#least accurate is there being two high schools.

[basilpaste]

the most accurate part of hatchetfield lore is how many coffee shops and churches there are. like as someone from a relatively small town: by god there are so many coffee shops and also churches.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

similar to the greentext stuff - i was visiting with my neighbors and their grandkids were around, and I said to this eight year old, "Hey, you wanna know something cool? I was playing the game when the Endermen came out." and his eyes went wide, like this kid looked like i told him i landed on the moon. His grandma thought it was really funny, and she said she has no idea what i'm talking about, but her grandbabies do, and that's incredible to her.

oh that's fun lmao, when minecraft & that update's existed for more than your whole life, and yknow being that young and like Next Year fr is this huge time scale away, a couple of years is a quarter of your life thus far and like maybe nigh half of the part of your life you actually have longterm memories for....i was checking out this dev's blog's archives about a:tdd's release in 2010 & in one entry they compared the implicitly Roughly concurrent release of Minecraft and i was like hey whoah. forever primarily being a game i've Heard Of more than any more direct exposure so i had no precise sense of [before minecraft release] [after minecraft release] Year 0 there but it's like for sure back in thee day when minecraft was a new thing, huh

[loveinhawkins]

picturing Dustin watching at the trailer park, right after Eddie says, “Hey, Steve? Make him pay.”

And for some reason Dustin’s reminded of ‘84, of his conversation with Steve on the railroad tracks, it’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh... electricity, you know?—although he’s grown enough to suspect that Steve might not know everything in that regard.

And it’s not electricity he senses, not exactly, but it’s definitely a storm of some kind: something fragile. Something—someone—that’s very scared.

Dustin’s running before he’s even registered his decision. “Steve!”

Steve turns around, and he already looks like he’s about to ask a question—something practical, like whether Dustin’s forgotten something—and Dustin feels a twist of regret, that that’s where Steve’s mind goes; yeah, they’re all ready for battle, so it makes sense, but…

Feeling suddenly very young, Dustin barrels into Steve and hugs him.

He hears Steve’s surprised inhale, his hesitancy, before he returns the hug in full force.

For a little while, it’s like the world narrows down to only this. No ash in the air, no nightmarish red in the sky. Just the two of them.

Dustin’s about to pull away when he feels Steve’s chin dig into the top of his head. Hears him sniff, very quietly, like he’s trying to hide it; and that makes Dustin think of the tunnels, or afterwards, really, when Steve held onto him with shaking hands, kept saying, “We’re okay, we’re okay.”

So he just keeps hugging back.

Steve’s the one to let go; he’s smiling, but he looks a little sad too, forehead creased with worry.

“I need a ride tomorrow,” Dustin says.

Steve huffs. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

Dustin taps his nose obnoxiously. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

It’s bullshit, of course; Dustin doesn’t need a ride anywhere.

Steve rolls his eyes, but some tightness in his jaw finally eases. “God, you’re such a dick.”

“Bright and early, Steve!” Dustin adds smugly. “Five am!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving him off, and for a moment it’s like they’re just in the school parking lot. He looks as if he’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it—glances back to where Robin and Nancy are waiting. He pulls Dustin in with one arm, a brief but tight hold. Nods, as if to himself. “Go on, scram.”

Dustin runs back to the trailer with a stitch in his side but a smile on his face. He knows it’s naive to think he can fix everything, but in this moment at least some part of the universe has been righted, even while in The Upside Down.

Eddie’s standing right where he left him, like he’s been frozen the whole time.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “is he, uh… is he okay?”

Dustin’s reminded that of course, Steve isn’t the only one who’s scared.

“Yeah, he will be,” he says, which he thinks is a more accurate answer than a simple yes or no.

It’s funny how life works, he muses while gathering supplies for the trailer defences. There’s no way he’d have thought even a week ago that Eddie would be sincerely asking him about Steve’s well-being. Whenever he happened to bring Steve up at Hellfire, Eddie would imitate him in a comedic falsetto, “Oh, Steve this, Steve that.”

For a minute, Eddie remains rooted to the spot, still staring in the direction of where Steve went—like he’d watched helplessly as Steve walked into the eye of a storm or something.

“You just gonna stand there and gawk?” Dustin says.

Eddie snorts. “So rude, Henderson.”

And it’s not like Dustin really knows, not when Steve and Eddie are still barely dancing around it themselves. Still, he can pick up on some things.

Like when they’ve finished setting up everything, waiting for the go-ahead for Eddie to start playing his guitar—to pass the time, they recount the high points of the day, keep it light. It’s a practice Eddie used to implement after campaigns.

And look, Dustin’s damn good at picking up on patterns. Like, he loves Steve, but he’s pretty sure the reality of him driving the hotwired RV doesn’t quite match up to how Eddie’s currently waxing lyrical about it.

He’s making it sound like it was something outta James Bond, Dustin thinks, when he’s sure Steve drove right into several trash cans.

Suddenly he knows exactly what he should do.

“Steve this, Steve that,” he sing-songs.

Eddie flushes; Dustin cackles.

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling as Dustin keeps laughing, like he knows there’s nothing mean-spirited in it. He keeps going, Steve this, Steve that, talking right over Dustin’s teasing—somehow finding even more moments where Steve truly shines.

And Dustin doesn’t know everything, not even close, but at the very least, he knows that this feels right.

[fandomnerd9602]

Hypothesis

Nerdy!Natasha Romanoff x Geek!Reader

Avengers High

Attraction has long been defined as when two opposite forces were brought together. In the case of Natasha Romanoff, a shy, introverted nerd at Avengers High, she was still looking for her opposite half.

No one really noticed her as she moved down the hallways of the high school campus. To most she was a face that blended in. She didn’t stand out to anyone. Well she did stand out to you.

She was your best friend. Calm, kind, and loving, you always saw the diamond that she always was. Her heart spoke volumes to yours. You were a geek, always obsessed with Star Wars or James Bond. There is a difference between geeks and nerds. But yet Natasha was always by your side for hangouts after school.

Natasha, despite all the logic, all the incalculable data that she had about chemistry with another person, found her heart fluttering each time you watched a Bond movie with her. Each time you smiled. Every time you cheered her up when the popular gals looked down on her or called her ugly duckling.

“It’s not calculable! The data doesn’t work!” Natasha bemoaned to her lab partner, Maria.

“What?” Maria groans, “is this about your love equation?”

“My equation of total compatibility.” Natasha answered back. “I ran simulations of Steve and I and then of Y/N and I.”

“And?” Maria looks with a bemused grin.

“It says Steve and I should be compatible but I don’t feel anything when I’m near him.”

“And (Y/N)?” Maria smirks.

“It says we have zero compatibility but yet…” Natasha huffs. “I-I think I’m in love with my best friend.”

“Oh Nattie,” Maria chuckles, “love isn’t something you quantify or try to put some equation to. Maybe what need is to test your hypothesis”

“Test? How?”

“Find out if you get sparks or butterflies when you kiss (Y/N)”

“But what if I screw up the only good friendship I have?!” Natasha nearly shouts in the middle of physics class.

“What if it becomes something amazing?” Maria asks, leaving the topic at that.

It was a dangerous game: testing such a hypothesis. On one hand, if her equation was accurate, she might lose your friendship. And if it was proven false, then she’d lose a bit of credibility, at least in her own eyes.

Such a hypothesis test came that night as you and her were watching an old James Bond movie on your couch.

“Geez how does James end up with all these girls?” Natasha asked jokingly.

“Maybe he’s secretly an alien with a powerful pheromone level?” You shrugged.

Natasha paused the movie and turned to you. “I need your help.”

“Sure! What’s up?” You flashed her a quick smile.

“I-I need to test something.” She bit her lip nervously. “Just close your eyes”

You happily obeyed. Natasha leaned in and kissed your lips. The mere touch sent sparks and shivers up and down her whole body.

Your eyes shot open. It was perfect.

Natasha pulled back a blushing, stuttering mess of a teenager. “I-I…umm…wow”

“Yeah. Wow.” You smiled, giggling a little too. “So how was your hypothesis?”

“I’m so happy to prove my equation of compatibility wrong.” She giggles.

“Maybe us being friends interferes with it somehow.” You smirked. “Maybe requires further testing.”

Hypothesis are usually proven or disproven thru various tests, Natasha thought.

“Further testing is required,” she giggles before jumping into your lap, kissing you repeatedly.

Natasha Romanoff. She was your best friend, your favorite nerd. And the love of your life. You and her still kept resting whether or not her equation was correct or not. The equation was put thru tests of dating, proposal, marriage, and eventually children.

Natasha was never more happy than to disprove her own hypothesis of compatibility. You and her, despite the data, were just perfect for each other.

Tags: @aloneodi @abimess @lifespectator @russianredassassin @revanshand @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @multi-fandom-enjoyer @jacenradio7 @scarletquake-n7 @supercorpdanbeau @iiconicsfan25 @iamnicodemus

[lizzyk137]

Genuis Vs Genuis: A Spencer Reid Story (Spencer X Reader)

Summary: Spencer and you have known each other academically since they were kids and never got off on the right foot. When you transfer over to the F.BI. behavioral unit from N.C.I.S., Spencer starts to not play nice. Warning: Angst, swearing, mentions of death/murder.

Part 2 on its way! Want to read more, visit my Masterlist!

The day started off great. It was actually relaxing for Spencer. His files had been finished and no new cases had presented themselves in the last couple of days. So there he sat, coffee in hand as he watched the team fool around as he threw in a chuckle here and there. He was content.

It was all good till he heard the shrill of your voice calling his name out.

He turned away from the group to see you bounding over to him, enfulfing him into a hug before his brain could even register the what, why and how's of the situation.

The team snickered at the interaction, the newcomer's face bright and happy with the biggest grin while Spencer's was a face of horror.

He had no idea how you found him or why you were here but he wanted you gone.

"Spence! It's been so long! How have you been?" You asked, ignoring the physical cringe Spencer had given to you using his nickname.

He collected his thoughts and replied with a short but curt answer of fine, then went back to drinking his coffee like it was the only way it could get rid of you.

The smile you had on your face couldn't hide the hurt that you felt. You thought after years of not seeing each other and maturing into adults that Spencer would at least come around to being nice to you or at least be polite. But Spencer was still the Spencer you knew. Childish. Though you'd never say it outloud it was clearly present for all to see once they got to see the dynamic between you two.

You were academic rivals growing up. You never met each other until high school but growing up you saw your names in the paper or during award ceremonies. You were always fighting for the top spot even if it wasn't the intention. Both of you were the same, no matter how much Spencer fought it. Both having the same IQ (187, to which Spencer would claim that you can't accurately quantify intelligence), and you both had an eidetic memory along with being able to read 20,000 words per minutes. You were practically the female version of him.

He hated you though. During elementary school and middle school, he enjoyed the competition. It pushed him to be better, but when high school came, it just got annoying. He didn't fit in to begin with and with teachers and students comparing the both of you together, it was a blow to what little ego he had.

You both finally came face to face during an awards ceremony during your highschool years. He remembered it clearly. You coming up to him before the ceremony, introduced yourself and then acted like you both were best friends and stuck to him like glue throughout the whole thing. Both of your families cooing at the sight of the both of you, a giant grin on your face while he scowled.

Spencer and you had ended up going to the same college- Caltech. He never told you where he was going but somehow on the first day of school, you came running up to him so happy to see him. All throughout his college years he couldn't shake you. Always making the same friends, always inviting him places, showing up at the same places he was. It annoyed him to no ends. You even forced him to attend a house party where you both partook in too much alcohol causing a lapse of time where you both have no idea what happened. You could later recall waking up next to Spencer in bed, both of you had no clothes on while you struggled to wake him up and get changed as the cops busted up the place. To which Spencer still denies since he can't remember a thing.

Three years before joining the BAU, you disappeared out of his life, which he was beyond grateful for. At first it made him nervous cause you just disappeared without a word to him, but then he eventually put his thoughts elsewhere and the thought of you never arose in his mind until now.

"Everyone, this is Dr. Y/N Y/LN. She's from NCIS. She works as a forensic specialist there along with a field agent." Hotch spoke to the group before him as he watched them eye you. "She's been assigned to our team to get more of an understanding with profiling for their team back at NCIS. She'll be working on cases with us for the next couple of months."

You smiled and gave a little wave to the team, a few waving back and all of them but Spencer smiling up at you. Hotch gave a small squeeze on your shoulder then climbed the stairs to his office.

An older gentleman came up to you first, introducing himself as Rossi, then the rest of the team introduced themselves. Your profiling wasn't the greatest but you could tell they were curious to know what was going on between Spencer and yourself. Your lips were sealed for the time being though, you could tell Spencer still didn't care for you and for the sake of your learning and the work environment you decided it best not to bring up anything.

You knew Spencer didn't care for you. As much as you were alike academically, you were the opposite socially. Your parents brought you up letting you enjoy being a kid, having you socialize with kids your age even if you weren't in the same grade at school. They wanted normalcy in your life since school was the exact opposite. Growing up, you had always wanted to meet Spencer. You saw his pictures and had developed a little crush on him which only grew as you got older. You thought he would appreciate a friend who could understand him, so you put yourself out there, always trying to be friendly and be there for him. Have him experience things that people your age where doing or things that college kids would attend or do. Nothing pleased him though. You made friends only to find out that they were friends with him which only made him dislike you more. You tried to pull away from him because you could tell he wasn't fond of you, but the universe kept pushing you together.

The only thing that got you two apart was the Navy. You enlisted and past all their requirements and you were given the opportunity to help build communities back up in the Middle East with new housing and building's and eventually helping with creating medication for underdeveloped communities that were affordable along with equipment and weapons that could help serve the Navy. You were doing good, but your heart still yearned for Spencer, no matter who you tried to get to replace him. You came to love Spencer throughout your college years, while he came to resent you even more. You wanted to tell him you were leaving but he never came the night before your enlistment date. Leaving you stranded in the park at night with a broken heart.

