#((also fanfic reference heehee))

[freezethebeez]

Not to get all sappy on New Year's Eve, but after replying to a couple Catalyst comments, I've decided to give a public thanks rather than one contained within a comment thread.

-

Catalyst has been just as of much of an experience for me as it has for you, the Catalyst Enjoyers (as I've dubbed you, and as I refer to you to my irl's)— if not more.

Syzygy was my first multi-chapter fic, as well as the longest thing I had ever written before Catalyst. It clocks in at 43k words spanning over the course of 6 chapters, and was written during my summer holiday. There wasn't much engagement with the readers during the Syzygy experience. I would respond to the comments, of course, but that's all I got. No fanart, no world analysis, no asks, nothing (absolute no shade to the Syzygy enjoyers. They are my little guys. My skrimblos. My day 1's).

Comparing it to the Catalyst experience, it feels almost sad. It feels as if I've built a small community with Catalyst— one with talented artists and talented writers— and just having this little community feels so freaking cool. It's everything I ever wanted as a fanfic author and more.

When I started writing fanfic 6 (nearing 7) years ago, interacting with my readers and seeing them create ideas and works of their own based off my writing was always my dream.

You have made that dream a reality, and I thank you all endlessly for it.

The Catalyst experience has genuinely been wild for me in the best ways possible. I was temporarily living with one of my friends when I started writing it— in fact, he even helped me choose the title 'Catalyst'— and to this day, whenever I see him, he asks me how Catalyst is going and reminds me of my humble beginnings— my first comments, my first fanart, all of it.

Catalyst has evolved substantially within its lifetime, starting at a projected finish date of sometime in early September, then late November, and now hopefully sometime within 2023. It's been so interesting to reminisce on the past evolutions and look at it where the story is now— which I can say I'm actually proud of.

Catalyst is more than just my silly little summer writing project now. It's an experience that I've been able to share with all of you, and one that would certainly not be the same without you. Seriously, I can't imagine Catalyst without the enjoyers.

It's just been fun for me, and hopefully fun for you. Seeing the reblogs on the Catalyst link chain tagged with "#catalyst saturday" never fails to make me smile. Every notification I receive telling me that I've been sent an ask makes me jump a little with excitement, and every piece of artwork (whether it be in the form of visual art or writing) sends me over the moon.

You guys are cool, and I appreciate your continuous support throughout this year. Thank you for sticking with me through all these Saturdays, and I look forward to your support in the future.

Also, to anyone who's made it this far, here, take this paragraph from chapter 19 (don't read if you don't want spoilers heehee hoo):

They don’t speak to one another— not with words, at least. There are some shared, knowing looks, sharp exhales through the nose, and fond smiles. And then there’s pinkies linking together in the miniscule gap between them, and Tubbo feels like the dumb teenager he is, fumbling through this weird world of relationships that are more than platonic but less than romantic, trying to find the acceptable middle ground that may or may not exist. He laughs to himself a bit— because this really is kind of stupid, I mean, for all the time Tubbo spends thinking about what it would be like to kiss the guy, you’d think Tubbo would have at least tried to ask. But no, he’s still struggling to hold Ranboo’s hand like they used to, and he thinks that getting back to where they once were might involve a few baby steps, too.

Again, thank you all <3

Sincerely,

freezethebeez

(no bees harmed in the process. beez, not bees. do not freeze bees please)

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs - Post Production: Death's Duet

Primary Pairing: ShizuKasu Rating: T? Words: 524 AU: Theater, Monsters, Cryptids Fandom: Love Live Nijigasaki Parent Fic: Putting on Hairs - Post Production Time Frame: Sometime after the main story Event: Promptober 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord Prompt: Duet Content Warning: Poetic discussions of death

---------

Author’s Note: Bonus 2nd entry for Oct 12th

Summary: Shizuku contemplates death and her status as a ghost

---------

Life has always been a dance And death has sung the tune But no dance can forever last And some may end too soon

A duet as old as time A cycle spinning free Life is fleeting and sublime And death eternal as can be

But can the voices sing as one Or dancers change their step? Has life's song now begun Can death dance…

Shizuku stared at the screen. What rhymed with step? Footstep? Doorstep? Misstep? No, those all were just other steps. Prep? No. Schlep? Also no.

What if she changed it to moves? She could rhyme that with groove, which often was used to mean or refer to dancing. But it also had a different feel than the rest of the poem. Hrm…

“Ne, Shizuko, I'm gonna start making din… oh, whatcha working on?” Shizuku heard her girlfriend move up behind her. “A new play? Reviewing something Chika wrote? Or are you writing something yourself?” Kasumi placed a hand on Shizuku's shoulder and leaned in toward the screen.

“I was actually taking a break from anything for the theater.” Shizuku said. “Just having a little fun with some personal writing.”

“Ah, I see.” Kasumi said and quickly read what was on the screen. “Uhm… I don't get it.” She scratched her head. “Does Shizuko wanna kill Kaumin and sing a duet with her ghost?”

“No. No.” Shizuku chuckled. “I am very much happy with Kasumi-chan being alive.”

“Oh.”

“But maybe someday…”

“Wait, wha?”

Shizuku laughed again.

“Shizuko~!” Kasumi pushed on Shizuku’s shoulder, moving her girlfriend around in the chair.

“Anyway, the poem was supposed to be about a duet between Live and Death.” Shizuku explained. “Sort of. I mean it starts out with Life dancing and Death singing, but then I was thinking about switching them to finish. Or maybe combining them in some way? You know, because I’m a ghost. I’m neither alive nor dead. I’m something else; undead, in colloquial terms.”

“Hrm…” Kasumi reread the words. “Ok, yeah, I can see that now. Say, isn’t your meter off there?” She pointed.

“It’s probably off in a few places.” Shizuku admitted. “It was just a little exercise to keep the creative juices flowing before I get back to my play.”

“So, you are writing a play.”

Shizuku nodded.

“Does Kasumin get a part?”

“There is a part I’m writing with Kasumi-chan in mind, yes.”

“Heehee… And Kasumin and Shizuko can be a couple on stage, right?” Kasumi accentuated her words by nuzzling her cheek against Shizuku’s.

“Hmmm… About that…”

Kasumi pouted. Shizuku laughed.

“Anyway, Kasumin’s hungry, so she’s gonna go make dinner.” Kasumi stood back up.

“Let me know if there’s anything you want me to help with.”

“Thanks, but Shizuko’s busy with making a new play, so Kasumin doesn’t want to interrupt too much.”

“You’re fine. I don’t mind being interrupted by Kasumi-chan.”

That comment earned the exact response Shizuku sought, a brilliant smile from her girlfriend. She flashed a smile of her own before returning to her laptop.

A duet with Kasumi-chan… Shizuku thought.

She hadn’t planned her new play specifically to be a musical, but would it be so bad to turn it into one? The theater was earning a reputation for musicals, after all. And in that case, Moya was to be the love interest of Otosu, so it would make sense for the two to have at least one song together.

However… Shizuku smiled as she remembered Kasumi’s concerns over being killed for a duet with death. It was a bit ironic considering what Shizuku had planned for the characters she intended for the two of them to play. But that did give her some new ideas.

With her creative motivation restored, Shizuku opened the document for her new original play, Detective Otosu, and got back to work.

---------

Author’s Note Continued: First off, Death’s Duet is an old MtG card and the first two lines of Shizuku’s poem are adapted from its flavor text.

And second, I honestly have no idea if a Detective Noir style play could work as a musical. I mean I also don’t see why not; surely it’s not the strangest thing to be musical’ized.

[ovrtimelove]

i actually have a lot of kpop idol ocs with one of my friends, and we make 'fanfic' aus of them heehee. we even have kpop fic author ocs???? lmk if i cooked, u guys (THE LINKS AND USERS ARE FAKE. THEY JUST LEAD TO "https://domain.ext/path/")

anonymous asks : miss nainai!! welcome back to tumblr 🫡 its been a while. have you read any fics you want to suggest 2 us? naizu-visualz : ahhhh thank you so much for the wb o(￣▽￣)ｄ !!!! nainai's class' field trip was very fun, and i read many physical books lol. if im allowed to recommend from the selection there, i enjoyed jack reacher lolol.. it might sound unexpected, because it is mystery and thriller, but i like any genre of book as for fanfic, hmmmmm :3 it's very hard to choose when there are so many good ones... i'll list the ones i remember off the top of my head (≧∇≦)ﾉ !! but i might make a big post? hehe our weathered hearts will remember by @.88czns. myungyun, chaptered, finished. if you enjoy past life trope and want to see reincarnations too, owhwr is a good read for you :D!! it has many emotional moments that can resonate with one's heart. the author has gotten comments and asks that say they've cried to the fic many times.. that means its very good!! i also cried and sent something to her. TT... if you find that you want more after the ending, don't worry!! there is an am:vl spinoff sm!au where they have frequent reappearances, even through the children's banter lol ヾ(≧▽≦*)o blood of the covenant by @.ryungswr. myungyun, chaptered, finished. religious themes, vampire!myungdae, and 1900s vibes, all wrapped into one?? nainai never really thought that it would work with myungyun, but considering bite me era, i dont think i should be surprised.. the way yongsun was handled here made me gasp!! his character was very iconic (as much as i hate to say it LOL) and impacted the story.. poetically written, give it five stars o(￣▽￣)ｄ... if you finish reading it but want more, there's a crack au and a no-schedule 'sequel'! sunflower and angel's trumpet by @.0425zz. lunette, florist!linette x mafia!dailu, chaptered, ongoing. i was a casual dreamie listener, but this made me look into the group even further.. if you like old money aesthetics, double life, and very dynamic character dynamics, please read this story.. the characterization is so fun and refreshing, and there are direct references to sweeties' inside jokes lol. there's even ANGST!! AND I THOUGHT SWEETIES WERE ALLERGIC TO ANGST!!!! /HVYJ....... and it's so well done...... it will make you cry. TT....... chapter 57 'poppy' is nainai's biggest opp. (╯▔皿▔)╯!!! grrrr i will get you, zizi.. bite the bullet by @.88czns and @.mawuwamaz. ot6 rdwy (myeongyoko, magnetz, flowerz) ft. dreamie, mafia au, multi-fic series, ongoing. btb is not one fic, but multiple inside one named bundle! it is basically many stories set in the same universe with the same characters lol. my personal favorite is the flowerz one, because while the dynamic is similar to sunflower and marigold.. there is something more shocking when you get to the middle point hehe. btb has too many good things to talk about, so nainai suggests that you check it out for yourself and leave a reblog!! 🙇‍♂️ we are endless by @.endeulset. post-disbandment, ot7, chaptered, finished. nainai believes that this one is the most emotional, especially for endeuls.. two chapters cover one member (except for seongsu2 who stick together in their chapters) and detail speculations, how they feel about separating from czn and skytali, staying to work there (like sunwoo, jeonghui, and jiyoon), and even having a special chapter inspired by subin's twitter post with the bunnies at the restaurant.. it's very nostalgic and melancholic, your heart feels calm as you read ^^. as an endeul, it made me feel happy for the members, knowing that they've gone on paths that they know they'll be truly happy with.. but they'll still find ways to be together that's all!! maybe nainai will make a bigger post with all her recs, but that's for another day..

i wanted to make nainai's blog real (i even made a sideblog) but with school, ill be too busy to manage it lol.

[riacte]

Rendog language:

Freakin’

-age (eg. seedage, dumpage)

Dude/ my dude/ dudes

Baby

What’s cracking (baby)

Butt

Sweat

I’m sweating in places I’m not supposed to be sweating in

Geez

Dang it!

RD

:D

<3

Cooking with gas

Exsqueeze me

Anyhoozle

Bro

Man

You love / hate to see it!

Sweet!

Ladies, Gentlemen, everybody in between— get in line!

Oh my goodness gracious

Hold your paws!

Brother from another mother / brother from another sapling

Ren diggity dog

(To the viewer when there’s a cut) You know I’ll always bring you back!

