wings, slicing the present into shards of memory.

A memory rewritten with teeth.

A memory repainted with present horrors.

Rewritten. Repainted.

This—this was a cruelty he hadn't expected.

A nightmare stitched from his deepest dread: losing you.

Your eyes met his—wide, disoriented—then dropped to your stomach, where the twins kicked not against flesh but the fabric of the moment itself.

You laughed, frayed. “Well… this is new.”

He reached for a napkin, pulled his ever-present pen, and wrote with clinical precision:

I’d choose you every time.

Your finger traced the words. Another laugh, brittle. “You’re such a dork.”

He wrote faster, ink bleeding:

I know.

The world ripped.

Now he was in Shoko’s infirmary, the day of the lynch mob. Gojo crashed through the ceiling, grinning through a bloody nose.

“My babies are menaces. I love them.”

Shoko didn’t glance up. “Get out of my morgue.”

Walls twisted.

Colors leached. Machines gurgled like dying throats.

You gripped a cracked glass, trembling. “It’s getting worse.”

Nanami lunged—

Night. Kitchen. Empty air.

Gojo dangled upside-down off the couch. “Welcome back! I just won—”

“Where is she?” Nanami’s voice flayed.

“Bathroom. Threatened to drown me.”

The door stood ajar.

Black static curled through the crack—the twins’ energy, hungry, wrong.

You sat on the tub’s edge, cursed energy coiling like serpents of smoke and grief.

Nanami knelt. A glass pressed into your grip.

You drank. Shuddered.

“…Still choosing me?”

“Every time.”

Outside, unnoticed, Haibara slipped a plastic bag on the doorstep. Inside—iced tea. The kind you’d mentioned once, casually, about your grandmother making it for you when you were sick.

He didn’t knock. He knew Nanami would find it.

But Haibara didn’t care about anything else, only that you must have been craving something from childhood, something that wasn’t tainted, something yours.

Awakening: 4:03 AM

Nanami woke choking.

Cold sweat. Racing heart. Empty bed.

He fumbled for his phone—

[Haibara, 2:14 AM]: Left iced tea on the step. Her grandma’s recipe.

His pulse hammered. She’s gone. She’s gone.

Gojo answered on the second ring, his voice sleep-heavy. "What? Nanamin, it’s... Jesus, it’s 4 AM."

Nanami could practically see him—half-asleep, limbs tangled in the blankets, face buried in the crook of your neck.

"Is she with you?"

“Of course she’s here; where else would she be?"

Nanami heard the shift of blankets and Gojo’s low curse.

And then—your voice. Faint. Sleep-muddled. "...What’s wrong?"

Gojo's voice softened as he nuzzled you closer, rubbing your now-taut stomach. "Nanamin's being dramatic, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

You sighed, melting back against Gojo’s chest.

Nanami said nothing.

Gojo was already passed out again, arms loosely coiled around you, utterly unaware of the weight pressing on Nanami’s chest.

He hung up and stared at the ceiling, shadows dancing along the intricate plaster.

By 4:30 AM, Nanami was at the gym.

It was empty.

Or—almost.

Haibara Yu and Megumi Fushiguro were already there in the predawn gloom, the only other souls insane enough to be lifting weights at the ass-crack of dawn.

The gym at 4:30 AM was a cathedral of shadows, iron, and sweat.

Nanami’s shirt clung to the ridges of his abdomen, damp with the kind of sweat that came from running from something, not toward it. Special Grade wasn’t just a title—it was the way his muscles coiled like live wires, the way his gaze could strip a curse to its marrow.

Tonight, though, his discipline frayed at the edges.

Haibara, swayed from the pull-up bar like a panther testing a rotten branch, all coiled menace. The nursery rhyme curled off his lips wrong—London Bridge is falling down. Falling down. Falling down—each note flatter than a surgeon’s blade. Former MI6, current serial killer headache moved with the lazy definiteness of a man who’d gut you mid-laugh.

He dropped soundlessly, boots whispering against concrete. Every motion carried that same contradiction—the indolent roll of shoulders, fingers flexing like he missed the weight of a garrote. Discipline had long curdled into pandemonium here: the clatter of Megumi’s water bottle “accidentally” kicked across the gym punctuated his sets, a metronome to his amusement, because that’s what Haibara came to the gym with Megumi for was-amusement, mockery. Nanami counted three fractures in the plastic. Haibara counted the seconds until Nanami’s patience snapped.

When he grinned, it wasn’t an expression. It was a trapdoor.

His gaze scraped over Nanami, amber eyes dissecting tendon from bone with the clinical interest of a taxidermist. “Look what the guilt dragged in.”

Megumi, CEO of too many corporations at this point and the spitting image of Zenin Toji with a cursed technique—if his father had traded high-profile assassinations for boardrooms—hoisted 700 kg with brutal clarity, probably less than his usual. The bar groaned under the weight, his shadow pooling at his feet like ink stirred to life. No suit here: just a sweat-soaked tank top, corded muscle, and the kind of focus that could split atoms.

Nanami didn’t need a cursed technique to read him. Every lift was a silent snarl, the clang of iron a substitute for the crack of bone. Megumi’s eyes stayed locked mid-air, as if envisioning a skull beneath the barbell.

Not friends. Never friends. Just two predators sharing a cage at dawn.

He didn’t acknowledge Nanami.

Nanami ignored them.

He needed the burn of iron, the scream of muscle—anything to drown out the static in his skull.

He plugged in his headphones, trying to drown it out.

It didn’t work.

Not today.

How had Gojo felt when he wasn't with him and you?

Nanami tried not to think about it—the sleepless nights resulting in dark circles under Gojo’s eyes, the empty space where he should have been, the 3 AM texts, the subtle, desperate offerings left outside the penthouse door like Gojo was some stray cat who didn’t know what else to do but leave gifts and his hope.

Nanami had hated it.

The pettiness. The possessiveness. The weakness of it.

Now, he missed it.

He even missed the insufferable smirk he’d wanted to punch every day.

Nanami exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the barbell.

Pathetic.

He was losing it.

And worse? He was scared.

Not of Haibara’s cursed technique—though even now, Nanami couldn't pin it down beyond the fact that it was wrong, like a joke that lingered too long after the punchline.

Not of Megumi’s shikigami—deadly, obedient, and always watching.

But of the twins.

What if they had time-affecting abilities?

What if they inherited Gojo's Infinite Void?

What if they inherited Nanami’s own Domain—Fractured Eternity?

Or—what if they were worse?

That was the part Nanami couldn't stomach.

Not because of the obvious horrors—time manipulation, reality-bending infants, diapers vanishing from existence—but because he was ill-equipped.

He was Special Grade, yes. But what did Special Grade matter when your own children could, theoretically, rewrite the laws of causality during breakfast?

Gojo, for all his recklessness, could handle it. He had infinite void; he could probably stabilize it. He could make it fun, like a game.

Nanami?

Nanami followed rules. Nanami needed rules.

What did rules mean to toddlers who could rewrite them with a giggle?

The thought settled in his stomach like lead.

Gojo would be better at this.

Gojo, who could handle nonsense, who saw power like a second language. Who, even at his most irresponsible, was still more capable of raising gods than Nanami ever would be.

The thought tasted like betrayal.

Haibara slid onto the bench beside him, grinning like a shark.

“You look like shit.”

Nanami didn't flinch.

Across the room, Megumi froze mid-lift, eyes flickering toward them.

Nanami finally met Haibara’s gaze. “What do you want?”

Haibara tilted his head, wolfish. “Just wondering—when she finally leaves you, think she’ll let me babysit?”

Nanami’s fist clenched.

Megumi’s shadow curled under his feet like it was alive.

Haibara laughed as he stood, unbothered. “Relax. I’m joking.”

He wasn’t.

“You’re tense,” Haibara said, rolling his shoulders to hide the fact that he was observing Nanami like a guinea pig, his grin sharp like a switchblade. “Worried she’ll realize she married the wrong disaster?”

Nanami’s grip tightened on the barbell. 685 kg. He lifted it like a sacrament.

“Or is it the twins?” Haibara’s voice dropped, velvet and venomous. “Heard they’ve been rewriting reality. Cute trick. Must keep you up at night.”

730 kg. The plates rattled.

Megumi’s shadow twitched.

“Imagine,” Haibara continued, “explosive diarrhea turns into a time loop. Or naptime… poof. Voided.” He leaned in, breath grazing Nanami’s ear. “You’re not built for chaos, Kento. You’re built to break under it.”

Nanami slammed the bar down. The crash echoed like a gunshot.

Megumi paused, knuckles whitening around his own bar.

“Fuck off.” Nanami’s voice was calm. Too calm.

Haibara laughed—a sound that belonged in a back alley, not a gym.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

Haibara was a ghost. A paradox. A cursed technique even Nanami couldn’t parse—wrongness wrapped in a razor grin.

Nanami put in his headphones again and tuned out anything more that came out of Haibara’s mouth.

His mind circled back to the drain:

The twins.

Gojo’s children. His children.

What if they unraveled the world before they could crawl? What if their laughter cracked the sky?

Special Grade meant nothing here.

He’d built his life on order. On ratios. On the clean slice of his blade through flesh and bone.

But this?

Chaos with their eyes. Chaos with Gojo’s smile.

He’d seen Gojo cradle your belly last week, grinning as the twins warped gravity into a kaleidoscope. “Cool, right?”

Nanami had almost vomited in the ensuite.

Haibara laughed again at something Megumi said. Nanami didn’t care.

He missed you.

He missed Gojo.

He missed Takahashi.

And worse, he was terrified.

So he headed straight home; he didn’t care about rules right now, or he’d end up with matching hair as Gojo by breakfast.

On his way, he thought about how he became a special grade sorcerer—something he honestly never even dreamed off.

He had been in his early twenties at the time—

The sky had been the color of a rotting bruise that day—the day he was supposed to save some children and get them to safety instead of staying to save one singular person.

The special-grade curse hadn't even been human-shaped.

Nanami had exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on his sword. His uniform had been torn—jacket missing, sleeves rolled up, dress shirt stained with things he hadn't been thinking about right then.

The thing in front of him had pulsed.

It hadn't been a curse, not entirely. Something older. Something hungrier. He had been able to feel it under his skin, the same way a man could feel a spider crawling across his bare chest in the dark.

Nanami had seen plenty of horrors since becoming a sorcerer, but this—

This had been wrong.

The battlefield had been quiet. Too quiet.

Nanami had rolled his shoulders, his body aching with exhaustion, his cursed energy flickering like a dying ember. His technique could only do so much when the thing in front of him had refused to obey the laws of physics, of logic, of anything.

It should have been Gojo there.

Gojo should have handled it.

He had been the strongest, hadn't he?

And Gojo had been there—unconscious in the rubble.

Nanami had swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth.

He remembered the children's screams from earlier that day—innocents he'd walked past without hesitation because thirty meters ahead, Gojo had been bleeding out.

Japan's shield.

The man who carried the weight of their entire world.

The choice had calcified in his bones before he'd even registered making it: let the weak die to save the essential.

Gojo hadn't been weak.

He hadn't been fragile.

But even he—especially he—had had limits.

And when this thing had tried to devour him, Nanami had made a decision.

A stupid one. A reckless one.

But Gojo had been a light, hadn't he? The kind that burned too bright, too hot—always throwing himself into danger because he had known he would survive.

But sometimes, light had needed something to block the worst of the storm.

And Nanami had always been the type to stand in the way.

Blood had dripped down his forearm, pooling at his wrist before hitting the ground in soft, rhythmic splatters. His vision had blurred for a moment, the exhaustion creeping up his spine, curling around his throat like a noose.

He had been about to die.

The realization had settled in his bones like a quiet, unshakable truth. He had had nothing left.

No more clean cuts. No more weak points to exploit. No more cursed energy worth a damn.

But this thing couldn’t come out of this alive.

