#jo's theory corner

[jolynejay]

y'know what only now really clicked?

gojo is basically presented as a modern buddha, we know that. and geto started wearing heian style buddhist monk robes. which leaves us with 3 major conclusions:

1) geto is stuck in a dark yet glorified past, while gojo is living in an enlightened but horrific present

2) geto sought to become like gojo - to be "enlightened" (powerful) like him, to be his true equal. despite everything reaching toward the light in the darkness

3) the visual metaphor the clothes tell us is that geto was praying to gojo - praying for gojo to reach back out to him and pull him from the darkness. extend that spider's silk to the sinner in hell. a silent cry for help from a mind that has internalized and internalized and internalized so much guilt, so much hatred, that he couldn't ever vocalize his own pain, his own need for help, his own love.

and the worst is that satoru did - did reach out, did open up, did lay his true feelings out bare... but at that point it was too late to change.

suguru was already dying.

satoru's love blessed suguru - the one to inherit the curse. and his love cursed satoru himself - the one to inherit the blessing. maybe in that moment, one on the verge of death and the other more emotionally vulnerable than he would ever be again, they were human like never before. not just cursed. not just blessed. but both. torn up both physically and emotionally and yet open and truly smiling like they couldn't be before.

simply teenagers.

simply young adults.

simply human.

[jolynejay]

i. this is so good, i cannot fathom this, it makes brain go brrrrrr

ii. some unhinged stream of consciousness thoughts:

Guda is a single person. An absolutely normal, average person that has some special skills here and there, and that falls below average in other regards. They are all in all a zero - a fool - bumbling through the world trying to find their place in it.

Guda is zero and infinity all at once.

Guda is a single person, but also the potentiality of Every Single Person.

Guda isn't humanity.

Guda is humanity's hope.

Humanity's will to live, to fight on in the face of impossible odds. Facing pains and horrors and joys and grace.

Being unable to do much and change anything by themselves, but through even just the choice to stand up and fight inspiring -inviting- others to join them.

Even if the universe is go dark and loose it's brightest stars to doubt and despair, there remains a single, tiny speck of light. A little star that has not given up, still reaching out. And as long as it remains, people will reach out in turn to that person that still belives in humanity - with all that is good and all that is bad and all that is inbetween.

That person that still belives in heroes,no matter the path in life and death that those heroes have chosen.

A person that is a single person but also every person.

Unknown to death. Not known by life.

A hope at a future as humanity is. Change occuring naturally within humanity, not have change forced upon humanity from powers beyond. A hope to find a path all of their own by their own volition, even if that path will eventually lead to the inevitable end.

Not everlasting. Not eradicated. Not regressed. Not purely a dream of an ideal world.

Simply, moving forward. Simply, living.

And it is a blessing.

And it is a curse.

For living means conflict. For living means strive. For living means dying. For living means grieving.

But it also means compromise. And living means comradery. And living means healing. And living means the pursuit of happiness.

And Guda is all of that and more. Compassion and cruelty. A dream and a nightmare. A reality impacting dreams, and a dream impacting reality.

Guda is seeking heaven while decending into hell. Still hoping. Still holding on. For if even a single person reaches out, someone will take that hand. You just have to keep on living. You just have to keep going. You just have to keep hoping.

Guda is humanity's "what if?"

Guda is that which remains at the bottom of Pandora's box, even as its evils are unleashed upon humanity.

Guda is everybody and nobody.

Guda is every player of FGO and their own person.

Guda is hope.

Guda is Humanity's Last Master.

[-> from someone that started fgo recently, got through part 1 and is halfway through epic of remnant, while knowing quite a lot of spoilers (bc the way i consume media is very chaotic)]

Guda is like. Reverse unlimited blade works. Unknown to death nor known to life. But by god. These hands held many things. These hands held so many things.

[deathofacupid]

── .✦ CONVERGENCE THEORY ﾉ chapter one.

featuring. guitarist!geto x nerd!jo x bimbo!reader. warnings. cursing, sex jokes. summary. a brainiac who quotes theorems, a rock god who smashes guitars, and a social butterfly who can't remember anyone's name. the three of you couldn't be further different if you tried. but, what is it they say? ...opposites attract? word count. 1.4k+ words. a/n. was literally half-asleep writing this. enjoy, uh, whatever this may be. might go in for edits, after i've gotten more than two hours of sleep? divider credits to @/bronzewasp and @/enchanthings-a. -> click here for the series m.list!

"you just need to think about it. i mean, you're almost there."

that was a lie. shamelessly, your tutor, satoru gojo, lied to you. it's not like you're listening, anyways. well, okay, you tried. for a whole two minutes, then you tapped out.

besides, you're nailing that third layer of gloss, lips pursed like you're trying to suck a golf ball through a straw. the compact mirror reflects peak shine, a momentary oasis of perfection in the academic wasteland.

"y/n?" satoru persists, tapping the twenty-five that was circled in the corner. for a millisecond, you experience a flicker of what might be called academic concern.

it manifests as a slight tightening around the eyes, quickly suppressed. but then, you realize it's just a number.

you glance at it. red ink. a lot of it. it looks like a crime scene for a pen. but it’s just a number. a number signifying a thing you clearly didn’t prioritize.

you shrug internally. it’s not that you're opposed to doing well, it's just that the effort-to-reward ratio seems wildly unbalanced, especially when you're this close to achieving peak lip gloss.

you take one look at him, sighing. wondering to yourself, how did i get here? to which you would remember the four failed tests in a row. every single time, your professor, the human equivalent of beige wallpaper, dropped your test face down. like it was a biohazard.

if you were more self-aware, maybe you'd have realized it's close to one.

snapping your compact mirror shut, you huff at him. eyes boring into him, as if satoru personally committed a war crime against you. setting it on the table, you groan, "what?"

he gives you an awkward smile, signature of his. another signature of his? that sweater vest. he's got three or four in rotation, and you'd make fun of him.

you would, but it's uncanny how well they look on him. you're not sure what it is, but paired with those glasses that are too big for him, he pulls it off.

not that he even bothers.

satoru ducks his head, prompting to fiddle with his pencil instead. you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

so far, as much as you've counted, the max he can hold eye contact with you is four seconds. ooh, he was close to beating his record this time.

a whopping three. since you were feeling generous, you even throw in another couple milliseconds. you consider yourself a pretty good individual, anyways.

he clears his throat, eyes fixed on the mess of a test. "this one. number seven. let's try it again?" it comes out more like a question, and you giggle. it's not condescending, you swear, he's just funny.

maybe, satoru doesn't think the same. not from the way his cheeks are red. almost the same shade as the ink, you notice.

you pop the bubble you've blown with your gum, "but i don't, like, get it."

"that's okay. 's what i'm here for. look, you didn't even do anything crazy here. just," he pauses, squinting at your work. it's in warm, curly handwriting. it's pretty, but most of it seems to be random numbers.

"oh, I see," he mumbled, pushing his glasses up. they slid back down. you considered suggesting glasses that fit, then decided it was probably part of the... presentation.

"see, you just forgot to carry the two. early on here. that's why the rest of this doesn't make sense."

you blinked. "there's a two?"

"well, yeah. see, they give it to you."

"where?" you squinted, shifting slightly, as if the paper being upside-down would better aid you.

he pointed. "...there?"

"oh," you shrugged. "i didn't see that."

his eyes nearly bulged. "then what were you going off of?"

another shrug. "i don't remember."

he stared. "you just... guessed?"

"maybe?" you tilted your head. "is that a problem? Is there a 'no guessing' rule i missed?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "this is a calculus problem."

"and?"

"and you can't just guess."

"why not? Is the answer going to explode if i guess wrong? does it trigger a self-destruct sequence in the paper?" you tapped the sheet with a long, very pink, acrylic nail. "because I'm willing to risk it. i'm feeling lucky. like, i just found a twenty dollar bill in my laundry lucky."

he looked at the equation, then back at you, then back at the equation. "you know, sometimes i wonder if you're pulling my leg."

"is that a legitimate mathematical operation?" you asked, pointing to the paper. "can we add 'pulling legs' to the list of acceptable problem solving techniques?"

with you, he can't tell if you're joking or not. he sincerely hopes you are, and that isn't a true thought in your head, but he wouldn't be surprised if it were.

he's about to open your mouth, but when he looks up to meet your gaze, he sees that it's not on him anymore. it's all the way across the library, to the glass doors.

or, rather, what passes behind them. unmistakable, even with the two seconds he gets.

suguru geto. suguru with his long, black hair, electric guitar on his back. unmistakeable.

alas, to you, he wasn't just suguru. he was ex-boyfriend suguru. satoru wasn't one for gossip, but you and him had been all the talk before, during, and after.

you're seething, at least a little bit. because, there, hand-in-hand, with him, is some girl. the audacity.

"he's mocking me," you mutter.

"uh, i don't know. i don't think he knows you're in here."

"of course, he does. there's no way he's actually over me. right?" the last word tumbles out a moment after the others, filled with pure, unadulterated shock.

you turn to face him, leaning in. "right?" to which, satoru scoots back, pressed against the chair. he thinks he would like to go back to math now.

"that- that piece of shit. whatever," you huff, though you may seem anything but unbothered. "he's the one missing out."

"...yeah. um, anyways-"

"but, seriously," you start. oh, god, he thinks. "he's doing it to piss me off, right? he thinks, like, everything's about him, right? as if i'd go after that poor girl. she's already probably going through a lot with him. besides," you scoff, "i'm way above that."

he offers you a weak smile. "right. now, about the two-"

"i just can't believe he'd move on so quick."

satoru sighs. he's a man who knows when he's lost. "yeah. how dare he."

"that's what i'm saying!" you threw your hands up in exclamation, a gesture that could launch a thousand ships, or at least a strongly worded complaint from the librarian.

she shot you a dirty look, the kind that could curdle milk and wilt houseplants. you shot one right back.

"okay," he said quickly, his voice a desperate plea for academic sanity. "can we go back to the two? we only have ten minutes left, and frankly, my will to live is dwindling with each passing second."