Chesticles (for chests)

Nutso

Suck up (item) / suck up these bits

Jank / janky redstone

Noice

Not gonna lie

Yoink / yonking

Wait one doggone second

My main man

Sadge

Pawsies

Kitters

If you know what I’m sayingggg

Outrageous!

Rendog nicknames for people:

Falsie (I swear if you just add this to any dialogue in fanfic it will sound just like Ren)

Swedish potato

Bdubadubs

G

Major (for Scott Smajor)

Hmamma / Bomb

Fruityloops / Fruity

Beans (Joel)

H A N D / Martynmanager / Littlewoods

Daddy Iskall

Rendog body language:

Dramatic camera swinging / headbanging that makes him look sad from an outside perspective

Crouching when he talks to chat in F5

That thing when he starts talking about a project in his episodes with his back facing the camera, and then he crouches (and his elytra spreads open) just as the text displays his current location? Yeah!

THE JUMP SPIN

He does that when he’s excited like a ballerina

Feel free to add on, this is just a small list that makes me happy lol

Bonus: Rendog in DSMP quotes

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

7th Dimension (Chapter 7)

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 6

7TH DIMENSION MASTERLIST

7TH DIMENSION WATTPAD LINK (I’m always 1-2 chapters ahead in this site) (Head on to it and don't be shy to introduce yourselves or leave a comment! <3 Love y'all! <3)

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: Mind Training with Gojo Satoru had been beneficial to the both of you. You were given a mission to bake him sweets and in return of earning a 10/10 rating from the Great Teacher Gojo would result for a Shopping Spree treat from the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive.

Warnings: This is quite...fluffy in terms of knowing their impressions or discoveries for each other? I hope y'all get my point...Heehee. The word 'shit' and Damn? Gojo Satoru's existence and his teasing self? Earth references. Orbeez Balls is mentioned here and also COVID-19 as well. I dunno how I've connected it to this story. Hehe. It just happened while I was writing away. Satoru, not knowing what personal space is. This has been long and descriptive. 😭 I'm sorry. Also I have no idea if they have a teacher's dormitory since it hasn't been mentioned (as far as I remember yet I'm quite forgetful bb's 😅😭) but let's just say that there is. Reader is now officially a simp for him? LMAO HEHEHE Gojo just doesn't know what personal space is all the damn time.

Tell me if you want to be tagged whenever I publish chapters for 7th Dimension! Send an ask or message me!

A/N: I'm starting to feel jealous over my own character here---TINY-CHAN, MOVE OVER! 😭😭 COME ON. 😭 *coughs* Next chapters would be bisections of Chapter 7. I've segregated it in 4-6 parts because it's too long for one chapter? Hehehe. ENJOY!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE SUPER-DUPER HIGHLY APPRECIATED! IT GIVES ME MUCH MOTIVATION AND INSPO! SORRY IF THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS AND GRAMMAR ERRORS! I ain’t a professional writer! I’m just a simp and a potato-hoe! LMAO. 🤣

Words: 7.2k+ (THIS IS A LOT FOR ONE CHAPTER I'M SORRY. It's very detailed. T3T)

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. I only own the plot of this whole fanfic. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline and the characters themselves. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be.

People who woke up in high spirits in an abnormally early morning were marked to be notable within the vast troops of mankind. In all honesty, those types of people were of different species---probably the best of the best because they were considered to be productive, fruitful for any activity or responsibilities that would land on their hands.

Whilst the classification where as humans who woke up on the wrong side of the bed; utterly grouchy with plastered ridges of his or her own wrinkled pillows slapped on the skins of their faces, displaying such a portrayal of how deep they were in their sleep and honoring such an unpleasant sight of tightly furrowed brows because of a loud, blaring alarm that reverberated around a room you were trying to habituate in---these kind of people were the stereotypical back in your dimension.

Quote, Back in your dimension. Unquote.

Experiencing mirth in an odd, early morning will never be your style. Even after you had your own business, it was a bad habit but you were coping. Note the word, were. It has not been a hundred percent adapted yet before you were brought on a world that was bound to give you headaches after headaches.

Especially if one case of an headache would include the dealings you had for a particular white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer or be in communication with Satoru Gojo twenty four seven.

It would be a hell of an headache.

The visualization was beyond giving you neuralgia. Albeit, Satoru's visuals---which has been prepossessing since the moment you've recalled the concept of him without his mask on was undeniably delightful to wake up to, it wasn't sufficient if it meant that he had to menacingly set an alarm on exactly four in the damned morning and at full volume, trying to get you to rise-and-shine with a blue sticky note to your forehead.

Four in the freakin' morning.

You bet the odds that not even his students were awake at this particular time of the day where the sun wasn't even shining yet.

With the sticky note on hand, a deep scowl to your face, you've brought yourself to the side of the bed. The glossy forest wood planks in a chorus of brown, it's varnish trapping along the moisture of the wood has been brisk beneath the soles of your feet as you've given the room a once over.

Satoru wouldn't have used his abilities to warp inside your room and scribble such a messy alphabet in Roman style as if it has been forcefully copied letter by letter from Google Translate, right?

You were skeptical over the entire idea. Yet, deep down, it felt like he was bound to be that type of guy especially when one of his abilities had the benefit of teleporting or warping from one place and to the other. For the most part, he obviously would because you were currently shoved towards the teacher's dormitory. Postulating over the expanse of what the room appeared to have, it was technically a lot wider and spacious with a hint of a bachelor's sense of interior design, you guesstimated that this was Satoru's dormitory room.

Besides, the distinct scent of perfume; how Musk and Sandalwood wafted through your nose, you knew it was his from the moment you've stepped foot inside the area. Also, you were manhandled by the man himself, shoving you inside his room before you could even react as he bid his goodbye.

Where was he going to sleep then? Well, he sure did look like he was one of the minted. A person who had the privilege in calling the shots. With over how he had requested for a private plane with just one call away? he probably had that type of wealthy prerogative. You've pursed your lips at that, musing on the thought. Might as well admit that Satoru was rolling in the riches then.

Hence, the note that has been written in a tortuous duplication of the roman alphabet scribbled with black ink tells you that he belonged in the affluent society in their dimension after reading through the lines, comprehending that this proposal had a prize or treat included which lightened up the cranky mood that you were tailoring at the present time.

"Tiny-Chan's Mind Training with Satoru: 'Create anything sweet for the 'Great Gojo'

This will be graded. Prizes may vary. 10/10 rating will be rewarded with a Shopping Spree funded by the Strongest. Hehehe. >:)"

You have been ignoble over your own skills in terms of the culinary or baking side. Despite of the profession you had been in; the concept of having your business over it. This has still been one of your study and tentation. A hit or miss moments or the R and D whenever you encounter something new; something that was far beyond the customary.

Satoru had not mentioned any specifics towards what type of sweetmeat he wanted. However, you've reckoned he would want something of the Japanese cuisines in which he probably have been familiar with.

You might as well add a dash of your own favorite tastes and concoct something out of the blue with whatever ingredients were to be seen in a kitchen that you know would be difficult to find in a broad place within the school you were in. The problem with Tokyo Jujutsu High was that there has not been a lot of people to be seen nor were you introduced to yet.

How you've been shoved inside Satoru's room by the man himself felt like he was trying to keep you hidden as possible despite the chances of meeting another person within the area was a ten out of hundred from the lack of people or staff that inhabited the area.

Though, you were rest-assured someone had owned the room beside yours because you remembered someone kicking on your doors and hollering out Satoru's surname behind the locked hatch.

You obviously were sleeping like a log to even bother and give her your acknowledgement. First and foremost, you never comprehended the Japanese language unless it was Satoru who was talking. The world made it seem like you had no other choice but to communicate and live through him.

Damn it.

After at least a minute of trying to break down the doors in the least, quietest way as possible, this person left with unfathomable phrases of Nihongo that led you to pulling the duvet over your head a lot more than you ever did.

You had the sticky note on your hand, your eyes squinted so hard because of how your perspective was still blurry from the abnormally early rouse. With eyes that hinted a little of corin pigmented morning glory, you've prodded them off with the back of your fingers as an unalluring yawn left your mouth, drowsily murmuring beneath your breath, "This isn't mind training. He just wanted me to make something for him. Ah, this guy and his addiction for sweets...really,"

Cookies and Cream Mochi Ice Cream.

In all likelihood, that irresolute feeling inside of you says that this was an atrocious concoction for a mochi flavor. It was an unusual choice rather than the threadbare ones; chocolate and vanilla being the first of your selections. Second would've been strawberry and red bean. Be that as it may, you've still chosen an option that left you ambivalent nor where you confident enough for it to taste ideal for everyone as this has been the first time you've tried to produce such a dessert.

You've tightly sealed the tupperware with its locks that clicked from the sides. Those were the last batch---the extras that came from the excess ingredients that weren't bound to be kept as it would lessen the quality and freshness of the dish. You decided that it was best to just hand the last batch of mochi ice cream to Satoru's students or to whoever wanted it. You've estimated to have at least only two batches of them. Surprisingly, there has been another which consisted another dozen pieces of it. Three batches that had different colorants but held the same flavors for all. Red, Purple and White.

The kitchen island were in a heap of rice-flour, used glass bowls and other scullery paraphernalia that aided you through the cooking. Tokyo Jujutsu High and the tranquility it offered kept you in a fazed consolation over being on one's Jack Jones. Was it the fact that there weren't a lot of people nor staff that paraded along the institution regardless of how tremendous the school appeared to be?

Or was it because you were used to playing your set of song playlist whenever you were strenuously engrossed every time you were cooking dishes. Somehow, you were aggravated over the fact that your phone---the one that has been constantly in Satoru's pockets and were being kept detained because of a question that you couldn't grasp an answer to---weren't with you as he was utterly obtrusive that you had your passcode saved using his exact birthdate.

You had no idea over what day or month his birthday even was. The guy was probably just an egomaniac to assume that you were bewitched of him enough to have it used as a password.

But, were you not? Entirely bewitched by Satoru's pulchritudinous charm and enchantment?

His eyes were the Ethers; the bluest of blue---celestial Arctic blue that could define the islands of the Blessed. Satoru's beauty could beckon an ailing saint, reinvigorate your flawed soul that traipsed along the crippled path towards Siberia. The shattered utopias that pooled inside those eyes of his---you've foolishly shook your head, mentally eradicating those descriptive thoughts which always kept your heart on tenterhooks. Your mouth were kept in a tight thin line as you've pulled the freezer to the institute's French-door refrigerator, the heartbeat of yours increasing from the sudden outrage you have been feeling. Satoru had been a plague, the COVID-19 to humanity's 2020 back in your dimension.

Hence, even in his world, COVID-19 hadn't been entirely eradicated after all. You doubt he was bound to be exterminated when he was utterly self assertive that he was of person described by everyone as someone who was 'invincible'.

It was impossible to believe so because in your perspective, he was an utter man-child.

Either that, you weren't just given the unabridged sight of what he was absolutely capable of because everybody---including the authoritarians seemed to be like he had them wrapped around his fingers in spite of how they abhorred him for a complex personality and potential that they couldn't keep a tight rein on.

Abhorred. You wouldn't get to the point of describing Satoru that way when he was out with you, trying to offer a lending hand over how to bring you back to your dimension. Though, his proposals had a price---a cost that you surely couldn't put two and two together yet because his assistance were nonsensical to aid such amnesia---you might as well just comply to what he wanted. Although, it mostly has been off the subject.

"Tiny-Chan! Yoohoo!"

Speak of the handsome devil.

You've closed the bottom freezer with your black and white converse that has been besmirched in turf and grunge, even with dried up ichor as well. Your whole being went stiff upon hearing his silvery voice echo around the kitchen, the sobriquet that left his lips sounded jocular more than ever as if he had been chanting the epithet while he was tracking you down. There was this sudden need to clear your throat, your eyes momentarily fluttering close as if to ruminate over how your mind instantly went blank for a second from his unforeseen arrival.

Straightaway, at that exact moment, you knew that his existence was meant to beset your stray soul that wandered upon a dimension which was not meant for you to promenade in.