It had been a thought that hadn't felt like his own.

Nanami had inhaled.

If the children died, Japan would mourn.

If Gojo died, Japan would burn.

If I die here, Gojo will live.

That had been enough.

Nanami had never been sentimental, had never cared for heroics.

But if his death had meant the strongest would keep breathing, if it had meant the world wouldn't have to watch its brightest flame flicker out—

Then let him be the last person he protected.

The thing had moved.

Nanami had barely registered it before it had been on him, tendrils of something wrong wrapping around his limbs, his throat, squeezing like a vice.

Black spots had danced at the edges of his vision. His fingers had twitched.

Not yet.

Not when Gojo had still been lying unconscious in the rubble, too far to stop what had been coming.

Not when Nanami had been the only thing standing between the strongest and death.

The thing had let out a deep, wet shudder—like it had known he had been breaking, like it could taste the moment he would shatter.

Nanami had closed his eyes.

And then—

Something had cracked.

Not the thing.

Him.

The thing had been a tangle of twisting, sinewy limbs and jagged mouths, a writhing mass of hungry, shifting flesh. It had breathed, and the sound alone had made Nanami's skin crawl—wet, sucking, starved.

Not a curse borne of petty hate or resentment. No.

This had been something else.

A curse born from repetition.

From the same unbreakable cycle of exhaustion, of waking up to the same crushing reality every single day. A curse born of salarymen who had died faceless and forgotten, whose existence had been ground down into the pavement, leaving behind nothing but resentment towards time itself.

It had been a curse that had not just killed.

It had devoured.

And Gojo had nearly been its next meal.

Nanami's fingers had curled tighter around the hilt of his dull blade, steady despite the deep ache in his bones.

The thing had not spoken. It had not needed to.

Because it had understood him.

It had seen him—for what he had been.

A man who had once walked away.

A man who had once believed he could be free.

And a man who had returned, not because of duty, not because of honor—

But because he had had nothing else.

Nanami had inhaled.

He had had one strike left in him.

And it wouldn't be enough.

The thing had lurched, shadows stretching and curling around him, reality bending at the edges of his vision—

Nanami had moved on instinct. One last clean cut.

And then—

The fracture.

It hadn't been physical. Not like a broken bone, not like a severed limb.

It had been deeper.

A fundamental split—an unraveling, the careful stitching of his sanity giving way beneath the weight of inevitability.

And in that moment—

Nanami had stopped resisting it.

Cursed energy had erupted from his body, not in a surge, not in a flood—

But in segments.

Golden lines had cracked through the air like fault lines in glass, slicing through the battlefield, the air, even time itself.

Nanami had exhaled.

And the world had fractured.

It had been small at first, a fracture so delicate he had almost not noticed. But then it had spread—like glass spiderwebbing under a hammer, like bones snapping beneath unbearable weight.

Something in him—something fundamental—had broken.

And for the first time in his life, Nanami had stopped thinking.

It hadn't been a surge, hadn't been a flood.

It had been a detonation.

The curse had screamed.

Nanami had stood in the center of a domain that had not felt like a domain at all.

The world around him had been broken apart, shattered into an infinite gridwork of golden lines, each pulsing with controlled energy.

The battlefield had no longer been whole.

It had been segmented.

Divided.

And Nanami had been the only one who could navigate it.

The curse had tried to move—

It had tried to retreat.

It couldn't.

Time had stopped in certain places, its limbs frozen mid-lunge.

Nanami had stepped forward, and time had snapped back—only for the creature's own weight to work against it, limbs twisting in on themselves, bones shattering from the sheer imbalance of movement.

The curse had screamed in sheer agony.

Nanami had not blinked.

It had tried again—its shadow stretching out, seeking purchase.

Nanami had raised a hand—the one not holding his trusted blade.

The segment of reality where the curse's attack had existed simply had ceased to function.

Its own energy had been turned inward, redirected to itself, and the resulting collapse had crushed its ribcage before it could even react.

This had not been a battlefield.

This had been a machine, and Nanami had been the only constant inside it.

No chaos could exist there.

Only order.

His order.

He had moved, and the fractures had shifted with him, the golden lines bending to his will.

A blade of raw cursed energy had manifested in his hand—not just one. Multiple.

Nanami had raised them, eyes dull, distant.

And had brought them down.

Each strike had erased a portion of the curse's body, carving through flesh, bone, existence itself.

It hadn't been screaming anymore.

Because it had been divided too many times to remember what pain was.

Nanami had exhaled.

And then—

He had collapsed equilibrium entirely.

A single point of space where every force, every movement, every reaction had been allowed to break free at once.

The resulting detonation had rippled through the segmented air, shattering the remaining pieces of the curse into something smaller than dust.

Silence.

Nanami had stood alone.

And in that moment—

He had no longer been the same.

Like he had finally let go.

The thing had tried to retreat.

Nanami hadn't let it.

The next second he had stood over the corpse.

It had taken three slashes.

Only three.

The domain had faded.

The fractures in the air had smoothed out.

Nanami had blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the return of reality.

His breath had been steady.

His hands had no longer ached—everything had healed.

The weight that had always been on his shoulders—the unbearable burden of duty, of expectation—

It had been gone.

Not lifted.

Just gone.

Nanami had exhaled.

And for the first time in his life, he had not felt tired.

He had not felt righteous.

He had not felt kind.

He had simply felt efficient.

A sound had caught his attention—something shifting in the rubble.

Nanami had turned.

Gojo had been awake.

He had been watching him.

Nanami had met his gaze, something unreadable passing between them.

And then—

Then Satoru had smiled.

It hadn't been cocky. Hadn't been smug.

It had been something else entirely.

Something that had felt like acknowledgment.

It hadn't been relief.

It hadn't been gratitude.

It had been recognition that he didn't have to be alone anymore.

Satoru had seen it.

The change.

Nanami hadn't looked away—held his gaze, unflinching.

His breath had been slow. Controlled. His hands had no longer ached. His cursed energy—

It had felt different. His hands were finally free of their constant ache. His cursed energy... it had transformed entirely.

Nanami had sighed, bracing himself, but the weight hadn't come back.

And today—now he was opening the door to his home.

The thought sometimes came unbidden—would he have ever met you if he hadn't ascended to Special Grade that day?

Well—what was there to wonder—he wouldn’t have, and Gojo would have either died or returned with you—his wife—from abroad, happy in your own world.

And Nanami would have died a thankless death, watching you both from a far. Never in.

The penthouse smelled of caramelized sugar and recklessness.

Gojo Satoru currently stood shirtless at the stove, pancake batter dripping down his abs. “Nanamin! Perfect timing—I’m inventing the Unlimited Syrup Technique.”

Nanami offered his usual faint smile before continuing down the hall.

He found you in bed, curled under the duvet. Your belly rose and fell with the rhythm of life he couldn’t control.

He slid in behind you, his broad chest molding to your back. His hand settled over the swell.

The twins kicked.

Once.

Nanami’s breathing relaxed.

Then another.

Small. Insistent. Alive.

You stirred, sleep-soft. “Hey, stinky.”

His quiet laughter shook through both of you.

Haibara was right.

He would break.

But not today.

Today, he’d hold the line.

For you.

For them.

For the man humming off-key in the kitchen, syrup in his hair and limitless infinity in his veins.

Special Grade wasn’t a title.

It was a life sentence. You lived with it until you died because of it.

The only thing it really did was that it made one harder to kill.

Maybe he didn’t have the answers. Maybe he never would.

But this—this was more than he deserved.

Later, he gave you the iced tea Haibara had sent and asked for the recipe. From then on, he made it for you every day, even though Haibara had messed up the recipe, and it would never taste the same. But you still wanted it.

People often thought he regretted that day when those kids died because he never really talked about it.

But the truth was—

Nanami didn’t feel a thing that day.

No remorse, no regret.

Because it was better to save the one who would save the world than to die saving insignificant creatures.

And it worked out for him. Had he not saved Gojo that day, he wouldn’t be here—married to you, both with his and Gojo’s twins kicking against his palm as you lay against him. Nanami would make that choice every time. The children's ghosts could haunt him. The guilt could fester. But Gojo's mischievous giggling in the kitchen and your sleepy smile against his chest—these were the only absolution he needed.

That was efficient, wasn’t it?

Take a small loss to save the long-term investment.

---

Nanami was mindlessly staring at your company’s stocks when the next TikTok came.

"If your man doesn’t put together the nursery without being asked, he doesn’t deserve the baby."

Nanami’s eye twitched.

Then:

"Kento."

Nanami’s head snapped up. You were standing in the doorway.

"Did you finish the nursery?"

Nanami’s jaw flexed. "No."

"Interesting."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

Later that night, he stayed up until 3 AM assembling a crib while you fought your own demons.

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅 Horny, Helpless, & Heavily Pregnant

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Perpetually Horny: Shoko. He’s building a crib. 🔨👶

Postmortem Baddie: Aww. 💖

Perpetually Horny: SHIRTLESS.

Postmortem Baddie: Oh. 👀😳

Perpetually Horny: He’s using a screwdriver. The muscles in his back are moving. Like I’m watching the Discovery Channel. 📺🍑

Postmortem Baddie: So…? 😏

Perpetually Horny: So I almost threw myself at him. [Send help.] 🥺🙏

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: Bitch. I’m too drunk. But if you let him hit. I’ll hit you. 🔪

Perpetually Horny: Is that who I think it is???? 👀

HR Baddie: Sucks to be you, loser. 🤣

Attachment: Blurry photo of a dark-haired man untying her heel strap.

Postmortem Baddie: Holy Shit!!!!

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: Respectfully, let's ignore him. Tell me what else did the idiots do. I need entertainment; Kashimo’s sleeping.

Perpetually Horny: He took me to a farmers’ market.

Postmortem Baddie: Nanami core.

Perpetually Horny: I pointed at some melons 🍈 and said, “Wow, those are big.”

Then, this man, without blinking, said, "I’ve seen bigger."

HR Baddie: What the fuk does that even mean?

Perpetually Horny: I’m scared. What has he seen.

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: You need to find out.

Perpetually Horny: No thanks.

Later in the night, there were other struggles going on.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀 Anonymous

(Inc: Nanami, Gojo)

Father Time: She’s nesting.

Daddy: Did you see her reorganize the closet? At 3:40 AM?

Father Time: Yes. She put labels on the baby bottles.

Daddy: Yeah. She also labeled the spice rack.

Father Time: Do you think she’ll label us next?

Daddy: "Idiot 1" and "Idiot 2."

Father Time: Accurate.

---

A/N: OMG who do you think dark haired manz isss????? Three more chapters and then we either crash and burn in angst or soft-launch a happy ending. Choose wisely. (Comments fuel my Sukuna/Nanami agenda. Choose wisely.)

Next chapter 20 (alt ending 2.11) - The Fault Lines: The Honored One’s Guide to Fumbling the Bag (And Other Love Languages) - Part 2 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @whos-ruru @helo1281917

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altocat · 4 months ago

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Sorry these are backwards number-wise but anyway POTENTIAL ANGST AND FLUFF FOR SEPHCANONS

42. 3 comfort items

37. What they really think about themselves

35. Their idea of a perfect day

33. Something guaranteed to make them cry

24. Most annoying habit

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them (I love your song recs for Seph, so whichever one is your fav right now, I would love to know 😈)

3. Obscure headcanon

42. 3 comfort items

His photo album (featuring pictures of Genesis, Angeal, and his ten day mission with Team Glenn)

His weighted blanket (reserved for his most stressful days)

The stupid silly stress toy Zack gave him for Christmas hehehe he squeezes it all the time and is quietly delighted at the squeaking sound it makes.

37. What they really think about themselves

I honestly think Sephiroth has extremely low self-esteem based on how he talks about himself/his relationships in First Soldier and Crisis Core. I think there's obviously a lot of confusion within him about what he is and what he was made for. But I also think he...doesn't really like himself all that much. He's confident in his abilities on the battlefield, but not much else. Really, I think he doubts himself a lot, and carries a lot of guilt over the past. He mostly just seems depressed and resigned.

