#He’s somewhere dying over the haircut

[rod00dles]

He approves.

[taegimood]

this is giving boynextdoor!beomgyu at a community dance/event where he saw you get stood up or walked out on at the venue, and he’s had this big secret crush on you, so when you’re in the bathroom trying to collect yourself and fix your makeup after crying — he went to the convenience store across the street in his suit and everything to buy you a bouquet of flowers to make you feel better, and now waits for you to come back out so he can properly ask you to the dance instead….

when you finally come out after 20 minutes, you stop short when you see gyu in his suit sitting on the floor against the opposite wall of the hallway, head leaning back against it with this big bouquet of flowers in his hands as he waits. the sweet, funny neighbor boy who’s probably less than your friend but definitely more than your acquaintance, who, when he sees you standing there, scrambles up off the floor and quickly straightens out his rumpled suit as he steps towards you.

gyu who holds these flowers out to you as he gently tells you to forget about that other guy because you’re worth so much more than that and deserve to be smiling tonight.

gyu whose nervous eyes try to gauge your reaction as you slowly step forward, tears welling in your eyes again but this time for a different reason, as you take in the boy standing in front of you.

gyu, whose bangs fall over his eyes — always ignoring his mother’s urges to get a haircut — as he asks you, sweetly, softly, to come and dance with him.

he holds you close the whole night, swaying you back and forth and cracking little jokes in your ear to make you laugh, hoping that you can’t hear the way his heart is just about beating out of his chest as you rest your head on it during a slow song. he makes you forget about the other guy completely, showing you the best time, letting you in to this side of him that you’ve never gotten to see before from your limited interactions.

you find yourself growing fonder and fonder as each hour passes. you blush every time he takes your hand to lead you back to the dance floor, you shiver every time he whispers in your ear, and when he gives you that crooked grin, you find yourself just wanting to steal him away and kiss him.

so that’s exactly what you do.

it becomes too much for you to resist when the current song ends and he smiles down at you, arms still wrapped around your waist as he jokes, “feet ready to fall off yet?” and all you can focus on is how close his lips are to yours as you look up at him.

“beomgyu,” you whisper instead. he looks puzzled at the sudden seriousness in your tone, although quickly catches on when he sees the way your eyes are shamelessly not on his anymore but lower, and his whole body tingles when you lean up to his ear and continue, “let’s go somewhere else.”

your hand clasped in his as the two of you hurry from the main room and past hallways of scattered guests, giggling and out of breath as you come to a stop around the corner of a hall where finally no one is walking by — the music still humming faintly in your ears as you stare at each other, your back against the wall as his eyes search yours, the giggles dying down as the mood shifts with the realization of being alone.

“i like you,” he says plainly.

“i know,” you say back.

the playful scrunch of his nose as he steps closer has you biting your lip to fight a smile.

“you like me too.”

“i know,” you say again, but this time it’s a whisper, it’s permission, as your eyes stay locked with his and your hands reach up to hold onto his suit jacket while his lips hover so close over yours that you can feel the promising warmth of his breath.

several intense beats pass before those lips are finally meeting your own, soft and warm and tasting of the spiked punch you were drinking earlier, and as he kisses you he makes it feel like you’re the only one that matters in the world right now.

the way he cups your face with one hand, the other squeezing at your waist as he presses into you, and you pull him impossibly closer by his jacket until there’s no space left between you and you’re circling your arms around his neck instead. you moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, your fingers tugging through his shaggy hair, the temperature rising as he sucks lightly on your tongue with hands that begin to wander.

you gasp when he grips your thigh and hikes your leg up around his waist; the feeling of something hard pressing directly against your core beneath your ridden-up dress sends tingles shooting through your entire body.

“is this okay?” he pants against your lips as he experimentally grinds his hips into yours. “mhm~” you whine as you kiss him, almost desperately, moving your own hips to meet his steady rhythm as the both of you fight to hold back your moans, the sounds of voices down the hall reminding you where you are.

“this isn’t how i imagined this night to go,” he says breathlessly as you begin kissing down his neck.

“i almost didn’t come, didn’t wanna see you with him...” — he gives a punctuated roll of his hips — “was so mad at myself for- shit, that feels good- for not asking you first.”

you pause your ministrations, admiring the pretty red mark you had just sucked into his soft skin, before lifting your eyes to meet his.

“and now?” you ask, biting back a smile.

“now? well… is now a bad time to ask you to be my girlfriend?”

you laugh, letting your leg finally come back down to meet the floor as you lean up to cup his face in your hands and kiss him, his own smile sweet against your lips as he holds you.

any guy willing to go buy you flowers and turn your night around like this was decidedly worth it.

“sure, neighbor boy. i’ll be your girlfriend.”

after more jokes and giggles and straightening out each other’s clothes, you’re meandering your way back to the party when he leans down and whispers,

“does this mean i can come climb up to your window and sneak in to have sex like those early 2000’s teen movies?”

“i don’t think those ‘teen movies’ had anything more than a kiss, gyu.”

“well we’re not in a movie, and we’re not teens, are we, y/n?”

“although you do act like one sometimes… ow! no, i suppose we’re not.”

you best believe that even when you’re far along into your relationship, even when he’s perfectly able to walk through your front door and give your mom a hug, beomgyu is still sneaking in through your bedroom window like a giggling idiot to give his girl the best dick of her life. (his words, not yours). and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[eyra]

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go. 

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

[luvxxriki]

can you do enhypen reaction to your new haircut and seeing it for the first time please

thats such a cute idea oml

pairing - ot7 x fem!reader (different scenarios)

genre - fluff, established relationship(s)

warnings (but not really) - petnames (for reader and members), some pda in jays, jake is a little stupid surprised, jungwons and sunghoons are a little similar, reader threatens to kill riki (in a loving way...), riki's is a bit longer than the others because bro fucked up☠

wc - 1k (a bit over 100 per member) (except for riki, his is 289)

notes - tysm for the req, i hope you like it! 🫶🩷

Lee Heeseung

After what felt like forever, you finally got home from your hair appointment. It didn't even take long, just a simple cut and style. But what made it feel like years was the fact that you couldn't wait to show Heeseung. He knew you were going out, but you never said anything about your hair. 

"Hee?" You called out. You heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen and he leaned on the doorframe, a few feet away from you. He looked at you with a smile and came a bit closer, examining your new style.

“When’d you do that?” He put one hand around your waist and used the other to (gently) touch your hair. 

“I just got home, when I said I was going shopping I actually had a hair appointment”

“It’s so pretty baby, it suits you so well” Heeseung pecked your lips and leaned back to get a better look at your hair. 

You could tell he definitely loved it.

Jay Park

“All done! Do you like it?” Your hairdresser asked. You smiled brightly and got out of the chair, thanking her and walking towards your boyfriend who sat on his phone in the waiting area of the salon. 

“Jay,” You called. “I’m all done, how does it look?” 

“He got up out of the chair and smiled. “Beautiful as always. Want me to pay?” You playfully rolled your eyes at his offer and grabbed his hand to walk out of the salon.

“I already paid, don’t worry”

“Then at least let me take you to dinner. You look so beautiful, you have to show it off somewhere!” He pulled you into a soft kiss as you exited the salon.

“Fine, lets go!”

Jake Sim

“Baby, what should we- Your hair!” Jake walked into your bedroom and the first thing he noticed was your freshly cut and dyed hair. Yes, maybe you should’ve told him, but where's the fun in that?

“Do you like it?” You looked up at him while he sat next to you on your bed. He grabbed a chunk of it to take a closer look. It was beautiful on you, the dark red highlights suited your features perfectly. It was just a bit jarring at first, that's all.

“It's so pretty, just caught me off guard” He laughed nervously. He really did love it though. He sat near you properly and continued playing with your hair, while you giggled at his actions.

“So you really do like it?”

“Nuh uh, I loveee it”

Park Sunghoon

“Do you notice anything?” You sat down on the couch near Sunghoon while he was watching some random show. He turned his head towards you and scanned your body a few times, before raising his eyebrow.

“New shirt?”

“You got this for me like three months ago?” You looked at him, your eyes basically saying ‘you can’t be serious’

“I know, it goes good with your haircut,” He smiled.

Your face lit up and you leaned in closer to him. “So you noticed? Does it look good?”

“It looks beautiful angel” He kissed your cheek and leaned back in his seat, going back to watching whatever he was watching while playing with your hair.

Kim Sunoo

“Sunoo, come here!” You yelled for your boyfriend, who was probably already doing his night time routine because he got tired of waiting for you to be done at your hair appointment.

“I'm doing my skincare, come in the bathroom!” He yelled back. You walked in and saw him with a face mask on and his hair tied into a little ponytail on top of his head. “Finally, you’re back! Lemme see your hair”

He turned away from the mirror to look at your hair. “Wow, it’s so pretty! Your bangs frame your face well” He smiled as he ruffled your hair. You hit his hand away from your head and backed up.

“Don’t touch, I just got it done!” 

Yang Jungwon

“Hey babe” Jungwon kissed your lips as you walked through the door. He knew you had just gotten your hair done, so he paid extra care to look at it a bit closer today.

“Your hair looks really nice! She did a good job” He gently twirled a strand around his finger, making sure to not mess up the loose curls your hair was styled into.