Without even sparing him a glance, you've unfastened the knot of the strawberry designed apron around you. His heavy, faint footfalls progressed louder, signaling you that he was coming nearby.

You had no idea but you were---indeed, panicking.

Satoru took a second from the figure that stood before the refrigerator, wondering along the hatch as he merrily peeked through the edge of the door with a beam on his face. The moment it fell was when the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer couldn't get the drift of who exactly has been cooking that he had felt the need to verify by scrutinizing you beneath his sunglasses, getting an absolute detail and a definite clearer view without the shroud of his calignous, arrant sunglasses which wasn't as nifty as the normal ones that ordinary people wear.

Well, he wasn't bound to be defined as someone who was normal nor ordinary anyways.

"Eh? You're wearing my uniform?" Gojo was inquisitive as he welcomed himself all the way in as the latter spotted you on the corner, straining to stand on your tippy-toes with your grubby apron.

The effigy of you bedizened in a uniform he had been donning since the day he had it specially customized, his midnight blue parka that ended right just below your knee. An unmistakably declaration that his customary clothing were downright a mammoth next to a kitty---as clear as day, Satoru's garment was clearly vast for your poky height. The sleeves of his jacket felt like it had been an utter hassle as you've been struggling to yank them over your arm because of how it had been over the length that even the fabric that went along his neckline have been made to cover up your entire mouth as if you were one Jujutsu Sorcerer who had some type of cursed speech technique just like Inumaki Toge.

He couldn't grasp at the sensibilities but this went over his system like how Cabernet tasted best chambré; how his coffee had to have at least an additional spoonful of sugar and how he was always in a quandary over choosing what was superior for his palates, would it be chocolate butternut or red velvet?

It was the kind of a mare's nest. Labyrinthine intimation of a discovery that pervaded the desolated garth with tepid sunbeams and binding, eager roses wading its way along the terra firma, neglectful over the barbs that came with it.

Satoru felt like this was an aberrant sensibility that required a doughty explanation. However, it made it seem like it was better unrefuted.

You were heedless over how his broad smile turned nominal, his beam never showing the pearly whites, you've deadpanned. Though, your sentences still felt like it was dancing along the words because of how you claimed, speaking tongue-in-cheek, "Because I had to shower and these were the only clothing you left in that closet of yours. It seemed quite intentional. Don't you think?"

Gojo had his hands inside his pockets as he paved his way, utterly curious over what you had cooked or concocted for him, nearing in as he paused alongside you, leaning beside the kitchen counter as he basically loomed before your height. It was thoroughly evident over how towering he was compared to yours that he had to peer down and be engulfed by his shadows.

"It wasn't! I had a lot of extra pairs! I hardly use the dormitory anymore the past few months,"

Finally, having the willpower to acknowledge his presence, you've turned your head to be met by his clothed chest. Life was unfair, really. How the simplest clothing that Satoru wore could leave every woman breathless and drowning in his enchantments. You've given him a once over, scanning him from toes to head---the opposite of people's daily habit---heedful that it was a deliberate act from your side because of how skeptical you were over what he had to wear for his head clothing. Was it the blindfolds or sunglasses?

To keep your heart steady before it could even be the only sound you were bound to be distracted with aside from Satoru's presence, you've noted how he was garbed with plain black jeans, a plain white shirt partnered with a lavish, sable leather jacket that glorified his broad shoulders and---

---his sunglasses. The difference today was that he was wearing the circle ones you were adamant of him to wear, those particular specs that you've spurned him to think that it was better than the current ones he had.

What antagonized you even more was that Satoru had an amicable smile on his face, dithering the image with the winsome crinkle of his eyes. You could clearly tell that this was poles apart to those skittish grins he always shared with you, the mischievous beams that would tell that it was no good to the society.

Your responses were sprightly. An apparent, involuntary response that has gotten you throwing the refrigerators wide open, feigning an act that you had something to grab onto from the fridge when it has just been your reckless reflexes to avoid the want to scream and the simmering heat traveling from your neck towards your face.

The frigid puff of breeze shot you in the face, peering real hard in search for nothing inside. You've heard Satoru emit a low hum of inquiry, the large refrigerator door seeming to be a baricade between you both since you've forcefully tugged them open. Perhaps, he wondered why you had to cover his view with the institute's steel refrigerator door.

You were savvy that he was profoundly indecipherable over your native language. Hence, this was the only---the lone convenience that you could use against him. A damned benighted trump card that he would probably loathe for or hank to overhear in venereal matters that knocked behind closed doors the last time he heard you during a conversation.

"Really. You just had to wear that today. I know the man sketched on the paper is you. No need to call me out over how stupid I am,"

A random tattle in the midst of being in a spur of the moment. The sole babble that helped eased how his mere existence was throwing you off balanced. You've spoke to no one in particular and just yourself, the native phrase going straight from Satoru's ears and to the other.

"You sayin' somethin'?" Gojo pulled a face, taking a step to the side to peek through the refrigerators to see that you were staring at a basket of potatoes. Your weirdness making his head tilt quizzically. Though, the sudden shift of language sounded incomprehensive in his point of view. Satoru found it downright bewailing that he could not understand a thing nor could he do anything about it. Howbeit, to you; it was a win-win situation.

You were right. He was utterly clueless over every word that you had to utter another as you sighed and eventually huffed from the fish bone that was poking through your insides, "Yep. I'm lucky you have no idea over what I've been saying. Hah."

Once the cold pacified your flustered senses and everything was all hushed. The native pep-talks that has been spoken out loud---much to Gojo's utter dismay and displeasure, you've calmly breathed through your nose, gently closing the refrigerator door shut, intentionally walking over to the opposite side of where he stood, going past him without second doubts and managing to stroll towards the kitchen island that was cluttered with messy mochi ingredients.

To no use, Satoru was determined to be of nuisance and trailed along. Utmost resentful over his language deficiency from your mother-tongue. His nosiness heightening the displeasure that frowned his face, expressive enough that he had his mouth curled in a fit of pique. Satoru was not fond of the indignation. This was rather a thorn in one's flesh for him as he was notorious over being someone who knows and has the ability to do anything. Hence, he meant that he was not capable of achieving nothing.

Nevertheless, your precipitate need upon speaking a language that was incompetent for his knowledge stirred a palpable, vast annoyance within him.

You probably had pained his overflowing pride.

"Oi. That's not fair. I have no idea over what you're saying." Satoru's mouth twitched in vexation, shadowing behind like a child being neglected over such withheld attention.

Attention. He noticed---no, Satoru beheld that you were giving him the go-by. Thus, being aware of how you were turning a blind eye to his presence ruffled his feathers.

He had no idea but the way you've been looking the other way and have been disregarding his presence despite of paying attention to what he has been saying peeved the Jujutsu Sorcerer. Gojo was bothered as if he wanted your sole attention on him, alone.

"Can't you wear your blindfolds again?" you nasally asked, point-blank. Greatly bothered by how he was bringing himself right now---the clothes he wore from top to bottom, it felt like the entire test has not been about the 'cooking' after all. This felt like an assessment on how to keep yourself mollified and composed whenever he was around.

You've brushed the pooling sweat with the extended sleeves of Satoru's uniform you wore, grabbing onto the used glass bowls without acknowledging Satoru who kept trailing around you. He slithered alongside you. Now, leaning his hip along the mahogany kitchen island which was basically as tall as where your stomach goes.

"You're confusing me here--," He spoke rather forthright, crossing his long arms over his chest. Bending over to peer down at your face, scanning your expressions from beneath his sunglasses. Yet, his advances were futile as you basically turned to grab onto another set of used utensils, continuously ignoring to give him the heed that he somehow had been inexplicably pining for.

"---Aren't you the one telling me how uncomfortable you are whenever I wear it?"

You haven't noticed how he swallowed down his odd frustration over the whole ignorance. This flicker of such strange irritation were tucked away with a smicker, the end of his lip churning upward as he goaded, his reckoning for the wanted attention making him sound vain, "Unless, I actually make you feel...things whenever you see my eyes?" he sniggered, his smirk growing larger, snapping both his forefinger and middle one together right in front of your face.

"---Heh. Bet you are!"

You've turned your back to him, gradually being habituated over his wonted blustering arrogance over everything especially towards the part that he knew himself that he was downright gorgeous.

His grin have been eradicated, abruptly falling when you've shunned away from his antics over how he was trying to catch your attention. It was just an estimated of one to two days with Nanami Kento and you were already behaving like he had been whenever Satoru was around the guy.

You've gently dropped the soiled equipment on the sink, grumbling another set of your natal tongue beneath your breath. Your lips pressed tightly together towards the end of your sentence as you turned the faucet on, keeping the grubby kitchen equipment wet so you wouldn't have a difficult time when you begin washing them, "Even without it, you do give me that feeling."

"Ah! You're prohibited to speak your native language, Tiny-Chan! Unless, I say so!"

Satoru's irritation pricked him to the point that he had to brush his fingers along his draping, white luscious locks, grousing as he did so. The irk kicking him over and over again that he had to keep his cool by inserting his hands inside his pockets, trying to keep himself within his presence of mind.

This has never happened to him in a definite amount of time. It has been long since the moment he last felt that infuriation. In spite of that offbeat frustration, he couldn't believe how pathetic the reason was.

It was simply just wanting to have the attention of a non-sorcerer. Hence, this non-sorcerer was of a woman who was tiny, bloody-minded from the start and held strange references of quotes that existed in your dimension.

He'd basically ran to the fridge, omitting his vexation with a cheery attitude as he yanked the freezer open, humming out his excitement when he'd seen three different tupperwares that were tightly locked, "Where's my sweets?!"

You've spun around, noting that he was wholly bent over as you passed behind the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer, his long legs spread before him like he was manspreading---a proprietary plaguy habit that he seemed to have manifested.

"Don't touch the white ones. They're newly made."

The ear piercing screech made your nose scrunch as you've pulled a bar stool and planted your ass straight on it. A volitional act to keep yourself at arm's length from Satoru as he was enthusiastically choosing which is which. Paying regard over his low, pleasing hums whenever he was distracted over particular things that kept him interested.

Satoru was eager to choose the blue one, bringing himself to his full height before he'd manage to shut the freezer close with the heel of his shoe, expressing his zealous tee-hees with the tupperware he held, striding to where you sat.

"Also, I'm no expert at making these stuff, but I tried, Satoru. It's far from what I normally sell back in...my shop," you've momentarily trailed off, the topic of your life back in your own world kept you in a faraway land that you've never noticed Gojo who tossed himself beside you with a haughty grin.

The sniggering, white haired sorcerer took the seat next to you. His own bar stool emitting a loud screech but he did not seem to care at all as he was swift enough to plop beside you, sliding the frozen tupperware between you both.

It was probably inevitable not to give heed to his presence. Would it be better to just stare over that particular crease in between a person's eyebrows? That had been a technique taught back in earth in regards to people who were rattled by staring into one's eyes. Howbeit, the approach had been abandoned when the apprehension diverted towards what you actually had created for him.

The mochi ice cream that you were timid of.

"I've made my own---Uhm, tried to create some Cookies and Cream flavored mochi ice cream," you began to stammer when you've suddenly heard the last click of the tupperware's lock pry open. Satoru was avid as he tossed the cover to the side. He was absorbed over the toothsome dessert that waited to be devoured. He was oblivious towards your attention that was now exclusively set for him. Without any second thought, his long, Herculean fingers began to just go for the kill before you've pulled them away.

Shit. You mentally cursed, never one to speak it out loud. You actually haven't gotten a bite out of one aside from Ijichi who'd manage to stumble upon the kitchen. The bothering issue was that the assistant director had limited knowledge over the language you could both understand to that he had not offered his feedbacks over the sweetmeat and just left without a word.

Though, he was smiling genuinely as he did so. That was a good sign right?

Or was he just feigning the disgusting taste of your mochis that he had to put on a smile for you?

"Wait!" you loudly exclaimed, keeping them out of Satoru's reach. His gaze has now met yours which made you swallow a big one out of the butterflies that started dancing inside your stomach, "---I-I actually haven't tasted them yet. Let me taste them first! I've had them refrigerated long enough for it to be frozen!"