"he's such an ass," you muttered, then paused, a flicker of grudging admiration in your eyes. "an ass that's good in bed. what a shame."

the tips of his ears pinked. you suppressed a grin. what a virgin. you were sure of it, at least. he had potential, should he ever give up on the whole nerd thing.

maybe swap the sweater vests for something a little less… "grandpa goes to a book club" and a little more… "leather jacket and a motorcycle he definitely doesn't own."

you glanced at the digimon pins on his backpack. nevermind, that may be too far for him. he was probably still debating which starter digimon was the most strategically viable.

you, on the other hand, were not even bothering with a backpack. it was a leather hobo bag, large enough to smuggle a small, moderately anxious chihuahua, and frankly, a graded test in there would just be clutter.

you had more important things occupying the space, like a half-eaten bag of those weird ginger candies that tasted like spicy sadness, a spare tube of lip gloss in case you needed to blind your enemies with pure shine, and a crumpled receipt for a questionable amount of boba.

sighing, rather dramatically, like a tragic heroine in a black and white film, you looked back at the doors. dumb suguru. messing up your day.

sure, it wasn't going all that well, given that you'd been doing math for two hours, a feat that should qualify you for some kind of endurance award, but he didn't have to make it worse. he was like a mosquito at a picnic, just buzzing around and ruining everything.

"two?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance of your emotional turmoil.

"two," you agreed, deflated, blowing a bubble that popped with a sad little plip.

[untilwefind]

https://www.tumblr.com/sleepy-hyperfixations/787801657479184384/jo-imagine-will-wrestle-with-mack-for-fun-all-the?source=share

hope you don't mind me asking buuut were you up to write about Will using wrestling to rub his dick subtle on Mack's ass 👉👈🥺

(Both think the other one is straight, so they both try to get themselves off by wrestling and rubbing their dicks subtle at each other)

Just Guys Being Dudes

Another fun one! You guys have some banger prompts lately...

The Sharks have practice at 7 a.m. the next morning, but Will’s wired. His body’s tired, legs buzzing from drills, shoulders loose from lifts, but his brain is chewing through itself. So he throws on sweats and drives down to the team gym, because at least then he can pretend he’s doing something about it.

It’s quiet. Dim. A couple of overhead fluorescents still hum above the weight racks. The mats in the back corner look freshly wiped down, the rubber floor giving off that faint chemically clean smell.

Mack is already there.

He’s sitting against the wall, legs stretched out, scrolling on his phone. His hoodie’s halfway off his shoulders like he gave up mid-strip. His hair’s wet at the roots, curls damp and pushed back from his forehead.

Will stops short, and something slow curls in his chest. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Mack looks up. Shrugs. “Just felt like moving.”

“Same.” Will ambles over, lowering himself to the mat with a quiet groan. “God, I’m so sore.”

“That’s what you get for racing Eky on suicides.”

“He was talking shit! I had to.”

Mack huffs a laugh, and the edge of it slides warm under Will’s skin. They fall into easy silence. Mack stretches his arms above his head, t-shirt riding up to flash a strip of taut stomach. Will very intentionally does not look. Or if he does, it’s just for one second.

Just to take in the competition.

Will nudges him with a toe. “Wanna wrestle?”

Mack turns, one eyebrow raised. “Like… for real?”

Will shrugs, heart picking up pace despite himself. “Combat cardio. You know. Old school.”

Mack stares at him for a long beat. Then he slides his phone into his shoe and pulls his hoodie the rest of the way off. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Will wasn’t actually expecting him to say yes.

They square off in the middle of the mat, barefoot, grinning like idiots. It starts half-hearted. Will circling, Mack mimicking him like it’s a game. Which it is. Kind of.

Will lunges, gets a hand around Mack’s waist, tries to flip him. but Mack twists and counters like a goddamn snake, slamming his shoulder into Will’s side until Will topples backward.

They roll.

Will laughs. Mack grunts. Will shoves. Mack pins.

Will’s breath catches.

Mack’s weight is fully on top of him now, thighs bracketing Will’s hips, hands planted on either side of Will’s shoulders. He’s breathing hard. So is Will.

Their hips brush.

They both freeze.

Mack’s eyes flick down to Will’s mouth for half a second before darting back up. His face is unreadable. His thighs tighten slightly where they’re straddling Will’s.

Will swallows. His mouth feels dry.

He should move. He should roll away or make a joke or laugh this whole thing off, like he always does. But Mack is still on him. Still flushed. Still staring at him like he’s waiting for something.

The air is hot. Dense.

Finally, Mack pushes up and off, quick and smooth, already retreating toward the wall.

Will lies there for a second, blinking up at the ceiling.

Then he gets up. Grabs his water bottle. Forces out a grin.

“You win this round, Celebrini.”

Mack tosses him a smirk, but there’s something sharp behind it. “I always do.”

Will showers with the water on cold and jerks off with his forehead pressed to the tile, teeth gritted, hand fast and mean.

He doesn’t think about Mack.

He doesn’t think about how good it felt.

He doesn’t think about why he’s lying to himself.

---

They’re two months into the season and already half-dead from travel. Anaheim back-to-backs suck in theory. Less sleep, less prep, too many post-game media requests. But in practice, it’s mostly just sitting in a beige hotel room trying not to kill each other with passive-aggressive sighs.

Will’s got nothing to do and nowhere to go. Him and Mack aren't rooming this trip so naturally, at 10:37 p.m., he texts Mack.

u up?

gym mat looks lonely

There’s a long pause. Then:

5 mins

Will doesn’t even bother pretending he’s not already half-dressed.

He tosses on a hoodie over his thin base layer and slinks down to the hotel gym like some kind of degenerate. It smells like old sweat and fake citrus cleaner and the walls are lined with sad motivational posters: Hard Work Beats Talent When Talent Doesn’t Work Hard. Will almost takes a selfie beside one and sends it to Mack, but before he can, the door opens.

Mack walks in. Tank top. Compression shorts. A faint sheen of leftover post-game sweat still clinging to his collarbone. His hair’s a little flat on one side, like he was lying down before Will texted. He doesn’t smile.

“You’re actually serious about this?” he says, stepping onto the mat and toeing off his slides.

Will shrugs, already rolling his sleeves up. “Gotta keep the heart rate up.”

Mack raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue.

They start slow again. Almost cautious. Will circles like a shark, no pun intended, while Mack just watches him, solid and quiet, weight settled evenly through his hips like he’s waiting for the right moment to strike.

Will lunges.

Mack ducks. They collide.

It’s sharper this time. Less laughing. Less banter. Mack’s grip on Will’s biceps is tight and focused. Will plants his foot and pivots, tries to twist free, but Mack yanks his arm and takes them both down in a heap.

They roll. Will ends up on top for half a second before Mack flips them, slamming his thigh between Will’s legs and grinding down instinctively.

Will gasps.

Not loud. But enough.

Mack freezes. Will does too.

They’re pressed together from knees to chest, Mack’s arms caging him in, Will’s hands still clutched in Mack’s shirt. Will’s heart is hammering. His dick’s already half-hard and pinned awkwardly beneath the friction point of Mack’s thigh.

They both feel it.

Mack lifts his head, face unreadable. “Are you—”

“Sorry,” Will says, voice high and fast. “That was—I didn’t—”

He tries to shift his hips, but the movement only drags them together again. His stomach flips violently. Mack goes still, eyes darting between Will’s face and his mouth like he’s trying to solve a fucking equation.

Will’s breath stutters out. He thinks, kiss me, for one terrible second.

Mack blinks.

And then he’s up. Off Will, away from the mat, palms on his thighs as he catches his breath.

Will lies there for a second, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers. Then he sits up too fast and regrets it immediately.

“You good?” Mack asks, too casually, voice sandpaper-dry.

“Yeah,” Will croaks. “Totally.”

They don’t talk on the way back to the elevators. Don’t talk on the ride up to their floor. Mack scratches the back of his neck and mutters a “see you tomorrow” before disappearing into his room without looking back.

Will gets in his own bed and stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours, hard again for no goddamn reason except that his body can’t seem to forget the feel of Mack’s weight, the friction, the sound he made when their hips slotted just right.

He tells himself it was an accident.

He knows he’s lying.

---

They win in regulation. A clean, hard-fought home game that leaves the locker room buzzing with leftover adrenaline and mid-season optimism.

Everyone’s going out after. Steakhouse downtown, maybe somewhere sleazy after that. Toff throws an arm around Will and chirps him about not being late to team dinner and Will laughs, promises to catch up.

But he doesn’t.

Because Mack’s already packing up in the corner. Quiet. Focused. Still humming with tension like his blood didn’t get the memo that the game’s over.

Will doesn’t even think about it. He just catches Mack’s eye across the room, jerks his chin slightly.

Mack nods.

They don’t say anything.

The facility’s dark by the time they sneak back in. Staff’s gone home. The mats in the back gym are still laid out, slightly askew from earlier warm-ups.

Will sheds his hoodie the moment they step inside. Mack follows suit, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off a second skin.

No warm-up. No jokes. They crash together like magnets.

Will shoves first. Mack resists. They lock arms and jostle, the air thick with breath and the squeak of socked feet on the mat. Mack’s t-shirt clings to his back in a way that makes Will’s throat go tight.

“You’re holding back,” Will grunts, digging in.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Mack growls, actually growls, and throws his weight into it.

Will goes down hard.

The air leaves his lungs in a rush as Mack straddles him, pinning Will’s wrists above his head like he’s done it a thousand times in his sleep. His thighs are pressed tight to Will’s hips. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing to do except—

Rock up.

It’s instinct. Muscle memory. Need.

Will does it once, just enough to feel. Mack’s breath hitches. His grip loosens.

Will blinks up at him.

Mack’s lips part like he’s going to say something. But nothing comes out.

And Will, God help him, does it again.

This time slower. Deliberate. His hard dick grinds against the unmistakable bulge in Mack’s compression shorts, and they both just... freeze.

It’s not an accident this time. It’s not a joke.

Mack’s hands drop away like Will’s skin is on fire.

Will doesn’t move. Can’t.

“I—” Mack starts, but his voice cracks, raw.

Will sits up, chest brushing Mack’s. “We should—”

“I know.”

Neither of them finish the thought.

Mack scrambles off first, yanking his shirt down over his waistband. Will doesn’t look. Or he does, but only for a second. Long enough to see the flush spreading across Mack’s throat, the too-tight set of his jaw.

They don’t speak as they gather their clothes. Don’t speak in the hallway. Don’t even glance at each other when they split at the locker room doors.

Will showers with the water scalding and one arm braced against the tile while he jerks himself off aggressively with the other.

He comes too fast, a groan tearing out of his chest that makes him bite his own hand.

It’s not the orgasm that wrecks him.

It’s how clearly he hears Mack’s voice in his head right after, soft and breathless and very, very real: “I’m not.”

Not straight.

Not pretending.