You had started at NCIS five years ago, you were a forensic specialist working side by side with Abby. You were both Ying and Yang to each other, best friends but the polar opposite appearance wise which you loved. While she wore black, you wore white or pastels. She called you her angel which everyone adopted into becoming your nickname.

When Vance came to you with a chance to learn more about profiling from the BAU, you took it. You were good as a field agent and even better with a weapon. It hurt to leave your family, but Gibbs assured you that the team you were working with was great. Fornell vouched for them too, and you were excited to meet the team. As you entered the glass doors, you were surprised to see Spencer there sipping his coffee, his smile setting butterflies off in your stomach.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, you can call me Angel though! It's really nice to meet everyone."

"Angel?" Emily questioned, as she took a seat.

"Um, yeah, my team calls me it back home because I wear a lot of white." You gestured to your all while jumpsuit and blazer.

"And you're a forensic specialist and a field agent and you wear white?" Morgan asked as he eyed you, with a small smirk on his face.

"Yeah, it's my colour. Plus, I know enough not to get too dirty." You laughed. You rummaged through your bag, pulling out a picture of the team back home and showed it to the new team standing before you. "This is my family back home. The girl in all black is the other forensic specialist I work with."

Rossi chuckled. "I think she would get along with our Penelope. She's got quite the wardrobe."

"I met with her the other day, she's sweet."

The rest of the morning was spent with getting to know everyone, Spencer alone at his desk annoyance written all over him as he watched his team, his family, surround your desk laughing and having a good time.

Weeks have gone by and the atmosphere surrounding Spencer and you was staring to become sour more each day. You tried your hardest to work well with everyone and bring as much as you could to each case in order to solve it, but Spencer hated that. It felt like with each case, you were getting better at figuring out the clues that he could. Each case seemed to get easier for you as you made your way through the evidence and what you were profiling. Your knowledge in forensics came in useful, he had to admit, but the team started relying on you more than they did him.

Hotch at first had paired the two of you up after the team found out that you and Spencer had a few things in common in the genius department after you went all out on your first case together. Now Hotch was pairing you with Emily or Morgan, even Hotch himself, once they saw you use a firearm and take down two grown man bare handed. It took him years to be comfortable with his firearm and here you were leaving him in the dust. You never boasted your intelligence or not fit in unlike Spencer. It wasn't so much you as a person he didn't like but how much of a blow it was to him to not be able to compete with you.

Spencer watched you as you looked at the deceased couple on the table before you. Hotch had sent the both of you together, hoping Spencer would finally come to his senses and maybe even try to like you. The sexual tension between you the two of you was clear as day to everyone but the both of you. Spencer kept his feelings in check by acting like he disliked you while you were always nice to him but tended to pour yourself into work whenever he was nearby. As intelligent as the both of you were, you weren't geniuses in the feelings department.

"I think we should let Hotch know, what we found out." Your voice bringing Spencer out of his thoughts. He nodded his head as you dialed Hotch's number.

"How do you know so much about autopsies?" Spencer questioned once you were off the phone.

You shrugged as you hopped into the car. "I watched Ducky and Palmer do enough of them throughout the years, so I know a thing or two about them. Plus, I took a few courses on it too while I was with the Navy."

Spencer didn't say anything, just nodded his head as he buckled in.

A few days into the case with no leads, everyone was going a bit stir crazy as the team got no sleep. You came in that morning with muffins and donuts along with a few jugs of freshly brewed coffee unlike the imposter that called itself coffee in the precinct.

"Oh, how I love you, my sweet angel!" Emily said as you set down the jug of coffee in front of her. You chuckled at her remarks and blew her a kiss before you turned around to see Spencer looking at you in disgust. You quickly looked away and turned to Rossi on the other side of the conference room.

"Coffee and a donut?"

"Yes, please!" He said with a smile.

You looked down at the pictures of the deceased that was in his hand. "Are those the crime scene photos of the last couple? I saw the bodies after their autopsy but haven't seen much of the crime scene. Can I take a look?"

He nodded and handed the stack to you. You studied each one carefully before you got to the last photo, your eyes growing wise and you stood up, running over to Hotch, the team looking at you questioningly.

"Was this crime scene gone over with forensics yet?" You asked hurriedly, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

"Partily but it was mostly blood, so they didn't get anything."

You shoved the photo at him and pointed to the small smudge on the wall. "Did they see this?"

"What is it supposed to be?" Hotch asked, squinting at the photo trying to see what you were seeing.

"It looks like a possible print. We need to go back there and collect it."

You heard a sigh behind you then Spencer's hand reached out from behind you and grabbed the picture. "It looks like nothing but a speck on a blown-up picture. The forensics team covered the entire scene, they would have noticed it if it was anything." He looked at you with pure anger in his eyes that it made you lean away, hands shaking. "I don't know what they do at N.C.I.S, but our forensic team does things correctly."

You felt your body stiffen and your eyes slightly water. All you were able to do was given a curt nod and nudge your way around him, as you made your way to the front bullpen. You didn't need anything, but you had to get away from the environment. Spencer was starting to get to you, no matter how much training you had to stay composed, he was just able to break down your walls and make you feel so small. And with this frustrating case and over a month worth of him belittling you, you were finally breaking.

Running a hand through your hair, you sat at a computer to check the forensic findings, no fingerprints were found but you couldn't be too careful. You headed out of the precinct and took one of the SUVs to the crime scene. You arrived at the crime scene quickly and walked inside to find what you were looking for. And there it was, right where it was on the picture. A perfect fingerprint.

"I can't believe they missed that." Jenn said, as the team was finishing up the last of their paperwork on the case back at their home office a few days after the team took down another killer.

"She was just lucky." You heard Spencer mutter from behind you.

You took a deep breath in and started to stack your paperwork. The room cleared out besides Spencer and yourself. Hotch came down and stopped by your desk. "The paperwork is being processed and they'll get you transportation back to Quantico. You'll have to do exit paperwork tomorrow but take the rest of the day and the day after for yourself."

You smiled up at him, not before noticing Spencer was looking over at the two of you. "Thank you for everything, I've learned so much."

"No, thank you for all your help with the past cases. I look forward to working with you again." He held out his hand to you and you shook it before standing up and giving him a large hug, Spencer's eyes growing big at the affection you gave to Hotch. "Oh, and remember, dinner tomorrow night at Rossi's."

"Wouldn't miss it." With that said, Hotch smiled and walked away.

You started packing up the rest of your desk items then grabbed your jacket to head out, ignoring Spencer's watching you with curiosity. You nearly made it to the elevator before you heard your name being called out. You turned around to find Spencer standing only a few feet behind you.

"Can I help you?" You knew how it sounded, snappy and short, but you didn't care, you were finally done with Dr. Spencer Reid.

"Um..." He started to take a step forward but thought better of it. "You're leaving? You still have a few more months left here, though. Why are you leaving early?"

The elevator dinged behind you as it opened, and you took a step back into it. You couldn't help the short laugh that escaped your lips as you shook your head. At this point, you didn't care what answer came out because you would never be seeing Spencer again. Your breath shook as you breathed in as the doors started to close, Spencer worriedly looking at you. "Because of you, Dr. Reid."

[changbunnies]

One & Only (18+)

♡ Pairing: Boyfriend!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff, smut, pre-established relationship, some light plot to establish the setting, college au but it's a background detail

♡ Word Count: 4.6k

♡ Summary: Following a perfect Valentine's Day date, you decide you're ready for the next step in your relationship with Chan. You want him, and you know he wants you- and the only thing left to do is tell him exactly how you feel.

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): petnames (pretty, baby) corruption kink, virgin + inexperienced reader, mutual masturbation, fingering (f rec), handjob

♡ Notes: i wanted to upload something short (compared to what i usually write anyways) for valentines day and i’ve been wanting to write corruption kink channie for a while now, so what better time to do it! i hope you enjoy <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You sighed as you flopped on the bed, freshly changed into your pajamas- next to you lies Chan, your best friend and roommate turned boyfriend, easily the love of your life, and you nervously chew your bottom lip, faced with the choice of what to do next now that your first Valentine's Day as a couple had come to an end. Returning to your shared apartment, nerves rattling away at you as you changed out of your prettiest, formal dress and now on the bed, trying your best not to overthink your situation. 

If you were being blunt and honest, you just really wanted to have sex with him- or at least take the next step in that direction. But the thought of it was utterly nerve wracking; every time he looked at you with his handsome, dimpled smile and pretty brown eyes, and you pictured seeing that same expression while he was hovering over you in your newly shared bed, it made your heart race out of control.

After an awkward, impromptu confession that led to you becoming a couple, the two of you slowly began sharing your space, until one day you stopped going back forth between bedrooms and decided to just share one. You chose your room to share in the end- Chan, the gentleman that he is, let you have the larger room when you moved into this apartment as roommates, and it was the natural choice when deciding which of you would be moving their belongings into the other room. And it was nice, exciting even, to help Chan move his belongings into your space until it became not justs yours but his too. 

But lately, sharing a bedroom served a problem- now that you slept in the same bed every night, you were becoming increasingly more aware of how badly you want him. And thanks to being friends and roommates before you were together, you knew had experience- experience that you felt you were sorely lacking. And it's not like you ever felt shame over the fact that you were still a virgin in college (as it's much more realistic than tv shows and movies would lead you to believe) but somewhere deep down you worried your lack of experience would make things awkward and unenjoyable.

That awareness of experience was equal, because in turn Chan was well aware of your sexual history (or lack thereof). You knew he wouldn't judge you, he would never be anything but kind and considerate, but it was hard to prevent self doubt from digging its claws into your embarrassingly fragile heart. You knew it was silly to feel this way knowing all that you do about Chan's character and his care for you that extends beyond titles of friend or girlfriend, but your nerves ate away at you regardless.

You kissed people before Chan, and that was unfortunately the extent of your prior experience. Your kisses were shared with fleeting crushes in high school, inside the confines of short lived relationships that never made it past first base. You didn't mind at the time- you weren't ready for more then, and you weren't going to compromise on sex just to keep a relationship going. But now here you were, an adult with little to no experience; and now that you were ready you were plagued by the idea that all of the awkwardness and exploration you could've gotten past in your adolescence will now be Chan's burden.

He wouldn't actually view it as such, you knew for a complete fact that he wouldn't- but the thing about self doubt is that logical thought does little to prevent it from taking root. And you felt terrible because Chan noticed you were feeling off since coming back to the apartment following your date; of course he did, he always noticed when you weren't acting like your usual self. You had such a perfect date together and now you were ruining it with your virginal rumination.

"What's on your mind, pretty?" Chan asks as he tucks the fallen hair behind your ears, the beautiful necklace he gifted you as your date came to a close perfectly adorning your neck. A silver locket in the shape of a heart, with dainty gems accented into the patterned engraving, which you opened to find a picture of the two of you after your first date. It was so perfect that you were speechless, and he admitted it took him months of saving to afford it (which was why your Christmas gift was something much less expensive in comparison and instead purely sentimental.)

"I-I'm sorry, I just.." you swallowed as you looked at him, your heart squeezing both from your nerves and from just how soft his expression is. "I was just thinking.. that I want to do more than just.. makeout, y'know..?"" You try your best not to blush from the admission, especially not when he starts smiling at you, but you can't stop your face from burning, and you turn your gaze away from his eyes, embarrassment taking its hold.

"Baby, look at me," he speaks softly but you can hear the smile in his voice before you even meet his gaze again to see it. It's a gentle smile that relays sweetness and care, but there's an underlying excitement beneath; because while he would never do anything to rush or pressure you along, he obviously wants more too. You're gorgeous, his best friend, his dream girl- of course he wants you. "You sure? I know it's a special day but we don't have to rush it or anything. I've already got the perfect gift."

You smile- timidly, but genuinely. He's so impossibly sweet, always; it's one of the main reasons why you fell for him in the first place. "Yeah, I'm sure- and I promise it's not just because it's Valentine's Day. I've been thinking about it, and I really want to, I'm just.. nervous is all. I've never.. you know.." You hesitantly meet his stare, your hand now nervously and unconsciously fiddling with the locket he gifted you that hangs from your neck.

It’s unceremonious the way his cock starts to throb from your timid words alone, almost shameful. He doesn't even know how much further than making out you're even going to go, but his body reacts regardless, independently from his brain that recognizes your need for slow, careful affection. There’s a million things he wants to say- “we’ll go slow” or “I’ll take care of you” or even “I love you” but his brain practically short circuits when you lift yourself from the pillows, locket dangling as you come closer to him, leaning down to press your lips to his. 

A moment of confidence? Or maybe you already knew all the things he’d say and didn’t need to hear them? You’re not entirely atop him- that’s still a step too far in uncharted territory, but this at least.. Kissing him is something you can do without getting in your own head about experience and desirability. His fingers rest behind your ear, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kisses you- softly and slowly at first, the way he always does. It’s always a build up, his lips taking their time, his every caress careful but deliberate. 

He always makes your heart race when he kisses you, makes your stomach do somersaults and blood run hot. Nerves aside, it’s undeniable how much you want him. One hand on his chest and the other in his hair, he’s careful when sits up from the bed to adjust your positions, conscious to not cause you to remove your hands from his body as you move in tandem with him. You let him lay you back down, catching just a glimpse of him hovering over you before your eyes are closing again as he kisses you. When his tongue licks your lips, you open your mouth to him without so much as a thought- it’s automatic, innate the way you welcome him into you. 

It always makes you dizzy, the way Chan’s tongue dances around yours, swirling and building the excitement from deep within your gut to new heights you didn’t know possible. This time however, there’s an added desire, his kisses and gentle touches more impassioned with the promise that you’ll be giving him more; more skin to kiss and touch, to feel under his calloused fingertips, to admire and love and venerate. You’re all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, really; and he wants you to know, desperately wants to show you how much he desires you. 