“Thank youuu” You smiled “It didn’t take long either, I think I’ll go back next time!”

“You should! That lady really knows what she’s doing, it looks beautiful” He patted your head and led you to the living room, where you guys cuddled and continued talking about your days while Jungwon played with your hair.

Nishimura Riki

“Nishimura Riki, what did you do?!” You shrieked. You knew your boyfriend could be dumb, but not this dumb.

“I’m so so sorry baby, it got in the way and I didn’t notice!” He tried to comfort you and say it didn’t look bad, but he was just making it worse for himself.

You needed some help cutting the tag off of your shirt, and Riki so kindly offered to help. While he was cutting the tag though, he didn't realize your hair had gotten in between the blades of the scissors. Now, your mid-length hair had a nice big chunk taken out of it.

“How do you not notice something like that?! I swear I’m gonna kill you Riki!” 

“Baby please, I’ll take you to the salon right now, I’ll even pay!” He grabbed your hand and caressed the back of it with his thumb to try to calm you down.

“Yea, you will! Let’s go” You basically dragged him out of the house and into the car so he could drive you to your hair salon.

Time skip

“All done! See, it’s not bad, you look amazing with short hair!” You hair dresser complimented as you both walked over to the front desk where Riki would be paying. Once his wallet was drained, he took your hand and you guys left the salon.

“See, I told you! You look so pretty no matter what, but I really like this style on you!” He smiled. You tried your best to not show that you agreed, but he could see the very obvious smile on your face when he complimented you.

“Maybe it wasn’t that big of a mistake!”

“Don’t push your luck, Ki, I still wanna kill you”

[lazybakerart]

a cute harringrove thing for you: billy being in the middle of trying to do something but he keeps shaking away bits of hair that get into his eyes and steve just comes up behind him, puts his hair into a bun, then casually goes back to where he was while billy's stunned and blushing before he returns to his task with a big grin on his face

The AC's out.

Billy's cracked the unit open with a flathead screwdriver he found under the sink and a few choice words. July hit hard. Sweat drips down his nose as he tries to fix and not kick a heavy metal box down three stories.

In the small kitchen just a few feet behind his hunched back, Steve's popping more ice out and yelling at the radio - a Dodgers game has gone to shit.

Billy swipes his sweat-stuck curls back just to have all of them tumble right back in the way again.

Summers always leave Billy regretting growing out his hair.

He hadn't meant to. A couple months without a haircut grew into a couple years where a couple of half-assed snicks with the scissors he uses for zip ties and toe nails were all he made do with. Every year he forgets how much of it there is when summer arrives to remind him.

Snapping back up, screwdriver in a vice-grip, Billy yanks his hair back with both hands and yells FUCK YOU at the stained popcorn ceiling and his own mane fried with West Hollywood humidity.

"What's wrong now? What happened?" Steve has the honest nerve to say after over an hour of this.

"I'm shaving my head."

A deep sigh and Steve's opening some cabinet that creaks and needs to be oiled - the deal when they first moved in was Billy dealt with the electric shit and Steve got everything that wouldn't have him sizzling when he got distracted.

Plumbing means rock, paper, scissors comes out and goddamnit if Billy doesn't lose every single round.

He and the plunger have built a relationship.

Billy blames dying and coming back with fried nerves and a second-rate case of stigmata making his every joint he's got stiff, his hands getting the worst of it. He'd be a lousy second coming anyways.

"That time of year again, huh?" Steve says.

He stands behind Billy, swatting away his frustrated steel-grip to comb through Billy's curls, pulling them back and away.

"There are these things - they're called hair-ties," Steve gently pulls Billy's hair through elastic, "And I know you like using rubber bands because you're a freak," Slowly he winds Billy's overgrown hair around, "But these are, like, at least twice as good. Now, we just twist," He twists, "And twist some more and - boom! Done. I'm awesome."

Steve spins Billy around by the shoulders twice, his sweaty feet squeaking on the scratched up oak floors. He holds Billy in place, sweaty hands on Billy's sweaty nape, sweaty thumbs running circles, and it doesn't seem to matter much to him that the AC is broken and they're reaching the peak 90s on the thermostat.

Steve's looking at him.

All tender.

All sweet.

A little tipsy from better beer than they chugged in high school. It's been seven years since they hit the highway and left Indiana for good. Three more months and five more days and they'll hit eight.

"Oh no." Steve croons at him. Smile turning cotton soft. Those sweaty hands move to cup Billy's face and those running thumbs rub just under Billy's eyes. "Why are we crying?"

"It's hot." Billy says.

Pinching his ears around his piercings, Steve tells him, "You're hot."

Billy sniffles. Snot drips, meets his upper lip and Steve wipes it off - eight years worth of tears and snot and blood and spunk and so much sweat.

And so much fucking good shit.

From an open window in their cramped apartment, a slice of warmed July breeze catches on the back of Billy's newly bared neck. He tosses the screwdriver somewhere.

"And," Steve pecks him on the lips, bites at his nose to make sure Billy gets heat-stroke, "You've got a great ass."

The AC can wait a little longer.

[blackoutspoetry]

Cigarettes shared in the darkness 🚬

My take on what happened after the total failure to protect the airport from Makarov in the Flashpoint mission, featuring Ghost and Soap having a first bonding moment. This is a snippet for my fic "the anatomy of starved dogs", this is for chapter 4 and you can find the first chapters on ao3.

Ghost held out the half empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes in Soap’s direction, an olive branch. Soap isn’t sure he’ll take it. 

“I don’t smoke. It's a filthy habit.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing around his own cigarette as he plucked one from the pack, lit it and offered it again, now with a thin curl of silver smoke distending from its orange glow. It highlights the edges of the skeleton motif on his gloves and somehow, Soap knows he’ll carry a part of this day with him for days onwards, because the smell of that cigarette will burn into the fabric of his gloves. 

“I don’t smoke,” Soap insists again with a frown, but all Ghost does is take his hand –not roughly, but not gently either– and puts the thin cigarette between his fingers. 

“After a day like today, everybody smokes, Soap.” 

Soap hesitates with it for a moment, watching the glow eat away at the unburnt part of the cigarette and inching closer away from the ashen end before he gives in and raises it to his mouth for a long, much needed draw. 

He wishes he could wipe the smug look he just knows Ghost has under that mask off his face as he watches the action, knowing how easy it is to fall back into dormant muscle memory. 

“You don’t smoke, huh?” 

Soap pouts, not sure how much he wants to let the strange man in on his past, but he settles for something basic. “I don’t smoke anymore.” 

Ghost nods, whether it was meant to be mocking or genuine is something Soap’s ego can’t discern. “Right.” 

They stand there for a moment in the pseudo-silence, filled with the ambience of night sounds and distant sirens echoing through the ether and surrounding the two of them in a lamentous hum. 

Ahead, somewhere from out of the darkness, the glow of the burning airport stood out, a beacon of hellish light that made Soap’s skin crawl. They’re far away and the attack was hours ago, but it lingers on his skin like an itch he can’t run away from. 

He leans on the cigarette for comfort, and just a little, the presence of the taller man beside him helps to ease the loneliness of feeling like one tremendous failure. 

“Don’t think too hard about it Soap, it’ll make your hair fall out and we certainly can’t have that with that illustrious haircut of yours.” 

Soap jerked his head around so fast, he could’ve almost sworn Ghost startled just a little. 

“Oh you’re one to talk about appearances with that halloween costume shite you’ve got going on.” 

It takes two seconds for Soap to realise he’d chosen the wrong option. He’d overstepped one of the rules Price had very clearly set out for him. No questions about his appearance. 

To his surprise, Ghost just gives him a bit of a laugh, albeit a bit of a snide one. “To each their own, but I’m serious, don’t beat yourself up about what happened today, there’s no use in dwelling on it.”

Soap frowns. “How am I not supposed to dwell on it? If we hadn’t responded to the attack on the stadium, if you and Shepherd hadn’t followed after us, we would have died there too,” he gestures vaguely out at the glow of the still smouldering heap of rubble. 

“That’s just the way of the world, Soap. No one gets into this job thinking you’ll walk away with a bruise or a cut you can just slap a plaster over. People die, that’s how it works. We just happen to see more of it because of what we do. We are not entitled to living longer or dying later or easier because we’re supposed to be heroes. We could have died today, but what does it actually matter in the grand scheme of things.” 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, Lt,” Soap says dryly, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again. In the corner of his eye, he can see Ghost do the same. 

“Maybe I’ve just been screwed over by the system that’s supposed to keep me alive more than I’ve been saved by it.” 

Soap shrugged, but it didn’t sit right with him, the idea that death was just an inevitable fact of life. He’s too stubborn to believe it. For someone who’d spent more than half his waking life trying to change the hand he’d been dealt when he was born to broke college student parents and the expectation to be utterly average, he didn’t take kindly to the notion of just accepting things he can’t change, even if it drives him up the wall. 

There’s a lot of other, more personal questions he wants to ask the man instead, but he settles for something safer. 

“How do you deal with it? Stuff like today?” 

“I’m not the person you should be asking for advice, Soap,” Ghost says with a hint of surprise. “That’s more Price’s thing.” 