Not alone.

---

They lose in OT.

It’s not even a bad loss, just one of those games where nothing quite clicks, where the puck bounces the wrong way and everyone walks out of the rink with that twitchy, unfinished kind of energy.

Will’s buzzing. Not the good kind. He doesn’t want a shower beer or a group hang. He wants to hit something. Or someone.

Or—

Mack.

Mack, who sits two stalls over and doesn’t say a word the whole way through undressing. Mack, who’s been avoiding Will’s eyes for three days, ever since the last wrestling session ended with Will on his back and Mack halfway hard on top of him, breathless and terrified and still not kissing him.

Will doesn’t ask this time. He just gets up, yanks a hoodie over his head, and walks out of the room without saying a word.

Mack follows ten seconds later.

The gym’s empty. Dim. Quiet.

Neither of them speaks.

Will throws his bag down beside the mat and turns around just in time for Mack to shove him, hard, full-body and loaded with something dangerous.

They crash together like it’s been waiting to happen. No circling. No warming up. Just arms locking, chests slamming, Will’s heel catching on the edge of the mat as they tumble to the floor.

Mack lands on top. It’s not graceful. It’s hot.

Will grabs him by the waist and yanks him down until their hips collide.

Mack stutters out a groan. “Don’t.”

Will’s voice is wrecked. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t—fuck—don’t start this unless you’re gonna finish.”

Will huffs, grinning through his own dizzy pulse. “Pretty sure we’ve only been starting things.”

Mack breathes in deep, like he’s bracing for impact.

Then he kisses Will like a fight.

It’s teeth and spit and weeks of unsaid things, all of it breaking open in the space between their mouths. Mack groans when Will grabs the back of his neck. Will grinds up into him without shame this time, no half-excuses or pretend slippage. Hust pure, unbearable friction.

Mack is hard against him. Fully, obviously hard. And when Will reaches down between them to palm him through his shorts, Mack jerks like he’s been shocked.

“You sure?” Will mutters, even as he palms him again.

Mack pants against his neck. “I’ve been sure since fuckin’ camp.”

Will laughs, stunned. “You—”

“Shut up,” Mack breathes, rolling his hips. “God, shut up.”

They fumble out of their clothes with all the elegance of horny teenagers. Mack’s still wearing his base layer top when Will gets his pants down. Will ends up shirtless in his compression shorts, kneeing his own water bottle out of the way as Mack yanks them down.

Their dicks brush and it’s like a live wire snaps between them. Both of them gasp.

Will spits in his hand, reaches down between them, and wraps his hand around them both. Mack groans, loud this time, helpless. His hand comes up to cover Will’s, guiding the pace, their hips grinding in time.

“I’m not gonna last,” Mack whispers, forehead pressed to Will’s.

“Yeah, no shit,” Will breathes back, kissing him again, softer this time. Slower. “We've been edging each other for weeks, Celly.”

The nickname hits its mark. Mack lets out a wrecked little sound, hips stuttering.

They rut together like animals, skin sticking, hands slipping, breathing like it hurts.

Will loses it first, hips jerking, voice catching on Mack’s name as he spills between them.

Mack follows half a second later, gasping into Will’s mouth, whole body curling inward like he’s trying to crawl under Will’s skin.

They lie there after, tangled and slick and stupidly content. The room smells like sweat and sex and cheap gym mats. Mack’s cheek is pressed to Will’s bare chest. Will’s hand is still on his thigh.

Neither of them speaks for a long time.

Eventually, Mack says, “So… combat cardio?”

Will laughs. “Best workout of my life.”

Mack hums. “We’re gonna have to stretch next time.”

Will’s heart trips a little. He turns his head, looks at Mack, really looks at him, flushed and soft and smiling just barely.

“There’s gonna be a next time?” he asks, quiet.

Mack rolls his eyes, fond. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

[euijoosorangeslice]

Imagine….

roommate!jo x fem!reader. During a night thunderstorms and so happen and reader goes to Jo because she is scared. Jo was a bit confused at first but later allows her to stay with him in his bed. She’s still scared, so he’s trying to distract her (if yk what I mean 🥴)

THUNDER a. jo x reader

warning: pussy eating, sometimes implied consent? awkward reader

With every crack of thunder, you shook in your bed. The lightning flashed outside your window, which made you rush to your window and close the blinds. It was embarrassing to admit, but you had an irrational fear of thunderstorms. You hugged your pillow tighter, eyes closed and taking shallow breaths in fear. It took one more crack, and you jumped up out of your bed and started running to your roommates room.

You knocked on his door, clutching your pillow in your arms nervously. Slowly, he opened the door.

“Oh, um hi y/n.” He mumbled, a little shocked. You never really talk to him unless you specifically need something, but you two had been getting along more often. “Can I sleep in your bed? I can’t fall asleep.” You began to feel tears rolling down your tense cheeks, Jo awkwardly smiling. “Yeah, come here.” He offered, taking you in his arms and walking you to his bed.

You two climbed onto his bed, him pulling back his covers to allow you in. You crawled against his chest, letting him become the big spoon for you as he tucked the cover over the both of you. Your buried your face into his chest, letting him play with your hair.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” You carefully whispered, feeling embarrassed with the silence. “It’s fine, y/n. I want you to feel comfortable. If you want to talk about it…we can.” Jo said, making you secretly smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just scared of thunderstorms.” You confessed, Jo tilting his head in confusion. “Like, thunder thunder?” He teased, smiling down at you. You huff, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, thunder thunder. It’s stupid but it’s just a thing I’ve had since I was a kid.” You go to wipe your tears, but he wipes them for you. “I’m not judging. I can see why. It can be scary sometimes.” Jo mumbles, a soft sense of understanding.

He throws on a show on Netflix to drown out the noise, but still notices as your body jolts with every crack of thunder. You sighs, cuddling closer to him for comfort. Yet he still says nothing, hiding a smile in your shoulder. You sniffle again, and Jo sits up, positioning you on his lap.

“Y/n, you’re not watching the show,” he comments, scratching your scalp soothingly. “Too scared?” You nod, sighing and feeling embarrassed.

—

About an hour passed, and he was dozing off, while you were still wide awake. He groans, rubbing his eyes. “You keep twisting and turning.” You blush. “Sorry. I just…it’s all I can think about. Am I keeping you up? I can try to go to bed in my own room-“ He places a hand on your thigh, smiling softly. “It’s fine, Y/n,”

“I think you just need a distraction.”

Now you were the one confused. Sure, that could work in theory, but nothing could distract you enough from the thunder to relax, not at least until the rain stopped-. Jo leaned into you, breath mingling with yours and eyes wide, licking his lips. “Uh, do you mind if I kiss you?”

You nod, fingers and hands tingling as your lips meet, heart pounding out of your chest in realization. He’s kissing you. Your hot, quiet, painter roommate is kissing *you*. Your eyes flicker open, seeing Jo smiling down at you. You two kiss, and the kiss gets even more heated with more tongue, hands sliding up and down unusual places

His hand slides up your thigh, breaching your sleep shorts. “Sorry if I’m moving too fast. But…you’re really pretty. This might be forward but…can I go down on you?” You quickly get flustered, hands clenching your bedsheets. “O-on me? Um, I’m not..haven’t shaved in like, a week.”

Jo huffs, kissing the corner of her lips. “I don’t really care. It’s for your relaxation. Unless you’re not comfortable with me doing that to you-“ “No! No. I don’t mind. Please. Go…down on me.” You sputter out, an awkward smile spreading against your lips.

He nods, sliding backwards and under his sheets. You inhale, feeling his breath against your clothed heat. “Did you just shower? You smell good. Vanilla something.” He comments, trying to make it feel less awkward as he massages her thighs. “Yeah. Vanilla Honey. Thank you.” You grab the sheets he’s under for purchase, watching as he slides your panties down your legs.

You slightly gasp as he breathes onto your cunt. “Wow. God, I should’ve done this sooner.” He smiles, kissing your clit before flattening his tongue against it. Your toes flick as you inhale, exhaling shakily. “Jo….oh god…”

He slowly drags his tongue over your folds, keeping one hand on your inner thigh. “You taste insanely delicious.” He pants, starting to eat you out more enthusiastically. “So good.” He shakes his head, tongue sliding against your clit. You moan, hands crawling down to grab his hair, legs quivering.

“Jo…keep going. I’m so close…” you whine out, making him groan and speed up. He sucks on your clit, sliding his tongue into your hole and making you feel like you’re in heaven. “Such a good pussy. So tight.” He lightly spanks your thigh, feeling the pressure as you tighten your thighs around him in release.

“Jo! Oh my god, fuck…” you whine out, clenching his hair and squeezing his face with your soft thighs. He groans, continuing his movements until you push his head away. “Stop….stop it..” you beg, and he sits up from under the sheets, licking his lips and wiping his mouth. He slides his arms between yours, cuddling your side.

“Think you can sleep now?”

- a/n: I haven’t written smut since early 2024

[starl0rds]

Theory of Desire

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader ୨୧ · ♡ · ୨୧

Pt. 6 in a multi-chapter series!

“It wasn’t real. Any of it?” The words were less of a question, more of a truth you refused to accept.

The past has always been a part of you, and that includes In-ho. It only worsens the sting of betrayal.

Warnings: minors dni! smut, mentions of sex, masturbation, wet dream, fingering, oral sex, blood, dirty talk, dom!in-ho, praise kink, basically plot with porn/porn with plot

Author's Note: thank you so much for all the love and feedback on the fic!! I'm overjoyed to hear how many of you are liking it. chapters will be updated every few days on ao3 <3

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Chapter 6: it finds a way to live in you

What you're given, what you live in 

Darlin', it finds a way to live in you 

And your heart, love, has such darkness 

I feel it in the corners of the room 

- “De Selby (Part 2),” by Hozier

In-ho remembered those last days clearly. He sweltered in the heat of the urban summer, all those years ago, spent almost every day he could at the precinct. His life had shrunk to going between work and the hospital. Sometimes, he slept at either place. Today was no different. 

He arrived at 7:00 on the dot. After downing a cup of black coffee, he continued work on his open cases, throwing himself into this job like it was a life-line keeping him from sinking. And he was, sinking, quickly. This time was the longest she’d ever been in the hospital. And they had discovered she was pregnant. God, she was—

In his daze, his shoulder collided with someone else’s.

“Hey!” the detective scoffed as he adjusted his folders. “Watch that.”

“Pardon me. Detective Kang.”