One arm holds his weight up while the hand on your face starts to trail away, fingers tracing the skin it travels over. Careful, slow, deliberate- it’s foreign but comfortable, somehow. When he hesitates, you affirm, you chase his touch, you pull him back, you silently plead with desperate eyes and eager breaths. Your face grows hot when your shirt comes off, his gaze hungrier when met with the sight of your bare chest, nipples hardened more so from the building anticipation than from the cool air. 

He wants to dote on you- call you cute, caress your burning cheeks, kiss the blush on your face and feel the heat of it on his lips. So he does, slowly so as to not overwhelm you, word choice careful as to not embarrass you. Your cheeks burn brighter, but you smile; a cute, shy one that his cock reacts to in equal measure to his heart. Pretty, beautiful, cute, he says it all as he starts to trail his kisses around the shell of your ear and to your neck. 

And you’re shy, impossibly so, but you indulge in the affection, as happy as you are timid and out of your depth. You can count on a single hand the amount of times he started kissing your neck during a makeout session, and you were always left wanting more but were much too sheepish to admit your building desire. But after that first time, when you were in the bathroom that night and saw the trail of small, just barely visible bruises left behind on your neck, you knew- you wanted more, and he was being considerate, holding back for your sake. 

You didn’t need that anymore, nor did you want him to- don’t hold back, don’t hesitate, leave your mark for all to see, touch and kiss and suck wherever you want. That’s what you want to tell him, but it’s hard to formulate that thought into words when the feeling of his lips on your neck and fingers ghosting over your nipples makes your brain grow fuzzy. He’ll get the hint though, you think, when you tilt your head to the side to allow him easier access to your skin and a whine leaves your lips. 

He can feel your body tremble, can hear and feel your breath hitch when his attention to your skin grows in intensity. Harsher sucks to your pulse point, more deliberate rubs of your nipples between his fingers- still careful, but no longer entirely delicate, as if you’re made of porcelain. No, his touches are now firmer, with more purpose and intention, more confidence now that it’s clear your admission of wanting more was not something said just to appease his growing desire to have you. 

He throbs when he pulls back to look at you; face flushed, skin varying in shades of pink and red, breath a near pant, hair fanned out and growing messy, the locket he gave you still staring back at him in the middle of it all. His fingers trail over it and you watch him carefully, trying to gauge what he’s feeling. “Should I take it off..?” you ask, wondering if it’ll get in the way somehow and he quickly shakes his head, leaning back down to you, his lips just barely touching yours. 

“Fuck no, leave it on. I love seeing it on you like this. Like-” he stops a moment, carefully considering if what he’s going to say will scare you off. But fuck it, you’re all being honest tonight, right? So why shouldn’t he say what he’s really thinking? “Like you’re mine. All mine,” he finally says, and though shy, you smile as you expertly play into it, feeding his fantasies. “I am yours Channie, I’m always yours.” Oh, you really have him now (as if he wasn’t already impossibly yours to begin with- you don’t even know the depth of his belonging to you.) 

Chan thought about you like this so many times- for years if he's being honest. He always felt guilty; the way he fantasized about you, his best friend for all his formative years and then his roommate, spread out for him and crying his name, clutching him so tightly that your nails dig into his skin. He just couldn't control it, and even his dreams, which were once innocent in nature (if you could believe it), you were there, whimpering on his cock, back arching as hushed whispers of praise were spoken into your ears, your eyes rolling back and drool escaping the corner of your parted lips. 

He wanted you, fuck, he wanted you, always have and he’s sure he always will. A single kiss and then he’s pulling back again, his hands trailing just over the hem of your pajama shorts. You unconsciously hold your breath, and maybe it’s his ability to read the nerves all over your expression that lead him to hesitate, capturing your gaze with sweet consideration despite how much he yearns to see all of you. “Nervous?” he asks and you nod, thankful when he kisses away the tension building in your body. 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready for that yet,” he reassures you, taking his hands away from your hips and instead moving them up to your waist, where he knows you’re comfortable with his touch. “I-I am, I want to, I promise! It’s just..” you trail off, and Chan offers you a sweet smile, stroking your cheek as you once again fumble nervously with the locket on your neck. “It’s a lot, I know,” he finishes for you, and you’re relieved he understands (not that you even suspected otherwise- he’s always been the sweetest guy you know.) 

He returns to kissing you softly and sweetly, his hands exploring the regions he knows you to be ready for, never wandering too far below your stomach. When he pulls away, your curiosity gets the better of you- you look where he rests between your legs, his erection noticeably straining in his sweatpants, a wet patch of what can only be pre-cum darkening the gray fabric. While you feel shy looking at it, Chan seems to welcome the curiosity, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Want to see it?” he asks and you gulp, tearing your eyes away to look back at his face. “Y-Yeah, can I..?” 

“Course, baby,” he replies easily, his smile growing ever so slightly as he straightens up to remove his pants. You swallow, blush flaring as you watch him slide his sweatpants and boxers down his legs. Rather than returning to his spot between your legs, he settles next to you, sitting up against the headboard and making himself comfortable. Chan looks at you, watching as your eyes travel and drink him in; you take notice of how his cock twitches as you stare, how pre-cum steadily drips from the tip, how prominently his vein runs down the length of it.

You're not sure what words are appropriate when it comes to describing your feelings towards seeing him bare, but you know you like it- you really like it. Your gaze makes him throb- desire, need, love, all wrapped together with a pretty ribbon of innocence and purity. He's being patient, but fuck, he wants to ruin you, wants to see your eyes well with pretty tears and body painted with ropes of his cum. "Do you want to touch it?" he asks, hopeful and raging with want- for you, your touch, your kiss, your pleasured voice, everything.

"Y-Yes, but.. I don't know how to.. how do I make you feel good..?" you ask with the cutest pout he's ever seen, and he truly feels like his heart is getting struck by lightning; you're going to drive him insane with need before the night is over. "I can show you," he offers, smiling when you quickly nod. You're amazed by how confidently he takes it in his hand, not a single ounce of shyness to be found in his actions, unlike you; you wonder if you'll ever be the same- able to act without timid embarrassment eating away at you.

Even compared to his large hands, Chan's cock appears impossibly thick, and you swallow as you watch him collect pre-cum from the head before he spreads it down the entirety of his length. His fingers trace the vein before he takes it fully in his hand, his gaze entirely fixed on your face as he starts to slowly pump himself. You swallow, completely mesmerized, the butterflies in your stomach thrashing violently. You look back up to his face when you hear his breath shudder, blush growing with the realization that your stare had an effect on him.

When Chan lets himself look away from your face, he notices the way your thighs press together, how you squirm in place as you watch him, yearning for touch- and it gives him an idea. "Can I-" he exhales a shaky breath, fisting his cock just the slightest bit faster when you meet his gaze again, "Can I see how you make yourself feel good too? Can you show me?" Your face burns hotter, your legs pressing harder together as his question rings in your ears. You swallow, impossibly nervous but equally as excited, and you nod timidly after a few moments of careful consideration.

"Y-Yeah, okay," you mumble as you shift your position to get your pajamas and panties down your legs. You timidly watch his expression as you settle yourself across from him, aware enough that he should have a good view of everything (even if the action of spreading your legs for him makes you want to cover your face in embarrassment.) Chan exhales another breath as he tightens his grip on his cock, licking his lips when he sees just how wet you are. You're dripping and it's all for him, because of him- finally, his dreams become realized.

Similarly to what he did to himself, you rub your fingers up and down between your folds, gathering the arousal on your fingers before you bring them to your aching clit. You bite your lip, shy as ever and embarrassed by the noises that leave you. You close your eyes in an effort to ebb away the shyness and focus on the pleasure, but you're still starkly aware of his presence, of his eyes watching your every move. You can hear his low groans and harsh breaths, can hear the sound of his fist pumping faster when you let out another whimper between your bitten lip.

It astounds you how something this embarrassing can also be so arousing- you don't think you've ever been more excited than you are now, and the mess between your thighs and under your ass is definitely a testament to that. As the moment continues, with you timidly opening your eyes to watch him again, he doesn't fail to notice that you focus entirely on your clit, so he has to ask- "Do you ever- fuck- put your fingers inside?"

God, as if your face isn't already hot enough- but it's a fair question, and you answer as best you can between the noises you fail to keep internal. "S-Sometimes, but- it's- I don't-" you try, though you fail to formulate the words you wish to say; partly due to pleasure fogging your brain, and partly due to not even knowing how to phrase your thoughts the best in the first place. "It's hard? Doesn't feel as good?" Chan takes an educated guess, and you nod, relieved he found the words for you.

He understands- your fingers are dainty, and it must be hard trying to get them angled deep, hard to find the spot that makes you see stars when you have to contort your body to barely comfortable positions. "If you want- if you're comfortable, I can.. do it for you..? Help you?" Oh. If you're being honest, you've thought about how good his fingers must feel so many nights while touching yourself, wondering about how good they'd make you feel, how expertly they'd make you cum. "R-Really? You want to?" you ask- perhaps a stupid question, but there's still a part of you that can't even believe he's attracted to you, even this far into your relationship.

"God, yes, isn't it obvious? C'mere, baby," Chan beckons you back to him, and you oblige. You crawl your way back to your spot next to him, sitting on your knees but with your legs still spread apart. He takes his dominant hand off his cock, bringing it instead between your legs, slowly rubbing and getting his fingers wet enough to slide easily inside. His opposite hand resumes the motion on his cock, and you unconsciously tremble- both because of the hand between your legs, and because the sight before you is so fucking hot (to put it bluntly.)

"You're so fucking sexy," Chan utters, starting with just one finger, pressing it inside slowly, and your reaction is immediate- body shuddering as a gasp escapes you, biting your lip as he pumps his finger slowly, ensuring you're comfortable and adjusted before he adds another. "Pretty, so pretty," he continues, the tips of fingers rub your deepest parts with hardly any effort on his part, and when he finds your sensitive spot you positively jolt, every nerve constricting as if thrown in an ice bath, body tense, stomach clenching as the pleasure builds.

"My gorgeous fucking baby- feels good, doesn't it?" he asks, a theoretical question with no expected answer, but you're whining and nodding your head, your hips acting independently of the rest of you, rolling and bouncing and chasing every ounce of pleasure that can be derived from Chan's fingers. He presses his thumb to your clit, simply keeping pressure there as the motion of riding his fingers provides all the friction you need.

"C-Channie, feels so good, think I'm gonna-" before you can finish voicing the words, you're gasping and crying out. You're hot, your dripping with sweat, you're utterly floating as you're hit with wave after wave of explosive pleasure. He doesn't dare remove his fingers until you've finished riding it out, but to his surprise, you grab his wrist when he starts to pull his hand away, your eyes glassy and pleading.

"More? Please, more?" you ask so sweetly, and again he throbs, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you- debauched, dewy, and flushed, world shattered in the best way possible. "Yeah baby, I can give you more. Course I can," Chan says before he's thrusting his fingers inside as if there was never a pause. Your eyes roll back as you bite your lip, your grip on his wrist tightening as you grind down against his fingers, always meeting them halfway.

When you open your eyes to look at him again, you can't help but notice that the pace of the hand on his cock is sloppy and uneven, and while you doubt you'll fare much better, you decide to take over for him, to try to please him just as much as he has you. You hear him utter a quiet curse as he takes his hand away, letting you replace it with your own. It's a sight, a feeling, that he wants engraved in his memory- you, riding his fingers while your hand desperately pumps his cock, giving him your best effort and trying your hardest to make him cum despite how much your arousal fills your brain with fluff.

"Fuck, baby-" he groans, reaching his hand out to the nape of your neck, pulling you down to capture your lips in a kiss, his tongue shoving it's way in your mouth before you can even process that your lips are touching. His hips buck when your thumb glides over the tip, sensitive and leaking, your soft hands sticky and wet and perfect. You hold his gaze when the kiss breaks, all your shy tendencies and thoughts of embarrassment seeming to fade to the very back of your mind, replaced entirely by desire and need- not just to cum again, which you unmistakably want, but to watch Chan cum too, to watch him fall apart and know that it was all thanks to you.

The room is filled with the slick sounds of your hands working each other, of heavy, panting breaths, of low groans from Chan and barely restrained, quiet whimpers from you, a sinful symphony played exclusively for your own ears. "Oh fuck, fuck-" he grits out, clenching his jaw and brows knitting together as he tries to stave his orgasm off long enough to watch you fall apart again first.

You can feel his vein pulsing beneath your fingers, can feel him twitch and throb, and there's a sense of pride you've never felt before that comes with it- it doesn't just feel good to cum, you realize, it feels good to watch your lover cum too, to be the reason they're losing composure and falling apart. "Y-You're close, Channie? Gonna cum?" He groans as he nods, licking his drying lips as his head falls back, unsure if he can hold it back much longer than he already has.

"Yeah baby, gonna- gonna cum for you, fuck-," Chan, who knows it's only a matter of seconds before he has no choice but to let go, mercilessly targets your sweet spot, his fingers all but drilling into it as his thumb rubs messy circles on your clit. Your hips stutter before your body seizes with overwhelming pleasure, the pace of your hand on Chan's cock faltering as your eyes roll back and you surrender yourself to the blissful sensation washing over you.

Chan follows quickly, the sight of you cumming again on his fingers breaking the already impossibly thin line holding him together, hot cum shooting out and spilling on his chest and stomach. You collapse next to him, legs aching (your knees especially) and body utterly exhausted. Your shyness returns when he turns his head to look at you with a sweet smile on his lips, and you blush as you return the smile.

