#and a clan tag for sorting

[p0ison-control]

MY FAVOURITE SISTERS!!!!! quick design notes: - leaf is based off of a monstera leaf - squirrel is based off of a red squirrel - leaf is slightly larger than average, squirrel is smaller than average

[faustodisco]

Actually if we want to talk about the lilienne/joyce ship I would like to bring up that it plays into the bourgeois woman’s fantasy of class dynamics in a relationship (à la lady chatterley), as well as the upper/middle class idea that their identity as women supersedes said class dynamics (and therefore they believe themselves to be in no position to oppress women of the working class) in a way that lends itself to reactionary movements like TERF ideology. As someone who lives in the uk and has been heavily affected by said ideology, joyce actually put me on high alert just by her voice and appearance.

I think it’s a mistake not to acknowledge that joyce is heavily thatcherite coded (the hair, the posh accent etc) especially when compared to lilienne who plays into the working class british woman archetype: she sounds welsh (considered a ‘lower’ accent), has young children, is a widower etc. It is fairly common to see the ‘confident mum who has to single-handedly support her young family’ in soap operas and other media, and she definitely plays into that stereotype.

Anyway, the ship is on the surface level a fun one, but let’s not overlook the framing as a one-sided and rather sinister set-up.

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 11 - Surrogate

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste & Warrior of Light Rating: Teen & Up Additional Notes: Takes place at during HW patch 3.5. Major spoilers for the Shadow of Mhach alliance raid questline. Ao3 Link

Lady Raimille. The picture painted by Stacia's tale was everything an orphaned child could want from a parent. Everything except that she'd passed on too soon — but not before giving her foster son one last gift.

The noblewoman’s real portrait hung above them, enshrined in Leofard’s quarters. Presiding over his affairs and his family; watching over the man himself. Moro'a knew that paintings like this cost a considerable sum to commission, and that taking care of them required specific knowledge and attention; unexpected obligations for a sky pirate. 

But the painting gleamed, immaculately free of blemishes. “I had wondered as to the origin of his vessel's naming,” Cait Sith said softly, his voice touched with emotion. “‘Tis a most beautiful painting.”

Moro’a’s time in Ishgard had also taught him that portraits like this one were made to memorialise — a likeness captured in brushstrokes, preserved from time. Remember me as I was, in this moment. Remember what this person means to us. Situated where their loved ones could gaze upon them, and never forget.

I doubt I'll ever feel worthy to sit where he sat.

Throughout their adventures, Leofard had pretended as though the portrait wasn’t there, and it was all Moro’a had needed to know not to bring it up. He’d accepted it without judgement, without ever considering otherwise. What was he here for, if not to hide from ghosts and broken hearts; from memory?

But now that Stacia had told them what Leofard would never impart himself, the pieces that made up the leader of the Redbills had finally begun to click: why a man who prized freedom so highly would build his new home a stone's throw from the Holy See, and why the loss of his airship had made Leofard retreat into himself, like a creature seeking familiar refuge. 

It seems she kept him safe until the very end, Utata had said, and Moro’a’s heart had clenched so tight that he thought it might shatter.

It wasn’t any of his business. The voidsent had been stopped, and Cait Sith had found a new home. His time with the Redbills was coming to a close. It’d been an engaging distraction, which was precisely what Moro’a had needed; there were no stones left to overturn, no more accidental revelations to be had. He would go his separate way, into the unknown, and then…

Later, as he was stowing the few essentials he’d brought into the manacutter, Moro’a heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Leofard, who was already dressed in a clean set of clothes and red-tinted goggles. “I almost forgot,” the sky pirate said, as breezy as could be now as he held something out in his hand. A Redbill scarf.

“You didn’t have to,” Moro’a murmured, feeling a strange mixture of reluctance and guilt. 

“And I say otherwise, Warrior. I reckon you’ve done more than you’ll ever need to to have earned this.” His hand stretched closer, and Moro’a considered refusing. He was ready to quit this place, to move on. I’m not who you think I am, he wanted to say. 

Instead he found himself reaching out for the scarf, and tucking it in with the rest of his things.

If, after he'd said his farewells, his hand reached under the collar of his shirt to gently hold the necklace that rested against his chest, to remember, he was the only one who needed to know.

[twistedappletree]

Why do I get the feeling that Lan Sizhui just doesn’t give a heck who touches his forehead ribbon? He exudes such intense platonic love vibes: all his friends are his soulmates, his family are his soulmates, everyone he loves and cares about are his soulmates so like… who cares actually, touch the ribbon, he loves you all equally

[pretend-pretend-vampire]

if I could figure out how to make a button that would take you to a random post tagged with a certain tag on a specific blog on tumblr I would make a random spc generator SO fast

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

the problem with this au is that it's fucking complicated is what it is. like to get to the actual point where the au happens you need like eight pages of explanation of hcs about cyllene backstory and the general state of the world during pla. none of which i have ever actually posted prior to this. so much upfront time investment and for what

[meowymeowzers]

"I don't think the moon would really know the sun. I think it'd yearn for it, constantly aware of it's presence but just...Never close enough to really know it. So I don't think the moon misses the sun, no, but...I think it wants to." -Ratcatcher, Clans of the Blue Ridge Mountains

cotbrm is ran by the wonderful @booksofstars!

[boilingrain]

Okay so I plan on drawing stuff for my Clangen nonsense but I just feel like it's important for you guys to know that my medicine cat is named Weedclaw

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

So who are key members of Clan Lavellan? Esti, Ena, Ena's mom is the Keeper, Arassan, we know them but you dropped names and now I'm curious

Besides Esti and Ena, we've got

Keeper Deshanna: the clan's keeper, obviously, and Ena's mother. No-nonsense, firm, and unapologetic, but not unreasonable. She cares most about the safety and future of the clan as a whole, which does mean that she can seem rather severe to Ena individuals.

Vardhal: Ena's grandmother, Deshanna's mother and the Keeper prior to her. Served as the clan's hallamaster after passing the title to Deshanna when Deshanna was 23. "Prefers halla to people" is the kindest way to describe her.

Shireth: the clan's Second. Brought in from another clan due to a lack of mages, a few years before Esti manifested her magic. Polite and difficult to rattle, but probably a bit too willing to disregard their own feelings for the sake of the clan. Falwen and Ena both recommend that they argue with Deshanna more.

Arassan: one of the clan's hunters and Ena's friend/mentor. Easy-going but was a bit of a show-off when he was young. Has a younger sister.

Falwen: the Clan's Third, and previously the First before Esti. Willingly stepped down to help mentor her. Healer and herbalist, gentle and good-natured, argues frequently with Deshanna but deeply respects her, and vice versa. Esti admires him greatly. He is also Arassan's uncle.

Benaris: Arassan's nephew. A hunter and Esti's childhood friend, though they grew apart as Esti's training and duties as First kept her busy. Used to be a troublemaker; Ena had to retrieve him off Sundermount when he was 10.

----

Other, briefer, facts:

Vardhal's husband (mage, clan First) died when Deshanna was young. Deshanna's husband (mage, clan Second) was killed when Ena was young.

Ena's other grandfather was a clan craftsman, and the only non-mage of her grandparents. Her other grandmother, Minette, was a Circle mage from Orlais who escaped and joined the clan.

Falwen died a year or two before Inquisition; Esti is still trying to find her footing without him.

[lovebugism]

saw you were looking for shy!reader requests and now I'm having visions of nighttime colorful twinkly lights, snow swirling in the frigid air, frost-bitten noses and tentative glances...

what about reader getting roped into holiday caroling with the gang, including her crush, Eddie? Or some other festive outdoor activity, preferably one which allows them to subtly get closer to each other without giving away their feelings 🤭 I'm feeling those 'will we won't we' vibes tonight hehe

wow. here's me casually writing a wee drabble for someone who's written some of my favorite works on this app lol. hope you like it angel :D !! — eddie keeps shy!you company during a holiday party at the wheeler house (friends to lovers, fluff | 0.9k)

The weirdo has a soft spot for the princess.

