#I got a new notebook just for this actually

[villainessbian]

How do I go in the timeline where being very vaguely critical of the concept "something that was designed to be doable by children with a little bit of learning-improving thought about the concepts might feel overwhelming, so I used the brand new Environment Destroyer 3000 to miss the learning opportunity and poorly say something for me I could have just as poorly said myself in just 5 minutes more with no consequences to me or anyone" isn't given the least charitable reading ever and depicted as monstrous?

Look at "useful idiot" here. School itself is now a political faction with the goal of breaking children, that's the only way a "useful idiot" would be used. Homework can't be done in under 3 hours and it has to be perfect or Consequences. That's just how it works, right?

Sigh, some of you are so quick to have opinions you forget to base them on the world around you. It's high school homework. The point of high school homework is that you think about the lesson when you're home and when it gets corrected you know what points you got down and what points you can make progress on.

Spend five minutes - five minutes - looking at the inside of your notebook during the week-end and you've done the expected amount. Now write something poorly, you're a child, no one expects you to make Ulysses, just to show that you got something out of the class and into your brain. Boom, you're ahead of the curve.

Do your homework poorly, that's what it gets corrected for. Now you have more time. You're welcome.

But do it yourself, or you're wasting a bunch of things:

you're wasting more of your time copying it than writing something bad,

you're wasting your teachers' time correcting something you're not going to learn anything from (if you want to make it a social justice thing, guess who has less sleep and more work than high school students? high school teachers. don't waste the time they're trying to help you with ffs),

you're wasting yourself a learning opportunity,

and you're wasting away your ability to use the intellectual functions required to do it

By the way, these intellectual functions are needed for something that, let's be honest, is not that hard. Can it be challenging for a kid? Sure. Can it be time-consuming? Maybe, if it's too much then half-ass it, you can take my Teacher's Word for it that doing it poorly is infinitely more useful than not doing it at all and your teacher will want to actually help you. But it's ultimately not very difficult. You need to develop past the point where you find it difficult. A functional adult should be able to look at high school homework and find all of it intuitively easy to do as well as know how they'd be done relatively fast. If you take the opportunity to never train these abilities, you'll never get there.

Honestly, y'all, I'm begging you. Take the time to think and learn for yourself. Even if it's just something casual like knitting or cooking. Exercise your brain. It's important.

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

Can I get headcanons for the TEC boys with a reader who’s good at art?

Never A Frown With Golden Brown

Summary: TEC x Artist! Reader

TW/CW: mentions of crime scenes

A/N: Good news, guys! REQUEST ARE NOW BACK OPEN!

Knocked out the majority of my queue, so fill free to request anything (as long as you read my DON’Ts first! <3

Reblogs are appreciated!

- Bill isn’t a muse, and he told you as such

- Anytime it was time for portraits for school, his mom was too poor to pay the extra money (though it became more obvious it’s because she didn’t want to have any reminders of him)

- It would be no different with you. He spotted you during art class actually paying attention to the assignment, and scoffed

- “You know, there are better ways to put your normie brain to the use”

- You simply pretended not to hear him as you continue to draw the still life in front of you

- Overtime, you would catch him watching you draw, paint, photograph, even write sometimes. He got red faced and mad when you pointed it out, but that didn’t stop him

- In fact, you just made him more curious. He’ll admit: your inking was acceptable, you knew how to compose a shot and he guessed your coloring was alright

- You probably drew him Major Violence with Battle Broad for his birthday, and he just held onto the piece of paper like it would be lost forever if he didn’t

- Will stuff every doodle/unfinished drawing you’ve threw out over the years. Will get pissy if you point this out, saying that “YEAH! Well, maybe I want to draw better than you!”

- I actually think he does know how to draw, just doesn’t apply himself. If he’s feeling generous, he’ll return the favor by drawing you in a notebook and tear it out for you

- Would die of embarrassment if he was asked to be your muse for photography. Of course he’s going to agree to, just that it’s embarrassing he’ll be seen in this light! DUH!

- (Later on, would ask if you have any copies he could take home)

- It’s weird being admired like this. He’s only seen this with artists from a long gone era…not with his pimply nerdy self

- ….but maybe he’ll accept it. Maybe.

- Josh saw you drawing for the journal club. They needed a cover, and you were the “art kid”, so you were made to take the burden of it

- He likes to think he’s artistic himself (writing wise), but the way you effortlessly blended in the watercolor onto the paper…it entranced him

- He stayed up all night writing the “perfect” sci fi story for you to visualize. Maybe you can draw it like Frank Frietrzza, or even Jack Kirby

- Slides it in your locker and hopes for the best.

- Waits a couple of days, and calls himself foolish for even thinking someone of you fallible (while also stating that “you couldn’t handle the caliber of my art skills!”)

- It isn’t until he sees you also slip in a visualization of the drawing that he was sold!

- Loves to watch you in art class while you produced the most beautiful landscapes within just your imagination

- Wants to hear about your process at all times and would get giddy hearing you talk

- Secretly? He’s jealous. He can never seem to get the ideas in his head right onto the paper. It’s like a mental block for him or something.