“Detective Hwang. Still uptight as ever?”

“If that’s how you perceive me.”

“Would it kill you to lighten up? I’m really not going to miss you when you’re gone, Detective.” 

In-ho froze. “What do you mean by that?”

“Seriously?” The other detective laughed. “The captain’s assistant let it slip to Min-gi, and he told everyone else in the precinct. They all know.”

“Know of…”

“Oh, I see. Denial might work with the captain, but it won’t on me.”

Though his voice was even, a nagging worry began to grow in In-ho’s mind. “I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Moonrise Capital. Gwang-jo Ventures. Out of the few.” Detective Kang sneered now. “Sound familiar?”

The loans.

Sensing he’d hit a nerve, the other detective leaned in, emboldened. “I suggest you enjoy your last week. You’re fucked, golden boy,” he grinned. In-ho felt the pit of despair opening up in his stomach.

The smoke from his last cigarette curled into the afternoon sky. In-ho had never really been a smoker, but these days it was easier to indulge a few cigarettes during work rather than down a bottle of whiskey in his dwindling private time. He knew she would disapprove. Maybe he would stop if she would only get better.

The rest of the morning after his conversation with Detective Kang had passed in a blur. At lunchtime, he had stared down at the scant leftovers he had packed for himself, bulgogi over rice, and placed the lid back on top of the tupperware. It had felt too much like a prisoner’s last meal.

His mind drifted back to the open cases, sitting on his desk. He had work to do, undoubtedly. But after he was gone, they’d likely be reassigned to one of the other detectives. He pursed his lips at the thought of someone like Detective Kang going through his cases. 

And then there was that woman. 

In-ho thought of what he had read in her file—the words from her testimony, filling pages upon pages worth of notes, contrasted against the paucity of the rest of her file. He felt a pang of empathy for her. Firefighters fight fires with water. The police fight crimes with evidence, he heard Chief Kim say in his head. 

His mind turned. Below, the bustle of cars and motorbikes cut through the rippling heat of late summer. The sun beat down on his face.

He put his cigarette out on the balcony and grabbed his keys.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

(chapter cont. here on ao3!)

taglist: @k1ra-park3r, @fries11, @orihime188

[atinyjules]

Denial Never Looked So Good Ft. Werewolf!Yuma

A/n: Hello, hello! Back with Yuma! I love him so much but I feel bad that there isn't much fics on him. I'll try to change that!

Genre: Werewolf au, Fantasy, Romance, Fluff, Humor

Pairings: Werewolf!Yuma x Vampire!Ayane

Warnings: none

Prom was right around the corner, and Yuma was in his room, forehead pressed against the cold window, staring blankly at nothing.

How did Taki get a date before him?

Not that he had anything against the guy. Taki was... fine. Harmless. A little too enthusiastic about cookies. But Yuma was taller. Cooler. His ears didn't twitch uncontrollably every time someone said the word "crush." Yet somehow, Taki—clumsy, loud, perpetually confused Taki—got a yes before he did.

So unfair.

Everyone in the dorm had a date now. K had secured his three weeks ago and wouldn't shut up about it. Fuma had casually mentioned his plans and then smirked like he’d known all along he wouldn’t be attending solo. EJ got asked out—asked—by someone from the enchantment class. Nicholas and Jo had double dates lined up with two charm majors from upstairs. Harua didn’t even try. A girl from the archery team dropped her number into his lunch tray with a smile.

Even Maki. Silent, broody Maki who never talked to anyone unless they had a book in hand. Apparently, some witch girl found that "hot."

And Yuma?

Yuma got rejected.

Every. Single. Time.

It wasn’t like he was being weird about it. He was polite. Casual. He asked three girls from potions, one vampire from fencing, a selkie who sat near him in magical theory—and each time they smiled awkwardly, looked away, and said something like "maybe next time" or "I have to check with my familiar" or just flat out laughed.

What did they have against him? Was there some secret anti-Yuma alliance? A hidden curse? A rumor going around that he sheds?

He sighed and flopped backwards onto his bed, arms spread wide like a man in mourning. The dorm buzzed around him with the usual noise—K rehearsing dramatic lines in the hallway, Nicholas yelling about bowties, someone blasting music two rooms down. He closed his eyes.

It wasn’t about the dance.

It was the principle.

He wasn’t about to be the only werewolf in the entire dorm without a date. Not when even Taki had secured one by smiling too hard at a necromancer in detention. Not when Jo kept referring to himself as "taken, sorry" like he was suddenly irresistible.

There were still girls left. He had a list. Sort of. Mostly mental. But it counted.

If it came down to it, he’d just keep asking until someone said yes.

He sat up slowly, arms resting on his knees. There was a girl in his magical history class who always wore gloves. Had he tried her yet?

He couldn’t remember.

Didn’t matter.

There was still hope.

He was determined.

And he was not—not—letting Taki win.

Yuma woke up early the next day.

Unreasonably early.

The sun hadn’t even fully risen, and yet there he was, standing in front of the mirror, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to flatten the one lock of hair that refused to cooperate. He spat, rinsed, and pulled a comb through his hair for the third time.

Today was the day.

He was going to find a date.

No matter what.

—

By the time he got to his first class, he was ready. Clean hoodie. Half-decent cologne. Confident posture. He asked the first girl the moment they sat down.

She already had a date.

The second girl gave him a smile and said she’d rather go with her coven sisters.

The third just said, “No thanks,” and turned back to her runes notebook.

By mid-morning, he had struck out five times.

By the end of the third class, he stopped counting.

When lunch came, Yuma dragged himself out to the bleachers instead of the cafeteria. He rested his arms on the railing, head tipped back as the warm sun lit up his face, the breeze playing with his hair. He closed his eyes.

Maybe he was cursed.

That’s when he heard footsteps.

Slow, careful, oddly delicate footsteps crossing the field.

He cracked one eye open.

There was a girl he’d never seen before.

She moved like she didn’t want to be seen, and yet, she was impossible to miss. Her dress was long and black—simple, but elegant in a way that somehow looked expensive despite showing no skin. A lace-trimmed bonnet sat on her head, the veil attached to it shadowing her face. She held a black umbrella above her as she made her way toward the cafeteria like a drifting ghost, unbothered by the noise or people around her.

Yuma blinked.

He didn’t know why, but something about her stuck in his brain.

—

Over the next few days, the rejections piled up.

He tried casual. He tried bold. He even tried a pickup line Nicholas dared him to use, and it was so bad he wanted to crawl into a locker and stay there.

But through it all, he kept seeing her.

The girl in black.

She was always by herself. Quiet. Never sat with anyone. Sometimes she read in the shade, other times she just passed through the halls like she wasn’t really there. Always the veil. Always the umbrella.

He didn’t even know her name.

And yet... he started to look for her.

He told himself it was just because she was unfamiliar. A curiosity. A break in the routine of endless “no”s.

That was all.

—

One afternoon, during rugby practice, he was mid-jump, arms outstretched as the ball sailed toward him.

And then he saw her again.

Standing in the distance, under a tree, holding her umbrella with both hands.

She wasn’t looking at him. Maybe not even at the field. Just... existing.

Yuma caught the ball with a grunt, stumbled slightly, then broke into a laugh as he straightened up.

She was weird.

And somehow, he was starting to find that kind of interesting.

Two weeks later, Yuma had been rejected so many times he stopped keeping track. It stopped being frustrating somewhere around rejection fifteen. At this point, he just floated through the motions like a ghost with decent hair and a decent personality that no one apparently wanted.

His dormmates had started pitying him more than ever. K patted his back whenever he passed him in the hallway. EJ left sympathy cookies on his desk. Even Maki, who barely showed emotion, gave him a soft, understanding nod at breakfast like he was mourning something deeply personal.

Taki didn’t say anything. He just looked at him with sad, round eyes, like he couldn’t believe he’d surpassed Yuma in anything.

It should’ve been depressing.

But Yuma? He was actually fine.

A little dead inside, maybe, but fine.

—

The cafeteria was full that day. Like shoulder-to-shoulder, magically expanded tables full. Yuma stood in the doorway with his lunch tray, scanning the room and preparing himself for the worst.

That’s when he spotted the individual seating area near the back wall—quiet, barely lit, usually avoided by loud groups.

There was one empty seat.

And it was next to her.

The girl in black.

His brain paused. His legs didn’t.

He walked over before he could think about it too much. She was already sitting, posture relaxed, one hand holding a burger, her face still mostly hidden by the veil from her bonnet. Her black umbrella leaned against the wall beside her.

He sat down quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and started eating his lunch too. A beat passed. Then another.

She took a bite of her burger, unfazed by his presence.

He glanced at her. Then, casually, with no expectations left in his heart, he asked,

“You got a date for the dance?”

She turned slightly, and since her mouth was still full, she just shook her head.

His heart thumped.

Like, actually thumped.

He blinked and said, “Cool. Wanna go with me?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Sure.”

Yuma froze.

She’d said yes.

She’d actually said yes.

Not just any girl—her. The one he’d been noticing for weeks. The one he didn’t even know how to talk to. The one who intrigued him enough that he found himself looking for her without meaning to.

He smiled—genuinely, brightly, wider than he had in days.

“Great,” he said, a little stunned.

Then she reached up and removed her bonnet, fingers working at the ties with a quiet mutter.

“It’s getting harder to wear this thing during lunch,” she said under her breath.

And then he saw her.

For the first time, clearly.

Her skin was pale, like porcelain. Her eyes were the color of molten glass—shimmering and unreadable. Her lips were soft and a little red from the burger. Her features were delicate and deadly at the same time, like something sculpted by a vampire artist centuries ago.

She looked at him.

“Yuma, right?”

He could barely nod.

“…Yeah.”

She gave him a small smile.

“Cool.”

And went back to eating like she hadn’t just accepted his invitation and revealed herself like a calm hurricane.

Yuma blinked, then looked back down at his tray.

This was real.

This was happening.

And apparently… he had a date.

She took another bite of her burger before glancing at him again.

“I’m Ayane, by the way.”

Yuma stared at her for a beat too long.

Ayane.

Of course that was her name. A name that sounded like it belonged in some ancient vampire tale or a haunting ballad sung in the woods.

He blinked and looked down at his food.

Even her name was gorgeous.

He already knew he was in trouble.

“Ayane,” he repeated, a little dazed, then looked back up at her. “I’m still trying to process that you said yes.”

She smiled, subtle but amused. “Should I take it back?”

“No—no. You’re good. Just… surprised.”