The Princess, he calls you, ‘cause Mike once convinced you to sub in on a D&D campaign some months ago now. You were a rebellious fairy from a clan of royal fae sent to guide the rag-tag troop through an enchanted, labyrinthine forest. 

You had dressed the part, too, despite having zero knowledge of the game itself. You waltzed into the Hellfire room in a flouncy pink dress, iridescent fairy wings from last halloween, and a crown of artificial flowers.

Eddie remembers you that way, still. A sweet and timid thing, with a big heart and a pretty laugh. Even now, as you sit all alone in the Wheeler’s backyard, away from all the chaos and the twinkling lights, bathed beneath a glowing pink sky and sparkling snow — you’re still such an ethereal thing. A heavenly being, flung from space.

He weaves through the quaint party and over to you, carrying a steaming cup of cocoa in one hand and his bleeding heart in the other. 

“How’s it going over here?” Eddie asks over the soft holiday music playing closer to the crowd.

You blink up at him with wide, glassy eyes, as though he’s just jolted you out of some sort of daze. “Oh. Yeah. Fine,” you stammer finally, smile wavering when Eddie’s lopsided grin makes you forget how to breathe. 

You tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders with cold and clammy hands. Hiding feels instinctual to you now.

“Freezing to death?” the boy quips and fights to keep his own teeth from chattering.

The sight of him before you, with snowflakes clinging to his curls and his pale skin softly flushed with wintertime, makes you smile more sincerely than you mean to.

“Something like that,” you nod.

Eddie extends a ringed hand towards you then, offering the paper cup of hot chocolate keeping his aching fingers warm. “Want some?”

“Oh, no— It’s okay,” you decline with a polite shake of your head while your chest blazes with misplaced embarrassment. “I— I can get my own.”

“Well, between us, I didn’t really want it in the first place,” Eddie confesses lowly, taking another step closer until you can smell the deep musk of his cologne. You tilt your chin to follow his gaze. “Little Holly offered me a cup, and I didn’t know how to say no.”

The thought of Eddie Munson, in all his daunting black and silver, having a sweet spot for the youngest Wheeler (whom he exclusively refers to as Little Holly) makes your chest go all warm. 

Holly has her own innocent affections for him, too — you know for a fact she’s got an obsession with his bat tattoo that’s driving Ted insane.

You duck your head in a feeble attempt to hide your smile. Eddie sees it anyway, though, and smiles at your smiling, perhaps wider than he realizes. 

You take the cocoa from him with gentle, trembling hands. His heart skips a beat when your fingers brush over the back of his own. Yours stops entirely when he sits down on the bench beside you — not unwelcome, of course, but more wanted next to you than you’d ever be willing to admit out loud.

Eddie hisses through his teeth and tenses beside you through a shiver. You watch him stick his pale hands in the pocket of his thin leather jacket, which he wears in spite of the inclement weather.

“Are you sure you don’t want another jacket?” you wonder sheepishly, peering at the boy through the corner of your eye.

“I’m good, princess,” he insists with a shake of his head, just before his glowing nose sniffles. “I’m a rockstar, remember? Rockstars don’t get cold.”

“Really?” you hum, quiet and sarcastic.

“Yeah. Freezing to death is, like, the least metal thing ever. It’s like, you know, using an umbrella when it’s raining— It just makes you ten times less cool.”

You shift on the creaking bench and smile at your cup of cocoa. “Well, me and the ladybug umbrella I’ve had since I was nine respectfully disagree,” you joke in shy murmurs, still so meek in humor.

Eddie laughs. You feel him trembling with it beside you from where his shoulder’s pressed against yours. You see his teeth chattering just before he lifts his hands over his mouth, breathing hard into his palms in a desperate attempt to warm them.

Your hands ache with the sudden urge to cover him up. They tremble with uncertainty when you drag the borrowed blanket from your left shoulder to drape the excess along his back. Eddie peers at you with a chocolate button-eyed look as you shift closer into him, made warm and alive by your proximity alone. He’s grateful for the act of kindness, still.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, gaze averted and cheeks pink. You’d almost think he was shy.

“Don’t mention it,” you murmur back and mean it.

“You know…” the boy lilts, nicotine-spearmint breath fanning warm across your cheek. You can hear the smile in his voice without ever even looking at him. “If you just wanted to be close to me, you coulda just said.”

You flash him a stern look from beneath your lashes, which still manages to look just as soft as the rest of you. You try not to think about how close he is to you now — close enough to make out every distinct shape of the snowflakes sticking to his wild hair.

“Don’t make it weird,” you plea through a deadpan.

“That’s a lot to ask of the local weirdo,” Eddie scoffs. “I mean, it’s kinda in the name, princess.”

“Sorry for not wanting you to freeze to death.”

Eddie meets your narrowed eyes with a crooked, pink grin dripping with mischief. 

“I like you, too, princess,” he croons quietly.

Your chest pinches. You have to remind yourself to breathe. “I didn’t say that,” you shake your head and turn away, looking back to the crowd mingling beneath falling snow and fairy lights. You don’t know why Eddie would want to be here with you, instead of over there with them. 

Eddie doesn’t know how he could want a single other thing than to be here with you.

“Didn’t have to,” you hear him say as he pulls the blanket tighter over his shoulder and shuffles closer into you. For warmth, you tell yourself. For warmth and not a damn thing else.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I can't recall if you take requests but.. The boys with a vampire lover? If you haven't already.. Been thinking about this for awhile, I just had to ask. And if you don't, Then I apologize for asking.

Vampire Lover!

Tags: mostly fluff, monsterxhuman, mention of blood (you’re a vampire duhhhh)

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Sukuna, Choso, Nanami

An: Hi! My requests are open :) No need to apologize! Thank you for the idea <3 I hope this is what you meant btw this is the best I could come up with.. 😭

SATORU

Satoru would definitely be the type to beg you to bite him. You would always deny him and tell him that it’d be wrong for you to feed on him since he’s your boyfriend, but he gets all giddy at the idea of you biting him and drinking from him.

He always makes excuses for why you can’t attend events or different clan meetings if they’re during the day. You’re constantly known for having some sort of sickness that Satoru randomly came up with.

He’s very inquisitive: constantly asking you if people smell different based off their blood types, which blood type is the sweetest etc.

He also has the money to fund all consensual giving of blood to feed you for years on out. You never have to worry about going hungry or having to hunt for food. Another reason why you refuse to drink from him.

Satoru would at first be happy with his humanity. He doesn’t want immortality or to never age. He doesn’t want any more power than he already had. Though, when you randomly bring up to him that you’ll outlive him, he’s suddenly questioning whether being a human is for him or not.

The thought of you going on to live without him for as many years as this earth stands drives him wild. He starts doing a lot of research, and he begins to ask you if you’ve thought about turning him. He’s definitely willing to give up his humanity if it means being by your side.

SUGURU

Suguru insists you drink from him to prevent harm from anyone else. At least, that’s what he tells you. In reality, he loves how much you rely on him. He adores each time you crawl up into his lap and gingerly kiss on his neck, obviously hoping to feed on him.

He’ll always tell you, “Go ahead, baby. Take what you need,” as he brushes his hair back from his neck. His hands would gently caress your back and bottom as you drank from his neck.

He’d never stop you either, even if you took a bit too much from him because that’s when you’re extra doting on him. You’re super apologetic and tend to him like he’s some frail being. It’s the only time in his life that he’s looked at as weak, and he doesn’t mind it, especially not when your apologizing with kisses and bringing him anything he could possibly ask for.

Suguru lies to his found-family that you have a rare skin condition, and you can’t be in the sun at all. He makes sure everyone accepts you into their little group, and he even introduces you to his followers. You expressed fear about being around that many humans, but he loves to watch as you nervously make your way across the room, introducing yourself to everyone. He knows you’ll be itching to feed as soon as everyone’s gone.

Suguru wants to be by your side for forever, but he knows that if you turn him, then you can’t feed on him anymore. He’s stuck in a dilemma of choosing which is more important to him. His humanity isn’t even part of the equation as he gave that up a long time ago.