The mochi ice cream was doughy in between your fingers, sweet dish baltic for the accurate texture to achieve the consistency that you wanted. Regardless of the quality, you were clueless over the taste.

You were actually panicking again, having the kittens over a timorous sweet dish you've chosen.

What a scatterbrain you've turned into, an utter damfool when this guy began to exist in your life.

Satoru's irreverence was meant to curb your jim-jams when he'd began to behave in his harebrained ploys. He raised a questioning brow, thoroughly being a pain in the ass while he'd dogged over your hesitance, his captivating gaze locking upon the target that were in between the tips of your fingers, "No can do! The Great Teacher Gojo gets to have the first taste!"

"H-Hey! You're just being gluttonous! That was my piece!"

You've felt your heart leap from his thoughtless movements. Your subconscious mind wanted to yell on top of your lungs when you've felt the soft, pillow of his lips graze along your fingertips, thoroughly asleep on the wheel over his impulsive actions. It felt remarkably supple---just like how it appeared to be downright promising, sheeny just as how his vermillion was giving the impression.

Nope. You weren't admiring how his lips come across as being since then. Nope, that quiet, timid voice whispered in the back of your head.

One of Gojo's cheeks were tumefied. Inchmeal, chewing the sweetmeat that filled half his mouth. The strange, taciturnity from the Jujutsu Sorcerer burning your anticipation to the point that it left you stammering and lost in your train of thoughts. His expressions were entirely noncommittal---never one to see him that way as the guy was clearly overdramatic whenever he reacts to anything.

"S-So? How is it? I know it probably lacks the taste or sweetness or something or whatever..." your fingers grabbed another piece of Mochi ice cream as you blabbered, the tiny shake of your fingers fanning the flames of your inner frets.

You were about to have a taste yourself when the latter had to race you to it again, just diving in and chomping the piece with his own mouth through your fingertips. Thank the heavens that his lip hadn't touched the skin of your fingers for the second time around because you weren't in a stable state of mind already. Howbeit, the juxtaposition he held out for you with his face close to yours had been sending the tingles across your skin, crawling through your heart as it fluttered like a maniac.

His sweet, minty, warm breath fanned across your face in a puff of air when he laughed. His mouth jammed with your home made sweet treat before he sat back on his chair.

"SERIOUSLY. Let me taste it! You're being selfish, Satoru!"

Gojo's mouth quirked at the corners, giving you a roguish one. Prior to his bereft of speech, he was quick to mantle them and kept the entirety of his bona-fide assessments over what you prepared for him. "Hehehe. Can't help it." Satoru spoke with his mouth full, attentive of the minimal commentary he'd managed to give.

You didn't need to know how piquant it was once the sugary, cold dessert passed through his palates; how it left his mouth avaricious for more. He knew this---no, your dexterity with desserts or pastries was guaranteed for his daily, disputed cravings that would eventually come by after today. Thus, this was enough to put your skills to blame because he knew it was an itching gluttony that no special 'kikufuku' could satiate him with.

It began to be his favorite. The first ever sweetmeat he'd tasted from you. Fast as one could judge, certainly a biased point of view from the latter. His taste buds determined to be a renegade for an expeditious patronizing chance. Certainly, this would be the kind where he would persistently yearn for every damn day; the sort that will bother the gluttony of malaise which were an entire inconvenience for Satoru if you were the sole person who could only soothe his sweet tooth.

"What's my grade then?" you've taken heed over how he was gradually chewing the food inside his mouth, abrupt inattentive of your way of catching his attention that you had to purse your lips, finding his reaction that this had been a failure in your part through the way he seemed too engrossed over swallowing what he was chewing.

It certainly tasted bad then.

Gojo was strangely tacit. He was never one to be this way---you believed he was. The latter had the expression that he was holding back his opinions. You were probably right. It tasted unpleasant and he was just forcing to consume them for you.

"Hey, Satoru." you repeated, mouth twisting in a tight frown from how he was treating you like a fly in the face and also never getting the reactions or commentary you wanted. This was probably how he felt when you tried ignoring him a while ago.

Much to your dismay, you've reached for the tossed cover of the tupperware on the middle of the kitchen island and at full pelt, planning to just close them off and cease whatever playacts he was playing.

Though, your heart flew out of your chest when Satoru abruptly yanked the earthenware out of arms reach, shifting around his seat with his broad, wide back away from you as he began to pig out on the sweetmeat as if he did not want to share.

Did he just turn his back away from you like a selfish child?

In all seriousness, the white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer actually did not want to share any piece with you because he wanted everything to himself.

Your eyes were popping out of your eye-sockets when you've noticed how he was hastily devouring them one by one, "Don't finish them all! The others are for Megumi, Yuji and Nobara!" You declared in worry for the possibility that he would basically finish the whole damn dish in just one sitting from how he was eagerly popping piece per piece with no cessation.

You tried to sneak your arm around him. Though, it was entirely futile from how he twirled his bar stool and used his towering stature to his advantage, covering the Ice Cream Mochis that were plated in front of him, "Who says I'm sharing these with them?---," he retaliated between bites, thoroughly immersed upon guzzling the dessert to sate his sweet cravings, "---These are mine. All mine. None for my students."

"You're being greedy."

Satoru heard you huffing from behind. He wasn't oblivious to your frolic ways of trying to snitch a piece of your own dessert that you've made for him. Without even realizing it, the Jujutsu Sorcerer had a wolfish grin etched to his face when you've began grumbling your twines like a pipsqueak.

"Write me something on a sticky-note," he suddenly asked in between bites---no, demanded was the correct word as a bunch of blue sticky notes and a multi-colored pen was now tossed to your way when you've begrudgingly marched your way back beside him, grouching over the fact that he wasn't sharing the food you've made for him.

It confused you.

Your hunches tell you that he was bluffing all the while he gorged upon the sweet dish like a child.

"Don't you know how to write?" you groused with your shoulders slouched, your knuckles over your chin as you were audibly trying to express your whines through the scowl on your face.

"I actually do. Have you seen my pretty handwriting on that sticky-note I stamped for you?"

"The sticky note you've plastered on my forehead while I was asleep? That one?---," you nasally snorted in a satirizing tone, snickering for the candid thoughts that passed by your mouth without even thinking twice. Unaware of your bald statement that sarcastically criticized Satoru, remembering how you were forced to wake up at four in the morning with a damned sticky note to your forehead, the reason why you were cantankerous at intervals.

"---Your handwriting looked like it has been dragged by the ass of a chicken and also been a bootleg copy from Google Translate,"

Satoru ceased from chewing onto the dessert after hearing that, his eyes widening from the frank choice of words as he grabbed another piece of Mochi ice cream in between his thick, calloused fingers, "You know, for a stubborn, ignorant, non-sorcerer who's in the midst of having an amnesia and actually pleads for my help to return to her sole dimension,---" a provoking pause. "---you're the only one---and when I say only one, the absolute one who has the guts to taunt the strongest and it doesn't help that you're pocket sized which makes everything funnier if you ask me."

He'd given you the side-eye, feigning a serious behavior to support the next sentence that would come out of his mouth as one that should be taken as a life or death situation. Gojo suppressed his need to smile when he'd seen the obvious grimace that twisted your mouth in a comical way, the incredulity earning another clamorous reaction from you that he finds entirely entertaining.

"You earn a minus, Tiny-Chan."

"Hey! That's unfair! You haven't even told me my grade yet! I've woken up at four in the morning when I'm not used to waking up that early because of that loud alarm you were intent on setting up!" you began to complain again, the shopping spree prize filling your thoughts when he'd pitch into the idea of giving you a minus despite of not actually knowing the earnest rating of your dessert yet.

He was probably joking. You thought to yourself, giving him a dirty look with tightly scrunched brows.

"Ah. Is that so? But, I see that you're out here being really determined to claim that reward you wanted---," another pause. "---You twine too much. Another minus from the Great Teacher Gojo, then."

Perhaps, he wasn't.

Satoru left it at that and tried hard to stifle his chuckles, cutting off the gaze he was giving you as he looked away. Heedless of how he was trying to intentionally brush you off, trying to act cool as a cucumber. Believe it or not, but the latter was aware of how you've pursed your lips in disdain, saddened over the fact that he was willfully turning a blind eye.

This triggered a grin for Satoru, lifting his lips as he deliberately popped another sweetmeat inside his mouth.

"Tch. I don't even know how to write your alphabets. You know this." you've went on with your cavils, begrudgingly grabbing onto the sticky note and ball-pen as you apathetically responded with a sigh.

Too engrossed over guessing what to write, Satoru had lickety-split pulled your bar stool closer to his side. Earning a cacophonous squeak out of you from his rash movements. The Jujutsu Sorcerer nescient of his spontaneous deeds as he was effervescent to spun around, his tactless maneuvers getting the best of him before he could even regard that he'd cudgel his brains out for this one from the moment you've fitted to a fare-thee-well in between his widely, spread legs, occluding the legroom he'd involuntary made for you.

An overwhelming staggering space that stiffened your entire figure. The disconcerting pummeling of your heart that wanted to bounce of your chest ringing inside your ears again as he went on by keeping you nestled. Satoru had given you enough precarious room to hear his quelled breathing and those low, breathy chuckles that slips out of his puckish sense of humor; his palpable warmth that your subconsciousness described as somewhat sheltering to the point that it manifested how it was an epitome for an ideal snuggling.

"That's the plan. You're writing it using the Roman one! Come on. You get extra incentives!" Satoru eagerly exclaimed, he was ignorant as ever for your rigid muscles, ceasing to function properly when he'd reacted to his own incautious reflexes.

The white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer leaned further to his side, extending his long limbs over the kitchen island with his knuckles topped below his chin while he nonchalantly instructed what was needed to be written.

"Gojo's Untouchable Mochi Ice Cream. That should do it."

He had been engrossed over thinking what was about to be written on the paper that he'd briefly took heed of how floored you seem to be like you were zapped by lightning. You were gawking with eyes that glinted of shine---were your eyes actually glistening in disorientation or the fact that you were also dumbfounded for his quirky exigency to have you nigh?

Satoru's sunglasses dangled along his tall nose-bridge, lowered in an amount that he had given you a lovely sight of those pair of Ethers; looking to be half-lidded. It was efficient enough to blow the gaff that the strongest knew you were caught in his mojo that he swiftly decided to make sheep's eyes at you, relishing in your sudden daydream. Ten to one, he was licking one's lips over the recognition.

"You gonna' write that down or just stare at my face until you realize how you're giving me the adorable heart eyes?"

Adorable. Did you hear that right?

You've forcibly blinked out of your reverie, disregarding the trance under coercion because of how you were caught red handed by the man himself, not wanting to relish in his toffee-nosed ridicules because you knew this woolgathering that you've somehow been knocked out with had him entirely involved in it.

Damn him. Damn Satoru and his charisma. You've breathed out an alleviated sigh, noting the quivers of your fingers when you've began writing it down for him as you bit along the inner part of your lips, the heebie-jeebies straining your nerves down in a trembling mess.

Trapped in your own frets, stutters and stupor, It was improvident of you to be divvy enough that Gojo had been derisory outstaring over the tiniest reactions or expressions you've been giving. The latter weighing up over shrouded, kept thoughts that felt anomalous.

"Wait. Let me add something." He simply stated, innocuous how you'd astonishingly kept him sidetracked when it never happens at all. That was strange. Satoru purposefully pulled himself out of his own cogitation, abruptly grabbing onto your own pen and paper as he scribbled and drawn shapes to his own, leaving you to your own stammers and train of thoughts when you've mumbled and eventually realized that he was being covetous for the dessert you've separated for the others as well.

"I-I've made at least an extra 2 dozen set of these. Spare them at least a bunch."

"Nope! Nah-uh. Not a chance. It's not happening. Gojo gets the extra 2 dozen. Satoru gets the bunch." the latter shook his head and emphasized as he was busily scrawling whatever he wanted on a vest pocket piece of paper in comparison to his large hands.

