#but i hope i’ve somewhat conveyed what i mean

[turtleneck-wambsgans]

it’s genuinely so confusing how many people hate shiv.

also: I’M NOT ACCUSING ANYONE OF ANYTHING !! this isn’t aimed at anyone or anything in particular. just having some Thoughts…

i’m not talking about the way we hate succession characters bc they’re terrible people. i mean, after accepting the premise that these are horrible people with screwed up worldviews, there is still so much shiv hate.

and i’m specifically talking about tomgreg lovers who hate shiv. clearly, i adore tomgreg with my whole heart - but there is no way that i would ever consider hating shiv.

i feel like understanding how tragic the tomshiv relationship is kinda fundamental to shipping tomgreg ?

tom and shiv do have love for one another, but they can’t love each other correctly. tom grew up with a clear, traditional example of romantic love through his parents’ marriage. shiv had the complete opposite experience, where being vulnerable - esp with expressing love - was a big no no.

if you ship tom and greg, a lot of it involves seeing that they possess the qualities that the other requires in a relationship. for example, tom is trapped in a marriage where his understanding of romantic love is incompatible with shiv’s. it’s not that shiv doesn’t love tom, or is horrible to him - it’s that they don’t fit together in that way. greg, being ignored for basically his whole like, seeks the validation that tom gives him in the show- and not just that, he responds to tom’s affections in kind.

so yeah, the shiv hate (in relation to tomgreg) is weird.

[onigiriico]

Mikoto audio drama (t2) - English TL

[ links: Spotify | YouTube ]

Mikoto-ing again 🫡 I know I say this like every other post, but I 100% recommend listening to the audio alongside the translation! On one hand the VAs just did an amazing job on this, and on the other hand I also feel like it'll. probably make the switches more obvious than I can convey in text lol

Little disclaimer about the way I translated the DID terminology here: I know the correct term in English is "alter", but in the JP audio they're consistently referred to as "personalities" (人格 / jinkaku) while the closest Japanese equivalent to "alter" seems to be 自我 / jiga, from what I could find. I generally try to stick as closely to the JP terminology with my translations as possible, so I mostly went with "personality". I really don't want to offend anyone here so I hope that's a somewhat okay choice ahshbsdj

Okay. Okay that got lengthy. As usual, if you find any mistranslations, have questions, etc etc feel free to send me an ask or hit me up on Twitter where I drop by, like, once a month 😅 And now without further ado:

⬇️ translation under the cut ⬇️

(Es enters)

E: Mikoto…

M: Ah… Hi, Warden-kun.

E: You… are Mikoto, right?

M: Uh… What are you talking about? It really feels like it’s been a while, doesn’it? How have you been? – Huh? What’s that…? Chains? Oh, no. Take them off!

E: I refuse. You’re too dangerous. Physical restrictions are necessary.

M: Umm… (laughs) What are you saying, restricting someone who can’t even hurt a fly?

E: You really aren’t aware, huh…

M: Well, I mean… I do get it. I… go out of control while I’m asleep, right?

E: …

M: The others told me about it. How I got into a fistfight with Koto-chan and whatnot.

E: Seems like it, yeah.

M: I wonder if it’s like… some kind of sleepwalking…? After all, I’ve been losing sleep more and more often recently… Man… It’s really troublesome, isn’t it?

E: Mikoto…

M: The others are all scared of me. I can tell by looking at the way they act. Because I read the room.

E: …

M: It’s pretty tough, isn’t it? (laughs) Ever since I came here, so much has been happening that I don’t understand…

E: … You really… do laugh when you’re suffering, huh?

M: Huh?

E: You don’t get angry. You don’t scream. You laugh, like it’s a minor inconvenience.

M: Ah… I guess so. I might have that kind of trait.

E: …

M: Usually, if you just laugh and pretend, things work out in the end, right? I’m pretty good at that. Making things work out to the best of my abilities.

E: Is that so…

M: (laughs) …But… it’s not coming to an end. All of this. With things I’ve never even heard before, the whole ti—

E: …

M: —the whole time… I have to make all these irritating experiences…!

E: You came out, huh.

M: Hey. Looks like you haven’t gotten a beating yet, Warden brat.

E: …!

M: Hah? What, are you scared?

E: Like you didn’t get beaten by Kotoko…!

M: Hah. That was just because she caught me off guard. We went at it again while you were asleep, and it’s not like I lost there.

E: Multiple personalities… Am I right with the assumption that the you I’m talking to right now is another personality of Mikoto’s?

M: Well, I guess that’s about right.

E: I see. What do you want me to call you?

M: Huh? You’re accepting this pretty readily, aren’t you. Wouldn’t the whole multiple personalities thing normally raise some eyebrows?

E: Yeah. I also didn’t think it was real, at first.

M: Figures. If it wasn’t me, I wouldn’t believe it either. I’d just think it’s a lie someone came up with to get away with murder.

E: But Milgram acknowledges that [it is real] in your case. I simply accept that as the truth, and develop my thoughts from there. So? What do you want me to call you? Your name.

M: No clue about that. Just call me whatever.

E: … For convenience, I’ll be calling you John.

M: Sounds like a dog’s name.

E: It’s derived from John Doe, the name given to unidentified bodies. Do you like it?

M: Can’t say I’m very fond of the way you’re flaunting your knowledge.

E: … Anyway. You’re acting pretty calm today, aren’t you? I thought of you more like a monster of some sort. I wasn’t expecting to have such a proper conversation with you.

M: Don’t get cocky! If not for these chains, I would’ve beaten your face in by now, brat.

E: Ohh, scary, scary.

M: Hmph.

E: John, you are not a prisoner of Milgram. The fact that Milgram’s usual restraints are ineffective against you is more proof for that than anything. Milgram has judged that Mikoto is the prisoner, and you, as his alter, are an exception.

M: Huhh, I see. So that’s why you believe that there’s multiple personalities.

E: That’s why I thought I would try and talk to you as a key witness today. I’m rather glad that you’re being cooperative.

M: But, you know… This isn’t a good thing, probably.

E: What do you mean?

M: I (boku) might be trying to disappear.

E: …

M: Evidently, the time I (ore) have been fronting has been getting longer, so this “me” has been able to stabilize. Isn’t that the reason we can talk properly?

E: …

M: If I had stayed a monster… maybe that would be better.

E: …

M: What?

E: You’ve turned out to be much more rational than I expected… I’m surprised.

M: I’m a university graduate, after all.

E: (sighs)

M: As for alters… Why do you think they’re born?

E: In precise terms, it’s called dissociative identity disorder – generally speaking, [it refers to] when a person experiences severe pain or stress, and a new personality is created to try and isolate [the original personality] from the resulting trauma.

M: Yeah. I… probably come out to ease the stress Boku experiences. The fact that I come out for longer just means that Boku is constantly under extreme stress.

E: Stress… Namely the environment of Milgram, right?

M: Right. Especially the fact that you judged against forgiving Boku is causing a lot of stress. That’s why he’s entrusting me with his heart.

E: I see.

M: Not like I can blame him. From his point of view, he’s being blamed for a crime he can��t even remember.

E: If that’s the truth, then… you’re the one who committed the murder?

M: Yeah, it’s me. I killed them off.

E: …

M: So Boku really didn’t do it.

E: Can I ask… why you killed them?

M: They annoyed me.

E: Who did you kill?

M: Just someone who was walking around nearby.

E: … How many did you kill?

M: Can’t remember. I was first born back then, you know. It’s kinda fuzzy.

E: How can you talk about that so calmly?

M: (sighs) According to the law, how would this go for Boku?

E: With a psychiatric evaluation, there’s a chance of a reduced sentence, but depending on the number of victims… the death penalty might be inevitable.

M: …! I– I’m the one who did it! Boku was just sleeping!

E: Is this really something that works that conveniently?

M: Just put yourself in Boku’s shoes for a moment! He was bottling up all his stress! He kept dealing with it all by himself the whole time, until it exploded! It’s not like he just decided that he wanted to hurt somebody!

E: …

M: He’s not the type of person who could do stuff like that! He always looks out for others, always reads the room, always tries to get along with people around him! He can’t do stuff like that… He was on the verge of exploding! That’s why I was born. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Boku didn’t do anything!

E: Even if that’s true… Even if it wasn’t what Mikoto wanted – someone’s life was still lost.

M: …!

E: Even if it was you, John, who was in [your body at the time] – there’s no way for you to prove that. At the very least not in a way that would be accepted in court. It could still be judged that you’re pretending—

M: You…!! What do you think?

E: I…?

M: I’m the one who did it! Boku didn’t do it! You know that because of Milgram! I don’t care about the law, I want to know what you think!

E: …

M: Please… forgive Boku. I’m the one who did it.

E: … I can’t… judge that right away. It’s not something that I can easily decide to forgive. In fact, Mikoto’s mental footage was so violent… it’s unforgivable. That’s how I judged.

M: That could also just be a fake or owed to the multiple personalities, right?! Boku really isn’t at fault! I’m the one who killed them!

E: …

M: Are you really satisfied [with the unforgiven judgment]? He turned into a murderer overnight!

E: What you did could still be considered a sin, though!

M: …! … I think… I might be the person Boku wishes he was. The person who stubbornly stands his ground, who doesn’t cry himself to sleep from stress, who gives people their payback. If I, the “ore” personality, hadn’t been born, I’m sure Boku would have reached his limit and fallen apart.

E: John… you…

M: It’s true that I was the one who wanted to destroy everything… and the weakness of Boku, who couldn’t stand up for himself all alone, might have been the origin of that. But… that’s all there is to it. Is that a sin?

E: I’ll be considering that after this.

M: After talking to you, I get that you couldn’t forgive what I did. And I’m fine with that.

E: …Yeah. That’s right.

M: The one Milgram is supposed to judge is Boku – Mikoto, right. He’s not me – so, not John.

E: Precisely.

M: Please, forgive Boku. If you don’t… I’m sure he won’t be able to deal with this any longer.

E: “A sin committed by another personality isn’t a sin”... you’re telling me that’s how I should judge?

M: Yeah. If you forgive Boku… I’ll disappear.

E: …

M: That’s right. I’ll have to disappear eventually, anyway… Disappear, and take all of it with me. I… was born to protect Boku, after all.

E: You were… born for it…

M: Yeah. If it’s for Boku, I’ll… do anything.

(machinery whirrs, bell rings)

E: John…

M: W…what? A dog’s name?

E: Mikoto…?

M: Warden-kun, you own a dog? What breed? No, wait, let me try guessing first– A toy poodle? Actually, maybe you surprisingly prefer the ugly-cute kind… like a French bulldog!

E: … No…

M: A pug, then?

E: It’s not the name of a dog!

M: Ehh… Then what…?

E: … It’s the name of your… friend.

M: (laughs) I don’t know anyone like that~

E: … I bet you don’t.

M: Huh…?

E: Prisoner no.9, Mikoto. Sing your sins.

[fariesoiree]

caution! mdni 13k wrdz, best friend's bother!hobie x black fem! reader, hobie is twenty one, reader is 19, small town in the country, everyone knows everyone, a very brief moment of angst, reader is jealous, misunderstanding troupe (?) but quickly resolved, crybaby reader, kitchen sex w/people in the house, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, facial, cum eating, open ending

miffy's note! this took me like two weeks to write which is so much faster than every other fic i’ve written in a while. i knowwww she has a lot of words but she is my baby and I hope everyone loves her as much as I do. enjoy <3 pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

there’s a waxy smell in the freshly opened soda shop, one that reminds you of the shiny tiles that line the floor of the high school you graduated from, the high school most people graduated from.

highbury high, smack dab in the middle of highbury hills. it’s the only high school for miles, operating on a set curriculum and generic uniforms. fits right in with the small town vibe.

“do you know what you want?” your long-time friend, maise, glances over at you. she’s a darling thing, curly hair braided into pigtails and tied with two white ribbons. her arms are crossed over her stomach, clothed in a white tank top just barely cropped. “there’s so many options, i can’t decide.”

you sniff, eyes glazing over the yellow tinted menu. your tongue skims over your lips, getting a taste of the vanilla flavored lip gloss. “i dunno. i don’t even think i want anything. i’m too nervous, like i’m gonna throw up.”

maise’s deer shaped eyes find yours in sympathetic understanding. “aw, honey. it’ll be okay. it’s been years, now. i doubt he even remembers.” her hands massage the kinks out your tense shoulders in a tight grip. “you were a kid, anyway.”

“yeah, maybe.” you offer a small smile in return. you find you’re disinterested in the menu, stomach rolling in its queasiness for the anticipated scenario. “i still don’t think i want anything. i don’t think i could keep it down.”

maise just shrugs and orders a rootbeer float for herself. she gets your anxiety but she’s never been the best at helping you through your emotions, even more so when she can’t relate. maise doesn’t have an older brother, not one with an attractive best friend that she used to have a crush on as a child.

with the acrylic, milkshake cup settled between the fingers of your friend, you both move towards the booths surrounding the perimeter of the retro-styled shop.

it’s really, very cute. quaint with pop music softly wafting from the speakers and a red, white, and blue theme consistent throughout. america’s sweetheart is what this place is known as, although you prefer to think it’s talking about a better, more ethical version of the country.

“you have to admit it’s kind of exciting, though.” despite your claims, maise still pops a second straw into the float and settles the cup between you. “i mean, your brother and hobie are coming home today and you haven’t seen hobie in like, two years. the last time anyone saw him was on graduation day, right? and then he packed up and left town. and your brother! he kept contact this whole time and didn’t tell anyone? doesn’t that bother you a little bit?”

you wait until she’s retreated to grab the straw between your thumb and pointer finger and tap a long, drawn out sip. the sugary sweetness does nothing to quell your nerves but it gives you time to come up with a response. “mm, not really. hobie is quen’s friend. plus, everyone knew he was gonna skip town. he didn’t like it here and he made that very clear.”

although your words convey otherwise, there’s a small seed of discomfort in your tummy. it would have been nice to keep you in loop, especially since you were under the impression that you and hobie were somewhat acquainted with each other. after all, he’s been good friends with quentin since elementary school and has known you for just about the same amount of time.

“okay but you’re not even curious? not even a little?” maise tilts her head inquisitively, lips drawn in a pout. “hobie is coming home after being gone for two whole years and you don’t care at all.”

“i didn't say i don’t care, mai. i do care and it's nice that he’s stopping by for a visit but let’s be serious, it’s hobie. in all the years we’ve known him, when has he ever committed to anything?” you turn your gaze towards your baby pink nails, shiny and just long enough to clack against your phone when you text. “i don’t want you to get excited over a summer romance that hasn’t even happened and won’t happen. we’re friends and barely that. his loyalty is with quen.”

you can feel the change in the atmosphere the longer you sit in silence. you’re hesitant to look her in the eyes and find a sudden interest in the condensation trickling down the side of the glass.

“uh huh. so if you feel all of that, why are you nervous? you don’t like hobie anymore, and he owes you nothing. what’s the problem then?” she rests her cheek in the palm of her hand, supported by the elbow resting on the table.

instead of answering her question, your hand smacks down against the table. it echoes in the empty room, filled by only you two and mr. terry, the owner of the shop.

“you know what, i have to go. it’s almost three and quen should be home soon. you know how punctual he is.” you grab your purse and sling the strap over your shoulder.

“chicken!” maise points a finger at you. she’s glowing with a toothy grin while watching you prepare to bolt for the door. “you can’t avoid it forever, honey.”

you brush off her comment with a hug and a wave. “whatever. love you. i’ll call you tonight with the details, maybe. bye!”

you all but run out of the shop, white sundress blowing with the opposing force of your movement. it’s not quite three o’clock yet but leaving is better than letting maise interrogate you further. she’s a riot but she got you pinned up against the wall and there’s nothing fun about being forced to answer her questions and face the music you’ve been tuning out for weeks. at least now you’d have some time to freshen up before the great arrival.

by the time you’re finished primping and set the hot curler down to refresh your styled silk press, you can hear the engine of your brother's lexus rolling into the driveway.

you lean forward and tug the curtains back in a firm grip to peak out into the driveway. between you and quentin, you received the larger room with the connected bathroom and it offered a perfect view of the front yard. said view is particularly handy for times like these.

you watch the driver door pop open, breath hitched in your throat and refuse to make any movements until you get the answers you're looking for.

a polished sneaker makes its appearance and becomes stationed on the white pavement. a body follows, tall and stocky and unlike the statuesque frame you’re subconsciously excited about.

pushing yourself even more to your feet and across the expanse of your vanity, you flick the latch of your window until it clicks to signal its unlocked. you push it up with such force that it soars much farther than you anticipated but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

“quentin!” you yell from your bedroom with a wide smile and a vigorous wave at your older brother below you.

your voice gets his attention and he snaps his head in your direction. “ ☆ !” he mirrors your expression, arms open wide in a hug as if he expected you to fly down into his embrace. he bumps the car door closed with his side. “i’m coming up.”

quentin’s words don’t stop you from flinging your door open, running down the stairs, fingertips grazing the wooden railing as you go. to some it may seem odd to be so cheery over the reappearance of your sibling but he’s your best friend, a staple part of your life to which you’d be lost without. if you aren’t running to the front door to see him, then there’s clearly a problem.

he’s already in the entryway, though, and peeling off his jacket to hang in the coat closet. the pittering of your feet long alerted quentin of your presence so he’s not shocked when you’re throwing yourself at him. “jeez, girl. did you eat a whole cow? you’re strong as shit.” his arm comes to wrap around your back and become settled between your shoulder blades.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes in return and separate yourself from him. you give him a once over, from the two strand twists at the top of his head, across the gray nike tech, and to the pristine white laces of his shoes. “wow, you really don’t look like you belong here anymore. that’s crazy, quen. you’re all grown up.”

“yeah well,” he pushes the closet door closed, waiting for its creaking hinges to silence before continuing his sentence, “gotta get out of this town someday. not you, though. you can stay. it suits you.” quentin’s eyes are filled with a brotherly fondness while giving you a similar once over. “where’s ma?”

you follow him to the bathroom to watch him wash his hands. “at work. dad, too. told me to text them when you get home but, uh, where’s all your stuff?”

quentin flicks his wrists into the sink and side-steps you. he rounds the corner to enter the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and popping it open. “oh, it’s at hobie’s place. i figured i’d leave the extra shit there since he has his own crib. do you know what mom’s making for dinner?”

you’re still trailing behind him, now leaned against the countertop with your arms crossed over your chest. when you’re face to face with the source of your turmoil, it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t exist. “so he really is back in town, huh.” it's not a question with the way you say it, staring at your fluffy sandals designated for wearing inside the house.