- So, he may or may not steal some of your drawing ideas from you. Will adamantly claim he didn’t, but you knew. You always knew

- I’m you can get past that, maybe you two could be a creative writing duo

- Josh takes control of the writing; you take control of the illustrations

- It’s a weird harmony of sorts, but it works nevertheless

- For Pete, I think he would actually like a photographer

- I don’t know why, but staring at movies all times of the day means he has a keen eye when it comes to the little details

- Saw you at the darkroom while you were about to finish up. He (sort of) followed to the light and watched you examine the last photograph

- Woah…even in black and white, you know your stuff! That lighting really hits the plants well, and the composition almost wraps said plants into something…monstrous

- You end up catching him in the act, but unlike the others, he just continued to stare…creepy

- When he got home, he spread out his favorite horror films and capture every one of his favorite shots (probably stole a camera or used a shitty camcorder)

- Maybe asks you if you can take shots like this (yes, he be one of THOSE people who want free requests)

- He’s a little sleaze ball as well. The type that would BEG you to go into crime scenes and take pictures of everything, but especially the bodies

- If not…maybe a portrait of himself? Probably never got one because his parents were too poor to get one themselves

- Since Pete’s also a creative person (FXS), those “self portraits” are him in his zombie crawl look

- Internally kicking his feet when he gets them done, but acts all tough when you asked his opinion on it

- Even if you guys did break up, he still has them, sometimes even looks at them when he’s feeling bitterly nostalgic

- Jerry would love a sculptor. Someone who can seemingly make fantastical stories with just a piece of clay and such

- You met because he accidentally destroyed one of said sculptures. You were letting it air dry and Jerry was tripped up by some bullies (or even the club), crashing right down onto one of them

- After helping him clean up, he started to also notice your other work on the ground and WOAH! Is that Xena the Princess Warrior?!

- Didn’t have time to stick around, but would watch you sculpt during free time in art class

- The way your hands meticulously move around the clay itself…how it made these blobs into impossible shapes…fascinating

- It distracts him every day of his life. Even at club he’s starting to feel flustered when thinking about you and your work

- Will eventually ask if he could watch you up close while you sculpt

- He’s a romantic at heart (a little). Absolutely red faced and flustered watching you. He’s never met anyone this talented since…well, forever, really

- I think you could inspire him to create a little. “Checks out” (stalks) your profile and tries to replicate some of your more simpler pieces

- It’s…something, but he’s trying, alright?

- Would bond making mini figurines of DnD characters and keeps them up his shelf to admire

- He loves his artistic S/O so much <3

[emonaculate]

Emon babbles II...

Woah... you guys loved the first drabble, huh? Honestly, I'm a little shocked at how well it did, considering I only had bits and pieces of a story. Thank you for all the support! I do appreciate all the feedback! Let me know if you'd like a full-fledged fic out of this, or if you'd prefer the drabble format.

Bandmate!Gojo x Readerــــــــﮩ٨ـ

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is five months out from the infamous Welcome Home Palooza, sits alone in the dim glow of Studio C—his favorite room to rot in nowadays. Being alone in a studio is a hell of a lot easier than interacting with people.

The walls are padded in midnight blue, the air heavy with old smoke and the hum of equipment left on standby. The only light comes from a single desk lamp that flickers sometimes, like even it doesn’t know how to stay steady.

His guitar rests against his thigh, glistening as it mocks him. He plays the same three chords. Again. And again. And again. The tempo is off. The bridge won’t land. The chorus feels cheap. Everything he writes sounds like someone else wrote it. Someone who is trying to make a cheap, straight-to-retail stores' radio cash grab.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is supposed to be introducing a brand-new song at their biggest show for long-term fans who actually KNOW what his music is supposed to sound like.

A homecoming. A resurrection. Or a slow, public execution. He can’t tell which.

The deadlines are crawling closer. The pressure is a weight in his chest. This is the first palooza he has ever had to do with Geto. Maybe, that's why its so hard for him to come up with new material. He stares at the notebook sitting beside him—blank, accusing, waiting. He’s written nothing. He doesn’t even have a title. Just a looping mess of sounds that refuse to mean anything.

Where the hell do you even start when everything already feels like the ending?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojostrums the strings harder. Wrong. All wrong. The riff comes out ugly. He stops. Breathes in. Breathes out. Counts to four. Still wrong. He closes his eyes and leans back in the chair, head tilted toward the ceiling, waiting for the drop of something—inspiration, maybe. Grace. A ghost. Or maybe for the ceiling to collapse and kill him.

However he is only met with the response of silence. Then—his phone buzzes. He knows it's Shoko. She's the only one who checks on him anymore. She pretends to not care, but she has always been in his corner... even when he doesn't deserve it.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t want to answer. He wants to let it go to voicemail. But considering he has gotten no where in the past three hours, he might as well. Not like he has anything better going on. He presses accept and stays quiet.

“Still hunched over in that studio?” she asks. No preamble.

“Still smoking those cancer sticks?” he fires back.

A pause. The kind that says you win this round, bitch.

“I’ve got news,” she sighs. “About Y/n”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels his jaw twitch. He says nothing. She had been an enigma in his mind since they had played together. He thought about how he looked at her and all he saw was Geto. He remembered the feeling of his heart rate spiking and palms growing sweaty as she removed the blindfold, ruining the illusion. There was something about the way she really looked at him afterwards. Like actually looked. Saw him. He panicked and bolted out of the room.

Shoko knows that silence. She keeps going.

“Execs said no. She’s out. Too new. Too unpolished. Not marketable enough. They used a lot of words to say ‘we’re scared of taking risks.’ You know the drill.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn't answer at first. Not because he doesn’t have anything to say—but because he has too much. Y/n's playing has been stuck in his head since the audition like a melody with no name. He remembers the shape of her confidence. The fire in her voice when she said she could keep up with him—blindfolded. She turned Charmolypi into a conversation without knowing the history.

And now, just like that, he lost Geto all over again. I mean a new bassist. His grip tightens on the guitar neck until his knuckles pale.