The paper were thrown pell-mell towards you, tossing them back whilst he clicked the pen and aimlessly twirled them around his fingers. His undivided attention shifting back to you when you've confoundedly responded with a tight crease between your brows, scrutinizing the paper on your hands.

"The heck is this?"

A sublime sketch of a circle and a furtive set of Japanese alphabets---that were downright incomprehensible for you---were drawn below your note. The illustration aligned in bullet form to keep it in one piece and not acquire another set of an extra sticky note.  Back in your dimension, these discoid depiction was a toy back in the 90's. For the children, this was best believed to be a kind of plaything which had a wide selection of colors ranging from red, yellow, blue and a whole lotta' more. This type of toy had its own premise by the minors that it reproduces on its own whenever it lived in water. However, if Google was to be used as a form of reference, this trinket was called Orbeez Balls. They were small, absorbent polymer beads made of acrylic acid, sodium hydroxide, and water.

Was Satoru threatening the person who would eat his special homemade Mochi ice cream by throwing Orbeez Balls on their faces?

"Cursed Technique Reversal: Red." His offhand way of elucidating to your confusion had you quizzically tilting your head to the side, your face warped in skepticism and oddity for whatever he was saying as you couldn't decipher a single thing over what he had planned for the victim whom would fall for his ruse.

"You gonna' throw them some Orbeez balls or something?"

Orbeez balls. Gojo knew what it was---finally, a reference that certainly came from your dimension in which he commended himself for, he knew he deserved a loud applause for it as the footnote tickled a snicker out of him. He'd pointed at the second bullet, describing you what the Japanese alphabet and drawings meant so you weren't lost in translation, "That's Hollow Technique: Purple. The white one will probably have some hand-to-hand combat with me,"

You were holding your horses. The furrows along your eyebrows deepening further from his explanation. He'd patiently waited for anything---any damned memory to flash before your eyes. To no avail, you still had no idea over the entirety of his abilities especially when you've persistently claimed how you've thought that he was relating his techniques over a childish toy.

"I understand the hand-to-hand combat. But, these circles...You probably actually meant to say, Orbeez balls?"

Gojo Satoru leaned closer, eyeing you over his sunglasses as the proximity had been much of a bother that it has given you a knee-jerk reaction of helplessly stumbling back in the slightest. That habit of his was extremely unacceptable for your fluttering heart.

"It's not what you're actually pertaining to."

In a matter of seconds, Satoru had even raised a finger as if he was trying to shush you from your jejune theories for an ability that everyone had wanted to evade him for. He wasn't aware of how your palms begin to sweat when he was starting to come to terms that your presence and sheathlike space between you both was rather homely---an incongruous comfort that he shut one's eye to.

His burly fingers was bound to touch your lip if you hadn't reveled in the impulsive rush of your nerves. Satoru was in between his train of thoughts when you've interrupted him due to the sudden rash decisions you've taken. It went as far as to goading his countable mochi ice cream that were left.

"Don't you worry! You wouldn't want me explaining it anyways. You're probably going to have a headache---Oi! They're mine! Don't touch them! Put that back!"

Gojo squinted his heavenly eyes behind his sunglasses, cautious for the minimal strength he was exerting whilst he ceased you halfway from popping the sweetmeat in your mouth. The latter had caught sight over the polarity of your hand sizes when he'd swiftly caught your wrist.

How impulsive can you be around Gojo Satoru?

"B-But, I MADE THESE! ME! I DID! I deserve a piece! Come on! Just one piece!" You've struggled here and there. A push and pull---well, it was rather a stoppage of your deliberate schemes. The goal was as pointless as a cat trying to walk on the opposite side of an escalator. The amount of strength you were using to stuff down your own cooking had been brimful already and Satoru wasn't even budging even in the slightest.

"And I'm paying everything for your shopping spree, Tiny-Chan!"

From his surprising proclamation over such---his sudden honesty that deserved a flip of your hair---you've taken an upbeat, dramatic pause. The ends of your lips churning in an assertive smile. The mental images running inside your head had been a twerking mess who was probably hitting the damned 'woah' for the notable achievement.

Your sweetmeat has been utmost noteworthy and impressive enough to have Satoru hushed and grinning to the sides because of the comical expression on your face when you began responding to his declaration.

"Oh." you impassively stated, sighing a loud one in relief as you quirked a poised brow back at him, clearing your throat to also calm the smites playing with your heart strings when you've heard Satoru expressing his wonted chortles that always leaves you lightheaded.

"These are all yours then, Satoru! Say ah!~"

Before the ink is dry on the page, you've raised the mushy mochi ice cream to his grinning mouth, catching him off-guard and anticipating this warm gesture a lot less because you had been quite uncomfortable to his presence since that moment he allowed you to see what hid behind his mask. You've offered the piece with an amiable smile---a lot too benign for Satoru's fancies of your rejoinders, the saccharine intonation of your voice over how you were trying to feed him your sweet-dish, caught him mentally stumbling over his own footing when he was hardly known for it to happen.

It was probably not the greatest idea to peer before you over his abnormally tinted Stygian sunglasses because he had distinguished everything as if you were cynosure to his six-eyes.

Through everything, Satoru meant every single execrated thing that had been bittersweet on the tips of his tongue. From the slapdash tousling of your hair which seemed to be from the constant swiping of sweat along your forehead due to his thick uniform; the supple muscles along the apple of your cheeks that has tenderly given him the eye-crinkles all the while and till the crumbs of gluttonous Japanese rice flour smudged along your forehead because of how you've pull out all the stops upon concocting a sweet-dish that Satoru bribed you with.

His six-eyes was obviously screwing him for this one as he casted the perception aside, masking his own toothy grin before he'd felt the disruptive iffy of weird fickleness consume him again---one that was not meant to be felt nor should be---as he'd consumed the mochi piece that hung along your fingers with his mouth at a gallop.

Straightaway, the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer pulled his own chair as if he had been singed, tugging you along the overlapping sleeves of his own uniform, benevolently dragging you out of the kitchen with him as you've loudly exclaimed another round of your bleats from how the dishes weren't even done cleaning yet.

The birth of Gojo Satoru was meant to alter the balance of their world. Perhaps, your existence that was considered outrè for all---lived to actually ameliorate his own.

All this constant feeding from them both...*Rolls around while I cry myself to sleep* TINY-CHAN YOU LUCKY BISH---🤬😭🤬😭 Also, this chapter made me hungry af.

SHOPPING SPREE WITH SATORU THO 😭 *CRIES MORE* I can feel y'all mentally screaming 'Sugar Daddy' inside your heads--- Hope y'all enjoyed this long chapter! FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! HEEHEE!

[authortobenamedlater]

Having finally just watched all of the latest episode after falling asleep halfway through last night…

ACTION. FINALLY. I was starting to wonder if the legendary Master Chief could do anything besides feel. Yes I’m being a little hyperbolic. But finally getting to see the Spartans in combat and what they’re capable of was a treat. And the sequence is good. So good. Gah, I love the visuals on this show.

Tangentially related, as a longtime admirer of Master Chief’s trigger discipline, mmmmm the weapons handling on this show. I realize just about nobody else cares, but I always appreciate when characters who supposedly handle firearms for a living look like they have some clue what they’re doing.

(For the curious, Mr used to have a Halo wallpaper on his laptop and that’s where I first observed Chief’s impeccable trigger discipline)

Halsey cares enough about Miranda to drag her out of gunfire but not enough to relate to her as her mother, evidently.

You don’t call a petty officer “sir.”

Keyes seems to be the only one of the brass who cares about Chief on a personal level and doesn’t just see him as an asset. Also, he’s joining the long line of people who are tired of Halsey’s games.

Cortana shutting Chief down midair. I get it was good visually, but way for him to crack his skull or something on the landing.

Speaking of, how did he not know she could shut him down? Didn’t she do it once to try to access the keystone?

And poor Cortana. Seriously. John is (justifiably) mad at All The Things and she’s really the only one he can snap at with impunity, but geez dude. I say this as if I didn’t write an entire fanfic that is basically him grouching at her.

I want Soren to take Kwan to the school of hard knocks and become the reluctant rebel leader. Also, has he called his wife and kid since he left the Rubble? Cause I guarantee his wife is ready to murder him herself by now if not.

I continue to enjoy Kai’s sheer joy at her new emotions vs John’s discomfort and trying to ignore his. Except for in the heat of battle. And his whole “you’re distracted” line to her and then he loses the artifact because he went after her on the field…self-awareness seems to be lacking a bit.

“I know how to play the game” heehee dad-joke level tongue-in-cheek “the show is based on a game” reference that only weirdos like me find funny.

I am so going to relish John and Cortana having a huge fight, realizing they’re both pawns in Halsey’s scheme, and Halsey getting John’s pure unadulterated fury and Cortana not standing in his way this time.

[badass-at-fandoming]

Just Little Malkavian Things ~

Malkavians these days can do nothing but de-conceptualize, Dement, eat hot chip, and lie.

Since people seemed to enjoy the #JustLittleVentrueThings VTMB adventure, here's a matching Malkavian one. Though I'm gonna be real with ya here, I had less fun D:

I finally figured out why I have such trouble wrapping my head around depictions of Malkavians in VTM media. Books, Storytellers, and fans say it's like having a mental illness and being linked to a massive group chat. But, listen, I've lived around and with mental illness all my life. I've been in massive group chats. Being Malkavian ain't like that.

It IS like being an early-twenties English major in the midst of an existential crisis, over-worked and cross-faded outta your skull and watching horror movies to Cope(TM)

So it's like drugs. It's like you had too much weed and too much wine and are let loose on Los Angeles. Which. My friends and I have and we, coincidentally, also "fought" a stop sign. The Malkavian PC never really seemed like a character to me: she's like a collection of cliches and dude-bros doing blunts while watching slasher movies. I named her Liotta after the Psychic Shop owner, and I'm sad Liotta didn't really get to be a person.

I wasn't surprised by any of the dialog. It's a pattern. Alliteration, allusion, animal joke. Alliteration, allusion, animal joke. It lost its charm.

Often, I didn't know what the FUCK I was saying. Which is the Malkavian Experience(TM), according to Rosa.

Anyway

Nonsense time

Most characters have an extra paragraph of dialog to Acknowledge That You Are A Malkavian. Some get an extra conversation branch. For example, there's lots of new Bertie dialog and he was all impressed Liotta knows about Gehenna and Thin-bloods <3. The Anarchs characters, especially Skelter, get a lot more. Skelter, Ash, and Liotta totally vibe.

If you sneak around the Santa Monica drug house, they talk about Mercurio?? Hello?? Mercurio, you bent Masquerade by not getting beat up real good.

Zero pretense about Voerman. Yes, I have DID; yes, I am making it your problem.

When Liotta talked to Beckett, he said the DID was "something to look forward to." Goddamnit, Beckett. That's not how the Bane or mental illness works! >:-(

I've never sneaked before!!! Did you know that the Tong AND the American gang downtown have fakes in their suitcases??? Like, Full On, "it's just stuffed with newspapers, brah." They were going to kill each other over newspapers. For some reason the Tong brought the REAL suitcase along too, but I'm so past having VTM make any sort of sense. It's fine.

Accidentally pissed off Nines. I meant farmer (affectionate) and Nines thought I meant farmer (derogatory). :(

The Dementation powers are (a) pretty purple loop-de-loops, (b) not as effective as Dominate (reaaaallyyy missed a good AOE attack), and (c) oddly enough, gave more compassionate dialog choices. I mean. In the pen-and-paper version, Dementation isn't conflict-focused, so the devs had to jigger it to use as attacks. But I was touched when Liotta made Hannah believe she was Paul, so Hannah got to say goodbye. Making Samantha believe Liotta was a pet turtle was funny and spared her the pain of her friend vanishing a second time. Heather thinks her entire experience was a dream and returns to her life, more or less unscathed.

Boris?? Asked Liotta to kill Venus for him???? DUDE, WHAT. I didn't know he could counter-offer!! What happens if you take up his offer? Who controls Confession? Does it close down??