Soap turned to face him, trying to analyse what little he could see of his face where the mask was pulled up just high enough for him to smoke. He can just about see the curve of his lip around the cigarette and the edge of what seemed to be a jagged scar extending from the corner of his mouth. 

Just as quickly as Soap had seen it, he lowered the cigarette, holding the smoke for a moment before he released it in a slow exhale. 

“I’m not asking for advice, I’m asking how you cope.” 

“I keep going. Sometimes the only way to cope is to endure.” 

The silence that followed thereafter was more comfortable, more settled. Soap could begin to see why Price had told him Ghost was an acquired taste. For all his cold facade, he was really just a man with a grumpy disposition. Maybe even one with a personality outside of work, but Soap struggles to comprehend what that might be. 

Reminded of work and everything they’d discussed in the wake of the attack, Soap frowned as he took another drag from the cigarette, now on its last breath.

“What do you think ended up happening to Price’s informant?” 

Ghost scoffed, stubbing out his own cigarette against the rail and crushing the rest under his boot for good measure. “Fuck if I know.” 

Soap shook his head, feeling himself getting riled up just at the thought of it. “Bet you the arse is sitting somewhere comfortable, getting piss drunk, laughing at the news.” 

Ghost shrugs. “Reckon you may be right about that one, sergeant.” 

“Wherever he is, I hope karma comes back to get him good.”

[jungle-angel]

The King And His Animal Kingdom (Rhett Abbott x Cottagecore!Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett always know how to make the best of spring and the critters that live with you

Warnings: Parenthood, pregnancy, mentions of animal birth etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @withahappyrefrain @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts

"Alright darlin, looks like the last of that one," Rhett said, giving one of the ewes a few scritches for her troubles.

You laughed, collecting the freshly sheared wool into the wicker basket to be carded and dyed later. Sheep shearing wasn't the most pleasant business, but if the poor herd didn't get their haircuts soon, there was bound to be trouble.

It was a gloriously sunny day, the weather somewhere between hot and cool enough to be comfortable. You took the basket and plopped down in the grass, placing the clumps of raw wool into the mesh bags you and Rhett used. The metal wash tubs were already full of soap and water, the birds chirping up above in the trees as the hot wind rustled the newly popped spring leaves.

You plopped the wool filled bags into the water, letting them soak through to remove all the nasty bits that had been left behind from the sheep. Amy was already running about the grassy fields near the house, chasing the little butterflies that had inhabited your pollinator garden.

You felt your little one kicking up a storm as you washed the wool, thankful that the baskets weren't heavy. It wouldn't be long before she was born, but every day that you and Rhett had marked off brought you closer to meeting her.

You watched Amy for a little bit, hoping she didn't run too far or get caught on the wrong end of Cecelia's rosebushes. You washed the wool as best you could when you were suddenly startled by something brushing against your leg.

"Oh jeez, Wilbur," you chuckled.

The little piglet was happily oinking away, sniffing the grass as he foraged around for anything that might be of interest.

"You my little friend," you laughed, scooping him up. "Are alot more trouble than you're worth."

You set Wilbur back down in the grass before Rhett came back out with one of the heavier wool baskets. "Alright darlin, that's the last of it," he said.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Something in his shirt pocket suddenly started moving, drawing a laugh from you. "Alright you two," Rhett said, fishing the two little chipmunks out of his pocket. "Go stuff your cheeks or something."

Chip and Dale immediately took off for their little shelter near the barn in the hopes that the berry bushes would give them a sweet morning treat. "Timothy's better behaved than those two little pigs," Rhett huffed.

A small oink came from Wilbur who sat right near Rhett's feet, looking up at him. "I did NOT mean that as an insult little buddy," Rhett laughed, picking him up to give him a few scritches behind the ears.

You both heard a bark from over the fence and saw Chewbacca, your setter-spaniel mix, jumping right through the large space between the wood rails with something in his mouth. He set it down in the grass and sure enough it was one of the smaller puppies from yours and Rhett's in-home animal nursery.

"So that's where ya'll got off too," Rhett chuckled, setting Wilbur back in the grass and picking up the shaggy looking pup.

As soon as the wool had been hung up to dry, you and Rhett retreated back to your shared home to work on the next project with Chewie protectively at your side. You and Rhett painted away at your baby girl's nursery, not having changed too much since you two had brought Amy home. You and Rhett touched up the walls just a little, the Sleeping Beauty and Grimm Fairy Tale murals looking refreshed while you painted the details on the doors. The flowers were always Rhett's favorite little details in the house, marks and reminders of you and Amy wherever he looked.

Your cats, Tiny, Willie, Garfield and Peach zipped in and out of the room to see what you were up to, their little kittens happily napping away in the little pens under the stairs. Occasionally you found Garfield hiding in the laundry basket, but you and Rhett couldn't have imagined a better day than with each other.

[lynn-writes-things]

late night lovesickness - yuta okkotsu x reader

wc: 1.1k

notes: this is literally just some fluff for the bestest boy ever being absolutely head over heels for you 🥺💙

based off of this tiktok

Yuta swears that he’s going insane.

It’s a fact that he’s certain of, given that it’s a few minutes past 4am, and rather than sleeping, he’s wracking his brain over what fucking shade of green you most prefer. It’s driving him mad, because he doesn’t know the answer. Do you prefer deeper shades like forrest? Bold, like emerald? Or do you fancy softer shades, like the delicate wings of a Luna moth? Yuta just doesn’t know, and if it weren’t for the ungodly hour, he’d be asking you right now, to put an end to his racing thoughts.

Come to think of it, there’s a lot of little details about you that most would consider insignificant, but Yuta is going positively mad over the fact that he doesn’t know them. What’s your favorite font? He has to fucking laugh at that, because who even cares about something like that? He does, apparently. Yuta needs to know the answer, he swears he might die if he doesn’t find out.

When you were a kid, what kind of surface did you prefer to ride your bike over? Why does he care about that?! Yuta doesn’t know the answer to that one either. Cobblestone? Fresh asphalt? That one was always his favorite when he was younger, he always loved how smooth it felt. But what about you? Maybe you’re more of a “fine gravel in the woods” kind of person? Yuta still has no damn idea why he cares so much about all of this, but part of him is wondering how he doesn’t already know the answers to these things.

Hell, did you even used to like riding a bike? Do you even know how to? He’ll have to find out, and if you don’t know, then Yuta’s already planning to go buy you both bikes and teach you how to ride one. Maybe he’ll do that, even if you do already know - he’ll buy the bikes and take you on a cute little picnic date somewhere. That’s something that Yuta does know - you like picnic dates, you told him that they’re your favorite, because you think they’re incredibly sweet and romantic.

Earlier he was having a conversation with the other second years - sans you, because you were shopping with Nobara - about the worst haircuts they’ve ever had. Now it’s going on 4:45am, and Yuta finds yet another thing about you that he’s dying to know.

What was your worst haircut? Do you have pictures of it? He’ll have to have you send them to him if you can track them down, because he finds that he needs to have those pictures, he needs to see them. Maybe he’ll be cheeky and set it as your contact photo in his phone, just to see that cute face that you always make when you get embarrassed. He loves it when you make that face, god, you’re so adorable that it should really be a crime.

Yuta’s tired eyes wander to his bedside table, where the book he’s been reading lies - it’s a book set in medieval times, about a knight who falls in love with a witch. He’s grown to love the book so far, and honestly, Yuta has found himself so immersed in it that he’s wondered what it would be like to travel through time and land in such a time period. It’s almost 5am now, and the new question plaguing Yuta’s poor brain is what time period you would time travel to if you could. Fuck, would you even want to time travel at all? Are you someone who prefers the present, as messed up as it is sometimes? Though, all time periods have their fair share of misery, so Yuta supposes that would make just as much sense as wanting to experience other times. Although Yuta does think he could make it as a knight, maybe. He’s got the swordsmanship, anyways.

There’s one thing that Yuta does know though, one of those tiny little details that no one should even care so much about - but he does. He knows what superpower you’d have, if you could pick.

The conversation came up while watching some Marvel movie once, you told him that you’ve always just wanted to fly, ever since you were a kid. Yuta had chuckled, because that’s exactly the type of superpower any kid would choose, but you’ve stuck by that answer even into your teenage years, and though he knows he shouldn’t judge, Yuta does still think it’s silly, in the most endearing way possible. It’s silly, sure, but silly in a way that clutches his heart and makes him want to fly, too - wants you to fly together, maybe take a nap on a cloud and watch the rest of the world make fools of themselves down below.

It’s going on 5:23am now, and Yuta finally feels his eyelids growing heavy with sleep. He’s promised his heart and his overthinking brain that he’ll be sure to ask you all of these things tomorrow (today?). He’s already got it planned out, Yuta is going to take you out on a lunch picnic and simply ask away.

As his mind starts to calm, he ponders one last thing - do you dream of him when you sleep sometimes? He dreams of you, pretty often, too. In fact, his sweetest dreams are always of you.

With eyelids closed, Yuta sees your smile - the specific one that could light up the entire world if the sun someday went dark. You smile like that whenever he comes home from a mission, it’s always followed by the tightest hug you can manage. And even though you squeeze the air right out of his lungs when you do it, Yuta would gladly live without another breath of air for the rest of his life as long as you kept holding him like that.