“mhm. forgot how talkative people here are. news spreads fast.” he pulls out a container of last night's leftovers and sets it beside you, already closing the fridge and moving on to find a plate. when his eyes find their way back to you, he’s surprised to see you glaring at him. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“because i’m a little upset that you didn’t tell me he was coming home. i get it if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself but it’s just me. i thought we were all cool.”

“we are all cool. it just slipped my mind, swear.” quentin bounces around the kitchen. he’s still engaged in your conversation though his sole focus is getting some food in his system but every now and then, he’ll glance at you while scooping fried rice onto a plate. “i didn’t intentionally not tell you. i just had a lot to do with the packing and the whole coming home thing. plus, you just finished your first year of college so i didn’t think you’d care so much. which you also still have to tell me how it went,” he puts the fork in his mouth and sticks the plate in the microwave.

“quentin,” you’re tempted to stomp your foot, no matter how childish it will come across.

“i didn’t exclude you on purpose, ☆ . i forgot and i’m sorry. next time, i’ll tell you as soon as i know.”

you’re somewhat pacified with his response, tossing his words over and over in your head until your concerns are soothed and the gloomy feeling dissipates. “fine but you have no idea what i had to go through with maise today. i swear she had all these theories and speculations about what its going to be like that i could have avoided if you told me.”

the microwave beeps, ringing its alarm that the timer has finished all throughout the kitchen. quentin is quick to take out his steaming plate and make his way towards the table with you still in tow. “oh, maise! how is she? i haven’t seen her in a minute.”

“she’s good. good grades, likes her college, majoring in child development. who cares, though. i want to know about hobie. it’s been two years.” you sit next to him, even going as far as pushing the chairs closer as if the topic needed it, as if hobie is a taboo subject.

“he’s great. he’ll be by later, said he wanted to stop by and see you and then he has to make his rounds.” quen shovels a forkful of food into his mouth. he’s eyeing his plate with an almost blank stare. you’re too close for him to feel comfortable looking at you, expectantly. as if he’s going to drop some big news about hobie’s return.

he's not an idiot. he knows, knew, about your crush on his best friend. it was obvious watching you go through all the childish phases, giggling to clinging onto to him to trying to play it cool. quentin has seen it all and he doesn’t think he can handle watching your excitement grow and dull when hobie ultimately makes his decision to leave. “he’s got that place he rents out when he’s not here. don’t know how long he plans on staying, though. when i asked, hobie said two months so i guess we’ll see.”

you’re blissfully unaware of the idea that quentin’s words are for your sanity, to calm the budding excitement as you gather strands of your hair between the tips of your fingers and stare at the freshly trimmed ends. “that’s nice. maybe he’ll come to the summer festival in a few days.”

that elicits a scoff out of your brother. “fat chance. hobie brown? he’s not showing his face at those things. he thinks they’re capitalistic holidays that prey on children. personally, i think he just really hates this town and is coming up with a bullshit excuse not to go.”

you let the bundle of hair between your fingers go and it drops back towards your shoulder in a soft heap. “did he say that or are you speaking for him?”

“he doesn’t have to say it, stupid. i just know.” quentin points his fork at you, flinging grains of cooked rice in your direction. despite the gross reaction that flashes across your face, all he does is laugh. genuine laughter with his head tilted back, clearly delighted to have bothered his dear sister. “it was an accident. i didn’t mean to.”

“get away from me.” you scrunch your face in disgust and shove the chair away from the table. it screeches against the floorboards with each movement. “you don’t point your fork at someone, dumbass. that’s fucking gross.” you say as you rise to your feet and make your exit, rolling your eyes on the way out.

it’s futile to pretend you aren’t looking forward to hobie pulling into the driveway. behind the closed door of your room, you barely watch the virgin suicides. the volume to the movie is turned down so low, you can almost hear your neighbor’s dog trotting on the pavement enjoying its walk. you’ve even gone as far as to open your window just in case you’d be too preoccupied to hear him as is.

you haven’t bothered to change out of the pretty dress, wanting to give off the best first impression you possibly could. after all these years have passed, it’s nearly critical that hobie sees you as you are, an adult. not because you still harbor feelings for him, but because that’s what you are now. you’re all grown up, just as he is.

quentin’s asleep in his room and offering you no answers as to when his friend is actually arriving nor did he request you to wake up when he does so. it’s only right to assume he’d rather stay asleep when hobie arrives then, isn’t it? especially after such a long trip.

hence why when the sound of hobie’s motorcycle reverberates through the glass pane of your window, you roll off your bed and to your feet with a sudden quickness. contrary to the excitement you greeted your brother with from your upstairs bedroom, you close the window the moment you reach it.

as soon as the white latch clinks shut, you’re flying out the door and down the stairs. the tips of your fingers graze the railing, only truly grasping it when you find yourself losing your balance at the speed you’re moving. if only maise could see you now.

you pull the front door open before hobie has a chance to ring the doorbell with such force, he flinches. there’s still a finger hanging in the air, adorned in silver rings and what seems to be a hand tattoo. that same hand is connected to a body, just as tall as you remember. your eyes trail as far as his shoulders, gaze already tilted upwards and too nervous to continue. it never occurred to you what being face to face with hobie would mean, would entail.

you didn’t think about him and his pine scent, paired with the natural musk of being outside. not once did you even think about the possible changes he’d go through within the past two years. even without looking at his face, you can already point out differences. he’s leaner, more muscles protruding from his tank top. grungier too, with dark wash baggy jorts sitting so low on his waist, you can see the calvin klein boxers peeking through the bottom. if you thought seeing hobie show off his toned stomach was a lot, the sight of the ink on his arm has you at a loss for words. a full sleeve of various line art and doodles.

you’re sick to your stomach.

“you’re back in town!” you finally gain the courage to look him in his eyes and nearly fall to your knees. “and you pierced your face!” your eyes dart between the nose piercing, the lip piercing, and the eyebrow piercing. slowly, you soak it all in, including the shoulder length locs tied into a ponytail. only after all of that do you look him in his eyes, filled with the same warmth and wonder as they were two years ago.

“ ☆ !” hobie’s face lights up with the same childlike glee as before, too. it’s like nothing has changed when he throws his arms around you to envelop you into a tight hug. “you noticed, did you?” he chuckles, deep and smooth right in your ear. unfortunately for you, it sends spirals into your stomach.

“do you like them? i want to get my tongue pierced this summer, too.” he finally pulls away and reveals his toothy grin, full of dazzling white teeth that can only come from regularly visiting a dentist. “but how have you been? i haven’t seen you in forever. you’re so . . .” he gives you his own once-over, much shorter than the one you gave him, “not a little kid anymore.”

you aren’t too sure what to make of that but you step aside anyway to welcome him into your home. suddenly, you’re far more nervous than you were at the mere thought of hobie coming over. he was intimidating just as a concept but in person? he’s even worse. he’s too pretty and composed. “i’m so not a little kid anymore?” you try to offset your awkwardness by turning the situation back to him.

“yeah. i mean, you look nice, ☆ .” hobie stands with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile. there’s not one ounce of embarrassment or hesitation written on his face. however, it oozes out of you. “so, where’s your brother at? he’s supposed to be going around town with me. it makes it less weird if we’re both there.”

“oh, quen fell asleep a few minutes ago.” you say with your back to hobie, disguising your reluctance as a sudden interest in turning the lock rather slowly. “you’re welcome to wait until he wakes up but he’s out cold.”

hobie clicks his tongue with a sigh, eyeing the walls of your childhood home. it’s still lined with the same family portraits and kindergarten crafts. there’s even his own graduation picture on the mantle, sandwiched between yours and quentin’s. he snorts at the sight, dressed in the same black graduation cap and gown but missing some of the cords adorned by the others. not only was hobie not too involved in the community, but he merely did what he had to in school with the exception of a few clubs and hobbies. “no, he’ll probably be knocked for a while. i’ll just do it later, i guess.”

you nod, hugging yourself in a tight grip. your act to self soothe during your one-on-one isn’t very effective. the air feels thick with tension. you have the impression that it’s one-sided because hobie turns to face you. 

“how about you come with me instead? we can ride around and go to that one park we used to go to as kids.”

for a moment, your heart drops to your feet. staring into his eyes does nothing good for your nervous system. as much as you attempted to convince both maise and yourself that you harbor no feelings towards hobie at all, everything in you is screaming otherwise.

your eyes settle on the floorboards and you sniff. “i don’t know. i don’t think i’d feel comfortable on your bike. don’t you have to wear gear and stuff?”

“well, yeah i’m supposed to.” he shrugs. his head is tilted to one side. “i don’t, though. not here at least. if i’m on the highway or in a big city then yeah but not here. nothing ever happens here.”  parts of the hobie you subconsciously fear appear as a shadow on his face. the corners of his mouth twitch downwards and his eyes become clouded, but only for a second. “we can take your car if you’d like. i saw it in the driveway. it’s cute.”

he’s referring to the little volkswagen beetle parked just outside with a tan exterior and a decorated interior. it’s full of flower vent clips, pink seat covers, and scented with gain car air freshener.

“um,” you busy yourself by smoothing your hands over the skirt of your dress. suddenly, you’re reflecting on the fact that you are somewhat dressed up. sure, you curl your hair and wear cute dresses on the regular but never have you worn a cute dress, curled your hair, waited for someone to come over, and beat them to the door before they could announce their arrival. “sure. i guess we can do that. i don’t want you to think you have to, though. you came for quentin and he’s asleep so don’t force yourself.”

you’re surprised when hobie laughs, nose wrinkling with genuine enjoyment. he shakes his head and places his hand on your shoulder. it engulfs your skin like a warm blanket and gives you a squeeze. “never change, okay? you’re so sweet. get your keys and let’s go.”

there’s a strawberry field just across the park guarded by a wire fence. some kids gather around the edges and pluck the berries off the overgrown branches that poke just close enough for them to reach with their little fingers.

the breeze carries the sounds of high-pitched laughter and squeals from the children running about. with school just recently letting out, the park is well occupied. it’s a surprise to no one to see a crowd of elementary schoolers running around the slides and pushing each other on the swing.

you sit at a bench. the metal is warmed from the sunlight beaming down. you have your phone in your hand, pumping out back to back texts to maise filled with terrible grammar and even worse spelling. to say you're panicked would be an understatement. you’re more than panicked. you feel so wrong about being here, more or less alone with your brother’s best friend. the same best friend that you’ve had the biggest crush on for years, only for him to disappear and for you to assume everything you’ve ever felt and thought would be gone with him. the same best friend who’s return brought back the juvenile feelings from your youth.

he’s gone to the ice cream truck parked in the parking lot to buy you both popsicles and therefore, giving you about five minutes to figure out your game plan. maise is no help. most her texts consist of “i told you so” and laughing at your inevitable demise. you feel just about ready to melt into the pavement and through your phone across the park, in no particular order. your nails just might break your screen with the amount of force between each push.

“are you mad at someone?”

you're quick to turn your phone off in the amount of time it takes for you to look up at hobie, standing in front of you with two popsicles, one in each hand. “huh? oh, no. it’s just maise. she’s being so stupid.” the frustration has yet to dissipate and your face shows it, huffing a breath of annoyance. “you’d think you ask someone for advice and they’d actually give it to you instead of making fun of you.”

“mm,” hobie has a seat next to you. he hands you the powerpuff girls popsicle, very obviously supposed to be styled after bubbles. its still in it’s wrapper and it’s a good thing at that. already the popsicle began to get a little soft in the summer heat. “advice about what?” he, himself, holds one of those spongebob ones that never come out right. for a moment, you consider that perhaps he’s reminiscing about the days where you, quentin, and hobie would run out at the sound of the ice cream truck and get the silly cartoon popsicles, only to compare who’s looks the worst.

“oh, just about my classes. i don’t know if i want to take one of my electives or not.” you spit out the lie faster than you can really process it. you peel the wrapper off the popsicle and stick it in your mouth to give you an excuse not to speak.

“i definitely can’t help you with that. i didn’t go to college so i really wouldn’t know.” for a brief moment, hobie finds humor in the distorted face of his spongebob popsicle before taking a small bite of the cold corner. “what’s it like? do you like it?”

the question makes you sigh. there really is no response you can give him that would push the conversation forward, especially when you have been asked the very same thing so many times by almost every adult in your life. “um, it’s okay. it’s hard, y’know, to find the motivation to make myself go to class and there’s always some sort of drama going on between someone and someone else.” you reminisce on the boy and friend drama you’ve both witnessed and experienced from a bittersweet perspective.

hobie nods, watching a group of giggling ten year olds run by. they seem to be participating in a game of tag, their cheeks rosy and eyes glistening with what can only be found in childhood. “can’t believe you’re in college now. that used to be us, playing at the park and then going to your house to have dinner.”

you don’t mention that hobie didn’t come to your graduation. instead, you kick a rock by your foot and change the topic of the conversation. “so, if you don't go to college, what do you do?”

“i’m a server at a restaurant. it makes pretty good money, actually. i can afford a one bedroom apartment in the city so i don’t mind. i’m in a band now too and sometimes i make stuff to sell.” he pulls out his phone for a split second to check the notification that vibrated in his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.

you’re grateful that he doesn’t outright tell you what he makes so you’re able to participate in the conversation and ask him, “what kind of stuff?”

“oh, like paintings, crochet stuff, stuff like that. arts and crafts that people like to buy. it does pretty well since that kind of thing is trending.” 

the conversation falls a bit flat after that. you fault yourself, too self conscious to relax around him. a part of you is overjoyed to have him back and another part of you feels like a neglected afterthought. all this time, hobie was doing just fine. he was living his life and choosing who to keep contact with. it hurts your heart that he didn’t consider you at all but is so comfortable with returning and acting like nothing has changed. perhaps he didn’t take you as seriously as you would like.

“oh, that’s cool.” you try not to sound too sour when you say it. “it’s great that you made a life you enjoy.” you watch a blue drop of melted popsicle roll down and drip onto the white plastic gripped between your fingers. gravity continues to pull the droplet down towards the stick and it stains the wood blue.

hobie glances at you, eyebrows knitted together. he takes in your expression and the subtext behind it. it’s obvious what he’s doing behind his scrutinizing gaze. “yeah? you can be honest. you know that, right?”

“mhm,” you nod with a hum. you’re not interested in engaging any further with the topic. instead, you eye a ladybug crawling on the bench armrest. it’s not like you planned on discussing your deep emotional feelings with him anyway, especially not here. “i’m happy for you, really.”

you can still feel hobie’s eyes boring into the side of your face but the feeling does nothing to capture your attention and turn your head back towards him. instead, you nearly praise whatever higher power caused your conversation to be interrupted by an onlooker.

“oh my gosh, hobie brown!”

you both turn your head to the perpetrator. hobie is just as surprised as you are to see magnolia, from high school, walking up to you both. you don’t know her very well considering she was in the same graduating class as your brother but you’re aware of her.

truthfully, you’ve never liked her very much during your younger years. you despised the way she’d cling onto hobie and quentin, often forcing her way into their circle. at least, you’d consider it forcing. quentin always told you not to worry about it.

here she is again, forcing herself into your hangout with your supposed friend who’s there with you. she’s grinning as she walks up to you both, hands planted on her waist. you so badly want to judge her for her outfit choice but you know you can’t. it’s not like you don’t know what type of person magnolia is and how much she pushes the social standards most people operate with. still, something vile twists inside you and even more so when you catch hobie’s eyes wandering across her body.

that is also no surprise because you know their history. of course hobie wouldn’t be able to deny himself from staring at magnolia like this when she’s wearing daisy dukes, a tiny shirt, and so ready to reopen the book of their past.

“look at you. can’t believe you didn’t come by the moment you got back,” she teasingly smacks his arm with a tinkling laugh. her eyes briefly drift to your direction and she smiles out of politeness. “oh hey, sugar. tell your brother i said hi, would you?”

you nod and pull your lips tight. suddenly, what interest you did have died a painful death and you turn back to the ladybug as your only comfort. unfortunately, that too is gone and you’re left with nothing but the ability to listen in on a conversation you want nothing to do with.

“aw, maggie. don’t worry, i’m still planning on it. you’ll get a very special and personal visit, just for you.”

“promise?”

you nearly choke, face scrunching up in disgust. you’re not five and can read between the very obvious lines. you feel the need to remind them that you are quite literally right there and swallow the green monster making a nice home in your heart. “i don’t mean to interrupt but i have to get home and get ready for dinner. do you want me to give you a ride, hobie, or are you good?”

you try to hide your disappointment before hobie can say anything. you can tell by his hesitation and expression what decision he’s going to make, glancing between both you and magnolia. he’s going to spend some quality time with her. “i think i’m good but you should get back. drive safe, okay? text me when you get home.”

“okay. then, i’ll see you later.” you rise to your feet and dig your hand into your purse, searching for the keys to your car. “bye magnolia. it was nice seeing you again.” her words of the returned gesture fall on deaf ears as you turn and head back to the parking lot. there’s a frown etched on your face and you dump the mostly-eaten popsicle into the trash.

it never crossed your mind that you’re not the only one who is looking forward to hobie back around. you’ve been so used to viewing yourself as the center of the universe that not once did you think about literally anyone else who has been involved in hobie’s past.

you pull the door open of your car and get inside, staring out of the windshield. you feel so teenage girl romcom movie but you don’t know what to do about it. one half of you wants to sob and rot in your bed and claim your heart is broken and the other part of you just wants to go home, eat dinner, and call maise.

you sit there like that for a few minutes before eventually turning on your car and starting the drive home. sza blares through the radio and is your only solace on your lonely drive home.

“no! and then she just shows up and takes him?” maise pulls out two small boxes of sour patch kids out of the plastic grocery bags on the counter. her eyes are wide and she’s hanging on to every part of your story.

it’s been about a week and a half since that time in the park with hobie and you’re still reveling in the emotions of it. you have yet to make a decision on how to conduct yourself around him and as a result, have begun to avoid him. you find it’s better not to be near him at all than to stand there and know that he wanted you to leave him so he could probably have mind blowing sex with his small-town fling.

“she just walks right over and he basically starts drooling.” you’re also unloading various snacks and a liter of soda from the grocery bags. tonight, you both plan to watch movies and eat junk food until your tummies are threatening to burst and you’re both ready to pass out from exhaustion. “i’m so stupid. i should have known. we weren’t even in the same crowd back then. why did i think anything would be different now?”

maise pities you just a bit. she sympathetically presses her lips into a pouty frown and reaches over the counter to grab your hand. “poor baby. in your defense, you have more of a southern belle, sweetest girl in town thing going for you and hobie is the exact opposite. it makes sense why he’d go for magnolia. you two have nothing in common and you’re virtually inexperienced.”