“Say something,” Shoko pleads. “Or throw something. I don’t care. Just don’t sit there shutting me out again. ”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo lifts the guitar again. Plays the same three chords. They don't sound real anymore with how many times he has replayed them..

“Did they give a reason?” he mutters.

“I told you. Image. PR. All bullshit.” She pauses, then adds carefully, “They don’t think she fits our sound.”

Gojo snorts. “She was our sound.”

Another beat of silence.

“You gonna fight this?” she asks.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t know. He wants to. But there’s something heavy hanging over it all—something rooted in the song he hasn’t finished and the person he hasn’t forgiven. Y/N reminded him of Geto, that was undeniable. Obviously, not in the way she looked, or talked. But in the way she made music feel like it still meant something. Like it could still save something.

But maybe Gojo doesn’t want to be saved. Maybe he was scared to try and push for this girl to join his band because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to push aside the fact that all he saw when he looked at her was his ex-lover. His bestfriend. The one that got away. What if that line blurred and he did something terrible? Ruined another person? He seemed to have a track record for ruining the good in amazing musicians.

Shoko seems to sense where his mind is drifting. “Look. You’ve got five months to write something that doesn’t sound like a eulogy. I’m just saying—maybe the thing you need to fix this… isn’t something. Maybe it’s someone.”

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps playing the same three chords, slightly slower now. Still not right.

"Just think about it. Don't forget to take a break, though." Shoko added before ending the call.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo , who gets literally kicked out of the studio by Shoko, doesn’t argue when she tosses a crumpled ball cap at his chest and jerks a thumb toward the door.

“You need air. And a damn attitude adjustment.”

He doesn’t bother lashing back. Not because he agrees with her— hell no— but because the fight feels like too much effort. Everything does lately. Maybe he should request his doctor to up his meds?

“Don’t forget the mask,” she calls after him as he walks down the hallway. “The last thing we need is another headline about your ‘mysterious public breakdown.’”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who’s dressed like teenage girl who just discovered streetwear's wet dream— navy blue ball cap pulled low, oversized white jersey flapping open over a long sleeve that hides his infamous yet easily recognizable tattoos, baggy cargo pants low enough to piss off any manager on payroll, and a plain black mask pulled snug over his face— blends in for once. A nobody in the middle of a city that only cares about nobodies when they become rich ass somebodies overnight.

The moment he steps outside, L.A. wraps around him— hot pavement, the smell of gas and cigarettes, the smear of sunset like an old bruise across the sky.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls it out, scanning a few messages. One from his agent — ignored. Two from fans who somehow got his real number again — blocked.

Then… An unfamiliar number. Just a single message.

did you really feel that threatened by how much better i am than you?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo freezes mid-step. The corner of his mouth unknowingly twitches, almost against his will—not quite a smile, more like the idea of one. He reads the message again. He’s not used to being challenged, let alone teased this casually. He didn't even question how she managed to get his number.

It’s Y/n. Has to be.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo stares at the words, chewing them over like lyrics he hasn’t quite figured out how to sing yet. The audacity. The gall. The fact that she didn’t beg for a second chance— didn’t ask anything of him. Just hit send and dared him to deal with it.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels his face flush for the first time in years. God, what was he, a kid in grade school? No way he is getting flustered by a girl being this casual with him. He had snake bites and a tongue piercing for crying out loud! If he could sit through that pain, he could handle some random girl texting his phone. She's not just some random girl, though.

So what she was someone who, for the first time in forever, reminded him of why he started playing in the first place. That feeling. That fire. That ache. And it wasn’t from fame. Or fans. Or ego. It was from someone showing up and refusing to shrink beneath his shadow.

It didn't mean anything. He should ignore the text. He should block her and move on and keep pretending none of this matters. But instead, his thumbs hover over the screen. He types. Deletes. Types again.

you spelled “lucky” wrong.

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it. The reply comes quick.

bitch behavior. didn’t deny it though.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who now walks the block with a barely-contained laugh behind his mask, feels that same feeling stir in his ribs that he originally felt when they played together.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, whose feet carry him aimlessly down side streets and cracked sidewalks, past tattoo parlors glowing red with neon, taco stands setting up for late-night rushes, and murals half-covered in new graffiti. It's noisy, alive — and yet, it feels like he's underwater. Everything muffled. Everyone moving too fast.

He thumbs a reply, each word deliberately careless:

deny what? that you played like a high schooler with stage fright?

But before he can hit send, he pauses. Deletes the last half. He rewrites it. Too mean.

deny what? i didn’t know confidence came with delusion these days.

He stares at it for a second. Debating. Not bad.. not too mean? Its fine. Stop over thinking it.

Then: send.

His phone buzzes back within seconds.

says the guy who couldn’t even look me in the eye the whole time i played. what’s the matter, did real talent make you nervous? or am I just that breathtaking?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo actually stops walking this time, standing in the yellow glow of a flickering streetlamp. Is she flirting or mocking him? A couple passes him on the sidewalk, laughing softly as they brush hands. He doesn't move, doesn’t even notice.

There’s a subtle tightening in his chest. Not pain, exactly. More like friction. Pressure. Get a grip, you're Gojo Satoru. Worldwide superstar. Not some loser who has never felt the touch of a woman before. You don't like this girl; you like the fact that she reminds you of who you lost. Nothing more.

says the girl who was about to cry because her pinky slipped off the E string? don’t act like you didn’t flinch when i raised my voice. tough girls don’t blink.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo regrets the last sentence the moment it sends. Way too mean. Too much like the version of him Shoko keeps threatening to drag to therapy. But it’s already out there. Her reply takes longer this time. Five minutes. Then ten. He starts walking again, slower now. He cuts across a parking lot and sits on the edge of a short wall, staring out at the blur of headlights streaming down the street.