You're both messy, in desperate need of a shower and a change of bedsheets before you actually sleep, but you bask in the moment regardless. He reaches for a tissue on the nightstand to clean the cum off his stomach before it dries and becomes a pain to wash off, and the moment it's done you're back in his arms, being hugged tight with kisses pressed to your forehead, your warm cheeks, and then your lips.

You curl into him, one of your hands holding the locket as you return his affection, pouring all your unspoken love and affection into the kiss you share. Your first Valentine's Day of hopefully a lifetime more, your joy immeasurable, your love boundless; a perfect day with an equally perfect end. You tell him you love him as he helps you clean up in the shower, he tells you he loves you as he helps you get dressed before he dresses himself, you share “i love you”s as you relax into each other in bed. You sleep, happy and warm and loved, secure in the knowledge that truly, this is only the beginning, and there’s still years worth of experiences left to share.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

⭕️👋Hi I’m new, I really like your character analysis, world lore analysis etc,…I think they’re very accurate and provide more insight into the twisted wonderland world,

do you think NRC gets enough funding cause they’ve been losing to RSA for like almost 100 years now and the Magift incident where the recruiter’s and scouts probably didn’t really pay attention to most of the players cause of Malleus .I know they probably get funding and tuition and stuff from affluent parents who care about the quality of education & environment of their children but is that really enough? Is Crowley secret Stressed about funding cause of their losing streak to RSA???

I just wondered what your thoughts were on the matter

Hello and thank you very much ^^ It always warms my heart to hear that people enjoy my more analytical writings!

Now to answer your question, I don’t think NRC is hurting for money. Like, at all.

You did bring up a fair point about NRC’s almost a 100 year loss streak to RSA + the lack of interested Spelldrive/Magical Shift scouts in book 2, but that’s not enough of the big picture. RSA is only one rival magic school out of several. Just because NRC is not doing well against one other school doesn’t mean that NRC is suddenly deemed “lesser”—NRC is still considered a top arcane academy and eclipses other magical institutions like Noble Bell College. In regards to the pro recruiters, I don’t think it has a huge impact?? Sports is only one sector at NRC; they’re still doing relatively well outside of it (such as in academics, extracurriculars, and connections for internships) in the grand scheme of things. Things like not winning VDC and not being noticed by scouts seems to only really impact the career prospects of students who were interested in the entertainment/sports industries; I doubt that this would seriously hurt whatever funding NRC is receiving.

Night Raven College is a private school, so they are most likely receiving money from tuition and not the government. Though tuition is not explicitly mentioned in TWST (at least not that I am aware of), if we assume the average cost for one student to attend a British boarding school—for which NRC is modeled after—that means 25,000 pounds per person, PER YEAR. Let us assume that NRC had only 800 students (this is the rough estimate TWST provides us). That means, from one year’s worth of tuition alone, the school is raking in 20,000,000 pounds or 4,058,310,000 madol. Note that this is just money in, not yet factoring for expenditures, taxes, etc.

The school also receives 10% of Mostro Lounge’s proceeds, and while we cannot put an exact number to that, we do know that most menu items range from 600 to 1500 madol. The lounge must also make significant enough money to pay for its ingredients, nice silverware (something which Azul stresses to give customers a high class experience), and even provide pay to workers (Ruggie would not be doing labor for free and refers to his time at Mostro Lounge as “a job”; see: his Ceremonial Robes vignettes). While this doesn’t make up a large part of NRC’s money, it’s still a nice little bonus to account for.

NRC also has many, MANY wealthy students, including literal celebrities and royalty. In fact, the upper middle class to flat-out rich make up the majority of the main cast (close to like 70-75%). If this is also the case for the regular mob students, then there are many other ways for the school to get huge donations. In the main story alone, two significant donations are mentioned: Kalim's dad gave enough money for NRC to completely renovate Scarabia and the Shroud parents paid for all the damages caused to the school's buildings. Additionally, Crowley says that the Shrouds made "substantial contributions toward expanding [NRC's] facilities."

Please note that this is just donations from current students’ families. Think about potential donations coming from NRC alumni too!!

It should be noted that NRC has the financial power to spend liberally, and no one really says that this will put the school in a touch spot. For example, Crowley literally buys up Sam's entire stock of goods during Ghost Marriage... and if you know anything about Sam, it's that he can magically keep things "IN STOCK NOW!!" Crowley even indicates in one of his voice lines that he is in constant competitions to buy out Sam's stock and has scarcely managed to one-up him--so the fact that Crowley does buy out Sam during an event is meaningful and speaks to how much of the school's money he is throwing to save it. He also tells Sam to bill the school for the cost of the fairy dust in Fairy Gala.

Both times, Crowley complains about how he would rather not spend money, but he does so anyway. This in of itself does NOT prove that NRC is in need of money, this is just proof of Crowley's cheapness. (We see many other examples of this greed and stinginess of his; he guilts Yuu for spending money on them, constantly tries to get free food and souvenirs from his students, and cuts costs for Halloween candy.) If NRC were truly hurting financially though, then they would not be able to throw lavish events or donate back to the community, both of which still happen multiple times. For example, NRC holds a huge Halloween event every year in which they open their campus to outsiders. This event is entirely free and involves a budget large enough for each dorm to create intricate decorations and costumes for 800ish students. There is also enough money to throw a celebration party for the students at the end of it—and let’s remember, NRC has the money to afford five star ghost chefs to regularly cater, serve in the cafeteria, AND teach their Culinary Crucibles/Master Chef courses.

While explaining the nature of the Halloween events, Crewel cites that NRC has survived this long in part due to the "While explaining the nature of the Halloween events, Crewel cites that NRC has survived this long in part due to the "understanding, cooperation, and subsistence of Sage's Island locals." This implies that the immediate community on the island also supports NRC in some ways. Perhaps it isn't financially, but it's clear that NRC still has social capital and a good reputation in spite of its losses to RSA.

In Port Fest, Crowley states that setup, food supplies, and all other expenses will be covered by the school. Half of the proceeds will then be donated to charity and the other half will be granted to the students to celebrate their hard work. Again, would NRC be giving away this money if they really needed it for the institution itself? They're not obligated to give money to the students, yet Crowley easily agreed when Azul asked for an incentive.

And let's not forget the school cultural festival, which was largely open for the public to attend. If they choose to spend on additional things (such as food and drink or VDC tickets, which are a "hot commodity"), that's on the individual. The school itself is hosting the event for free.

Yuu is offered a large sum of money (if the NRC tribe wins VDC)... and Ramshackle renovations (from Crowley) in book 5 in exchange for letting the boys host their training camp in their dorm. Look at how old and run-down Ramshackle is; there is no doubt that such repairs would be pretty expensive—but Crowley doesn't complain about the cost, he's not above bribing someone to make himself and his school look good.

Crowley caring about his reputation isn't new either, it's a pattern. We see him getting upset at NRC's loss in book 5 and lamenting bad publicity/being excited about good publicity in numerous events (Ghost Marriage, Wish Upon a Star, etc.) The school has been under his care for a long time, so naturally he will feel proud and/or slighted whenever NRC is involved.

This leads me to the conclusion that Crowley, the figurehead and headmaster of NRC, and his own personality quirks are being misconstrued as an indication that NRC is in a bad financial spot. His own fixation on triumphing over their rival school, acquiring and maintaining material goods for himself, and wanting positive attention do not reflect the state of the school. Notice how no one but Crowley whines about the financials and how while Crowley still complains about spending money, he has no qualms with spending lavishly himself on school events and holidays. This means NRC has money to spare, but Crowley is just stingy about how those funds are allocated.

[owlyflufff]

Something about Bokuto growing familiar with Akaashi's handwriting throughout their high school years, whether it's through little notes on how to improve that Akaashi leaves for him or the way caught Akaashi writing little tidbits of writing in a notebook or two.

Still Bokuto Koutarou remembers Akaashi Keiji's handwriting very well, it's a lot more elegant than his. He can recognize the particular way some letters are written, signs of something so precise, accurate and careful. It's very Akaashi-like.

By the time they've parted ways (or if Bokuto graduating but still going into the gym regardless to see Akaashi and the new recruits is considered parting ways), Akaashi's handwriting is still as memorable and recognizable to him. Bokuto knows it the same way he knows Akaashi so well.

Though merely sending a text message is more convenient and easier by a long mile, Bokuto decides to write a letter to Akaashi during his college days. Nothing admittedly prompts him to do it (he's always been one to try different things afterall), but he does it anyway, picking up pen and paper and humming a little tune as he crafts little stories, tales and experiences with his words.

His rambles and thoughts only for Akaashi and Akaashi to bear witness to.

A few days after sending the letter, no response. Akaashi doesn't bring it up either in text messages or conversation and for a little while Bokuto considers maybe it was a bit too silly of an idea.

Until a letter slips underneath his door and Bokuto doesn't even need to read where it came from before he's swiftly opening the envelope.

There is something to be said about seeing Akaashi's handwriting again. He misses it.

His finger gently trails along the paper, a soft smile on his lips as he reads Akaashi's response and his own tidbits of stories and tales, the chaos that is being Fukurodani's captain now in his stead. It doesn't take long before Bokuto is reaching for his pen and paper once more, writing another letter with just as much enthusiasm.

The exchange of letters between them last longer than Bokuto expected, but it would be an understatement to say he was happy in regards to it.

There is one day however, that Bokuto notices something is amiss.

Perhaps his eyes are just deceiving him, but he notices how some of the words are tangled. They aren't written the same way Bokuto recognizes them, not as careful as he had remembered them to be. It's a little odd to say the least but Bokuto merely assumes that it's just a little off detail and goes on, pen and paper already on the table as he writes back a response.

It gets worse.

The soft smile that was once there draws into a frown on Bokuto's lips as Bokuto notices how Akaashi's handwriting gets progressively messier. With every letter that he receives the words on the letter are getting harder to read, ink splatters and smudges on the paper. It doesn't help that the paragraphs start to get shorter and shorter with each passing letter Akaashi sends back.

Bokuto knows Akaashi's handwriting far too well but he knows Akaashi Keiji even more. Something is definitely wrong.

He's a new member of the MSBY team by then, having not been able to visit Akaashi as frequently when Akaashi also graduated. However this time he doesn't waste time, purchasing a ticket and making it over to Akaashi's apartment.

He doesn't know if it's a blessing or curse that his hunch was right.

There is something to be said about seeing someone so dear to you, with far too dark and deep circles under their eyes, room as though a whirlwind had disrupted and destroyed the former order he once recognized and Akaashi -- Akashi who had order at the forefront of his mind, Akaashi who gave reminders and ensuring Bokuto was on track, Akaashi who was always so careful and steady, now huddled up by his desk with trembling hands.

And if Bokuto stays the night, hugging him close and whispering nothing but soothing words to save him from another breakdown. If he shares the bed, letting Akaashi get the sleep he so desperately needed against the crook of his neck, watching over him and pulling him closer into his embrace. If he visits more often than once, bringing food and stories that start to slowly put a smile on Akaashi's face once more, no one would ever need to know save for the two of them.

Well kept moments shared and cherished between them, just like each other's letters they've kept and collected throughout the years. A stack of them safe and sitting snugly in a corner of their bedrooms.

They don't write letters to each other anymore. Instead there are sticky notes on a refrigerator, of food that needs to be purchased, chores to be done and little reminders. Of little doodles within folded paper sneaked into each other's bags, consisting of owls, hearts and smiley faces.

There's no need to write about their everyday lives, not when they get to share it constantly now within the confines of their shared apartment.

And as Bokuto looks to the side, seeing Akaashi leaning against his shoulder and writing something on a few drafts for Udai's next manga, he notices the handwriting once more. It's not as messy as it used to be, but neither is it the same manner Bokuto had grown to recognize. It's getting there though, slowly returning to same careful, steady and eased handwriting he had cherished silently throughout the years.

He kisses Akaashi's head, and knows that it's enough.

[sage-nebula]

You know, it's never talked about, but Mabel is demonstrably an artistic prodigy.

I think it's a bit of truth in television that her artistic prowess is completely dismissed / undervalued in comparison to the logical intelligence that Dipper presents, but nonetheless, the artistic and crafting feats that Mabel pulls off in the show are nothing short of amazing. Of course, she's not gifted in all areas (her drawings are just okay), but in others?

Mabel hand knits all of her own sweaters, as well as sweaters for other people, animals, and magical beings. She can start and finish a sweater in a single day (perhaps even multiple sweaters, as seen in Weirdmageddon 3). Not only that, but while we mostly see her with balls of yarn, we also know that she can knit using a variety of materials; in the end tag for "Headhunters" when Mabel is trying to choose between two sweaters, she says that the llama sweater (yes, the one that is eventually given to Pacifica) is made from llama hair. Mabel is twelve years old, and she can not only knit sweaters from a standard material at a rate comparable with a machine, but she can also knit llama hair sweaters, too. The girl has a gift.

And speaking of "Headhunters"!

In "Headhunters", we learn that Stan once had a wax museum at the Mystery Shack, and also that his wax statue of Abraham Lincoln melted in the sun. Mabel ends up building a wax figure of Stan out of the melted wax. A couple things of note:

It was old wax that had already melted who knows how long ago, possibly cooled, and then melted again . . . to be fair I know fuck all about working with wax, but I can't imagine that wax was in the best shape.

Even assuming that it was in the best shape, on her very first try Mabel created a wax figure of Stan that was so accurate that he screamed, leaped away from it, and formed an attachment to it, possibly because it reminded him of his twin brother. The murderer in the episode also mistook it for the real Stan.

I repeat: this was Mabel's FIRST TRY, and it was THAT PERFECT.

Mabel is TWELVE.

Mabel is often dismissed, both in the show and out of it, because she's silly, has an active imagination, and is girly and likes girly things. But she has a serious artistic gift. The girl is a prodigy! Sure, she's not a scientific genius, but who needs to be when you can outfit an entire town for funsies in a day and make immaculate sculptures like it's nothing?