“i have experience!” you begin to pile the various snacks into the bin you brought down from your room just for the special occasion. “i have plenty of experience.”

“you had one situationship for half of your first year of college that treated you like shit. that’s not experience, babe. that’s trauma.”

you whip your head to give maise a pointed glare at bringing up what you’re trying so hard to forget. that chapter of your life is over and it died the moment the academic year ended. “okay but the point is, i am not a baby and i bet i could fuck just as good as she can. he just sees me as a little girl and i can never change that.”

“so what are you going to do?” your friend leans against the counter on the opposing side of you. she crosses her arms over her chest after adjusting her black leggings as they have risen above her ankles.

“nothing,” you say with a sigh. you grab the basket and hoist it onto your hips. “like i said, he sees me as a child. i’m just going to do what i’ve been doing, nothing. ignore him. just keep my distance until he goes home and forget all about him.”

what you don’t tell maise is that magnolia isn’t the only one. sometimes, the habits from your childhood return and you sit yourself at quentin’s door with your ear pressed up against the wood. you listen to his conversations with hobie, sometimes on the phone and sometimes in person, about his recent endeavors with the locals in town. so far, there has been at least one other girl since magnolia. whether he bounces between spending his nights with the two, you’re unsure and you don’t think you even want to know.

maise begins to open her mouth to say something but snaps it shut at the sound of the front door opening. there’s an irregular pattern that comes from two people coming through the door and for a moment, your face flashes with panic.

“i’m beginning to hate going out with you. every single time there’s always some girl ready to — oh hey.” quentin stops in the middle of his sentence as soon as he spots you standing in the kitchen. he jumps a bit, not having expected to see both you girls watching him walk into the house. “what are you doing here, maise?”

“we’re having a movie night.”she rises to standing and positions herself at your side.

“the sun is still out.” quentin lifts a finger to point to the window with the blinds open. sunlight streams through the trees of your backyard and reaches the living room.

“yeah. we just came back from the store and now we’re pregaming by talking shit.” she throws an arm around your shoulder, taking notice of your silence and lack of movement. it’s almost like you’re not breathing and it’s definitely because hobie is standing right there in all his glory, smiling right at you. maise using her grip on you to subtly nudge some sort of humanity back in you.

“anyway,” you clear your throat and take a sudden interest in reorganizing the bin of snacks, “we’re going to get going. we have a lot of girl stuff to talk about so see you later.” you take maise’s hand and take the lead in walking past the two and up the stairs of your house. you don’t miss the quizzical looks from both men at your hastiness to get out of being around them.

frankly, this isn’t the first time you’ve made a bolt to get out of being in the same room as them, but only when hobie is around. however, no one makes a move to question it and lets you do as you please. to quentin, it’s a sign you’re no longer hung up over his best friend and is far better than getting your hopes up for nothing. to hobie, you’re abhorrently avoiding him for some reason and he can’t stand it at all.

it makes him antsy, as if there’s some big impending doom coming that he won’t be able to stop. it makes him uncomfortable to see you get along so well with others and flee the moment he steps into the room and oddly enough, it’s only ever started happening since that one day. was it something he said or did? surely it can’t be because he didn’t accompany you back home. after all, you did text him to let him know you made it safely like he requested so he thought everything was fine. what is going on with you?

it’s somewhere between the hours of two and three am when you make the decision to trek downstairs for a cold glass of water. maise had fallen asleep on the left side of your bed a half hour ago and you had beaten her. you won by staying out longer than she did and decide to reward yourself with a neutral drink to wash the syrupy taste out your mouth.

the house feels awfully cold during such hours of the night and you regret leaving the warmth of your room in your oversized shirt and little pink shorts. both of your parents came home hours ago, wished you a fun night and retired to their beds in preparation for work the next day. you’re assuming no one else is awake with the only other options being quentin and hobie, if hobie is even here.

you sniff and rub your hands along your arms as you round the corner and enter the catch. in the darkness of night and with your squinting eyes, you use what spatial awareness you have to guide your way to the glasses in the cabinet.

you just manage to wrap your fingers around it before there’s some sort of shuffling behind you. you’re unnerved, almost dropping the glass in the time it takes you to look over your shoulder at the perpetrator. “hello?” you try to make out the form in the dark and find purchase in the knife drawer in front of you.

“it’s just me.” the voice is gruff and familiar and washes over you like a relaxing wave of warm water. “sorry, i wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“hobie?” you lean towards him to make out his figure in the shadows. the moonlight does little to aid in visibility. there is only a pale light struggling to come through the window. you have to reach over and turn on the stove light just to see him since your eyes have yet to adjust. “i thought you went home?”

“i did. i went to see my parents and it went just about as well as i thought.” hobie takes a seat at the bar stools behind the aisle. he seems strained, running his hand over his face with a sigh. “so i came back because i like it here more.”

“why didn’t you just go to your own house?” you feel a little underdressed in your attire all of the sudden. sure, you are preparing to go to sleep and in the comfort of your own house but you’d hate to give off the impression that you’re walking around without pants on.

“because i like it here more. pretty sure i said that,” now he’s rubbing his eyes, sitting up to lean against the back of the chair. “if you’re getting a glass of water, can you get me one too?” hobie’s lips turn up into a small, sad smile. his eyes look tired, worn out from whatever went down at his parents’ house.

you forgot all about the glass in your hand, looking down at it as if it’s appeared from the ether. “oh, you can just have mine. i’m probably going to go back to bed.” you’re still dead set on ignoring hobie. for one,  it makes it so much easier to get used to the feeling of disappointment that he doesn’t see you when you literally don’t have to see him. not to mention, it’s difficult enough to look him in his eyes but to be alone with him and look him in the eyes? you have to go.

you set the glass down on the island and slide it over to him, prepared to take a quick and silent walk back to the safety of your room and your best friend asleep on your bed. “goodnight, hobie.”

you don’t make it very far before hobie is speaking to you, again. his gaze is following your attempt at escaping him and it’s annoying him that this is probably the thousandth time you’ve evaded him. “what is up with you? i’m clearly going through something and would benefit from talking about it with someone. i literally just left your house and showed up again and you’re not even going to ask me how i got in?”

you try to not huff when you turn to face him with an eyebrow quirked. “what are you talking about?” you clench your hands into small fists, only to flex them and release what tension you carry.

“what am i talking about? you speak like, five words to me now. i don’t know what i did to make this happen and i’m sorry but you’re literally avoiding me. you came down here for what, a glass of water? you gave me yours before you even got one and now you’re going back upstairs so you don’t have to talk to me. what did i do?”

you shake your head at his words. he’s not wrong. you have been avoiding him and looking for any way out not to speak or be around him more than you need to. still, hobie doesn’t have to bring it up. he shouldn't have brought it up. what are you going to do now? “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. i haven’t done anything to avoid you. i just don’t want water anymore and i want to go back to sleep.”

hobie presses his lips together. he’s doing his best not to stare at you with hardened eyes so he turns away, looking at the countertop instead. his frustration is palpable but he’s sensible enough to restrain himself, to keep himself from turning it into an argument. “okay, go to sleep then. goodnight.” he taps his nails against the side of the glass, listening to the little plinks ro distract himself from the unrest in his soul.

you stand there, staring at the back of hobie’s head even though he’s dismissed you. you’re free to go with no repercussions but the guilt from doing so while knowing he wanted to talk about whatever is plaguing him is too much to handle. “oh my god, fine. what is it? what happened at your parents'?”

your feet drag all the way towards the island and you sit on the bench beside him. you rest your hands in your lap and stare at the numbers reading back the time on the stove. they’re green and a great source of something to look at that isn’t hobie.

“no, it’s okay. you don’t want to hear about my problems because it’s such an inconvenience to you. i’m just going to sit here and mope, maybe cry, and go home.”

“don’t piss me off.” you tsk, picking a strand of string off your shirt. your eyes cut to him in a sideways glare, urging him to talk and quickly before you change your mind. “what’s wrong? what happened?”

hobie pokes his cheek with his tongue. he stares at the ceiling before slowly closing his eyes. “i dunno, man. it was so bad. they think i’m a disappointment or somethin’. it’s written all over their faces.”

“that’s not true. they probably were just overwhelmed that you came home.” you do your best to reassure him but even you know that’s probably a lie. hobie’s parents disapprove of him, everyone knows it. they’re embarrassed their only son turned out to be some sort of punk neanderthal and actively denounce him in public.

“don’t kid yourself, dove. my parents hate me and you know it. we all know it. i went over and they practically screamed it in my face. we had dinner for five seconds and got into a screamin’ match about how i let everyone down by runnin’ wild in the streets.” he’s squinting now. “when have i ever run wild in the streets?”

you can only shrug, unable to give him a response. you don’t know what to say to him. there is no denying what he experienced. all you can do is listen and shrug. “i’m sorry about that. you’re not a disappointment. they just can’t understand why they like it here so much and why you don’t. that can’t be easy to understand.”

“yeah well, i’ll get over it. i’ll just stay away from them and they can stay away from me and we can all pretend we aren’t related.” hobie doesn’t sound bitter, he sounds defeated. he sounds like he’s been down this road many times before and expected an outcome no different than before. however, it’s only natural for a child to wish for their parents to understand them. “anyway . . .,” his head lolls to the side until he’s looking at you, staring at you, “why are you avoiding’ me?”

your lips curl into themselves and you feel the need to excuse yourself. “i’m not avoiding you. if you’re done with your rant, i’m going to go to sleep now.” you go to rise to your feet but your attempt is short-lived when hobie catches you with his hands on your shoulders.

“yes, you are. look. you’re trying to do it right now. you’re tryin’ to leave because i’m confrontin’ you about it. i’m not going to stop pressin’ you about it until you tell me.”

one look in his eyes and you can tell he’s serious. hobie has caught you alone in the dead of night. he’s got you face-to-face and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it but lie or tell the truth, neither of which would work here.

“i’m not avoiding you, hobie. i just –,” you avert your gaze until you’re looking at literally anything else, “– i just think it’s best if we keep a distance and remain cordial. we don’t have to be friends because you're friends with quentin. you don’t have to feel like you have to be friends with me.”

“what?” the man lets you go. his arms drop back into his lap and he’s looking at you as if you’ve just proclaimed your undying love for present day denzel washington. “where is this coming from? you’ve always been a friend of mine. we grew up together. just because i’m closer to quentin doesn’t mean we aren’t close at all.”

you rack your brain to find a way around the real reason by cherry picking the words until they form a sentence that makes sense. “well, yes but i’m not like you. i don’t think there’s anything you – i just – we aren’t the same. we’re in very different crowds and i don’t want you to force yourself to get along with me.”

“okay, we’re in different crowds. what’s that supposed to mean? i’m friends with you because you are different from me. if i didn’t want to be around you or anyone who isn’t the exact same as me, i wouldn’t have come home. you’ve never been insecure about our friendship before so what’s going on?”

you’ve just about reached the end of the line. you’re frazzled and unable to keep pumping out excuses. he’s just going to disprove every single one and deny you a reason to run away. he doesn’t get it and he won’t get it. there’s only one option left to do. every ounce of your soul is screaming at you not to, already burning from the humiliation but as far as you’re concerned, you have no other option. “you don’t get it. jeez, hobie, you’re so stupid. obviously, i’m avoiding you because i have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same. i don’t want to be around you when i know you’re just going to go out and fuck every girl in town.”

your little spiel is followed by silence. while what weight was lifted off your chest, your hands are beginning to sweat from the anxiousness. still, you’ve already said it and you can’t back down so you sit firm in your decision. your eyes still begin to water from the overwhelming emotion that comes with speaking your mind like that and being met with absolutely nothing.

finally, hobie tilts his head. “fuck every girl in town? what are you talking about? is that what people are saying about me?”

you burst into tears, partly because you took that as rejection and partly because you think he doesn’t care. he just brushed off everything you said to talk about his sexual endeavors. “you’re so mean. you’re so mean and you hate me and you want me to die,” you blubber through a watery gargle. your hands are unable to keep up with the tears that stream down your face. by the time you brush one away, there’s another one that takes its place.

“oh my god.” hobie’s eyes widened in shock at your immediate reaction. it happened faster than he can blink and he’s terrified that someone is going to wake up, find you crying, and blame it all on him. “why are you crying?” he pulls you into an embrace, tucking your head beneath his chin and into his chest. despite what many would think, his skin is awfully warm to the touch and it would have been comforting if he didn’t stomp on your heart.

“because i just spilled my deepest, darkest secret to you and you don’t care. you’re bragging about how many times you got laid instead of having human emotions.” you only sob louder as he runs his fingers along your spine in what’s supposed to be a soothing manner.

“i’m not bragging about anything. i haven’t even fucked anyone since i’ve been here. where are you getting your information from?” hobie can’t decide whether or not he’s concerned or humored. he lifts your head, but only briefly, to wipe the tears on your cheeks. the moment he sees your lip tremble, he allows you to go back into the comfort of hiding against him.

“i don’t have to get my information from someone. i just know. you literally left me for magnolia and i know that you’ve been seeing some other girl. plus, quen was saying something about every girl and you when you walked in.” your words are muffled in his shirt. you feel a little guilty because of how wet it is but then you think about how hobie wronged you and wish you soaked it with your sobs.

“okay, first of all, i did not fuck magnolia. i’d have to bash my head with a brick to consider doing that. second of all, i’m not seeing anyone. i’m trying to get a temporary job while i’m still here and i have to suck up to the manager because she doesn’t like me. and why is it my fault that people like me? i can’t stop them from liking me and i can’t stop someone else from talking about it. you’ve misunderstood every single thing and now you’re yelling at me.”

you sniffle and tilt your head up. there is suspicion and doubt written all over your face. “so if you don’t like magnolia like that, then why were you looking at her like that? like you were thinking about taking her clothes off.”

hobie reels his head back, giving you a similar mystified expression. “girl, what are you talking about? if i was looking at her any sort of way it was probably because she was standing in front of the actual sun and I couldn't see. i wear contacts and i forgot to put them in. you know i wear contacts so now i’m confused.”

for a moment, you don’t say anything. you sit there and replay his explanations over and over again, searching for any holes in his story. you slowly run your tongue over your lip as the embarrassment slowly sets in. he’s right, he does wear contacts. he got them senior year of high school and you suppose you just forgot. you forgot and cried and went on him for no reason.

hobie watches you come to the realization. he can tell it’s dawning on you when your face relaxes and forms into one of mortification. this is where he decides it’s humorous to him. it’s even more hilarious when he adds the cherry on top. “and your deepest, darkest secret? i already knew. it’s not really a secret if everyone knows.”

that brings you an entire new wave of waterworks but instead, they build and build in your waterline until they eventually spill over in an occasional spill. “so you knew this whole time and let me embarrass myself? and you’re rejecting me?”

hobie reaches off and tears a paper towel square off the roll. he shakes his head, bending the square into a smaller one. he uses it to dab your cheek with a tut of his tongue. “you have to stop crying. i can’t talk to you when you’re refusing to listen to me. at least cry silently or ask questions that i can actually answer.”

“no,” you take the square from his fingers. really, you snatch it and use it to clean your dribbling nose. “i’m so mad at you. i don’t want to talk anymore.” you take this chance to get off the bar stool and move towards the trash can. you’re still sniffling and occasionally gasping for air while you clean yourself up. “you knew this entire time and didn’t say anything? i’d rather you turn me down from the beginning than give me this false sense of security. you led me on.”

“no. no, i didn’t.” hobie watches you rinse your face with water. hearing his denial just makes you angrier.

“yes you did. you knew and you said nothing.”

“no i did not. you didn’t even ask me –”

“i don’t have to ask you because i already know. you’re the worst person alive and you only care about yourself –”

“ ☆ , listen. you’ve been assuming things for weeks and look where that got you. just, stop talking and let me speak, please.” his firm tone knocks any thought out of your brain and gets you to tighten up, real quick.

you look over your shoulder, not yet ready to look at him but finally ready to accept that you just might be wrong. you lift the neckline of your shirt over your face and use it as a method to dry it.

“in order for me to have led you on, you’d have to actually confess your feelings to me. at what point do you think i should have just walked up to you and say ‘hey, i know you have feelings for me that you aren’t ready to talk about yet but i just wanted to let you know that i’m not interested’? why do you assume that i don’t feel anything towards you, anyway? maybe i do but i don’t say anything because i know it’s not going to work. let’s think about it, i rarely ever come into town. you love town. at what point would i ever come along and see you?”

“you would get your ass on your bike and drive here like you did this time,” you mumble under your breath. you stand by the sink for a moment to gather your thoughts. you’re gaining clarity through the fog but now you’re drained. you’re tired and you don’t have the energy to feel displeased over whatever he has to say. it doesn’t matter what he has to say because in the end, it’s all going to be a no. “but whatever you say. we don’t work, okay. you’re leaving soon, okay. if that’s all, i’d like to go to bed now.”

“are you mad at me?” he asks from behind you, softly. he almost purrs it and it tugs at your will. you want so badly to let him in but he doesn’t want that and so you must persevere.

you shake your head with a breath. “no. i’m not mad at you. you’re entitled to your own opinion.” you put on the blankest expression you can manage and turn to face him. you cross your arms over your chest and manage to maintain what little composure you have.

he quips a brow at you, obviously not believing your claim and even more so when you don’t say anything to confirm it. “come here for a second.”

you shift your weight until your weight is all on your right side and your hip is popped. “hobie . . .”

“just for a second,” he outstretched his hand as an offer for you.

reluctantly, you take it and give no resistance when hobie pulls you into his personal space. his hands find your cheeks and squish them together until your lips are forced into a pout. “be honest with me, baby. are you mad at me?”

he doesn’t act surprised when you pause before nodding in response. “are you still going to be mad at me if i kiss you?”

hobie watches the thought go through your mind. you consider it and the consequences that come with it. it’s going to be a meaningless kiss because hobie has drawn the line. he can’t be attached to anything from this town and you know that. still, it’s an incredible opportunity to just pass up because of morality.

you shake your head.

hobie’s lips are soft against yours. there’s a subtly sweet taste but it’s possible you’re high off  oxytocin. again, you clench your hands into fists but this time it’s to restrain yourself from holding onto him and pulling him tighter. you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s a meaningless kiss.

it’s even harder to maintain that thought when hobie’s mouth fits so perfectly against yours. he doesn’t move his hands from your cheeks but the kiss grows heated, regardless. his tongue, wet and warm, runs over the expanse of your bottom lip before worming its way into your mouth.

you mewl when it finds yours and sucks. you have to tuck your hands behind your back to hold onto your composure. your feet betray you, though, by bringing you even closer into him and in turn, into his lips.