Your shared friends tell him all the time that they can always tell whenever he texts you, because you always get the giddiest little grin on your lips when you open the text. With that in mind, Yuta forces his burning eyes open one last time, grabbing his phone and typing out the sweetest good morning text that his sleep-deprived mind can come up with, signs it with way too many heart emojis, and hits send. That way maybe you can wake up with a smile.

The thought of you, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you smile so sweetly at your phone first thing in the morning, is the thought that finally carries him off to sleep, with his phone on his chest, and a sleepy grin of his own on his slightly-chapped lips, just a little shy of 6am.

[astridsbirdskulls]

After seeing multiple people talk about Neil's cruncy/greasy hair from all the dye and/or bleach, I have many opinions.

Cause first of all, with how long neil probably keeps his hair, that's all replaced within like 6 months at most. (His haircut is probably choppy though because we all know he cuts it himself because he would never "waste" money on getting it cut somewhere nice.)

Second, while we read Neil's pov in the books he's been dying his hair black, so no bleach necessary. And while I can't remember how long he spent in Millport, leftover bleach from his previous identity would be cut by the time he's at Palmetto.

Third (this one requires more explanation so bear with me), after a decade of disguising himself (along with help from Mary) I think he's REALLY good at making his dye jobs look as natural as possible cause even though people dye their hair all the time and having a hair color other than your natural one doesn't make you suspicious, they would have to pass through security with ID that matched however they were supposed to look at that time. That all to say that I don't think he would have super greasy hair either (just the normal greasy that comes from using 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner). From the experience of frequently helping my sister touch up her roots, when you're just doing roots, you don't usually need to redye the rest of the hair. (Root touch ups for a normal person, aka not Neil, are about 6 weeks.) And in my sister's case, her natural hair is a dark brown and does need to be bleached to dye it the red that she keeps it, Neil putting black over his red hair would not be that difficult and I dont think he wouldn't continue to layer black over the parts that are already dyed black when he doesn't need to, partially because it's a waste of dye and when he's finally by himself he would save the dye as long as he could, and also a super dark black on someone who spends as much time outside as he does it wouldn't make sense (or look natural) as opposed to if it faded naturally in the sun.

TLDR: So, basically, I don't think Neil would have crunchy or super greasy hair, just the hair or someone who doesn't care enough to take care of it because it was never his priority.

(after Jean bleaches and dyes it red it would definitely be a little crispy but I think it would fade and grow quick enough that it doesn't last that long)

[daisyisnotaflower]

A list of TMA headcanons that came out of a recent brainrot session with my cousin

Jon used to wear glasses but no longer needs to after waking up from his coma

they're small, square, gold glasses. he doesn’t start out with a glasses chain, but gets one eventually because grandma core

Jon damaged his glasses at some point so he taped m up. Then the skin on his nose got irritated because he kept pushing them up

the event that damaged Jon’s glasses may have been: the worm attack (MAG 39), breaking into getrude's appartment or the not!Sasha attack (MAG 79)

in s1 Jon cleans his glasses very often. He always has the little cloth with him, at all times. He cannot stand dirt on the lenses, but maybe more so than that, he thinks it makes him appear put together, important, smart etc. he will often clean them while in conversation with his colleagues, as an attempt to show dominance.

Jon stops cleaning his glasses regularly in s2

Jon does not handle it well if you put them down on his desk wrong

Jon gets a haircut the day before he starts as head archivist and then never again.

somewhere in s3 Jon starts brushing his hair less and less. it gets matted

somewhere in s3 Georgie tried to teach Jon how to sew. he stabbed himself a thousand times and gave up

during Jon’s coma, Martin would often come by and detangle his hair for him. he is so gentle about it. it takes multiple sessions, but when he’s done, he braids it. it’s a fancy braid, too

Jon does not redo the braid, he keeps it as it is. it gets floofier over time, with more loose strands

s2 Jon, Martin and Sasha all regularly put their glasses on top of their head and then forget them, but Sasha especially

Tim’s vision is pretty bad but he refuses to get glasses

Sasha’s glasses are big, gold wire and either octagonal or heptagonal, but with rounded corners. they have the type of lenses that turn blue in sunlight, funky stuff. She has a glasses chain

Sasha knows how to sew, knit, crochet etc. she makes a lot of her own clothing.

Sasha keeps fabric scraps and makes patchwork clothing out of them.

Sasha has a jar of buttons on a shelf. or maybe it's an ordered box with compartments. if it's a box, she made it herself.

Sasha has a shelf full of crafting supplies.

Sasha has a garden where she grows vegetables and herbs

Sasha makes her own strawberry jam.

Sasha loves cooking

Gertrude has those tiny little glasses that pinch onto her nose. they’re oval and silver.

Getrude knows how to knit, but only does it when she wants to look like a harmless old lady.

Elias also does not need glasses, but he wears them to be smug.

Elias’ glasses are small, half moon shaped and gold, He has a glasses chain with little eyes at the ends. they may or may not be prescription. it does not matter to him

Martins glasses are big, round dark blue wire.

Martin has some plushies

Martin mends his own clothes because he doesn’t wanna waste them

Martin is pretty good at knitting and crochet

Melanie dyes her hair blue

in s4 Melanie’s hair dye is faded and starts to grow out.

Melanie wears contacts. They are prescription, but also might be coloured, maybe to work better with her hair.

Melanie stops wearing her contacts in s4, because they are too much work to keep up with and she is not going to leave the archives to replace them, that’s too dangerous. Her prescription is pretty low, so it’s manageable.

as Melanie gets more and more affected by the ghost bullet, her irises slowly start to turn red.

Malanie has sewed some patches to her clothing. she’s also dyed some of it.

Melanie likes to tie her shoelaces in fun ways. She looked up some tutorials online.

Georgie loves sewing while listening to podcasts. the podcasts are mainly about true crime, media and art, and some political stuff.

Basira wears reading glasses. they’re rectangular, black, plastic glasses. they’re pretty cheap, she doesn’t wanna waste money she on glasses she only wears sometimes

[six-eyed-samurai]

Sorry this is so trash y'all, I was getting stressed out and had no idea where it was going. If you don't like OC children I suggest you don't read. Obanai is the character I'm labelled the most, so I still had a lot of fun with this though! If you zoom in real close you'll find my beautiful gf Megumi guest starring as Mitsuri too~~~

“If we ever get reborn, if we're born again as human beings, will you make me your wife?”

*** Some things never changed, no matter the time, distance…number of reincarnations.

The famously red and yellow shock of hair inherited by all the descendants of the Rengoku family, for one. The scarred faces and hot tempers of the Shinazugawas, for another. The whiny cowardice and obsession with girls in the Agatsuma boys.

And the beautiful but tragic love story that was the romance between the former sour Serpent Pillar and sweet Love Pillar.

***

Sometimes when Mitsuri met up with Shinobu they’d talk about if, hypothetically, one day the Corps were no longer needed and demons no longer existed, what would they like to do?

“I’d really like it if Iguro-san and I got together! He’s so sweet to me, he even gave me these socks! He’s kind of cute too.”

“Would you really like to get married to someone as bitter as him?” Shinobu hid her trademark smile behind her teacup.

“Of course! If - if he’d have me. I’ve always wanted to have a big family with a lot of kids. Three or four? I’m not too sure, but we’d have so much fun together! I’d love to braid my girl’s hair or - ooh, or talk to them about boys, and if I did have any sons I’d love to cook for them! Oooh, do you think we could play sports together? I’m sure I could keep up.”

“...you’d do more than keep up, Mitsuri-chan.”

Parallel in eerily similar ways Obanai too would pour out the same musings to his best friend in the Corps over complaining about Tomioka’s face or simply just training together. The only differences, perhaps, was that Sanemi was getting fed up that Obanai was not making a move and the Serpent Pillar wasn’t so sure he’d make a good father…or that he even wanted children.

“When are you going to stop dreaming and complaining about whatever sunshiney marriage dream you’re having with Kanroji to me and actually tell her? Fxxking coward.” Sanemi deftly swung his sword with a lot more force than necessary, fed up with hearing Obanai make excuse after excuse as to why he hadn’t done anything yet. “Man up, grow some balls and go confess. You both are so obviously lovesick I want to throw up.”

“...soon.” Obanai blocked his hit. “But if you throw up, go do it somewhere else.”

Soon, soon, soon, the both of them repeatedly answered each time. Were they to know their tragic fate, their ‘soon’ never to come? They did plan to confess eventually, some day, one day.

Just never planned on regretting only having to do it while awaiting at death’s door, one to never see his love even in their dying moments, the other unable to hold him and really tell him exactly how much he meant to her - but the universe wasn’t that cruel.

***

Obanai Iguro, a man renowned for his godly level cooking and sharp tongue capable of rendering even the most rude of customers into tears. Obanai Iguro, a man known to his family as someone who rarely showed affection but could be counted on to always be there for them. Obanai Iguro, a man only known to cry once in his life when his beloved wife gave birth to their first born twin girls and pass out from worry when Mitsuri went into labor early with their happy accident baby Fuyu.

Obanai Iguro, who still wasn’t sure what he had done to earn such an amazing family for he wasn’t the best of saints, but thanked his lucky stars every day to wake up to - 

“DAD! Can we go, please, please, pretty please?” 

“MOM, STOP, I DON’T WANT A HAIRCUT -”

“Mama! Mama!”