35. Their idea of a perfect day

An entire day away from Midgar with Genesis and Angeal, preferably out in nature.

33. Something guaranteed to make them cry

Sephiroth does not cry much as an adult. Only when he is well and truly broken or during extreme situations. Like, say, something bad happening to one of his dearest friends or the surrogate father figure he only got to know for a short period in his life....

24. Most annoying habit

Does NOT take care of himself. At all. Does not practice self-care beyond maintaining his physical appearance. Forgets to feed himself or sleep or do anything substantially healthy during an emotional rut. And then he implodes afterwards.

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

I think he likes really smooth alcoholic drinks. Rum, maybe. Red wine. Cognac. That sorta stuff.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

Lost in the Ocean by Glass Animals for AGS feels

Ashes and Blood by Woodkid for Zack vs. Seph confrontation feels

Hollow by Cloudeater for Post-Nibelheim Seph

The Weight of Us by Sanders Bohlke for Miniroth during Rhadore

I am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger from 1917 soundtrack for Miniroth at war

(let me know if any of these speak to you hehehe)

3. Obscure headcanon

Sephiroth is completely stone-faced when someone tries to joke around with him but the SECOND Zack pulls out his jokebook for five year olds, it is IMPOSSIBLE for Sephiroth to keep a straight face

#ff7 #ffvii #asks #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #genesis rhapsodos #sephiroth #crisis core #final fantasy vii #angeal hewley #ags #young sephiroth #miniroth #zack fair

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unaskedformagnustheories · 4 months ago

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Recap Notes: MAGP 4 “Taking Notes”

Spoiler Warning: this is a purely selfish exercise in remembering what the hell happened last season (from someone caught up thru MAGP31, 2/27/2025 & all of The Magnus Archives). No promises I'll keep up with it.

Summary: A spooky instrument gives a whole new definition to musical vamping and an unnamed bastard child from the 18th century becomes a renowned prodigy by feed-me-Seymouring his gifted violin. Casement: CAT3C7494-19111831-29012024 Random Thoughts & Observations:

Sam sings under his breath while he works, which is precious, but I'm still curious why Freddie re-directs Sam's security ping to Alice. I'm still not sure I fully understand what the gestalt consciousness (consciousnesses?) got from that. Does one of them resonate with Sam, and that's why it tries to make him happy by forwarding him the TMI cases? Does the Tria Prime-a (that was awful, I'm sorry) collectively need him for some purpose? A whole season down, and I'm no closer to answering that. Would be real curious if it was playing favorites with Alice, considering she does everything she can to tune him out, but if there's any truth at all to be found in the bonus content episodes it was a curious mention that (at least in the 'what if everyone listened to Colin' AU) she has the best KPI's. Starkwall mention! We never get a name for the casement giver, but we do get a description of their "towering father" with an "unshakeable belief in his own significance". With the obvious German connection in this episode, could be interesting if he's peripherally related to one of the bigwigs messing about in the Great Work. And yes, I was a little disappointed to look at a map and see that the route from Alnwick Abbey to the palace at Mannheim does not pass thru the Schwarzwald (although if I'm reading the maps right, I think we're at least in the state of Baden-Württemberg, which is fun for Johann Von reasons). Really want this guy to be a Von Closen. Hunger and luck are mentioned, two recurring themes in the show so far. More on that later. "the blood for its strings need not be your own" Neatly hints at what the OIAR could be up to with their balancing act, but with a lot of the playing with chance/deal-based stories in Protocol so far, I'm interested to see how far they can push it before something implodes. Unhealed wounds of existence also casually mentioned in regards to satiating casement giver's hunger. Skirted it, but think this is going to come into play re: the larger metaplot and what happened at the end of TMA, but I have a hunch MAGP08 is the best early episode to discuss that. For now, this a great first story from Augustus. His VA Tim Fearon (great name for a horror actor, btw) is a treat, and old-timey statements were always a delight in Magnus so I'm glad to see Alex and Jonny continuing that trend into Protocol. "a 'jete', a jarring musical demand for their attention, a declaration that I must be seen, and heard" also sticks out for this series' focus on social media / Freddie's whole shtick. The fears here aren't thriving in the shadows. They want to be seen. Whether or not that's a side-effect of having been brought here by The Eye is yet to be seen. Klaus cameo! Really hoping he pops up in person at some point and isn't just an ARG hero. And unrelated, but in this week's 'I doubt it'll come up, but this was an entertaining find from over-googling everything':

Lena is a name of German and Scandinavian origin, derived from the German name “Helene” which means “bright, shining light.” In Scandinavian countries, the name Lena is a shortened version of the name Magdalena, which means “of Magdala” or “from the tower.” This gives the name a sense of strength and protection.

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tmp #tmp spoilers #tmagp #magp 04 #taking notes #magnus protocol theories #magpod #grifter's bone demo reel

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mistofstars · 11 months ago

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I'm sorry, but changing the scene of all dwarves coming to Bag End unexpectedly in the movie so much that Bilbo is openly annoyed and tells the dwarves to put down his food...

It is funny, it is well played, it is good enough. But you missed the chance to bring to screen the comedy gold of the book version!!

Bilbo catering to everybody's needs and trying to be polite and act as normal as possible while he is having a mental breakdown. Hilarious!

Yes of course he can feed 13 dwarves with different wishes, no problem. Nooo it's completely normal to have your pantry plundered and a party of 13 dwarves in the house.

I can perfectly imagine his strained smile and sweat on his brow while he is imploding on the inside but his manners make it impossible to say something 😂

#The hobbit #An unexpected party #Bilbo baggins

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balanceoflightanddark · 5 months ago

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hi, I just want to say that before I read your ATLA/Godzilla crossover works, I've never even touched the Gozilla/kaiju franchise. Not that I thought that they were bad, but more like it wasn't my area of interest? I was always more of an ATLA and a magical girl animes kind of person. But now I'm devouring that shit like no tomorrow, I'm drinking it up like water's going out of fashion. I'm watching the official films, scouring for fan theories, looking for more of this deliciousness. Like, reading the way you described Godzilla as this otherworldly and oddly sympathetic character just imploded my mind. I never saw the parallels between him and Azula until you wrote it out in that gorgeous fanfic. Literally life changing.

Hey! Thanks for the message and I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. I'm hoping to finish the next chapter this week, but I've got college to work on. Hopefully, it won't be as bad as last semester, but you get the idea.

Anyways, Godzilla/ATLA. Technically I'm not the first one to do this neither am I the only one who's working on an idea. Plus I think I'm aware of a couple Legend of Korra crossovers with Godzilla, but I wanted to give my own spin on the idea. I grew up on Godzilla and other various kaiju movies so I figured I could do the idea some justice. It's been an idea that's floated in the back of my head for years, but I haven't really gotten around to writing fanfics until a couple years ago.

So you can totally blame Shadow Lugia for this fic existing.

Now the thing about growing up around kaiju films is that you start to notice some of the most common themes and ideas. It's here I really started to put the connections between Godzilla and Azula. Granted he's not the ONLY character that Azula has a lot of similarities with (Adora, Stitch, Toothless, Mewtwo, Cassandra Cain), but he's the one I've grown attached to just as much as I grew attached to Azula. But, yeah. The similarities are all there. Being framed as a monster. Essentially being a product of a brutal, imperialistic society. Metaphors for being a weapon. You get to know both long enough, you start to connect the dots. Helps that Godzilla does have several human characters that are right up Azula's alley.

looks at Akane from Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla

And no, I am not sorry for the obsession with kaiju films. In fact, I am going to go ahead and FEED said obsession with a few of my recommendations:

-Heisei Gamera Trilogy: Basically three of the best non-Godzilla films out there, really pushing what kaiju films are capable of. They start out good with Guardian of the Universe, before defying the trilogy decay rule and peaking with Revenge of Irys. Which is what one of Godzilla's oldest rivals deserves.

-Daimajin: This one's unique in that it's actually a samurai film for the most of the movie before the giant statue gets up, starts walking, and proceeds to massacre the main villain. Then it turns into the kaiju equivalent of a slasher film. I haven't seen the other two films in the Daimajin trilogy yet, but apparently they're just as good.

-War of the Garguantas: A Toho film with kaiju not starring the Big G. The two monsters Sanda and Gaira are developed to the point they feel less like forces of nature and more like characters in their own right. Helps they sort of have a Zuko and Azula sibling rivalry dynamic going on. And yes, it's just as tragic.

-King Kong 1933: The great granddaddy of kaiju films along with The Lost World. It's kind of questionable in a few areas, but it helped establish the overall themes of the genre while delivering a lot of iconic scenes. I'd also recommend the 2005 remake, Mighty Joe Young (basically a successor to King Kong with some of the same story beats but an overall different tone and characters) along its 1998 remake from Disney if you want more giant ape shenanigans.

-Cloverfield: A found footage film where the perspective is from a bunch of civilians just trying to survive a kaiju attack. It's really terrifying with a focus on what people would do in the middle of a giant monster raid.

-Pacific Rim: A film where alien kaiju invade Earth and humanity build giant robots to fight them. Directed by Guillermo del Toro who used classical paintings of giants for inspiration. And where the fight scenes can best be described as works of art.

-Monster Island Buddies: This is an adult online series featuring Godzilla and his friends. It's stupid but features a LOT of kaiju cast from basically the entire genre and can actually be surprisingly meta and cleverly written.

Anyways, thank you again so much for reading. I hope to get back to it soon when I get the chance. Feel free to message me if you've got any more questions or just want to chat. And glad I could introduce you to Godzilla.

#atla #atla fic #azula #azula fic #princess azula #crossover fic #godzilla fic #godzilla #kaiju #ask answered #ask me anything #anon answered

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neonpaperlanterns · 4 months ago

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Love Me Normally

Chapter two: A Good Day

[Chp 1]

Soft music filled his cab as Bulkhead rolled leisurely down the street. There were no vocals, just gentle instruments playing harmoniously with each other and it’s not something he thought he would like so much but he did. It was soothing, easing any annoyance that could be had as he hit every red light.

Or, well, more like helping drown out Bumblebee’s annoyance at hitting every red light. The little yellow speedster fidgeted next to him, the music Sari and him liked thrummed through his frame as his wheels tapped against the asphalt. Bulkhead knew the second the light turned green Bee was going to ‘burn rubber’ as Sari put it.

“Should we warn Bee that Prime is right behind him?” Indi asked offhandedly, her fingers drummed against his dash as she eyed the minibot.

“I doubt he’d hear ya, he’s in one of those moods today.” His passenger let out a hum, resting back against his seats.

“Ooof course he is.” There was a bitingness behind her tone and it had Bulkhead shrinking in on himself.

“I’m sorry, I know today was supposed to be one of those days Sari and you showed us the wonders of outdoor musical theater and Bee is being…” He trailed off feeling guilt churn his tank into knots.

The light turned green and Bumblebee was flying through the intersection, Prime behind him immediately shouting at him to slow down. Going at a more reasonable if not a bit slower pace, Bulkhead followed dejectedly.

Indi pinched at the bridge of her olfactory sensor. “No, hold on. Bulk this isn’t your fault I’m sorry.” She let out a sigh that he’s heard one more than one occasion from Bossbot and Ratchet. “We’re still going to have a good day and I know that BB is just feeling that itch he always does when he’s been still for too long.” A hand came to rest on his steering wheel, giving it a firm reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, really.” The smile she gave was small and tired but it was genuine.

Feeling a bit more at ease Bulkhead let his plating relax. The park was still a few miles away and Bee was sure to burn off some energy before they got there. It would be okay and Indi was right they would still have a good time.