“are you done cryin’?” he kisses the corner of your mouth and jumps to the skin along your jawline. like before, he kisses and sucks the trail of skin from there to your neck. “because it wouldn’t be right if i just left you here.”

you squirm in your spot and do your best to conceal the whines that threaten to bubble up out of your throat. “hobie, you said – you –” you finally rested your hands on the tops of his thighs. the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in is getting more and more convincing with each passing second.

“what did i say?” he pauses his ministrations to catch his breath and give you a second to find yours. he isn’t sure how the conversation took this turn but he isn’t complaining. if anything, he’s hoping it’ll never end.

you stare at him in the yellow light from the stove. there’s still a chill in the air but you’re buzzed with need. suddenly, you’re hot. it’s sweltering even without the heat being on. you need to find a solution to your lust and quick. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into you, deciding the solution right there in the moment.

your lips crash against each other with a burning passion. hobie stands up out of the bar stool, his hands circling around your waist. he takes steps forward and forces you back against the counter across from you. you don’t mind, entangling your hands within his scalp. you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you and it shows.

hobie turns you around and presses his hardening cock against the plumpness of your ass. you gasp at the feeling of him rutting against you with his breath fanning over your shoulder, warm and sticky. there’s something that takes over, a horny little monster that throws all your inhibitions out the window. you’re equally as turned on, rolling your hips back on his in tandem with him.

“fuck, okay. don’t get too loud.” he whispers under the sound of the fabrics moving together. out of he corner of your eye, you barely get a glimpse of him shoving his fingers in his mouth before sliding underneath your clothing. he pulls your shirt up in a balled up fist and watches his hand disappear beneath the waistband of your shorts and elastic of your panties.

they waste no time finding your clit, sticky and growing swollen from your insatiable desire. “already so fuckin’ wet.” he rubs the nub in little circles, growing accustomed to your body and what you like most. occasionally, his fingers slip and unintentionally fall too close to your entrance.

your mouth falls open in a tiny “o”. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and grinding against both his dick and his fingers. you’re sandwiched between pleasure and doing your best to keep your moans limited to a whisper. you grip the edge of the counter and you’re actually grateful for it. it’s the solace that’s keeping you grounded to reality because without it, you’re sure you would have soared to the sky. “d – don’t tease,” you pant. you reach behind you searching for hobie’s dick and you find it easily. it’s hard to miss with the hard feeling of it against your skin and you swear you feel it grow harder when you wrap your fingers around it, still clothed over his sweats.

“sorry, dove. whatever you want,” hobie flattens his palm against your pussy. his middle finger prod at your sticky entrance to test your reaction but it slips right in, much to your pleasure. he has to take it slow with your sensitivity but hobie savors every moment. he’s not in a rush, especially when your fingers squeeze and rub at his clothed cock. he’s ready to stick it in now if he truly wanted but hobie wants this moment to last. he wants to burn the memory into his head and stain his life with whatever effects you have on him.

“mmm,” you hum, spreading your legs farther to accommodate his size. just one of his fingers could make you feel so full that you’re nearly satisfied like this. you have to close your lips and run your tongue along the inside of your cheeks to wet them again. “that feels so good.”

“yeah?” hobie asks. he’s so focused on you, he doesn’t notice how you’ve also managed to get your hand under the waistband of his boxers. he only realized what’s happening when your hand brushes against the stubble of his pubes and wraps around his shaft. “oh baby,” he whines in your ear. you can feel his dick twitch and jump at the tightness of your palm. he nearly falls over your frame when your thumb begins to circle around his tip.

hobie’s fingers stutter inside you. they push farther, deeper, making contact with your g-spot accidentally. he hasn’t gotten a chance to stick another finger in before you’re whimpering and nearly finger fucking yourself with his hand. “oh my gosh, right there. right there, right there!”

if hobie could have laughed at you, he would have. however, he has better things to worry about. like how your voice is beginning to rise in volume and he just cannot have that happen. “shhh,” is all he can manage throughout his full-body shudders. he uses his other hand to drop your shirt and instead stick his fingers in your mouth. they serve the purpose he intended, muffling your noises. he didn’t anticipate for you to suckle on them as if it’s the last thing you’d ever have in your mouth.

that, paired with the handjob and your gushing pussy around his fingers, he could have came right then and there. he could have exploded in his pants and made you cum and end it there but he didn’t. instead, he forces himself to pay attention to you. he puts his pleasure on the back burner and pushes his finger deeper, even going as far as to stretch you farther by adding a second one.

with his fingers deep in your throat and drool pouring out the corner of your mouth, your legs begin to shake. your chest rises and falls with each heaved breath. if you weren’t forced into somewhat silence, you’re sure you would have been calling out hobie’s name, drunk of him and him alone.

he has no idea what words you’re gurgling but unless you’re chanting about how you’re on the verge of cumming, he doesn’t care. luckily for him, it’s almost certain that you were and it’s evident with how your body falls slack in his arms and your cunt spasms around his fingers. the sight is an ultimate turn on.

hobie pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes the saliva over your cheek. he takes the opportunity to yank your bottoms down until they’re confined to your ankles. you step out of them and turn around, reconnecting your lips with his.

once again, you’re kissing hobie as an act of hunger, pushing your lips so hard together that they nearly swell. you cup the back of his head to draw him in. you’re delighted to feel his hands on the globes on your cheeks and set you onto the counter. it’s cold on your skin and so you flinch but it becomes a faint thought when hobie’s hands are anchored on the backs of your thighs. he pushes them back until your feet are flat on the counter and your glistening pussy is all on display, still creamy from your recent orgasm.

“just gotta get a taste,” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he eyes the shining cunt open and throbbing for him. he wastes no time wrapping his lips around your puffy clit, slurping at your slick. he enjoys the sapidity that’s unique to you, tangy and a bit sweet, like a refreshing dessert he could eat for the rest of his life.

he can feel the juices drip down his chin and coat the lower half of his face but that doesn’t stop him from eating your pussy like a starved man. you have to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the moans, watching the hobie lick between your folds and lap at your clit. your eyes are ready to roll back when hobie’s tongue pokes at your entrance. you want so badly to scream, to pull hobie’s head even closer to your aching pussy but you can’t. you can’t risk moving your hand off your mouth, knowing that the moment you do, you’ll wake up the whole house.

you compromise by using your other hand to support your weight and shift toward, putting yourself a little more onto your toes. in this new position, you’re able to move your cunt along his face. you push farther, going as far as to brush your clit along hobie’s nose.

his response is to tug your body to the edge of the counter and wrap your legs over his shoulders. your lower body is solely held up by him, his shoulder, and his hands. he swallows every ounce of your slick and sears your clit with a kiss.

it doesn’t take long before you’re finding yourself closer to the edge of a second orgasm. you ball your shirt up and shove the jumbled mess into your own mouth. your brain is foggy. you can’t think of a single thought that isn’t full of hobie, the pleasure, and the need to cum, immediately. 

“mmmf,” you wrap your legs around his neck. dig your fingers into his hair, and tug just in time for another gush of cum to come flowing out of your pussy. every muscle in your body has relaxed and become putty by now. you’re at hobie’s disposal and you love that.

“you’re so perfect, i’m devastated.” he kisses your inner thigh, continuing to trail those kisses up your stomach, between your tits, and onto your lips. he doesn’t wipe the cum off his face as he does it. instead, he makes you taste it, wrapping his tongue around yours and wetting your cheeks with the stickiness as your arousal as he does it.

“no you’re not. you won’t stay for me.” you whisper between kisses, running your hands along his bare chest under his shirt. you grab the hem and pull it up until hobie inevitably allows you to pull it off. it’s discarded and tossed onto the floor.

“i won’t stay for anyone. you know this.” he disconnects from the kiss, but only for a moment. during this time, he drops his pants to pull out his cock, raging from watching you cum not once, but twice. in the darkness, you can make out an outline of it, long and skinny with a mushroom tip and bulging veins. he’s been straining this whole time but hadn’t complained at all, loving every second of pleasing you. he could do it for hours if he had the time.

you resort to pouting as hobie sets your feet back onto the ground. with his hands on his hips, he turns you back around until your back is pressed against his chest, once again. “just say you hate me.”

“keep saying that and i’ll shove my dick in your mouth.” he says, aligning his tip with his sticky entrance. you don’t mention how his threat holds no weight if you’d enjoy it. instead, you play into it and huff, resting your hands flat on the counter.

you brace yourself when hobie begins to push deep into you. the stretch is painful at first, enough that you have to grit your teeth and will yourself to relax through the shallow thrusts to ease his way into you. it only takes a few seconds before the pain is blooming into satisfaction.

he fits so well inside you, filling you as if he was created solely for this purpose. you reach up, resting your hand on his cheek for a source of intimacy in the slow thrusts. you use the leverage of the counter to push your ass back to meet his thrusts.

you don’t know how much willpower you have to continue standing on your own when hobie is doing such a good job of fucking you dumb. even with the slow pace, you have to give in, leaning over the counter. to hobie, this is leverage for him to take control of the situation. he slots a large hand over your mouth and the other rests on the small of your back.

almost instantly, his thrusts increase tenfold. you’re certain if this was done on a bed, it would have been rocking with such an intensity against the wall. you grasp his hand covering your mouth with yours, almost screaming into his hand.

“shh, you’ll w – wake someone u – up.” he leans over you. hobie doesn’t compensate for the sound of skin slapping against each other by speaking louder. instead, he gets closer to you and because of that, angles his dick deeper into your cunt.

in this new state, you can hear every soft moan and whimper that leaves his mouth. he’s not rough about it, almost singing in your ear. his breath feels moist on your skin and adds to the fire burning in your core. “just t – take it, baby.”

you almost sob, rising onto your toes and writhe underneath him. it didn’t occur to you that you’d be overstimulated by the time you’ve reached this point. as much of your fault as it is, you like to blame most of it on hobie for pushing it this far. you wouldn’t be tempted to push him away, feeling as though he would be forcing another one out of you, if he didn’t.

you’re still, almost stuck in place. he’s too good at delivering. your body craves more and less of him at the same time. you’re certain you can feel him in your throat, ready to pop out the other side and through your mouth if this continues long enough. it’s driving you crazy, so crazy you squeeze your legs together.

it doesn’t last long because coincidentally, hobie hooks his hand under your leg and pushes it onto the counter. your cunt squelches as it swallows his size greedily. he’s obsessed with watching his length disappear inside you and the white sheen that surrounds the base. “shit, you’re gettin’ tight. gonna make me cum.”

you can only wail at his words and press your forehead against the granite. your legs have begun to quiver for the second time that night and you’re almost certain your insides are about to explode. you’re unsure what is building up inside you but it’s drawing from somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach and you’re getting nervous. there’s not much you can do about it, nor can you think about it too much because hobie’s fingers are rolling your clit between them.

the bud is all swollen and practically hot to the touch. you’re dripping down your own thighs at this point. there’s a musk that accompanies sex in the air, thick and sending you into a daze. your eyes flutter closed before they roll back. you let loose, weak streams of squirt falling into the floor beneath you.

“holy fuckin’ shit,” hobie pulls out of you so fast, you whine and crumple onto the floor. he, as the kind gentleman he is, don’t force your weak body to move positions again. instead, he steps to your side and turns your head with a hand under your chin. “open your mouth for me. atta’ girl.”

you watch him through half lidded eyes jerk his swollen cock in front of your face until he’s spurting cum all over it. your tongue dangles open and catches what remnants dribble downwards into your mouth.

hobie’s equally sensitive body stands there for a moment to catch his breath. he slowly lowers himself onto the ground until he’s able to run his thumb over your cum-covered face to collect some of it on the pad of his finger and swipe it over your tongue. “how do you feel? want water or something?”

you wordlessly shake your head and crawl into his arms, despite the fact that your face is ultimately covered in his nut. you don’t mention that what you really want to know is what happens now. “just want to shower and sleep.”

he looks at you, half asleep against him, and then around the kitchen and the few pieces of evidence left behind. for one, the scent has got to go. “i’ll get you into the bath and i’ll handle the cleanup, okay? you just rest your pretty little head.”

you’ve already beat him to it, humming in response and envisioning the comfort of your queen sized bed. if you considered things awkward before, just what until you see how you try to navigate it in the morning.

[moonstruckme]

In a Week - send a character + au and I'll write a blurb for it (like vampire!Eddie, bodyguard!Sirius, etc.)

college au tasm!peter who's a photographer for the college newspaper and reader is a writer?

Thanks for requesting gorgeous!

join the party

photographer!(tasm)Peter Parker x reporter!reader ♡ 761 words

“Peter, these are gorgeous,” you breathe, leafing through the pictures he’s brought you of the protest near campus. “I mean, it’s heartbreaking, and they show that, but they’re so…just, great job.” 

Peter grins, leaning against your desk with a smile that’s half-sheepish, but you can tell he’s proud of his work. He should be. “Thanks,” he says. “Did you already write the article? This is supposed to go out tomorrow, right?” 

You bite your lip. “I did,” you admit, “but now I’m thinking I’ve got some editing to do. There’s so much emotion in these, I feel like you’ve definitely upped the bar for my writing.” You say it as if it’s a joke, but really you mean it, and Peter frowns like he can tell. 

“Your writing’s amazing, and you always kill these kinds of community-minded, emotional stories.” He nudges your chair with his knee, reprimanding. “Don’t sell yourself short. Can I read what you have?”

You hesitate. Letting someone else read your work before it’s finished always feels weirdly vulnerable, even when you’re mostly reporting on facts. You haven’t picked the exact right words yet, phrased your ideas the way that’ll convey them to readers exactly like you want, but Peter’s eyes are soft and warm in the light from your desk lamp, and he always gets what he wants out of you in the end. 

You turn your laptop toward him, letting him scroll freely. 

Peter stoops over your desk, and he nods as he reads, eyes moving quickly over the typed lines. You’re doing your best not to look like you’re watching him, but you grow uneasy when a crease appears between his eyebrows. At first it’s shallow, then not so much. 

“Wow,” Peter breathes as he finishes, looking up at you like you’ve broken his heart. Whatever you’ve done, you’re immediately sorry for it. “That was…shit, you don’t have to worry about missing the mark on emotion. The passion in that, it was incredible, sweetheart.” 

Your heart jumps from your stomach right up to your throat. Sweetheart. 

“You really think so?” you ask, then realize it sounds like you’re fishing for compliments. “I mean, you didn’t think the ending was too abrupt?” 

Peter shakes his head as he straightens, still looking somewhat awed. “No, I don’t think you should change anything. You really made me feel it, you know? It was so powerful.” 

You hope the dim light is hiding the flush you can feel coming to your cheeks. “It’s a powerful topic,” you say, taking back your laptop and skimming over the draft. “You can feel how much the protestors care, from both the interviews and the pictures.” Your finger hesitates above the trackpad. “You don’t think it felt too long, though?” 

Peter makes a scoffing sound, and you look up to find him grinning at you incredulously. “Stop,” he says, shutting your laptop for you carefully. “You know what I think? I think it’s too late to still be here. Your draft is already perfect, you should go home.” 

You frown, glancing out the window. It had gotten dark without you even really noticing. “Yeah, I guess I will,” you concede. “You should, too.” 

“I am,” he says, but doesn’t move. Neither do you, sensing that he has something more he wants to say. Peter fiddles with his backpack strap. “Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

You shake your head. “I’ve been here since just after lunch.” 

“That’s too long,” he laughs. “Would you let me take you for something to eat?”

You all but freeze, looking up at him. He’s as lovely as he always is, hair fluffy from constantly dragging his hand through it and features softened in the lamplight. Your mouth is dry, and still you swallow. “Like…like as friends, or…?” 

Peter’s smile is actually shy. “I was thinking as a date, but only if you want it to be. I don’t want to make things weird, if—”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, a date is good. I’d…I’d like that.” 

Peter grins so hugely that even his eyes get in on the action, creasing at the corners. “Yeah? Nice.” Then you grab your laptop, and those eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re not going to keep working on that, are you?”

“At dinner? No,” you reassure him, stuffing the computer into your bag. “But after I get home, yeah. I still have some edits I want to make.” 

He exhales, and it’s half exasperation, half amusement. “You’re relentless,” he says, opening the door for you. 

“Like I said, you set a high bar.”

[lightlycareless]

Hii! I just wanted to let you know that I'm a big fan of your work!

I started of with discovering your "First it Hurts" fic on ao3, then being updated to your every post cus I look forward to every fic or hc's you make!

Also, I loved the valentines special post 💗💗 BUT IM SO CURIOUS ABOUT NAOYA'S LETTER AHH, anyways I just wanted to let yknow that I love your fics and the way you write Naoya! I hope you continue writing fics about him since there's a scarcity on Naoya fics HAHAHA, but I dont mean to pressure you! Please take your time, and I'm eagerly waiting for your new fics!

Hello!!

Awww thank you so so so much!! I'm so happy you're liking it so far!!!!! 🥺❤️ akajghajkghasgjas as well as my oneshot :>

Also, I'd like to apologize for the delay; I'm slowly working my way through requests, the main fic, and the weird schedule for my job 💀 I greatly appreciate your support and patience 🥺❤️ Also, I'll be writing Naoya fics for like, ever. I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO SEE HIM ANIMATED OMG ALL THE INSPIRATION.... gotta keep this small part of the fandom alive!!!!

Now... to the letter.... I feel like it would've gone something like this:

warnings: naoya is a prick, no surprise. but... he has feelings, just that he doesn't know what to do with them. this is the oneshot anon is referring to.

Happy reading!

Y/N.

I didn’t think letters were still written in these times, outside of elderly people and the socially inept, but I suppose that for certain occasions they are still necessary.

By the time you get this you’ll probably already have an idea of where I’m going with it, yet I’ll still write it down.

I cannot deny that you came onto my life in the most unexpected way, not necessarily the best either.

I didn’t like your siblings, and I still don’t. I think of them to be nothing but highly annoying, arrogant, especially your sister who seems to parade herself around Gojo and the privilege she had of knowing him.

Your brother is somewhat… calmer in that aspect, he tends to keep to himself, and I respect that. Everyone should be like that, you know?

But I’m not here to talk about them, of course, I’m here to talk about you.

When I heard that you were going to enroll, I wasn’t thrilled, I genuinely thought great, another nuisance was to grace the school grounds—I already had this preconceived idea of you and was more than ready on keeping it… until I finally I saw you.