There was a pause. Then curiosity won out.

“Why do you always wear that bonnet?” he asked, nodding at the fabric resting on the table.

Ayane brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “The sun’s too bright. I get sunburned easily. It literally burns sometimes. Even if it’s just a few minutes.”

“But the other vampires aren’t like that,” Yuma said, brows furrowed.

She nodded. “Yeah. They’re fine. My skin’s just… sensitive. Always has been.”

He glanced at her again. Her cheeks were flushed—faint, but visible under the soft cafeteria lighting. It probably was getting too warm for her.

Without thinking, Yuma reached into his bag, pulled out a folded piece of lined paper, and started fanning her with it.

Ayane blinked, caught off guard.

“…What are you doing?”

“You looked hot,” he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but not in irritation—just curiosity.

“You’re fanning me with… your history notes?”

“Yep.”

She looked at him. Then at the paper. Then back at him.

And for the first time since he sat down, Ayane laughed quietly under her breath, a soft little sound that didn’t match her usual silent presence.

“…You’re strange.”

“You said yes to me. That makes two of us.”

She smiled again, eyes warmer this time, and leaned just slightly closer to let him keep fanning her.

Yuma sat there with one hand awkwardly waving the paper, heart doing whatever it wanted in his chest, and wondered how on earth this was happening—but for once, didn’t feel the need to question it too hard.

That night, the dorm was in chaos.

Not because anything serious had happened.

But because Yuma told them he got a date.

And no one believed him.

“You don’t have to lie, man,” Nicholas said, flopped across the couch with a face mask sliding off his cheek. “We support you even if you go solo. You’re still hot.”

“I’m not lying,” Yuma said, standing in the middle of the living room, arms out, genuinely baffled. “Why would I lie about this?”

EJ looked up from his phone. “Because you’ve been rejected twenty-one times and counting?”

“Twenty-three,” Maki corrected without looking up from his book.

“Twenty-three,” EJ repeated with a sympathetic wince. “Exactly.”

Harua appeared in the hallway holding a steaming mug. “Is this about the imaginary girl again?”

“She’s not imaginary!” Yuma snapped.

K leaned over the kitchen counter dramatically. “What’s her name, then?”

“Ayane.”

They all paused.

“Never heard of her,” Jo muttered.

“That’s because she’s quiet,” Yuma said. “I saw her at lunch. We sat together. She was eating a burger. She said yes.”

Taki squinted from where he was curled up on the rug. “Wait… is she the one with the creepy umbrella and the hat that covers her face? The one who looks like she floats instead of walks?”

Yuma pointed. “Yes! That one!”

Everyone stared at him.

Silence.

Then Nicholas said, “Dude, you hallucinated your way into a yes.”

“I didn’t hallucinate anything!”

“I get it,” K said, nodding gravely. “It’s the stress. You’re projecting your ideal date onto the cafeteria ghost girl.”

“She’s not a ghost!”

“You don’t know that,” Jo muttered. “I’ve never seen her eat before. What if the burger was a trick?”

“She literally bit it.”

“Maybe it was a shadow illusion.”

Yuma groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god. She’s real. She’s hot. She has a name. She said yes.”

EJ gave him the most pitying look of all. “Buddy… we love you. But you’re in denial.”

“I’m not in denial!”

“You’re yelling.”

“I have to yell!”

“Do you want one of my cookies?” Taki offered gently. “They’re from a cursed bakery but they helped me feel better when I got rejected.”

Yuma threw his hands up and stormed into his room, muttering under his breath.

Behind the door, his heart was still beating a little fast from earlier, from the way she smiled, the way she said his name. From the way he’d made her laugh.

Let them believe what they wanted.

He’d prove it soon enough.

Later that night, after the noise in the dorm died down and everyone had settled into their post-dinner chaos or sleep, Yuma shifted.

He didn’t shift often unless he needed to blow off steam or think. But tonight, he couldn’t sit still. Not after being called delusional in eight different ways.

The cool air hit his fur as he padded through the trees, paws crunching softly against fallen leaves. The forest behind the academy stretched quiet and endless, soaked in moonlight. He didn’t have a destination in mind—he just moved, letting instinct guide him.

That’s when he saw her.

A dark shape near the cliffs. Familiar… but different.

Ayane.

She sat near the edge, her long hair spilling freely down her back like ink over silk. Her bonnet was gone. So were the layers of dark fabric and veils. Instead, she wore a black nightgown—simple, thin straps over pale shoulders, the material light and swaying with the breeze. Under the moonlight, she looked ethereal. Almost unreal.

Yuma froze.

She turned her head slowly, sensing him.

Her eyes met his.

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she held out a hand toward him, palm open and gentle.

He hesitated for only a second, then padded closer, lowering his head as he approached. She didn’t pull away. When he was close enough, her fingers brushed through the fur on his head, soft and cautious at first.

Then again.

Then again.

Yuma let out a slow breath, something content rumbling in his chest as he sat beside her.

Her touch lingered in his fur. Her fingers stilled, resting between his ears as she leaned in, peering into his golden eyes with something unreadable in her gaze.

“Yuma?” she asked softly.

He blinked.

And for some reason, in that moment, he didn’t want to change back.

She knew.

And she didn’t seem scared.

Not even a little.

Just… curious.

Maybe even calm.

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his fur once more as her hair shifted in the breeze.

“You’re a good wolf,” she whispered like it was a secret meant just for him.

Ayane’s hand stayed on his head, her fingers trailing gently through his fur like she wasn’t afraid. Like she was used to silence. Like she didn’t expect words.

Her voice came softly.

“What are you doing out here?”

Yuma didn’t respond, just blinked slowly and let her keep petting him. The night air was cool. The grass beneath them swayed lightly, the cliff humming with wind and stars.

She didn’t push for an answer.

But after a long moment, Yuma stepped back, just a bit, and shifted.

The silver shimmer of his fur pulled inward until he sat cross-legged beside her, human again, his hoodie a little loose around his shoulders. He ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a quiet sigh.

“Friends annoyed me,” he muttered.

Ayane chuckled softly, looking out at the cliff again. “That’s a daily occurrence.”

He huffed a laugh. “They don’t believe I actually have a date.”

She smiled faintly, her gaze still on the moonlit trees. “That why you came out here? To sulk?”

“Not sulking,” he said defensively. “Just… walking.”

Ayane said nothing to that. She just tilted her head slightly, the wind brushing through her loose hair.

“It’s weird seeing you without the bonnet,” Yuma admitted after a beat.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s weird for me too.”

He glanced over.

“I don’t wanna wear it either,” she added. “But it gets too bright. Even if it’s cloudy, the light stings my skin. I get blotchy and itchy, and it’s just—annoying.”

Yuma frowned. Her skin had looked flushed earlier. And she’d still smiled at him, said yes, sat beside him like it was nothing.

“That sucks,” he said quietly.

She shrugged. “It’s manageable. Just hot.”

He looked at her again, sitting there in the dark without layers, and something about it bothered him—not her, but the fact that she had to hide all the time just to be comfortable.

“I can help,” he said suddenly.

Ayane turned to him, brows raising slightly. “Help?”

“Yeah. Come without the bonnet tomorrow.”

She blinked, unsure if she heard him right. “What?”

“You don’t have to wear it,” he said. “I’ll help. Just… trust me.”

She stared at him for a moment, searching his expression. His voice wasn’t teasing. His eyes weren’t mocking. He meant it. She didn’t know how, or what he had in mind, but… she found herself nodding before she could think too hard about it.

“…Okay.”

Yuma smiled at that, soft and genuine.

“Cool.”

And for a while, they sat there quietly together, two silhouettes on a cliff under a pale sky, with only the wind and stars to witness the moment.

—

The next morning, Yuma got to school early.

For once, he wasn’t dragging himself in half-asleep or rushing last minute. He walked to the usual courtyard path with something buzzing beneath his skin—a quiet energy, steady and calm.

And there she was.

Ayane stood under the shade of a tall tree near the entrance, bonnet-less, her long dark hair pulled loosely behind her. Her expression was unreadable as always, but her hands were folded neatly in front of her, and she seemed... still. Not anxious. Not hiding. Just waiting.

Yuma smiled.

“You came,” he said as he reached her.

“I said I would,” she replied simply. “But I’m still not sure why.”

He stepped closer and opened his palm between them.

“Let me show you.”

In his hand, a soft glow flickered to life—gentle, bluish-silver and warm, like morning mist turned into magic. The energy hovered in a small, pulsing orb, steady and alive.

Ayane stared, intrigued.

Then he clenched his fist.

The orb collapsed into a burst of shimmering particles—like powdered moonlight—and he lifted his hand, letting the soft dust fall over her like a breeze. It clung to her skin for a moment, before dissolving into nothing.

She blinked, confused.

“What… was that?”

“You said the sun burns, right?” he asked. “My power controls temperature—my wolf side, at least. Heat, cold, surface energy stuff. So I adjusted it.”

He nodded toward the sunlight beyond the trees.

“You can walk in the sun now. You won’t overheat. No burning.”

She blinked again.

“You’re joking.”

“Try it.”

Ayane looked at him, then at the sunlight just past the line of shade. Her body tensed, just slightly, like she was expecting pain.

But she stepped forward anyway.

One foot.

Then the other.

Into the sun.

And nothing happened.

No burning sensation. No prickling skin. No rising heat in her chest or under her eyes. She paused, eyes wide, and looked down at her bare arms.

Instead of pain, she felt a cool sensation—like walking through a shadowed breeze.

She gasped.

Not loud, not theatrical. Just a short breath of surprise.

Then she turned to him.

“…You weren’t kidding.”

Yuma shrugged, grinning. “Told you I’d help.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, then looked back at the light surrounding her. The way her hair caught in it. The way she felt normal—maybe for the first time since arriving at the academy.

“…Thank you,” she said softly, almost unsure of how to say it.

Yuma just stuck his hands in his pockets and gave a crooked smile.

“No problem.”

Ayane stood in the sunlight for a moment longer, as if making sure it wasn’t a dream. Her hands lifted slightly, feeling the air against her skin. Her eyes shimmered with a quiet kind of wonder.

Then she turned to Yuma again, still barefoot in the light, her expression softer than he’d ever seen it.

She smiled.

Not the distant, mysterious smile she wore when passing through hallways like a ghost, but something warm. Close. Real.

Then, without warning, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms gently around him.

Yuma froze.

Her body was cool against his hoodie, her hair brushing his jaw as she leaned in.