SUKUNA

Sukuna would be the type to laugh at you for needing blood as substance to keep you alive. He would mock and bully you saying things like, “Look at the worthless creature who’s really no better than a mere mortal.”

He’d tempt you by various means, sometimes even “accidentally” slicing his finger open so you could smell the blood that still somehow pulsed through his veins. Once you finally pled enough for his liking, he’d finally allow you to have a taste.

For the King of Curses, he has some of the sweetest tasting blood that you’ve ever had the pleasure of indulging. Though, he won’t let you drink from him often, instead he gifts you human sacrifices. He thinks of it as a courting present.

When he’s not being a little asshole towards you, he does enjoy lying in bed with you while you theorize about what the future holds for you two. He’d gently pet your hair and tell you not to worry your head about such foolish things.

Everyone in his inner circle already knows about what you are. If they’re fine with being associated with the literal incarnation of evil, then they should be completely okay with a vampire at his side.

He doesn’t have to give up his humanity to be with you for all eternity because he doesn’t have any humanity to begin with. You’re not even sure what would happen if you tried to turn him, but you’re not too keen on finding out.

CHOSO

Choso would be like Satoru in the sense that he’s constantly making sure that you’re fed. Given his blood manipulation cursed technique, he can feed you quite easily through various different means. Though he rather prefers when you bite him.

He relates to you on a deeper level, understanding what it’s like to be not quite human. He sympathizes with your struggles and tries to reassure that some humans will accept you for who you are.

Knowing that you can’t go out in the sunlight, Choso finds so many date ideas and things to do at night. You never feel like you’re missing out on anything because this man will make it happen, no matter what it is.

Only Choso and Yuji know you’re a vampire. He knows he said that humans will accept you, but he also knows some will try to hunt you down, and he’s not willing to take the risk.

Choso doesn’t have to give up his humanity to live forever with you, but he does wonder what would happen to him if he was half-curse and half-vampire. He’d become fixed on the idea, but you’d have to politely remind him that if he turned, his cursed technique would basically become useless.

NANAMI

Nanami would be such a cautious lover to a vampire, not because he’s scared of you. He loves you. He’s just worried about everyone else being around you.

He’d let you feed on him, but he brings around small blood bags for you to enjoy at all times! He even gets jazzy with it and makes you fun little drinks with the blood (while trying not to throw up because it probably repulses him). Nevertheless, the drinks always turn out good.

He holds an umbrella for you constantly if you insist on going out during the day time. If anyone asks why you need an umbrella, he snaps at them to mind their own business.

Nanami would tell no one that you’re a vampire. He doesn’t want anyone potentially leaking that information and bringing you into harm’s way. He prefers that he’s the only one who knows.

Unfortunately, I don’t see Nanami giving up his humanity to be with you forever, and you agree with him. He grows old beside you while you remain the same, and you give him the most fulfilling life possible.

[baepsays]

I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN)⸻ chapter two preview.

pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

cw⋙ canon divergence, nsfw, clan and jujutsu world politics, Gojo with scars, arranged marriage, slow burn, but in a very eccentric way, one sided conflict, one sided pining, eventual both sided pining, they are both a little stupid about e/o , this chapter is going to be sad af just saying.

a/n: this is only a preview fyi ^^ and tag list will prob close soon after this and next chapter!

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER

The first seven days after the wedding were monotonous to say the least, and somber to say the most. The tour of the entire estate took about almost three days to finish.

And the practice of acclimating with your duties as the now lady of the estate, was much easier than receiving the never ending messages of congratulations. It was just as burdensome as you feared it would be, to be the wife of—The Gojo Satoru. 

The first few days were spent in awe of everything, even though you were not from any blood lacking affluence; but your new residence, surname, and—the living legend of sorts—husband were scintillating to a degree of blinding. And any apparent distant giggling teases of a feet sweeping honeymoon, idealized by the ladies at your reception, was not happening, to their utter dismay.  

Yet still you have come to enjoy the mundane tasks. Waking up to an empty bed for a straight week, since your first night with your husband, is compensated for by your ladies in waiting, namely, Mia and Suki . Both of their lively fuss in the morning over dressing you up feels more rejuvenating than any cup of coffee.

It makes you want to look forward to the mornings when you go to bed waiting for Satoru, only for him to slip under the sheets after he has been reassured that you are deep in slumber; to then stare at how your eyelashes fall on your cheeks, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the bridge of your nose, and the blemishes on your skin, until he falls asleep himself—to then wake up before you, leaving his side of the bed cold and empty. 

Meeting Ichiji after breakfast, to go over Satoru’s schedule, before your husband’s departure to work, feels much more inviting than having breakfast at an empty table with your husband’s absence. Discussing breakfast the previous night with chef Suzuki, lunch for yourself and the staff at the estate—as well as discussing what should be packed and sent for the lord of the estate’s lunch; looking over the need of each staff, catering to their meal requirements etc. it was quite a hard job, but it made you feel closer to each and every member of your new family. Understanding the account of the estate expenditure, making notes of days when the staff are to be paid, fulfilling their requests, corresponding with other clan members etc. surprisingly kept you busy. 

It was a matter of concern for you before, how you will be spending your time usefully, rather than just sitting idly in a pretty attire. Before, you used to spend your days teaching destitute children, until your parents deemed your career as a good pastime that went long enough to still ignore your overdue duties.

And just like that, that little freedom was also snatched away even after much groveling to your parents. So you presumed as much, it was going to be absurd to even ask your husband to continue that vocation—after all if the people of your own blood can confine you within a boundary before wedding you off on your merry way, then a husband of a week and mere convenience, was out of the question.

FULL CHAPTER

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: divider by @/saradika-graphics.

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[cavegirlpoems]

On Blorbability

I think one of the strengths of modern D&D is the ability to efficiently describe the blorbos you make with it using understandable components. Like the template of Alignment + Species + Background + Class lets you put together a quite evocative picture of who a character is quite efficiently, just by swapping in and out those components like those mix-and-match monster flipbooks.

Like, to take a character I played, when I say:

Lawful-Evil Drow Monk with the Inquisitor background.

you can immediately picture that character, right?

You can do this indefinitely. "Chaotic-Good Halfling Bard Criminal" or "Chaotic-Neutral Human Barbarian Outlander" or "Lawful-neutral Elf Wizard Accademic". It clicks.

There's a sweet spot of having the right amount of slots you pick from, 3-4. Less than that and the blorbo comes out flat, more and its too granular. An OSR character is probably one template (class), two if you're doing race+class AD&D style, and thats not quite enough detail to go full Blorb. Same with most PbtA games where you just pick a playbook. A gurps character is pretty darn granular, and is also not a particularly legible blorbo even if you can be very expressive with it.

The actual *stats* don't matter, what your attributes and spells and gear are don't matter much, the point is that you're madlibsing archetypes together in a legible way.

Like take vampire the masquerade as another good example of an extremely blorbable game. Here, the actual weight of your character is carried by attributes/skills/disciplines/backgrounds/merits, right? But you can still describe them with that same combination of archetypes. Here's a character I'm playing right now:

Ancilla Noiad Anarch on the Path of Harmony.

Age + Clan + Sect + Path. Simple. Four tags and you get a good picture of who this character is. And like, I bet you could take a good guess at what she's like mechanically, right? From that description, I bet you're picturing somebody with Survival and Stealth and decent combat and probably leaning hard into Protean, and that's accurate!

Here's some more VtM characters. "Camarilla Ventrue Elder on Humanity", "Camarilla Ventrue Elder on Honorable Accord", "Sabbat Tzimisce Elder on Path of Ecstasy", "Independent Giovanni Neonate on Humanity". If you're familiar with VtM, you can picture the shape of these characters.

+ + +

So I'm taking this idea and applying it to my Magical Girl project. You have two playbooks that slot together - one magical and one mundane - and then you pick whether you're heroic or villainous. And on top of that, in the late game you might become Something Else like a Spectre or a Princess. So that's 3-4 mix-and-match slots. A player character can be expressed as:

Villainous Ruffian Blaster

and you can picture who she is. The combinations work. "Heroic Recluse Spy", "Villainous Fangirl Summoner", "Heroic Weirdo Cheat becoming a Princess", these are legible just from the options picked.