I’m sure you’ve heard this a thousand times already, someone like you must’ve undoubtedly… but you are the prettiest girl I have ever seen in my life. Your beauty is so mesmerizing, I couldn’t believe it was real—anyone thinking otherwise is either blind, stupid, or lying. Or maybe all at the same time.

I didn’t accept those feelings at first, tried my hardest to ignore them and go back to disliking you, find a reason to hate you and move on.

But I couldn’t, and when I heard your laughter, saw your smile, or the cute way your eyes twinkled whenever you were excited about something, I knew it was impossible for me to disregard it any further.

My feelings for you had only grown more and more as time passed, and now, I find it physically impossible to contain them, but still hard to express them to you in person.

So, I resorted to this letter, which I hope will be able to accurately convey what I feel for you, if only for a fraction, until then.

What I mean to say is… If you let me, Y/N, I can show you how special you are to me.

I can give you all that you want in the world—it doesn’t matter what, whether it being money, or the stars themselves—I will not spare any expense to give you what you deserve, and I shall assess that every day of my life until my death, starting with the gifts I’ve sent you today, alongside those waiting in your dorm.

I shall call you mine. No other man will be able to lay a hand on you, and I won’t allow any other woman to do the same to me either. My eyes will solely keep to you, and you alone; I expect you to do the same.

And in turn… I don’t ask much, except that you see me the same cheerful, adorable way you see others when happy, the one that has me completely enthralled, unable to keep it off my mind for more than one second, and… accept me into your heart.

If you so decide it appropriate to get to know each other better, you know where to find me. I shall await your response.

Naoya.

As you can see, Naoya isn’t overtly romantic or good with words (I mean, the slander at the beginning lol) but he tries, as genuinely as possible—his honesty is a virtue to appreciate lol. Also, he was TREMBLING while writing this, if not crying hahaha he really almost died when he wrote you were the prettiest girl in the whole while world.

He’ll become more comfortable with it, of course, he’s a man that can’t hold himself when it comes to talking. But it’s nice to see him all shy for once 😊

Akgjakogja I’m so happy you all liked this little oneshot—I know it was quite the bomb to drop on valentine’s day, but I swear, it’s a happy ending story :>

If there’s more you want to know about that oneshot/au just let me know, I’ll be more than happy to indulge!!

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!!

[bthump]

Graphic and somewhat crude discussion regarding the eclipse rape here so fair warning.

rereading the eclipse, and also keeping in mind the recently translated interview where Miura apparently said that Casca may have derived pleasure from the rape if it was Griffith perpetrating it… I’m starting to honestly think that maybe the actual authorial intent of the scene was indeed to convey Casca experiencing emotional and physical pleasure from the rape. This could explain the eroticized portrayal to some degree. It’s still obviously problematic as hell but I think it makes it slightly more… acceptable? (not really but idk how else to phrase this sorry) that it was drawn that way, because then it means there was some actual reason behind the rape being portrayed that way and it wasn’t just done for the hell of it yk? But then again I find the supposed reason itself very disturbing and problematic and don’t see how it adds any meaning to the story. Slan saying “love, hatred, pain, pleasure, life, death, all are there”. I think is also indicative of this… I mean I don’t think anyone else could be feeling pleasure in that moment other than Casca. Femto possibly? Feeling spiteful pleasure at hurting guts? Guts, certainly not. It’s also suggestive that slan says this and it cuts to Casca in a sexualised pose. It’s obvious Casca had an orgasm or at the very least felt some physical pleasure based on all the effects on the page (the shudder/shake/twitch, sparkles on the page, sparkles on her nipples after femto sucks them, the highly eroticized poses, her blushing…). Also the fact that right after casca tells guts not to look, she raises up her arms to wrap them around Griffith (her arms aren’t restrained at this point) and seemingly willingly kisses him. I just.. the framing of the scene makes it kind of undeniable to me that miura was trying to portray Casca experiencing pleasure. In this scene casca is drawn very similarly to Charlotte during her consensual sex scene with Griffith. And obviously the matter of consent in the Charlotte scene itself is also dubious, but as you’ve explained previously it’s clearly not intended to be seen narratively as such (it’s just miura and his unfortunate portrayal of these things). It’s like miura was deliberately trying to blur the lines here, to what end I don’t know. Obviously the rape was still traumatic for her. But I really hope it’s not supposed to be understood that the main reason she was traumatised to the extent of her mind being broken and regressed to that of a toddler was because she also enjoyed it and couldn’t take the humiliation and shame of this, which I’ve seen many suggest. I think her telling guts not to look before kissing femto lends itself to this idea though. However, like I said, I just don’t see the value in this to the story? Or to Casca as a character? Or any character for that matter? The alternative is that miura drew the rape scene in this way for no reason, or even to be titillating which is equally as terrible to me. Maybe worse

Sorry I know this ask is graphic and kind of tactless. I understand if you don’t want to post it

link to the interview for reference

lol honestly you pointing it out is the first time in several re-reads that I actually noticed that Casca wraps her arms around Femto of her own volition. It's definitely a fact that Casca had an orgasm during the rape scene, so to me there's no doubt that she was experiencing physical pleasure. The idea that she was experiencing some amount of emotional pleasure too is more ambiguous, but yeah with that quote from Miura and the panels of her wrapping her arms around Femto it does seem pretty undeniable that that's also intended an element of the scene, though idk if it quite reaches the level of text, rather than implication.

And yeah like, I get what you're getting at, and I think it makes sense. It sucks either way, but if we're meant to understand the porny eroticization of the Eclipse rape as a context clue that Casca's not just feeling unwanted physical pleasure but also some amount of emotional fultillment, then yeah it arguably works better on a strict storytelling level.

Though if it was Miura's intent to show that Casca is torn emotionally between desire and horror, idk if I'd make that argument because I think that would be much more effective if we were shown/told more directly that Casca is feeling confused emotions (perhaps hearing her thoughts from her point of view) while being visually shown the horror, to match the rest of the Eclipse, and to prioritize the horror in the hierarchy of confused emotions.

As is, if we assume Casca is feeling desire for Griffith/Femto, to me the eroticization of the rape could be more indicative of Guts' feelings while watching - maybe Guts interpreting it through a lens of jealousy? I think that could potentially be effective if, like, it had any bearing on the story/characters/relationships at all lmao. If it was something Guts had to deal with, something that impacted his feelings towards Casca, something that was depicted as a major flaw to overcome, and potentially something shown from Guts' point of view as erotic but shown as horrific when in an objective (or even Casca's, if we got hers) pov, etc.

Buuuut it's all pretty moot anyway lol because like you said, what's the value? As it is, it's not a well-done depiction of complicated emotions. I agree that it would suck a lot if that was intended to be the reason for Casca's regression lol, like yeesh, it'd be absolutely dismal and I really hope that's not the case. It seems to have had no bearing on Guts' feelings or decisions, in fact it hasn't been referred to at all. We're only infering Casca's mixed feelings right now based on like two panels of Casca lifting her arms and one Miura interview, so if it is meant to have an impact on the story/characters then it should probably actually be textual and yk, have an impact.

So yeah, ultimately I agree with your conclusion that it's bad either way. Personally I think I'd actually prefer a more straightforward "Femto rapes Casca and Casca is plain old horrified and traumatized and it's sexy because it's in a magazine aimed at horny men" interpretation than the story making Casca confused emotionally and doing nothing with it except adding some eroticism, because without any impact on the story/characters it feels less like the eroticism is a way of underscoring Casca's mixed feelings, and more like Casca's potential mixed feelings are a way of justifying the eroticism while adding even more misogynist and otherwise problematic baggage to the rape scene and not even doing anything with it.

Or maybe even worse, doing something with it now that Casca's in Falconia. Because I gotta say I have negative faith in the ability of anyone involved to write this kind of thing well lmao and I am horrified at the prospect.

Thanks for the ask! And no worries, it's a difficult subject to discuss but I don't think you were tactless about it at all!

[lavendertheys]

my favorite thing (Sugar, You)

for @thewhalelord <3

To each one’s own, but as far as Laudna is concerned, it’s not a lie if you genuinely believe that what you’re saying is true. 

When Imogen asks her about the obvious stiffness in her right hand as they work on an after-dinner puzzle, Laudna tells her not to worry, because Laudna isn’t worried, because there’s no swelling yet, and they needn’t waste precious energy on false alarms. Later, when Laudna tries to pick Cǎté up off the bed and can’t, she elects to shove him with her forearm instead, and Imogen isn’t looking anyway, so Laudna simply continues with her nighttime routine.

By morning the weakness hasn’t faded at all, but it hasn’t gotten worse either, so she calls that a win and parks herself on the couch and resumes her work on the scarf she’s been working on for weeks to give to Eshteross for his birthday. Laudna found the most beautiful blue yarn at her favorite craft store and is trying to do a cable stitch for the very first time—not so advanced that it’s beyond her understanding, but today she’s pausing every few minutes to stretch her hands and having the damndest time keeping her fingers steady—

“Laudna, that looks amazin’.”

Imogen’s voice is nothing but soft and sweet—one of the things Laudna loves most about her—but she startles at the sudden comment and tries to hide a wince as her knuckles flex sharply around her tools.

“I’m not even halfway done yet,” she says with a sigh, “but if I really lean into it I think I can finish by his birthday.” Laudna goes right into another hand stretch without thinking, isn’t quite as ginger with her left wrist as she should be, and her whole arm recoils at the subsequent pulse of heat.

She feels the couch cushion sink under the weight of Imogen perching beside her.

“Laudna…”

“I’m fine,” she cuts Imogen off. “I’ll be fine. I’ve crocheted through much worse before,” Laudna says in somewhat of a rush.

Imogen leans forward with an elbow propped on her thigh, head resting in her palm, and gives Laudna that look that means she’s about to see right through her in the gentlest way possible. “What color?” she asks quietly.

Neither of them can talk their way around the color system, and Imogen seems to be very aware of that in this moment.

“I… Yellow,” Laudna admits with a sigh.

“You know you’re not supposed to be pushin’ yourself when you’re yellow,” Imogen reminds her, still patient as ever.

Laudna’s shoulders sag even as her hands itch—metaphorically—to get back to the scarf. “I do, but—but this is important, and I’ve been having so much fun with this new stitch, and…” She forces herself to meet Imogen’s eyes. “Just this one time. Just long enough to finish, and then I’ll take a nice, long break. I promise.”

But Imogen only shrugs. “You don’t need my permission, Laudna. This is between you and your body. Won’t stop me from worryin’ about you,” she admits as her expression conveys as much, “but it’s still your choice.”

Imogen leans forward, kisses her on the cheek, and leaves her to it.

Laudna sighs again and splays all ten fingers out and back, looking away when they start to shake.

She spends the rest of the day taking as much ibuprofen as she can safely get away with, trying to work quickly (as if that will give her joints less time to process their irritation), and Laudna is definitely sore by the time they settle into bed, but still hopeful that this flare-up will hold off just a little longer. Imogen hasn’t asked her any more questions about it, but takes extra care with Laudna’s hands, and chooses to hold one flat in her palm and delicately caress the knuckles rather than lace their fingers together.

But, even with all of their caution, Laudna wakes up far too early the next morning to swelling and hot throbs of pain. The sun is only just starting to peek through their window shades and there’s not quite enough light yet to see her joints, but she can feel how bad it is, and tears of frustration come pouring out before Laudna can even consider trying to hold them back.

Imogen stirs beside her and she braces herself for disappointment and “I told you so”s, but instead she feels a warm, grounding touch at her arm and a feather-light thumb brushing back and forth.

“Ice or heat?” Imogen whispers.

Laudna’s chest stutters and she swallows at the lump in her throat. “Heat,” she chokes out, “please.”

A small kiss to her temple, then fingertips easing Laudna’s hair behind her ear, then Imogen slips out of bed.

She comes back several minutes later with heating pads and Laudna’s laptop and some extra pillows from the living room, and Imogen helps Laudna get comfortable before opening her laptop and scrolling to see where Laudna left off on her favorite show.

“I hate it,” Laudna mutters as she waits for the worst of the pain to subside. “I hate not being able to do my favorite thing. I hate having something wrong with the part of my body that I need the most. What—f-fucking rotten luck is that?”

Imogen sets the laptop aside, tucks in close to Laudna, and ghosts her knuckles along Laudna’s wet cheeks. “I know,” she soothes, soft and quiet and steady. “It’s not fair.”

Laudna sniffs a few times and takes a deep, shaky breath. “What am I supposed to do now? His birthday is—I don’t have time.”

“Well, personally,” Imogen replies, “I’m willin’ to bet that he won’t give a shit if you’re a few days late. He’d want you to take care of yourself first,” she points out, “because we both love you a whole lot, birthday scarf or no birthday scarf.”

A cozy silence settles between them as Laudna focuses on calming down, and when she’s confident her voice will be steadier, she clears her throat a little.

“Ibuprofen?”

“Comin’ right up,” Imogen promises, and opens the drawer to the bedside table to retrieve Laudna’s meds.

“Also, Laudna adds, voice still slightly wobbly from her tears, “I finished season four last week when you were sick and slept all day. I’m halfway through five, I think.”

Imogen pauses in the middle of shaking two tablets into her palm to shoot Laudna a teasing look, and all Laudna can do is shrug.

“The blonde one got abducted and the brunette one was freaking out about it and they dragged out the rescue for like twenty episodes and I hoped they would admit their feelings once she found her and they didn’t say anything but they did hug each other for an extra long time so I have to assume they’ll kiss in the season finale.”

She watches Imogen process her recap, looking almost like she’s trying to do complicated math in her head, but eventually she just blinks in confusion and hands Laudna the ibuprofen.

“Who?”

Laudna nods her head toward the computer. “Just start the episode and I’ll catch you up as we go.”

Imogen kisses her and then barely remembers to switch seasons in the drop-down menu, and Laudna smiles for the first time since her hands started to hurt.

Read on AO3

Sugar, You (Complete)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XVI

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Your outing with Gojo is interrupted by the higher ups requesting that you go check in on Megumi Fushiguro, who still hasn’t returned from his mission from the morning.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: i hate writing sukuna because he’s such a little freak in canon that almost any decision i make abt him feels ooc so sorry to my sukuna lovers but this is the way he is in this fic please don’t be too mad. also yeah megumi is probably kinda ooc here too feel free to be annoyed abt that. I ACTUALLY CAN WRITE HIM (# shameless ‘a song for the drowned’ plug) I PROMISE. just not in this chapter apparently.

“My father resents me for it,” you said. It was the first thing you said to Gojo as you sat down together. He pulled out a napkin from the holder sitting in the middle of the cheap linoleum table and used it to wipe away the crumbs that still littered the surface. “For finding a way around that ultimatum he gave me.”

To heal or to fight. According to your father and the rest of the higher ups, these were the only choices you had, and they were very much so mutually exclusive. You could do one or the other but not both, and the fact was that they were actually correct in saying this. On your own, you could not do it, could not have both, but you were no longer on your own. Not anymore.

“Is that so?” Gojo said, lips quirking up in amusement. “Well, I’ve always wondered how your poor mother married such a man. Isn’t it something, that he has somehow fathered such a prodigy and yet hates her for the mere fact that she is out of his control? Ironic, really. You are exactly what the L/N clan has needed for so many years, and yet now that you are born, you are despised.”

“I am a girl,” you reminded Gojo. “I’m not exactly what they were hoping for in terms of an heir.”

It was a little disquieting when he smiled with his teeth bared. If you did not know him in the way that you did, you’d consider it almost unnatural, even, but as the case was, it just seemed to you as if it were too wide. Too bright, too false. An emotion conveyed that he did not even mean.

“No, I’d wager you’re a great deal better,” he said, reaching out to pat you on the shoulder. “The girl who brought someone back to life and the youngest Grade 1 sorcerer in recent history; you’ve really proven yourself in the past year. I can say that at least I am proud of you, even if your family isn’t.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, uncomfortable with the praise. “Anyways, my mother is proud of me, so that makes two of you. As for the rest of my family, I believe that they are unsure. They do not understand what it means for the clan, that I can do both — albeit at Tullia’s expense.”

The past few weeks, you and Tullia had been training intensely with Shoko Ieri, the only Reverse Cursed Technique user not associated with the L/N clan. It had been a slow process at first, trying to figure out how to push your limits without putting Tullia through the same torture that you had inadvertently subjected her to in the process of healing Toge.

You were not always successful. You could not count the amount of times you had had to stop Composition but were not fast enough, were not able to cut it off before she began to bleed again. But it was better now; though nosebleeds were an inevitable side effect, it was a compromise that all parties were somewhat satisfied with. According to her, she barely even felt them.

It was through such tireless practice that you discovered the way to use the contract to your advantage. By pushing the entire responsibility of the cursed energy supplication to Tullia, you were able to ensure that your body was naturally receptive to receiving the repercussions of the Reverse Cursed Technique. An exchange for an exchange, a burden for a burden, but a far more advantageous one than the earlier scenario, because you possessed the body of a L/N, uniquely designed to handle the pain of Composition, and Tullia had that rare cursed technique which meant her reserves were not dependent on her innate self but instead drew from outside sources and could approach infinity if she had sufficient access to poison.

“The healer and the empty glass,” Gojo said, nodding in approval. “Who would’ve thought that things would turn out like this?”

“I suppose that’s the case. Isn’t it strange? I feel like I should be thanking Naoya. It’s only because of his irresponsibility that Tullia and I could even form the contract in the first place,” you said. Gojo choked on the pastry he had ordered.

“There’s never a situation that would justify you thanking him, so you can put that thought out of your mind,” he said.

“I was only half serious. If there’s anyone to thank, it’s Elakshi, for bringing that curse to Japan. By the way, have you heard anything from Iori about her and how she’s settling in?” you said.

“Nope, Utahime is in one of those phases where she won’t respond to my texts or calls,” he said, pouting comically. “I wish she wouldn’t do that! It makes planning faculty get togethers a real pain, you know?”

“I‘ll ask Noritoshi about it, then,” you said. “And I’ll tell him to tell Iori to text you back or whatever.”

“I knew you were my favorite student for a reason,” he said.

“Technically, I’m not your student anymore, I’m Kusakabe’s, so I believe that means Megumi has to be your favorite. By process of elimination — after all, he is the only first year,” you said.

“The other one is coming soon!” Gojo said. “She’s a girl, too. The one who you’re going to try to mentor or whatever. Are you excited to meet her?”

“Naturally. Though I don’t know if the mentoring life is necessarily for me, it would be nice for someone to look up to me and find me cool and occasionally ask me for advice,” you said.