Finally, her response comes.

you’re right. i did flinch. because you reminded me what failure looks like. and i don’t want to end up like you. damn near passed out at the mere thought.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who has been called a genius, a god, a generational talent, sits in stunned silence, phone glowing back at him as if he looked hard enough, the message would rewrite itself into something more pleasant.

He blinks once. Twice. Then, he smiles. Not the cocky smirk, not the fake stage-grin. A real one. Twisted, bitter, maybe a little impressed.

ok. fine. show me how not to end up like me then.

The three dots bounce on his screen. Typing. Stopping. Typing again. But no reply comes. He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky, the city lights washing out the stars. For the first time in months, he’s not thinking about Geto. Not about the way things fell apart. Not about how he ruined the relationship with the person he cared about most. Just about a girl who called him a bitch and made him want to pick up his guitar again— not to be better than anyone else. But to prove he still could.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, phone screen dims. Thirty minutes pass. Still no reply. He doesn’t like that.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t like being the one left hanging. He’s the cliff, not the one dangling from it. The back-and-forth was fun. Sharp. Flirty without trying to be. But now that it’s quiet, all the self-assuredness he wears like cologne starts to wear thin. He checks the signal on his phone like it’s the service’s fault.

Then— buzz.

A message. No words. Just a location pin. A blue dot blinking somewhere less than a mile from where he’s perched.

wtf does that mean. hello? you forget how to type? are you luring me out to kill me bc ngl, i’d respect that.

No response. Gojo stares at the location again. He shouldn’t go. He won’t go. It’s probably just a flex. A test. A trap. ...So why is he already walking with the GPS pulled up?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who has slipped through hundreds of backdoors in venues across the world, now walks quietly, alone, on side streets lit with strings of warm lights and the occasional flickering sign. He follows the map. It leads him to a small café tucked between a yoga studio and an old comic shop. The kind of place with mismatched tables and a chalkboard sign outside that says OPEN MIC / LOCAL TALENT NIGHT in scrawled white letters. It’s packed. People are standing shoulder to shoulder, heads tilted toward a small stage in the back, where a single spotlight beams down like a soft halo.

He doesn’t need to ask where she is.

Because there, in the middle of that warmth and color and attention, is Y/n. Alone onstage. No band. No fanfare. Just her bass slung low, her fingers moving with casual, devastating control. Her eyes are wide as she plays with a fever he couldn't describe. Her body swaying to a rhythm that doesn’t seem rehearsed, but lived in.

And the sound—God. Even her voice is pretty. It’s fluid. Gritty. Intimate. Full of breathless pauses and surprise riffs . She’s not showing off—not technically. She’s telling a story. And the crowd? They're caught in her gravity. No phones out. No talking. Just listening. She plucks a run of notes, and Gojo feels them.

Somewhere in his ribs. That little space between ache and awe. He leans against the doorframe in the back, hidden by shadows. Watching.

Y/N glances up mid-song, and for a second, her eyes flicker to the back of the room. He swears she sees him. But she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t flinch.

Just presses deeper into the melody like it’s a challenge, and Gojo swears he can hear it in the way her fingers shift: “You came.”

And something in his chest replies— “Yeah.”

The final note hums like the last breath of a storm. Y/n lets it hang, vibrating in the air for one extra beat before she slowly lifts her hand off the strings. No flourish. No bow. Just a nod— like that performance was for her, not them. Applause erupts, sudden and full-bodied. Gojo watches her give a tight smile to the crowd, say something polite into the mic, and then slip off the stage without waiting for praise.

She disappears behind a curtain for a moment. The next act sets up— two girls with matching hair clips and a shared acoustic guitar. The energy shift is immediate. But Gojo’s not watching them. Because she’s walking toward him now. Calm. Unhurried. Eyes pinned to his like she’s not even bothering to pretend this is coincidence.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who’s sat in green rooms with legends and walked off stage to standing ovations, suddenly feels too tall for his chair. He straightens up—too quickly— like he didn’t just get caught staring. Y/n stops in front of him and squints. Then, with all the flatness of someone pointing out a spilled drink:

"Your disguise is terrible, by the way."

Gojo blinks. “...You think so?”

She cocks her head, arms crossing. “You look like what an adolescent girl, too young to be on Tumblr, would climax over if she could dress her crush.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojosnorts— but behind the mask, it's more like a sharp exhale. She slides into the chair across from him. Her movements unceremonious, confident, like this was always the plan. Like he’s the one intruding on her evening.

"I’m surprised you made it," she says, flicking a glance toward the stage as the next act begins tuning.

“Only caught the end.” He says it casually, but the way his fingers tap restlessly at the edge of the table gives him away. “Didn’t think you were into open mic nights.”

“I’m not. But they’re into me.” She shrugs. “And this is the only place that’ll let me play without turning it into a PR stunt.”

She doesn’t say like your label did, but he hears it anyway.

A waitress comes by. Y/N orders with practiced ease, like she comes here often.

“Strawberry shortcake,” she says, pointing at Gojo with her thumb. “And an energy drink for me. Tall can. Yellow tropical.”

Gojo raises a brow. “Didn’t realize you knew my order.”

“I didn’t. You just look like you need something sweet to shut you up.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo opens his mouth to reply, but it’s gone— the wit, the snark. She’s leaned back now, arms over the chair, the dim café lights softening the edges of her face. Not smiling. Not trying to make him laugh.