“Where’s my chocolate bar? Fuyu! Nii-chan!”

“DADDY, I’M HEADING OUT!”

-the utter chaos that was their big family of seven on the weekends, the only two days when their famous diner didn’t open.

“WHAT?” Obanai rarely raised his voice - his acidic, disappointed tone was always enough to scold his five children - but for once surprise had taken him by…well, surprise. With a stack of cereal bowls in one hand and their youngest in the other he dashed out faster than a demon of the kitchen and loomed (as well as he could with his lack of height anyway) menacingly at the newcomer standing at the threshold of their cluttered living room. “Baby, you never said you’d be going out today…at least not with this scumbag.”

“Daddy, please, can you not be so weird about it?” Oh, he should’ve known something was up the moment his second oldest and precious princess Junko had come home three days ago giggling like a maniac on her phone. Jeez, why couldn’t she stay a cute little four year old forever? Now all these teenage boys were coming over to taint his golden girl.

Out of the five, Junko was the one that resembled Mitsuri the most, even in looks with her magenta hair that her mother fawned over putting in double pigtail braids and bright green eyes always turned up in half-moons from her smiling. Adorable from the moment she was born. Cheerful no matter what. The most loving and clingy to both her parents. Truly a daddy’s girl; and there was no way Obanai was letting her go off with some ‘just a friend who also happens to be the opposite gender’. 

But it did make a lot of sense guys would chase after her just like they did with Mitsuri…still, what if she got her innocent little heart broken? What if she got dumped halfway? What if that bright sunshine she had eternally been faded after the certain failure this so-called hangout would be?

 He glared daggers irritably at the poor boy in question, and even looking as frazzled as he did from cooking seven breakfasts in a row he managed to make the receiver squirm a little. Okay, a lot. 

But to the boy’s credit he still managed to muster an awkward, shy smile and held out a hand. “Hi, Mr. Iguro! I’m Kaito - if it’s alright with you can Junko come to the park with me? If I’m interrupting your family time I’ll come back another day!” 

Hmph. He seemed nice enough but the bead of sweat dripping down his forehead was obvious to everyone. Clearly not a very brave one. What would he do if they got cornered by those neighborhood bullies the Iguro’s third born was always going head to toe with? Run, probably, no doubt. With spiky, tousled hair and rumpled clothes like that he probably wasn’t too bothered about his appearance. Lack of hygiene: red flag right there, Obanai was sure.

Junko edged closer to her father, playing with the edge of her skirt (oh, so he was why she had been taking so long to dress this morning) nervously. “Daddy, come on, you don’t have to be so threatening. Kaito’s…nice.” 

She colored up pretty fast and Obanai narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely not. You’re not going to go gallivanting the countryside with this…whatever he is.”

Kaito cleared his throat. “I live a few buildings down if that helps?”

Maybe Mitsuri might’ve let Junko go off with a lot of squealing about how cute they were and encouraging this “young love”, but Obanai would rather lose his arms and sight and life then agree to it. “No. Not with a boy, not ever.”

“Dad, come on, please?” 

Oh god, not the puppy eyes. Obanai stared up for a beat wondering what deity had blessed his daughters with such enormous doe eyes he could never say no to and how could he track him down before averting eye contact and muttering “fine”.

“ThankyousomuchIloveyoualotDadthankyousomuch!” Ah well, maybe it couldn’t hurt once in a while to let his little dove leave the nest if he got to see her beam so brightly all the spotlights in the world faded to gray and hug him so tightly.

“Be back by evening or I’ll have his head and put it on a spike outside the restaurant!” He made a “I’m-watching-you-so-you-better-not-do-anything-to-my-baby” gesture at this Kaito when they left. Why did she have to grow up so fast?

“Is he serious?” Obanai heard Kaito asking as they ran off.

“...I mean, he did tie up someone and left them outside for a day because they gave Kyoka a flower on White Day, but don’t worry! Daddy’s really nice!”

“You better not do the same,” Obanai grumbled down at the toddler clinging to him, fast asleep and drooling as he headed back to the kitchen. “You’re going to be the only girl left in this house who hasn’t gone into their teenager phase, Fuyu.”

Fuyu sighed softly and clung on even more, as if she understood what he was saying. Her tiny, puffy pink ponytail tickled his neck, as did the nagging suspicion that today’s adventures and problems hadn’t come to an end yet.

“DAD! COME UP, COME UP! MOM’S FIGHTING WITH KYOKA!”

“Dad, can you come up?”

“OBANAI, PLEASE GET UP HERE NOW!”

Aaand another problem arose to deal with. Who was he to deny any of Mitsuri’s, his queen, requests, so up he went as fast as he could after dumping the dishes in the sink to be washed another time.

***

Mitsuri loved her children a lot, and that was obvious to even an outsider. She had never punished them once, always stopped to give them attention individually,  constantly showered them in sugary confections, agreed to even the most ridiculous of games, played good cop every time they got into trouble and never, ever, raised a hand or used her crazily unnatural strength against them.

Until her eldest daughter Kyoka hit her fourteenth birthday apparently - as much as it pained her to do it she was pinning her down to the chair with all her strength to prevent her daughter’s desperate attempts to escape while Torao watched with wide eyes and Kenji excitedly explained the whole thing to Obanai. 

Why oh why couldn’t she be as easy going as her twin Junko or as compliant as Torao or as agreeable as Kenji? Heck, even Fuyu was a little less rebellious than Kyoka when she was in her moods. 

Not that Mitsuri was saying she wanted to change her daughter’s personality, oh no, never. She’d give up all the sakura mochi in the world before that happened. Kyoka was the most responsible girl anyone could ask for and had won so many awards at school the wall was running out of space for framed certificates. But honestly she could be rather…stubborn at times. 

Strangers and customers often commented on the amazing genetic spread between all of her five children, a perfect mix of her and darling Obanai: Kyoka had received her dad’s black hair and blue eyes with her mother’s beauty marks and strength of ten men; her fraternal twin Junko had inherited her pink and green scheme but Obanai’s petite frame; the boys Kenji and Torao had black hair mixed with pink beginnings and fading green ends respectively; Fuyu her mother’s candy floss hair and dad’s captivating golden yellow eyes. Mitsuri delightedly reveled in cutting, combing and styling them ever since they were young…

“Mom, please, for the last time, MY BANGS ARE FINE!”

“Kyoka, they’re too long and it’s slanted, I told you you shouldn’t have cut them yourself -”

“You weren’t free at the time, besides, this is the current trend anyways -”

But how could she have known it was going to be absolute hell now to give Kyoka’s short, unevenly sliced hair a trim?

“I don’t see what’s trendy if it’s getting in your eyes!”

“She’s been rubbing them a lot lately,” Torao piped up, but cringed when Kyoka shot him her signature death stare and hid behind Obanai. 

“Just let me cut them, Kyoka,” Mitsuri repeated, exasperated for the first time in history. Even Fuyu seemed to tense in her sleep. “Why are you being so insistent about having them in your eyes like that?”

“...Ryota said they looked cool.”

Once again the stark contrast between Mitsuri and Obanai’s personalities revealed itself as it did daily when faced with the realization their girls were at that age where boys had a lot of impact in their choices.

“KYAAAAAAH, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO? I’M SO SORRY, I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE DOING THIS TO IMPRESS HIM!” 

At once Mitsuri exploded into sheer joy, glee and anticipation, grabbing her eldest into a crushing hug, crying that her little girl was all grown up and ready to go look for her soulmate; Kyoka awkwardly returned it with a red face. 

Obanai, on the other hand, looked like he was in the middle of a seizure, but that was a story for later. 

“WE SHOULD GO TO SHOPPING TOGETHER, IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE WE BOUGHT YOU NEW DRESSES!” Mitsuri took a deep breath to calm herself, then launched into a barrage of rapid fire interrogation. “Have you made a first move? Is he showing any signs of being interested? What’s he like? Have you both gone on any dates yet?”

“Mom, please, it’s not that big of a deal! He just sits behind me!” Kyoka averted her eyes and shrank further into her untidy fringe. “...I don’t think Dad’s gonna like him much though.”

Mitsuri’s eyes gleamed. Ah, an opportunity for a little mother-daughter bonding time with a lil’ boy talk. Of course she’d wind up telling Obanai one day - she was almost as bad as the Kamado family at lying - but it’d be fun while it lasted. “Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret.” 

***

Mitsuri had been so enthusiastic about having a backyard when they had bought the house that Obanai had relented from his steadfast argument of not creating a garden even without flowers (bad enough he had to wear a face mask 24/7 to filter pollen) and they had come to the agreement that it would at least have be a mini playground for the kids - a lone, squeaking tire swing, abandoned bikes and littered toys today all ignored in favour of a - 

“DAD, DAD, DAD, CHECK THIS OUT! I FOUND A WORM!”

“Put it back!”

“Come on, I want to show Dad! I won’t hurt it!”

“Ew, don’t hold it to my face! Drop it back in the dirt!”

“Blep!”

“Nii-chan, don’t give it to Fuyu! She’ll eat it! NO, DON’T GIVE IT TO ME!”