“Thank you so much, Yuma,” she said, voice muffled against his shoulder.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Before he could even register what was happening, she pulled back just enough to lean up slightly and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Warm. Barely there.

But it hit like lightning.

She stepped back again, her smile shy now, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as her cheeks turned faintly pink.

Yuma blinked. Then blinked again.

“…Uh…”

She laughed under her breath.

“I’ll see you in class,” she said, turning and walking toward the main building—no umbrella, no bonnet, no layers.

Just her.

And Yuma stood frozen in the courtyard with his hands still in his pockets, cheek tingling, heart racing, and absolutely zero ability to process anything that just happened.

“…What the hell,” he muttered to himself, smiling helplessly.

—

Lunch that day was louder than usual. Prom week always turned the cafeteria into a circus of flower petals, perfume spells, and frantic last-minute asking.

Yuma walked in a little late, hair slightly messy from sparring class, hoodie sleeves pushed up. He scanned the room once, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him now—ever since people saw her with him.

He spotted Ayane sitting alone, as usual.

Except not really as usual.

No veil. No umbrella. Just her—dark hair cascading freely over her shoulders, her black uniform catching faint sunlight through the window. She looked like a painting someone accidentally brought to life.

He jogged over, slowing his steps as he neared.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Got cornered by Jo and his fifteen prom theories.”

Ayane looked up and smiled gently. “It’s fine. I didn’t wait long.”

Yuma scratched the back of his neck, then cleared his throat.

“Actually…” he reached into his bag and pulled something out—carefully wrapped in a cloth to keep it protected.

Ayane tilted her head curiously as he unfolded it.

A corsage.

Black roses twined together with soft, shimmery ribbons and sleek raven feathers. It shimmered faintly, enchanted to catch the light just right. There was a small silver charm nestled at the center—an intricate moon engraved with delicate stars.

He held it out to her, looking a little nervous but smiling anyway.

“This is for you. And also… I wanted to formally ask.”

He swallowed.

“Ayane, would you go to prom with me?”

For a moment, she just looked at him.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

“I’d love to,” she said softly.

And she brought her hand forward, palm up, slender fingers ready.

Yuma grinned as he slipped the corsage gently onto her wrist, careful not to press too hard against her porcelain skin.

It fit perfectly.

Just like her answer.

As Ayane admired the corsage on her wrist, the shimmer of black roses and feathers catching the light, Yuma gently reached forward and took her hand in his.

Without a word, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

Her cheeks, usually pale and cool, flushed with sudden warmth as she blinked at him in surprise. For a split second, she didn’t speak.

Then she smiled, small but real, and let out a quiet laugh.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she said, almost teasing.

Yuma grinned. “Trying my best.”

They both chuckled, and for a moment, the noise of the cafeteria blurred into the background.

Then he reached into his bag again and pulled out a small, neatly packed box.

He placed it in front of her.

She looked down curiously and opened it.

Inside was a freshly wrapped burger—perfectly warm, still soft, just the way she liked it.

Her smile widened instantly, eyes lighting up with quiet delight.

“I figured…” Yuma rubbed the back of his neck, trying to sound casual. “You were eating one the first time we talked, and again the next day… and the day after that. So, you must really like them.”

Ayane nodded slowly, eyes still on the box.

“I love them,” she said, voice gentle but sure. “I’ve tried food from a hundred different places, but nothing beats a good burger.”

Yuma leaned on the table with a small smirk. “You say that like you’ve lived for a hundred years.”

She lifted her gaze, just enough to meet his.

“…Maybe I have,” she said with a sly look.

They both laughed again, and for a moment, it didn’t matter how many people were staring. Didn’t matter that two weeks ago, Yuma was the most rejected guy in school.

Because now, he had a yes.

From her.

And that changed everything.

Ayane took a bite of the burger, clearly enjoying it more than someone should reasonably enjoy cafeteria food. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, and she let out the tiniest hum of approval. Yuma just watched her with a small smile tugging at his lips.

There was a pause between them—comfortable, a little warm, and buzzing with something unspoken.

He leaned forward slightly.

“…Can I kiss you?” he asked after they finished eating.

She looked up at him, and blinked once.

Then smiled.

“Sure.”

Yuma didn’t hesitate. He leaned in slowly, giving her time to change her mind—but she didn’t.

Their lips met, soft and quiet, nothing dramatic or overly rehearsed. Just a simple kiss that felt like it belonged there—like it made sense.

When he pulled back, Ayane’s eyes were still on his, her expression calm but slightly pink.

“I liked that,” Yuma said, voice a little dazed but honest.

Ayane’s lips curved into a small smile again.

“Me too.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous but trying not to show it. “So… do you wanna date?”

She didn’t hesitate this time.

"Yes.”

That was it.

No fireworks. No big dramatic moment. Just two people—both a little strange, a little guarded—sitting at a lunch table with a can pf soda between them, quietly deciding that they wanted more of this.

More of each other.

And honestly?

That was more than enough.

—

Prom night.

The gymnasium was glowing—golden lights strung overhead, floating candles bobbing near the ceiling, and a spell-enhanced mist curling at everyone’s ankles like a dreamy cloud.

Yuma stood just outside the entrance, hands in his pockets, leaning against a pillar under the glowing archway. He’d been waiting for a while.

And naturally, his dormmates were all over it.

“Dude, you can drop the act now,” Nicholas said, straightening his cufflinks. “Just come in and vibe. Solo’s not that bad.”

“It’s kind of sad at this point,” Harua added, sipping enchanted punch. “You’ve been committed to the bit for too long.”

K raised an eyebrow. “Is this like a mental exercise? Are you manifesting a date into existence?”

“I told you guys,” Yuma said calmly, not moving. “She’s coming.”

Jo nudged EJ with a dramatic sigh. “Denial’s a powerful thing.”

Even Taki patted his shoulder gently. “It’s okay. We’re proud of you for holding on this long.”

Yuma was about to roll his eyes when the air shifted.

And then she walked in.

The room tilted.

Every head turned.

She wore a black, floor-length dress that shimmered under the lights like night sky silk. The neckline framed her shoulders perfectly, and her dark hair was swept elegantly to one side. No veil. No bonnet. Just Ayane, radiant and confident, walking slowly through the doorway like she belonged there all along.

The guys froze.

“What the—” Nicholas blinked.

“Who is that?” Jo whispered.

Maki, for once, looked stunned. “Wait…”

Ayane approached them, completely unbothered by the stares, the whispers, the way the crowd seemed to part for her like water.

She stopped in front of Yuma and smiled softly.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, voice calm.

Yuma returned the smile like nothing else in the world mattered. “It’s fine.”

He glanced over her dress once, then back to her eyes.

“You look gorgeous.”

Ayane’s smile widened slightly, and before anyone could recover from their shock, Yuma leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips—just a brief one, easy and warm, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The boys behind him absolutely short-circuited.

He leaned back, his hand lightly brushing hers.

“Dance?"

Ayane nodded, her eyes gleaming.

“I’d love to.”

He took her hand, and the two of them stepped past the frozen group and onto the dance floor, leaving behind stunned silence and slack jaws in their wake.

Inside, the music shifted into something slower, dreamier.

And as Yuma pulled Ayane close under the golden lights, she rested her hand gently against his chest, her smile still lingering like the spark of a secret.

The music inside swelled as Yuma and Ayane moved together, her dress gliding like liquid shadow, his hand steady on her waist. He twirled her once—not too showy, just enough to make her laugh softly—and pulled her back in with an ease that looked almost rehearsed.

Except they hadn’t rehearsed anything.

They just fit.

At the entrance, the boys stood frozen.

Every single one of them.

Mouths slightly open.

Eyes wide.

Souls visibly leaving their bodies.

“…That’s her?” Nicholas finally whispered. “That’s Ayane?”

“The veil girl?” Harua choked.

“I—I didn’t think she had a face,” Taki whispered in shock.

“She has a gorgeous face,” Jo muttered. “Why does she have a gorgeous face?”

EJ didn’t speak. He just stared in silent disbelief, one hand slowly lowering his drink.

Maki pushed his glasses up slowly. “I retract everything I’ve ever said.”

K looked like he’d seen a ghost. Or a goddess. “You mean to tell me… all this time… he wasn’t lying?”

Out on the dance floor, Yuma laughed—actually laughed—as Ayane spun in and bumped lightly into his chest, smiling up at him. He said something that made her chuckle, and she nudged him with her shoulder, rolling her eyes fondly.

They looked like something out of a movie. Effortless. Real.

And above all—completely unbothered by the literal group of stunned werewolves still trying to process reality.

Taki finally broke the silence again.

“…Does this mean we have to apologize?”

Jo was still gaping. “I think it means we were witnesses to a prophecy.”

Nicholas slowly nodded, dazed. “He really won.”

K just groaned quietly, hands on his hips.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay, but how?”

Back on the dance floor, Yuma caught them all staring and grinned.

Then he winked.

Ayane turned to see what he was looking at, and when she spotted them too, she gave the boys a graceful little wave.

Every one of them flinched like they'd been physically hit.

“Yeah,” EJ finally said, voice hollow. “We’ve lost him.”

That's it for this one!

I made the confession low key for a change 😭

I hope y'all liked it 🥹 ✨️

Likes and rebloggs are appreciated 🤍 ✨️

[soft-pine]

spn20rewatch 2.02 everybody loves a clown

oh golly this episode has it all! dean's closed-off expression at john's pyre! dean in a t-shirt working on baby (layers theory!) sam all of a sudden wanting to do what john would have wanted and grieving his loss heavily while dean is coming apart at the seams! sam accidentally phrasing something so it ends up sounding like CSA implications and dean making a face. after they have to ditch the car, sam only carrying a backpack while dean carries two duffles. dean biting his nails!!

there are so many superficially little moments in this episode that feel like little pieces in a much larger puzzle.

but one of the most interesting ones to me is dean starting to flirt with jo and then stopping himself.

DEAN: So, I guess I've got fifty-one hours to waste. Maybe tonight we should, uh... No, you know what? Never mind. JO: What? DEAN: Nothing, just, uh, wrong place, wrong time.

at my core, i really do think dean is gay. and it's moments like this that solidify it for me. because, while i do think he craves the touch and intimacy and public ease of hooking up with women, sometimes the necessary performance can be too much.

dean, here, is very vulnerable. he's grieving his dad. he's furious with his dad. he's raw and undone and could really, really use some comfort. and yet, there is something about trying to seek out that kind of physical comfort that exhausts him.

and, of course, there are other possible readings of this but we'll revisit this theme in 5.14 and 13.05...

and we just have to talk about the smashing baby scene. visceral and musicless and furious and agonized. it is magnificent. and deeply meaningful to me that dean smashes up baby's trunk - the part of the car that represents his life as a hunter and all that entails.

and, like dean's face looking at john's pyre with a single tear down his face, dean's face here in the end of episode shot with his damp eyes and slumping shoulders and trembling lips, contains so many layers. confusion and anger and grief and feeling cornered.