Just looking at him. And it’s so unsettlingly… normal and easy. The waitress disappears. The music starts again— the girls on stage begin to sing something breathy and delicate about summer and loss. They sit there, saying nothing for a moment.

Then Y/n, softly speaks; her voice as sweet and light as it was during her audition originally:

"Why’d you come, Satoru?"

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t answer right away. Because he doesn't know what would be worse— telling her the truth… or lying. That it wasn’t about rivalry. Or pride. It was because she made him feel something. Something that he thought he'd never feel again. The presence of Geto. All when she played. He could feel Geto's touch. His smell. His laughter that could echo off the walls for miles. That would be crazy to admit. Deranged. Wrong. So instead, he shrugs. Leans back in his seat.

“Wanted to see if you were as good as your ego said.”

Y/N smirks faintly, tilting the energy drink to her lips as it arrives.

“And?”

The waitress sets the shortcake in front of him. Gojo picks up the fork, breaks off a piece of strawberry, and answers with a mouthful.

"...You’re better."

They sit together for longer than they probably should.

A steady stream of local talent drifts on and off the stage— an indie rock duo with too much reverb, a slam poet who forgot half their lines, a jazz quartet that brought the house back to life. But Gojo only half-listens. His attention keeps drifting sideways, toward the girl sitting across from him, draining her energy drink and poking at the condensation on the side of the can like it’s more interesting than anything happening on stage.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who once sold out Narendra Modi Stadium in less than hour, can’t remember the last time he sat this still.

Y/n laughs at something the girl onstage says— a soft, bright laugh that bursts out of her without restraint. When she laughs, she laughs. Her whole body lifts like a wave cresting, shoulders bouncing, her nose crinkling as the sound fills their little corner of the cafe. And God, it hurts. Because she reminds him of him. Not just in the way her presence draws people in like gravity, though that's part of it. It’s subtler than that. Quieter. The resemblance is all in the details.

In the sharp slice of her eyebrow, like it was carved there by accident during a night too wild to remember. The small silver ring through the side of her nose, glinting under warm lights. The faint constellation of freckles that dust her cheekbones, barely there until she tips her face up to laugh.

And then there's her smile— wide, full, but with a crooked tooth that only adds to her charm. It's not perfect. Which is exactly what makes it unforgettable. She talks with her hands. Gestures big, like every word needs space to stretch. Just like Geto used to.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels it— the old ache, that space inside him where Suguru used to live. He thinks he’s gotten used to it by now. The hollowness. The silence. But watching Y/n from the side, it's like pressing on a bruise that never fully healed.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, voice casual, but her gaze is sharp. “You keep staring like that, and people are gonna start thinking you’re in love with me.”

He snorts. “If I were, it’d be purely out of admiration for your excellent fashion sense.”

“Oh yeah?” she leans in, feigning seriousness. “You trying to copy my look under that busted disguise?”

He grins under the mask, shaking his head. “Please. If I showed up dressed like you, I’d get mobbed.”

“Well then,” she raises her can in a mock-toast, “consider yourself lucky. No one here’s even bothered to ask if you’re the Gojo Satoru. Your anonymity’s doing great.”

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “I worked really hard to look this chopped.”

Y/N snickers and sits back, watching the next performer fumble with a mic stand. Then, after a stretch of companionable silence, she sighs.

“I’m okay with not being in the band, you know.”

Gojo’s fingers tense slightly against the table. Y/n doesn’t look at him. She just keeps watching the stage, her tone neutral.

“I knew when they brought me in, it wasn’t going to happen. You’ve got too much weight around that group. Too much grief. They want someone to fill a spot— not replace anyone. And I’m not trying to be a ghost in someone else’s place. I am my own person, y'know. ”

Her words hang heavy between them. Truthful. Unbothered. And Gojo, who’s spent months pretending he doesn’t care, finally admits — that’s exactly it. Suguru was irreplaceable. Not just because of the talent or the history. But because of who he was to all of them. To him.

And now here’s this girl: too loud, too honest, too damn talented; who won’t slot neatly into a role designed for someone long gone. Because she’s not a replacement. She’s herself. Gojo looks at her again and he doesn’t know what to say. But for once, maybe that’s okay. So instead, he nudges his plate toward her— one last bite of strawberry shortcake untouched.

“Wanna finish it?”

She looks at him, then at the cake, then back.

“Sharing sweets? You like me that much?.”

He shrugs. “Call it a peace offering.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who stands outside the little cafe, the buzz of streetlamps flickering overhead as L.A.’s night air kisses at the edges of his skin through the loose jersey he’s half-zipped. The world hums around him, but he only hears the echo of her laugh— still ringing behind his ribs like a leftover chord.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who stands there awkwardly, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other idly spinning the cap of his lychee soda bottle, unsure if he’s supposed to say something else—something meaningful. But Y/N’s already turning; her energy drink can tossed into a bin with a flick of her fingers.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who watches her walk away with an effortless bounce in her step, a light skip slipping into her stride like she forgot she was supposed to play it cool.

She doesn’t look back. But he does.