What I'm saying is: when Mabel graduates high school, she's going to art school on a full ride scholarship, where she'll hone her craft to have art shows and galleries and make art pieces that'll change the world and stand the test of time.

Or at least, that's the dream . . .

[odoraful]

sneak peek at my next love & deepspace fic 😳 it's an au where zayne and fem!reader grow up together based on a request ! it's definitely getting up there in terms of word count, but here's a snippet from a moment in highschool:

Zayne never wished to draw attention to himself, but it seemed to follow him regardless. He preferred to keep his head in a book (study book, sketchbook or otherwise), and he sometimes wished his fellow peers would do the same. Instead, he was the choice of conversation among the cohorts for being an enigma. Teenagers were not the most subtle people, and whispers would follow everywhere he walked. He made mental notes of what was being said. After all, those who were quiet were often the most observant.  

“He’s the one who skipped a year right?” No, that isn’t true. 

“One year? I thought it was two!” That would be more accurate. 

“The serious guy with glasses?” At least they know what I look like.

“I heard that he thinks he’s better than everyone.” Now that really isn’t true. 

“No way… is that why he’s a loner?” A loner…?

“Doesn’t he always hang out with that one girl though?”

He stopped spinning his pen around his fingers. Study period was usually the time where people would get updated on the latest news. His focus pulled away from his notes to the conversation happening behind his seat. The irony of the situation was not lost on Zayne, people were quite literally talking about him behind his back. Careful to not signal that he was eavesdropping, Zayne began to write on his page, summarising information from the textbook. Unfortunately, the pair had become more hushed, and he could barely make out what was being said. One word did slip from the conversation, however. Said in a surprised, high-pitched tone: your name. 

“Shh! Not so loud!” One of them scolded. 

Zayne quietly sighed, the breath slipping out between his lips. He got up, making little effort to subdue the sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the floorboards. After packing things away in his bag, he strode past the table behind him, the people seated there already peeking at him leaving. He levelled a look at them as he walked, adjusting his glasses. The students turned further inwards, completely blocking any prying eyes and ears. He casted the interaction aside. It was almost the end of school day anyway, which meant he could finally meet with you. 

[mindfulstudyquest]

starve your ego, find your peace

these are my personal thoughts, an outburst. if you want to share your opinion in the comments, i welcome it, but please be kind. if you just want to insult, go elsewhere. if you're not interested, don't read <3 i remind you that english is not my first language, so there may be a few mistakes.

ego, what an interesting word. it is a latin lemma which literally means "I", it indicates

the self, especially with a sense of self-importance.

(psychology, freudian) the most central part of the mind, which mediates with one's surroundings.

a person's self-esteem and opinion of themselves.

in a society like ours, we fight against our ego every day, the anxiety of constantly being in the spotlight, the overwhelming thought of having all eyes on us.

the idea we have of ourselves is the strongest chain that prevents us from freeing ourselves from this mental cage. both positively and negatively. if you have a distorted idea of yourself and low self-esteem, you will never be able to become your higher-self, to take that extra step that allows you to transform your daydreams into a solid reality, if you think you are unintelligent, you will tend to take this truth for granted. "i'm not smart enough for this" and you'll give up your dreams of a higher education, or of getting all A's on your finals, or of having a great and fulfilling job.

but sometimes we think too highly of ourselves too. i always joke that i make study plans like i'm a genius who studies 200 pages in a day, but the truth is, i'm not joking at all.

many of you will recognize themselves in the stereotype of the burned-out gifted kid, especially when you move to a higher level of education (from middle school to high school, or from high school to university) and at that moment all certainty of your acclaimed intelligence collapses. you are no longer in the pond with the small fish, now you are in the big tank with the big fish, relating to a much bigger world (at least in italy, the difference between high school and university is abysmal) and your brain will do everything to maintain an accurate simulacrum of your self-image.

in fact, your brain spends less energy processing two pieces of information that agrees rather than disagreeing information and since our biology is based on self-preservation, your mind will do everything to preserve its rightness. when i started university i was incredibly afraid of taking my first exam, why? because i didn't want to find out that i wasn't good enough for a more advanced education, that i wasn't the straight A's student i thought i was.

but waiting for the fear to go away will lead to you staying in the same place forever, because the fear only goes away if you face what you are afraid of, and yes, being afraid of exams may seem silly, but i'm sure many people who follow this blog will understand what it means to identify so much with your grades and to crave academic validation more than anything else.

so i did it, even though i was scared, i had to have the certainty that this was the right place for me, i studied hard, and i definitely rocked my exams. but then the spring exam session arrived, and the fear returned. tired and burned-out from the winter session i had little or no desire to study, so when the exam date approached, i was afraid of not achieving the same results as just two months before, so i postponed, i procrastinated, until the day before, i knew i had to study otherwise i wouldn't pass the exam, yet my brain continued to do everything to protect itself, to protect that completely crazy idea of myself that i could study the entire program in two days (i wish). i don't even have social media (tumblr and pinterest excluded), which is why i found every excuse possible not to study. i didn't want to sit at my desk and realize that i wasn't going to pass that exam, that i should have studied harder, try harder.

that is until i realized that it wasn't laziness or procrastination that was stopping me, or rather, procrastination was just a symptom of a bigger cause: a distorted image of myself. understanding this in my first year of university will perhaps change my next academic years, or perhaps not. i don't know how many of you have drawn these things or reached these conclusions, i just hope that you soon understand that you are not lazy, nor procrastinators, you are just humans who are afraid of failure like all other humans.

the problem arises now, how to change this image? i don't know yet, honestly, but i won't let it stop me from living my life.

uptade in the end i was so fucking lucky and got a 30/30 on my exam yesterday, but still at the cost of a lot of sanity, sleep and unjustified stress.

[inkpot909]

Their Favorite Part of You Headcanons (Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin)

↳ Reader is written as gender neutral. It’s stated that the Reader goes along with the crusaders on their trip to Egypt (+takes place after the journey as well). Everyone lives AU.

A/n: Wow, I actually posted something! Jokes aside, this summer has been rough so I’ve been trying to take it easy when I can. I missed writing, though, and hope y’all enjoy.

Warning(s): Slightly suggestive content.

Jotaro Kujo

He appreciates your eyes best.

Considering the apparent intimacy that results from direct eye contact, it makes the question an easy one to answer.

In fact, it’s highly probable your eyes were what he first noticed about you upon the initial meeting. Whether he has to bend his neck downward or you manage to stand at eye-level, it’s a moment he’s likely replayed over and over in his mind.

Another reason behind this choice is also a simple one (If you ask Jotaro, at least).

He didn’t fall easy and not at all for shallow reasons. Many of his classmates throughout high school would fuss over him seemingly due to his outwardly appearance and reputation. Because he was the “popular guy to like,” a diverse range of people were noticeably into him.

And taking into account how much he loathed a particular group of girls that would follow him around constantly, his perspective on love doesn’t tolerate anything he would deem shallow.

So, in short, what he cherishes most about you tends to be very personal to who you are.

It also plays into his communication preferences. Unsurprisingly, he tends to stare at you…. a lot.

It was definitely awkward in the early stages of your platonic-at-the-time relationship.

Throughout the duration of the journey to Egypt, you’d lost count of the times you’d stand face-to-face without a single word being exchanged. He didn’t ever wince or turn away, and you fondly recall the sheer intensity of those moments having kept you perfectly still.

Understanding Jotaro better as an individual- as well as how he feels about you -progressed his stares into something you find to be heartwarming. Just catching him in the act makes your heart leap, and your mind reels with wonder over what’s going through his head.

A little over a year after the aforementioned trip, and a relationship forms. It’s by then that he finds himself okay with getting lost in your lovely irises.

Your light giggle when you finally meet his gaze, flustered and gentle… it’s worth it. He always catches the moment your smile reaches your eyes, slightly creased by upturned lips. It’s a breathtaking sight, having twice now caused a cigarette to fall from his mouth while watching in awe.

His knack for nonverbal communication is pretty much universally understood by the few especially close to him. However, when it comes to you specifically, it reveals a rather bashful approach to the relationship that you might not have expected. It makes sense, as the likelihood of you being his first love is... more accurately labeled a certainty.

Jotaro can be observant after forming a connection with someone. When it comes to you, this is definitely the case. Any excuse to look at you is fine in his book.

However, it’s been long-established that he’s not exactly chatty, so he responds best to reactions he can see with his own two eyes. And it’s in the depth of your pupils that he finds doing so the simplest (If not simple, it’s at least selfish given his own bias).

The main aspect of this type of communication involves him looking at you intensely while his body language makes the tiniest adjustments in order to voice whatever he’s thinking.

For example, him holding out his palm to you, as his eyes cling to your person, is his way of asking you to hold his hand. He trusts that you know him well enough to get the point. And while you work on decoding his own subtle actions, his gaze never once pulls away from yours.

He simply cannot help it; there’s really something special about your eyes. He searches for your gaze constantly, and lingers for as long as he possibly can. It’s as if he’s always seeking your approval, reaction, and attention.

Now, as the relationship turns serious, he prefers to keep his eyes locked on you whenever he can. Once the two of you start becoming intimate, it’s quickly apparent he likes positions where he can keep his face close to your own. Or at the very least, hold eye contact.

Jotaro’s shockingly passionate, holding your hand in his own while he directs his hips accordingly. Lips slightly parted and gaze locked onto yours without fault. The emotion radiating from him is nothing short of immovable devotion.

Noriaki Kakyoin

Asking him this question yourself garners a flushed appearance and a hasty answer. He’ll stutter, telling you it’s your voice that he likes best. From the way it’s delivered you wouldn’t be able to tell if he’s practiced his response in advance or simply grasping at straws. Still, it’s an adorable sight and your quite pleased with his reply. Seeing your reaction, Kakyoin would feel a hint of shame.

Because he would be lying though his teeth.

He wouldn’t dare admit it initially, least of all to you, but he loves the sight of your legs.

Perhaps you tend to have them exposed. If that’s the case, he’s ashamed that he noticed such a thing so early on. A lump made its home in his throat that day, halting his words and making his mind run wild.

Or alternatively, you may mainly keep them hidden. Whatever it was that first prompted you revealing your bare legs- a couple hours at a hotel pool possibly -he undoubtedly finds himself sneaking more glances in your direction than usual.

It’s going to take him a bit to mentally process this.

Even in it’s more innocent connotations, he cannot help growing flustered. He just can’t help but find it a bit risqué. Although not exactly self-prescribed, despite his occasional arrogance, Kakyoin is certainly the gentleman type. Far from the kind of guy to be caught eyeing up someone’s legs in any shape or form.

That being said, the closer you become, the more difficult avoiding it gets. He focuses so much of his energy on not even glancing at your legs that he does, in fact, notice them quite often.

It doesn’t help being stuck in a car for hours on end right next to you. Thighs brushed against one another by sheer circumstance. It didn’t matter how many times it occurred throughout the trip to Egypt, he would think about it afterwards each time.

And it took only one sly comment from Polnareff or Mr. Joestar to prompt a myriad of fierce denials from the redhead. They’d egg him on, speaking a bit too loudly about how he’s “checking you out.” His cheeks would turn fiercely pink while rushing out a defense, which did not do much to help his case.

Eventually, the journey reaches its end. The group inevitably dissolves, but the two of you remain very close after the fact.

By then, your feelings for one another are certainly apparent. It’s hard for you to deny it when the excuse of looming danger is no longer present, and in turn he couldn’t imagine any other reason as to why you clung so close to him during his recovery period.

And even after becoming an official couple, understanding how to express his affection is met with bashfulness and hesitancy. If you’re inexperienced like him, it’ll likely be comforting for you. If you aren’t, it probably comes off as endearing.

Yes, you both have explicitly admitted to each other how you feel. Will Kakyoin still keep himself from eyeing you in any way? Absolutely.

A discussion will likely need to be had between the both of you before he loosens up a bit. A clear omission that you like him looking at you will help put his mind at ease (Man’s so smitten he feels guilty noticing that your beautiful god bless him).

Once he grows used to the relationship and starts showing just how touch-starved he is, the favoritism he holds for your legs finally becomes clear to you.

He’ll snuggle between your legs while he games, perfectly content within your hold. Even if you fall asleep, he doesn’t necessarily mind.

A lot of the clothes he buys for you leaves your legs exposed. The expression of awe he has whenever you wear something he’s bought is special to that occasion only. A strange mix of adoration and pride.

You also start catching him on his stares. Teasing him over it is a sure way for you earn a blush, as well as a weak comeback. However, the smile adorning his features exposes fondness. Only you’re allowed to say anything, though.

As intimacy blooms, he gladly indulges himself more. It strengthens his confidence in his actions, and turns the tides. Moving frustratingly slow, he glances up at you after leaving an array of kisses and bites up your inner thighs. All while he’s mumbling sweet nothings, pure honey oozing from his hushed tone.

Of course, he adores everything about you. But there’s a certain vigor in his actions when he continues moving upward that’s hard to miss.

[seoafin]

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader warnings/tags: 18+, somewhat nsfw, gojo with yandere leanings, masturbation, gojo's not so normal POV word count: ~3.3k

18+

-

The first time Satoru sets his gaze upon you, you are not even an extra in the story he has envisioned for his grand high school life, you are barely even a footnote.

You’re thirty minutes late, you wear the wrong uniform, and you fall back asleep not even ten minutes into class. You’re quiet and airheaded, speak only when spoken to, and you are more unassuming than you are anything else.

You also irritate him.

Or at least, that's what he assumes it is. It’s completely irrational. It’s not the same irritation he feels when Suguru intentionally goads him on. That feeling burns bright and quick. It’s playful. It’s fun. The two of them usually end up working it out with their fists until they lay splayed about on the grass, chests heaving.