Which I think is a good sign, it means its easy to picture and communicate the sorts of characters you can have in the game.

[whirlybirbs]

— BE OKAY ; 2 ; SATORU GOJO ; 五条悟

summary: the engagement is on. you move to tokyo. pairing: satoru gojo / f!reader ; arranged marriage word count: 4k (oops) tags: taika clan reader, arranged marriage trope, jjk world building, welcome to the show ijichi, satoru gojo and his luxe shampoo, friends-to-lovers, texting as a plot device a/n: fanfic more like me crafting the most insane apartment layout based loosely on actual shinjuku rentals that are currently on the market. anyways,,, [PLAYS "GETTING TO KNOW YOU" ON MAX VOLUME] ← previous

"Train outbound for Tokyo, now boarding at platform three."

Your mother kisses your wind-chapped cheeks in the winter sun, hands you your bento, and makes you promise to call once you’ve settled in. She tugs on your scarf, and you squeeze her hand as hard as you can.

You pick a window seat so you can wave to her as the train pulls away from Kagoshima station; you hope she doesn't see the tears that begin to well as the distance between you two grows. You crane your neck to watch and wave over the back of your seat as she gets smaller and smaller and smaller. You feel like a child ushered onto the school bus for the very first time, sent off into the unknown, and torn from the safety of your mother's love.

You wind your arms around your bag as your lip wobbles; the bento, still warm, is like an anchor in your hands. 

She promised she would be okay.

You argued with her last night — like a warrior making her last stand. 

"You will be alone," you'd snapped over dinner, "What sort of daughter am I, leaving you so soon after Papa died? It's wrong. I should spend the engagement here—"

But, she wouldn't hear it. 

Your mother knew you would sacrifice everything if it meant her happiness. Your mother knew you'd put everything on halt, just as you did with your father's health. Work, friends, dating... All of it, put on the back burner to grow cold. 

You were so fiercely devoted to your family — and Chiyo Taika wondered how she became so lucky in this life. The cards were always in her favor. Even now she feels that way as she watches the train carrying her only child wind away into the distance until it's nothing but a spec on the horizon.

You grip the bento tight, lean back into your seat, and exhale tightly.

By mid-afternoon, you'll be in Tokyo.

You drop your head back against the seat and screw your eyes shut. Your tears do not fall.

All of this is happening too fast. You feel like you can hardly catch your footing. 

One second, you're shaking Satoru Gojo's hand for the first time. The next week, your mother receives a call from the Gojo Clan seeking her input on updated terms of the arrangement — which she did all while gripping your arm, a finger to her lips to urge you to be quiet, while on speaker phone. 

Sneaky.

The newly agreed-upon terms seemed straightforward enough; there was to be no dowry, and an amendment made to the timeline of... childbirth. Those changes, the man on the phone said, came from Satoru Gojo himself. From the sounds of it, the clan heir wasn't budging, and agreeing to his (no room for negotiation) terms was the only way this marriage would even take off the ground. 

And that was much farther than the clan ever got with Satoru Gojo on the topic of marriage. So, a win is a win. 

You shouldn't complain. 

The fine print meant that your mother would be brought into the fold of the Gojo Clan and looked over financially. She could stay in Kagoshima if she wished, or if she wanted to be closer to you in Tokyo, she was welcome with open arms. 

Your engagement to Satoru Gojo would last six months to a year pending the usual, official, formal announcement. If all went to plan, the wedding would be held — at the latest — this time next year.

In the meantime, Tokyo was going to become your new home.

More specifically, Satoru Gojo's three-bedroom apartment in Shinjuku Ward. 

Why he's renting out three bedrooms in Shinjuku is beyond you — I mean, we get it, you're the Heir to the Gojo Clan. But, c'mon. Isn't that a little excessive?

(You snooped. Of course, you snooped. You were laid up in bed, boring holes into your phone screen in shock. Between the two available unit layouts you saw listed for rent, they were both close to 700k yen a month. Who even has that kind of money?)

The train rattles you back to the current moment. Your phone in your back pocket buzzes.

Ijichi? Is that, like, his butler?

He would have a butler.

You hit send — and then hesitate. Is that too dry? Too formal? What if he thinks you're boring? Or... stale? 

Wincing, you send one more message before locking your phone and tucking it into the front pocket of your bag.

Satoru Gojo, as he bounds up on the steps — two at a time — of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, snorts a little at his phone. 

Cute. 

Turns out Kiyotaka Ijichi is not a butler. 

He is, however, a very good driver and a nice man, if not incredibly nervous. He helps you with your bags outside of Shinjuku Station despite your bowed attempts to dissuade his help. You don't want to be a burden — but Ijichi says that's what he's there for according to Satoru Gojo. 

"Don't let her lift a finger," Satoru said, pointing in Ijichi's face that very morning, "We've gotta make a good impression, bud. It's her first time in Tokyo!"

"Sir, I'm sorry to pry, but... who... is she again?"

"I never said," Gojo remarked cheerfully as he pulled Ijichi around the corner; then, the white-haired Jujutsu instructor leaned in close and whispered lowly, "And don't ever ask me again. Got it?"

The seriousness in his voice was enough to make Ijichi break into a cold sweat.

Truth be told, Ijichi wasn't really sure who he was expecting to pick up outside Shinjuku Station, but it certainly wasn't the pleasant young woman in his back seat making small talk with him over the weather and smiling at the sights out the back window. 

At a stop light, Ijichi adjusts the rearview mirror to get a better look at you.

...Who are you?

Don't ever ask me again. Got it?

You're leaning across the back seat, eyes wide with awe, as you take in the bustle of the city.

You're definitely not his sister. As far as Ijichi knows, Satoru is an only child. He sure acts like it. You could be a cousin from the Clan, but isn't it, like, a prerequisite to have white hair or something? And Ijichi definitely doesn't recognize you from their school yearbook. Maybe you attended the sister school in Kyoto? 

But, Satoru did say this was your first time in Tokyo.

...Who the hell are you?

"I really appreciate the ride, Mr. Ijichi," you say softly as you lift your gaze to meet him in the mirror, "I can't imagine it's very fun to drive in all this traffic, so thank you very much."

Ijichi rubs his cheek to will away the blush.

You're too nice. You have manners. 

So, there's no way you're a girlfriend of Satoru's. There's no way. Ijichi decides that's simply impossible three minutes into the ride to his boss's apartment. 

You even try to tip him after he helps you unload your bag from the back and carry it into the lobby. Ijichi shyly promises there's no need for that, and gives you his card promising that he's only a call away in case you need anything else. 

"Have a nice day, Mr. Ijichi!"

...Definitely not his girlfriend. Too nice.

The receptionist at the front desk is young and pretty, and she takes your ID to confirm you're who you say you are as you marvel at the lobby. There's art. A small fountain on the back wall. The modern touch is nice. The lobby is nice. Really nice. Definitely 700k-yen-a-month nice. 

"Here you are," the receptionist hands back your ID with a smile, then hands over the FOB to apartment 601, "Welcome home, we're happy to have you. Mr. Gojo let us know to expect your things within the next day."

The moving company was due to arrive with the handful of boxes you packed up from home tomorrow. 

Er, well, your other home. This place is home now. 

Apartment 601 is, as one could guess, on the sixth floor. It's got easterly facing windows and an open floor plan with modern appliances, one and a half baths, and three bedrooms. You know these things before even stepping inside because, like you mentioned, you snooped. 

But, that was that. It's a different thing completely to walk into that luxury apartment and see it for yourself.

There are flowers on the counter.

A big bouquet of peach roses, white buttercups, and baby's breath. 

You close the door behind you, stepping out of your boots, as you take in the entryway, the kitchen, and the adjoined living room in awed silence.

It's clean. Really clean — like, incredibly clean. 

The shoes in the entryway are aligned neatly. One pair of dress shoes and a pair of heavier-duty, black boots sit beside one another. There's a coat rack, and you recognize that suit jacket he wore to your father's funeral hanging there. 