He watches her—shoulders relaxed, hoodie slightly oversized, her silhouette swallowed up by the city’s amber haze. The faint clink of her bass case as it shifts against her back. That goddamn silver nose ring catching the light. The way her plump-lipped smile had lingered a little too long in his memory.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who sighs so hard it fogs up it heats up the masks he has on. He tugs it off in a fluid motion and pulls off the cap, running a hand through his now-damp hair.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who kicks at a pebble on the sidewalk and mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” like the universe dared to give him another person who shines too bright and burns just as fast.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who stands still long after Y/N has disappeared from sight, feeling that annoying tug in his chest — the one that makes him clench his jaw and pretend his heart doesn’t still flinch when he thinks about Geto.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who realizes, as he exhales and rolls his shoulders back, that he doesn’t care what the label said. Or what bullshit reason they gave. Or how complicated it might be to add her to their lineup.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojowho makes up his mind right then and there, staring into the cool L.A. night, that she’s in the band— no matter what.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is a lot of things—a menace, a legend, a walking PR nightmare— but he’s not a coward.

He'll fight the execs. He'll deal with Nanami’s judgment. He’ll deal with his own aching, unresolved ghosts.

But he is not letting someone like Y/N slip away. Not when she might be the only person in five goddamn years to make music feel alive again.

And especially not when she calls him a bitch and still somehow makes him want to write a song about it.

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: May 28

2018

The Perfect Night [david/patrick, M, 2,482] by @howami40

2019

Experiment [david/patrick, E, 3,820] by @codswalloping

He was almost sure Patrick would try it if he asked him to. The trouble was, he didn’t want to ask.

the words [david/patrick, G, 1,721] by my_middle_name_is_awkward

He’d happily go through everything again the exact same way, including all of the Rachel stuff and the sexuality crisis just to end up here with David. He knew that all of the hurt and frustration had been worth it to wind up in Schitt’s Creek, running a store with his boyfriend whom he loved. He wouldn’t change a thing.

2020

Bright and Early [david/patrick, NR, 711] by @maxbegone

David yawns, turning to look at the clock. “It’s eight-thirty.” “And I can’t come see my fiancé bright and early?” David blushes at that. “I look gross.” “David, I’ve seen you when you just wake up, and I think you look beautiful.” - A prompt fill that led to an accidental missing scene for Moira Rosé

By Any Other Name [david/patrick, G, 2,957] by @doublel27

The practice of taking someone else’s name hadn’t even seemed odd until Twyla asked who was changing their name after the wedding, him or David, as she dropped his tea on the counter weeks ago. Patrick had blinked at her and realized he didn’t have an answer. No one had ever asked before. Everyone had always known Rachel was going to become Rachel Brewer. She’d doodled it on half a dozen notebooks in high school. But with David, well, Patrick hadn’t even thought about it. Now he couldn’t stop.

No, You Have a Sloppy Mouth [david/patrick, NR, 745] by @maxbegone

Have fun, enjoy the wine. Please don’t break the bed or scare off any guests with your raucous lovemaking ;-) - Stevie “She’s the worst.” David sets the note on the countertop. - or, Patrick's a tease and just wants to make out with David.

supercut [david/patrick, T, 4,482] by @leopxld-fitz

The truth is, since David and Patrick broke up, David hasn’t been the same. And he doesn’t know why. He’s got loads of exes. Plenty of people who he’s loved and he’s lost. Who have wronged him and who he’s recovered from. He could write a book of people who he’s gotten over that he felt something for once. But this is different. It doesn’t leave his head, not that day, not the day after that, or the day after that. This is different, it’s bleeding, it’s raw, because he’d had time to fix it and didn’t come around in time. Because Patrick had reached out and reached out and reached out and when David finally turned around, there was just smoke. So Patrick...Patrick he doesn’t get over. --- What if David and Patrick never got back together during "The Olive Branch"? What if David moved to New York? What if, despite all of that, they never stop thinking about each other?

take your joy in me [david/patrick, T, 4,226] by @tommybuckleys

“This actually isn’t as hideous as I thought it was going to be,” David says as he opens the door. There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Wow,” says a voice that is very much not Stevie.

The More You Know [david/patrick, M, 72,380] by @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3

David Rose needs a sixth person for ultimate (trivia) game play. Enter Patrick Brewer. It's two smart idiots falling in love.

2021

[art] A Lot Like Love [patrick & stevie & david, G, art] by @shimmies

Stevie, David, and Patrick watch a movie together in an alternate ending to The Wingman.

[Filk] You Have Possessed My Heart [david/patrick, G, flik] by @rhetoricalk @sunlightsymphony

What if Patrick decided to be a troll and sing David a repurposed version of I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab for Cutie at Open Mic Night?

[podfic] Catfishing [david/patrick, G, podfic] by @hullomoon

After some prompting from David, Fisherman Patrick reminisces about the day he found his cat, Mackerel, and brought him home. [podfic of Catfishing]

[podfic] I'm a M*therf*cking Starboy [david/patrick, T, podfic] by @hullomoon

This guy walks into Ray's and rocks Patrick's world. He's over the moon. It's the love story of the Centauri. [podfic of I'm a M*therf*cking Starboy]

all i ever want (is to be enough for you) [david/patrick, NR, 359] by @lucy-frostblade

David slumps down on one of the crates, tears burning behind his eyelids. He almost wishes he was back in New York, where he didn't have to worry about messing things up. But his mind decides to betray him, flashing through all of his favorite moments, of meeting Patrick, of leasing the store- his store, of movie nights with Stevie and Patrick, of date nights in Elmdale and waking up with him, and everything he didn't think he needed until moving to Schitt's Creek. _ Or: David realizes he loves Patrick a lot sooner than Single's Week

Bolt of Light [david/patrick, G, poem] by elifisher96

What a shame your birthday was forgotten,I thought a date would make you happy tonight.

five days [david/patrick, E, 92,476] by FaithNoMoar

Patrick clambers up the stairs before reaching daylight again. It’s joy—pure joy, and excitement, and opportunity, and he can't help basking in it; surrounded by the roaring cheers of hundreds of people from every walk of life waving goodbye to the spectators out on the dock...and one remarkably well dressed man who looked absolutely miserable. Five days on the RMS Titanic, where Patrick Brewer, looking for a fresh start, meets David Rose, and everything changes.