But then Ratchet was yelling ‘INCOMING’ and the road in front of Bulkhead imploded. His brakes screamed as he swerved around the debris, bumper slamming into the curb as with a practiced ease Indi tucked and rolled from his cab. She hit the ground running, sprinting in the direction he assumed Sari was. With his friend far enough away he transformed. Gears twisting and spinning as he braced himself. Red optics flared to life within the smoke, the sound of cannons coming on line had him jumping out of the way just as fire began to rain down.

Blitzwing didn’t let him go far, lunging for Bulkhead with a ferocity that had him immediately on the backfoot. The Con was opting for close quarters combat instead of his typical ranged attacks. Blitzwing was also being uncharacteristically quiet, red optics uncomfortably focused on his target. Which would be him.

Bulkhead threw his arms up; he barely blocked the fist that was aiming for his faceplate. It sent him tumbling backwards, pedes destabilizing as he went down. Blitzwing followed, servos wrapped around Bulkhead’s shoulder guards lifting him into the air and tossing him through the nearest building. He was showered in concrete and glass, bits of metal getting lodged between his plating as Blitzwing grabbed at the back of his helm.

Bulkhead felt the Con’s digits dent the metal of his helm. It made a buzzing sensation dance along his processor before the Triple Changer slammed his faceplate into the ground. Static erupted over his visual feed as Blitzwing did it again.

And again.

Bulkhead’s audibles were cutting in and out and he could taste energon on his glossa. He thinks Blitzwing was saying something, finally, the noise rumbling low in the Triple Changers chassis but Bulkhead couldn't properly focus. Warnings were blaring across his HUD as his internals flashed an anxiety inducing red. If he didn’t get the Con off of him he might actually go offline. It’s something that the Con’s have threatened before but don’t ever seem to actively seek out but right now Bulkhead doesn’t feel like it’s just a threat.

Where were the others?

SLAM

What was going on that they couldn’t help him?

SLAM

Something unhooked in his optics, fed fizzingly out as Bulkhead’s processor whined. Overworking itself until it forced him into stasis, frame going limp as his systems shut down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @emmygirl333, @inkypersons

#transformers animated #tfa bulkhead #tfa blitzwing #original female characters #violance #my art #blitzwing/original female character

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spacesapphi · 8 months ago

Text

"Moving Forward, Spiraling Downward Chapter 15- Spiraling Downward"

As I mentioned in previous chapter notes, this chapter is one where things start getting heavy. A different take on Shane's 4 heart event is in this chapter, and the next will be covering the 6 heart event. Those who have played his route already know what these events entail, but I will be adding a CW list as well.

CWs for this chapter include emetophobia, references and depictions of addiction, a very intense argument, a physical fight scene, blood, eye trauma and injuries, mentions of past deaths, and depictions and talks of suicidal ideation.

If you feel like reading these things in detail will be too much, I will not be offended if you don't feel up to reading it. If you'd like, I'd be more than happy to give you a basic rundown of the chapter while sparing detail so the point of the story gets across. Stay safe, take care, and if you ever need help for anything, please let those around you know. You are cared for and loved!

Summary: It's been a few weeks since the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, the night where Shane made a complete fool out of himself. He's been avoiding a certain someone since then, but finds he can't avoid them much longer when the Stardew Valley fair rolls around. The festival goes well, near perfectly in fact… but that night, Shane will find himself doing something that will change the lives of himself and all who knew him, and he fears these changes can never be undone. The final threads of his life begin to unravel, and leave him freefalling into a true downward spiral.

AO3 Version Here

Tumblr Version Below the Cut

As the weeks rolled by, Shane found it harder and harder to talk to Möhle. Everytime the two saw each other they’d get flustered, quickly going in opposite directions of each other, never speaking a word. That night was so awkward, so embarrassing for the both of them. How was Shane supposed to confront them again? What would he even say? “I’m sorry for kissing you and then vomiting on your shirt?” He felt like such a fool.

Now that the Fall was underway, he feared he’d have to see them much, much more. Möhle was often at his aunt's shop for feed and supplies to winterize their animal houses now, and each time the two of them saw each other it was more awkward than the last. The tension only grew with each passing day, and Shane was afraid it was only a matter of time before it imploded on them. And now on top of all of that, the Stardew Valley Fair had approached, a day where they certainly would be in town, rendering an interaction inescapable.

Ever since he could remember, the morning of the fair was entirely hectic. Marnie would have him awake by 5 AM to start transporting things to town for set-up, and it seemed like he was yet again on petting zoo duty. Normally he didn’t mind it. He actually remembered how excited and proud he was when Marnie first let him run it on his own when he was a teen. This year he had been reluctant to get up though. For one, withdrawal and his declining mental state were starting to kick his ass worse than ever. Getting up and out of bed was beginning to feel more and more like a chore, like a herculean task he could barely bother to do. It took all of his effort just to slip on the outfit Marnie had asked him to wear, an old blue-green gingham shirt and nice, sturdy jeans. As bad as Shane felt, he couldn’t deny the outfit was kind of nice. Made him feel just a bit better about himself. But even still, there was still that air of hopelessness about him. Everything felt so much worse now, and getting up this early didn’t help him.

Neither did the noise. The fair was in full swing, and tourists were arriving by the busload to come ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the quaint little town, enjoying all the games and events there were to get involved in. The zoo was always popular too, especially with families who had little kids. Jas was on the other side of the pens, showing some kids her age how to properly hold and hug some of the baby chicks, doing it just the way he taught her to. She loved having the chance to be a little helper, feeling that same pride Shane did as a child when he was helping Marnie. He held Charlie in his lap, sitting contentedly in a folding chair as he watched over the pens, mostly there to ensure no one pulled any pranks or tried to unlatch the gates. He’d seen it happen before, and he remembered exactly how stressful it was to chase a flock of hens through town back into their corral. It seemed all was well this year though, just plenty of well-meaning and kind families. But… there was something odd that he had noticed.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept getting glimpses of a quartet of young men, all of whom had to be college aged. They stuck together whispering to themselves, giving looks and pointing towards Shane as they did so. It unnerved him, deeply. It made him feel like there was danger afoot, like maybe they were planning on doing something to the animals. He made sure to keep note of the group, keeping a good eye out for each and every one of them.

He flinched when he felt a tap on his shoulder, a faint feeling flooding him when he saw who was at his side. Möhle stood there, dressed in an earthy green sweater and deep brown overalls, an oversized cardigan practically swallowing their upper body. They looked happy to see him, happy that he hadn’t run away already out of embarrassment. Shane just sat frozen in his seat, giving them an awkward, forced grin as he held on to Charlie.

“Hey…”

“.... Hey,” Möhle responded, folding their arms across their chest, “You… wanna talk?”

“Busy,” Shane blurted out an excuse, motioning towards the petting zoo, “You gotta be busy too, don’t you? Y'know… with the grange display and all,”

Möhle sighed and held up a pitiful green ribbon with the number 3 written on it, “Already got judged, your aunt and Pierre had me beat,” they looked back to the grange boxes, seeing the shopkeeper brag to all who would listen about his victory. The gloating annoyed them, “I don’t mind losing to her, but… All the produce Pierre showed off was stuff he bought from me… isn’t that… fishy?”

“He does that shit every year. Buys good stuff and passes it as his own,” Shane scoffed, “I don’t know why Lewis lets him compete… Marnie used to get first place every year until he started entering. It’s not fair…”

Möhle nodded slowly in understanding, clicking their tongue as they thought, “Listen, I just walked over here ‘cus I wanna rip the band-aid off... You wanna talk about what happened?”

“Here?”

“Why not?”

“So what, just wanna talk about how I made a damn fool out of myself?” Shane blushed in deep embarrassment, “Yoba, I’m sorry about it… I got so nervous and I just-... You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, that’s not why I… y’know,”

“Soooo you didn’t find me so repulsive that you vomited?” Möhle teased, a cheeky grin on their face.

“No! No… of course not, I just…” Shane sighed, “I wasn’t expecting that to happen, I still don’t know how it did… I just got… scared?”

“Why?”

“Well, I was scared you didn’t like it,” that was half of the truth. Honestly, Shane was more scared about the fact that he did like it. He still didn’t know how to grapple with these feelings, or if he was even prepared for them… or if Möhle felt them either.

“Well… I did. I think,” they admitted, shrugging nonchalantly, “It was nice… I just. Didn’t expect it,”

“Yeah… me neither…”

The conversation tapered off, Shane feeling his jaw wire shut once again. Möhle just gave him a pat on the shoulder, their touch firm, yet somehow so soft, “Listen… I gotta clean out my grange display. Do you maybe want to talk more about this later? Maybe when we’re not in town square?”

Shane felt a tint of blush on his face, swallowing deeply before nodding. He earned a smile from the farmer, who turned back towards the grange area to pack up. It seemed most of the vendors were doing so as well, tents slowly closing and coming down from their spots in the square. He looked up at the sky, seeing it already begin to turn orange. Even though it happened every year, Shane was always so shocked with how early the night would roll in around the Fall. The fair would be over soon, much to his relief, and he could finally kick back and relax, exactly as he needed.

Once everything was back in its proper place, the petting zoo torn down, and the animals resting in their houses, Shane took his leave towards the saloon. A twinge of guilt hit his heart with each step. He promised Jas he wasn’t going to do this anymore, he promised. He’d been breaking it for some time now, and he felt bad about it each and every time. Shane would do his best, stop drinking for a few days and fight it back, but eventually the urge grew, and along with it that frustrated and nauseous feeling. It felt like a pot that was always on the verge of boiling over, and he was so tired of it. The urge had grown so strong now, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He thought of a silent apology towards Jas, and opened the saloon door, making his way to the bar counter.

Taking that first sip after weeks made Shane feel like he had been pulled from drowning, even though all it did was push his head further beneath the waves. Leaning up against his typical spot by the fireplace he took slow swigs from his mug, doing his best to ignore everyone in the saloon. It was absolutely packed, with both villagers and guests from the fair who hadn’t taken their leave. At the other end of the bar a small crowd had formed. Möhle, Emily, Penny, and that new artist he didn’t remember the name of, despite the fact that they were basically neighbors. They all seemed happy, chattering away as they drank. Möhle seemed to catch Shane staring from across the counter, giving him a polite smile and raising their glass just slightly, a happy look on their face. He just nodded in acknowledgement, turning back to his own glass, going back to contentedly ignore everyone once more. Even though he was here, even though the urge was satiated, he still felt so unhappy, and he just didn’t want to get caught up in conversation.

Gus and Emily sure seemed happy at least, the two of them both needing a boom in business like this. It was no secret that the saloon was struggling, and tourist seasons like this helped keep it afloat. It wasn’t very nice for him though. All the noise, how crowded it had become, Shane didn’t like that, not one bit. Especially since those weirdos from before were now drinking away in the saloon, still giving him weird glances and whispering amongst themselves. Who the hell were they? What was their problem?

He internally groaned as he saw the trio approach him, the scrawny one in the red shirt getting a bit too close for comfort. His face was mere inches away from Shane’s, squinting intently as he scanned him up and down. It made him immediately feel defensive, ready to strike at any given moment if need be.

"Ain't no damn way..." He muttered breathlessly, "Are you Shane Yoder?"

Shane felt himself tense. He took a good, long swig, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt "What's it to you?"

"Dude you were varsity for the ZCU Hawks! We go there!” He pointed back to his buddies, one of which Shane could see wearing a t-shirt with the college’s logo. “Holy shit man, what are you doing here?! Weren't you about to go pro?"

"I live here." He stated flatly, feeling his mood sour, "Life happened. I couldn't join the team."

"Aww, bummer,” The blond whined, "You were so cool, you’re still talked about by the coaches!" He pulled a pen and notepad from his pocket, holding it out to Shane, "Can I at least get your autograph?"

"I.... No." Shane stated flatly, looking back down at his mug. The last thing he wanted to do was be reminded of his failed glory days yet again. The man complained yet again, his whining tone sounding like that of a child..