“I always wished I had someone like that. Nanami was my greatest chance, but on the whole he found me mostly irritating,” he said. You smiled, taking a small bite of your own pastry, chewing and swallowing before you spoke.

“Maybe you already have someone like that,” you said. He cocked his head.

“Do you think so?” he said. You shrugged.

“It could be,” you said. Gojo waited for a moment, but when you did not speak further, he sighed.

“Honestly,” he said, and though he was wearing a blindfold, you could feel the weight of his eye roll. “Of course you won’t elaborate. Frustrating child.”

“I learned from the best,” you said. He stuck his tongue out at you, but could not otherwise argue; after all, your logic was irrefutable. In the year that you had become truly close with Gojo, you had found his personality to have rubbed off on yours the slightest bit. It was both a positive and a negative — that is to say, it was a positive for you and a negative for just about everyone else.

“Moving on, have you started thinking about what you’ll do after your graduation?” Gojo said.

“Huh? Become a sorcerer, of course. I’m already a first grade, it only makes sense that I’d continue to fight. I guess I can heal on the side, if Tullia permits it, but the main thing I’ll do is exorcising,” you said.

“I don’t mean for your occupation. When you don’t have your schoolwork to occupy you and you don’t live in the same building as all of your friends, what will you do? For fun. To entertain yourself. That kind of thing,” he said.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I’ll take up something or another. Though, if we’re being realistic, how much free time do you genuinely think I’ll have? There’s not a large amount of sorcerers in the first place, and of that sum total, ones that are as highly ranked as I am barely even number in the double digits. I can worry about entertainment once I’ve retired, and I doubt that that’s going to happen for a very long time.”

“Sorry,” Gojo said. It was unclear what he was apologizing for. That you had inherited such a world? That he had brought up the topic in the first place? That he was so aware of the problem but could not fix it?

Maybe he might’ve explained himself further, but just then, your phone rang. You frowned at the contact flashing on the screen: Yoshinobu Gakuganji. Motioning for Gojo to pay for the desserts you had been eating, you clicked the ‘accept’ button and held the phone up to your ear.

“I didn’t know you could use a phone,” you said critically. “I thought you only communicated by mail, principal.”

“Don’t be daft, girl,” Principal Gakuganji snapped, as if you were saying something entirely unbelievable — as if he did not consistently send you mission instructions through letters instead of emails, as was the commonly accepted practice! “Of course I can use a phone.”

“Why have you called me? I’m a little busy right now,” you said. Gojo mouthed who? at me. You made a face and mimed playing a guitar at him. He pursed his lips, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently.

“Did you know that first-year student Megumi Fushiguro is on a mission to pick up a cursed object at present?” the principal said, his voice heavy and wheezy as always.

“Still? I thought he was sent on that mission in the morning?” you said.

“That is the case. Because of the sensitive nature of the object — it’s one of Sukuna’s fingers, you know — we’ve been trying to get ahold of Satoru Gojo to go and check on his progress and make sure everything is alright. Unfortunately, it seems as though all of the higher ups’ numbers have been blocked on his phone,” he said. You snorted but disguised it as a cough, though judging by Principal Gakuganji’s fed-up exhale, you had not exactly been successful.

“Why didn’t you just email him?” you said.

“We thought it would take too long, so we decided to call you. As a first grade sorcerer, you’re the next best option, and we believed your personal relationship with Fushiguro might incline you to be prompt,” he said.

“Personal relationship?” you said, causing Gojo’s jaw to drop in surprise. Digging your school uniform out of your bag, you stomped towards the bathroom so that you could change. Though you were none-too-pleased about it, it remained that Principal Gakuganji was, in a sense, correct: certainly you would not leave Fushiguro in danger without even trying to help.

“He is your underclassman, so naturally there is a friendship that exists between you two that would not be there if we were to call in one of the older Grade 1s. Even Aoi Todo would not have the same fondness. Unless there is something more to it?” His tone ticked up with suspicion at the last question. You gritted your teeth as you bent over to tie your shoes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s my dear little junior, so I’ll go make sure everything’s alright, but there’s nothing more to it at all,” you said.

“That’s a relief to hear. And if you can, please let that wastrel know that he’s needed as well,” Principal Gakuganji said.

“You’re so rude to Gojo, for being someone that depends on him so greatly,” you said. “I’ll pass along the message.”

With that, you disconnected the call and strode out of the bathroom, not feeling up to discussing anything more with the aged principal, who was nothing like your own Principal Yaga — now that was what a principal ought to behave like, according to you. To be sure, he was a little eccentric, but after so many years as a sorcerer, who wouldn’t be? At the end of it, though, he did care about his students more than the status quo, which spoke more than enough as to the quality of his character, in your opinion.

“We have to go,” you said, returning to Gojo, who was sitting at the now-clean table, his chin in his hands. “The higher ups want us to check in on Megumi’s mission. Apparently he’s not back yet.”

“Oh, is that all? It’s fine, he’s strong enough to take care of whatever’s going on there,” Gojo said. You gave him an incredulous look and tossed a sugar packet at him. It bounced harmlessly off of his Infinity.

“You’re not even a little worried? He was assigned the mission in the morning and he isn’t back yet, so late at night. I’m going to go whether you come or not, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t make me do it by myself,” you said.

“Go ahead and go,” Gojo said, waving you off. “You’ll be fine. I have to pick something up, since we’re in the area and all, so I’ll catch up with you later. I’m telling you, though, everything is definitely fine! Megumi’s no weakling.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” you said, doubting his flippant attitude just a little bit. How could he be so careless with one of his student’s lives?

Sliding into the backseat of Ijichi’s car, you pondered it as you stared out the window at the blurring scenery. Wasn’t this something like Gojo’s method? He would always put his students into the most absurdly dangerous situations, but never too far out of his sight, never anything you all couldn’t handle if you pushed yourselves.

The thought that you might be interfering in this form of training was outweighed only by the thought of the paycheck you’d receive for something that took relatively minimal effort. Checking in on Megumi was essentially glorified babysitting, except the so-called baby was frighteningly mature and self-sufficient, making it the easiest task ever.

Megumi’s mission was, fittingly enough, in a school. Creeping through the hallways reminded you of the first time you had met Yuta, how he had hidden under that desk, with Rika in the closet and the stars hanging high in the sky. He had come so far since then, hadn’t he? From the boy frightened of himself and his own shadow to the special grade sorcerer proper, the one who had faced even death itself and won.

Unlike that night, however, the hallways in this school were destroyed, rubble and glass littering the tiled floor. You stepped around stray shards, not wanting to cut your feet, and allowed your brow to furrow. There were signs of a genuine struggle here, ones hinting that the scope of the mission had been far beyond Megumi, who was still only a Grade 2 sorcerer.

Clicking your tongue, you leapt out onto the roof, finding your target standing there, his back ramrod straight, his hands curled into fists in front of him. It didn’t look like a defensive posture, but there was a certain desperation to his posture that didn’t seem warranted, considering the total lack of curses in the vicinity.

No, that wasn’t right. That pink-haired boy standing across from him…you could only tell because of how advanced your cursed energy perception was, but there was something strange about him. Something emanated from him, something cruel, dark, malevolent. It was at odds with the gentle expression on his face and the wide eyes he was looking around with.

“Say, Megumi,” you said, placing your hand on his shoulder, as much to alert him of your presence as to stop him from doing anything drastic. “What’s going on here?”

He turned to face you in surprise, blood seeping from a wound on his head and dust covering his cheeks. You let out a laugh and quickly whipped out your phone, taking a picture of him and texting it to Gojo first and the second year group chat next.

“What was that for?” he hissed.

“Sorry, it’s just that Maki and Gojo would be terribly disappointed if I didn’t memorialize your sorry state before healing you,” you said, sending another text to Tullia, warning her to take a couple of shots of bleach or something. She responded in the affirmative, allowing you to put your phone away and place your hands on Megumi’s temples, trying to judge the extent of his injuries. “The wound isn’t terrible. Do you mind?”

“We have bigger issues at the moment,” he said. “Namely, that boy.”

“I’m Yuji Itadori!” the boy in question said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“That wasn’t an opening for you to introduce yourself to her!” Megumi said, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what you’ve done yet, but you should get on that so that you stop acting so goddamn cheery!”

“It’s nice to meet someone so positive, actually,” you said. “It’s a not a common trait to see in a sorcerer.”

“Oh, I’m not a sorcerer,” Itadori said. You paused and contemplated the development.

“You’re not?” you said.

“He’s not,” Megumi said. You scowled, though it was more out of befuddlement than any real anger that you did so.

“Are you a curse, then? No ordinary person would have as much cursed energy as you do,” you said.

“I ate a curse? I don’t know if that makes me one or not,” Itadori said.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean? Is that your technique or something? I haven’t really heard of people that eat curses, but I guess one of my best friends has a technique that’s just ingesting poison, so I can’t really judge,” you said.

“It’s not like that,” Megumi said. “He literally ate a curse. As in, Sukuna’s finger.”

Reflexively, you gagged. “Ew. Don’t be such a boy, Megumi, that’s not a funny joke at all; it’s just gross to think about. I thought you were above such things.”

“He’s not joking,” Itadori said. “I really did eat the finger.”

“Really?” you said.

“Really,” Itadori said solemnly.

“Do you understand the situation now?” Megumi said, pinching the bridge of his nose. You shook your head.

“In truth, I don’t,” you said. “What — in what scenario does there exist a need for one to ingest a rotten, shriveled old finger? Didn’t that taste putrid?”

“A little like soap, actually,” Itadori mused. You gave him a disgusted look. He shrugged. “I don’t know. There was this massive curse about to kill Fushiguro, and because I was just a normal human, I couldn’t do anything to harm it. So I swallowed the finger and gained the cursed energy required to kill the curse! Sukuna manifested and got the job done, and then he started going on and on about all of the evil stuff he wanted to do, so I suppressed him. He’s such a headache, ugh! But that’s the story.”

“You suppressed Sukuna,” you repeated incredulously.

“According to him,” Megumi said suspiciously. “But what if he’s lying? This could be a trick.”

You peered closely at Itadori, who blinked nervously as you inspected him before tapping on his forehead.

“Dissection,” you said. The normal weak spots glowed white on his body, the full proof that he was a person — though, when you unfocused your eyes, you could just make out a hazy green glow that was not really centered on Itadori but somewhere inside of him. His inner domain, or his soul, or some other such related concept; this green, you surmised, was the presence of Sukuna. But if that was the case, then Itadori really wasn’t lying, so you turned to Megumi and nodded in confirmation. “He’s the real deal.”

“You believe me?” Itadori said.

“I believe myself,” you corrected. “For the moment, you are who you say you are. Megumi, I’m going to heal you while we have the chance; if this comes to blows, I’d rather have you on my side.”

“Fine,” he muttered, ducking his head, his cheeks turning pink. “If you could refrain from sending pictures of it to Maki and Gojo, though, I’d appreciate that. They’d never let me live it down.”

“Don’t stress, I won’t do that. Go on, then, get on the ground while that boy is still in control,” you said, watching over Itadori as Megumi lay on the ground. For his part, Itadori just seemed confused about the proceedings. This came as no surprise, though; if he really had been just an ordinary boy until just today, then how would he know anything about Reverse Cursed Techniques and such concepts? “Composition.”

Instead of a knife, it felt like you were being repeatedly punched in the stomach, each successive blow winding you until you felt like doubling over. Your cursed energy remained intact, however; it was Tullia’s that was rushing into you, allowing you to use it at will, the reward you got for taking every ounce of the pain that you were feeling, that Megumi was feeling, that even Tullia herself was feeling.

Coughing, you wiped away the tears that sprang to your eyes and placed your hands on Megumi’s forehead. Focusing Composition on his battered cursed energy reserves and the injuries his head had sustained, you used the positive energy of the cursed energy reversal to heal the wounds and replenish his reserves until he was somewhat close to the state he must have been before engaging in the battle.

“How do you feel?” you said, reaching into your backpack and taking greedy swigs of water from the bottle you had packed just in case. Megumi sat up and glanced at Itadori, who was watching you in awe.

“Fine. Hey, what are you staring at?” he said.

“Woah! Miss, did you just heal him or something?” Itadori said, ignoring Megumi completely.

“Yes, I did. It’s part of my inherited technique, though I assume those words would be on the whole meaningless to you,” you said.

“They are, but it’s still so cool to hear about! I can’t believe there’s like this entire secret world that’s existed and I knew nothing about until now,” Itadori said.

“We do a very good job at hiding our work from normal people. It helps that most can’t see curses,” you said. “Enough talking, though. We have to figure out what to do with you. You said you suppressed Sukuna? Do you think you could un-suppress him?”

“Why would you want that?” Megumi said.

“Gojo’s on his way,” you muttered under your breath. “It’s the perfect chance to see if he has potential as a vessel or if he should just be killed immediately.”

“Do you really think Gojo of all people should be trusted to arrive on time for anything?” Megumi said.

“It’ll be alright. Don’t underestimate me; I’m a Grade 1 sorcerer, aren’t I? He’s only had the one finger, so even once he manifests as Sukuna, it’ll be in a severely weakened form. I promise, even I can deal with him when he’s in such a state,” you said.

“Are you sure?” Megumi said.

“If I’m wrong, then I’ll have you to help me hold him off, at least until Gojo arrives,” you said. “You probably couldn’t do it by yourself, but if the two of us are working together, then we can probably manage at least that much.”

“If you say so,” Megumi said.

“Itadori, please let Sukuna out for a little bit. I’d like to talk to him,” you said.

“Are you guys personally acquainted or something?” Itadori said. “Sure, I can do that, but are you really certain you want to talk to him? He’s not exactly the greatest guy.”

“Hm,” you said, thinking back to a certain story and chuckling under your breath. “I guess you could say that. Don’t worry, it’ll be a quick conversation. Ten seconds is all I need; after that, I want you to take control back, alright? Or else Megumi and I will have to kill you, I’m afraid.”

“Okay!” Itadori said. “Wait, by the way — what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you said as he closed his eyes before dark markings made of undulating cursed energy crept over his face. “Y/N L/N.”

Eyes as red as pomegranates flew open, staring at you in horror. They were narrower than Itadori’s, and indeed the entire bone structure of his face had changed ever so slightly, matured a little bit, his nose sharper, his chin squarer. Underneath his eyes were two more with the same crimson irises, though these were smaller and seemed less focused on you. There was no doubt about it: this was the King of Curses himself, the one for whom the stories and the songs were written.

He took a step towards you, but you stood your ground, reaching into the small pouch you always carried and grasping a silver needle in between your thumb and index finger.

“Y/N L/N,” he said, his voice deeper than Itadori’s, gravelly and rough instead of warm and bright.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” you said. “The King of Curses.”

“And the woman who sealed him,” he spat. His canines were sharper than any normal human’s had the right to be, his nails more like claws than anything. You looked over at Megumi, who could no more move than a mouse faced with the jaws of a tiger could. “I would kill you if I could.”

“Nothing is stopping you,” you said, fighting to keep your voice level, though you knew it trembled. Even if it was only a shadow of Sukuna’s true self, it remained that the being in front of you was known as the King of Curses for a reason. In terms of curses, just this small fragment could only be beaten in power by Rika herself.

“You would say that,” he said, and then suddenly he was in front of you, those fingers like talons wrapping around your throat, squeezing to the point of discomfort but nothing more. “You would say that, you witch. How fortunate am I! To be born again into this new body, this new world…and yet, I cannot escape you. Y/N L/N. What is this coincidence, that I must find you again, that I must manifest in the same place that you are?”

“I am not the woman who you think I am,” you gasped out, not wanting to fight the body which ultimately was Itadori’s. Not yet, anyways, not while he was still not actively hurting you, only threatening to do so.

“Yet you share her name, and there is some similarity to your features,” he said.

“She was my ancestor. The one who helped seal you. The one you killed — but her husband brought her back to life in the end, so it amounted to nothing,” you said. Maybe taunting Sukuna wasn’t your smartest idea, but you wanted him to know. You wanted him to know that he had been unsuccessful in this one thing, that the original Y/N L/N had lived beyond sealing him.

“You share her blood,” Sukuna said. “It is close enough. In fact, likely it is exactly the same thing; I cannot risk it. That means, no matter how much I want to, I cannot risk your death in the first place.”

Suddenly, abruptly, he threw you away from him, watching with some satisfaction as you barely managed to break your fall and spring to your feet. It was an odd stare which he trained upon you, equal parts concern and pleasure, like he had not wanted you to get hurt but at the same time could conceive no greater joy than the thought of harm coming to you. You could not understand it. You could not understand any of it.

“It’s been ten seconds, Itadori,” you called out carefully, cautiously, still not sure why Sukuna insisted that you could not die but not wanting to test your limits, either, in case that was the breaking point which led to him changing his mind and going after you anyways. Or, worse, he might decide to turn his attention to Megumi, who he presumably held no convictions about as of yet, and that was something you were keen to avoid, since Gojo still hadn’t shown up.

“Oops, sorry, I lost track of time!” The markings and extra eyes had vanished, and the youthfulness had returned as Itadori regained control of his body. He sounded like himself again, all eager and affectionate. “Did your conversation go well?”

“I’m left with more questions than answers, to be fully honest with you,” you admitted. “But nobody got hurt, and you managed to take back control when you needed to, so it’s a net positive. Now we have some solid proof to take to Gojo in the defense of your control as a vessel.”

“Yay!” Itadori said. “But, um, who’s Gojo?”

“That would be me,” a new voice said. The three of you turned as one unit to stare at the newcomer, who was as late as usual and toted two shopping bags, most likely full of souvenirs from wherever he had gone while you were helping Megumi.

“Gojo,” you said. “It’s about time you got here.”

“About time, indeed! What’s all of this talk about vessels and whatnot?” he said.

“That boy is Sukuna’s vessel,” you said.

“I ate a finger,” Itadori supplied helpfully.

“On Megumi’s watch, not mine,” you added. “I’d certainly never let something like that happen. I did confirm that he has control as a vessel, though, with the ability to suppress Sukuna at will.”

“Wait, slow down. So he ate Sukuna’s finger and became his vessel?” Gojo confirmed.

“He did,” you said.

“It’s true,” Megumi said. “I saw it happen. The most idiotic thing I’ve seen in a while.”

“I don’t know, I mean you do see Gojo on the daily, so can you really consider it to be the most idiotic thing?” you said, earning an offended gasp from Gojo and a look from Megumi. “Anyways, I used my signature detection on him, as well as Dissection. He’s the genuine article.”

“But you said he has control?” Gojo said. You nodded.