Quietly, bag slung over your shoulder, you slink inside the kitchen. 

The back hallway leads to the other bedrooms and bathrooms, no doubt. 

This is the sort of kitchen your mother would have dreamed about. The appliances scream money — everything is either black or stainless steel, from the toaster to the espresso machine. Even his plates, dishes, and bowls look more like fine art than anything. Everything has a place in this kitchen, and it's all done tastefully. 

You eye the bouquet. 

There's a plain white card in front of it.

Your name is written in flowing script.

You pluck it up.

Welcome home. Settle in. Your bedroom is the second on the right. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call.  —Satoru

...The note is the polar opposite in tone compared to his earlier texts. It feels like whiplash. Even the handwriting doesn't seem like the Satoru Gojo you've come to understand, three degrees removed.

Either way, it's sweet. Even if he definitely had someone deliver these and write the accompanied note.

You thumb the card as you begin slowly creeping through the rest of the apartment with a wandering curiosity.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows allow for a lot of natural light in the living room and kitchen. The sectional is leather, and there's a large (definitely decorative) book on the coffee table about feng shui. The art on the walls is mostly traditional, sticking to the grey and black color scheme of the entire apartment. 

You poke your nose through the small floating bookshelf beneath the television. The books — ranging from translated classics to non-fiction — look largely untouched but free from even a spec of dust. 

Whoever styled this apartment was really into mid-century modern. Something tells you it was not Satoru Gojo.

Why?

Well, his bedroom for starters.

You're being nosey. You know you're being nosey, but c'mon. This is your home now ��� and you're telling me you wouldn't poke your head in, at least, to see what your future husband's bedroom looks like?

The answer is: much less put together than the rest of the apartment.

Like a puzzle, you're beginning to get it. Satoru Gojo pays for a cleaning service — and a good one at that. 

But, his bedroom lacks the sterile, clean, modern touch that the rest of the apartment does. There are wrinkled photos taped to the far wall above a disorganized desk. His closet is open, displaying an array of shoddily hung dress shirts and slacks. The lampshade beside his bed is lopsided. His bed sheets are patterned — striped blue and white, and his pillowcases don't match. There's a worn and faded bear, once white and now a loved cream, half tucked beneath his pillow. The sun's late afternoon rays are warm against the carpet, casting shadows across a lone dress sock at the foot of the bed.

Something about all of it is endearing.

Quietly, you shut the door.

Your room is more like the rest of the apartment — with crisply tucked edges on a queen-sized bed with pristine white sheets. You place that little card down on your bedside table as you shrug off your backpack. 

You packed the essentials. A few changes of clothes, skincare, and some makeup all tumble onto the bed as you begin the slow process of putting things away. It feels a lot like killing time. After all, according to Satoru's text, he would be home later in the evening.

You have no idea what time that really means, but you hope it's enough time to at least let you shower away the travel day. 

You hesitate, though, over the threshold of your room. 

His response is nearly immediate.

And rapid.

You snort. The blue heart is cute.

Scoffing a little at the wifey comment, you bundle your change of clothes and toiletry bag into your arms and shake your head.

The bathroom — the full bath between you and Satoru's room — is just as swanky as the rest of the apartment. You lock the sliding door behind you.

Black tile, a waterfall shower, bamboo wood accents, and hand soap that you can't pronounce. It's French. 

You take your time in that shower.

I mean, how could you not? 

All of this is really putting the Taika Clan to shame — it's not even like you grew up destitute, but this level of wealth? 

Your shampoo is off-brand. Meanwhile, the shampoo in Satoru Gojo's shower (that, yea, of course, you use because... something, something, what is yours is mine in marriage? Right?) is in a fancy bottle that takes you far too long to figure out how to open. 

You almost drop it, and swear your soul almost leaves your body.

The conditioner is just as nice.

By the time you're done, the bathroom is thick with steam and you're bundling up in one of the handful of towels folded beneath the sink. They're black and soft and you laugh a little at the sight of a single, white hair clinging to the one you snag.

It's the first indicator Satoru Gojo was even here, aside from his room, of course. 

There's a corner tub and the toilet has a bidet and the medicine cabinet above the double sink is stocked with more products you can't pronounce. You chew your lip, pushing your wet hair aside as you poke your nose inside. You yank the cap off what you assume is shaving cream and sniff — it's sandalwood and musk. It's nice. You hum in soft agreeance (he's got good taste) as you eye the label, and then carefully put it back. 

There's some sporty deodorant, an old tube of emergency acne cream, an electric toothbrush... and beside it, another toothbrush. Same model. 

You squint.

Two toothbrushes, huh? 

You make a mental note about it — maybe it's an exes? Too sentimental to let it go? You get it, you've been there.

You close the medicine cabinet after your continued snooping, wipe away the condensation on the mirror, and begin to sort yourself out. 

You're finally landing on the couch — hair wet, body clean and face dewy — by the time six rolls around. Now, in the dark of the apartment, the fact this place is going to be your new home starts to set in. You bury yourself a little deeper into your sweatshirt and decide you'll text your mother. You'll let her know that you've settled in and—

"Ooooh, honey!"

The door is jingling unlocked.

A slight wave of panic washes over you — like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't. And then, you remember you live here now and—

"—I'm home!"

You poke your head up over the edge of the couch to see Satoru Gojo cross the threshold of his entryway. His eyes already seem to know where to look for you. That blindfold is still on, but you swear you can feel his gaze.

At the sight of you, his posture tightens a little.

His lips break into a smile that is disarmingly handsome. It’s enough to wind you, and you feel a little bit like floating, but you push all that away. 

You’ve thought a lot about how this moment would go. You've laid in your old bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to script it in your head until the wee morning. You wondered if it would be painfully awkward, or tense, or cold. 

How do you go from being complete strangers to newly engaged lovers?

"Welcome home," is the best you can offer as you sit up a little straighter.

Satoru throws his arms open and his grin goes a little lopsided. The bag of takeout in his arms dangles dangerously as he does a little spin. 

You catch yourself fighting the urge to check him out.

“Sooooo?” he croons, “What do you think? Nice, right?”

Slowly, your smile begins. It’s clear he’s trying to dissuade any awkward tension. You watch him cross into the kitchen as you stand, bare feet padding across the hardwood as you knit your arms around yourself. 

"It's... really nice," you say quietly as Satoru plops the takeout beside the bouquet, "The flowers were a sweet touch."

Satoru throws you a grin over his shoulder as he gathers two sets of chopsticks for you both. He knocks the drawer shut with his hip as he throws a thumb to the roses.

“Hey, can’t have my fiancée thinkin’ I don’t appreciate her,” Satoru chirps as he brushes past you; you catch a glimpse of the button pinning his jacket shut. A Sorcerer’s pin, “How was your travel day? Did Ijichi give you any trouble?”

He grabs the bag of takeout and takes it with him.

He moves to flop lazily onto the couch. His feet immediately land on the coffee table. His socks are patterned. There are cats drawn as sushi on them. 

That word — fiancée — doesn’t feel real. 

None of this does, frankly. 

He begins unbagging the meal on his lap, delicately holding out your order of tonkatsu in one hand as you follow his lead and land beside him on the couch. The box is warm on your thighs. Satoru is already cracking open his order of udon.

You watch him slurp up a huge bite of noodles as you slowly crack open the plastic lid to your dinner.

"You know, I thought he was your butler."

Satoru pauses mid-chew as if he didn't hear you, then breaks into a grin that transcends his full mouth. "I don't have a butler."

"Well," you dig a piece of tonkatsu out and take a small bite, "I didn't know who he was. He was nice, though. Great driver."

“My coworker,” Satoru leans his head back and grins up at you, though there’s no telling where he’s looking with the blindfold, “A real stick in the mud, sometimes. Totally doesn't think he's good at his job, but — and don't tell him I said this — he's pretty great."

"Does he teach?" you ask, taking another bite; the food is really good.