"Come on, dude! It's just a quick autograph! Just one, please?"

"I said no."

"How about a picture then!" The man pulled out his phone, holding up his free hand with a 'peace' sign as he adjusted the camera’s angle. Shane could feel an unmistakable rage build on him, his face turning red.

"I said NO-!" he barked, pushing him far back. The blond stumbled back and fell to the floor, looking up at him with the most shocked expression Shane had ever seen. The entire saloon went silent, tourists and villagers alike gawking at the sight. The man's brows furrowed, looking at Shane with such a deep anger in his eyes. He lunged back at him, pushing Shane up against the wall as he began to wail on him.

“The hell is wrong with you, man! I thought you were cool!”

“Get out of my fuckin’ face!” Shane spat, throwing a punch of his own in an attempt to get the man to back off.

The next few moments were a blur. Before he knew it, the two of them were wrestling on the ground, the man growing more and more agitated, slamming Shane against the ground, saloon counter, anything he could reach. Shane was just trying to get the man to back off, even if that meant throwing a few punches himself. He was never a violent man, but he wouldn’t just sit back and allow something like this to happen. The saloon burst into action yet again, people trying to get away from the brawlers, others calling out for help. Shane could swear he heard Gus tell Pam to get Marnie. The others just crowded around, treating the altercation like a spectacle. Very few people seemed to want to break this up. Why would they want to? Chances were they’d only get dragged down with them, caught in the fray.

Finally, the man's friends started trying to yank him away from Shane, yelling at him to quit it already, to give it up. The two men refused to let go though, and the group only succeeded in dragging the pair of brawlers across the floor, inch by inch. Shane felt a pair of hands grabbing at his shoulders as well, sending another wave of fury, and almost fear, through him. He thought it was another one of those men, maybe another friend to the obnoxious trio. The last thing he wanted was for another person to get involved. In a rage of self preservation, he finally let go, swiveling himself around to punch the person who grabbed him, launching a fist at full force.

He heard a howl from a very familiar voice, a searing pain shooting through his fist, an almost blinding pain. As he adjusted, he could see the person who had grabbed a hold of him in the first place crumpled to the ground, surrounded by patrons offering a helping hand. They were breathing heavily, hunched over and grasping a hand at their left eye, blood seeping through their fingers and staining the wood floor of the saloon. His vision was blurred from the beatdown he’d just taken, and his mind was hazed, but it was impossible not to recognize them. That red hair, the simple farmers clothing. It was Möhle.

Their hand left their eye for just a moment when Emily rushed over with a little first aid kit, just long enough for Shane to see that the left lens of their glasses was shattered, and most of the missing pieces of glass were stuck firmly in his knuckles. The rest of the shards were nowhere to be seen, not even on the floor, confusingly enough. But as soon as Shane saw that sick, paling look on Emily’s face and that blood dripping to the floor, he knew exactly where they’d ended up.

Emily looked to him with a horrified, almost angry expression. She was in complete disbelief, slowly helping up Möhle as she caught glimpses of Shane, silently screaming at him “What have you done?”.... What had Shane done? He wanted to reach out, try to help, but he feared he’d make it worse. Watching the blood dribble down his hand and begin to stain his shirt, feeling the searing pain in his knuckles, the pain was almost blinding. He could only imagine how much worse it was for them.

Möhle was trembling, hand still clasped firm over their eye. They surprisingly didn’t scream or cry, simply taking shaky, deep breaths as they tried to regain their bearings. The group of tourists that had confronted Shane were squabbling amongst themselves in another corner, the sheer sound and air about the room making his head swirl. What had he done? What had he done?

“Just breathe, take a seat…” Emily instructed, helping the farmer to a bar stool, “Relax…”

“I-I’m fine really, don’t sweat it,” Möhle warbled out, obviously in a state of shock. The pain had hardly registered with how much adrenaline was running through them. They just shook, holding their eye tight, “I think… I might,”

Emily held them steady as it became clear they were about to pass out, “Is anyone going to get Harvey?!”

Leah stepped into action, nodding quickly as she ran out, hoping to catch the doctor quickly. The saloon door burst open the moment after she ran out, Pam charging through with a frantic Marnie trailing close behind, looking for any sight of her nephew. Catching a glimpse of him on the floor, she ran over, lifting him by the arm and getting a good look of him. Shane looked terrible, beaten and bruised to the point he could hardly keep his head up. She tried speaking to him, but the man was so out of it her voice sounded like it was underwater, completely unintelligible. He could only make out a frantic, confused tone.

The next while was a blur, Shane could only remember bits and pieces. He could’ve sworn he saw Harvey and Elliott rush in together, the doctor tending to the farmer while Elliott was demanding to know what had happened, where the person who had done this was. Marnie was talking to the group of tourists involved, the conversation seemingly getting heated, though he could barely make out a word. Soon, Marnie was all but dragging him out of the saloon. He stumbled over his footing, trying his best to get one last good view of Möhle, to see if they were okay, to see what he had done. But he could barely see a thing over the crowd, merely watching the saloon door slam shut behind him, leaving him and Marnie alone in the dark on their walk back home.

----------

The only lights on in the ranch were the ones overhead in the kitchen, shining down harshly on Shane and Marnie as she tended to his injuries. Shane hissed as the antiseptic burned at the wounds in his hand, his arm shaking from the pain that rippled through it. Marnie just shook her head as she wiped the blood away, holding his wrist tighter when he tried to yank away yet again, “Stop it, I’m almost done,”

He just scowled at the pain, biting his lip so hard Shane feared he’d break skin. Marnie reached for the gauze, huffing in a frustrated tone, “Anything you want to say? You've been quiet,”

“There’s nothing to say, Marnie,”

“How about ‘thank you’? How about ‘sorry for getting into a bar fight at the saloon’? Do you have any idea how hard it was to get those men to leave without pressing charges? Any idea at all?”

“They started it!” Shane barked, “I was just trying to get them away!”

“I understand that, but that's not all you did...” Marnie huffed, “Poor Möhle… Shane, how could you just-...”

“I didn’t know it was them…” Shane felt queasy thinking about them. He could only hope that they were okay, that those injuries weren’t half as bad as he expected they were. But realistically they were, and the guilt was crushing him.

Marnie set down the roll of gauze with a loud *thud*, “This isn’t like you, what happened there? Do you have anything to say for yourself?!”

Shane indeed had nothing to say in response, leaving her incredibly frustrated. She felt like she was the only one who understood the gravity of the situation, just how bad this was. Marnie stepped away and held her head in her hands, pacing around the kitchen nervously. She was practically shaking, running over the events of the night in her mind. She was just getting ready for bed, about to lock up before Pam burst inside, begging her to follow her back into town. Marnie was mortified and terrified all the same, and remained that way even still.

“Shane, they could lose their eye. Do you get that?!” her voice began to warble, a tone of frustration and absolute grief in it, “I just don't know what to do with you anymore… I don’t know how to help you.”

“.... I'm sorry,” Shane mumbled, his voice hoarse and broken.

Marnie didn't respond, simply staring at the floor with her arms crossed against her chest. She was so angry, so utterly and thoroughly ashamed over what happened tonight. Though the actions weren’t her own, she knew they reflected on her, on their family. She didn't know how she'd face the town, how she'd even try to make up for this. What was she even supposed to do?

“Shane… if you don't get yourself together, if you don't try to do better… I -�� she pinched the bridge of her nose tight, mourning what she was going to say next, “Shane I don’t know how much longer I can take living like this,”

“Like what?”

It was quiet for a moment, Marnie choosing her words carefully, “Shane… honestly if it weren’t for Jas I don’t know how much longer you could stay here…”

Shane felt another wave of nausea run through him. He looked to his aunt, hurt and horrified, “Marnie… what are you-”

“You break every rule, simple ones, and you've been nothing but disrespectful as of late. Calling me by my first name, starting arguments, pushing your responsibilities aside… and now this?!” she threw up a hand for emphasis, “Shane you know I love you, you’re my nephew… but I can’t sit here and let you keep doing this. It’s not fair,”

Marnie's voice was calm, scarily so. She stared down Shane with a serious intent, letting him know under no uncertain terms that she wasn't joking, “You know I don't want to say this…. But what you’re doing now, your actions, are tearing this family apart, Shane,”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!” Shane grew defensive, but Marnie stood her ground, “You know what I mean… Shane, I’m watching you get worse by the day. And getting to the point of something like this… I can’t live like this,”

“So what? You don’t want me to be here anymore?” Shane felt his voice warble, the disbelief obvious in his tone, “I have been tryin’ so h-hard to get this under control, I-” he couldn’t stop himself from crying and stuttering anymore, his unharmed hand gripping at his hair tight, “I have been trying, I don’t know why I’m getting worse… I don’t want to be worse!”

He felt himself begin to spiral, his heart clenching in on itself. Marnie put a soft hand on his shoulder, “Shane, listen to me. What I’m saying is you need to get help. Actual professional help. You need to do better, for all of us… I’m not asking for perfection. These things take time, we both know that… But I am asking for effort,”

“Please…” he pleaded, his tone broken and desperate, “I can be better, I promise I can be better. You know I’m tryin’, please…”

“I need to see it, then. Jas needs to be able to see it. We all do,” she closed her eyes tight, feeling her heart break down and crumble, “Shane I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore…”

Shane sat hunched over in his chair, taking in deep, shuddery breaths. He felt ready to vomit, ready to just completely lose it. How did it get this bad? How did he get to this point? Marnie, who once begged him to come home and live at the ranch, the woman who once called him a treasure and a gift to their family, no longer wanted him here. And it was all because of his actions. He knew she was right, in a way at least. He was falling, he was spiraling, and he could no longer stop it on his own. But getting help scared him, being vulnerable about all of this was his worst nightmare. Getting help made him feel weak, made him feel like a failure. He spent his entire life watching his aunt push through and be the best person she could be for his sake. She was successful, strong, and kind all the same. And he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be like her, as much as he tried. It all felt so impossible. He could only imagine what things would be like if Marnie did tell him to leave. He thought back to the night a year ago today when he was out on the street, realizing he had nowhere to turn but here. But what would happen if even she wouldn’t take him? Where would it leave him?

Marnie felt so much guilt, so much anger at herself for the words she’d spoken. She would never make him leave, she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself if she did. But what else was she supposed to do? Sit by, watch him slowly kill himself, watch Jas grow more and more dejected by the day? Was she supposed to enable him, allow and encourage him to get worse? To hurt himself and others? She couldn’t do that, she wouldn’t do that. Not anymore. Marnie had been a pushover once. Once upon a time she’d have given in and retreated, let him continue down this path of destruction. But she found that holding the hand of a loved one in their final moments, to say goodbye because they were too stubborn to get help until an untimely death… it changed you. It made you more resilient, made it easier to stand your ground, to say ‘no more’ when you watched another person you loved do the same. Marnie would do anything to avoid seeing Shane in that situation, even if it meant he wasn’t happy with her now.

It wasn’t like Marnie didn’t understand the situation either. If anything, she understood it more than anyone else in this world possibly could. Every last detail she could relate to. Giving up your dreams, your life, for a child and the responsibility of raising them, the stress and turmoil it came with… the coping mechanisms it made you turn to just to quiet the thoughts that criticized your every move. She had never told most people about that part, understanding the judgment and stigma that came with it. It made it difficult for her to even admit to herself, but maybe now she could tell him. Maybe it would help him realize that what she said wasn’t out of judgment, but from a place of complete and total understanding. It was far too late to tell him, she knew. But late was better than never, and she knew he needed something now. Something to make this feel possible to move past.