“Yes, I asked him to let Sukuna out for a total of ten seconds. After that time was up, he managed to regain control without too much of a problem,” you said. Gojo grew even paler than he usually was, which was saying something, as he already had the complexion of a pearl.

“Are you hurt?” he said.

“No, we just talked for that time,” you said, subconsciously rubbing at your neck, which still felt a little odd after Sukuna had grasped it so tightly. “Nothing more.”

“That’s a lie,” Megumi interjected. “He choked her at one point and threw her on the ground afterwards.”

“You shouldn’t have done such an experiment, knowing the dangers,” Gojo said. “You’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, positive. He’s being dramatic, anyways; I could’ve handled it, but I chose not to,” you said. Gojo glanced at Megumi for confirmation, but to your relief, Megumi nodded reluctantly.

“She wasn’t exactly overpowered,” he admitted. “It was more like she was letting it happen.”

“Why’d you let yourself get treated like that, then?” Gojo said. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re into—”

“Shut up!” you said. “No!”

“It’s as fair a guess as any!” he defended.

“No, it is not! I didn’t want to hurt Itadori’s body unless it was absolutely necessary, and to be quite honest with you, I was interested in what Sukuna was saying. You see, he kept talking about how he wanted to kill me but couldn’t. Wouldn’t you be interested if the King of Curses said he couldn’t kill you?” you said.

“Not exactly! If I were you, I’d thank whatever deity intervened on my part and run very far away!” he said. “Now, of course, if it were me, I’d not be surprised. It’s likely he couldn’t kill me, so it wouldn’t be new information.”

“What’s done is done,” you said, deciding there was no point in letting the argument progress any further. “We have to decide what to do with Itadori, and then Megumi and I should probably check in with Ieri. I healed him earlier, but I don’t know if it was enough or not.”

“Good idea. Well, there’s not much deciding that needs to happen; he’ll be executed, that’s all. It’s sad, but that’s how these things go,” Gojo said.

“Wait,” Megumi said as Gojo used an incredibly weakened version of his technique to knock Itadori out in an instant, slinging him over his shoulder and preparing a portal to teleport to jujutsu headquarters. “Can you…can you please save him?”

“It’s strange to have you ask for something from me,” Gojo said. “You think I should save him?”

“Yes,” Megumi said. “Please. He’s the kind of person that deserves to be saved.”

“Do you really think so? Even knowing that he’s Sukuna’s vessel?” Gojo said. You knew him well enough by now to pick up on the fact that he did not doubt Megumi’s words but was rather testing his conviction.

Megumi was silent, casting about for something to say, so you took pity on him and decided to jump in. Besides, it was true that you didn’t want to see Itadori die just yet, either, though your explanation was a little different than Megumi’s was.

“He reminds me of Yuta,” you said. “Not in personality but in circumstance. If there’s a way for you to give him a chance the way you gave Yuta one, I think it could be worthwhile. How often will we meet another person capable of being Sukuna’s vessel? We could use him for our own ends. A mutually beneficial deal, as the case may be.”

“You’re so sentimental,” Gojo cooed. “Did it bring back fond memories for you, being at a high school and going on a dangerous mission like this?”

“It did,” you said shortly. “Not that that’s any of your business, by the way, so stay focused on the task at hand. I hate how involved you are in my personal life!”

“It’s my job!” Gojo whined.

“It distinctly is not!” you said. “Regardless, that’s my opinion on the matter. You may make of it what you will. In the end, I suppose it doesn’t really impact my life all too much if you save him or not, so do what you’d like.”

“My student wants me to save him,” Gojo said, giving Megumi one of those serious looks of his that meant he was being one hundred percent genuine in what he was saying. Megumi shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I’ll do my best to that end. Y/N, if you could ensure that Megumi gets back to the school, I’ll bring you with me to Africa the next time I go to check on Yuta’s progress.”

“I’m on it,” you said. You would’ve done it anyways, of course, but the thought of seeing Yuta again gladdened you greatly, so you weren’t about to turn Gojo’s offer down. Even though you talked to Yuta on the phone as much as you could, you wanted to be with him in person, wanted to feel his arms around your body and his lips against your own, even if it was only for a little bit. That little bit would be enough to tide you over until he came back for good. “Let’s go, Megumi.”

“Do you think he’ll be able to save Itadori?” Megumi said as Ijichi drove off in the direction of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech.

“He said he’ll try his best. Coming from Gojo, that’s basically a guarantee that he will,” you said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If I ask you a personal question, Y/N, would you answer it?” Megumi said. You shifted in your seat so that you were facing him, but he did not do the same, focusing on the moon and how it shimmered through the tinted glass of the car window.

“I used to pretend like the moon was following me so that it could watch over me,” you said.

“That’s not how it works,” Megumi said. “Scientifically.”

“Of course, I learnt that later on, but to a romantic child, it meant all the world that there was that one entity which cared enough to chase after me, no matter where I went,” you said.

“I see,” Megumi said.

“You may ask your question,” you said. “If it offends me, I’ll choose not to answer. That is all. I won’t be angry or anything.”

“You’re the youngest Grade 1 sorcerer in quite some time,” he said. “Was it worth it?”

“That’s heavy,” you said.

“The difference between us is like a chasm. Even though it’s only one level — two if you count Semi-Grade 1 as its own separate thing — you can claim to defeat Sukuna’s manifestation and not sound utterly ridiculous. You made it sound plausible. I could not even manage to fight against the curses that that finger attracted,” he said.

“You’re younger than me, so it’s not some great weakness to be down about,” you said.

“That’s a separate matter. What I really want to know is what it’s like? Being someone so powerful that when they needed a sorcerer to go in Gojo’s place, the higher ups thought of you,” he said.

“Power,” you said. “I don’t think that’s something I can ever lay claim to. Not truly. I know what you must be thinking — I’m a Grade 1 sorcerer, the one that everyone in jujutsu society seems to be talking about at the moment, so naturally I must be powerful. But it’s not like that. I’m no more powerful than you are, Megumi; in fact, I’m likely your inferior in that department by several degrees. I could never go up against the truly strong and win: people like Gojo, Yuta, even Hakari and Todo, all of them would beat me in a fair fight.”

“So then?” Megumi said. “I know you’ve beaten Todo before, so you’re not telling the full story.”

“So I never fight fair. I use people’s weaknesses against them. I strike from the shadows at the places which shine like beacons to me, and people think of me as some great hero for it. Can I really be considered as such, though? I’d like to answer your question, but I can’t. I don’t know what it’s like to be powerful. I don’t know if all of this was worth it,” you said. He was silent for so long that you nearly thought he had fallen asleep, but finally, he deigned to speak once more.

“What should I do?” he said. “Now that I’ve made such a request and asked Gojo to save that boy. What should I do?”

“You do the only thing any of us can do. You keep trying to grow stronger. You hope that in the end, you don’t regret any of it. Might I offer some entirely unsolicited advice?” you said.

“Sure,” he said. He was oddly vulnerable, in this light. You did not think that Megumi would open up to you like this in normal circumstances, but the trauma of the day’s events had probably worn down whatever defenses he might ordinarily have. Besides, it was generally difficult for someone to keep secrets or be stoic around the person who had healed them — it was a phenomenon that you had noticed, that the patients of your family could not help but bare their deepest secrets to them. Who better to do such a thing to than the person who already knew your entire body and soul so intimately, who had risked their own just to save yours?

“Your decision to save Itadori may not go the way you want it to,” you said. “There’s a reason he would ordinarily be executed, after all. I threw my support behind you because I felt pity, for you and for him, but in the end it was your request that did it, not mine. I think you are aware of this, but are you prepared for what that might entail?”

“No, I don’t believe so. Did I make a mistake?” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “You did. But don’t live like that.”

“Huh?” he said. You thought about Yuta, about the many mistakes you had made and he had made, about how many times the two of you had risked everything for one another.

Bringing him back was the one accomplishment you were proud of. It was the one thing you guarded fiercely as your own achievement, one unsullied by self-doubt. You had not let Yuta Okkotsu die. For better or for worse, you had not let him die. It was the one of the things you guarded deep and close to your heart, that you had saved him. Whatever came of it, you would not, could not, feel apologetic for doing that.

“You chose not to let him die,” you said, and then you twisted in your seat again, so that you, too, could stare out at the moon. Even now, it followed you, as it had when you were a child, and you smiled, resting your finger against its reflection. “That was your decision. No matter what the consequences are, you must always, always hold your head high and be proud of it. Don’t you ever dare let anyone tell you otherwise.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

When I wrote first draft, character A was the protagonist and I was writing from their POV. At some point in the story A meets character B. But after rewriting this story I chose to write from B's POV. At some point B meets A. But some events from A's life before meeting B will need to be revealed later, unlike in 1st draft. I feel like now it'll be harder to make reader sympathize with A. How to prevent it? Or how to show these events from the beginning or in backstory if I write from B's POV?

Working in Backstory of Former Protagonist

For the most part, you can't really show A's back story before A is introduced. Theoretically, you could do something experimental, like intercalary chapters which are chapters within or between chapters that don't move the main story forward, often because they contain back story of a character/situation that will become important later, or to add context to the broader story outside of the protagonist's scope. However, with intercalary chapters, that back story has to be really important and its relation to the main story (even indirectly) needs to be at least somewhat apparent. You don't want the reader to feel like you're wasting their time.

However, even though you could potentially use intercalary chapters or another experimental means of conveying this information, I think it's probably best to just dole out the relevant back story once the character is introduced/when it becomes important. You can look at the back story that has to be revealed and see if any of it can be introduced earlier, through an indirect means. For example, let's say A survives a shipwreck and that plays a major role in their back story, but also sets them on the path to meeting B. While you're in B's story, you could have them see something about the anniversary of the shipwreck. Like seeing a newspaper headline, seeing it on the news, or someone mentioning it by way of an interesting fact. You can find a way to make this little tidbit relevant to the moment for B... like maybe it becomes a point of contention between them and another character who need a reason to argue, or maybe it causes them to be late to show up to something important. That way, it doesn't feel like a totally random unnecessary thing that happened, but the reader won't know until later that the information about the shipwreck is actually important. Because after B meets A and it's revealed that they survived the shipwreck. the reader will already have a little built-in context for that. It'll have more impact, because they've heard of this shipwreck and know a bit about it.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[chrisevansonly]

Butterfly Healing (Rues 800 Followers Sleepover Event)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Girlfriend Reader

*Custom Prompt*

Summary: anxiety can be a silent killer, or it can be a loud force, and when it attacks your system, the one person you love most in the world, will always be there to guide you through it

A/N: post two hehe i'm really making my way somewhat through this list, I hope these aren't ending up too short, but thank you everyone for the prompts I've been going through them and loving them all<3

Word Count: 559

You smiled at the small butterfly tattoo that rested on your ribcage just under your left breast, the subtle pop of blue in the wings filling you with a sense of joy, Chris had taken you this morning to get it after asking him for weeks to do it. The meaning behind it significant to you and your journey with mental health, showcasing your growth and resilience as you battle the storm every day. You had your ups and downs through the week, depending on how your day went, usually dictated when your anxiety would act up. It was no surprise after a full overloaded day of work that you found yourself buried underneath the comforter of you and your boyfriend’s shared bed. The rain tapped quietly against the floor to ceiling windows, which gave you some small form of comfort, but the thoughts in your mind raged, and your heart quickened in your chest. 

Chris had gotten up almost a full two hours ago which only added to the guilt beginning to surge itself into your anxious thoughts, you felt like you were being lazy, and unproductive leaving everything for Chris to do while you just lay and suffered. You knew taking something for your panic attacks and anxiety would probably be beneficial, but just the thought of getting up and moving to the bathroom was proving to only enhance the panic and tightness in your chest

“Baby...?”

Your eyes moved to the bedroom door where Chris was, a sad smile on his face as he brought in some toast, a smoothie, and your prescription bottles, which you figured he probably grabbed this morning 

“H-Hi”

“Hi sweet girl…how are you feeling?”

You shrugged and he could tell right away it was going to be a day where you’d lean on him more than usual, so he placed everything on the bedside table, leaning down to press a few kisses to your forehead. His arms slid around your midsection to sit you up, grabbing your medication and holding it for you along with the smoothie 

“I know you’re probably not hungry, but I need you to take these and have some smoothie alright...? We’ll take it slow today but I’ve gotta get these into your system”

“O-Okay...”

You took the pills and placed them in your mouth, swallowing them down with the help of the very delicious strawberry mango smoothie

“There we go, good girl”

He helped you take a few more sips before settling into bed with you and bringing you to his chest, his hands drawing shapes on your back in an effort to pull your focus onto him

“I’m sorry I’ve been so lazy today…I just left you to do everything”

“None of that baby, I know when you aren’t feeling your best and that’s when I need to step up to help you, I will always do that for you, no matter what, because I love you”

Feeling tired and slightly out of it you pressed a kiss to his chest conveying what you wanted him to know, and the two of you stayed wrapped up under the blankets, your mind slowing down as the clouds rolled on and darkness fell over your room, feeling more than grateful you had Chris to help pull you out of the storm, no matter how bad it got. 

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

If it's alright, for the spring event I could request Shenhe with 4. "...you're staring.". S/O could say it to Shenhe or vice versa, which ever one works the best.

Please take your time and thank you for the event!

“...you’re staring”

characters: Shenhe x reader

warnings: none

a/n: I'll probably slow down when it comes to writing for the event, since school is picking up pace again and my week has been pretty stressfull so far, but I'm happy to have been able to finish this today.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Shenhe

You never considered yourself good at fighting, not in any sense of the word. So while you didn’t worry about getting lost while traversing the mountainous area north west of the city, the moment treasure hoarders or hilichurls decided to pay you a visit, you considered yourself over. Something that would have very much happened, if it wasn’t for a certain someone to help you out.

And while your savior was just about to vanish again just as she was done, you somehow managed to convince her to stay so you could at least somewhat repay her.

“...you’re staring”, the woman’s voice rang out, causing you to snap out of your thoughts before quickly averting your eyes, looking back at the food you were preparing as your cheeks turned slightly red in embarrassment.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that I’ve never seen an Adeptus up close”, you stammered out, only for the other person to respond without even looking up from the spear she had been cleaning for a while now.

“I’m not an Adeptus.” While your mistake was enough to make your cheeks turn even redder, your embarrassment didn’t get a chance to shut you up, your mouth already continuing to do what it did best.

“Wait, so you defeated that Lawachurl this easily without even being an Adeptus? That’s so cool!”, you excitedly blurted out, finally seeming to catch the other person off guard as she looked up at you with an intrigued look on her face, only for you to continue on with your newfound enthusiasm, quickly introducing yourself to her before asking for her name in return.

“Anyway, the food’s finally done. Here, I hope this manages to convey at least some of my gratitude for you coming to my rescue.” You handed her some of the food you had been cooking, taking what was left for yourself while sneakily glancing at her every now and then, hoping to see any reaction that might betray her feelings towards the meal, only for her face to not give away anything.

“I visit the city from time to time and see people often eat this dish. I take it that it’s quite popular?”, the woman called Shenhe asked for a change, probably taking pity for how much you tried to keep your conversation going at times.

“Mhm, although I wouldn’t write it off if you didn’t like it very much. I may not be the greatest of cooks”, you joked, only for her to slightly shake her head.

“It’s not bad, I’d say it is comparable in quality to what I normally eat when visiting the city. It’s just not… it”, she answered, mumbling out the last part so you were just barely able to decipher what she was saying, still not understanding exactly what she meant, but deciding not to question it any further.

While the cycle of you breaking the silence every so often to initiate a conversation, regardless of its length, continued on for a bit, Shenhe’s answers, while still not as expressive as others might have been, slowly began to grow longer until it eventually became time for you to return home, already being late by a steadily increasing margin, causing you to pack your things and say goodbye.

Just as you were leaving however, her voice called out your name, resulting in you turning around once again. “Take care”, while you weren’t exactly able to hear any new hints of emotions in her voice, it nevertheless caused a smile to appear on your face as you waved her goodbye, silently deciding to pay her a visit again sometime. Keeping her company was the least you could do to repay your kindness after all.

[potestas-amoris]

Brand; 1

Kanato seemed to be in an especially irritable mood as of late, the cause of which remained a mystery to you. Even the simple fact that he had yet to voice the reason for his aggravation had you walking on eggshells around him, given that he normally doesn’t hold back when something is bothering him.

So, when you approached him, freshly baked macarons from the newly opened bakery in-tow, you were surprised to see him eye them with an emotion akin to… anger? Frustration, perhaps?

 “Kanato-san, I know that I can’t buy your forgiveness, I ju-“

“Then what is this supposed to be? You thought you could waltz into my room with some sweets and everything would be okay again? You think it’s that easy to manipulate me?!”

Well, if he had given you a chance to explain, that outburst could have been avoided. Not that it mattered anymore, as he was now expecting you to provide him with a sufficient explanation that would make him feel better and at the same time blame you for whatever misdeed you had just committed.

 “Well, here’s what I was thinking; I figured I would ask you how you have been feeling lately since I’ve been getting the impression that you haven’t been doing too well. I was hoping we could have a chat over some sweets to put us both in a better mood, since I’ve been a bit worried about you lately.”

 You finished your explanation, not having raised your head once, since you wanted to focus on choosing the words that felt most truthful to you, and because looking at his mesmerizing eyes would have distracted you too much.

Whether he would understand that this was just a tick of yours was yet to be determined, though you could only hope he would overlook this detail for now and instead focus on what you had just said.

 By the way he was staying silent and pondering over what to say, you had a feeling that may have just been the case.

A somewhat comfortable silence settled before he spoke again.

“You’re not lying to me right now?”

 “I’m not, I really just wanted to talk with no ulterior motives,”

 “Then you were really worried about me? Why?”

 “Because- “you cut yourself off for a moment to look at him and gage his reaction; maybe you could finally convey your feelings to him without chickening out again?

 He was wearing a puzzled expression on his face, one eyebrow inquisitively-raised, while his mouth remained relaxed.

 “Because?”

 “Because, uhm, you know, I have grown to care for you and I worry when you don’t seem to feel alright since I want you to be happy and okay…”

 “Fufu... and pray tell why is it that you seem to be concerned about me to that extent?”

 “Well, that’s because I think I… I think I like you, r-romantically, that is, and I’m sorry if that grosses you out, that I like you, I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with you just that, you know, I’m me and I know that can be off-putting for some people so I’m sorry to be putting this on you and-“

 Before you could continue with your self-deprecating rant, you stopped only to have your eyes widen once you realized why you were so abruptly cut off.

 He was kissing you. But before you could kiss him back, he was already off you, and you were left reeling, looking like a fish out of water and wondering whether this was all just a dream. A beautiful, amazing, and unbelievable dream.