Pro Tip: don't trust the pale woman in a cowboy stripper outfit who comes out of your vent and tells you everything's fine.

I went through an ENTIRE Ventrue playthrough without puking and Liotta ate one (1) unhoused person and blew chunks. I didn't realize Diseased Blood was a threat. What happens if you skip the Plague-bearer quest? Should you just never chomp on the Downtown unhoused community?

Strauss called Liotta "young one" and I was like, sir. You're not Beckett, you can't trick me.

A rat dances in the Downtown sewers and tells Liotta that the grass is greener in someone else's asshole.

And also will take you places.

Do you know what it's like for a Capri Sun to suddenly start speaking and offer taxi services.

LaCroix: how did Bach find me??? also LaCroix: [names his company after himself] [lives in Ventrue Tower]

Liotta told Beckett that Kindred are a joke and I got extra EXP for being so sneaky.

DMP produced snuff films even before Andrei???!!!! I thought all the blood was from the lil geo-dudes.

Liotta agreed with Andrei that Caine is here and boot-scooting around in his lil Angst Mobile. :D

As bad as Liotta was in group fights, she repeatedly made bosses cower and stand quietly while she beat them to death. Andrei had a full on lay-on-the-floor temper tantrum in his war form and Liotta just. Smacked him until he exploded. She didn't even take damage!

Imalia's computer password is ALSO "cleopatra." Just like Tawni's! Dual reference to the Embrace type

IDK why I never asked this before, but, um, who does Mitnick share the bunk bed with? Barabus..?

I went back to the Empire Hotel Penthouse suite to fetch the educational book and the Russian mob dudes were still there?? Hello, sirs, your leader is dead. You can leave now.

Liotta heard the real thoughts of the Red Dragon hostess...and also some debate about the Dark Father's presence in LA, heehee.

I thought it was fun that one of the "take me away, Cabbie!" taxi replies mentioned riding in a car like father and child. :D

"Why is the Mandarin giggling at me" is a sentence that came out of my face.

With the different dialog options, sometimes it's impossible to be polite to NPCs. For example: Liotta could only call VV "dolly/doll/toy doll" instead of her preferred names; the Chinatown gun seller felt frightened, thinking we were Police or Immigration.

Some great fourth wall breaks in the dialog: "I don't want to get involved either, but tell that to whoever is playing me!" to Beckett after the Giovanni Mansion.

"You can't spell success without whatever the hell my name is."

"If I cannot win with effort, I will cheat my way to victory. I am gone." Funnily enough, this was my first run where I didn't hack in to boost stats.

"I just want it to end. I feel like I've been playing forever."

Some nice wider lore references: "I devour knowledge like the great worm devours the corpse of society" could refer to how Salout, in tapeworm form, is devouring Tremere's body and destabilizing the Clan and/or Kindred night society.

"They should have a channel devoted to you in my head" to Beckett. In his Diary, Beckett witnesses Malkavians devouring Malkav and may or may not join the Cobweb (PS check out this great fanfic where he does).

This made me stare into space for a minute and question my life choices. During the Sabbat massacre, Liotta didn't snack on any of the blood doll ghouls (ya know, the ones with the eyes gouged out). She had such high Inspection + Finance that she had $4k in her wallet and could buy blood. I wanted to test a rumor that if you don't feed on the blood dolls, you get extra EXP. You do. BUT anywAY, right before the Tremere miniboss, Liotta was sword-fighting some goons and the blood doll...attacked him for her? Like. He moved on his own. When the goon was dead, the blood doll asked if Liotta was all right. This might have been a glitch but...the horrific implications that those men are still conscious, still willful, still feeling. ACK. I hope they got out the next morning.

RIP Ming Xiao. Flamethrower right to the tiddies.

I stole @ryttu3k's idea and noclipped through the werewolf section. Liotta still killed the Garou, but I didn't want the stress.

Caine is very Caine. "Don't you get it? We've already been judged!"

Liotta went Anarch because what little backstory I came up for her was she considered Smiling Jack her sire. Nines complimented her ability to murder.

Sheriff got sooooo dizzy that he fell over right onto Liotta's sword 27 times.

Dancing werewolf ending! Seemed fitting. :D

[theogony]

Hey, Hey, Hey! (did you get it?)

So how was your day? I hope it was pleasant! Okay, so yes, I watched Demon slayer and Bungou Stray dogs! I am in love with Dazai☺ and I am undecided about Demon slayer. Who is your fav characters in these anime? And no I haven't watched Code geass😕 Okay, so now to my question~~~ Do you read reader insert fanfics? If so do you prefer reading gender neutral/female reader/male reader fanfics? Okay so on the list so far of anime you watched and I am familiar with are: Demon Slayer, Bungou Stray dogs, Attack on titan. Please, in your response add more anime that come to mind! ☺

yours truly your animanga secret santa!

agaashi? a haikyuu reference i see~ fun fact I greet most my friends like that great minds think alike really <333

but haha thank you!! my day was fine <3 and ah yes, a man // enby // woman of culture as well (for bsd lol). As you can see, I am suffering heavily from season 4 announcement brainrot (evidently the stars aligned for both of us heehee)

to answer your first question - my favourite character in bsd is probably fyodor and nikolai and sigma? that entire trio of the decay of angels is personally very intriguing to me ! hmm..in aot, i'd say pieck (mild s4 spoilers?? oops) !! I've not watched a lot // read ahead in the manga a lot so we'll see aha...if not her then hange my enby monarch <3 and levi lmao - for demon slayer - now this is slightly though aha - my favourite character is probably shinobu?? inosuke and nezuko are so close though-

ahh and your second question - I've personally never read y/n fanfic, i personally find the style a bit alienating?? also because majority of reader insert fanfics are romantic, and female pov?? and..straight/nm - I'm neither <3 - while gender is something. definitely i tend towards gender neutral pronouns and i'm (pretty sure) aro ace, so i don't really like romantic fanfics or anything. I love to read about others in relationships though - and I'm willing to try x reader fanfic! <3

eh...more anime ?? I think even I'm starting to run dry oops/lh

hmm..maybe haikyuu!! and saiki k?? i can't think of anymore...jjk?? or mob psycho 100!! and does chainsaw man count >.<

[regrettablewritings]

Arthur Curry x Shy!Reader HC

A/N: Uhh... Heehee...Hi. I’m not gonna pussyfoot, this thing is way overdue. But for anyone who vaguely remembers, I had an anniversary fanfic raffle thingy back in January and ... yeah this is the result. Many, much, and eternal kudos to @this-red-in-my-ledger for their infinite patience with me and my perfectionist brain, tendency to overthink, weird motivation schedules, and school and work schedule, etc. Words cannot express how flustered I am at how late this is. I hope its length proves to be able to compensate at least 5% of what you’d hoped for. ...Though if it’s too long (and it most definitely is), please regard me as a fool who never learns. Once again, thank you so much for your patience, you are an absolute doll!!!

Despite being a man mostly shrouded in mystery, Arthur Curry was not exactly what some may refer to as “demure.” Aloof, maybe. Cynical, definitely. Reluctant to interact with others without an arguable consequence, most assured. But absolutely none of this is out of shyness. In fact, it’d probably an actual fact to claim that Arthur had nary a shy molecule in his entire being.

A man of his size and appearance could never afford the characteristic of being shy, not ever. But a man of his background had insecurities to spare. Specifically, those stemming from a sense that he didn’t quite belong with either world he had been linked to the moment his human father managed to conceive a child with an Atlantean queen.

Making matters worse is the unspoken sense of duty he has towards either realm, with assuring that both remain as safe as possible from both one another and outsiders sticking their noses where they ought not to.

This lack of belonging gave way to a rebellious attitude, one that led the man to apparently decide that if he wasn’t going to be provided an allegiance to begin with, as most people do, then he wouldn’t accept any unless he gave them the okay. It was just better this way: To push away than to pull or be pulled in. It was very liberating, having that sort of control over his own circumstances . . . Or so Arthur professed.

Nevertheless, Arthur took advantage of the devil-may-care reputation (or perhaps lack thereof, given his inability to stick to one place for too long). He owned that sense of disconnect and renamed it freedom. And he would own that freedom: He would take what he wanted within reason, party up if the circumstances were right, and leave with the tide.

. . . And then there was you.

You were also on the more closed off side, but for very different reasons. You didn’t have the same insecurities brought on by a lack of fitting in as Arthur had: You were just flat out shy.

However, you were nothing if not also dutiful and hard-working. That was what made you ideal in the eyes of one Lucius Fox, whose trust in you was enough for him to recommend you to Bruce Wayne’s services as his more publicized assistant. Though, in your own self-deprecating words, you were more like a glorified babysitter of sorts: When Alfred couldn’t accompany Bruce for certain travels, you came in handy to assure that there was always some form of backup.

(“He would attempt to survive off a diet of alcohol and perhaps occasionally a steak if he could,” Alfred scoffed once. “Maybe chased with only two hours’ worth of sleep, perhaps.”)

With Bruce’s newfound interest in finding the metahumans featured in Lex’s files, your presence was needed now more than ever

You admittedly had your hesitancies and were more than allowed to voice them but at this point, you knew it was mostly hopeless: You hadn’t been with Bruce for too, too long, but you had at least known him long enough to know that once his mind was made, it would take the combined force of a Kryptonian and Amazonian to actually move it.

And so here you were, out in an isolated village in Iceland, the wind slapping your face sore while your ass pained from riding on a pony across the rugged terrain. Your loyalty knew some bounds; unfortunately, these weren’t quite the bounds that would send your loyalties running. (Plus, the job paid well.)

It was this follow-you-to-the-ends-of-my-loyalty mindset that made you follow Bruce down, down, down into what you surmised might have served as the village’s gathering hall. All eyes were on you and Bruce, of course, as the two of you were outsiders in a hamlet that couldn’t have had a population expanding beyond perhaps seventy – and that was you being generous.

You were really hoping that some of that generosity would be extended to you, though: Their eyes bore into you with mixtures of curiosity and suspicion. You didn’t blame them for it, but it certainly did nothing for you dislike of having so much attention casted upon you.

You felt almost ashamed as you stuck to Bruce as a duckling does to whatever they’ve imprinted upon. You only let up once a decent enough crowd had gathered, and Bruce attempted to speak with the denizens about the metahuman he’d come to potentially acquire the assistance of.

And that was how you first laid eyes on Arthur Curry. Not that you had much of a choice: He was taller than even Bruce for one thing. And if that weren’t enough, his naturally-tanned skin and glorious dark-and-sandy locks surely stood out against the small sea of pale faces topped with mostly blond hair.

It also didn’t hurt the situation (or your eyes) that that this man was certainly quite attractive even at a distance. Ruggedly handsome, but not in the same way some might consider your employer.

This man had a look about him that said he could easily swig Jack in one hand and swing fists in the other without breaking a sweat. (However, if his body was anything like you imagined it must be beneath that clumpy sweater and dingy coat, you wouldn’t have minded seeing a little perspiration on him.)

These features proved to be key in your determining that this striking man differed from the rest.

Unfortunately, so could your boss. This, along with his smart mouth, let to the long-haired beauty of a man promptly grabbing your boss by the collar and slamming him into a wall, an aura of primal aggression radiating from him all the way to the back of the room where you stood.

 In short, your first introduction to Arthur Curry was far less than ideal. You were downright intimidated by this man more than you already were by default of your own timid nature. When the two men left the hall to discuss the matter, you made sure to keep your distance. You knew Bruce could more than take care of himself alone, but you couldn’t trust this new guy for jack shit after that scuffle.

“That your assistant?” Arthur questioned, glancing back at you. Your distance did nothing to hide your tensing at his sudden regard. Bruce sighed, exasperation coating the visible puff of air. “…Yes,” he responded gruffly. Arthur nodded with approval. “Nice…” he murmured before looking back at Bruce. “She single?” Bruce’s eyes narrowed with exasperation as they rolled in their sockets. He wasn’t sure which annoyed him more: That Arthur was clearly trying to remain off topic, or that he was doing so by using you (and with such a lackadaisical manner, no less). “Can we please focus on the matter?”