She pulled a chair to sit in front of him, softening her voice and expression, “Shane… I think it’s time for me to be honest about something. Truly honest. I understand what you’re going through… more than I ever told you before.” she paused for a moment to try and find her words, “Shane, what I’m trying to say is-”

“What? That you ‘get it’? The same shit you tell me every fuckin’ time we argue about this?” Shane spat, the shock wearing off, replaced with anger, “Because honestly? I don’t think you do. You say this to me all the time, but you obviously don’t! I don’t know how to make you understand that! You don’t fucking get it!”

“I don’t get it…?” Marnie’s voice grew louder, her expression livid as she slowly rose from her chair, “I don’t get it?!”

“Fuck, sorry, that was-”

“Of all people, you should know that I understand what this is like! Do you think it was easy to raise you after your mother died? It’s an awful situation to be in, raising a child when you shouldn’t have to!” Marnie threw her hands up for emphasis, face flushed a deep red, “Do you think I wanted to give up my dream job and come back to the valley?! To leave everything I worked so hard for behind and-”

She quickly cut herself off and clapped a hand over her mouth, seeing her nephew's expression change into one of horror. She quickly realized what she had said, how she said it, and felt sick. She wanted nothing more than to take it back, to have reworded what was shouted in anger, but the damage was done. Those words were burned into his mind now. All Shane felt now was betrayal, anger, but most of all, guilt.

“Did I really make you that miserable?” Shane's voice was hardly a whisper, broken and defeated.

"Oh Shane, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Didn’t you?” Shane scoffed, fighting back the urge to cry, “You’ve made it clear that I’ve been nothing but a burden to you since I came back home.”

"I promise I didn't mean it like that!" Marnie sounded frantic, tripping over her words to try and make anything sound better. Shane threw up his hands in frustration, "Then how did you mean it, Marnie?! Tell me!"

"I just meant that I understand how hard it is, how easy it is to fall into this hole! And I’m worried about you! You need to think about your future, Jas' future, what's your plan?!"

“A plan…? Hopefully I won't be around much longer to need a plan." Shane's voice was resolute, filled with such anger. Marnie felt her blood run cold, her mind trying to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. She shook her head slowly, “Shane, no-”

“It would do us all a favor, ‘specially since I ruined your life, right?” Shane interrupted, laughing bitterly, “Made you give up on aaaaall your dreams just so you could raise this ungrateful piece of shit, right?!”

"Don't say that." Marnie warned, pointing at him accusatively, "You don't mean that."

"Yes! I do! I've wished I was dead every fuckin’ day since the accident!" Shane was practically screaming, voice booming and face growing red. Hot tears streaked down his face as he yelled, "I still have no fuckin’ clue what I'm doin’ and all it’s done is hurt everyone! How am I supposed to plan Jas' life when I can't even keep control of my own?!"

"Shane..."

"NO. I'm not interested in ANY-"

"SHANE."

Marnie had rarely yelled at him like that before. He could only think of one situation when he was a child, but he knew that tone of voice meant business. Shane immediately got quiet, hearing a soft sniffling sound from his side.

Oh. Oh no.

He turned around slowly, finding Jas standing behind him, dressed in her pajamas, snuggling a plush tight to her chest. The commotion must’ve woken her, drawing her to the kitchen to see what had happened. She was doing her best to hold back from crying until he looked at her with the same horrified expression, one that made her shatter. The little girl immediately broke out into wails, throwing down her plush to the ground and running back to her room. Shane was stuck frozen, staring blankly as a sick feeling burned its way up his throat. He would've never said any of that if he thought she would be there, never in his life.

He looked back to Marnie, seeing a similar terrified expression plastered on her face. She looked back and forth, between Shane and the direction of Jas’ room. Part of her wanted to run to comfort Jas, and the other wanted to comfort her nephew. Both of them needed her right now, but she couldn’t help both of them at once. Oh how she hated being in these situations, hated making these choices. Why was it always on her to be the strong one in this house?

Reluctantly, she made her decision. She took a deep breath, and spoke in a warbling tone, "Stay here…."

The older woman stormed off, making her way to Jas’ room. The girl's cries echoed through the house, each second that passed making Shane feel worse and worse. Jas had already lost so much, and now she had to hear him yell about wishing he was dead? She had to watch him break yet another promise? It wasn't fair, and he couldn't shake the guilt. Maybe he should try and talk to her, to try and tell her he didn't mean it. It was the least he could do.

Anxiously, he shuffled out towards her room, peeking in to see the 6 year old curled up on her bed, face planted in her pillow, sobbing wildly as Marnie tried her best to comfort her.

"Jas, honey, I'm so sorry..." He started, voice getting warbly, "I didn't mean that-"

"GO AWAY!" Jas screeched, lifting her head from the pillow, "I HATE YOU!"

"Jasmyne!" Marnie scolded.

Jas threw her head into her pillow again, balling her little fists together. How could things have gotten like this? Ever since they moved here, a gradual downward spiral had started. Shane rarely smiled anymore, he always reeked of alcohol, he was always so sad. And now, he was yelling about how he wished he was dead. He was a husk of the man he was just a year ago, completely unrecognizable. He had promised her this would change, that he’d stop drinking and stop fighting with Marnie. But what was he doing just moments ago? Standing in the kitchen, smelling of alcohol as he and Marnie screeched at each other. It made her so angry. Jas didn't hate him, just the poor facsimile of him that stood in his place. Whoever this was, he wasn’t Shane. She just wanted the man she considered her father back. She wanted her family to be whole.

"Go away..." She repeated, her sobs and voice growing quiet. Marnie gave Shane a knowing look, encouraging him to leave. It seemed being here wasn’t making things much better. He got the hint, nodding and closing the bedroom door. He could only hear Jas’ muffled cries through its solid frame, his heart tearing apart at the sound. How could he have hurt her like this? What the hell was wrong with him? Slowly, he turned away from the two of them, and made towards his bedroom door, locking himself in the dark and dismal space. Everything was lost. Marnie’s life was ruined by his hands, Jas hated him, and it was all his fault. The last family ties he had were severed, and for the first time, Shane truly had nothing and no one. Emily likely wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore, not after that display. His friendship with Sam ended almost as soon as it started, and Möhle… He wouldn’t blame them if they never looked in his direction again. Oh how he wished he could turn back time already, fix what had been broken. But he couldn’t. What was done, was done.

Over the hours, Jas’ eventually stopped crying and Marnie had gone to bed. The only one awake in the household was Shane, still sitting against his door, blankly staring at the wall in front of him. Everything was ruined, lost. What was he supposed to do from here? Who was he supposed to turn to? There was absolutely no one, not a single person who could or wanted to be there for him, and it broke his heart.

Marnie’s words rang in his head, getting louder and louder. He couldn’t blame her for wanting him to leave. He’d been hurting so many people, broke all the rules she set… and he’d apparently ruined her life. Shane had heard plenty of stories about what she was like when she was young. Marnie was talented, she was going places. But right when success was so close, she gave it all up to be his caretaker. Pam had often told him that she was an artist, the best she’d ever seen. But Shane could barely remember a time when he saw her making anything. Most of her life was spent running the ranch and raising him, swapping her crafting tools for those of a rancher’s, taking up a position that by her own words she didn’t want.

He couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. Honestly, he believed many things were his fault simply by existing. If he didn’t exist, Marnie wouldn't've had to come home to the ranch after his mothers passing... Maybe she wouldn’t have even passed. Marnie always kept the details vague, telling him that stress had taken her in the end. Shane knew he wasn’t an easy child to raise. Many adults in town had jokingly called him a ‘handful’ when he was young. He couldn’t help but feel like he was to blame for the misfortune that befell his family. Marnie had always called him a gift and a treasure, but Shane felt like he was a curse. Everyone close to him either ended up hurt or dead. He was a walking bad omen at this point. He felt like it wouldn’t stop either. As long as he was alive, those he loved would be miserable.

He would change that; one way or another.

--------------

“Oh Marn, that’s bad…”

“I know… Yoba, I wish I could take it back,” Marnie held her head in her hands, the weight of shame on her shoulders.

Pam had come to visit her in the early hours of the morning, finding the household to be in complete turmoil. Marnie had run over the events of the previous night, sparing no detail, and Pam was understandably horrified. All she could do was just place a hand on her back, a silent, grounding gesture to let her know she was there for Marnie. Rain beat down on the windows of the ranch, the heaviest storm the valley had seen in some time. It seemed to fit the mood of the house perfectly, as grim as it was.

“He still hasn’t gotten up, right?” she looked over to his bedroom door, shut tight, no sound coming from behind the solid wood. Marnie shook her head, huffing and wiping her eyes, “No. You know how he holes up like this… He locked it too, won’t open up for anything,”

Pam drummed her fingers on the table, “Well… Maybe I could talk to him. I don’t think he cares for me much, but it might help seein’ as we both got the same vice now,”

“I guess it’s worth a try,” Marnie agreed. It wasn’t like much else could get worse from here. Pam gave her a soft pat on the back as she stood up, approaching Shane’s door carefully, knocking twice, “You awake, boy?”

There was no answer, as expected. Pam shook her head and knocked harder on the door, surprised to find it popping open just an inch from the gesture, “Marn… didn’t you say this was locked?”

“I thought it was…” she muttered, her face riddled with confusion, “I mean, it has gotten stuck before, but I just assumed…”

Pam stuck her head into the room, panning her view around its interior.

“... Hey, Marn?”

“Yes?”

“He’s not in here,”

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #sdv marnie #sdv jas #mfsd #sdv pam #sdv farmer #sdv fanfic #fanfiction

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redstringraven · 7 months ago

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Ok question about Cassia in particular, if she ever met Rise Leo, how would they interact. It seems like that would be an interesting duo to me where they might get along great or absolutely hate eachother's guts. What if Rise Donnie is there too? Also are all of your OCs from the TMNT 2003 world? or, universe rather

full disclosure that i've barely interacted with rise; almost all of my exposure to it has been osmosis via being around other tmnt fans/seeing it pass by my various feeds.

but i know enough to know that if you put them in the same room together, someone would likely say "oh no, god made TWO OF THEM???" and then the universe would divide by zero, and we'd all implode.

i think the biggest difference between them (again: limited exposure to rise; sorry if this is inaccurate) is that cassia's more capable and willing to drop the goofy facade and take things seriously when needed. despite her tomfoolery, she IS my most stable OC of the four, having regularly been to therapy since she was young and knowing how to self-reflect, identify what she's feeling, and manage it. she's a lot more emotionally intelligent than she lets on, and--in enneagram terms--is on the healthier side of her 7 where she's willing to slow down and process the heavier feelings.

as for rise!don... my gut feeling is that she'd butt heads with him a lot and potentially become easily frustrated around him or generally Done With Him™. we don't like the energy we've created in the studio today. the vibes are off. i don't think they'd be outright antagonistic toward each other, more so they're just... personalities who don't jive. oil and water and all that.

and yes! all my OCs are from/for the 2003 iteration. c: it's the one i'm familiar with, the one i grew up with, and the only one i have any real interest in engaging with and expanding on! this isn't to say i think lesser of the others, of course! '03 is just what i know, and it's where i like to spend my time and energy. 🖤

#;letters #;tmnt oc: cassia dubois #[ :D THANK ]#[ from what i know about the rise universe it seems to have ... cassia's usual energy >xD ]#[ i think she and leo would get along great because he seems Extra™ and she is Extra™ ]#[ don tho... i can sense her rolling up a newspaper to swat him with from here ]#[ and we never saw him alive again /lh ]

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change-the-rules · 1 year ago