Satoru's expression, as much as you can see it, seems to brighten. "Ooh, so you know I'm a teacher, huh?"

"It's, like, the one thing I know about you," you concede quickly.

"Okay, okay, now you've got me curious," Gojo finishes his bite before throwing his arm across the pack of the couch and gesticulating at you with his chopsticks, "What else do you know about me, huh?

You take another bite and chew slowly. You don't speak until you've swallowed — only to drag him along. It works. His attention is so heavy it feels like a physical weight on your chest.

"You're thirty," you tap your finger as you count off the things you know, "We have the same birthday. You're an only child. You've got that whole Limitless thing going for you — cool, by the way. Uh, hm. What else..."

"Wow," Satoru mumbles, "They really kept you in the dark about me, huh?"

"In all fairness," you smirk, "Someone really dragged this whole thing out."

"Parents didn't want you getting your hopes up?" he smirks.

"Eh," you shrug in mild disagreement, "I think it was more that they didn't want to make assumptions about you."

For some reason, that hits Satoru right in the heart.

He's quiet for a beat, and you wince internally. 

"Sorry, was that—?"

"No," he waves you off with his chopsticks, "No, it's cool. Just not used to... that, I guess."

You hum, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you push your tonkatsu around.

"...What would you have wanted me to know?" you ask him after a beat, lifting your chin, "Like, what makes Satoru Gojo Satoru Gojo?"

He's not really used to being asked about himself.

Actually, he can't remember the last time anyone even asked him something like that. Maybe on one of those shit dateshe went on last year when he told himself he'd actually give dating a try? But, even then, his answers weren't honest. 

The last person he was ever really honest with was Suguru.

"You first," he deflects easily as he scoops up another heaping bite, "You liked the flowers, so roses, check. And tonkatsu, check."

You smirk.

"Also an only child—" you begin.

"And thirty—"

"—And thirty," you confirm as you take another bite; your posture is loosening up, "Uh, not a trained sorcerer — might as well get that out of the way early."

Satoru almost chokes.

He blinks beneath his blindfold as he snatches a napkin and coughs. 

You quietly rock a little. 

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"Now hold on—"

"—I was educated privately but—"

"You didn't attend a Jujutsu technical school?" Gojo gawks, sitting up straight; he drops his food to the coffee table and turns to face you. There's a flare of disbelief coursing through him. 

You shake your head.

And then Satoru throws both hands up to stop you before you can speak.

"Then how the hell did you know how to cancel out my Infinity?"

You blink.

Your brows raise and you gesture in the air as if to say 'go on'.

Satoru can hardly believe this.

"You didn't know that you did that—?"

"Did what?" you ask, leaning forward and forgetting about your meal, "When? Now?"

"No, not now," Satoru exasperates, "At the funeral service. When you shook my hand."

"...Right," you squint, "I... shook your hand... and...?"

"You canceled my technique," he stresses, "Limitless. Y'know, the Limitless."

"Oh!" you brighten — and Satoru can see you suddenly get it. You sit up a little straighter, then move to place your dinner on the coffee table; your smile is proud, "That's my technique!"

Well, what the hell.

"You couldn't tell?"

"It's not like I can use the techniques I disrupt," you chide just as you've been chided before by your trainers and instructors, "Void Hand stops at that. I can void a technique upon touch. Sometimes it... just happens." 

"Because your control isn't refined, because someone didn't attend a Jujutsu technical school," Satoru says tightly; suddenly, he sounds like a teacher, "Every technique has a reserve. There is no exception to that rule."

You blink.

"No way," you laugh incredulously, shaking your head, "The technique has been around for generations — if it had a reversal, I would know. My Clan would know—"

"Clans know a lot they don't share with the class," Satoru cuts and narrows his eyes as he leans back and crosses his long legs, "Trust me on that."

The silence that stretches between the two of you is long. Satoru can see the thoughts racing by as your eyes bounce around, spaced out. 

So, he leans over, pats your knee, and grins.

"Guess we got our work cut out for us, huh, wifey?"

You don't argue with him.

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 7

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: Eddie gets close to you, and you sacrifice your dignity.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n, Rise of Hellfire characters

Word Count: 4.2k words

Master List

Author Note: Okay, look. There's not a lot of Eddie in this chapter but this is setting up a LOT of things I have planned for this story. This is a load baring chapter.

Your wrist had ached all day, and you blamed the weather. What was originally promised to be a mild spring day had turned into a rather warm and stormy one. Normally, you loved this kind of weather (as long as there was no tornado warning), but with the pain in your cast it only annoyed you. 

In Ms. Benson’s class, your mood was dampened further as your tests were passed back. You didn’t need to look at it to know that it wasn’t going to help you with your grade in class. You tried to pay attention in class, you really did. But no matter how much you stared at the book you were all supposed to be reading, the more your mind drifted to other matters. How could you get Eddie to let you at least sit in on a Hellfire meeting? How could you thank Stacy for sacrificing her favorite makeup shop while you two let the heat die down? You really didn’t have an interest in Spring Day but you really wanted to spend more time with Eddie. 

You wrote down character ideas, occasionally glancing at Eddie. You ran through each class and race in your mind, trying to come up with different combinations. You were leaning towards elf or half-elf, and a more magical class but maybe you should try something with brute strength? Or maybe something more complicated to impress Eddie?

Okay, no, that was a bad idea. Stealing and learning the game was pathetic enough, you had to make sure you were at least doing part of this for yourself. And there was the problem, you were a little overwhelmed with choices on what kind of character you’d make if you were allowed in Hellfire. 

When the bell rang you had written out every single combination of the class and race list, marking the ones you thought would be most interesting. The rest of the page was filled with dumb joke characters. 

They were stupid, but it was important to get the stupid out. The harder you tried to think of what you might actually want to play (not that you could anyway) the more blank your mind became. Sometimes, having too much creative freedom was stifling. 

And so, Fighter Betty of the Crocker clan, the Wizard TAB, and Ziggy Stardust the Druid, were shoved into your backpack, between the pages of the handbook you were carrying around when the bell rang. If anything, they amused you and that’s all that would matter. 

You took your time when the bell rang, trying to figure out a way to talk to Eddie or say hi or make any sort of small talk. 

Why was it that you didn’t have this problem with anyone else in this stupid town?!

You were so focused on thinking about Eddie, that you completely missed that he was standing right in front of you.

“Uh- what?” you blinked, realizing now that words were coming out of those very pretty lips of his. 

“Do you need help with your books?” Eddie asked slower, pointing to your backpack. You couldn’t tell if he was talking slow because he thought you were an idiot, or because he smelled so subtly like weed. 

“Yes. Yeah, yes.” you tried to get your mouth to work. You tried to pretend he was Stacy or... shit, you didn’t have any other friends here. 

Eddie grabbed your bag and you followed him out the door to your locker again. What a strange sense of deja vu. 

“How’d you do on the test?” He asked as you opened your locker. 

You tensed and shrugged. “About as well as I thought I’d do. You?” 

Eddie shifted in his spot. “Yeah, about the same.” 

You glanced at him, seeing how uncomfortable he looked. Had you both failed? You shouldn’t be surprised, but you were. 

“I guess our not-detention is gonna be awkward. Hopefully, Benson’ll leave us alone to do whatever task she has for us.” You sighed as you swapped books and grabbed your lunch box. 

“Maybe we can sneak out again.” Eddie suggested. 

“If we do that there might not be a Spring Day. Shouldn’t this be the student council’s job anyway?” you asked. “I don’t see why she’s so bent on us making this happen. No offence.” 

“None taken.” Eddie held up his hands. “I have as much school spirit as a rock.” 

“You looked like you would have been anywhere else during the pep rally.”

“I tried to skip, but I got caught.” He ran his fingers through his hair with a world weary sigh. 

“Try breaking your wrist next time. It got me out of it.” you lifted your arm to show off your cast. 

“You broke your wrist trying to apologize, I wouldn’t apologize to anyone in this shithole.” Eddie said. 

You wanted to be offended, but you couldn’t blame him. If you were Stacy, or if he were anyone else, you might bat your lashes at him and ask if that also applied to you, but you couldn’t. You weren’t Stacy, and Eddie was still Eddie. 