Kyoka shrieked when Kenji deliberately dangled the worm in front of her, causing her to drop the phone she had been scrolling on with Fuyu on her lap. Torao took the opportunity to run away from his elder brother and hide behind Mitsuri standing at the doorway. Obanai wished he had a camera right then to capture the moment because her cheeks were red and puffed out from a terrible attempt to stop her giggling but unfortunately he was still fuming over losing his daughter to a…ugh, he couldn’t even say it. 

“Eh, Torao?! Don’t you wanna try holding it?! You’re always so freaked out over a little insect!!!”

Kenji had always reminded Mitsuri of someone on the edge of her brain but she couldn’t remember what - or who. As the years went on it began to push deeper and deeper, the way he unnecessarily shouted his words in excitement, his fire-bright personality and how he easily looked out for his younger brother like it was nothing. The feeling was usually accompanied by a wave of sadness (grief?), even more so the day he brought home a friend he introduced as Tojuro, but she couldn’t deny it was such a blessing to have him around. 

“I don’t want to! Just leave it be!”

Torao…on the other hand….where he got his shy, socially anxious genes from Obanai to this day was still wracking his brains over. Of course he was more than happy to indulge in him when he chose to stay home instead of going out to some friend’s party (less chances of getting picked up by some - shudder - girl!) but honestly he was terrified of everything and unbeknownst to him his dad had already plans to braven him up a little which may or may not involve some hostages (god did that Kamado boy irritate him but since he was Torao’s only friend he refrained from making…most of the complaints).

“Neeeeh! Worm!” Fuyu squealed and tried to reach for Kenji, squirming around in Kyoka’s death grip, a feebly cute attempt that had Mitsuri clapping her hands delightedly to catch the worm. Kyoka wrinkled her nose and took another step back. 

“Dad, can you just get Kenji to - OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, DAD, HE’S THROWING THE WORM AT YOU!”

Perhaps he would’ve noticed, picked up the worm and thrown it back into the bushes on a normal day, but he was still staring hard at a blushing Mitsuri and wishing for a camera and half-heartedly reaching for the quivering Torao behind him.

Perhaps on a normal day he would’ve simply just made a sarcastic comment when the worm then landed on the top of his black and white striped shirt and flick it off, but today he was NOT expecting that and proceeded to yelp (the likes of which never have been heard of from OBANAI IGURO) and jump up and shake it off desperately.

“KYAAAAAH!” Mitsuri exploded into laughter, collapsing to her feet while Kyoka and Torao stared in horror. 

That was almost enough for Obanai to forgive Kenji, but not quite.

“Oh you sneaky little snake -” 

None of them knew it but maybe, just maybe, a little bit of their former Pillar selves returned when Obanai tackled Kenji to the ground and in turn Mitsuri had to tackle him off.

***

“Obanai?”

Strange. Usually it would be Mitsuri who fell asleep first but judging from her voice she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. Even more strange when Fuyu hadn’t caused any trouble that night; she lay peacefully drooling in between them. 

He blinked the gunk out of his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m so happy, you know that? I thought I couldn’t be when we started dating, then I was wrong when we opened the diner together, when we got married - Kyoka, Junko, Kenji, Torao, Fuyu…especially.” Mitsuri rolled over to face him, a sweet smile curving up her emerald eyes. “Thank you so much for all this.”

Obanai, careful not to nudge Fuyu, reached over to take Mitsuri’s hand. “Should be thanking you, stupid. Thanks for…loving me even though I’ve got the personality of  a lemon.”

That got a laugh out of her. “You can be pretty sweet when you want to. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you!”

“Why just stop at this one?” Obanai turned his head slightly, perfectly serious.

“True! It’ll be so amazing! Do you think we met in a past life too, Obanai?”

“Maybe. I don’t really care as long as you’re here right now.” 

“See, you can be sweet when you want to,” Mitsuri giggled softly, squeezing his hand. “Although you were pretty salty with Kaito when he came to drop Junko off. That was so mean, honestly. I hope you aren’t going to do that with Ryota.”

“He had it coming, taking her away like that - hold up, who’s Ryota?”

Mitsuri ultimately failed again at holding her laughter and woke up the whole household falling out of bed. 

***

“Of course. If you say you're fine with someone like me, then I will definitely make you happy.”

[tagedeszorns]

Dearest Fabius:

Thank you for the doll! It was not like it was expected. It was perfect for weapons testing and for just stabbing. I am not a degenerate. Having sex with Konrad is an ick, and There are MUCH better choices out there. How's the wig?

(again - wrong ask-box! But I can just reblog)

So first up: Fabius with short hair. Pretty!

"I mean, what did you expect? I did my best! But working miracles is more Saqqara's speciality." Bellephus' otherwise rather melodic voice has a distinctly annoyed undertone. He throws the scissors on the table and takes a step away from Fabius. Though he's made the Chief Apothecary take off the chirurgeon for the duration of the haircut (the metallic monster has retreated to an armour stand in the corner of the room, rattling quietly, and Bellephus knows it's watching him), the spider is dangerous enough without his artificial guard dog when he's annoyed.

But it's hard to tell if he's angry. He stares in the mirror. His brow furrows. The corners of his mouth twist. Suddenly he starts to laugh.

Bellephus involuntarily reaches to his side, where of course no bolter is currently maglocked. Shakes his head in amazement. "What's funny?"

Fabius runs his hand over his skull, which has been shaved down to a strip in the centre. Chuckles to himself - probably the creepiest thing you could hear on Urum at the moment. "I can't remember ever having short hair … As a child, maybe. And that … that's really amusing."

Bellephus exhales deeply and the maws on his neck hiss angrily. "No, I still don't get it. What exactly is funny?"

Fabius stands up, shaking the cut-off remnants of hair off himself. The Chirurgeon raises its arms - like a threatening tarantula or a child who wants to be picked up by its father. "Well, this is the first time I've decided not to simply accept and surgically address the ravages of the Blight, but to actively try to … hmmm … look more attractive, even if I'm already dying. And I just find the irony very funny. I've always looked down on your and my other brothers' vanity. And now I'm playing the game. Although admittedly at an amateur level."

Bellephus nods. Repacks the long-hair clippers after cleaning them. "And let's be honest - I'm willing to bet you won't be putting in this effort for long."

Fabius snorts. Still amused. "Thank you for your frank assessment of my emotional resilience, Gutter Poet. But since you're probably right, I'm not going to start a discussion about it."

Bellephus gets ready to leave, turns round again: "What actually happened to the doll that Narvo and Savona got and handed in?" - "I haven't the faintest idea - except that aggression was probably more of a motivator than attraction, and I'm enjoying my ignorance in that regard. Maybe I should actually clone Curze and have him raised somewhere where he won't turn into a psychopath. Might just do the Night Lords good to have a stable father figure for a change."

Bellephus nods and disappears out the door, hearing another murmur behind him: "…. us all, to be honest."

[violet-fire-cat]

So many Etho’s. Yes this is all Etho! Doesn’t really look like him in some of them does it, but it is! Vampire Etho is two hundred years old, he’s been around a while! And I wanted to play with designs a bit, figure out how he might have looked like over the years. And of course, how he looked when he was human!

These were a lot of fun and I’m really happy with them! And there’s some of my ramblings, info and stuff under the cut as well if you’re interested!

1820s - Growing up in a little rural town somewhere in Canada in the early 19th century, Etho, then known as Edward Stone, was set to live a pretty ordinary life. Until a stupid mistake and a bit of bad luck left him being attacked by a vampire. After fleeing his home town Etho was on his own, left to figure all of this out for himself. It was hard, and he spent much of his time as a fledgling half-starved and somewhat wild in the woods, only venturing near humans to hunt and feed. No longer effected by the cold, what he wore wasn’t much of an issue and running around barefoot was fine. New, less tattered clothes and a haircut would be nice though. Maybe a bath too. And a hug (but he might bite).

1880s - After sixty years Etho’s an experienced vampire who knows how to navigate the world. Still very solitary though, and mostly keeps to himself. Other vampires were usually dangerous so it was easier to be alone. A little bit wild even now, he’s not the tidiest guy around in how he dresses, but he doesn’t really care. It’s enough to allow him to move through towns without drawing unwanted attention to himself, and that’s all he needs most of the time.

1940s - Oh he looks quite smart here doesn’t he. Now living in the UK with Xisuma’s Court, it’s surprising what a bit of stability and support can do to a mans presentation. Life is definietly easier here, despite the less than ideal state much of the world is in right now. Etho’s happy though, he has friends here. Somewhere in the last sixty years he’s obtained those distinctive scars across his left eye, I wonder what happened there...

1980s - Now he’s starting to look a little more like the Etho we know! He’s left the Court by this point and is living on his own in the city, but he’s still friends with them and hangs out with them a lot like he does in the present. Fashions are changing rapidly, which opened a lot more opportunities for clothes, and he seems to have embraced that a bit! Grew his hair out for the first time, decided he liked it long and was never cutting it short again. The scarf would often get pulled up over his face as a makeshift mask and he realised it worked well for hiding his fangs and he kind of liked that. That coat has a maple leaf on the back as well.

1990s - Etho has discovered hair dye! He’s got a proper mask too! He also started going by the name ‘Etho’ at some point in the 90s, exactly how that happened though I’m not sure just yet. More than once he’s asked why he’s dying his hair blonde when he’s already blonde. He just shrugs and says he likes the brighter colour.