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we have all seen this photo we all love this photo and now I present for your consideration a meredith x chessy au idea that drop kicked me through a glass wall

so picture it, nappa valley, 1998, only this time meredith 'stays home to knit' letting the James-Parker coalition roll out on the camping trip without her

chessy finds her later on in the wine cellar when she returns from her non-romantic thank you very much excursion with martin

as well as the empty bottles surrounding her

meredith invites her to toast to her painfullly short engagement as she clumsily tries to explain that while she knows nick is set to return in a few days her fiance never will

they end up making it through half a shelf of wine and fucking

and then they sober up and do it again and again only they def get caught eventually, its bad, nick is a dick even though he dumped meredith Before he caught them and throws chessy out (sorry nick parker's character but it's the 90's and i need a villian)

chessy and meredith probably don't get together for real until at least one doomed marriage and a few years but then like 20ish years down the line meredith (who's either still in PR or maybe producing films) and chessy (who oft makes a whole production of just being a total if endearing jackass about being the trophy wife now) are married and walking the red carpet for some new film

hallie became a screen writer and she's also there and is Shocked to see them bc nick told the family that chessy died

Tie-dye girl is hallie's date

so everyone ends up doing the name thing like in Shrek until chessy spots nicole and is just like tye-die girl? and then hallie still reeling from the last two decades of thinking one of her *moms* bc im sorry but chessy is that girls' mom was *dead*

realizes that not only is chessy alive and looking at her like the day she came home from the hospital 6 lbs 11oz this is how she looks at her but 20 years later chessy Remembers her first camp crush, and of course when she was 10 hallie wanted to know her birth mom and annie was speaking hallie's own words when she said they were almost teenagers and needed a mother only hallie realized p quickly after chessy disappeared that she already *had* a mom (annie never got it, martin was her best friend, a big brother, wacky uncle, type not any sort of 'dad' stand in and even then he was the butler above all that)

and hallie just collapses into chessy holding on for dear life heedless of the flashing cameras her sobs coming uncontrollably

how many nights did a babydyke hallie lie awake wondering if her parents love would be conditional how many nights did she wish she still had chessy to confide in, chessy who loved her like more than a job like her own, chessy who was the only one who immediately knew that hallie wasn't hallie even if she tried to logic it away at first, chessy who she mourned and misses whos in front of her alive and solid and-

the 4 of them end up blowing off the premiere, chessy dragging everyone home to cook out her feelings and feed her girls,

hallie is understandably shocked that chessy married 'cruella' but 20 years is a long time and she's no longer a kid

besides meredith looks at chessy the way she looks at nicole so the woman had to have some redeeming qualities

plus nick and liz's had marriage imploded again on its own with no help from blonde she devils when hallie came out, nick had softened slightly from the man who threw out chessy and lied about it but no one improves that much that quickly without impetus and their relationship to this day is strained from those scars

honestly hallie's too happy to have chessy back at the moment to open that pandora's box [the alll consuming rage and bittersweetness at her father's actions will come later and in waves]

for now she's too busy inhaling a bowl of pasta(chili tasted too much like painful memories) pressed into an adoring chessy's side watching with an understated awe as the villian from her childhood makes her first (and if the ring in her burning a hole pocket has anything to say about last) true love laugh

anyway this turned more into chessy hallie family with hallie tiedye girl feels than meredith chessy content but I don't know that ill ever actually get around to Writing the fic thus releasing this unpolished word vomit into the wild

#meredith x chessy #chessy #meredith blake #the parent trap (1998)#hallie parker #tie dye girl #tie dye girl x hallie #i just have alot of feels #okay #lisa ann walter #elaine hendrix

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starcanwrecked-confessions · 1 year ago

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remember this anon: https://www.tumblr.com/starcanwrecked-confessions/752561674802872320/i-had-a-dream-involving-a-shirtless-boy-jerry-and?source=share yeah that's me. i've come bearing an outline (which WILL reveal my identity bc. oc. but its whatever) fair warning. it does get strange. read at your own risk.

kai Drew goes on a field trip (GONE WRONG) (GONE SEXUAL ALMOST) (NOT CLICKBAIT)

——

Outline:

it’s a school trip and blowjob is there fior some fucking reason

girl jeri died in a firey car crash five years ago

They’re going to a casino to do some underage gambling

Boy Jerry made them all fake IDs. Nobody knows where he got them. There are also wallets.

Karen Chasity made the IDs. She is a high level crime boss and also eats people bc raspy likes cannibalism (to be revealed later on in the story)

It’s like December and Boy Jerry is in the camp shirt and khaki shorts

boy Jerry is like “gambling is a sin!!!” *proceeds to gamble away his life savings*

Doing it for girl Jeri for some reason??? “for girl jeri” *loses 700 dollars* (she had a gamling additction)

Jerry calls himself mama jerry. he will not stop. Execute him for this

Follows Kai around because her “chakras are misaligned”. Kai replies with “you could chak on this dick”

blowjob is ANTIVAX. he doesn’t think vaccines cause autism byt they DO kill uou. except for Kai they caused Kai’s autism hethinks.

bj strongly believes in the benefits of skin to skin contacy:

“he was cery adamant about skin to skin after the birth of little jerrie. not with the mother no. with him”

“holistic health. oils and shit”

Thought skin to skin could save girl jeri feom dying. Ir did not

thinks crystals are of the devil but believes in Plants

either a hardcore vegan OR a carnivore. no inbetween i thibk

Calls Kai a liberal and says she has “blue hair and pronounce”

makes Kai listen to kidz bop

Bj calls kai hella corny shit

I.e. i think he'd combine a bunch of shit to make it hella corny, my perfect little princess (he gets kicked in the balls for that)

antivax boymom girldad boy Jerry my love

50 year old Pete = Pat Spankowski

Pat has beer bottle for raspy mental health

Steph tries bunking with Kai but mama Jerry’s gaydar is ON POINT and then he tries bunking with Kai bc. Freak. Kai remembers she rich and gets her own room

Hotel room being a hallway is never explained hotel staff is always like “because 😸”

**LORDS COME IN WHILE JERRY IS BEING A FREAK (more on this later)**

Kai’s ass. CANNOT SLEEP. PEOPLE KEEP COMING INTO HER ROOM.

A couple tried fucking in her room and she fucking killed them

some guy flicked her lights on and off. She killed them

One guy walked by at like 3:47 in the morning. Didn’t do anything and tried to be as quiet as possible. Kai killed him

In the morning Kai is. Just trying to get ready

In walks Pete and Guy. His name is Guy. Actually that’s his last name his first name is Weird. Weird Guy. I’m so funny

GIRL JERI MADE BOY JERRY DO A CANNIBALISM ONCE

Lil Jerry is there at some point and he and Kai get high cause they’re besties. Boy jerry shuns lil j and he makes a sad face 0.0000000000000000001 seconds before imploding

boy jerry tries breastfeeding Kai at some point 😞 (“Kai I’m gonna feed you ☺️” “GET YOUR TITTIES OUT OF MY FACE”)