It’s a piercing annoyance, sparked by your presence, a twinge of something sharp in his abdomen. Like the feeling of being stabbed. At first he thought it was the way he'd follow Suguru's gaze, only to find you at the end of it. And then it was everything. 

Gojo-san, you’re not very used to people saying no to you, are you?  There was no ill will in your voice. Just a calm, logical certainty that rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

And what about it?  Satoru had snapped back, teeth bared, annoyed that nothing had gone according to plan that day. He didn’t need a nobody like you to rub his shortcomings in his face. Suguru already did that enough for both of them.

You simply looked right at him without a hint of sympathy, and walked away.

And thus, after the spectacular failure of your first shared mission, he had been completely content to ignore your already insignificant presence. Until you started smiling. First at Ieiri, and then at Suguru. Apathy lifting away from your face like the sun parting stormy clouds in those few seconds. He couldn’t look away.

Ieiri-san had become Shoko, and Geto-san had become Suguru, and he was still Gojo-san.

He doesn’t care. If he’s irritated, it’s because he hates that blank look on your face when you regard him more than anything. It makes him want to take your face, wrap his fingers around your chin, and make you acknowledge him. And then maybe this infuriating feeling running him ragged would finally disperse. He wants to see you fall apart, taste the salt of your tears on his tongue, dig his fingers into the flesh of your arms and thighs and leave his mark, just to make sure you actually exist.

A living, breathing human being. Not just a specter conjured up to drive him to insanity. You are alive, but you don’t act like it.

He doesn’t like it.

It takes him a little longer (just until you smile at him and offer him the rest of your baked goods as a silent peace offering) for him to realize, it’s not you he doesn’t like. It’s never been you he dislikes.

….

The man rattles off next to him about alliances, clan security, heirs, duty, and too many other things Satoru could give less of a shit about, and all he can think about is whether or not you’ve eaten.

Something new has been occupying your attention (or, a much more accurate term might be obsession ), and paired with your tendency to forgo basic bodily functions such as eating at times, it’s a recipe for disaster.

This time, from what he’s gathered from your sparse, uncontextualized texts, it’s ancient scrolls dating back to the Nara period detailing some area in what is now Hakodate and some ancient curse that had terrorized the villagers who had eventually ended up calling on some second-rate Kamo sorcerer to seal it in the mountains. From the last text you had sent (SKI RESORT? 2:42 ) he wouldn’t be surprised to hear there are construction plans to build a ski resort atop of the sealed area which spells more work for him and more time away from you. 

Satoru wonders whether or not you’ve eaten.

If you continue at the rate he expects you to be at, by now the fatigue should be hindering your sight. If you’re in the library, you’ll wait it out until the last possible moment to grab a granola bar or maybe something from the vending machines. Not real food. If Shoko were at the school, she’d drag you out on her lunch break and force you to eat something somewhat decent. But she isn’t. One of the rare times she’s been called away on an emergency, an important higherup who can’t make the journey to the school. 

So you’re at the college. No supervision or oversight, wasting away, fascinated by some odd obscure detail like the type of paper used during that period that most people wouldn’t give a second thought to.

If you would just answer his texts—

The woman seated across from him, whose demure gaze had been lowered to the table for the entirety of the conversation, peeks up, as if the curiosity has won out. He catches her eyes through the darkness of his sunglasses, and he stills the fingers that had been impatiently drumming on the wooden table.

You’re being disrespectful.

Even after all this time, he stills hears the light, chiding, exasperation of Suguru’s voice like it was just yesterday that the two of them were together, shoulders bumping, jostling, brushing. Talk properly. No slang. Proper honorifics. Wipe that look off your face. Stop slouching.  

Satoru smiles, despite his burning need to be on the closest bullet train back to Tokyo. She blushes. Re-lowers her gaze, a timid, pleased smile touching her lips. He doesn’t even know her name. She’s dressed in an intricate furisode reminiscent of the sea, deep indigo tinged with overlapping colors of blue, and the obi that ties it all together is shaped like seashell. He supposes it’s a nod to the clan’s long standing association to the sea and its prized inherited cursed technique. It’s cute. It’s been too long since he’s seen you in a yukata or kimono.

He’ll buy you an assortment of them, all the colors that would compliment you, silks and fabrics that you have no use for other than to please him. Everything he wants to see you in. You’ll wear them, albeit in confusion, but you’ll do it. 

For him, you’ll do it. 

The man, her father, watches the exchange with greedy delight.

This would’ve never happened if he had been a little quicker to leave despite the ensuing cries of propriety and rude behavior. You’re the one always telling him he could stand to be a little more gracious , more understanding of how others perceive him, and he wants to snort. You are one of the most audacious people he knows, and you don't even realize it. Brazen at times, in ways that has people stunned into silence before you absentmindedly walk off. You are as polite and understanding as a feral, unsocialized creature, and he would keep you tucked away in the palm of his hand if he could. 

He just can’t leave you alone.

Satoru decides to take you out tonight. That new michelin star that opened up recently, a molecular gastronomy restaurant in the heart of Akasaka that’ll have you fascinated by how the food is prepared. That ought to keep you busy for hours, and Satoru could stare at you, listen to you, rambling about one thing or another for hours. Everytime he looks at you, he discovers something new.

The man licks his lips eagerly, in anticipation. “She’s the pride of our family. Her cursed technique is first rate. I’m sure you’ve heard of it? It’ll complement the Gojo heir’s Six Eyes and Infinity better than any other prospects. We might not be as powerful a clan as the Kamo’s or Zenin’s, but we’ve already received offers for her hand from several other distinguished families.” He pauses, under the impression that Satoru is actually listening. “Any heirs the two of you have will be sure to be blessed with—”

Satoru pretends to be surprised, mock shock filling his features. “Is that what this is?”

The man stares at him, composure temporarily failing. The woman across from him lifts her head, doe-like blinks. 

“And here I thought you were introducing me to your heir,” Satoru replies. “Y’know, the one inheriting your clan when you kick the bucket!”

Probably not the best choice of words. The man’s eyes nearly bulge out of their socket in horror or shock, but Satoru is already standing up and crossing the room, all pretenses of politely listening thrown out the door in his haste to make his way to you. The woman who had previously been unable to look at him stares at him, as if the idea never occurred to her.

“You said it yourself,” he says, halfway out the door. He looks over his shoulder. “Isn’t she the only one who inherited your clan’s inherited technique? Seems a bit of a waste, if you ask me.”

Then he’s navigating the twists and turns of the Kamo compound, whistling as servants quickly side step him, averting his gaze and path like he’s a missile on a path of destruction. He steps outside into the fading orange of the sunset, the air brisk with autumn, and he inhales and exhales, oddly happy.

It is a waste, he decides. It’s a useful cursed technique, strong and versatile. Instead of honing her skills and training, her days are spent being paraded like a prize horse, for the possibility that lies in her womb, all while he fields the never-ending complaints about the shortages in manpower.

He’s about to call a cab when a voice stops him.

“Excuse me!”

He turns. The man is a bit shorter than him. Black hair, dark eyes, dressed in a typical traditional dark yukata. There’s a katana in his hand. The man notices his staring, and In one smooth movement the katana is sheathed. The movement is familiar, recognizable.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “We haven’t met. Hideo Kamo.”

Satoru’s interest is piqued when the man raises his hand to shake his. He takes it. He doesn’t have to introduce himself, but he does it anyway. 

“Gojo Satoru, at your service!”

A sheepish grin overtakes Hideo’s face. “This might be a little forward…but I heard you attended Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. There’s…someone I used to know that also attended. I believe she would’ve been in your class.”

An acquaintance of Shoko’s? This might be worthwhile—

When Hideo says your name, Satoru blinks.

He knows you spent time in the Kamo compound a little after your father died. The Kamo clan had offered to take you in for an unspecified period, to get you acquainted with the jujutsu world. Self-benefit disguised as goodwill. They had been temporarily interested in your cursed technique. 

You don’t speak of it much, goodnaturedly shrugging off all his attempts to pry with a bland, “It was just a couple of months.” A year and three months. “They taught me how to use the katana.” And your cursed technique. “Nobody really bothered with me other than that.” You worth had been gauged. You weren’t good enough for a first son, or even a fourth. They lost interest.

He can imagine you, barely eight, heartbroken and devastated by the loss of your parents. Almost mute, and obedient. To the world, uninterested. Just another expendable child.

There is someone who knows the person you were before him. There is someone privy to your past in a way he isn’t. You were something, someone, even more smaller and miserable than you had been the first time he met you, before him.

Before him.

It—

It irks him. Like the buzzing of a mosquito hovering too close to his ear, one good slap away from being flattened to death by his hand.

He idly runs his thumb over the ridges of his nails, bored. 

“I—ah,” Hideo looks faintly embarrassed. “I would love to reconnect, if possible, so if you could…” There’s a piece of paper between his thumb and index.

Satoru smiles. It comes with teeth. Menacing. There’s some satisfaction when Hideo falters. Then Satoru plucks the number out of his hand.

“I’ll be sure to give it to her,” Satoru promises reassuringly, and he’s met with a relieved smile.

“That would be greatly appreciated, Gojo-sama.” Hideo says. “If you could tell her—” he hesitates, before firmly meeting his gaze. “I remember her.”

…

The strip of paper stays crumbled in his pocket. It never sees the light of day again.

Later, he takes you to dinner and you talk about all the different types of era-pecific curse sealing methods and you smile. At him, at the beautiful restaurant, at the waiter. He was right. The food fascinates you more than it does to taste it. How it’s made. The science behind the foam, and the gel-like flavorful bead substances that pop in your mouth, and the apples that taste like grapes. You want to know everything about it. Take it apart. Reconstruct it.

He listens to you talk to the waiter, eager to put his knowledge to the test, while he chimes in here and there with some questions and statements about molecules and atoms and the philosophical nature of taste and hunger. You are mesmerized. A lesser man would feel ignored, he supposes. Unable to understand the fluid nature of your attention, the same as it was in high school when he was a hotheaded teenager who didn’t understand the way your mind worked. Exceedingly simple things turned twisted and complicated in your head.

You haven’t forgotten about him, not for one second. You look at him and there is love in your eyes, and it is all for him. He won’t share it with anyone else.

The person that you are now belongs to him. Your future, too. Your smiles and your laughter. Your misery and contempt. He’ll take it all into him. The softness of your gaze when you look at him. The nights you lie on his chest, and he finds himself undone and remade, all by your touch.

I remember her.

What a joke.

If Hideo saw you — the you you are now, that has shaped him as much as he has shaped you— he wouldn’t remember a thing.

…

You sleep like the dead.

That hasn’t changed since high school. If the earthquake ripped through Tokyo while you were asleep, you’d wake up miles beneath the ground, hours after. You sleep, body slightly curled, face buried into your comforter, eyes closed, breathing so light some might panic listening to it. You sleep in the same manner that reflects the person you used to be: silent and small, scared to take up the same space others don’t think twice about occupying. 

Satoru is too restless to join you in slumber. He also finds himself needing it less and less. Sleep. A byproduct of constantly running the reverse cursed technique. As long as he’s not doing anything too mind numbingly strenuous, his brain is locked in a constant cycle of renewal. It’s also a fact that he isn’t keen on letting become public knowledge. His nights are already spoken for. 

So he strips and takes a shower, changing into the sweats he hadn’t bothered to take back to his apartment. At this point, your room is filled with more of his items than yours. Perfunctory bed, desk, dresser, bookshelf. You have pictures, old polaroids of him and Shoko. No Suguru. He wonders where those photographs have gone. A bouquet of orchids he had bought you the day after graduation, touched by your cursed technique. Your clothes. His clothes. Spare sunglasses on the top of your drawer. One in your bathroom. Another on the table in the living room.

He’s warm and still wet from his shower as he sits on the side of your bed, watching you sleep. He reaches out, and pokes your cheek. Not hard enough to wake you up, but hard enough to make an indent. Your slumber continues, undisturbed. 

Maybe he’s feeling a little mean, like he had been in high school when he wanted nothing more than to make you see him. That Satoru probably would’ve shaken you awake. Look at me. Satoru wanted you to be awake. He wanted to hear your voice. But now he thinks it’s not so bad to be the first thing you see when you wake up. 

He pinches your cheek, pulls at it, slightly squeezing it. Then chuckles under his breath at how it makes you look like a chipmunk. Your brows furrow and he lets go, thumb reverently smoothing over the flesh. You breathe into his hand, and his fingers twitch, curling around empty air as if he could capture your very essence. 

You shift away, and the strap of the tank top that barely covers your abdomen slips off your shoulder. It exposes more than he can take. He takes in the steady rise and fall of your chest, the hardening of your nipples through the slip of fabric, the low rise of your shorts, and his sweats are uncomfortably tight. It’s a reminder, a throwback to the youth he had been.

If he was in high school, he’d stalk back to his room, hard, furiously rubbing himself to the image of those stupid cotton panties of yours he had accidentally caught a flash of because of an ill timed breeze of wind when you bent over. Or the wet dress shirt you had been wearing caught in the rain, revealing a plain white bra that had soaked through. Then he’d think about Suguru. And then you and Suguru, overlapping fantasies and perverted angles and the pressure would build in his gut while he nearly choked on his moans, on his desire, the need of it all. Then he’d spill into his hand, hips frantically bucking into empty air, at the thought of sticking his cum stained fingers in your mouth, down your throat. Of you letting him. Letting him do whatever he wanted.

He’s still not ready to join you in bed, so he snoops through your room.

He looks through your photographs, your books, your clothes. Nothing’s changed much from high school room other than a splash of color. You’re still a work in progress. 

He opens the dresser. Utilitarian underwear. Of course. Plain cotton and—

Lace.