Yes, but to less than ideal results.

You stood there, gobsmacked as you watched the tan man begin to strip down. At first, your thoughts encircled around the insanity of it all: You were in the ice-blistering realm of Scandinavia during a particularly freezing bout, this lunatic was about to catch a death of cold!

As you were beginning to question further Bruce’s credibility for attempting to recruit such an idiot, however, Arthur removed his shirt – and your tune was peeled away along with it.

With the way you felt your cheeks burning, you no longer noticed the biting cold. His body was far more than what you’d initially imagined it to be. But perhaps more startling than his finely-cut physique were his eyes: Like the ghosts of sunken ships, illuminated by the sheer will to survive. You’d never seen anything like them, and you highly doubt you ever would again.

They flickered in your direction once more, for a split second, before returning to Bruce. “You’re out of your mind, Bruce Wayne,” Arthur ridiculed, and his sights went back to you. You felt your heart leap ever so slightly as you watched him aim a nod at your person. He then flipped back into the water before torpedoing elsewhere, away for your boss’s ludicrous proposal.

That would’ve been the last you’d have seen of Arthur Curry, had it not been for Steppenwolf’s less than pleasant surprise visit to Atlantis.

The next time you saw Arthur, he wasn’t nearly as undressed as the last time you’d seen him. You experienced a very short-lived flicker of disappointment, overthrown by the concern with the reason as to why he’d even taken up the previously rejected offer of joining the team.

Also . . . Whatever he was wearing did look quite impressive on him. Almost draconian, yet doubtlessly born in the sea. Much like the man himself.

And, once again, Arthur was quite aware of your stares at him whenever you entered the area. When you came to the Batcave to serve Bruce and “his new friends” drinks or to bring down any equipment as requested by Alfred, you would always somehow manage to spar Arthur a glance.

Unfortunately, not much was exchanged beyond a simple “thank you” or “excuse me.” Even on Arthur’s end, he could barely get a flirtation in before he’d be ushered elsewhere or snapped at about losing focus by your employer. And you? Expecting your coyness to be put aside for one second just to speak to somebody of his stature was an order taller than the man himself. (Plus there was the whole “he’s only here because Steppenwolf got the Mother Boxes and was preparing to bring about the Earth’s reckoning” but, you know, what can you do?)

Which was a shame: From what you were able to conclude from what few and often distant interactions you’d had or were able to observe, Arthur wasn’t as bad of a guy as he’d made himself out to be back in Iceland.

Back in the village, he was cold and gruff, exuding an air that said he was constantly ready to knock somebody’s teeth in over the smallest slight no matter how unintentional. But here? More laidback, still somewhat intimidating, but in the same way as a fellow who hung out at the local tattoo parlor and made small talk with the artists and customers but otherwise caused no real trouble.

Plus, his wiseass comments toward Bruce even managed to crack a smile out of you – something which he made note of and couldn’t help but muster pride from.

All things considered, the pleasant relief that he wasn’t as bad as you’d thought managed to relax the nerves you’d accumulated since you first laid eyes on him. It almost made you forget that you were on the verge of the end of the world. Almost.

Things were being received surprisingly well on Arthur’s end, also.

While you admittedly weren’t the type he usually found himself drawn to (which must be noted was essentially closer to a female version of himself), your more introverted nature still had its charms.

For what it was worth, he initially read your timid nature as one of a “stone-cold bitch” in the most respectful sense: The image of the aloof, perpetually unimpressed career woman who took no shit from her male coworkers (or, in this case, employers), and who always had an acerbic comment waiting to drip off her tongue if pushed beyond a limit she had personally set. Basically, his expectation of you in your “natural habitat” had been formulated through what he’d seen on TV or in movies.

Regardless of whether you truly did have anything to snap with, however, this proved to not be case exactly.

He quickly noticed that your quiet, withdrawn attitude wasn’t one of disinterest as he assumed anyone working for the likes of Bruce Wayne would be in possession of. In fact, on the contrary, you seemed quite interested in the matters at hand. He could see it in the little things: The ways you might lean in somewhat whenever Bruce brought up a diagram or whenever Victor brought forward new information; the occasion where you would tap Bruce’s shoulder, prompting him to lean towards you so that you might show him whatever it was you had pulled up on a tablet that might service the cause; that glimmer in your eyes that Arthur had managed to catch sight of during the very, very few moments he was just close enough and you simultaneously dared to look up at him.

The first time he’d seen it, he thought it might have been a fluke or the trick of lighting. Maybe he’d mistaken it for a desperation to leave, call the rest of the night off, and spend what may be your last night of existence binging Netflix and pizza at home.

But the second time he’d caught it, Arthur knew what he saw: Dedication, a yearning to be a part of this to a bigger extent than what you already were. But on that note . . .

He did also capture some nerves in your glances: Ones that, in spite of your eagerness to help, also seemed to want you to hide behind a one-way mirror and pitch in without the possibility of sounding clueless or out of line. In short: You weren’t this stone-cold bitch who would, without hesitation, necessarily break a man’s balls beneath her heels – you were just a bashful ball of nerves, and not in the nervy sense of being emboldened enough to look him dead in the eyes!

Not at all the type he usually found himself looking at. In fact, it was the brash, almost bullyish part of him that was beginning to coax him into teasing you a little bit, maybe riling you up.

And yet . . . He liked for someone of such an introverted manner, you seemed to have a lot more going on than what he’d initially thought. Almost like an oyster, if he could be pardoned for the clumsy comparison.

After witnessing the smiles you would occasionally share with Diana, the ever-present, underlying flame of determination that flickered as you helped to prepare the team for what was to come . . . Arthur Curry couldn’t help but wonder what more there was to you. What lay deep in your depths, beneath the seemingly one-note surface?

Plus, let’s be real: he had totally been checking out your ass every chance he got. The weather-proof gear he’d seen you in back in Iceland did absolutely no justice to your figure. He was quite pleased with what lay beneath all those goose down wears.

As you watched the team depart for Russia, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop into a low, dirty pit. There was no guarantee that anything would work into anyone’s favor, but you forced yourself to keep a calm countenance as you followed Alfred back into the labs. There was no use in worrying; all you could do was hope for the best. In the meantime, it would do some good to help monitor Bruce’s mechanisms.

Still, you found yourself considering the weight in your stomach, that sickening twist that twanged almost nauseatingly when you regarded what its source was: The regret of not having actually spoken more extensively with Arthur.

You found it weird that you were feeling so much over someone you’d barely met. Sure, the version of him that had been here not even a full hour earlier was a complete upgrade from the one you’d met less than a week ago. But still, it seemed odd of you to put that much weight in not having talked with the nearly complete stranger.

“Well,” a voice in your head thought, “isn’t that more reason to have gotten to know him better?”

You blinked at the intrusive thought.

You were unable to stop your thought process from forming its next declaration: “If they survive this, I’m going to overcome this shyness and actually freaking attempt to talk more with Arthur Curry.”

Meanwhile, on the Flying Fox, Arthur Curry was glowering: Diana had left that stupid lasso laying all will-nilly, and he’d been its unfortunate victim. At this point, he’d made an ass of himself by light-way insulting all the males onboard, flirting with its one member of the fairer sex, and then going back to Bruce to say, “ – and you know what? I don’t wanna die! I’m young, there’s shit that I wanna do – like Bruce’s hot assistant.” Bruce’s eyes hardened, befuddled at the crudeness. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. “Don’t gimme that look, I know you’ve seen her. Look, man, if I survive this, I’m asking her out, sorry that you missed your shot but – ”

By the time he’d realized the extent of what he’d said, the damage had been done. He scowled as he tossed the Amazon the Lasso of Hestia and threatened Barry to keep his silence of the series of revelations before storming off, face burning. He trusted the other three members to hold some semblance of maturity on the matter and never bring any aspects of it back up.

He’d put too much faith into the one who was the most mature of them all.

“I look forward to you keeping your promise,” Diana smiled, almost tauntingly.

Arthur Curry sat onboard the flying transport. Against all odds, they had won, and now they were en route to Gotham, where he’d left his more comfortable clothes, where a nice, hot shower was, where a place to crash (courtesy of Bruce’s hotel connections) was, and where –

His pale eyes widened in spite of their owner’s exhaustion. Shit. Shit.

Gotham was also where you were: single, shy, giving off no hints as to whether you were ready to mingle, much less with the likes of him.

Your heart was beating so fast, you thought you were about to vomit it up. Sure, you’d told yourself you were going to attempt to talk with Arthur if he got back. But if you were being honest, you were sort of hoping it’d be after a buffer of time where he would be recuperating from the battle and you would be prepping yourself to actually speak with the rugged man. That, and you were really thrown off by the fact that not ten minutes after he’d gotten off the Flying Fox, he had marched straight up to you. He hadn’t even changed out of his war gear, arguably adding to his threatening appearance.

And yet, everything he said and the manner with which he said them seemed to work against his daunting form.

“I uh…I honestly didn’t think this would wind up happening. To be honest,” he coughed, hand scratching at the back of his wavy locks. He was even less like the man you’d met in Scandinavia than before.

“Uh . . . Listen.” He steadied his eyes on you, causing you to tense somewhat visibly. “I know we haven’t . . .” he lazily gestured his hand in a rolling motion “—talked. Formally, I mean. But I kinda made a promise sorta thing and . . . Okay, look, I think you’re really hot in a sorta sexy secretary kinda way but also I think it’s kinda cute that you always wanna help and all and sorry for being fresh but you’ve also got this real sweet caboose on ya and I just – ”

He froze. You weren’t sure if it was because you possibly had a rejecting expression (really, all you knew about your face right now was that it was blazing with blush and that your eyes were wider than usual), or if he’d considered the possibility that he’d gone too far with the blunt statement about your ass. However, as he glanced down and grimaced, you found your answer: There, wrapped around his lower thigh just enough for impact, was a shining lasso, the rest of which trailed away from the two of you. Its end was found, wrapped around the hands of one grinning Diana.

Well shit.

After forcing himself to calm down from the huffiness left from removing the lasso, Arthur cut to the chase: “So anyway, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to get a drink with me? Or something?” At that last bit, you could’ve sworn you could make out a very specific type of infliction. It was a very familiar one to you because it had been the same kind that plagued you your entire life: One of shyness.

Arthur noticed it as well and inwardly cringed. His alpha male persona? Ruined by the slip of a tone.

But for you? It was just what you needed to feel encouraged to look into those strange eyes of his and actually respond.

“Well…,” you began, if not a bit quiet and trembly (after all, you weren’t completely removed of your nerves), “I’m not sure if a bar is exactly the greatest first place to get to know one another.” You quickly added ad you watched his shoulders begin t slump, “Buuuuttt…maybe I could have a certain somebody pull a few strings; get us a nice place to ourselves?”

Two things then happened that pleased either party: Your eyes replicated that twinkle of interest that had him intrigued before; and he smiled a genuine smile. It was a very nice one, if you said so yourself.

Nobody honestly expected the relationship to go entirely too well, save for Diana. Arthur is brash and gung-ho and while the team now knows he’s capable of a softer side, his demands that they never bring it up again honestly make them hesitant to trust in his ability to show that part of himself to you.

Your shyness, coupled with your sensitivity, mean that he’s going to have to at least try and tone it down a bit; you’re at a 4 or 5 at best! – and he’s at an 11 when you need him closer to maybe a 7.

Bruce, against his initial intentions, sort of goes into Papa Wolf mode where he lightly threatens to mess Arthur up if he puts you out of your comfort zone

What can we say? Bruce has some paternal traits kicking around in him.

Still, he prepares himself for the worst when the day finally comes. To his surprise, however you don’t call him in hysterics, ranting about what a jackass his unrulier teammate is. You don’t call off the next day due to a rage-drinking-induced hangover, or even from one caused by you feeling pressured to keep taking shots.

Instead, you arrive at work practically glowing.

To everyone’s surprise, Arthur isn’t too bad of a boyfriend for you.