2020s - And here we are at the present. Etho as he is now, how we know him! Fluffy hooded coat, bleached white hair, and all! He’s definietly changed a lot over the years hasn’t he. But, two hundred years is a very long time, so there’s bound to be a lot of changes!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Braids: Chapter 5

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Michael Yew, Apollo Cabin The last of the five Michael-done braids! And if anyone thought I was getting through this fic without my beloved Gremlin Duo... well, you were wrong :D I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! Character ages this chapter: Michael - 16 Kayla - 11 <<Chapter 4

5) Kayla

“Ow!”

The cry came at the same time as the deadened sound of a string not releasing true, and Michael whirled around in alarm in time to see Kayla’s arrow bury itself in the white of the target she’d been aiming at.

Kayla never hit white.  Not unless it was on purpose.

“What happened?” he asked, hurrying the few steps from his own mark on the line to his youngest sister.  There were tears in her eyes, light blue threatening to drown as Kayla sniffled.  She didn’t look hurt – a glance at her fingertips told him her tab was still firmly in place and there was no tell-tale red welt on her arm from a slap from the string – but she wouldn’t be on the cusp of crying if she wasn’t hurt somewhere.

She wiped at her eyes with her bare wrist, only succeeding in making her eyes water more, before the hand not gripping her riser with white knuckles tugged at her vibrantly-dyed hair.  The accompanying wince told Michael that the action hurt, and he cursed, setting his bow down on the nearest stand.  “Hey, stop that.”

“It got caught up,” Kayla sobbed.  Her grip on her own bow slackened, and Michael grabbed onto it, coaxing it out of her grip and placing it on its own stand, Greek Fire-green to match both her riser and her hair.  The younger girl rubbed at her temple with both hands, now that they were free.  “I knew it was getting longer but I thought it was still short enough!”  Her hands curled up into fists, starting to entangle themselves in her hair, and Michael gripped her wrists tightly, detangling her fingers from the green strands before she could hurt herself any more.

She was right that her hair was getting a bit longer; it still wasn’t as long as Michael’s, but it was starting to fall noticeably past her chin.  Michael cursed himself for not noticing the risk, although in his defence, Kayla had been fine yesterday, and hair didn’t grow that fast.  It must have been a puff of wind or something that had pushed her hair forwards enough to get caught up in the twist of her bowstring.

“I need a haircut,” Kayla mumbled, trying to yank her wrist back from Michael’s grip.  “I knew I needed a haircut.  Where do I get a haircut here?”

“Stop moving,” Michael told her firmly, although he let her have her wrists back.  “Talk to the Aphrodite cabin about it after dinner.”

He was under no illusions about who would actually be talking to Silena about it.  Kayla was happy enough to be mouthy in the cabin, but she clammed up when faced with the other kids, especially the older ones.  Michael was pretty sure her apparent shyness would disappear sooner rather than later, though.

After dinner also didn’t fix their problem now.

“Turn around,” he told Kayla, not waiting for an answer before he put his hands on her shoulders and swivelled her until she had her back to him entirely.

“Huh?” she sniffled, clearly startled, but to Michael’s relief she didn’t disobey him.  “Why?”

Michael reached behind his head and tugged out his hair tie, scowling at the single hair that decided it had got caught on something and snapped.  Plucking the black strand out from where it was twisted was easy, and soon Michael had the elastic looped around his hand.

“Stay still,” he ordered.  Instantly, Kayla went stiff where she stood.  He sighed.  “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”  He caught her head as she tried to look back at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked him as he turned her head back around to face away from him, although the tension did drain from her shoulders.  Michael let his hand trail down her hair for a moment before scooping up its short but thick weight in his hands.

“Getting your hair out of the way,” he told her.

The green strands were a little snarled together, a consequence of a morning out in the breeze, as well as Kayla’s penchant to sometimes forget to brush her hair when she got up if no-one reminded her, and Michael ran his fingers through the locks a few times, careful not to tug as he finger-combed it into something workable.

He could just put it up in a ponytail and be done with it – it worked for his hair just fine – but ponytails could have loose strands falling out, especially for short hair like Kayla’s, and Michael wasn’t letting her catch it in her string again.  Instead, he split her hair in two, leaving half of it down for the moment while he divided the half he was still working on into three and twisted them together, tucking in all the loose strands so that even if they did stick out from the braid a little they still wouldn’t be long enough to fall near the bowstring at full draw.

Kayla didn’t try to turn her head once as he drew the braid around the curve of her scalp and looped his hair tie around the end to keep it together while he did the same on the other side.  There was a stubborn flick of hair near her ear that really, really did not want to get braided in, but Michael was also stubborn and after a few passes, he had it tightly wrapped into the braid with its fellows as he drew that side, too, around her scalp to join the end of the first braid.

From there it was a simple matter to grip both ends with one hand, slip the hair tie off of the first braid, and then tie both of them together at the back of her head, far away from her face and a drawn bowstring.

“There you go,” he told her and she whirled around fast enough for the end of the braid to lash around like a club, despite how short it was.

“What did you do?” she demanded, and Michael caught her hands as she went to touch the hairstyle.

“Just a couple of braids,” he said.  “Don’t touch it or they’ll come loose.”

“Oh.”  She squinted at him.  “What happened to your hair?”  Michael shrugged, releasing her hands and reaching back to his own, now loose, hair.

“I don’t carry spare hair ties on me,” he said easily.  “It’s fine.”

“But… won’t yours get caught, now?” she asked.

He shook his hair out before bundling it up in his hands.  “Unlikely,” he assured her.  “Unlike yours, mine is long enough to do this.”  It wasn’t a perfect solution, and it wasn’t the most comfortable, either, but he’d done it in a pinch.  He twisted his hair around itself a few times until it made a makeshift bun then reached into his quiver pocket.  He didn’t often do competition shooting, or scoring, but it was always useful to have a pen around.  With the practice of having done it several times before, when his hair tie had broken – and okay, maybe he should keep spare hair ties in his quiver, but that was a thought he always forgot when he was close enough to his spares to actually act on it – he stabbed it through the mess on the back of his head.

It'd hold for a while, at least.

“All sorted,” he told his wide-eyed little sister.  All traces of tears had long since vanished from her eyes, to his relief.  “Now get back to shooting.”

He bent down to pick up his bow again, only to get tackle-hugged by a bundle of green-and-orange.

“Thank you!” Kayla beamed at him.  Michael squeezed her shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” he said.  “Now get shooting.”

She let go of him and scooped up her own bow instead, sending him a grin as she nocked an arrow, drew it back, and let it fly.

Gold, and not a single green strand anywhere near the string.  Michael grinned and picked up his bow, returning to his own mark to keep shooting as well.

Chapter 6>

[lgcxjasper]

NOW PLAYING: what a beautiful day by TO1 SOLO | Casting Call #016 wc: 1,889.

jasper mae buys sweet treats and has an interview conducted for his potential audition into newkids newdreams, along as some inner thoughts.

he was taught to never show up somewhere important empty-handed. this was particularly important if you wanted to make an impression or be remembered. and even if it was a slight trek to wake up at the crack of dawn, shower and slick back his hair, put on a nice sweater and slacks, and then make his way to the cafe before returning with fresh pastries in hand-- it'd be worth it. he figured morning would be best for the interview rather than afternoon when the slump had had the opportunity to hit full force. he scheduled it before he even had the time to denounce it and return to his normal training life, albeit not normal at all. however, now that the day was here, finds himself wiping down sweaty palms and pushing back freshly dyed strands. gone were the days of jet black and browns, boring colors that make him think of ivy leagues, the cold weather of london, and back home. no, now he had gone the complete opposite-- a step up from blonde, platinum even, with a haircut to match and keep it off the back of his neck, just in time for spring.

surely, that made him look more youthful. that was the entire goal here, and he wasn't above making sure he already looked the part if it helped his chances. it's why he's made sure each step is not looked over once, but twice-- each step in his plan going just accordingly so…

(really, he can't tell if he's already starting to lose himself, like his mother was worried about; or, the more frightful option-- he was just discovering more parts of him that he hadn't known existed.)

at least the pastries seemed to be appreciated-- he had spent all week looking for a place that didn't seem to be too commonly known, but had both classics and uniquely delicious options.

there's a faint thought that crosses his mind once he finally allows his brain to stop; he's nervous, actually nervous, and that thought alone has him cursing at himself, under his breath as he wipes his palms on his dark khakis, sitting in the chair, which is really the last thing he wants to be doing. but then his name is called, and he puts on his brightest smile-- he was good at that, and if anyone was looking closely, how could he look nervous? seo youngjae sits across from him in what looks to be an expensive, fancy leather chair and jasper runs his hands through platinum strands once more, eager to get started.

he prepared for this. and after all, it was just an interview. he was used to being cool, calm and collected in times of pressure. this shouldn't be any different, and yet nothing about this felt the same or usual.

maybe because for once, he had things that mattered. or, rather-- things that mattered to him.

he expected the first question, and in fact, he would have been more surprised if it wasn't the first one youngjae had asked.