 “You do look rather charming with that wondrous expression on your face. Perhaps I should kiss you more often to see whether you can show me any more interesting faces?”

Without replying you put your face in your hands and felt all the warmth in it raise up to your ears.

 “You know, I actually thought you were going behind my back and were lying to me but based on your startled reaction, I think the others were just using you to bully me, so I don’t blame you, too much,”

 “I’ll just have to make sure to teach them a lesson that you’re mine,”

“How-I mean, I’m yours? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to engrave myself into your very being, of course.”

 And with that, you were in for a rather long evening.

[muzzleroars]

Yo :3

So uh, I’ve been looking through your art and I am absolutely in love with it. I love your use of colors and lineart (ESPECIALLY v1 but I’ll get to them). This will mostly just be me rambling about it cause :]

Dude how the fuck do you get emotion so well done. V1 is immaculate, like look at this shit

You can feel that it’s alien to non robots, but is genuinely curious. I absolutely love how you draw poses. Especially since the characters don’t have faces, body language is key. They feel like they have a personality with each drawing. Always hunched down and extended with no regards to social norms. The attention to detail is what really makes it, the thicker outlines on the character make them pop more, and your take on V1 is clearly thought out well, along with your ultrakill characters.

LIKE LOOK AT IT‼️

IT GENUINELY LOOKS 3D‼️‼️

While my favorite is v1, Micheal in your aus is especially well written and drawn. His design reminds me a lot of the corpse of king Minos / Minos prime. which I like! It highlights their contrast, how Minos tried to reason with a higher being on an equal level. Micheal acted instead, deeming himself unworthy of said higher being. Both genuinely cared for their citizens, both were royalty. Minos spoke out, Micheal stayed isolated, which only further deteriorated him, unlike Minos, who instead was proactive, reaching out to other layers and kings like Sisyphus. Sometimes you need to know what it’s like to feel consequence in order to succeed. But in the end, both of their bodies are left to rot, unable to succeed.

Also I really like this one of v1. Their silhouette is distinctive and you’re good at posing :3

Sry. Idk if this is weird or creepy, but I thought I’d share my thoughts with you since I like analyzing stuff.

THE WAY THIS MADE ME SO EMOTIONAL THO....WTF THANK YOU SO MUCH......it's absolutely mind-blowing to me that you pay attention to these little details because i absolutely try to add all of these things intentionally, but i find myself thinking like 'will anyone even care??? about these tiny things???' so it means more than i can say to see that someone does!!!!! like i'm so happy to know that my characterization of v1 comes through, because i really do have a very clear idea in my mind of its behavior and personality that i'm trying to convey through still images. v1's movements are bird/raptor-like and while i give it a very sophisticated, sentient mind, its intelligence is nonhuman and it is a being that absolutely doesn't conform to our standards. v1 is something new, and i want it to be something that clearly has an internal life and a bright mind, yet exhibits very little corresponding human behaviors. plus, it's a bit odd because of its somewhat corrupted software, and so i wanted too for its little hunched posture to show it's sort of a machine gone feral (in the traditional, once was domesticated but is now on its own sense lol) - it was made with a humanoid body shape and so SHOULD stand up straight, but it doesn't anymore. because it doesn't want to. and so!!! i really do draw v1 with a LOT of intention and i put plenty of thought into posing it correctly to both convey its character and its emotion in the piece...and since it's my favorite, i'm so glad i'm doing it justice!!

AND YEA!!! michael definitely has parallels to minos (which i started to think on when i realized their head shape is....kinda similar lol i swear i was just going for crown + blindfold for mike's helmet but oops!!) and i do like their throughlines as fallen rulers, plus their sort of opposing yet ultimately disastrous relationships to their own corpse - minos is separated from his and must watch as it mindlessly tears his city apart while michael is trapped in a flesh prison of his own body, forced to stay within it as it rots away. they are two rulers that would have done anything for their people, and yet both failed them despite again taking opposite paths. minos really had no hope, the external forces of heaven coming down on him in their full authority, though he will forever blame himself. michael departed despite, with god's disappearance, being essentially the highest in heaven - he believed only god could save them though, that he could never become a king from a prince (again, due to heaven's own hierarchy). their meeting would be nothing but utter disaster, but it does make me consider their interactions a little more closely when michael decides to test minos prime's strength (because while michael would have a lot to say about how minos failed his people by defying god, minos would have much to say in turn about a prince abandoning his people at their weakest)

BUT FOR REAL....this message was so amazingly kind and i want to thank you again for sending it my way. it just made me!!!! feel so happy to see that my art is loved and that the work i put into it really means something. honestly it's the best thing i could ask for <3

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Kino Ecstasy [09]

ー The scene starts on the emergency staircase of Kaminashi Tower

Male Ghoul A: ...So you have finally made up your resolve then?

Yuuri: ...Yes. I shall be the one to set Kino free.

Male Ghoul B: I see...

???: Has everything been made ready?

Richter? ...In that case, let us begin.

Yuuri: Yes. We are ready when you are.

Kino...

She will only provide temporary relief...

In the end, I am the only one who can truly save you...

*Flap flap flap*

Monologue

Ever since Yuuri-san and the Ravens have left us,

the inside of the manor,

has felt incredibly empty.

As of late,

Kino has not been doing much at all,

simply loafing around on the coach,

playing around on his phone. 

Almost as if he was desperately trying,

to keep himself distracted.

ー The scene shifts to the living room of Kino’s manor

Yui: Hey, Kino-kun.

Kino: ...

Yui: ...Kino-kun?

Kino: Zzー... Zzー...

Yui: ( Seems like he’s asleep... )

Selection

→ Put a blanket on him (❦)

Yui: ( I’m pretty sure there’s a blanket somewhere around here... )

*Rustle* 

Yui: ( Fond out. I’ll put this on him. )

Kino: Uu...Nn...

Yui: ...

*Rustle rustle*

*Cling*

Kino: Nn... Zzー ... Zzー ... 

Yui: ( ...Is he asleep? Thank god... )

( Anyway, I’m pretty sure I heard something just now... )

→ Keep quiet

Yui: ( I’ll keep quiet so I don’t wake him up... )

Kino: Nn...Uuhn...Nn...

*Rustle rustle*

*Cling*

Yui: Hm? Something fell just now...

Yui: ( ...Is this ...? )

*Rustle*

Yui: ( Could this be...The key to the dungeon cell...? )

Kino: Zzー ... Zzー ... 

Yui: ( We’re the only two people here right now... )

( I might be able to run away together with Ayato-kun... )

ー She runs towards the door

Yui: ( But...Would that truly be the best thing to do...? )

( If we run, Kino-kun will actually be all alone... )

...

( ...Anyway, I gotta let Ayato-kun out of his cell first. )

ー Yui leaves the room

Kino: ...

ー The scene shifts to the dungeon

Yui: ( I’ll be able to save Ayato-kun with this...! )

Kino: I see. Taking my key without my permission, huh? ...Not bad.

Yui: ...!

*Rustle* 

Kino: What were you hoping to achieve by freeing Ayato from his cell? Run away together hand-in-hand? 

I guess you’ll leave me at last as well. 

Yui: ...

No, you’re wrong. I do want to let Ayato escape. But...

I plan on staying here.

Kino: Eh...?

Yui: I mean...There’s nobody else left.

So if I were to run away as well...You’d be all alone.

Kino: ...Excuse me? In other words, you’re sympathizing with me?

Yui: ( Sympathize...Do I? But... )

( I just...don’t want Kino-kun to have to be all alone... )

( I mean, I don’t think there’s anyone else more afraid of being lonely... )

...You’re right. Perhaps I am.

But...Nobody would want to be all alone, right? Neither do I...

That’s why I’ll stay here. With you.

Kino: Hm, I see. ...Fufu, if this happened a little while back, I might have just killed you right here, right now.

This whole time, I’ve lived absolutely dreading other people’s compassion.

But...Right now I don’t mind it, if that means you’ll stay here with me.

...I was kind of getting tired of my mobile games anyway.

I’m fed up with having to spend every day killing time by myself...

Yui: Kino-kun...

( I knew it... )

( Even though he said that it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders... )

( He’s been sad about Yuuri and the others leaving, hasn’t he...? )

( However, he can’t be honest with himself... )

...Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere.

Kino: ...

Monologue

As I spoke those words,

I grabbed Kino-kun’s hand. 

Because I wanted to convey to him,

that he is not alone. 

In response to my action,

Kino-kun made an expression (表情),

as if he had been taken somewhat by surprise. 

However, the very next moment ...

he squeezed my hand back (握り返し). 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー 

[who-is-page]

What's the spite convention for? eyes

Anon, I don't know if or how long you may have been following me for, but do you know how I got my start in alterhuman circles? How I ended up becoming at least somewhat known in communities, what inspired me to start writing and creating content in the alterhuman community, first on Tumblr, then on my own website and in my own publications?

Someone told me that I wasn't good enough, that I wasn't "important" enough. That I could never hope to make an impact, that I could never hope to bring about change. And it lit a fire of inhuman fury in my heart that's never. Fucking. Gone. Out.

Watching Naia Okami look the OtherCon chair dead in the eye and sneer at him about his supposed lacking of any renowned, trying to frame it as something pitiful or making it self-serving that he continues to go out of his way to host this event, to use her words, "despite being a relatively unknown person in the community," makes me enraged beyond language could ever hope to convey.

How fucking dare someone try to imply that another individual and their work is worth less simply because of something as nebulous and finicky and impermanent as 'community fame.' What gives them the right? What sort of crown of authority do such snotmuzzles, with their myths on the importance of gilded fake internet points above all else, have?

I could be nice, and say that such language and perspective is because of a sole familiarity only with cookie-cutter content creations, pushed onto Naia and others due to how the modern Internet works with us artists desperately trying to appease the algorithm and similar. That, perhaps, given she is simply something closer to a television personality, it could be said she just lacks any understanding or experience of how much more important “heart” and “effort” is in any given piece than “fame”.

But I’m not going to be nice, because I don’t believe that to be the case. Because I’ve been at the end of that sneer before, if not Naia’s, then certainly others’. It’s never out of ignorance; it’s out of malice. It’s people trying to make themselves seem bigger by making everyone else seem smaller, trying to create their own little cliques with their ever-changing goal posts, trying to smear other’s achievements to hide their own failings and pitiful self-worth issues. It’s people kicking others down into the earth and standing on their back for a little extra height to try and proclaim themself a lord and all others peons. It’s people who don’t want a community: they want a narrative that they can control, that centers themself and others like them, whether that be in an exclusionary sense or merely in a greedy, spotlight sense.

It’s fucking immoral, it’s destructive, and it’s not behavior we, as a community, should ever condone or accept as okay. Maybe it’s the scholar in me, maybe it’s the psychopomp in me, maybe it’s something else, but I refuse to sit back and let someone try and demolish the hard work of a convention and disavow multiple convention chairs just because the people actually putting out the work for these amazing events aren’t also in these so-called “renowned” folks’ petty little groups, on their knees worshiping social status and popularity. 

Fuck the groveling at the altar of upvotes, of likes, of views, of clicks. Fuck the idea that someone’s contributions to community spaces are based purely on how well they appease this nebulous god “Popularity.” It means nothing and I refuse to pretend that it means anything. This is my ode to that. This is me digging my claws into the ground and saying, no, fuck you, I was that person who was disregarded and insulted for being “new” and a so-called “unknown” and I will never stop supporting people who are accused and belittled of the same, but who still create and share their joy with others even despite that. I and others like me will outlast any pathetic exclusionary, spotlight-desperate attempts at a hierarchy of experience, in both the terminological sense and longevity sense, and this is my fuck you, go ahead and try to anyone who wants to think otherwise. 

“Greymuzzle” isn’t a term that people get applied to them because they’ve shown up on television, or because they have oh-so-many TikTok followers. It’s a community term given based on what people actually do in the community, existing entirely outside of shit like having your own KnowYourMeme page; it’s a title that denotes respect and appreciation earned on your own merit, never something self-given and always community-bestowed. And people who sprout shit trying to advocate for some sort of nonsensical, holier-than-thou “You Must Have X Followers To Ride” bullshit system are no greymuzzles. Our community will never stop prioritizing what people make with their own two paws, and if I can help that in my own way by hosting a future event where anyone, especially, as Naia put it, “relatively unknown person[s]” can showcase the things they love to talk about, their art, their writings… then, by gods, it’s my fucking duty to. 

[angel-gidget]

Facets of YJ: Rebirth's Gemworld

It occurs to me that if I ever want to write more post-YJ Rebirth stuff (as I’ve been meaning to do for the past couple years), I need to work out for myself what Amethyst’s canon with YJ is. It isn’t consistent in-universe, but I’m kind a cool with that. I would rather have multiple interesting yet somewhat contradictory canons than a hard-set bad canon.

But for my own story, I need to be somewhat decisive. And to recall what I’m working with… I need to re-read Young Justice Rebirth.

So here are some thoughts from taking a crack at Volume 1: Gemworld.

———

I know a lot of people in my feed were complaining about this title as it was running, but tbh, I’m kinda impressed by it. There’s a lot of world-building going on and some good emotional moments too. Could there be more? Sure. But the book is fun and doesn’t detest its own audience which is more than I can say for YJ: Dark Crisis.

I’m aware it’s not a popular opinion, though. Lots of people were very aghast at a lot of creative choices.

Gemworld Tidbit #1. Kon's time in the Gemworld. I think one big thing that ticked ppl of was that Kon had acquired a “wife” and “kid” while on Gemworld, but I thought the story line was by turns hilarious (for his teammates reactions) and sweet. The actual explanation that he was just pretending to be her husband to keep her safe from Opal’s guards was cute.

(And tbh, if it turned out that there was some unexplored UST between him and Lophi, heck. I’d be down to explore it. If DC is moving away from Kon/Cassie as a ship, then why not give this a whirl?)

(We see you giving Kon that sexy-intense-gaze-through-limply-hanging-bangs, Patrick Gleason. We appreciate.)

It also gives us one more member of YJ who’s now familiar with Gemworld, and from a very different perspective. Kon knows what it's like to live as a commoner in the bad part of town on Gemworld. Yet, he knows Amethyst by her reputation, and respects her for it. I like this tidbit.

Incorporate into personal fic canon? Yeah, probably.

I also love that the fricken… blend of his shirt is the thing that outs him to Carnelian.

For those of us who remember Carnelian from OG Amethyst, he really is that materialistic and obsessed with the technology of Earth. This whole panel is so freaking in-character, I cackled.

Gemworld Tidbit #2: The Gemworld is divided into “lighter houses” and “darker houses.” The darker houses are officially under Dark Opal, but the Lighter houses are supposed to be free and less oppressive, though Amy’s toung-lashing fights with the council of fellow “lighter houses” implies it ain’t that cut n’ dry.

I can see how it’s useful for conveying info quickly… but eh. The OG showed that while it boiled down to Opal vs. Everyone else, most houses were bullied into serving him and some were just more resistant than others.

Incorporate into personal fic canon? Probably nah.

I’m not really clear why Dark Opal sent a posse of minions to Metropolis to just… go fight Superman. Even after a re-read, I’m still hazy on that bit. Maybe Superman had a lil’ dimension hopping adventure off-panel and effed up some of Opal’s evil schemes? And Dark Opal just… collected kryponite hoping supes would show up again to receive his vengeance? But then he got impatient so he launched a FULL SCALE INVASION OF METROPOLIS? Okay. Yeah. He would. Mystery solved. Next.

Gemworld Tidbit Major Chonk of Info #3. Amy’s relationship with the Houses. So, in OG Amethyst, most the the houses genuinely WANT Amy to defeat Dark Opal. Her parents were major figureheads—and they died fighting him so bravely—but the rest of them have been beaten down into subservience. So Amy’s arrival heralds a renewed attempt at overthrowing the Big Bad, and they welcome her for it.

But in YJ Rebirth, they are so cowed by Opal’s influence, that the majority actually resent Amy for making waves.

She is also NOT the default leader. Like at all. Only head of her house, and even then, the council is debating banishing her from “The Gem” aka Gemworld once she’s out of the room. And at the end… they backstab her by actually doing so. Unannounced.

Incorporate into personal fic canon? I think I gotta. I like the OG dynamic better, but this is pretty darn plot relevant. Need to at least consider it.

Gemworld Tidbit #4. Ride-or-Die Turquoise and Backstabbing Emerald.

So OG Turquoise was v loyal indeed. It was a *bit* more complicated than "besties" in the 80's series, but it works as dynamic for them here.

As for Emerald... We only see ONE ruler of House Emerald here. OG had a Lady Mother and 3 princesses, all with very different narratives. The youngest sister was Amy's *actual* bestie. The next oldest was her friend. The eldest died before Amy could ever meet her, and the mom... went bonkers, died, resurrected, and became part of Amy's rogues gallery, going by the name of Fire Jade.

I'm thinking this is her. Bonus complications if Amy and her youngest daughter are *still* ultra-close friends.

Incorporate into personal fic canon? Yes.

(And tacking on so many details that aren't actually there.)

Gemworld Tidbit #5. Topaz is Dark Opal's minion.

So one of the invaders of Metropolis calls himself "Topaz" right before Tim kicks his ass.

The original Topaz? A lovable and bodacious prince that was always doing his best. And his best included opposing his sister, the elder heir to Topaz keep and the *actual* supporter of Dark Opal.

Incorporate into personal fic canon? Not as-is. Maybe make him tragically mind-whammied or something. But the real Prince Topas is loyal to House Amethyst, even if he's figured out that actually dating Amy is a terrible idea.

And that brings us to...

Gemworld Tidbit #6. No mention of Age-fluctuation. Anywhere.

OG Amethyst would have Amy shift from young teen to young adult, and even have that be a major plot point a la SHAZAM.

I get why it's gone. It removes a lot of writing headaches. But it does mean I would need to figure out some of her relationships from scratch.

Did she and Topaz still flirt? Did they break up for similar reasons? (I imply this is the case in Nurturing Camaraderie. That he mistook her for older/thought their age gap wasn't a big deal, and then ducked out when he realized he was wrong, very similar to what originally happened.)

Incorporate into personal fic canon? Yes. But Imma gonna overthink it to death.

Is Turquoise older than her? How much older? Is Emmy younger than her still? How much younger. What about Carnelian?

Gemworld Tidbit #7. sCiEnce NOT magic.

...

Incorporate into personal fic canon? No. Fuck this whole panel.

I signed on for some magic in my magical girl fantasy, dagnabbit.

Might have more thoughts later. But for now... yeah.