“Not even your friends?” you settled on. 

“If I had an issue with one of my friends we’d talk about it.” Eddie looked at you, a sharpness in his eyes that made you want to shrink. Why was he looking at you like he was accusing you of something? You had apologized, right? And he’d accepted! Did he want you to apologize again? 

“Thank you for delivering my friend safely, Eddie.” Saved from the awkward encounter by arriving at the lunch table with Stacy. “Are you sure you won’t be joining us?” 

“Alas, I am still honor bound to my little gang of misfits.” Eddie sighed holding his hand over his heart.

“Fine, be a buzzkill.” Stacy replied. “Shoo.” 

You couldn’t decide which was worse, Stacy shooing the love of your life off or Eddie giving you that accusatory look. 

The look. That was worse. 

“One day he’ll either eat with us or ask us to join them.” Stacy said, trading her cookie with the pudding cup in your lunch bag. 

“You could go over there and sit with them, and they’d be too stunned to tell you to leave.” You laughed. “You’d be Queen of the Freaks by the end of the period.”

“I could, but that’s a title I’m saving for you.” Stacy said supportively. 

“Hey Stacy, were you a cheerleader?” You asked as you remembered your conversation with Eddie. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I didn’t tell you that? So embarrassing.” She shook her head. “I was on the squad for about two and a half years before I got kicked off.” 

“You got kicked off?” you looked at her in surprise. 

“Yeah, I got caught smoking. Turns out that’s a big no-no when you’re on the squad.” Stacy was saying this like it was just a bad date she had been on. 

“Smoking? Since when do you smoke?” This was also news to you. You had never seen her with a cigarette or even a lighter before. 

“Only socially.” Stacy said. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not exactly torn up about it. I was only on the team because mom made me, and because I didn’t want to get rusty in gymnastics.” 

You had known that Stacy had been very into gymnastics in her younger years, there were few medals and trophies scattered in her room. You glanced over at a table on the far side where a few jocks and cheerleaders were. 

“So, why aren’t you sitting with them? Are you not friends anymore...?” you couldn’t help it, you were a little nosey and wanted to know more about your best friend. 

“Of course.” Stacy looked confused. “Chrissy Cunningham is one of my dearest friends.” 

“Then why are you sitting with me and not them?” Any insecurity you might have had was overrun by confusion. 

“Because that’s not what we do here.” Stacy said, as if it were the most normal answer in the world. “You sit with the cheerleaders and jocks if you’re a cheerleader or a jock.” 

“But... you’re friends.” you said slowly. 

“Yes.” 

“....Are you sitting with me out of pity? Please be honest with me.” 

“No, dumbass, I’m sitting with you because we’re friends.” 

“I... I don’t get it.” you sighed. 

“Listen, I know things might have been different before you got to Hawkins, but this is just how things are. I’m sitting with you because you’re more interesting than the latest basketball or football game. Plus, with you I have more options.” 

“What?”

“Well, you’re an anomaly.” Stacy said. “You came in late, and so you don’t have an assigned group that you’ve been with since Kindergarten. You talk to whoever you want, and you haven’t made any enemies with anyone here. People like you, you know.” 

“You make it sound like I’m popular or something.” You said. 

“Not popular, but something else.” Stacy gave you an analytical look. “If you had really tried, I think you could be in any group you wanted.” 

“Any group except one.” you glanced longingly at Eddie’s table. He seemed to be in a good mood now, if the impromptu air-guitar solo he was performing was anything to go by. You didn’t know what song he was listening to through his headphones but he seemed really into it. His friends seemed less impressed as they talked amongst themselves.

“I can’t believe you’re really this intimidated by Eddie Munson.” Stacy rolled her eyes. 

“Why not? Everyone else seems to be. And stop distracting me! If you have other friends why aren’t you sitting with them? Or why are you sitting with me? Or why aren’t we sitting with them?” 

“You’re taking this so personally.” Stacy pat your shoulder. “I’m here because I want to be, I don’t sit with them because I don’t want to, and I don’t invite you to sit with them because you’d be miserable and they wouldn’t appreciate the drama that is your crush on the Freak.” 

You groaned and rubbed your face. “At my old school we just sat with the people we liked and called it a day.” 

“Good news, I like you so it’s not that different.” Stacy said. 

The rest of lunch was uninteresting, as you and Stacy talked non-stop about the worst gossip and her latest date. You stole glances at Eddie, wondering if what she had said was true. Could you have been part of that group if you hadn't had your head so far up your ass? You had tried so hard to not make friends this year. You just wanted to take your diploma and go. 

The storm was picking up when the final bell rang, and your wrist twinged in annoyance as you bumped it while grabbing the books you’d need for the homework that you weren’t sure you’d even do. Ms. Bensen wasn’t expecting you and Eddie for at least fifteen minutes, enough time for the school to clear out and the buses and cars to make their way out of school. 

Feeling restless, you made your way to the lesser used side parking lot that was reserved for teachers and any former alumni who knew that if you were picking someone up there’d be less traffic. Under the awning, you were taking just a moment to get some fresh air and enjoy the stronger gusts of wind after a day of stale school air. You doubt you and Eddie would be able to sneak off anywhere to hide inside the school, and you didn’t want to assume that he’d want to anyway. 

Amidst the sound of the rain, a faint sound of wheels on concrete drew your attention. Zack, the skater from your science class, was sitting by the payphone rolling his skateboard back and forth as he stared out into the parking lot. 

“Payphone eat your quarter again?” You asked, walking over and leaning against the wall next to him. 

Zack looked up, recognition crossing his face and he shook his dirty blond hair. “Nah, not this time. Just waiting for my older brother to come and pick me up. Can’t board in this storm.” 

“I think it’d be surfing at this point.” You nodded, watching deep puddles start to form in the parking lot. 

“Heh, no kidding.” 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you for a moment before a car pulled up in front of you. Instead of Zack running to hop in, the driver hopped out and hurried under the awning while the car was idling. 

Zack’s older brother looked strikingly like him, but with much longer hair and thick glasses. Under his denim coat he was wearing an ADCD t-shirt and an old faded pair of jeans. He took off his glasses and used his shirt to wipe off the rain. 

“Dude, get back in the car I wanna go home.” Zack groaned. 

“In due time, young one.” His brother patted him on the head, condescendingly. “I have a side-quest that I must complete before we go.” 

Why was this guy talking like Eddie?

“You there, what is your name?” He said, looking at you. 

You stuttered out your name, not expecting to be acknowledged. 

“What is your quest?” 

Quest? Why did this sound familiar? And why did you feel like you were being tested? 

“To just- fuckin’ survive.” That was the only thing you could think of at the moment. 

He smirked and pushed up his glasses.

“And what is the airspeed velocity of a swallow?” 

Oh fucking hell, you were caught up now on what he was doing. 

“African or European?”

The smirk on his face morphed into a genuine smile, and he offered his hand. “Good answer. I’m Kenny, Zack’s brother.”

“Can you stop being weird around all my friends?” Zack groaned as you shook Kenny’s hand. You and Zack were friends?

“How else am I supposed to know you keep good company?” Kenny shrugged. 

“I do have a real question for you, because my brother is useless-” 

“Hey!”

“Do you know where I could find one Relgar, the half-orc?” 

“Could you please talk like a normal person, dude?” 

You had no idea who the fuck Kenny was talking about, but you could narrow it down. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but Hellfire Club meets on Fridays.” you said. 

Kenny seemed to light up more. “Excellent! It’s Tuesday so I have no reason to be here any longer. I wanted to drop something off if he was still around.”

“Thank god.” Zack muttered. 

“Which one is Relgar?” Curiosity killed the cat-

“Nowadays he is known as the most sadistic Dungeon Master that has ever dared to run a game in Hawkins.” Kenny said. “But in school he just goes by Eddie.” 

-But satisfaction brought it back. “Munson? I’m actually about to see him. I can deliver it.”

“Are you in Hellfire?” Kenny asked. 