Multiple pairs. Black, white, blue—

He stares, finger catching on one specific pair as he tugs it up into his hand. Sky blue, with lace lining the edges and a small bow in the middle. Shoko’s doing no doubt. The thought of you wearing lace panties underneath your usual manner of dress sends heat racing through his body. It’s not as if he had ever not wondered if you’d let him tug up your school skirt to expose the panties you had been wearing that day. 

A rush of unbidden desire travels straight to his cock and he’s already half hard, wondering when you deem it appropriate to wear lace panties instead of your usual cotton ones, if you’ve ever worn them when with him—

He’s no stranger to sexual desire and attention. The way men and women look at him. If he’s feeling it, he entertains the flirtations, the draw of their lips, and if he’s in a rarer, sparser mood, the touch of their body. But even that pales in comparison to the time he spends with you alone, in this space the two of you have carved out away from the duties and tasks daylight demands.

Satoru would give you anything and everything, if you wanted it. He always wants you, in every way, in any way you’ll take him. He wants you so badly he can’t breathe at times. He would lay himself down at your side, at your feet, and take, take, take anything you have to offer. (You would offer everything.)

And he knows he won’t be able to stop once he starts, so he waits. Until the day he can’t.

He takes another shower. Cold water. And when he’s done, he slides into the space next to you. You nuzzle into him, and he rearranges himself to bring you closer. Feels the soft beat of your heart pressed against him. The two of you, together.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Wow. “Earth kills the moon” killed when SEM had me on the brink. Well done. I’m gonna have to read it ten more times at least to fully absorb it.

It feels like Suguru is on some kind of f-ed up merry go around of guilt and blame. I love it. Was he infatuated with Ms Moon? Was he in between that and his weird co-dependent bromance with Gojo? Suguru wanted to give her the chance to leave but did he want her to actually go? So many feelings! So much speculation!

Him scummily leaving a gift for his bestie and going off on vacation so at least he doesn’t have to see the immediate aftermath… can only imagine the sucker punch at seeing Ms Moon absent her smile will deliver him. No one should have that bad a case of high school nostalgia!

Now you have me wondering if this possibly-maybe-perhaps will come into being, ‘Monsoon’ reader, who’s Toji’s widow, is the one from your previous and excellent home invasion fic. That seems like the kind of luck poor thing would have. Dots are connecting where I’m not sure they should be!

"co-dependent bromance" is just so accurate and so funny at the same time and I will be using this in my day-to-day language. for the record, this is the one and only fic i'll ever write where sato sugu aren't furiously in love with each other.

you can interpret what Sugu feels for ms.moon as whatever you want! It would be a little interesting for him to also be infatuated with ms.moon (obviously not to the same degree as sato is), but his main feelings for her won't be overshadowed by any crush.

hehe Suguru criticizes satoru for being hypocritical, but then he does essentially the same thing satoru does. Commit the sin and then turns away so he doesn't have to physically witness it. They're so similar even when Suguru refuses to believe it. They get along well for a reason....

omg!!!!!! someone just gave me an excuse to talk about MONSOON _DOAHFOADHFAIJFAIFJAF:

unfortunately no, monsoon wont be a part two for intruder. I did briefly think about it but nah. believe it or not I actually write a *shudders* healthy relationship between toji and reader, no yandere toji here unfortunately!

[rogueddie]

Buckingham, 1,760 words, for @thefreakandthehair’s Spicy Six Winter Challenge, with the prompt; snowball fight.

Winter, and Christmas especially, has always been Robins favorite time of year.

Or, more accurately, it used to be.

With the heavy snow, December of '85 is starting to become the worst month of Robins year. She can't even bring herself to enjoy the snow. Nothing her parents usually do to cheer her up works either.

"Until the roads are cleared, I've got to walk," Steve repeats. "I'm sorry, Robs. Maybe the snow will clear tomorrow."

"Maybe," she reluctantly agrees, ignoring the fact that he'd said the same thing yesterday... and the day before that... and the day before that. "At least we're on shift tonight, right?"

"Oh..."

Steve's tone only fills her with more dread.

"What?"

"Keith called me before you," Steve says. "Family Video is closed for the day. Something about the snow being too much and no one shopping in this weather anyway."

"So, hey, maybe school will be cancelled too," Robin tries, though they both know school won't cancel.

"I'll walk you home from school," Steve offers. "Or we can go back to my house. I still have that cake we made."

"Yeah, alright, whatever. I'll call you at lunch, yeah?"

"Ok. Missing you already, Robs."

"Love you too, Dingus."

Hanging up, she drops her head against the wall with a soft 'thud', grumbling complaints under her breath.

"No Steve today?" Her mother asks.

Robin turns, glaring when she sees the teasing smirk. "No, no Steve today. By the time he clears his driveway, I could have already walked to school and waiting... whatever. It's not a big deal."

"Mhm," her mom hums, chuckling. "Sure it isn't, sweetie."

"It isn't! It's not like we need to be together all the time. We can go one day."

"Your uncle and I used to use those same excuses, you know. We weren't any more convincing than you two. Now, come on, get ready. You'll be late if you don't leave soon."

Reluctant, and groaning, Robin takes the coat her mom holds out for her. She picks her bag up, sat by the door, and sitting on the stairs so she can pull on her boots.

"Don't rush, there's a lot of ice," her mom warns. "And keep your coat zipped up. And-"

"I know, I know. I love you, too. I'll see you later!"

"Bye sweetheart! Be careful!"

The air outside is freezing. It hits Robin like a brick wall when she steps out and, despite her mom's warning, the idea of spending longer is the cold than she needs to is horrifying.

She jogs, careful to avoid patches of roads and sidewalks that look icy.

She makes it most of the way with only a few stumbles before, inevitably, she slips over.

"Oh my god," someone yelps. "Are you ok?!"

Robin flushes, muttering curses, when she realises that, not only did someone see her fall over and eat shit- Chrissy Cunningham saw her fall over.

"I'm- yeah, fine, totally," she chokes out, forcing a laugh.

"Here," Chrissy pants a little, having ran over to her, offering a hand.

Robin takes her hand, a little surprised at how easily Chrissy pulls her up.

"Thanks," she says, trying to smile.

"Are you sure you're ok?" Chrissy frowns, looking her over. "We have a first aid kit if-"

"Oh, no, that's not... I am ok, really."

"if you're sure." Chrissy shifts, glancing back to the drive. "I'd over to drive you the rest of the way, but..."

Robin leans to look around her, wincing when she sees the drive.

The snow is piled high in the driveway and, despite how much has been cleared, there's no way that Chrissy is going to clear the rest in time.

"Why don't we walk together instead?" Robin suggests.

She almost takes it back, wincing at her own boldness, but Chrissy lights up.

"Yeah? I mean, yeah, let's! Lemme grab my bag, ok?"

"Ok, yeah, that's fine."

Robin wraps her arms around herself, starting to step side to side in an attempt to keep warm while she waits.

Luckily, it doesn't take Chrissy long.

"Ok, I'm ready!" She smiles. She pulls the strap to her back a little further onto her shoulder, the polite smile faltering. "Oh, are you cold?"

"Uh, yeah, but I'm fine, really, it-"

"No, don't worry," Chrissy twists so she can root through her bag. "I've got a spare... aha!"

She pulls out a scarf that's mostly green and white. She wraps it around Robins neck before she can protest.

"You can give it back later," Chrissy easily dismisses, starting to walk down the street. She raises an eyebrow when she glances back at Robin. "Come on!"

Robin stumbles a little in her rush to catch up.

"Careful," Chrissy says, taking hold of Robins right arm and cradling it in both of hers. She glances down at her boots. "Do you have enough grip with those?"

"What? I mean, yeah, these are great, they're sturdy and build for ice- mom got them specifically because they have great grip. The problem is with me, I'm not good at running. Like, I have terrible co-ordination- Steve is always joking about how I run like a windmill and, yeah, I do, but he learnt to walk slower than I did so really, he's the weird one here- I mean, what type of baby tries to crawl backwards, right?"

Robin finally pauses for breath. She glances at Chrissy, who is struggling to stiffle her giggles.

"Steve Harrington?" Chrissy asks, when she finally realizes that Robin isn't going to continue.

"Uh... yeah... don't tell anyone I told you that."

"My lips are sealed."

"No, really, that's- I think he told me that in confidence or something, I shouldn't have told you that, I just can't stop rambling when I get nervous around- and you're- oh god. I'm shutting up now. No more conversations. We're just... having a nice- silent- walk to school together. Just... me and Chrissy Cunningham. Jesus."

"You say that like I'm scary."

"Well, I mean..."

That only makes Chrissy giggle harder. "You think I'm scary? Really?"

She leans heavily into Robins side, one of her hands curling up around Robins bicep. She's looking up at Robin with an expression that's painfully familiar.

It's the same expression she's seen girls pull out when they're hitting on Steve. The same moves too.

But what would Steve do? Robin thinks, panicking.

She's grown so used to old conversations with Steve repeating in her head, his bad jokes and questionable advice a constant and welcome companion.

But, now that she actually needs him, he's nowhere to be found.

After a few seconds of panicking, Robin is desperate to break the tension that is quickly turning from flirty to awkward.

She ducks down, grabbing a handfull of snow, and throwing it against Chrissys coat.

Robin jerks up, standing stiff upright, frozen and stunned at herself, whilst Chrissy is equally frozen, staring at Robin with her mouth agape.

It doesn't take long for the shock and confusion to vanish though, and soon Chrissys grin turns wicked, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Robin tries.

"Are you?"

'That means she's flirting, just... in a more playful way', Steve voice finally rings in her head. That day had been confusing for Robin- she hadn't known if the girl had been flirting with him or bullying him. 'I kinda prefer it. It's nice to know you can roughhouse a little with a girl, you know? It can be fun. Sexy'.

That had been one of his more successful dates, Robin remembers. He'd gushed about her for the entire week between their first and second date. She can't remember what went wrong, but he was confident that-

Chrissy ducks down, quick, scooping up a pile of snow with both hands.

Nope.

She takes off running, barely darting out of the way of the snowball in time.

"Hey!" Chrissy yells after her. "Get back here!"

But she's laughing as she says it.

So, almost tripping onto her face as she ducks down, she scoops up another ball of snow. She turns, aim going a little wild with how fast she keeps running.

She yelps, stumbling a little heavier when the snowball sent back in return smacks directly in the back of her head.

"Careful!" Chrissy yells.

"Then don't aim for my head!"

"It's not my fault it's an easy target!"

"Hey!"

Robin scoops more snow, turning and sliding to a stop. Chrissy doesn't have enough time to stop, but she does duck out of the way so it hits the side of her head instead of directly in her face.

She realizes her mistake a second too late.

Chrissy, unable to slow her momentum on the same patch of ice that Robin had slid across, slams straight into Robin.

Robin winces when her back slams into the ground, the snow doing nothing to cushion the fall. She feels lucky that her head didn't also slam into the ground.

"Oops?" Chrissy says, pushing herself up slightly but making no move to get off her.

"No, it's ok, that's on me."

"Yeah..." Chrissy trails off, voice weak- distracted.

Robin holds as still as she can, irrationally worried that if she moves then she'll startle Chrissy out of whatever moment she's having that has her looking down at Robins lips, cheeks flushing.

For a moment, Robin is sure that Chrissy is going to kiss her. Her eyes flutter, shifting up so her face is above Robins, tilting her head and starting lean down, to-

Someone wolf whistles, loud.

Chrissy jerks back, throwing herself off of Robin- but she is immediately glaring at the two boys, laughing and leering at them.

"Fuck off!" Chrissy yells. "Jerks!"

She ignores them when they try yelling back, instead focusing on Robin and helping her to her feet.

"Ignore them," Chrissy mumbles, grabbing hold of her hand and gently dragging her along, walking fast. She glances back, seeming to relax. "What assholes."

Robin glances back, relieved when she realizes that they're turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.

"Yeah," she agrees, turning back to stare at Chrissy, awed. "You're so brave."

"What? Oh, no, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are! Scary, too."

"I am not!"

"Scared those two."

Chrissy huffs, leaning in so their shoulders bump together.

"You're something else," Robin continues, emboldened. "It's impressive. You're, like, actually cool. Not just popular kid cool, but... truly, really, awesome."

"Shut up." She's mumbling, but she's smiling. She's blushing. She's looking up at Robin through her eyelashes.

"Nope," Robin grins.

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

prompt request: older malec 😬 (second chance romance veryyy much accepted )

I know you’re fishing for that BTLIO happy ending that you’re never getting from me nsnsbsmsksskjs

_________

High school reunions are kind of overhyped, in his opinion.

It’s a frivolous attempt by one at pretending that their teenage years were not as miserable as they remember it to be.

Magnus’s quite over it, if he’s being honest.

He never wants to meet most of the people from his high school ever again.

But he’s back in his town after 10 years and Catarina forces him to attend the event.

“Magnus, this is a great way to show up all those assholes that made you miserable.”

“Show up how?” He asks.

Catarina raises an eyebrow at him and he relents.

“Fine. I guess my million dollar worth could be a way.”

“You think?”

He sighs. “But is that it? Financial success? Is that all that matters in this world?”

Catarina side eyes him, “Wow, this town really brings out the angsty teenager in you.”

Magnus rolls his eyes at her. “I just don’t like these people. And I don’t think showing my wealth is a way to prove that I’m better than them.”

“But you are better than them.”

His face breaks into a smile. “And that’s why I love you, my dear.”

His teenage years in this town were to quite simply put it—a nightmare.

They were filled with homophobia, racism and everything in between.

Magnus remembers nothing but being sad in most of them.

Most of them. Not all of them.

Some of them were good memories. The best ones of his life.

He knows those memories had nothing to do with this school or the town but something else.

Something angelic.

Someone angelic.

He puts on his most flamboyant and dramatic outfit, now that no one can hurt him with words about how he chooses to dress up like.