sorry for everyone who had to read this. but its amazing and i think everyone should see it. anywho toodles!!!

~~~

#BOY JERRY TRIES BREASTFEEDING KAI????????#not a confession #long post

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lazywriter7 · 2 years ago

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Written for Stony AUgust over at @stonyauniverse , for week one/alternate professions.

non functional requirements

There’s a man-shaped twig blocking the door to the lecture hall.

“You coming or you going?”

The twig startles – blue eyes darting under wheat yellow hair. Gwen pulls the worn strap of her tote bag more firmly over her shoulder, MacBook weighing it down, grimacing all the while.

“Sorry.” The twig apologises in a surprisingly deep voice, then opens the door for her. Cute gesture if class hadn’t already started and now she’s gotta squeeze past him through the tiny door.

The guy re-evaluates his chivalry after a couple seconds of awkward silence. He ducks through into the hall but lingers, and Gwen sidesteps him to dump her crap on the floor near the closest seat on the second last row.

“Recording’s kicked off, so we might as well. This is lecture four of System Design Engineering.” The lecturer’s voice crackles over the speakers. Looks like he’s just gotten started, so that gives her a couple minutes to get setup. “Today we’ll be going over NFR’s, or non-functional requirements. What they are, how they’re defined. These can apply to any kind of computing systems, system architectures, front end or backend APIs, you name it. Any kind of – sorry, was that a hand?”

“Morning Tony.” Someone greets from close to the front row. Gwen, who’s waiting for her Macbook to complete its primeval, laborious booting up procedure, feels her shoulders sag even further down. God, not this shit again.

“Did your coffee machine explode again?”

“Implode, and no.” The lecturer – Tony – cracks a brief smile. The band t-shirt he’s got on is mostly just wrinkles, his hair flattened straight down the sides like it hasn’t been washed in a couple days. Really gives Gwen such an inspiring picture to look up to for her own prospective career in academia. “And just for that not-so-subtle commentary on my opening salvo today, I’m gonna teach this entire lecture using a metaphor.”

“Was it Justin Hammer?” Someone else calls from the front. “Did he hog the servers to train machine learning models on LinkedIn posts?”

“Fuck no.” Tony says, and winces immediately in the bout of snickers that erupt. “And now you’ve got me swearing on the recording. Gonna put all of you heathens on a bus to the downtown community college, don’t think I won’t do it.”

The students hush in anticipation. Tony blinks, knuckles at his nose under the wireframe glasses, and looks to the ceiling as if in despair. “I mean. I… pre-emptively apologise, and intend no insult to any students, or family of students listening to this, who may have attended community college. Community college is an institution. Just like… jail.”

“You sure your coffee machine didn’t explode?”

“Shut up Miles.” Tony gestures half-heartedly at the screen behind him, where the slide has finally changed.

Gwen’s brought up her note-taking tool by habit on her up-and-running Mac, but she doesn’t have high hopes. It’s not like the guy doesn’t know his stuff, he’s just easily derailed into tangents and rambles and spicy opinions on SpaceX, and Gwen likes to be systematic about learning new things. Start at the beginning, finish at the end, with preferably zero stand-up material along the way. If she’d wanted jokes, she’d put on a late-night show.

And then to add insult to injury, someone creeps up the side and sinks down on the seat right in front of her, blocking her eyeline to the lower third of the screen. The bluish light dances silver over the light-coloured mop of hair… it’s the twiggy dude, from the doorway. Did he just find a seat?

“Think about a relationship.” Tony’s saying, up at the lectern. “Parent and child, cousins twice removed, romantic partners. Whoever. There are the expectations, the responsibilities… the requirements, you could say, which are obviously defined and the bare minimum for the relationship to exist. If you’re a parent, you gotta house and feed your kid. If you don’t do that, you fail at the basic requirements of being a parent. So if you turn up with your deadbeat ass at your kid’s wedding, they’re justified to go all, ‘you’re not my dad’.”

A guy in the third row raises a pen into the air. “Can I explain it like that in the exam?”

“I’m not going to be the only one marking, Ganke, so I’d actively encourage it.” Kinda nice, how he remembered so many names though. Gwen has been in this course for six months and only knows faces. “However, there are certain requirements which may not be essential for the relationship to be defined and functional but are still important. Like if your parent loves you.” A twitch. “Loves the kid, that is.”

In the seat ahead of her, Twig’s shoulders have risen up to his ears, frame gone all stiff. Gwen bites back a sigh and moves over to the next seat, just to eliminate the distraction.

She thinks about Dad in the next breath, awkwardly jabbing at his cereal and darting glances at her over the table, and immediately shoves it down.

“You might be tempted to think of it as how good a system is at fulfilling a base requirement – like how good of a parent they are, depending on if they do or don’t love you. And that’s not incorrect; whether a website is able to serve a high volume of traffic, or have an uptime of ninety nine percent, is absolutely about how good it is at serving its base requirement, which is to present an accessible resource over the internet. But if the thresholds of those non-functional requirements aren’t met, if the website keeps throwing a 404 more frequently than is acceptable, then it impedes said basic requirement. Even though uptime isn’t in the strict definition of the deliverable. You feel me?”

Silence. Someone from the far end meekly chirps a yes.

“Ohhkay.” Tony paces out from behind the lectern, keen eyes scanning the room like he’s actually, really invested. That’s… that’s a nice thing about him too. “Imagine I’m in a relationship, right? My partner and I, we define what a romantic relationship means to us and what we expect of each other going in. Like… monogamy, maybe. Or meeting at least once a week. So as long as I don’t go cruising, or ghost this guy for a month, I’m technically fulfilling my promises as a boyfriend. Those are your functional requirements.”

There’s a tiny murmur in the room at ‘guy’, but it dies out quick. Not exactly a surprise from the man who wears bi flag-coloured sunglasses to Orientation week.

“But to the enlightened, relationships are about more than that.” Tony’s lips curl at one end, like the words amuse him. Or that he’s speaking them? “Dependability. Emotional support. Prioritising the other person’s needs. All that chicken soup for the soul stuff; your non-functional requirements.”

“So I gotta think about it, the third time I reschedule date night. Get lost in a work thing and forget to respond to a text. Several texts. Forget to buy the milk, even though he told me to and put a reminder on my phone. Make life decisions on my own. These things take… a toll.” Tony isn’t making eye contact with the crowd anymore. His eyes skitter up to the ceiling and away again, restless even as his voice continues on methodically. “Maybe my partner can put up with it. Does put up with it. But just because I’m serving the base functionality of a romantic partner, doesn’t mean I can ignore these things. These are also essential to the health of the relationship.”

“But you gotta design for that. I can’t sit there like a dimwit going, ‘oh I’ll just do better next time’ and expect it to magically happen. That I’ll just… be better, with no effort on my part aside from intending to.” Gwen drops her eyes to the plastic tabletop, scratches and pen marks running over the surface. This is weirdly intense. “I have to have the right system in place. Maybe I vow to reply to a text every time I’m downing a cup of coffee. Set up regular delivery orders for milk online. Make it to the date, even if it is an hour too late and not in the place I wanted, just so we’re there together. Plan in advance so that things can get better, instead of crossing fingers and blowing on an eyelash. Do the work.”

She lifts her gaze by an inch, still vaguely discomfited, and catches Twig’s jaw clenching in profile, limned by the light of the screen. He shifts in his seat, raises a fist to wipe brusquely at something under his eye. It’s all very quiet. Tightly controlled.

“And that’s how systems need to function. Sure your primary focus is to get the thing up and running, but you need to think about performance, and security, and reliability when you’re architecting a solution. Two weeks before go live is not the time to realise that you’re pulling from an old-timey relational database when you actually needed caching. That the base components of your system just… don’t work together the way you want.” Tony pauses, blinks a couple times. Like his words have outstripped his thoughts and it’s all starting to come together. Form an obvious conclusion. His mouth turns down, goes wry again. “It gets real expensive to fix things then.”

And so it continues. The hour goes by faster than usual, Gwen startling a little by the time Tony wraps up the lecture, a whole five minutes before time like he always prefers to do.

Or… plans to do, perhaps. Mid-morning lectures, people usually have to empty out of these halls fast to get to the next one, but there’s a disordered cluster of students still lingering around the lectern, shooting the shit and exchanging laughs with Tony. He looks visibly better at the end of the hour, more energetic than he did at the start of the lecture. Like it actually rejuvenated him – which isn’t the worst ideal to look up to as a prospective academic.

Whatever, Gwen isn’t getting ahead of herself. She’s got band to get to.

Of course, when she stuffs her laptop into the tote bag and does a brief check to make sure everything’s in there, she can’t see her fob. Can’t get into the rehearsal room without it, so she gropes for it fruitlessly for a couple of minutes, before resorting to dumping the bag out on her seat. Chocolate wrappers flutter to the ground, a pen cap without a pen rolling down to join them. Handouts from her other classes, worksheets, one physical notebook, a set of drumsticks… no fob.

Ugh. She ducks under her seat to check, nose twitching as the longer end of her bangs ruffle past. There, small and plasticky-blue against the maroon carpet. Fishing it out through the tiny gap is an ordeal, and by the time she has it secure in her pocket, the hall’s empty.

Or not quite. She’s shovelling her stuff one-handed while pacing up the stairs to the exit, when, “–mean to show up at your place of work.”

“You’re my boyfriend Steven, not a stalker. It’s fine.”

Hang on. What?

Tony and some guy – Twig, she can tell by the bony shoulders – Steven, are standing in front of the door. Tony and his boyfriend. Who was in their class. Who was probably not in their class, just physically present in this… particular class.

Tony seems to be frenetically running through similar thoughts, because his mouth just doesn’t stop moving, hands gesturing through the air like a conductor gone loose. “Well, not fine fine. I guess, considering what I – considering all of the… I didn’t know you were in the audience, obviously. I’ll just do as Taylor does and write a song about it the next time.”

Fuck. Can she just… push past them, really quickly? Or right in the middle of them. She’s been to parties where she doesn’t know anybody before, this can’t be any more awkward than that. Probably.

Steven’s already thin lips press tight together. He’s standing very, very straight, not a thing to criticise in that posture. Captain Stacy would be proud.

“Are we,” He starts, deep voice as startling out of that reed-thin frame as it was the first time, stumbling over the words just a little, “breaking up then?”

“What?” Tony breathes, and it’s like it’s stoppered his flow of thought completely.

Steven’s lips flicker up weakly. “You said Taylor.”

“No, no,” Tony’s hands flutter again – he pulls them back and tucks them close over his chest, just a little protective. “Stupid joke, you know me.” And then, just a little wry. “Of all the times to know a modern music reference.”

It’s like he’s laying out bait, an easy diversion. Steven could say something about preferring The Beatles and they needn’t tug on this line of thought, make things unravel.

Maybe it’s why Gwen hasn’t cleared her throat or done anything to clue them off to her presence yet. Something in her is so discomfited, twisted up with the second-hand awkwardness – she can’t let them go on but it would be worse if they saw her – but there’s also a second voice in her head, the one that’s good at moderating and peeling people open from a distance.

if you stop them talking now, when will they try again?

Steven doesn’t take the bait. Something in him strains like he wants to take a step forward, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he says quietly – “I do know you.”

“I know how much you think about us. How much it matters to you to get things right, and I guess I just…” Steven’s mouth purses, soft and unhappy, “take it for granted, all of that work, because it just happens to be who you are. Who you’ve chosen to be.”

“Steve, don’t – we’re both workaholics–”

“We are.” Steve acquiesces, but the words that follow sound implacable. “But you plan around it. Every single thing you said in the lecture, you… you booked those regular grocery deliveries for us, and I cribbed at you about it because they deliver in those plastic bags and the emissions from the delivery trucks–”

“It was a valid fucking point–”

“It was a stupid point, and you were right to tell me that.” Steve says it without hesitation. “I cancelled on our weekend away, again, and you were right to call me out on that this morning too. You just don’t…” A little softer. “Sometimes you don’t say anything.”

A beat.

Tony unfolds his arms, eyes fixed somewhere off-centre around Steve’s collarbone. His voice has dropped to match Steve’s, simmering with something indecipherable. “I was really… happy when you agreed to be with me. Stunned out of my head, sure. But happy. I wanted to get it right. It would have never occurred to me to… with our history, with my history, it just didn’t compute sometimes that…”

Steve cuts in, mouth twisting with it. “That I’d be the screw-up in the relationship?”

“Careful sweetheart.” Tony lifts his eyes, and they’re still warm. “Name-calling is my department.”

But he seems to be taking Steve’s previous words to heart.

“I know…” He swallows. Drops his hands completely, lifts his chin and talks. “I know how much that place means to you, I know how much you’d have killed to have a queer shelter in the neighbourhood, heck in the city, growing up like you did. I want someone who cares about what they do, I’d have been bored to shit with a person coasting by on a job that meant nothing to them. You wanna do paperwork till one am, I’ll be right there on the couch with you marking papers. That is fine, the donations from your own pocket are – don’t cut me off Steve – are fine, even if it is a little like Mrs. March teaching the kids to give away their Christmas meal to the less fortunate. That’s the guy I chose to be with.”

“You need to save the world. You can’t help yourself.” Tony bit into his lip, smile here and gone in a flash. “And I’m just a guy who teaches a couple university classes, while trying to get a startup off the ground for the last five years. But this morning when you…” He sucks in a breath, exhales it soundlessly. “When you looked like you couldn’t imagine how I’d think we wouldn’t cancel… how you disdained the idea of. Of spending time with me, instead of saving the world. Then it felt pretty shitty.”

For a moment, Steve doesn’t say anything at all. His face is pale, cheeks lost of any colour. His eyes have gone red. “I. I’m sorry.”

Tony clears his throat, voice forcibly bright. “Not gonna say you’d never think like that?”

“… doesn’t matter.” Steve says simply. “It’s how I made you feel.”

“There are those unrealistic moral principles I know and love.” Tony’s smiling, only a little watery around the edges. He moves into Steve’s motionless frame, hands reaching out again, this time to catch him by the elbows and smooth down to hang onto his wrists. “We’ll work on it.”

Steve is staring down at their hands, both like they’re condemned and something miraculous. “In the lecture. When you said that the components of the system didn’t work together the way you’d want…”

He looks up. Tony meets his eyes, gives a little shrug. “A better guy would know how important what you’re doing is. Would maybe resent its importance a little less.”

“Tony, I’m not a better person than you are.” Steve’s voice is thick, almost choking with the entreaty. His hands turn in Tony’s loose clasp, gripping back tightly. “Tony.”

Tony gives a little burble of a laugh. Bends over low, forehead brushing Steve’s shoulder. “We’ll work on me too.”

They lean into each other for a moment. Tony’s face is almost hidden behind Steve’s golden locks. “I don’t really care, if you’re better or worse than me. I’m keeping you.”

Steve pulls back. Leans up a fraction to press their lips together, both their eyes fluttering shut.

They pull apart, smiles pulling up on those mouths like mirroring sunrises. Steve leans in for another peck, then quietly pushes the door to step outside. Tony follows him.

Gwen sits down on the floor, fifteen metres away, laptop thunking into the carpet. She bends her head down to her belly, and breathes.

Fuck, she’s going to feel the anxiety of this in her back for weeks.

Band practice is a loss. The entire morning might be a loss. She needs a cupcake, and some grunge music. But even as vague ideas for the upcoming day begin to coalesce, she can feel a curious lightness shoot through her body. Like she can take it. The aches and pains, the barista shift in the afternoon. Like the world is alright, actually, and she’s not gonna keel over just yet.

This is why she doesn’t watch rom-coms.

She pulls herself up eventually and finally exits the hall. And there, by himself in the corner, completely failing to look like he’s doing anything but waiting for her – is Tony.

The world is a nightmare. She doesn’t stutter. “Did you know I was in there?”

Tony looks like he’d be rubbing the back of his neck abashedly, if he were that kind of guy. Instead, he visibly decides to brazen it out. “Not until the last thirty seconds before we left.”

Small mercies.

“Were you… did you have something to talk to me about? My office hours are 2-3, but–”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Gwen interrupts, entirely out of patience. That’s what’s going through his head right now?

Tony shuts his mouth with a click, eyebrows rising.

“There’s nothing.” Gwen forces. And then, just as involuntary as the swear – “You’re a good teacher.”

Tony blinks. Gwen remembers him bantering about with her classmates, not losing a step.

“Thanks, Gwen.” His nose looks a little red. So do the very tops of his cheeks. He looks unaccountably pleased.

Gwen’s lips tilt up.

“You could do better than him, you know.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Tony beams at her. Turns around, waves two fingers. “See you next week.”

The rehearsal hall is in the same direction that he’s walking in. Gwen unerringly walks the other way. By the time she loops the quad and makes it there, she’ll have thirty minutes left. Half of band practice is better than none.

She taps a rhythm on her outer thigh, blows a strand of her bangs out of the eyes. Tugs the tote bag higher up. Band, then lunch, and then maybe she can call her dad.

#stonyaugust #stevetony #stony #lazywriting #fanfic #alternate universe #outsider pov #pre serum steve #no powers au #steve rogers #tony stark #gwen stacy #steve/tony #elaborate computing metaphors for the win

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