“Not exactly, but I’m going to see Eddie in a second. We have extra credit we have to work on.” You said once again. 

“Extra credit? That doesn’t sound like Eddie.” He looked at you suspiciously. 

“Man, come on, just give her the damn thing so we can go home. You already said she’s cool, and she loaned me a quarter once so I could call you before.” Zack groaned. 

“Well, if Zack says I can trust you then I have no choice. Besides, MacGyver is almost on and I don’t want to miss it.” Kenny pulled a booklet out of his jacket that you recognized as a D&D module and handed it over. “Let’s go.” Zack groaned and hopped into the car, using his board as the worst umbrella in history.

“That better get to Eddie, or I’ll know about it.” Kenny said. 

And that’s when you had to run for your life because you had all of 30 seconds to get your ass to Benson’s classroom. You were panting when you finally dropped down into the desk next to Eddie. 

“Nice of you to join us.” Ms. Benson said dryly. She placed some papers between the two of you. “Look, I am trying to help you both out. You both know what you got on your last test. I’m giving you this chance to try again. Put your desks together, get your books out. You two can work together, it’s open book.” 

“That’s... generous.” you said, looking up at her. 

“I’m tired of seeing adults in high school.” 

“Ouch.” Eddie winced. “And here I thought we were finally getting along.” 

“We'll get along better once you’re gone.” Despite Ms. Benson’s flat tone, there was a hint of a smile on her thin lips. 

Eddie was close. Too close for your comfort, but also not nearly close enough. Eddie had grabbed your desk and pulled it over to his, so that you two were sitting very very close to each other. You had never been so close to him before, and you were sure you were going to get a worse grade now that you could see the details in his heavy rings. 

The space was crowded, and you tried so hard to keep to your own space. The two of you took turns reading the questions, and flipping through the textbook the two of you were sharing. You did everything you could to focus on the make up test. 

It was hard to tell if Eddie’s presence made the test easier or harder the second time around. On one hand, you wanted so badly to not look like a complete idiot in front of him; on the other hand you could feel your brain turn to mush every time his arm brushed against yours. 

Eddie was a leftie, you noticed. 

“At least the vocab section is easy.” Eddie leaned over to look at the glossary, and your brain was threatening nuclear meltdown with how near his voice was. 

You sucked it up, and over the course of the next 30 minutes the two of you managed to cobble together something that had to be a passing grade. 

“Eddie, your handwriting is awful.” you said without thinking, staring at the chicken scratch on his paper. “Even if everything’s right, you can’t pass if she can’t read it.” 

“She can read my writing.” Eddie said, waving you off. “Isn’t that right, Ms. B?”

Ms. Benson didn’t look up from her papers. “I’ve grown accustomed to reading hieroglyphics.” 

You looked over your papers, made Eddie re-write a few words on his test and the two of you finally turned in your tests. 

Ms. Benson put aside what she was working on and immediately graded the tests right in front of you both. She looked at the final grades, then her grade book, and then back at the tests. 

“Good enough.” she declared, and handed them back. There was a B written at the top in red marker. “You’re done here.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” said Eddie as he turned to leave the classroom. 

That was it? No Spring Day work? Fine, at least that was over. You followed Eddie, now having a full half hour before your mom was supposed to pick you up. Maybe you’d just hang out in the library until then- 

You lost Eddie. 

You were so lost in your own world that you blinked and the guy vanished from sight. Normally, this would not have been a big deal and you’d simply lament that he was no longer in your vision. However, you had something in your bag that you had promised to give him and you were hardly about to let this opportunity to talk to him again run you by. 

So you picked a direction and hoped that it was the right way. 

Your first instinct was to go to the parking lot where his van would be parked but it was still there. You stood outside for a few minutes, but gave up on waiting when some asshole leaving detention splashed you with his car, leaving your front drenched but your backpack was thankfully dry. 

Fuck everything, you had one job and you’ve already blown it. You did your best to dry yourself off in the bathroom before circling the school three times. You were so pissed, you were wet, your wrist hurt, you didn’t give Eddie his stupid D&D module, and you were ready to just give up.

You tried to tell yourself that there was always tomorrow, but that didn’t bring you much comfort.  

The telltale sound of someone getting slammed into a locker echoed through the hallway. 

Keep your head down, don’t make waves, and just get your diploma and go. Don’t get involved, don’t make friends. You aren’t gonna be here long enough. Besides, you already told yourself that you were giving up today. 

Your feet ignored your brain and you ran towards the sound.

When you turned the corner you found the standoff in one of the less frequented hallways. A basketball player looked like he was ready to throw down while Eddie was picking one of his freshmen up off the ground. You recognized the curly hair and brightly colored shirt, topped with a baseball cap but you didn’t know his name. 

You did know the basketball player, he was in your remedial math and was always talking louder than the teacher. You had no idea what the fuck was going on, and you should probably mind your own damn business but as usual your brain was ignored. 

“Holy shit, Danny! I’m so glad I found you!” you rushed over, putting yourself between him and Eddie. You hoped that being still wet from the rain made you look pathetic enough to distract him from whatever he was pissed out. 

Danny had not anticipated anyone to catch them and he looked at you dumbfounded. Then his eyes drifted down slightly and you resisted every urge to cover your chest. Why the hell did you wear a white shirt today?

Between him glancing down at your chest, and up towards your face in confusion it gave you enough time to think of a lie as to why you were interfering. 

“I- uh-” You faltered, and found yourself shaking. What the hell were you doing?! “I- I forgot the homework!” your voice sounded as if you were in pain. “Please tell me you wrote down the assignment. If I- if I don’t do it then my grade will drop to an F and my mom will actually kill me.” 

Danny opened his mouth a few times like a fish and looked behind you at Eddie and his freshmen. There was still a spark of fire in his eyes. 

“Look, give me a second and I’ll-” 

“Forget about the freaks, I need your help!” Your voice was loud and shrill, and so unfamiliar to you. Anxiety shot through you, and you hated that you had to resort to name calling. There was no way in hell that Eddie would ever want to sneak off with you now for any reason. 

Danny was shocked and just looked behind you, with a resigned expression. “I’ll deal with you later.” he said and ushered you towards his locker. 

Something hot slid down your face as you followed Danny. Oh, fuck it all you were crying. Frustration tears had welled up and were sliding down your face and you wiped them away with a wet sleeve. 

Fuck today. Breaking your wrist at the pep rally wasn’t as humiliating as this. 

Danny finally handed over a torn up piece of paper which had the page number and problems you were supposed to do tonight. 

“Here.” he said, looking at you with pity. 

“Thanks.” you managed to choke out. “I mean it. You’re saving my ass.” 

“Just let me copy your work tomorrow before school and we’ll call it even.” Danny shrugged. 

You had wanted to skip school tomorrow, but now you had no choice. Now you actually had to do these stupid problems as well. 

“Sure.” You stared at the floor in shame. “...What were you doing with those guys anyway?”

“Dipshit freshman pissed me off.” he said. “Had to teach him a lesson, but then the Freak showed up.” 

“Why are you picking a fight with a freshman so late in the year?” you asked. “If you got caught, all of you probably would have been in big trouble. I heard Mrs. Click stopped Patty Marshall from walking the stage at graduation because she got into a shouting match outside her classroom.” 

This was a big fat lie, but you were willing to do anything to get the basketball team to leave Eddie and his friends alone. 

Danny slammed his locker shut. “Whatever. He’s not worth the effort anyway. You better meet me tomorrow so I can copy your work.”

“Right, right.” you said. “Yeah, I’ll meet you.” 

You hurried out of school, pissed and cold and your stupid eyes were still leaking. Mom was already waiting out front for you as you got into the back seat.

From where you were, you couldn’t see that Eddie was watching you from his van as the storm picked up over Hawkins High.  

Author Notes: If there is one thing you should know about me, it's that any time we get even a tiny bit of Eddie lore I WILL use it in whatever I'm writing. Say hello to Kenny from Rise of Hellfire, the original DM! Next chapter we'll get more from his POV, and you'll have more time to hang out with Eddie very soon!

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