Kristy Learns to Lose [ronnie/kristy thomas, E, 1,261] by lithic

Kristy Thomas has always been a pitcher, not a catcher. Then she comes to Schitt’s Creek.

like family would [david/patrick, T, 3,938] by @ratchet

Patrick has literally never been sick in their entire four year relationship, is the thing. Barely a sniffle or a sore throat or a summer cold to speak of. His apparently impeccable immune system had unnerved David, who suffered with winter colds and summer allergies that could be scheduled like clockwork. He’d become so adept at managing his own ill health each time it rolled round that he’d felt weirdly put out that Patrick had never needed his expertise. But now Patrick is sick, and David feels a little at a loss of how to help him. ---- or: Patrick gets the flu. David learns a new definition of family.

The Slip [david/patrick, M, 13,490] by resilient_rose

Patrick takes a hike. David learns first aid.

when you smile (i melt inside) [alexis/twyla, G, 657] by @wafflesfriendswork

Twyla and Alexis meet on Bumpkin.

2022

The Truce [david/patrick, G, 283] by mallpretzles

Patrick and David walk down the aisle as new husbands. Patrick turns to smile at a guest, but who was it?

We laugh, we fumble, we take it day by day [david/patrick, E, 2,235] by anonymous

David and Patrick get to know each other better

Would We Call This a Truce? [david/patrick, G, 271] by @tyfinn

David and Patrick walk up the aisle as new husbands. David turns to smile at a guest, but who was it?

2023

Happy Birthday, Love [david/patrick, M, 288] by @tyfinn

It's David's birthday, and Patrick wants to celebrate.

2024

oh my god, they were roommates [ted/alexis, T, 2,638] by dollsome

Alexis and Ted do lockdown together. Everybody else has Thoughts about it.

Seaweed [david/patrick, G, 185] by @a-noble-dragon

Rollie Jr. tells David and Patrick a joke. David, isn’t impressed.

sweater weather [david/patrick, NR, 2,158] by @ruuinxs

“It’s all sweaters. Like, all of it. Do you have anything that isn’t winter-wear?” “Okay, first of all, sweaters are not only for winter, and I get cold easily. You know that.” “It’s 27 degrees outside in the middle of summer, David.” David really hates when Patrick uses common sense. OR:Patrick finds out about one of David's insecurities.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 2018: 1 fic/2,482 words 2019: 2 fics/5,541 words 2020: 6 fics/85,501 words 2021: 11 fanworks (6 fics, 2 podfics, 1 fan art, 1 poem, 1 flik)/112,736 words 2022: 3 fics/2,789 words 2023: 1 fic/288 words 2024: 3 fics/4,981 words Total: 27 fanworks (22 fics, 2 podfics, 1 fan art, 1 poem, 1 flik)/214,318 words

[stari-hun]

Book 5 - Prisoner in the Cave 

1914 - 1913 , (the 1914 marked in the game doesn’t make sense, I’m counting it as a mistake)

This entire new update is based on the myth. The myth of The Prisoner in the Cave is about a group of prisoners chained to a wall in a cave their entire life, and only being able to see shadows on the wall from the outside. Skipping a lot but the point is their entire world is defined by the little fragments of the world reflected back to them.

~ Wiggle Wiggle edit this future me ~

Basically, the TLDR of this story is that the Foundation managed to do something besides cause trauma and brainwash people for once and isolated the chemical? atom? They catch wind of a Manus signal where they find a box with Ms Radio inside and it tells Vertin to go to Apeiron. This ties into Book 5.2 where they learned people in the Foundation had met some arcanists from Apeiron which included Sophia and 37's mother. A big chunk of the side stories with the event followed how 37 was following in her mother's footsteps to predict The Storm before Vertin and Co. had even reached the island. To note, 37's mother had successfully predicted a few storms herself, and with what we saw in Book 6, its a possible thing to do with little error. Vertin meets 37 and she tells her it's actually 2007 since the island had been calculating how many years should've passed. Regulus was immediately arrested for having a chaotic neutral alignment, some humans didn't even get to the island since the arcanists of Apeiron don't consider them as able to comprehend math and logic as they can. Comparing this fact to the other parts of the lore is interesting because typically arcanists are considered the irrational ones. The full system is here.

Plot ensues and Vertin and Sonetto go to their sacred info dump session and debate club. What they didn't know is that Arcana was there so Sonetto rightfully lost her cool and broke the sacred silence. For a huge chunk of the story thereafter they have a huge debate to let Sonetto live since usually after someone breaks the silence they have to drink poisoned wine (it's implied if they live they're free to go). Someone makes the point that while Vertin has a point that Sonetto didn't count as someone even there since she didn't have a soul number, the same applies to Vertin so the debate was void. 37 replied that Vertin does in fact have a soul number, some plot significance was revealed there with some ominous words about how a person's soul number can predict their future. 37's character event also said she finds out people's soul numbers as a hobby which is likely why she stayed with Vertin despite not wanting to be on escort duty. Vertin's soul number is 0, the origin point in any graph which says a lot but I'm not here for that rn. Arcana and Vertin get truce bangles so if one hurts the other side they experience pain and if it goes on they'll die. Manus however really didn't care about that since they recruit ample canon fodder. Plot skip later and Vertin is in the Cave of Truth with 37 to find the answer to the unknown Storm chemical. However it comes at the cost of them taking down the shroud hiding the island, leaving them to deal with the consequences of an unknown island showing up in the middle of 1914.