Okay, he’s actually just flat out not a bad boyfriend period.

His intense demeanor makes it so that nobody dares mess with you when you go for walks downtown; his sense of humor surprisingly tickles you, and he finds yours to be appealing in its own right. He knows you struggle with speaking to others, even if you need help, so he has no problem with stepping in and making sure that you get what you need and that nobody takes advantage of your demure mannerisms.

Plus, to everyone’s surprise (including his own), he likes talking with you. That interest in your unintentional enigma never went away: he wants to crack you open, see what pearls of intrigue lay within you that you don’t generally bring to surface for everyone. He feels honored to be the one with the most potential to see all of it.

(Though, to be brutally honest, he’s still going to tease you about certain aspects of yours. Maybe lightheartedly, but nevertheless with frequent vengeance. Calling him Fishcakes tends to get him to back off for a little bit, though.)

Unfortunately, due to his commitments (as a hero, as a ruler, etc), he can’t always be there. But he tries his damndest to make it up to you whenever he’s back in town.

Dates between the two of you are kinda compromised.

Arthur isn’t used to having a long-term relationship, so dates with actual meaning are a bit wobbly for him. Honestly, given his history, a “date” usually meant going to a bar, him and the girl he’s with getting hammered, and getting frisky.

Maybe they’d try it again another time, but nothing serious ever came of it because it was made from nothing serious.

Bars – at least the dives he’s used to – aren’t necessarily your scene, though. So he has to get a little creative.

He’s learned to swallow his insults aimed at museums and bookstores because if it means seeing you smile, then it ain’t all that bad, is it?

You’re still gonna buy him, like, three cheeseburgers after this, though, make no mistake.

Besides, picnics in the park have their pros: For one, it gives him an excuse to put his head in your lap and demand you scratch his scalp for a bit while he takes it easy,

The two of you don’t really go to the aquarium, though; it makes him feel a little anxious to see all these aquatic creatures contained.

Plus, he’s heard what some of them are thinking and it’s generally not good

He enjoys taking you to places with “good water.” As in “nowhere near the shithole that is Gotham or the arguably polished turd that is Metropolis.”

If you’re up to it, he’ll happily create a pocket of air for the two of you and speed the both of you to clearer ocean waters. (Don’t worry, he’ll hold you nice and tight, nothing to worry about.)

If this man can get a date with you at a beach, he’s one happy fellow. He’s totally in his element and is in the perfect environment where he can show off not only his body, but his abilities.

Even if you just want to keep it simple and build sandcastles or collect seashells, he’s going to find ways of showing off: He’ll manipulate the tide a smidge to keep it from coming in and ruining your hard work, or he’ll request his aquatic friends to make scooch some pretty shells or any available sea glass close enough to the shoreline that the tide will do the rest.

You may roll your eyes at this, but you do eventually thank him for it after every time. After all, you now possess a mighty fine bowl full of gorgeous shells and soft, rounded pieces of green glass because of his efforts.

He enjoys trying to find ways to get you to open up a bit more.

It’s not that he finds your shyness annoying or necessarily a hindrance, far from it: he enjoys that your modesty sort of creates a series of slides for him to try and pull back, creating layers upon layers of new things to learn and love about you.

But, as mentioned before, he can’t always be there: He doesn’t like the idea of you becoming too reliant on his boisterous behavior and getting taken advantage of during one of the instances where he isn’t present.

“M’kay, so you’re at a bar – ” “Lies, slander, libel, misinterpretation of character – ” “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re at the ice cream parlor – shut it, you had your chance – and some, I dunno, punk who frequents the sodie fountain comes up to you and starts causing you trouble. What do we do?” “Tell him to please leave me be, I’m trying to enjoy my sundae.” “Mhm, or?” “If he’s persistent, call management.” “Good, and what else?” “Well, jeez, Arthur, do you want me to break a milkshake glass on the counter and use it as a shiv!?” “Noooooo: You could always say, ‘Piss off or else my big, scary boyfriend’s gonna come and shove a piranha down your dick.’” “What the – I’m not saying that!” “Not now, you’re not, but by the end of our training, you’ll be saying all kinds of tough guy and gal things!”

It’s . . . a work in progress.

He loves it when you blush. Even if you have dark skin, he’s picked up on cues that hint that your face is on fire.

He’s more observant than he lets in on, but trust me: he knows how to read you after getting to know you. He can see that way you smile or that certain way your eyes may flicker or whatever may have you and instantly know that roses are blooming in your cheeks.

“Aaaawww, is Babygirl feelin’ sheepish?” “Shut up, you big fool.”

Now, when it comes to the more . . . physical side of the relationship, he struggles with taking it slow

Not to knock on you, but Arthur’s rather used to women throwing themselves at him. Hell, he’s had at least two women wrap their legs around his waist in the same evening he’d taken them out on their first (and often only) date.

It’s because he’s used to, well, bolder types of women.

Honestly, he struggles for a good while: He’s not going to force you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, not ever, but he’d be lying if he said it was easy to not think about smashing his lips against yours and pinning you to a wall (preferably around Bruce’s place) and mark you up with hickies and possibly other, more personal things.

However, this change of pacing in a relationship, coupled with the fact that this is his first long-term one, does the man good: It teaches him more patience and consideration.

He even begins to enjoy the softer, sweeter things that he’d previously scoffed at as being “too vanilla”, such as kisses to the forehead or hand-holding.

Still, he does get strong makeout hankerings. (If you appease him, he’s more than grateful every time.)

That being said, if and/or when you do start to feel a bit braver about venturing further into the realm of intimacy, you still may possess some insecurities.

You’re no fool – you know what sort of man you have on your hands. You don’t need to look to the sides or behind you when the two of you walk somewhere to know that he’s being checked out by at least three people. He’s practically a demigod species-wise, and still remarkably attractive from the viewpoint of him being a normal human.

Even though you try not to, you can’t help but let some worries slip through the cracks: Maybe you’re just an appetizer to hold him over until he lands his sights on a more “fulfilling” meal; maybe you’re too plain for him (you know that that’s what goes through the minds of many gawkers); maybe you should show more skin . . .

But worry not: Cliché as it may sound, Arthur very much likes you the way you are. If you’re comfortable with you, then he’s comfortable with you. In fact, it makes him admire you even harder because it shows you’ve managed to do something he still struggles with: Being comfortable with his own self.

He finds it very sexy when you think you look nice in an outfit or when you take even the tiniest step out of your comfort zone to try a new look or accessory, and will honestly struggle all the more with keeping his hands or lips to himself.

But once you give him the okay, he’s all over that: Hands squeezing that ass he loves so much, kisses below the neck, utterances of flirtations ranging from PG to downright dirty.

If you gather up the guts to move even further or just flat out hit a homerun, it becomes a guidebook in itself.

Protip: One of the sexiest things you can do? Simply where one of his shirts, which is oversized on you thanks to his massive height. It doesn’t have to be wet, but it sure isn’t a problem in his eyes.

Cuddles. The boy is a slut for cuddles no matter what he tells you. Arthur may not necessarily be touch-starved, but he’s definitely bankrupt on accumulated touches of affection. His loner attitude always made it difficult for him to receive that sort of thing, especially since nobody he went out with was ever in the picture for too long. So when it hits him that in this relationship, such a thing is not only possible but welcome, he can’t help but feel a well of excitement brewing within him.

You in his lap, you by his side, you with your head on his chest, traditional spooning, you with your head on his lap or vice-versa, him lying down with you on his back, him sitting on the floor between your legs or the opposite, his loves it all!

The problem is, he won’t even admit this to you. But he tries to be sneaky about getting what he wants.

“What’s the matter?” “Hm? Nothing.” “Really? You look sad; you need me to cuddle you?” “What? I mean, it’d be nice but I’m not really –” He sighs, as if exasperated, “Can’t be helped; c’mere.” You aren’t given much time to object as you find yourself being collected into his warm, muscular embrace.

Sometimes, however . . . he slips up. And by that, I mean he’ll “happen” to slip into bed or onto the couch next to you in a way that presents himself as the little spoon.

Actually, of all the ways he likes to cuddle, jetpacking may be his favorite. Unfortunately, unless you think enough about it, you’d probably not notice it until later in the relationship due to how rarely he lets it happen. But it makes perfect sense otherwise: He’s so used to everybody having expectations for him. He’s so used to feeling obligated to do all these things for worlds he doesn’t necessarily feel the strongest connection with. Going off of that, there was the life-long sense of not being completely bound to either existence, creating insecurities galore.

Sure, he’s started to take the steps in the right direction but it’s still very hard, especially since those steps are accompanied with the extra weight of him now being a member of something bigger: An appointed rule of Atlantis, a balance-keeper between the land and the sea, a member of an actual team . . .

You don’t need to be told that it’s frustrating. You truly do commend him for taking it as well as he is.

But obviously, it takes its toll on the guy more often than he’d let his teammates in on, so it often times falls on you to help him cope.

Interestingly, this honestly seems to be the most he lets you do. Or rather, the most that even needs to be done at all.

But the fact of the matter is, you’ve come to love this position as well.

Because it allows you to feel like the brave and strong one in the relationship, just like how you suspect Arthur must feel much of the time. The way Arthur constantly wants you to feel, not so that he doesn’t have to try as hard at being a boyfriend to a person so different from him, but because he wants the best for you and doesn’t want the world to hurt you or make you feel out of place for who you are. Of course, he doesn’t want you to change, but he does want you to recognize the inner-strength you have, the inner-strength he sometimes worries you forget about amidst your worries and own frustrations.

But for the meantime, this will do: With your big, brash aquatic boyfriend allowing himself to feel delicate, and your usually quiet and shy self, feeling brave and protective.

It surprisingly works, this weird little world the two of you have created together. You both find that you fit into it together quite perfectly.

[bi-hop]

Get To Know Your Local Fic Writer

So I’m bored and I wanna engage more with y’all so when I saw this on the blog of someone I admire, I was like ‘okay well why not’

it’s a little long though so I’ll put everything under the cut ;)

Fandoms I Write For: Mostly KNY!! Pokémon’s more common as well. every so often I’ll churn out something Completely Different. 

Where You Post Fic: on my Ao3!!!

Most Popular One-Shot: That’d have to be I Just Need Something To Get Me Through The Night. Why it’s so popular still kinda eludes me but I guess the fandom’s starved for bittersweet botched hasty proposal content

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: Yeah, it’s Kiss Kiss, Fall In Love! for sure... It also used to be my longest fic, but not any longer as of today! It’s my most popular fic, period. Is that warranted? Maybe?

Favorite Story You Wrote: Oh, definitely I Really Wanna Be With You! That one was very self-indulgent and I don’t think I felt overly stressed while writing it. Even though it wasn’t entirely accurate to canon in the end, it still makes me feel warm whenever I think about it.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Haha, all of them! It’s hard to muster up enthusiasm for my own works because I don’t think they’re very good. I get self-conscious pretty easily!! Posting my work only happens because people I trust ask me to do it.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: Depends. I use song lyrics when I’m out of options or can’t get a song out of my head. Kiss Kiss is a prime example of this. Others are deliberate; Lovestruck’s as much of a reference to romance as it is to being struck by lightning. And others are,,, completely off the cuff,,, Sparrow Rising was a ‘on my last legs and need to post this’ decision haha

Do You Outline: Yup! It’s very rare for me not to nowadays! I need outlines to remember what I want to do with my stories :v

How many of your fanworks are…

Complete: Ugh... 34...

In-Progress: 3 right now! That are posted, I mean... I’m extremely close to finishing Sparrow Rising for good. 5 more chapters to go!!!

Coming Soon: haha there’s too many for me to list y’all would kill me but in terms of big things 3 fics are coming out around April ;w;

Do You Accept Prompts: Not really! I accept commissions though heehee I will take prompts from very close friends but that’s about it for right now

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Level Up! It’s a CYOA piece that I’m very proud to test out once i finish outlining it ;w;

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: Just say I tagged you if you see this and wanna do it ;) wow that’s,,, that took a while. bye.