[bisexuallsokka]

jo. bestie. hi. i’m holding your hands and asking u to please if u want deal us all permanent psychic damage with “you’re just as beautiful as the day i lost you” (the httyd divorced zukka agenda has to continue and nobody can do it as well as u <3)

Sokka had spent the entire journey to the Fire Nation imagining himself being so overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of Zuko that, decorum be damned, he would run into his arms as soon as they made eye contact.

The sting of disappointment he felt when he realized that Zuko wasn't even there to greet him and Katara was enough to extinguish most of the excitement he had felt and make him second-guess everything about this trip. It was odd enough that after over a decade of being broken up they had rekindled their relationship over letters, what would it be like when they saw each other in person for the first time in years? Did they only know how to be in love again in theory? Was Zuko truly ready to leave the throne and his home in a few months and start a life with Sokka?

He's hiding out on some balcony that the two of them frequented in his Ambassador days, and he jumps when he hears the door open behind him. It's probably Katara telling him to stop moping, and he's about to tell her that he just needs a minute when he sees Zuko there, giving him a tentative smile.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," Sokka says, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"Sorry about," Zuko gestures, and Sokka knows what he means.

"I get it. You're a busy guy," Sokka says.

That makes Zuko frown, and he walks over and takes a seat on the bench next to him. "Not too busy for you," he says. Which, historically, is kind of a lie, but Sokka appreciates the sentiment all the same. Especially since soon, they won't have to worry about the Fire Lord nonsense ever again.

Zuko seems to be thinking the same thing. "For what it's worth, it wasn't 'official business' keeping me away again," he clarifies. "Izumi was getting a little overwhelmed with everything going on to get ready for the party, and I spent longer in the garden with her than I realized. She's with Uncle, now."

Sokka softens at that, his doubts slowly starting to fade away. "That's understandable."

"Thanks for coming all the way here," Zuko says quickly. "It means a lot and it...it's really good to see you."

The sincerity in his tone is a little overwhelming. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," Sokka says, despite having missed the last ten or so of Zuko's birthday celebrations.

It makes Zuko smile, though, which Sokka relaxes at the sight of.

"You look good," Sokka says, smiling back.

"You look..." Zuko trails off, a strange expression on his face as he just keeps staring at Sokka.

"What?" Sokka asks suspiciously. "Is there something on my face?"

"You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you," Zuko says, so softly Sokka might have missed it had he not been hanging onto every word from those lips.

"I..." Sokka says, feeling speechless for once as heat rises in his cheeks. "That's...great, thank you."

As soon as the words leave his mouth he groans, putting his head in his hands as Zuko laughs loudly at him.

"You can't just say things like that," Sokka complains, even if he can't stop smiling.

"I can and I will, especially if that is the kind of reaction I can expect," Zuko teases. Sokka looks over at him and feels his cheeks flushing again at the soft look on Zuko's face.

Sokka takes a shaky breath, calling upon every ounce of bravery he's ever possessed to help him reach for Zuko's hand. "Twelve years?" he asks, giving it a squeeze.

"Twelve years," Zuko confirms, squeezing back. “It’s not that I haven’t seen you that whole time. I just…never let myself really look.”

Sokka nods. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

Zuko raises his eyebrow. "I've started packing."

Sokka rolls his eyes and shoves Zuko's shoulder with his own. "Oh, so romantic, run away with me just because you're already packing."

Zuko laughs again, and Sokka feels lightheaded. He's not going to get used to constantly hearing that sound anytime soon.

“I've had all this time to think about it, and my answer is still the same," Zuko tells him seriously. "This is best for the Fire Nation, best for us. Are you sure, though? Six year olds are pretty crazy.”

“Raising a kid with you?" Sokka asks. "That's all I've ever wanted. Craziness and all."

The way Zuko looks at Sokka erases any of the doubts, the questions, the worries Sokka had about this. About them. After the years of heartbreak and separation, Sokka knows that's behind them, and the future looks much brighter.

[jolynejay]

SPOILERS AHEAD

Actually, with the new update have a little post on why I believe that the proper name of Malleus' mother is "Malenore" and not Malenoa:

Ok, so as discussed in this post, I hypothesize that Crowley is Malleus' father - the illusive Sleeping Dragon Lord Raven.

And that is important because (1) that makes him the Twisted Wonderland's personification of original Diablo the Raven. Oh! And would you look at that! Diablo and Crowley are both names associated with devils, demons, and the occult.

And (2) it cements both his role as an ultimately subserviant figure to the Queen (Malleus' mother) of Briar Country as well as his role as Mad Hatter.

A man who lost his most beloved, most beautiful Flower of Evil - his wife. And a man who through one way or another ended up in a constant state of overblot, a state of madness, nonesense, and repeating patterns born from trauma and unresolved mental issues. (Almost like the Twisted Wonderland as a whole, eh? but I digress..)

So, that being said: Are you familiar with the poem "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe?

It is quite famous after all: The story of a man slowly driven to madness in mourning the loss of his beloved by the appearance of a raven in his chamber.

And what is the name of the raven plagued man's beloved?

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”             Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And if we adhere to the Twisted Wonderland's apparent naming tradition of the Draconia family always having "mal" in their name as reference to the same prefix meaning bad, wrongful, or well... evil, then we suddenly have the name:

Malenore.

[Edit: look in the reblogs for the official transliteration as pointed out to me by @onionrimgs, my reaction to it, and some additional thoughts if you'd like :)]

[fujobritta]

hi shui, im a big fan of your writing, artwork and other posts on here! i was wondering if you had a theory on why in 'Second Skeleton' when brad and anna are talking, he says "I haven't felt like this in a long time. Since Kate"? within the direct context of the conversation, it sounds like he means it as a response to the "rush" he gets when working with true artists, saying he's "met the right person", presumably dana, but i'm a bit confused by this because tbh it doesn't seem like to me that brad and dana really have that much of a connection? they haven't even really had any meaningful one-on-one conversations at this point (or ever) - mainly its just jo+dana+brad talking about cozy galaxy stuff. i figured the "rush" and "met the right person" were just the same type of bragging-about-how-good-my-life-is-to-my-competitive-ex stuff he and anna had already been engaging in, but then he mentions kate (and is actually honest to anna about who she was), which makes me think he was being honest about that sentiment, though i don't fully understand why he would feel that way at this point? what about where he's currently at in terms of work / life / relationships could possibly be comparable to the innocent childish happiness he presumably felt before kate's death and his subsequent trauma?

thanks!! xx

haha thank you ! not sure how much of this will make sense but ill try to explain my own thoughts on it:

to me, the "rush" hes talking about is the feeling of being exposed, since he said it specifically after anna told him, "you were naked but now, you're exposed." — i dont think its necessarily in relation to working with a creative, but letting himself be vulnerable in a way he hadnt been before .

we havent seen any of dana and brads actual in-depth interactions which is one of the qualms ive had with s4 . why introduce a very interesting dynamic that influences both the characters greatly if youre not going to use it to the fullest ? but their impact on one another is definitely there, and it makes me sad that they didnt explore that much this season because it could be something very interesting . but the effects are there; brad being more open with his feelings, something he criticizes dana for, and dana being more evil, something she wouldve criticized brad for in earlier seasons

i think what makes this "rush" comparable to kate is having a vulnerable point, something to protect; and he places that feeling in dana a little bit as a way to project his vulnerability onto something more tangible, when in reality its more of the concept of having a weak spot now . dana is a weak spot, but its much deeper than that

the theme for brad this season is him hunting himself: trying to target his own vulnerabilities, forcing himself into a corner again and again . thats the rush . him attaching himself to kate, making himself vulnerable and getting hurt — that is also him hunting himself . so what hes doing this season is exactly that . its just kate all over again

ive never really viewed kate as a character or a thing, but more as a ... concept ? i guess ? a plot device . something that lingers in the back of brads mind, haunting his narrative . so its not "dana = kate", its "his current situation with attaching a vulnerable target to himself = his previous situation with attaching a vulnerable target to himself"

[joandfriedrich]

Something I’ve always been confused about is where was Amy getting money? She mentions several time in the chapter called “Artistic Attempts” that she would pay for the little party to entertain the girls in her in her art class. I know she was Aunt March’s companion at the time. But did she get paid for it? Where did she work? Do we know? Or did I miss something or somewhere it was mentioned?

This is an interesting question, I had to go back to the chapter and reread it to find some clues.

We know that she had thought of it carefully, as she tells Marmee, who worries that it will be expensive, "Not very; I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself." She knows she can cut corners by getting help with the Laurence's carriage and her sisters to help her, and this is clearly something she knew would take money and effort.

Earlier in the book, Chapter 7: Amy's Valley of Humiliation, the girls had shared what was called "rag-money", for the month. Perhaps Amy was allowed the rag-money for that time and use it for the party. I also believe that Amy may have done what Jo had done, sell her art for some extra money. Quite a few times, other character's refer the money used as "your money" meaning Amy must have earned it some way, rather than asking it from either Aunt March or the Laurence's.

It may not be much, but that is what I can think of at the moment. If anyone can remember something I've forgotten, or have a theory, please share. Thank you!

[somewhereincairparavel]

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself. Publicly! Then send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers!