Magnus puts on a purple sheer shirt, with a deep, very deep v neck cut. Half of his chest was visible, with seven necklaces laded on it.

There’s one small necklace still on his neck, it doesn’t match his outfit but it was given by his mom , fixed by his Rafael, he doesn’t know how and he kind of misses them both terribly today.

It’s something about this town.

At least one of them, he’ll get to see again after two days. Rafael wanted to come with him but too but Magnus didn’t want to bring him here. There’s too much sadness here. And he always wants to keep his baby away from all that sadness.

Two hours later, they reach their high school. The event is happening in the gymnasium, even ten years later.

With huge letters, the banner reads- “Class of 2012”.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus goes around the room, meeting people he’s forgotten by now. Some he remembers like yesterday.

“Magnus,” A beautiful woman with curly hair approaches him. “Magnus Bane?”

Magnus thinks for a second before his eyes widen in surprise—good surprise. “Maia?”

“It’s been so long,” she smiles and pulls him in a hug.

“Too long.”

“You disappeared from here.”

“I didn’t disappear,” he says, not without a flair. “I just made a grand exit.”

They both know he’s kind of lying. Magnus had disappeared. More accurately, he’d run away.

It had been too hard. Breathing had become too hard.

If he’d stayed here a minute longer with all the painful memories, Magnus would have died.

Leaving this town had saved him.

He meets a few other people after that. It’s not half as horrible as he’d expected.

“Magnus?”

He recalls that voice as clear as a day. He turns to find the most beautiful woman in front of him.

She was always beautiful but right now, she looks a hundred times prettier. He also knows that it’s nothing to do with her physical appearance but everything to do with the huge smile on her face.

The visible happiness.

She’s never looked freer.

None of the Lightwood siblings ever did.

“Isabelle?”

She jumps in her arms, still with all the love and joy like they’re sixteen again.

Like the little girl who used to help him climb up her house so that they could play housie at night.

Or after a particularly horrible night when they needed some cheering up—thanks to the Lightwood parents.

If it wasn’t for the warm hug, he would have been scared to hug her back. But there’s no such feeling anymore as he wraps his arms around her tightly.

“Oh, darling,” he breathes. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“You too,” Isabelle says happily and he knows she means it.

Isabelle was a two years younger than them so technically she shouldn’t be here. There’s only one reason for her to be here and considering that Simon is lurking not five steps away, with a giddy smile on his face, he has to be right.

“You being here, I can only assume you are still with Sherman,” he grins, the old joke falling easily from his lips.

“I do.”

“Hello, Magnus,” Simon waves excitedly.

They talk for a while but Magnus is a bit distracted throughout.

“He’s here, you know,” Isabelle says.

His brows furrows, “Who?”

Isabelle rolls his eyes. “You know who.”

He does.

Magnus didn’t want to come to the reunion for the following reasons:

1. He dislikes most of these people.

2. He ran away ten years ago and it’s weird to explain to everyone why that happened.

3. Alexander Gideon Lightwood.

The first two reasons ignite a strange anxiety in him. But the last one, it stirs up feelings and emotions he’s tried to kept hidden for years.

If Magnus tries to open the Pandora’s box, he might never be able to shut it down.

“I—I don’t know if—” he stutters, slightly annoyed but not surprised that Alec lightwood can still bring out the teenager in him, “I don’t know if he’d want to see me.”

Isabelle gives him a small smile. “It’s been ten years, Magnus. I think it would be okay.”

He wonders if she knows. If she knows why he did what he did.

Out of all his friends, he had only ever confided in Catarina and Clary at the time.

“Okay.”

He roams around the room, trying to find the man. Then he spots him. It’s not difficult. Even though the last time Magnus saw him was a decade ago, when they were teenagers, still not fully grown into their bodies, still with a bit of acne and awkward smiles on their faces.

But Magnus knows. He knows the man standing in front of him, with his back to Magnus’s face, in a navy blue sweatshirt, amidst a crowd of people fully dressed up in tuxedos and dresses has to be none other than Alec Lightwood.

He musters up all the strength he can, but the air closes up around him, his feet freeze on spot and he finds himself unable to move or speak.

All he can recall is the last time he was infront of Alec.

The last, horrible, horrible words he had hurled at the man who was his entire world.

But it’s been ten years and if anyone deserves an apology or hundred from Magnus, it’s him.

So, he shoves inside his pain, the guilt and everything he’s feeling right now and has been for the past two decades and opens his mouth.

“Alexander?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to notice the man’s body tense up at the name. There’s a full few seconds of absolutely no movement before Alec moves—oh, so slowly.

His heart stutters inside his chest, rapidly beating inside.

From the ages of twelve to seventeen, Magnus had only felt two emotions in the world. Pain, at everything happening inside his house and love—for Alec.

His life had space for nothing else at the time.

Then slowly, and then very instantly, only pain had remained as he had pushed all the love away.

“Magnus?”

He’s still as beautiful as ever; Magnus thinks. But somehow more so. There’s that teenage shyness missing from his face, replaced with the handsomeness of a grown man.

Alec looks breathtaking, with his wild hair, dark and gorgeous. His eyes, as blue and shiny as ever.

A hundred emotions flicks over his face and it breaks his heart to realise that he understands none of them, having lost the privilege to read Alec years ago.

Then, his face settles on a small smile. A tight lipped one. Not Alec’s real one.

Alec’s real smile, that’s something one can never forget.

It’s a special privilege, to be able to see Alec Lightwood smile.

“Hi,” he says, carefully, not knowing the kind of reaction he will get.

If Alec tells him to fuck off and never show his face again, he would understand.

He would deserve it.

He had broken Alec’s heart in the worst of ways.

But Alec doesn’t yell, doesn’t tell him to fuck off. He smiles. Only if a bit careful.

“It’s been a minute since I have seen you.”

He chuckles, “Yeah. Been a minute.”

There’s a few minutes of silence afterwards. He doesn’t want what he’s supposed to say. What either of them could say after the shitshow everything was the last time they saw each other.

They stand awkwardly before it gets too difficult for Alec and he excuses himself. “I think someone is calling me.”

Magnus sighs dejectedly as Alec leaves, his heart breaking inside his chest.

This is why Magnus didn’t want to come back to this stupid, fucking town ever again. It brings nothing but pain and disappointment.

Catarina has asked him through the years if he regrets his decision. And the answer is always a resounding no.

He needed to choose someone at the time, and he chose Alec.

No one will ever know though and he’s quite okay with that choice.

Alec and he cross paths a couple of times in the next two hours but they don’t talk, Alec still avoids him like the plague. Or just because there’s nothing to talk.

He’s a little angry at Alec; if he’s being honest.

It’s not right, he knows. But he wants Alec to be angry at him right now, yell or shout about why he did what he did. But Alec does none of those things and it hurts more than he would like to accept.

Maybe, for Alec, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It was just a break up after all.

People break up all the time.

They weren’t special.

Even the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because he knows with everything inside of him tjay to him, it meant everything.

Alec Lightwood was everything.

“So, guess what we’re about to do now?” One of the organisers, Michelle announces.

“Leave?” He mutters, only loud enough for Catarina to hear; who chuckles in response.

“Shut up. You love a party.”

“Not this one.”

“Remember when we all put a time capsule under that big tree in the campus?” Michelle screams. “We’re about to open them.”

Oh.

The time capsule.

He recalls early senior year, everyone giggling and laughing, putting their hopes, future plans into the time capsule.

He remembers his ambitions. Plans. He had a lot at the beginning of senior year.

By the end of senior year, he had none left. Not a whole lot of hope either.

“What did you put in your time capsule?” Catarina asks.

He frowns, trying to recall. “I don’t really remember. You?”

Catarina thinks for a moment before her eyes widen in embarrassment, “Oh god. I put something very embarrassing.”

Magnus chuckles, “What?”

“You’re never finding out, Bane.”

There’s too much chatter then, everyone discussing their capsules, asking about others. For a second, it feels like he’s back to being seventeen again.

“Come on, let’s find out.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines but then he sees Isabelle, Jace, Simon and Clary all run in the direction, dragging a grumpy Alec and he follows.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“Ask Clary out. Go Pro,” Jace’s time capsule notes and he hurrayed, kissing Clary on the mouth.

Clary finds a photo of all six of them, huddling on top of each other and they all warm up inside at the memory.

They had all been at Magnus’s house that day, the one in the photo.

They all tear up a little.

Isabelle finds a small bottle of alcohol that she had stolen from her dad, pulling a chuckle out of everyone as she chugs it in one go. “No regrets,” she screams.

“Simon?”

Simon finds a small picture of him and his dad. “I lose things all the time. I didn’t want to lose this picture.”

Isabelle pulls him in for a hug and kisses his temple.

A little excitement simmering up, Magnus opens his box. There’s a single note inside, and when he reads it, his heart breaks for the thousandth time.

“What do you have Magnus?”

His voice breaks, “Excuse me,” and runs away from there.

Tears stream down his face as he runs towards the terrace. It’s an isolated spot, entry restricted to students but long back, Magnus and his friends have found out a way to break that lock. Almost a decade, and the lock is still not fixed.

He sits on the ledge and cries his heart out.

It angers him so much, being here. It’s like suddenly he’s transported back to ten years ago, with his fragile teenage heart.

After a while, he doesn’t know how long, there’s footsteps on the terrace.

“Hi.”

He chuckles dryly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Comfort me. I’m just having a moment.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

They stay silent but Magnus has been never been a fan of silence so he asks, “How did you know I was here?”

It’s a stupid question, really. But atleast it’s a question. Atleast they’ll talk.

Because Magnus doesn’t know how long he can go on without Alec talking to him.

Ten years was too long.

“So,” he drags his words, “What was in your time capsule?”

“A list,” Alec chuckles, but it’s weak.

He knows that as well. They had written put their time capsules together. Right next to each other. But they hadn’t shown each other what they had written.

“Stop peaking,” Magnus recalls Alec squealing as he tried to peek into Alec’s list.

“Come on, show me.”

“No.”

Magnus had dragged his finger along Alec’s neck then, as he got closer and purred against his ear, “Please darling. It’s me.”

Alec’s body had shivered under his touch. “Stop. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what would that be?” He grinned.

He had tried some more but Alec had not shown him.

That day, it had felt impossible that there would come a day when they would actually get to open that. Ten years had felt too long at the time.

Right now, he can’t even recall where the past ten years went.

“You want to see it?” Alec suggests.

Magnus’s eyes widen. “You will show me?”

“Why not?” Alec shrugs. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

The words sting, burning a red and angry feeling inside of him but he tries not to show it at the surface. “Okay.”

Alec passes a piece of paper to him.

Magnus takes a deep breath and turns it.

Alec’s scrawny handwriting brings out a smile out of him.

1. Leave Idris.

2. Come out to everyone.

3. Become an archery player.

4. Get Max and Izzy and Jace out of his parents control.

5. Marry Magnus.

A choked sob leaves Magnus’s mouth. And still, he can find in himself to be incredibly proud that Alec was able to fulfil four out of the five things.

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” he tries to keep lightness in his voice but fails miserably.

“I guess,” Alec says, his voice tight.

Before anyone says another word, Magnus takes out the piece of paper from his pocket and passes it to Alec.

He avoids his gaze as Alec reads the words.

Magnus’s list wasn’t really a list. It contains of only one thing and Magnus couldn’t even fulfil that.

There’s just words that he knows will mock him for an eternity.

Mama is sick. But don’t worry, stay with Alec. He will make everything okay. He will make you okay.

A hurt noise leaves Alec’s mouth this time and he feels his own heart splintering. He wants to hug the man and tell him that he’s sorry. That it wasn’t his fault. That he’s good. But he does none of that.

“Magnus—“ Alec says brokenly.

He knows what Alec is asking. Magnus didn’t plan to ever tell anyone—especially Alec about this but he is tired—so tired of the pain, of the weight of the secret paining him for a decade.

For all the love he doesn’t know what to do with.

For their hopeful teenaged selves that believed nothing could come between them but something—Magnus, did.

“You needed to leave.”

“What?”

“If you had stayed in Idris, you would have died. You were dying here under the weight of your parents expectations and you needed to leave this town. I could not be another thing between you and your freedom,” he says hurriedly, the air around him closing.

“Magnus, what are you talking—?”

“You had that scholarship in your hand, Alexander,” Magnus breathes harshly, almost gasping. “I couldn’t let you stay for me.”

“Your mom was dying, Magnus,” Alec says harshly, and the words hurt but they’re true. “Of course I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay for you.”

“I couldn’t let that happen,” he admits. “You had a whole life, a whole career ahead of you. I couldn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t have to ask. I would have done anyways,” Alec all but screams and it feels almost cathartic, that the other man is finally screaming.

He’s positive Alec hasn’t screamed in a decade.

“You think I don’t know that?” Magnus exhales. “That’s why I had to do what I did.”

There’s silence then. Just their loud breathing audible.

Before Alec speaks, as tired and pained as he feels, “You broke my heart, Magnus.”

Tears stream down his face and he wipes them off harshly. “I’m sorry.”

“All I did was love you,” Alec whispers. “And then I didn’t understand.”

“I did not want you to understand, Alexander. For that, I am incredibly sorry.”

They stay silent then. Not knowing what to do with all of this.

At least now, Alec has all the answers.

He thinks it’s time for him to leave. He told Alec everything there was to know. Now he needs to leave this town and these people again.

It’s the most unexpected and magical thing in the world when Alec speaks after a few minutes, “You want to go for a walk?”

————————————————-

As they talk; Magnus will find out about Max, Alec’s three year old son. Alec will show him a picture and it would be the cutest kid in the world.

Five years later, Magnus will make sure that Alec crosses off the fifth thing off his list too.

And in his vows, he thanks Alec for making him okay.

————-