~ Wiggle Wiggle edit this future me ~

Book 5 shows how while the Foundation as a whole is morally grey at best, Manus Vindictae are merciless in their pursuit of continuing the Storm. Everyone in their ranks who isn't a powerful Arcanist is just a necessary sacrifice to them. This is shown near the end of the book when Manus Vindictae peons would repeatedly attack Vertin and her team despite the Peace Agreement meaning they’d die. Book 2 also showed how Manus Vindictae treats humans and Arcanists who join their ranks.

[aphel1on]

AuDHD is so funny sometimes like what do you mean my hyperfixations/special interests will last for years on end or possibly forever but they will cycle out every month or two with absolutely no transitional period or warning. like i will think about the same topic every day obsessively for 46 days in a row and on the 47th day with no visible cause adhd brain goes "ok! bored of that now" and autism brain goes "dw i got something queued up for ya" and i blast into full blown obsession on some other topic whose mental file folders haven't opened in 9 months. brain's out here treating hyperfixations like a crop rotation. once the dopamine runs out it cycles in another one but once something's in the rotation it never ever leaves. last summer we brought in one from when i was 11. it's so funny to me but frustrating too bc like. i cannot stress enough my inability to predict or control this. or how completely abrupt and random it can be

[newsies-united]

i am worth it i am smart i am kind i am strong i am creative !! one hard day will NOT BREAK ME 🔥🔥💪💪🔥💪🗣️🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥💪🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️

[selfspinninglies]

Love drawing these little fish in my notebook . look at them

[fadeintolight]

.

[sege-h]

The notebook + sticker I got from @drawloverlala's shop got here! Its SO pretty!

It got here just in time too since I'm heading on vacation next week and my doodle/sketch/notes book has been running out of pages. I always prefer notebooks with thick covers, spirals, and blank pages (as in no lines and stuff) but those have gotten harder to find in irl shops recently for some reason. So this is perfect!

You can check her shop out here!

[bigbrainbiology]

Doodletober 1 <3

[badsalmonella]

I'm just gonna dump a pile of delusional artwork on your dash if that's cool ✌🏼✌🏼

[mid-nighttiger]

[Image ID: Picture of a small yellow-orange-colored hardcover notebook with an elastic enclosure band at the bottom. A Commander Cody Lego minifigure is lying in the middle of the cover, showing that the colors match. /End ID]

in honor of commander cody day i got a new commander cody colored notebook

[sevicia]

I woke up and immediately felt like ranting hello my beauties 🥂

I've been in and out of sleep today & at some point I woke up because my sister was telling me to check Whatsapp so I could go and try to fix up our grandma's TV. so I checked thinking my mom like, asked Me specifically, but her text was directed at both of us and I was so confused I fucked up and asked my sister why she wouldn't go and her immediate response was "because I don't want to", and I was so tired I accidentally fell back asleep and just now got back from helping her fix the TV where my only role was to hold it up from one side and while I was like, trying to grab it for her she repeated "from the bottom. from the BOTTOM." which I was trying to do but couldn't cause of her hand and it turned out all right eventually but I still don't know how I should've gone about holding it to get it right ?

I also clear and set the table for lunch everyday even though it's her chore and she tells me to do it because she's the one who cooks, but it just means All she does chore-wise is cook and maybe do her part of the dishes while I clean the table, clean the counters, hang up the laundry, put away the clean dishes and maybe do my part of the dishes.

plus when we're having lunch and I get distracted in the middle of eating by looking at my phone or smth she just tells me "EAT ALREADY" and I get why she does it so I can't really complain but it does make me feel bad for some reason. when I don't finish all my food she tells me I'm way too picky and when I don't wanna try new foods, or re-try ones I KNOW I don't like (which she loves to try and force me to try again for some reason???) she calls me childish and stupid.

so it's like, in General I end up doing the stuff she doesn't want to do except for when my mom's home and she intervenes because it turns out I AM five years old after all.

and I know I'm fucking stupid for saying yes to basically everything she asks me to do but I'm just so terrified of her being mad at me at any capacity or her hating me again and being really mean to me again because it was horrible to be insulted and made fun of every single day inside my own house and now I am still being insulted just way less often (and now she just calls me stupid, not other things) and she still makes fun of me a lot but is like way less intense about it so if you look at just those two things it's like I'm getting the lite version of my childhood BUT another reason I don't want her to hate me is just because of how awful it always felt to have my sister hate me as a kid. and now she doesn't hate me anymore and she tells me she loves me and worries about me and regrets treating me like that when we were kids and it's just. genuinely terrifying to think about her taking it all back and leaving me alone again even though I have friends now, I would still be alone because she's the one I've spent my whole life with, she's the one I share a room with and she's the one I talk the most with. she's the one person in my life who is even CLOSE to understanding me and I love her so much and losing that just because I couldn't suck it up is so so scary.

so I'm perpetually doing things for her just begging please don't hate me please don't hate me please don't hate me while she still calls me stupid and makes fun of me for getting things wrong and it makes me so so angry because it's so pathetic it's so pathetic for me to be like this it makes me want to bash my own head in with a rock

[sysig]

Hey don’t I know you

Bonus:

[airenyah]

crisis averted, i got my things and now i'm all set for the first rehearsal on monday!!​