(I was informed that this is non negotiable because it's important to be positive and nice to yourself!)

hi jo :> TYSM!!!

um my whimsiness or "attuned to nature" aspect? like I still secretly believe in fairies and mermaids and stuff the same way I did when I was 7, even though most ppl would dismiss it with a laugh. and I genuinely love nature and take time to appreciate trees and stuff.

my ability to solve red herrings and read deeper into details to get the answer, I sometimes go overboard with this too unfortunately, I've had that ability since I was like 8, is solve miraculous ladybug theories so well LOL

I feel like I often surprise myself with how quickly I come up with valid points to corner someone in an argument, that has people saying "woah that's a great point" and I'm actually able to convince ppl to see it in a different perspective. it probably has a LOT to w how many arguments I grew up having with my dad and participating in reddit fandom debates LOL

my ability to joke and goof around, I feel like I lost some of the humour I had as a 5th grader but I do still have the goofiness in me, I genuinely like making people laugh and it shows tbh

my emotional intelligence/maturity, I have a LOT of this, and again, it comes from my rather dysfunctional family life, since 2023 I had to act like my mom's personal therapist and its extremely damaging. I've learnt alot and I know it isn't normal to have your parents screaming at eachother everyday and also carry a general stiffness in the family. we never went out together as a family, and carry an air of tension when were together almost all the time. so it makes me a lot more emotional mature than I should be in my age

[dustmusings]

and so it begins…

with clone x oc week right around the corner, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to kick off my next longfic, shadows of kamino, which includes 5 original characters, paired with 5 existing clones — Rex, Fives, Hunter, Tech and Crosshair. their stories don’t really intersect at the beginning at all and I know that 5 new characters may be a lot to get your head around so I thought I’d do a little introduction post :) complete with songs because yeah I’m a music nerd sorry

just a quick note — I won’t be posting chapters of this every week like I did (more or less) with Technical Devotion, because tbh I just don’t think that brings out great work from me lol. so I’ll just be posting as and when I write/edit chapters, and will be more active posting it at some points and less at others. the first chapter will be out tomorrow !

the basic idea is that they are all other clones that the kaminoans made at some point and for whatever reason (to be discovered during the story). the images are just ones I made up using this website, but I’ll replace them with my own art as and when I make it.

okay! so here they are (under the cut):

— Etta / Rex

"nobody said it would be easy, and if it was you wouldn't want it anyway"

The circumstances of Etta’s creation are completely unknown to her, which made it hard to explain her existence to the clones of the GAR when she was placed among them at the (accelerated) age of 7 years old. The clones were suspicious of her at first, but the squad she was placed with, domino squad, took her under their wing, even if they did originally nickname her ‘Miss’ — due to her slow progression in being able to hit the target with a blaster. Throughout training, she became a formidable warrior and an even better shot, and with her designation CT-3774, her ‘brothers’ started to call her Etta, as her numbers resembled the name. She is very earnest and intentional with her words and actions, always follows orders, but also lets loose around her close brothers. She is fiercely loyal and takes immense pride in being part of the Grand Army of the Republic.

— Indri / Fives

"slow down, you crazy child, you're so ambitious for a juvenile, but then if you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid?"

Indri was created just before the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic, as a preliminary test for the Kaminoans’ newer theories of accelerated aging. She does not age as fast as the other clones, but faster than the average human, and does not know anything about her donor other than the fact that they were from Alderaan. Indri works with the Kaminoan Nala Se, and assists in the process of cloning and figuring out new methods to stretch the DNA of Jango Fett further. She is not allowed to talk to the other clones, and so none of them know of her existence, apart from a small girl in a similar situation named Omega, who sometimes helps in the lab. Indri is extremely intelligent but relatively timid, though if someone asks about her work then she could talk for hours and hours.

— Minra / Hunter

"I come unhinged, and play before your pale eyes, and suck you in, to make me feel everything"

The Kaminoans created Minra for a very specific reason, though it is not fully known to her. Throughout her life on Kamino, she has been trained by a plethora of bounty hunters, teaching her how to fight, self-defence and stealth tactics. The only thing she knows about her DNA donor is that they were Pantoran, which she had to figure out by herself after realising she didn’t look like the humans she interacted with. She isn't strictly allowed to speak to the other clones, but she also isn't one to pay much attention to the rules. Minra is a relatively guarded person, and revealing her true feelings about something would be the last thing she'd do. She has been known for having a flirtatious personality, which has landed her in hot water with the Kaminoans a handful of times. She can be more self-centred than others, but her sheltered upbringing on Kamino is mainly to blame.

— Nyx / Tech

"this life lived mostly underground, unknowing either sight nor sound, 'til reaching up for sunlight just to be ripped out by the stem"

Nyx is a defective and enhanced clone, with the designation CT-9905. She was created shortly after the defective clones of Clone Force 99, though was not allowed to join them in training as she was ‘behind’ them in her development. Her enhanced skills include speed, stealth and agility, and her weapon of choice is a pair of vibroblades, only using a blaster when absolutely necessary. She knows that she was cloned from a bounty hunter, like the rest of the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic, but unlike them, she does not know who this bounty hunter was. Nyx doesn’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary, and is incredibly focused, intelligent and rational. She particularly dislikes the Kaminoans, as she feels they only see her as an experiment, especially when they refuse to call her by her chosen name.

— Tiyunne / Crosshair

"the fire in you is long gone, it burned too bright, like the red sun, the child in me is elsewhere"

Tiyunne knows nothing of the circumstances of her creation, but knows it couldn’t be without reason. She was trained as and works as a mechanic on Kamino, tending to the more major problems of the Republic ships that land on the planet, and is widely known, although nobody knows she is a clone. She does not have accelerated aging like the other clones, so she saw the rise of the clone army first hand, but doesn’t remember much from her childhood, making her further suspicious of the Kaminoans’ intentions for her. She is very witty and personable, easy-going and selfless with her work, which she enjoys immensely and finds particularly intuitive.

[the-elusive-soleil]

Silm x Doctor Who: Curufin

Still later in the Long Peace, after Caranthir's and Ambarussa's adventures (that he has no knowledge of), Curufin is minding his own business in his workshop and gets abruptly vworped across time and space to a room he roughly recognizes as a workshop, but with absolutely no familiar equipment.

In fact, his initial assumption is that he's been yanked into some corner of Angband by foul magics, and that the old man over there is a thrall, albeit an unusually well-dressed one. He's not sure whether the man's shock and bemusement at seeing him is evidence for or against such a theory. The man - the Doctor, Three - claims that he was merely trying to fix his vehicle, but it malfunctioned, bringing Curufin there instead of bringing the vehicle and the Doctor somewhere else.

Curufin demands that the Doctor reverse the process immediately if he wants to prove he's not in Morgoth's service - he has work he needs to do, his wife and son and brothers need him. The Doctor tries, but whatever he was working with explodes and becomes inoperable. Curufin is stuck.

He rages at this, but the Doctor, having picked up meanwhile that Curufin is a man of science in his own right, makes him an offer: if Curufin helps him get the TARDIS working again, he'll take him back to Arda right away, and no one will even know he was gone because it's also a time machine.

Curufin is dubious about this, but it seems like his only option, especially once he discovers that he's in an entirely different world, and that this corner of it is controlled by a heavily armed and highly suspicious military force. So he agrees (and also resolves to study UNIT's weapons as much as he can, to try and recreate them to use on orcs once he gets home).

The Brigadier and most of UNIT are suspicious of Curufin, but tolerate him because the Doctor vouched for him. Jo doesn't particularly like him, because he doesn't particularly like her - he thinks she's silly and not all that bright and a bit useless, and doesn't get why the Doctor is as taken with her as he clearly is. Curufin's romantic taste tends to run to the "shared interests, intellectual equals" kind.

(The Doctor tells him that a) he's not interested in Jo like that [a clear lie], b) his last assistant was as close to an intellectual equal as he was likely to find while stuck on this planet, and it didn't go well, and c) Jo is kind and brave and loyal, and that's why he has her as an assistant and friend.)

Curufin slowly but surely learns temporal engineering, occasionally having to craft new Quenya words for the TARDIS to translate certain concepts to, and they make progress. The Doctor is impressed. He's less impressed with Curufin's forays into learning about modern weaponry, but Curufin just gets sneakier about it.

Oh, yes, and the Master is also lurking about every so often, and once or twice tries to tempt Curufin to his side with the promise of a quicker trip home in a working TARDIS. It's a well-crafted offer, for sure, but Curufin lies too much (even now in his pre-Nargothrond era) to not recognize it from someone else.

The Brigadier ends up liking Curufin a whole lot more when he applies his new knowlege to invent a type of gun that works on the next monster of the week. The Doctor is less of a fan. Curufin ends up making a deal with him - he won't make any more weapons (on Earth) if the Doctor will quit pining and confess to Jo already. He still doesn't get it about the two of them, but he's tired of them being so obviously, irritatingly nuts about each other and pretending not to be. (Also, though he'd never admit it, he's become grudgingly fond of them and wants them to be happy.)

Finally, finally, the TARDIS gets fixed, and the Doctor fulfils his promise to get Curufin back home. Jo comes along for the ride. Naturally, they end up making a few unplanned stops along the way and having adventures. But they do finally make it to Curufin's workshop, just minutes after he was pulled from it, and they say their goodbyes, and the Doctor and Jo take off.

The multi-Doctor incident doesn't happen, since Three is freed and no longer at the Time Lords' beck and call, and Jo does not run off and marry a Welshman. She lives out a long life of adventure before dying of old age, and sometime later the Doctor returns to UNIT to mourn - where he eventually meets Sarah Jane and standard plot resumes.

Curufin, back home, works on making new weapons, citing a "burst of inspiration". He can't quite recreate what UNIT had with what's available to him, but he comes up with some things that severely inconvenience Morgoth's forces.

It's still not quite enough to stop the Bragollach, to save his wife.

He and Celegorm and Celebrimbor and other Himlad survivors make it to Nargothrond. Curufin vows that if he ever meets the Doctor again, he'll make him take him back to save his wife. In the meantime, he and Celegorm try to shore up their position with smooth talking and Curufin's advanced weapons.

(TBC)

[f0point5]

Is anybody else kind of uncomfortable with how confidently people talk about Max's and Jos' relationship? Like... we don't know 99% of it, Max is clearly fine with his dad, Jos is kind of an ass but also VERY FIRMLY in Max's corner, and given how his early years were in the sport, Max definitely needed that? So ppl talking about how awful and horrible Jos is and how Max should cut him off.... idk it seems so invasive to me, Max is a grown ass man, he's got his own support system, if he decides he wants his dad in his life why not? I'll still side-eye Jos but at the end of the day idk enough about the kind of environment they grew up and lived in to rlly judge

Yes, but I’m also uncomfortable with how confidently people talk about driver’s personal lives in general. It’s pretty wild 😂

People are very comfortable throwing out all kinds of words and theories in regards to people they don’t know, and they love to infantilise grown men. At the end of the day, who even asked y’all? Definitely not Max. It’s bizarre that people think Jos, who has a good relationship with his children and his ex wife, needs all this discussion like he’s the boogeyman. I assure you that whole family does not care about the psychological diagnosis of some chick on Twitter calling him a narcissist.