why are you interested in being in NEWKIDS NEWDREAMS? dialogue count(dc): 179

"Ah, well it seems I'm a pretty appropriate lad for the part, no?" he starts, offering his signature grin before he lets it fade away some, gnawing at his bottom lip, humming as he thinks of how to word his answer appropriately. it's then he sits up a bit straighter. "I think like anyone else, we all want to chance to show why we're working so hard. I don't think I'd be doing myself a service if I let the opportunity pass me by without giving it a solid attempt. Truly, it seems I do fit the part. To me, it sounds rather fresh? Just even based on the title alone. I am a new kid, as far as this goes, with a newly found dream to perform and share my talent, which I couldn't say a few years ago. I do want a chance to give people that same sort of happiness music gives me. I also think it would be a remarkable opportunity to be a part of an original lineup, especially with a new set of guys I could bond and develop a one-of-a-kind connection with." he says with a final nod as if the admission was a realization for him as he was saying it, which… in a way it felt like.

considering the current confirmed members, what can you add to the formation ON AND OFF stage if you are picked? dc:198

this question has his head tilting, eyes turning up in thought as he recollects who was currently picked, based on all the roommate changes and all the whispers and what he knew. it'd be a lie to say he hadn't weighed the pros and cons. for some of the boys, he knew their strengths and weaknesses, either based on observance or simple closeness. for others, it was a little bit harder-- he could only go on past performances and trainee room interactions. with this in mind, he inhales carefully before starting. "I've always known myself to be a decently strong singer, but I've grown to find more sides to myself not to mention my performance, which I'm grateful to the coaches and legacy for. I think it's good to have someone well-rounded, which I think is a part I could fit, after some thought. Someone adaptable to different roles, not pigeonholed into one. I learn fast, especially choreography and I'm good at following music, as well as composing and other technical sides. I… think I'd be a good center, perhaps, and… while I'm not saying it myself, I've been told I could be seen as a visual, which is always helpful in commanding attention. I'm a native english speaker, which is good for communication with fans and I provide global outreach as well as being from overseas." after this, he finds himself softly smiling a bit at youngjae. "I'm not the most … outgoing, but I love having a good time, know how to work with a team, and I'm good at controlling my emotions, so I think its good to have someone who is grounded and sometimes reigns people in when they need to be. Ah, I could go on, but I think that covers a good bit of it."

which skill (singing, dancing, acting, modeling, instrument…) do you want to be known for and why? dc: 143

The question actually has him furrowing his brow, having to really have to think about it. youngjae seems to further explain, but that wasn't quite the problem he was having-- truthfully, he thought he knew the answer to that question, but lately he wasn't sure about that even. He knew his strongest suit was vocally-- whether that was due to genetics or just natural talent was anyone's guess, not that it even mattered. "Ah, after thinking about it a bit, I think it would be silly to choose something other than vocals, no? I know I already stand out in that aspect regardless, I really do think that's my strong suit. It's my first talent, the one I hold a bit closer than the others I possess-- I do love to sing." He sighs a bit in thought. "I know my voice is sort of unique with a deeper tone, but I think that is what makes me stand out as opposed to a lot of the higher tones people may be used to. It'll make me memorable. Oh! I think I'd like to be remembered for my composing and lyric writing as well, though. The lyrics for my introduction were self-composed by yours truly, and I hope I improve in that area. Perhaps I could produce as well, in the future."

what kind of concept are you good at and what kind are you bad at? dc:149

"Ooh, great heavens," he says with a bit of a laugh, more at himself than anything, but it's good-natured. It's the sort of question that he didn't want to answer, but it was here now, so he tried to take it in stride. "That's actually something I've been trying to figure out myself, truthfully, and I'm not quite sure I've nailed something, frankly, I'd be horrible at. I thought it'd be a cutesy concept, but I've recently been told that I'm good at doing that sort of thing? A coach recently told me that I sort of light up in a different way during cute concepts." there's that signature grin again, almost seeming to mirror the brightness that appears-- "I've been working on trying different concepts from my sunbaenims, and… luckily, I haven't been told there's something I shouldn't be doing. Which is probably sort of a good thing. If I had to personally choose something for myself, I think it would be the sort of 'bad-boy' concept. Perhaps I'm a bit too clean-cut for that sort of bit, at least right now. As for what I'd be good at… I think something maybe a bit lore heavy, more than meets the eye. "

what kind of group would you ideally want to be part of and why? (examples: self-composing type, self-content making type, known for high performance, known for live vocals, etc…) dc: 142

this is the question that has him whistling low, pressing full lips together, but unlike some of the other questions, this seems to be a bit easier to answer. "When someone leaves a performance of mine, of my group's, I want them to be rather speechless, really. It needs to be a sort of spectacle. I think this leans towards more performance, but ultimately at the end of the day it comes down to bringing tight synchronization, even tighter harmonies, always being on, even when it may seem like something casual. Of course, I think vocals should be a big part of it, as we're singers and the like; but it would be also nice to have something that really makes us stand out-- maybe acrobatics, or something like that." he offers, thinking he's done, but then it's like the words don't stop, and jasper has never been a fan of biting his tongue. "I think it would also be nice to have, of course, incredible dancing and performance skills, especially when performing live, or when presented with a challenge. despite all of that, and still putting on something stellar and remarkable would be… nice."

he's expecting more questions, but there are none. instead, youngjae stands, so he does too, offering a polite bow. like the gentleman he always is, he thanks the head coach for his time, encouraging him to have a pastry and enjoy the rest of his day. it's not until he's out of the building that he finally exhales, his shoulders drooping, really breathing again for the first time.

he's rolling his eyes at himself, stuffing his hands into his pocket. he can feel his stomach growling, aching for something to eat since had opted to skip having breakfast.

since when did he get so worked up over things he couldn't control? maybe that was the exact reason he worked so hard up until this very moment-- from analyzing his competitors, scouring the history, and even bringing sweet treats. what if none of it mattered? what if all of it mattered?

whatever.

[tawus]

Answering an ask that contains JJK manga spoilers

⚠️ JJK manga spoilers below ⚠️

Anonymous said:

1. The theory of Gojo having a rough childhood was actually cleared up by Gege during the Q&A interview in the Jump Giga Autumn 2022.

Q. Was Gojo treated kindly / lovingly as the head of the

Gojo family?

A. He was spoiled rotten.

☝🏻Really explains his bratty behaviour 😂

2. It was a really wholesome moment between Gojo & kid Megumi him telling Hana might fall in love with Megumi and rubbing the kid's head. (all the fan arts were right )

3. And you are right, when the shock value of Sukuna possessing Megumi dissipated , I couldn't take Sukuna seriously anymore with that emo haircut and Megumi's sea urchin hair gelled up back.(still sexy)

4. Kinda curious on how this Sukuna will play a part in the second part of Infidelity if there are plans on it.

5. Kashimo is interesting but dude has so many death flags for wanting to fight Sukuna .

6. And poor Hana & Yuko Ozawa who loves Megumi & Yuji for their personalities , they might have to witness both of their love interests dying and the boys doesn't even know about the girls' feelings.(btw Yuki x Choso was tragic)

7. And lastly we will see Gojo again sooner , i mean we saw the back of the PR held by Choso. Pretty sure it would be a " we won but at what cost "feeling when Gojo comes as things are not looking good for Gojo.

Tawus:

Wow. Wow! WOW! See, I'm gonna gush right here: since the start I've maintained that Gojo wasn't abused as a child. I was even going to write a shortfic about his childhood the way I envision it - in which he saw from his parents, elders, guardians, and servants: love, care, affection, guidance, compassion, generosity, and of course, their absolute spoiling of him. I've had both types of parents: violent/abusive and healthy/loving. And it's thanks to my healthy/loving parent that I got to see what non-toxic love and care is supposed to look like. If you've never received something, it's hard to know what it looks like. With Gojo, we can clearly see that he's a good guy. The way he cares and provides guidance and guardianship to all his students, starting with Megumi... With the absolute power he holds, if he was heavily abused as a child and never saw any love, I see him becoming a villain. A fantastic villain! But he's not. On the other hand, if he was just spoiled rotten and never saw any suffering, then he would have a hard time sympathising with the plight of others. But Gojo does. He has empathy, however imperfect. And I believe that this empathy was gained not through his own personal suffering as a child, but perhaps of the suffering he witnessed of his close childhood friend or someone near him at the time... These are all my speculations based on my own life experience and I was going to write a shortfic encompassing these, but I got put off from writing it due to the fandom's nearly collective agreement that he was abused... With Gege finally clearing it up, though, I'm glad to see I was on the right track. So thank you sm for sharing this with me! 💗

Agreed. I could gush all day and night over Gojo's relationship with Megumi ❤️

'sea urchin hair' lmaoo

Lol I'm curious too how this Sukuna thing will play out in the Infidelity sequel bc I absolutely did NOT expect that! Gege dropping bombs out here 😭

I'm so into Kashimo by now that istg, he better give up on fighting Sukuna and go live out his retirement in his shiny new body somewhere in the countryside 😭

Oh god I hope you're wrong! And god, Yuki x Choso was tragic

See, for all my above talk about Gojo not being a villain, my fucked up little heart that wrote Infidelity, secretly wishes for Gojo's reaction to all the deaths and losses once he comes out of the Realm to be to cause an apocalypse. Final manga panel: the whole world is burning. There are no more people, no more sorcerers, no more curses, no more students, no more suffering. The end ✨